Lady of Dreams Read online

  “I don’t need your help,” he said, thrusting the papers at her.

  Ae-jung blinked at him, her eyes suddenly very tired. “Ye, I understand. You may as well take that one, though. It’s just a copy; the clients have their own, and I was only going to file it.”

  “Oh,” said Jessamy, disconcerted. “I might as well keep it, then.” He withdrew his hand again, and Ae-jung smiled at him, a warm, friendly smile. This time, Jessamy was the one who blinked. Ae-jung might not be technically beautiful, but that smile of hers was very effective. He said uncertainly, still inclined to be gruff, “I suppose you already told my father.”

  A light of understanding came to Ae-jung’s face. “Ah, aniyo. There was the extra copy, so what was the point in upsetting Sohn Sajangnim?”

  Jessamy said, “Oh” again. And then, in a completely altered tone of voice, “Hyung! You’re here!”

  Ae-jung looked over her shoulder, startled and a little bit pink. She recovered herself quickly, bowing politely, then hurried away up the stairs. I turned my attention to the bottom of the stairs and wasn’t surprised to see Yong-hwa there, leaning at his ease on his cane. I was certain he was amused, though he wasn’t smiling. When he is amused, Yong-hwa’s eyes light with a soft glow, his cheeks sharpening in preparation for a smile. The smile rarely seems to come, but that sharpening of his cheeks is as good as a smile. He is very beautiful.

  “Why did you come back to the office, Hyung?” asked Jessamy. “I can bring over anything you need.”

  “Ah, that.” Yong-hwa caught up his cane and climbed the stairs. “Your father keeps guests somewhere in town, doesn’t he?”

  Jessamy nodded, opening the door to his tiny office. “I thought you had a place?”

  “Nae,” agreed Yong-hwa, settling himself elegantly in the shiny guest chair that was too new even to have a dent in the seat. He was looking particularly jaded now, the amusement that had briefly touched his face at the sight of Ae-jung completely gone. “It’s become . . . boring over there.”

  “The nunas all chasing you?” Jessamy grinned. He took in Yong-hwa’s still, closed face, and I saw his eyes narrow with laughter. “They are, aren’t they? All right, I’ll set you up with a room.”

  Yong-hwa shifted infinitesimally in his seat. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll get you a good view and everything,” promised Jessamy. “And no women; they don’t take women boarders there. Well, Ae-jung will be there, but she doesn’t count.”

  Yong-hwa’s cheeks sharpened slightly again. “I have two questions but I’m not sure I have the energy to ask them at this moment.”

  Jessamy blew out his cheeks. “Aigoo, you’re so elegant! Why are you so exhausted?”

  “It’s the company I keep,” said Yong-hwa.

  “Ya, that’s rude. How am I exhausting?”

  “It could be your excessive energy,” Yong-hwa said. Though his cheeks didn’t sharpen any further, I saw the warmth of laughter in his eyes. “But I’m more inclined to think it’s your general attitude of determined ignorance.”

  Jessamy immediately sat forward in his seat, eyes narrowed on Yong-hwa. “Hyung, you’re keeping secrets from me again, aren’t you?”

  “There’s no need to keep secrets from you,” said Yong-hwa, still very much at his elegant ease. “You’re entirely oblivious to the things that happen under your own nose.”

  “That’s because I’m a genius,” said Jessamy, matter-of-factly. He held his expression for one solemn moment and then dissolved into giggles. “My mind is too far above petty things.” He turned a reproachful look on Yong-hwa and added, “You shouldn’t keep secrets from me, Hyung. What questions did you have, then?”

  “I’m curious to know why Ae-jung is staying at a boardinghouse that doesn’t accept female boarders. I’m even more curious to know why she doesn’t count.”

  “Well, she’s not staying there,” objected Jessamy. “She’s just helping Hyun-jun-ssi. Typing and that sort of thing. She comes and goes while the downstairs door is unlocked.”

  “I see.” Yong-hwa was gazing down at the silver head of his cane. “I don’t think I’ll bother with my other question, in that case.”

  Jessamy grinned. “Why? Already know the answer, do you?”

  “Almost certainly.”

  “Then tell me your secret instead,” Jessamy said, his eyes bright.

  “You wouldn’t understand it if I did tell you,” said Yong-hwa, his eyelids dropping. He looked elegantly bored again, but I was certain the gleam of fondness was still in his eyes. He probably knew as well as I did that any sign of affection or encouragement would lead to Jessamy’s badgering him for the rest of the day—or the rest of the week—to reveal his secret. “Figure it out yourself. It will help if you don’t think of Ae-jung as someone who doesn’t count.”

  Jessamy’s lips curled in a grimace. “What, it’s her secret? Hyung, I thought it was something good.”

  Yong-hwa smiled faintly. “Then take me to this boardinghouse, Jessamy-a. Tell me if you change your mind.”

  Jessamy was up like quicksilver, his face brightening. “Off we go, then!” He preceded Yong-hwa through the door, screwing his head around to ask, “Change my mind about what, Hyung?”

  Yong-hwa’s smile grew. “Never mind.”

  They left together, but the Dream seemed inclined to linger at the publishing house, and I heard Jessamy’s voice floating back to me, demanding to know why Yong-hwa had a secret of Ae-jung’s in his keeping. I didn’t hear Yong-hwa’s reply, but I wasn’t sure whether that was because he was moving away or because he didn’t think it necessary to reply.

  The Dream tried to sweep me away upstairs when they were gone—to Ae-jung, I guessed. Since it didn’t suit me to stay Dreaming of Ae-jung when I could be Dreaming of Jessamy, I resisted its pull and brought myself out by stages until I was back in the downstairs parlour, where Carlin was waiting with lunch.

  When my mouth was working enough to form the words, and my tongue inclined to obey me, I said, “Is everything ready for my journey to Eppa, Carlin?”

  “Already, miss? There are still two weeks until we leave.”

  I felt the familiar deadening touch of time stretching out into boredom. “Is it really? I suppose it must be. I’d forgotten. I’m not hungry, Carlin.”

  “Yes, miss,” said Carlin, arranging the lunch things on my side table.

  I looked up at him in surprise. “Did you hear what I said, Carlin?”

  “Yes, miss,” said Carlin, pouring a glass of lemonade and sliding it closer to me.

  “I don’t think you did.”

  “You said you’re not hungry.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You did hear me! Then why are you still preparing my lunch?”

  “You need to eat. Miss.”

  “I’ve warned you about those pauses of yours.”

  Carlin arranged a selection of the lunch things on a plate small enough for me to hold. “Yes, miss.”

  “You’ve gotten awfully cheeky lately, Carlin,” I said.

  “Yes, miss,” agreed Carlin. “Chicken or ham?”

  I pointed at the plate. “You’ve already put both on my plate.”

  “You’ve been looking a little pale lately, miss. I wanted Cook to prepare some beef, but she didn’t have any, so the ham and chicken will have to do.”

  “Give me the lemonade,” I said. It was within reach—everything was, but I felt as though I wanted to teach Carlin a lesson. He passed it to me wordlessly, like the perfectly trained footman he pretended to be most of the time, and I jiggled it at him. “I said that I’m not hungry. What are you going to do if I tip it out on the floor?”

  My eyes met his just before he managed to banish his grin. He stared back at me very gravely and said, “I would clean it up, miss.”

  I made a face at him. “Of course you would. Oh, pass the plate as well. Are you happy now?”

  Carlin bowed. “Yes, miss.”

  “Now go away. I want to eat in peace.
”

  “Yes, miss,” said Carlin, and didn’t go.

  He stayed behind me until I’d eaten, and when I found myself sinking back into Dreams, I could hear the faint sounds of Carlin clearing away the lunch things.

  2

  I got to see the inside of a train engine once. It was one of the Contraption types rather than a magic-run Energy Engine—all oil and gears and moving parts and steam. Jessamy took me there, carrying me about on his back, as heedless of stares and laughs as usual. We got very grimy and smoky, but it was worth it to see those pieces move in such well-orchestrated, precise, and powerful motions.

  People think that magic is Commands and Power. Even you do, I think. Nature bowing to our every request if we can only Speak strongly enough. It’s not, though. Magic is the spark that fires up the engine. It’s the cogs and wheels. The grease. The irresistible pumping of pistons and the inevitable turn of the rotary shaft. You just don’t get to see it.

  I see it all.

  Mwoh? No, never in my Dreams.

  Magic is what I see when I’m awake.

  It’s always difficult to notice spells in my Dreams. The reason for this is that in my Dreams, I can’t directly see magic. I can see the effects of it, but not the act itself. The inability offends me. Silly, I know; after all, when I’m awake I can see magic very well, and when I’m deep in Dreams, I can see things that no one else sees.

  It could be the arbitrariness of it that annoys me; why can’t I see magic in my Dreams when I can see it while awake? Why one way and not another? And yet it still makes a certain kind of sense: though I can see magic in my Reality, I can’t do it. In both Dreams and my Reality, I’m strictly an onlooker. I see different things in each medium, but the core tenet of my separateness from my surroundings never changes. In my Dreams I look on without being able to change anything, and in my Reality I look on without being able to change anything.

  Well. That’s not quite true.

  Every now and then, if I care enough, or if I’m feeling distant enough from my body, I can just nudge things in the Dreams, changing the course of a Dream with one tiny difference. It’s one of the reasons that Eun-hee’s estate has come to be considered lucky for lovers: in my boredom and endless free time I make a habit of playing with all the lovers and potential lovers who come within my reach.

  Even in my Reality, if I have enough energy, I can make people see me. It’s a petty thing to rejoice in, but sometimes I enjoy making the effort.

  Magic, though? I’ve never been able to affect anything with magic.

  ***

  Waking up is always slightly confusing. At first it’s hard to tell, you see, whether I’ve woken up into a Dream or into Reality.

  The next morning, I woke into Dreams.

  “So annoying,” I sighed. Ae-jung was knocking at Hyun-jun’s door, her face a trepidatious mix of anticipation and entirely understandable anxiety. “Go away,” I said to her, and, hearing a vague echo of that sentiment from the direction of Hyun-jun’s apartments, I twitched my sight through the wall. He was at his desk, shoulders hunched in irritated distraction and fingers stuffed in his ears against Ae-jung’s knocking.

  She didn’t stop knocking, though, and at last Hyun-jun flung himself away from the desk with a wild look. He thumped one fist against the panels of the door, startling Ae-jung into silence, and shouted, “Go away!”

  The silence stretched out, but before Hyun-jun had time to do more than smile sourly at the door and shift his weight to move away again, Ae-jung cleared her throat and said, “It’s me, Seonbae. I’m here to assist you.”

  “I told you I don’t need you! Go away!”

  “Ye, Seonbae,” came Ae-jung’s voice. “Only I can’t, you know. Please let me in.” Her voice was soft and sad, and I was amused to see that Hyun-jun’s fingers had closed around the doorknob, though I didn’t think he noticed.

  He said, in a more reasonable tone of voice, “I don’t need a typist. You’re wasting my time, and my time is very precious.” He seemed to notice his hand around the doorknob for the first time. Looking at it in a perplexed sort of way, as if it had betrayed him, he let it drop to his side.

  What? Was he afraid he’d let Ae-jung in if he opened the door a crack?

  “Seonbae,” came Ae-jung’s voice, even more softly and reasonably, “please let me in. I really won’t bother you. I’ll sit quietly, just like yesterday.”

  Hyun-jun subjected the door to a look of horror and hastily slapped the lock across. “You didn’t sit quietly yesterday; you interrupted and threw me off. You’re not to come in.”

  “But Seonbae—”

  “I’m going out on the balcony now,” said Hyun-jun loudly. “I can’t hear you.” He walked in place for a few moments, his footsteps at first heavy, then growing softer. When he had finished his charade, he put his ear to the panels of the door and listened carefully. I raised my brows at him and took a quick peep out at Ae-jung, who hadn’t moved in any other way than to slide to the floor in a defeated sort of crouch. The door cracked open cautiously and Hyun-jun’s head poked out into the hall, his eyes flicking down just in time to meet with Ae-jung’s hopeful, upturned gaze. He froze, the whites of his eyes showing bright and panicky, while she said joyfully, “Oh! Seonbae!”

  The door slammed. Ae-jung sighed and sank back down, resting her arms on her knees. I heard the distinct sound of her stomach grumbling, and commiserated with her silently. Neither of us could leave, and neither of us could eat.

  Hyun-jun made another sally later in the afternoon, this time more cautiously. I don’t think he’d counted on Ae-jung’s determination, because when he saw her still crouched wearily outside his door, he snapped it shut again with a decidedly impolite mutter.

  He didn’t emerge again until after it was time for Ae-jung to go home, and when he did so, it was through his balcony door, not the hallway door. By that time, Ae-jung was turning into the street from the courtyard, while over on his balcony, Yong-hwa was silently watching.

  What an unexpectedly present person Yong-hwa was. I couldn’t really find fault, of course, since I do exactly the same thing, but it still surprised me. It would appear that Yong-hwa had a talent almost as distinct as mine for being in the right place at the right time for all the interesting things. He watched Ae-jung dragging her feet down the street, and then I saw his eyes slide up and across to where Hyun-jun was also watching her, as prickly and outraged as usual. His eyes began to glow softly; he rose and made his way through the apartment and into the hall, then downstairs to the service counter. What was he doing now?

  When the ahjumma arrived, he said, “There’s a young agassi sitting outside Hyun-jun-ssi’s door during the day. Please bring her a lunch box every day. She’ll be there . . . oh, every day this week, I should think.”

  Well. That was a little bit interesting. Yong-hwa ordering food for Ae-jung? Dear me, her feet really didn’t touch the ground, did they? What was he playing at? Did he actually like her? That was less interesting, but it was slightly amusing. Fortunate Ae-jung! I was unlikely to be as fortunate in being fed if these Dreams proved to be as sticky as they had started out.

  The Dreams were irregular for the rest of the week. Mostly I was whisked away from my Reality for the (very slight) amusement of seeing Ae-jung trudging over to knock fruitlessly at Hyun-jun’s firmly shut door. If I had been at Eun-hee’s manor I would have been lazily considering the idea of playing with them a little; Hyun-jun had so much of an air of determined and almost terrified prickliness that it was obvious he found Ae-jung attractive, even if he wasn’t aware of it himself.

  Some time toward the end of the week I was pricked from sleep by an evening Dream that showed me a patchily tangible Hyun-jun walking through my bedroom door. That was slightly unnerving, so I was a little quicker than usual in allowing the Dream to pull me in. My bedroom faded away while the walls around me took on the discoloured wallpaper of the boardinghouse’s receiving hall, which was almost as unnerving
as Hyun-jun seeming to walk through my door. I was used to seeing Hyun-jun in the environs of his own room. Hyun-jun out of his room was like a snail out of its shell: thin, worried, and inclined to look around in a hunted fashion. What was this? Why wasn’t he shut up in his room as usual?

  He rang the bell at the counter, wincing at the sound of it, and wiped his hand fastidiously on his trousers. When the ahjumma arrived, fat and pleasant and smiling, he said, “There’s a girl who sits outside my door all day.”

  The ahjumma gave him an astonished look. “Ye?”

  “She sits out there all day,” repeated Hyun-jun.

  The ahjumma, with obviously no more idea than I what was expected of her, said, “You want me to have her thrown out next time?”

  Hyun-jun, radiating prickly dislike, said after a pause, “No. Bring her up a lunch box next time.”

  “Ye?”

  “Lunch box,” said Hyun-jun firmly, and turned on his heel. He was halfway back to the stairs when the ahjumma caught up to him on her short, chubby legs.

  “Seonnim? Someone has already ordered a lunch box for her every day.”

  Hyun-jun stiffened and turned an incredulous look on her. “Mwoh? Who?”

  “Oh, that.” The ahjumma looked down at her hands, which were twisted into the skirt of her apron. “I can’t tell you, Seonnim.”

  “But—” Hyun-jun stopped, biting his lip. “Never mind. Forget it!” He strode for the staircase again, ignoring the ahjumma’s plump flutterings, and took the stairs two at a time. Behind him I saw Yong-hwa stroll into the receiving area with a faint smile, his cane swinging.

  A breath of laughter passed my lips. Did I have a rival in the art of matchmaking, or was Yong-hwa simply bored enough to interfere in his neighbour’s life? Either way, this Dream was beginning to be more interesting than I’d expected.

  The next day the Dream began to nudge at me as Carlin carried me in from my biweekly sunning in the garden. I swatted it away impatiently, but it proved both insistent and persistent, and we hadn’t even gained the cool shadow of the house before my head dropped down on Carlin’s uniformed chest, insensible to everything but the Dream.