"There was no moon? Are you sure?" It was possible he simply hadn't seen it, but the odds of missing such a massive celestial body were too low.
Green didn't answer immediately. Instead, he thought it over again, searching his memory for the window in the dream and the world he'd glimpsed through it, a world ruled by torrential rain. In weather like that, he probably couldn't have seen any moon.
"There wasn't," he said with certainty. "The rain was heavy. I've lived in Dunling for many years, and I've never seen rain that bad."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Why doesn't it?" The priest thought this man was even more superstitious than he was. Clergy might have the authority to interpret dreams, but this man could apparently dictate the weather in them, too.
Because he had plenty of practical experience, of course. Kraft couldn't answer that way, but he was certain that in all his past experiences, the other side had never had any weather changes.
As far as he could remember, whether in Wenden Port or Westminster, the Deep Layer always remained as peaceful as a faded oil painting until real danger appeared. That calm had almost become a rule, like a wax figure modeled on a real person: however lifelike it looked, it never moved.
Not even in coastal Wenden Port, let alone Westminster with its similar climate, had he ever found traces of changing weather after crossing over.
As for Dunling, he knew all too well how dangerously complicated things were there. There was no need to risk going down, so he'd never experienced it firsthand.
But someone else had gone in his place.
He clearly remembered a certain manuscript, found in the Heretics' lair at Westminster Castle and strongly suspected to have been written by Edward,