"Grandfather Melthine called for me," she said.
The officer, a young man with pale hair and eyes, stuck his head inside the door and conferred briefly with someone Ara couldn’t see. Then he motioned her inside and shut the door after her.
The sharp smell of relaxed bowel hit her. Ara swallowed, unable to see much in the dark interior after the bright outdoor sunshine.
What am I doing here? she thought. This is a real murder with a real corpse. I’m not even a detective. What if I throw up when I see the body?
"Araceil!" boomed a voice from the gloom. Ara’s eyes finally adjusted and she recognized Grandfather Melthine. "Good. The body’s this way."
"Who is it?" Ara said, following him into the house.
"Sister Iris Temm."
The name meant nothing to Ara, for which she was grateful. It was bad enough to know the woman was-had been-a fellow Child. Melthine took her into the living room. The sun dropped slanted rectangles of gold light on the floor, and Ara took in her surroundings. Easy chairs, sofa, upright piano-a real one, with strings-coffee table. Shabby, but comfortable, typical for someone on a Sibling stipend. A fainting couch lay off to one side, and the body of a woman reposed quietly on it. Her arms were crossed over her stomach as if she were asleep or in the Dream. Iris Temm had been a tiny woman, almost doll-like, with curly blond hair and sallow skin. Both her eyes had been blackened and her nose looked broken. Other bruises darkened her pale skin, as if she’d been beaten before dying. Ara’s eye unwillingly went to Temm’s left hand. It was crusted with dried blood, and the littlest finger had a ring of cross stitches around the base. The finger above the stitches was clearly not original to Iris Temm. As she feared, Ara’s gorge tried to rise, and she swallowed hard. Grandfather Melthine had told her about this aspect of the murders, though she had never seen it. Seeing it in person was very different from hearing about it.
"The finger," she said, amazed at the steadiness in her voice. "Did it belong to-?"
"Wren Hamil." Another person, a woman of Asian ancestry, entered the room. She was Ara’s height, but with a whipcord build and long hair that twisted in an intricate braid down her back. Civilian clothes, sensible shoes. She thrust a hand at Ara, who took it automatically. A jolt crackled down Ara’s spine. The woman was Silent.
"Inspector Lewa Tan-Guardians," she said. Her voice was oddly harsh and raspy, as if she were about to cough. "You the consultant in Dream theory?"
Ara nodded. The Guardians of Irfan were the legal enforcers of the Blessed and Most Beautiful Monastery of the Children of Irfan. The rank and file encompassed investigators, lawyers, judges, and other such folk, some of whom were Silent and some of whom were not. They had no jurisdiction outside the monastery, but Iris, like most Children, lived within its boundaries.
"So the finger did belong to the previous victim?" Ara asked.
"On-site DNA test says so," Tan agreed. Her tone was clipped, her words succinct, as if she wanted to get her talking done as fast as possible. "And when Wren Hamil’s body was found-" she checked her computer pad "-eighteen months ago, she was …’wearing’ the finger of a woman named Prinna Meg. Wish we could say Prinna Meg was the first victim, but we can’t. She was wearing the finger of another person. Someone we haven’t identified yet."
"The bruises-"
"Body’s covered with them. Medical examiner will tell us more."
"Who found her?" Ara asked. She felt as if she weren’t quite there, like the world around her wasn’t real.
"Boyfriend," Tan rasped. "Came over to pick her up for dinner and found her like that. My partner’s questioning him. Back deck."
"Do you suspect him?"
"Not seriously. Medical examiner’s on her way, but I did a prelim scan. Looks like Temm’s been dead an hour, maybe two. I registered heightened levels of psytonin in her brain. Means she was probably in the Dream when she died, just like Prinna Meg and Wren Hamil. Then we called you."
What had Ara been doing two hours ago? Sitting at her desk on the ship filling out a report on the recent buy while the four slaves that were the subject of the report slept the sleep of the exhausted in their cabins. At one point Ara had looked in on them and found Willa tossing restlessly on her mattress. Jeren, in contrast, slept so soundly that Ara had to look carefully to see his breathing. Kendi and Kite snored in the bunks above him. All while a Silent sister was being murdered in the Dream.
"Where’s her dermospray?" Ara asked. "I didn’t see it on the couch." It sounded to Ara like her own voice was coming from far away.
"Bagged and tagged," Tan told her. "Possible evidence."
"Time, Araceil," Melthine interrupted. "The Dream will move on."
Ara started and came to herself. "Of course, Grandfather. Is there a bedroom I can use?"
"Whole house is a crime scene," Tan said dubiously. "You just want a place to lie down, right?"
"Yes."
"Bed should be okay, then. We already checked it."
Tan escorted Ara into Iris Temm’s bedroom, a small but comfortable place containing a double bed, high dresser, and two bedside tables that didn’t match. The curtains were drawn in this room, making it feel gloomy. Ara lay down gingerly on the bed. It smelled faintly of bath powder.
"Need anything?" Tan asked.
"Just some quiet. I’ll let you know what I find."
"I’m joining you," Tan said. "Now that I can find you in the Dream."
Of course, Ara thought. That was why Tan had made such a point of shaking Ara’s hand.
"Yes, all right." Ara shut her eyes. "Just give me a few minutes to find Iris’s turf. It’ll be easier without another Silent mind around."
Tan took the hint, for Ara heard retreating footsteps and the sound of the bedroom door shutting. Ara took out her dermospray, pressed it to her upper arm, and thumbed the release. With a thump and a hiss, it injected Ara with a tailored drug cocktail. Ara lay back on the soft pillow, then inhaled and exhaled, following a pattern perfected over many years of practice. Her heartbeat slowed. After a while, the darkness behind her eyelids shifted and slowly filled with swirling colors. They mixed and whirled until a vibrant white light became Ara’s entire universe. Her body fell away and she felt light and airy. The light brightened further, growing incandescent. Then it flashed in a nova burst and vanished, leaving Ara standing on a flat, featureless plain that stretched from horizon to horizon. Soft sound filled Ara’s ears, thousands of whispers that blended together like the delicate roar of a seashell.
It was the Dream.
Ara looked down. Her body felt perfectly solid and normal, as did the ground beneath her feet. This, she knew, was an illusion created by her own subconscious. Each particle of the earth she stood on, every molecule of air she breathed, was actually a sentient mind. Although every mind in the universe created the unconscious gestalt of the Dream, only the Silent could actually enter and use it. The whispers Ara heard were other Silent also in the Dream. If Ara desired, she could reach out to one or more of them, call to them.
The Silent could also sculpt the Dream into whatever environment they desired. Usually Ara chose a pleasure garden, complete with fruit trees, musical fountains, and sweet-smelling flowers. The flat plain was merely the default. This time Ara left it as it was.
Iris Temm and three other Children of Irfan had died while they were in the Dream, and the police were assuming they had been attacked and murdered there. Even the greenest student of the Children knew that injuries in the Dream were visited on the real-world body and that very few Silent had the concentration or strength to resist these psychosomatic wounds. Death by accident was not unknown in the Dream, but there was the matter of the substitute fingers. There was nothing accidental in this particular case.