A Study in Sable by Mercedes Lackey

been taught the technique of lucid dreaming, or “dreaming-to-order,” when they were in their early teens. Memsa’b had said it was a useful technique when you were trying to remember something, or when you were working through a problem, but with proper precautions it was also useful when dealing with the occult. To be fair, Sarah used it more often than Nan; her mediumistic tendencies tended to attract spirits, and often they were too weak even to make themselves and their needs known to her when she was awake. So once every fortnight or so, she would deliberately set out to use lucid dreaming to see if there were any ghosts in need of her assistance. More often than not she didn’t even bother to tell Nan of the result, because more often than not, it was the spirit of a child or an adult who had died unexpectedly; they were confused and only needed help to realize what had happened and be sent on their way. Only when the case was exceptional would Sarah say, casually, usually over breakfast, “I had a special visitor last night. . . .”
    The first thing to do when one was about to attempt a lucid dream—at least when one was as well trained in the occult as Nan and Sarah were—was to
decide
that such dreaming would take place. Then, one simply relaxed and put the thought in the back of one’s mind. The trained will would take care of the rest. So Nan concentrated on the book of Celtic myths and legends that she had providentially found in the very bookstore they lived above, and left therest to take care of itself. She didn’t make any special preparations, except that when she was in her own room, she made sure that the room was well warded and that all her shields were charged and intact.
    Then she turned down the lamp and tucked herself into bed.
    As most nights, she fell asleep immediately. As a child, before she had come under the protection of the Hartons and after her grandmother had died, sleep had been something she pursued only at her peril. In any season, drink took precedence over shelter for her mother; as long as the weather wasn’t absolutely freezing, it was even odds whether they would sleep in a cheap room, often shared with others, or under a bridge or in an alley. In winter, at least, her mother would try to get a room, but a room in winter always meant sharing, and sharing meant sleeping with one eye open. There was no telling what any of the other inhabitants might try, from rifling through her clothing in search of valuables to trying to take what Memsa’b called “liberties.” And never mind that she was just a child; to the minds of some men, that was an asset.
    But after a year of living safely and securely at the Harton School, Nan had picked up the knack of falling asleep immediately, and staying asleep unless something woke her. She
still
had a hair-trigger reflex that brought her completely awake if there was any sound or movement she didn’t expect. Completely awake, alert, and ready to act.
    It was a nuisance sometimes, here in London, where even on their quiet street there could be unexpected noises, but she reckoned it was worth it. Just in case.
    She was aware as she drifted off of Neville muttering a little from his perch on the headboard of her bed.
    Then she was somewhere else. She was some
one
else.
    The hair on her head felt tightly braided; glancing down at herself, she saw she was wearing a checkered tunic of brown and gold, brown trousers, and over it all a sort of armor-shirt of leather, with bronze plates riveted to it. This was held in at the waist with a thick leather belt, from which hung a sword, a dagger and . . . a stick?
    She was squatting on her heels in a circle, with several other personages. Two of them . . . if the colors they had been wearing had been as bright as modern dyes could make them, their ensembles would have been eye-watering. The bearded, red-haired man wore a