Storm Dreams (The Cycle of Somnium Book 1) Read Online Free

I’ve seen. That means something, I’m sure. Banner jabbers about how a lot of who your dreamer was being latent in your subconscious. Damned if I know what that means.”
    A cold heat settled in Cassidy’s stomach. He took the cigarette and let Brewster light him up as well. “My head keeps shifting around. I feel like everything’s missing.”
    “It’s like that,” Brewster said. “Your missing memory is just the first thing you notice. Me, I don’t have a navel. Some of us don’t have all our toes. Franzie doesn’t have a gun, if you catch my meaning. Bit of a problem when it comes to the ladies and taking a piss. Oddly, he doesn’t have to. All depends on how much detail we were given in the dream.”
    “But Banner?”
    “He’s different,” Brewster said nodding. “None of us know why. He’s crisper. More solid.” The Englishman sent a cloud of smoke into the air.
    “Don’t you worry about smoking in a Zeppelin?”
    Brewster shook his head. “Nah. We’re cut off from the air-bladders. Besides, Karl hates hydrogen. We switched to helium a couple years ago.”
    “Where did he get helium?”
    “You’ll find out,” Brewster said, standing up and opening the door. “You were supposed to gear up.”
    Cassidy grimaced and stood with him. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his boots before nodding off. “I don’t like having Germans on board.”
    Brewster scoffed. “You mean Karl and Franzie? They’re not German.”
    Cassidy narrowed his eyes.
    “I’m not Limey. You’re no Yank. I told you, we aren’t real people. For all you know, some French kid dreamed you just to fill a spot in a dream he was having about his dad. You’re as likely to be a plane as a pilot from dream to dream.”
    “But I know I hate Germans.”
    Brewster’s faced shifted. He took Cassidy by the shoulders and locked him with his gaze. “That’s just dream memory. We’re all friends here. That’s what’s important.”
    “What if I want to go back? I mean, to the Everdream?”
    “Don’t talk like that,” Brewster said with a scowl. “Don’t ever talk like that.”
    Cassidy followed Brewster down the hallway to the cabin marked Waffenkammer in gold letters. “We don’t expect any trouble, but just in case.” He opened the door to a room full of rifles, side-arms and ammunition. “Take your pick.”
    Cassidy reached out and grabbed a large wooden holster with a cleaning rod and kit strapped to its face. The pistol butt stuck out the side, almost at a right angle. He flipped the lid and withdrew the bizarre sidearm. It felt familiar in his grip, like the Fokker had. He must have been a spy.
    “Mauser C-96,” Brewster said, as Cassidy examined the piece. “Most people call them—”
    “Broomhandles,” Cassidy finished. “I know.” He pulled back the slide over the breech and checked the chamber before slipping the bottom end of the wooden holster into a slot on the Mauser’s handle. The holster created a rifle-butt for the pistol. He sighted down the seven-inch barrel.
    “Kicks like a mule,” Brewster said, grabbing a couple boxes of .307 rounds from a shelf and another box of metal slides to hold the bullets.
    C-96’s didn’t have external clips like the Lugers. Cassidy knew this, but nothing about who had told him. The knowledge was a random fact that popped up when he first saw the weapon.
    “Do you know how to load it?” Brewster asked.
    “I have a feeling I do,” Cassidy said, filling one of the slides with shells and pushing them past the chamber into the internal magazine. “But I don’t know why. I’m not Jerry, am I?”
    Brewster laughed and clapped him on the back. “Lot of countries use Broomhandles,” he said. “I like my Webley, of course. Of course I’m dreamed to be a Brit. Banner prefers German Lugers. Go figure.”
    Cassidy felt distant as he turned the weapon over in his hands, chambered a round and slid the Mauser back into the holster.
    “You okay?” Brewster