Read Online The Law of Dreams by Peter Behrens - Free Book Online

lay about the yard, soft as gutted trout.
    Of course there was a way out; he had only to find it. He’d go back
     to the farm and bark at them. Go up the mountain and scream for the dead.
    Or forget them all, and go for Ohio.
    But he couldn’t stay in this place, no.
    Climbing down off the rock pile, he strode up to the main gate. There were
     no beggars clustered outside trying to claim entry to the workhouse — either
     they’d abandoned the fantasy of rations and shelter, or the snow had driven them
     off. Or perhaps everyone else in the world was dead.
    Grasping the bars, he rattled the gate, then looked back at the
     gatekeeper’s lodge. No smoke in the chimney, no sign of life. Perhaps the
     gatekeeper had deserted with the others.
    If he could get into the lodge, he might find the key. He went to try the
     door. Finding it locked, he shook it.
    â€œGet away!” the gatekeeper’s voice roared from
     inside.
    Returning to the gate, Fergus tried to squeeze between the iron bars, but
     they were set too close. He tried climbing. No one paid any notice as he writhed,
     grasped, and struggled on the bars. But the gate was too high, the iron too slippery. He
     gave up. Limping around the yard, he studied the walls closely. The blocks of dressed
     limestone were fitted too neatly to give purchase for toes and fingers in the
     cracks.
    Calling Murty Larry over, Fergus made the orange boy stand in a corner
     then tried climbing onto his shoulders to see if he could reach the top of the wall and
     pull himself up, but Murty wasn’t strong enough to bear the weight, and quickly
     crumpled to his knees, sobbing.
    â€œIt ain’t no good, Fergus, I ain’t got the iron for it,
     my bones all soft now. Why do you fluster me? Help me up, help me up or I’ll stay
     here, I’ll stick to the stones I will, I’ll lie here like a splatter of
     sick. That’s all I am.”
    â€œYou don’t want to give it up, do you? You don’t want to
     die.”
    â€œI don’t care so much anymore.”
    â€œIf you could stand on my shoulders, perhaps you might reach the top
     of the wall.”
    â€œShe’s too high, too high, Fergus! You never shall conquer
     her! Such hard walls ain’t made for climbing but to keep us in. Oh, I would
     fashion wheels in Limerick town. If I got out of here, I would so.” Murty Larry
     was snuffling again. “They are going to carry me off to the black room, Fergus, I
     know it.”
    Fergus left him and kept cruising along the walls. Running hands over
     blocks of seamless, smoothly fitted stone. Promising himself he would not die here, but
     find a way out.
    LATER he brought Murty a noggin of soup and stood
     watching over him so no one would steal it.
    â€œI don’t want it, Fergus. I haven’t the stomach for
     it.”
    â€œDrink it, man, that’s your life in there.”
    Murty sighed. Dipping two fingers, he licked soup. “Jesus, but the
     gunk tastes awful.”
    â€œIt isn’t good, but it’s better than nothing.”
    â€œWhen did you last eat a potato, Fergus?”
    â€œDon’t remember.”
    â€œI’d take a yellow lumper, big as a fist. We used to eat
     ’em by the basket, sometimes with a relish of herrings. Smash her in a bowl with a
     stirrup of milk. Butter on top.” Murty Larry dipped and licked his fingers again.
     “I shan’t die tonight, captain, shall I?”
    You might. You have a look.
    â€œIf I goes in the pit, you must cover me up. Don’t let me lie
     there in the sky, captain, but cover me up, and make sure my eyes is shut.”
    No one welcomes death, those nearest the most reluctant.

Dragoons
    HE EXPERIENCED A SERIES of beast dreams. Wolves with
     fishes on their backs. Speaking badgers. Carmichael’s red mare laughing at him,
     through a hole in the stable.
    He swam to consciousness like a fish in a cold hole, rising sluggishly