Tricked

context properly. With my remaining few seconds of consciousness, I quoted Benedick from Much Ado About Nothing , who spoke these words to his former friend: » You are a villain: I jest not. « And then I collapsed into a pool of my own blood.

Chapter 20
    I dislike Dreams—the sort with a capital D , full of portent and maybe even fiber, brimming with symbols and glowing sigils and mysterious choruses in the mist. The beings who arrange such nocturnal calls to one’s noggin rarely have anything cheerful to say. And I suppose it makes sense. Supernatural beings are too busy to visit humans in their heads and speak unto them, » Congratulations. Upon your waking, you will get some. « They have to say something weighty to make it worth the effort, so they drop bombs on you, announcing that you will be afflicted with sundry punishments for past transgressions, or you must journey far, far away to retrieve a Magic McThingie with which to slay the Dark Lord and save the village or world or galaxy. And, to be fair, they often imply that, should you succeed, you will get some. They just leave out the part that you will probably be too emotionally and physically maimed to enjoy it.
    I was already feeling pretty maimed in both ways, so the beginning of a Dream immediately upon my collapse was a clue that my life would get worse before it got better. On the positive side, it meant I’d probably get to continue having a life. The figures in Dreams don’t often bother with the soon-to-be-deceased.
    I was no longer in a mixed cocktail of my own blood and Bohemian vampire goo but rather hale and whole in a jungle immediately following an afternoon shower. Broad leaves dripped with moisture, and sweet, spicy oxygen filled my lungs. An animal noise of some sort directed my attention upward, and I spied a golden langur monkey pointing down at me from the canopy. The leaves diffused the sun and bathed the jungle floor in soft, dappled light and perhaps lent the monkey an expression of amusement. A rustling to my left tore my gaze away from him, and I took a step back when I saw the head of an elephant emerge from the foliage. I took another step back when I realized the elephant head wasn’t attached to an elephant but rather the body of a man—a bare-chested man with four arms and an impressive belly. Underneath this, salwar pants of orange silk covered his legs until they ended at his sandaled feet.
    The elephant’s trunk twitched and a tranquil voice with a Tamil accent purred at me, its eyes narrowed in curiosity. » Do you know me? «
    » You look like Ganesha, « I said. I used to sell busts of the Indian god at Third Eye Books and Herbs. Rebecca Dane probably still had some in stock.
    » I am he. Lord of Obstacles. « One of his tusks was missing. He placed one pair of hands on his hips and clasped the other pair in front of him in a prayerful attitude.
    » Fabulous to meet you, « I said, trying to sound nonchalant about it. » Would there be any obstacles to me waking up right now so I could help my hound? «
    A swish of leaves behind me was my only warning. I turned in time to see a shaggy wreck of a man rap me on the skull with a yew staff. » Pay attention, Siodhachan! « he spat. » You’re cocking it up again! «
    » Ow! Archdruid? «
    He disappeared into the jungle and Ganesha sighed heavily. » That was one of my colleagues. He is trying to be helpful by pulling an authority figure out of your mind and using it to direct your thoughts, but it is less than subtle. Please forgive us. «
    » Um, « I said, rubbing my head gingerly, » I suppose. Who are we talking about, exactly? Or what? «
    » We were speaking of obstacles. «
    » Right. At the risk of reigniting the wrath of my old archdruid, would there be any obstacles to us having a beer while we talk? «
    Two cold, frosty flagons appeared in a couple of Ganesha’s hands, and he offered one to me. » It is a Dream. I don’t see why not. « The beer was a hoppy pilsner with a crisp finish, and it tasted of trust and serenity and a love for learning. Ganesha’s trunk sank into his flagon, and he drained the entire draught in one go. Elephants aren’t supposed to be able to drink using their trunks, but Ganesha didn’t care. He was a god, this was a Dream, and so he was going to suck down a beer through his trunk if he wanted. He ahh ed in satisfaction, and then the flagon simply disappeared.
    » Refreshing, « he said. I agreed that it was and then fell