ã€ŠIn Dreams Wakeã€‹


 Prologue: The Space Between

    Time crunched under the man¡¯s feet as he treaded the shoreline, the gray-green clouds overhead coating the beach in drizzle and mist. Instead of slick sand, the rain and tide pooled around countless pieces of broken clockwork. Alarm bells mixed with the shattered faces of pocket watches, mechanisms of shelled grandfather clocks and every kind in between, the smallest fragments of gears and glass filling the empty cracks like gravel. Half-submerged in the waves a clock tower lay on its side, its crown sprawling onto the land like a beached whale.

    The surreal dreamscape didn¡¯t surprise him anymore. The man figured that he had traversed this twilight realm between sleeping and awake more than any other person. He¡¯d certainly seen stranger sights in the far reaches of this world than the one he currently walked through, but even those didn¡¯t catch him off guard. No, the moment that happened would be the moment he met his end.

    That¡¯s why he always brought backup. A strange creature that looked like a small mammal coated in fabric hung on to the man¡¯s shoulders. The creature swiveled its head to survey the beach while the man walked. Its ears suddenly perked up.

    ¡°Pitfall ahead, Master Fielding,¡± it spoke to the man¡¯s ear.

    He stopped. ¡°Whereabouts?¡±

    ¡°You see that sundial? It¡¯s centered around there, it sounds big.¡±

    Fielding leaned down and picked up an hourglass that rested at his feet. He hefted it at the plate, its sand scattering across the surface when it collided. A deep scraping sound filled the air as wood and metal slid out of position, slow at first, but then faster and louder as the collection of pieces fell inward. Where the pile once was fell away into a yawning hole, the debris tumbling down into a darkness that never ended. The man stepped back as the beach and surf surrounding the rim slipped in until it was too small to see.

    As the rumbling faded into the sound of waves, he cautiously approached the edge of the pit. Although there were many dangers, none made Fielding more uneasy than these. ¡°That wasn¡¯t there last time. We¡¯ll need to relocate future drop-offs before this interstice collapses,¡± the man said.

    Skirting the opening in the ground, Fielding went to the backside of the fallen tower. He stepped through a gap where the glass face used to be. Inside, the sound of the waves became a dull slap against the walls. The massive cogs and shafts of the clock mechanism lay in a heap at the center of the space, which Fielding started to examine.

    ¡°Ah, here it is.¡± He reached his arm into a hole between the inner workings and pulled out a glass bottle. Fielding pulled the cork and tipped its contents into his hand, a rolled sheet of vinyl. Flattening it out, he saw the familiar swirls and spirals of ink across it. Some sort of code his boss used to communicate with his closest allies. Fielding wasn¡¯t privy to the cipher, but had the trust and know-how to be an excellent messenger.

    Suddenly, something in the water that gathered on the far side of the wreck caught the man¡¯s attention. He wandered into the surf up to his ankles and thrust his arm down below. When he brought it back out he held a phone receiver in his hand. With it still dripping he brought it to his ear.

    ¡°Hello?¡± Fielding said.

    ¡°Have you got Whit¡¯s message?¡± his employer¡¯s voice spoke through the earpiece.

    ¡°Affirmative, just retrieved it. Why the interruption?¡±

    ¡°We received word from above that the hand-off location has been compromised, you need to get out of there fast.¡±

    Fielding paused. ¡°That would have been helpful to know before I set out.¡±

    The man on the other end sighed. ¡°The memo came in earlier and was floating around, but didn¡¯t land at my desk until now.¡±

    He rubbed his face with his other hand. ¡°I would like a word with you later, this situation never should have happened.¡±

    ¡°Of course. First, please make it back.¡±

    The caller hung up. Fielding tossed the phone back into the water and stowed the vinyl sheet into the satchel at his side.

    ¡°Problems?¡± the creature on the man¡¯s shoulders asked.

    ¡°The trenchcoats have tracked this place, we might have visitors.¡±

    The creature snorted. ¡°I don¡¯t sense any other velours in the area.¡±

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Fielding carefully leaned out the opening in the tower and scanned the landscape. Not seeing anything nearby, he stepped around the corner and surveyed the field of debris. Nothing but the sea breeze. He pulled a revolver from his belt and held it out in front of him as he strayed away from the tower.

    In the distance he heard the sound of metal shifting. Fielding quickly reversed course, sprinting back to the safety of the building while the creature clung tight. He ducked around the wall as a bullet embedded into the stone next to him. They were already here, poised to take him out.

    ¡°One was trying to sneak up on the other side of the pitfall,¡± Fielding said. Peeking around the corner he shot a round off towards the hole then took to cover again. A few more bullets pocketed the side of the tower. ¡°Sounds like there are at least a couple near the entrance, too.¡±

    ¡°There aren¡¯t any other ways to or from this space?¡± his passenger asked.

    ¡°Not from our surveys, no.¡±

    He felt the creature drop from his back. ¡°I suppose our only option is a distraction, then,¡± it said.

    Fielding nodded, and began to dig through his satchel for the object he kept for emergencies. He heard the sound of tearing fabric behind him and panicked shouts from the beach ahead as the creature grew. Pulling aside the padding at the bottom of the bag he grabbed the light bulb nestled there. Light shone painfully bright from inside, despite being out of socket.

    The broken ground underneath shuddered as the creature, now a hulking monster, rushed past him towards their attackers. Men and women in long coats emerged from rises in the landscape to escape from the behemoth. Gunfire exploded from all of their locations towards the beast as it broke into their midst, swatting a man aside with a massive paw.

    With their focus turned, Fielding broke from the tower and ran along the edge of the beach, revolver pointed forward with one hand and the other gripping the bulb. As he neared the hole, the assailant next on the other side heard his approach and turned their gun on him. Fielding shot towards the man, who ducked behind an enormous cog sticking up from the ground.

    Seeing his chance he threw the bulb across the gap. Right before it landed he screwed his eyes shut and turned his head.

    Unlike those used in photography, the flash bulbs crafted in this plane of existence were a thousand-fold more potent. Fielding had heard stories from the unfortunate victims that had looked directly at a flash bulb when it broke. One said it was like standing next to the sun while staring into it. The whiteness took days to fade from their vision, until it permanently became dark.

    When the flash bulb Fielding threw shattered, the explosion was so bright he could see the light through his eyelids. The shockwave of noise followed an instant later, the sound of a camera flashing but with the intensity of earth-shaking thunder.

    He opened his eyes which were still blurry from the light and tried to hurry forwards. Some who were attacking the beast had been affected by the flash and Fielding could see them bent over in pain. Their forms collapsed when the monster crushed them.

    The man behind the cog fired blindly in the air as Fielding approached. When he reached him he kicked the gun from his hand. The trenchcoat lunged, grabbing Fielding¡¯s legs and pulling them both down.

    When they landed, he felt something start to give way under him. Cursing, he grabbed a chain sticking out of the rubble and held tight. The ground collapsed in towards the pit, funneling more debris down into it.

    Fielding hung over the lip of the hole as sharp bits of machinery pelted down. The other man still gripped his ankle. They were still unseeing, but aware enough of the situation to try and pull himself up Fielding¡¯s leg. The chain bit into him as he strained to keep them both out of the pit, but despite his best efforts he could feel the links start to slip through his fingers.

    He looked down at his hijacker. Falling out wasn¡¯t a fate he wished on his worst enemies, but sometimes survival left no options. With his free leg he kicked the man off.

    They flailed their limbs and tried to grab anything to stop their fall, but finding only open air they screamed into the abyss. Their voice quickly faded out.

    Free of the extra weight, Fielding pulled himself up the chain and onto solid ground. There were a few people still standing against the beast, who now had many holes perforating its body. While they were still occupied, Fielding continued to sprint along the edge of the water and towards the entrance, a gap between two stone pillars that at one time might have aligned with some faraway sun.

    The open space abruptly changed into the cramped hallway of a tenement building as he passed between the pillars. Sickly yellow lights flew by as he ran, his body navigating automatically through countless intersections until he reached a stairwell. This too he swiftly went down, passing a window at each floor that looked out into an indistinct fog.

    He went down five floors. Twenty. Fifty. The narrow flights descended endlessly. At the one hundred and forty-fourth floor down, Fielding stopped at the window. This one still overlooked the gray nothingness, but when he unlatched it and swung it outward the portal opened into the midst of a forest.

    Climbing through the frame he dropped down to the mossy ground. On the other side the window was embedded into the side of a mighty oak. Other oddities protruded from it: door knobs, rolling pins, a banister that slithered up its length. Pushing the pane back in, he circled to the other side of the trunk. He leaned against the bottom of a rowboat jutting from the bark, gun drawn and listening intently.

    For a while, the only sound was his own breath and the chirping of insects. Then, he heard the window push outward and something land lightly on the ground.

    ¡°Are you around here somewhere, Fielding?¡± a familiar voice called out.

    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± He holstered his weapon and walked back around the tree. The small creature was there, tattered but unfazed. ¡°Nora¡¯s going to have a fit when she sees you.¡±

    ¡°I was merely doing my duty. The blame will fall on you, I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    He chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m sure it will. Let¡¯s hope the intel was worth the effort.¡±

    Fielding picked the creature up, who climbed back around to the man¡¯s shoulders.  ¡°It¡¯s a ways back to the entry point, worry about it once you¡¯re safe,¡± it said.

    He hummed in agreement. ¡°I would like to get back before breakfast this time.¡± He set out into the underbrush, weaving between the uncanny trees. Soon the duo passed between two trunks and did not appear on the other side, melting into the air.

 Act I: Gestalt

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 1: Atlantic

    There¡¯s a curious phenomenon when traveling where a person will go long distances without realizing how they got there. Be it the passenger or even the one piloting, the journey will have become so repetitive or rote that they will become lost in their own thoughts, only surfacing to the real world in brief glimpses.

    For those on the ocean liner it was almost a surprise when Boston Harbor appeared on the horizon, despite it being their destination. As the days on the ocean passed all that could be clearly remembered of the trip was the smell of seafoam and a headful of melancholy piano notes. The rest could only be described in vague impressions, like being a smudge on a maritime painting, captured in a single moment of what sailing could be like.

    A crewman was patrolling the upper deck of the ship as they prepared for their arrival. Ahead on the edge of the platform someone was leaning over the railing at the bow of the vessel, staring intently at the shapes on the horizon. The sailor quickly went up and pulled the man back, stirring him from the thoughts he was swimming in.

    ¡°Leanin¡¯ a bit too far over there lad, don¡¯t want nobody tumblin¡¯ over the side,¡± the crewman said.

    The young man gave him a placating grin. ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s just nice to see something other than seawater after so long.¡±

    ¡°Ah, that''s common for those crossin¡¯ the Atlantic first time. Careful, yeah? Want to keep the same number of people we started with.¡± An amused glimmer in his eyes, the sailor let go of the other man¡¯s arm and returned to his duties.

    As the ship neared the mainland the sensations of civilization began returning. First the ambient hum of the city, then the movements of vehicles and crowds in the distance, and at last the wall of fumes that hit the passengers as the boat docked.

    Departing down the gangway, the young man looked up at the Custom House Tower. He had read about it before the trip, but he wasn¡¯t prepared for just how tall it was. He had never seen a structure so tall. It was the first indicator that he¡¯d entered a completely new world.

    In a few hours the building¡¯s shadow would completely cover the jetty, but for now the afternoon sun fully shone over the bustling travelers and luggage. The man made his way over to the pile of belongings, but before he began to sift through it he saw a red-haired woman waiting to the side. She held a sign in front of her with the Barclay name emblazoned on it.

    ¡°Hello Miss,¡± he called as he approached her.

    The woman¡¯s eyes darted to him, an inquisitiveness held within their green gaze. ¡°You must be Beckham Barclay?¡±

    ¡°Yes Ma¡¯am. Are you here on behalf of my uncle Rowan?¡±

    ¡°Indeed. I¡¯m Amelia, Mr. Barclay¡¯s personal assistant. I¡¯ll be helping you get settled.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Amelia. I just need to grab my suitcase and we can be on our way.¡±

    ¡°Your possessions have already been packed into the buggy,¡± she said, gesturing to the vehicle on the roadside of the dock.

    The car was a beautifully crafted coupe with an emerald finish, the pinnacle of 1920¡¯s automobiles. A chauffeur was waiting beside the passenger door. Beckham was used to the standard taxis that English cities offered, so the extravagance of the personal driver caught him off-guard. ¡°I see, Very well.¡±

    Amelia led the way through the rest of the crowd who were still trying to reorganize themselves after the long journey. The chauffeur opened the back door of the vehicle as they approached, and Beckham ducked in. With a soft thud the door shut, muffling the clamor of the harbor. His luggage rested on the seat beside him, and after a moment the passenger door opened and Amelia climbed into the front.

    ¡°I trust your trip across the pond went smoothly?¡± she asked.

    ¡°It went as expected,¡± Beckham replied. The driver entered, and pulled the car away from the curb into the Boston traffic. ¡°It couldn¡¯t have been longer than a week, but much of it was pretty fuzzy, I have to admit. A lot of things blur together out at sea.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that from a lot of seafarers. You should try and relax for a few days, you¡¯ll feel rejuvenated in no time.¡±

    Glancing out of the window, the structures loomed over their entourage like cliffs over the beach. None were as tall as the Custom House, but still soared upwards of six stories. While some of the buildings appeared to have a long history, many of the edifices looked clean; the metropolises he was familiar with were covered by soot and smoke stains. His closest comparison was London, where all was blackened by age. That city felt like standing in an ancient forest, but this one had the look of a newly minted coin.

    ¡°There are plenty of things to do around the city,¡± she continued. ¡°This time of year the gardens near the Commons should be in full bloom, and I believe a traveling carnival has set up recently over there, if that¡¯s to your fancy. The nightlife can be quite lively too, if you know where to look.¡±

    ¡°Miss Amelia ¨C¡±

    ¡°Please, just Amelia is fine.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate the recommendations, but I¡¯m afraid my studies will occupy much of my time.¡±

    The woman gave him a sidelong look from the front. ¡°Barclays are all the same, apparently; only room for academics and nothing else. I swear Nora, our house-lady, will have a fit if there¡¯s more than one person stuck in a study all day, so you¡¯d best find some time in that busy schedule of yours for leisure.¡±

    Beckham let out a chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m not much of a tourist, but I can be easily convinced to spend time in the city. My father warned me of Mr. Rowan¡¯s work habits, so I assumed that would bleed into his lecturing and expectations of me as well.¡±

    ¡°That shouldn¡¯t be an issue since Rowan will only be handling a fraction of your lessons. He has many capable acolytes who you¡¯ll be studying under as well, and none are as married to their work as Rowan is.¡±

    A slight frown creased the man¡¯s brow. ¡°The impression I got from the correspondence was that Mr. Rowan would be my main tutor. He is the expert, after all.¡±

    ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then I apologize on his behalf.¡± Amelia turned in her seat to face him, her lips curved into an apologetic smile. ¡°I don¡¯t doubt he explicitly communicated that to you, but among those in his service he is known to over-promise and not take into consideration his other arrangements. Yes, Rowan is the most versed in his psychology niche, but that means many seek him for his knowledge. Harvard, the state house, the Museum of Fine Arts, all of those institutions and more vie for his attention.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no need for an apology. It was a poor assumption on my part.¡± His attention shifted back to the world outside of the car. They were in the midst of an intersection, roads cutting out from the main thoroughfare like spokes on a broken wheel. He realized that many looked terribly similar. He doubted he would be able to figure out where they were, the chaos of the urban design contrasting sharply with the orderly appearance of the streets and buildings.

    ¡°Regardless of how involved he will be during your apprenticeship, Rowan will be meeting you when we arrive at the estate,¡± Amelia continued. ¡°However, that does bring us back to the topic of free time. Surely there are places you intend to visit around Boston while you have the opportunity?¡±

    ¡°There are, but I don¡¯t mind planning that out myself.¡± His hands settled stiffly in his lap.

    ¡°We have plenty of connections in the city, it wouldn¡¯t inconvenience us to help make an itinerary for you. Come now, Beckham.¡±

    ¡°You can call me Beck, Miss ¨C I mean, Amelia. Everyone I know uses that nickname back home, it¡¯s less of a mouthful. As for activities...¡± An awkward smile cracked his face. ¡°Theater is my hobby, if there are any showhouses that you recommend.¡±

    ¡°Do you do any acting of your own?¡± she asked. Her tone was so straight that Beck couldn¡¯t tell if it was a joke or not.

    ¡°Heavens no! When I¡¯m the center of attention I become a statue, I¡¯d be a terrible actor.¡±

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°That¡¯s curious; usually those who enjoy theater have at least a passing interest in participating as well. So what draws you to it?¡±

    Beck thought for a moment. ¡°The way that it uses storytelling is the main reason, I think. I do enjoy a good book, but there¡¯s much more to read in a performance. A written story must go to great lengths to describe the mindset of a character, but a single expression or action can say a multitude of things. Performers show their thoughts and feelings without an uttered word.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°If I were to guess, your appreciation for characters helped lead to your interest in psychology?¡±

    Before he could respond, the automobile turned through a wrought-iron gate and started climbing an immaculately gardened hill. At the top stood a manor, its sandstone-colored edifice glowing in the mid-afternoon sun. Two wings spread from either side of the main building, making the structure a wall that blotted out the horizon. The property surrounding it was just as manicured as the main drive; Beck noted gardeners attending the shrubbery and footpaths leading off into the landscape. Given the hill the estate sat on, he was surprised that he hadn¡¯t noticed it until the manor was on top of him. The lavishness around him made his mouth run dry.

    ¡°Is this where Mr. Rowan does his work?¡±

    Amelia¡¯s lips formed a shallow smirk. ¡°Welcome to the Barclay Estate, where Rowan and his company live. And yes, he does his business here too.¡±

    The allusions Amelia made and the vehicle they traveled in should have tipped him off, but it was strange to Beck that someone in his family had this much wealth, let alone that he never knew about it. His family was well-off, but the opulence before him made the house back home seem like an apartment. As the automobile circled to the entrance the thought entered his mind that it didn¡¯t seem possible a man of science could have this much money. When it came to a stop, Beck had already reconciled that point with the fact that his uncle was working in an exciting new field, and that tended to attract a lot of eager investors.

    While the chauffeur was letting him out of the back, a butler was already gathering his belongings from the other side. Beck looked up at the grand entrance where a small chandelier hung from the ceiling and pointed down at a dark wooden door. Swinging inward, a maidservant gestured them inside.

    ¡°How many staff do you have?¡± he asked numbly.

    ¡°Enough to run a small army. We get a lot of people flowing through here, so the space is necessary. All of the East Wing is dedicated to Rowan¡¯s research, the West Wing is staff quarters.¡±

    ¡°And the main building?¡±

    ¡°Rooms we are allowed to show guests,¡± she simply replied.

    Beck stepped over the threshold into the largest foyer he¡¯d ever seen. The size of a ballroom, it rose a few stories into a vaulted ceiling where intricate chandeliers that put the one outside to shame hung in countless rows. In the distance staircases rose to the second floor that was opened up into a balcony stretching the width of the room.

    ¡°Surely not all of the rooms are this enormous?¡±

    ¡°While that would be amusing, it would be impractical to have a washroom this big. This space is used for visits and entertainment, in the rare case Rowan decides to host an event. He wanted partygoers to stay in close proximity to the front door so we wouldn¡¯t need to collect people from spaces they shouldn¡¯t be in.¡±

    She guided him across the room and up the right stairwell. On the second floor a table for dining overlooked the entry. The setup was dwarfed by the rest of the balcony, whose emptiness gave the table the appearance of floating on a blank page. At the back of the main room was a hallway, where doors began to appear on either side. Where the corridor reached a bend Amelia entered a door at the corner.

    Beck stepped into what he assumed to be his uncle¡¯s library. On opposite walls bookcases soared to the ceiling, over five meters high. Facing a wall of windows was a great oak desk which seemed to occupy half of the floor, the other half of which was covered by an ornate rug of foreign design. After a glance around, he noticed that the room was full of all sorts of exotic oddities. Between stretches of book spines were artifacts that didn¡¯t seem to have any relation to Rowan¡¯s field of work: a Victorian diving helmet, a small hoop with string and feathers twined into a spiderweb of sorts, a vestibule inlaid with gold and blue-colored materials, and a strange black box which Beck didn¡¯t know the purpose of.

    A man was standing with his back to them, occupied with something sitting on the desk.

    ¡°Rowan, sorry for the interruption,¡± Amelia said. ¡°Beckham has arrived.¡±

    ¡°Ah, very good! Come over, I can multitask,¡± Rowan replied, not turning.

    Beck walked over to the side of the desk. Looking at his uncle¡¯s face, he immediately recognized the family resemblance; he had the same scholarly look his father had, with his short beard and nose permanently dimpled from his spectacles. Rowan didn¡¯t look up to greet him, but kept his eyes trained on the globe beneath his hand. He moved it delicately, tracing some unknown voyage across the world.

    ¡°Hello sir,¡± Beck said.

    Rowan grinned down at the Atlantic. ¡°There¡¯s no need for long-winded introductions, nephew. You can call me Uncle. Rowan is fine, too. Hopefully you¡¯ve found your accommodations suitable?¡±

    ¡°We haven¡¯t spoken with Nora yet,¡± Amelia said.

    ¡°I see. Can you fetch me the Encyclopedia Britannica?¡±

    Beck blinked back his confusion as Amelia spoke up again. ¡°Which volume?¡±

    ¡°The same one as last time,¡± was his curt response. ¡°Since you¡¯re here Beckham, let¡¯s hold our first lecture at 2 o¡¯clock.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s already half-past, Rowan,¡± Amelia said, as though this were a usual conversation.

    However it certainly wasn¡¯t what Beck expected. His father was a quiet man, but when he talked it was in the same logical manner as any other civilized person. Beck had expected an introduction, or a preamble of some kind, but Rowan blundered through his sentences like a bull. Beck was still trying to stitch his uncle¡¯s last two sentences together into a form that made sense, but quickly decided he couldn¡¯t. He realized it must have been the exhaustion from his travels that was messing with his head. It would be better to follow his assistant¡¯s lead, in any case.

    When he emerged from his thoughts though, there was still dead air between them. Amelia stood with her hands clasped, waiting on her master. His uncle remained silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, enraptured in the globe as he continued to trail his fingers across it. Finally he straightened and stepped back, noticing Amelia for the first time.

    ¡°Did you say something?¡±

    ¡°Rowan, check the time,¡± she said.

    He reached into his shirt and flipped open the pocket watch he produced. ¡°Ah. It¡¯s much later than I thought. Time is slipping by me, as usual,¡± Rowan said, giving Amelia an bemused smile before his brow furrowed. ¡°Where¡¯s the book I asked for?¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t here the last time you were doing whatever this is,¡± she waved her arms in front of her.

    Rowan looked out the window on the opposite end of the room, contemplating the courtyard beyond. After a moment he broke from his stupor. ¡°You¡¯re right, I¡¯ll get it myself.¡±

    He scrambled over to a section of the bookcase where a long ribbon trailed from one of the upper shelves. Beck¡¯s heart fluttered when Rowan tugged on it and a hefty volume flew down. His uncle caught it in his arms before it crashed to the floor, and the words that had caught in Beck¡¯s throat were let out as an undignified murmur.

    "Let''s try for an evening lesson," Rowan said, fiddling with the top of the ribbon. Beck noticed that it was sandwiched between the pages like a bookmark, and had intricate stitched patterns down its length.  "Amelia, will a 5 o''clock appointment allow enough time for Beckham to settle in?"

    ¡°We can make it work,¡± she said on Beck¡¯s behalf.

    ¡°Good, good,¡± he muttered, then turned his attention to the book. Pulling the tassel slowly through the book like a sieve, Rowan put his nose to the cover and examined the patterns as they emerged from the pages.

    After a few moments of this bizarre ritual, Amelia made a motion to Beck for them to leave. However, wanting to contribute at least something to the odd conversation, he asked, ¡°What will we be studying first?¡±

    His uncle looked up with surprise, before a genuine smile crossed his face. ¡°We¡¯ll be discovering the machine no human hands have touched and grabbing the controls. We¡¯ll be solving the questions for which there are no answers, treading the worlds that haven¡¯t been found, decoding the messages there are no languages for, establishing rules where none could exist before. All of these mysteries are within the human psyche, yes, but understanding them will reshape your perception of reality itself until it is as simple as reading words on a page.¡±

    The description pulled at the back of Beck¡¯s mind, a thrill that broke through the doubt that his first impressions of his uncle had begun to erect. Something close to the excitement he had when he first learned of this trip began to stir in him as Amelia once again signaled for them to leave. While they turned away, Rowan returned to his peculiar inspection like nothing eloquent had left his lips.

    After passing back into the hallway, she spoke in a hushed voice, ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive his mannerisms, he¡¯s usually not this abrasive. Rowan is rather eccentric and can be off-putting at times, but he is one of the greatest minds of this generation.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure there was no malice behind the way he was acting. It¡¯s something I¡¯ll grow used to,¡± he replied.

    Although his uncle¡¯s final explanation gave him hope for a worthwhile apprenticeship, Beck couldn¡¯t quite shake the images of the man back in the room who was lost somewhere inside himself. From his studies he knew behavioral quirks like the ones his uncle demonstrated weren¡¯t uncommon in geniuses. The same could also be said for those who were mad. He very much hoped his uncle was one of the former.

 2: Perceptual Set

    Amelia brought them to the opposite end of the manor, where Beck recalled her saying the living quarters were. He caught glimpses of the rooms through a few open doors, which didn¡¯t look any less lavish than the ones in the main building. Though they were less grand in size, the furniture within made it seem like even the servants lived as high class.

    The room Amelia stopped at was anything but extravagant. Staring past the threshold, one could easily make the mistake of thinking they were no longer in the manor. The suite was the same size as the other ones that Beck had passed, but had the appearance of a country cottage. While most of the building looked newly minted, the items past the door were antiques. A bookcase opposite the entrance was diminutive compared to the ones in Rowan¡¯s office, containing only worn, blistered spines. The sofas that clustered around the center of the space, the fire crackling in the red-brick hearth, the lacquered hardwood floor, everything came together to give the room the appearance that it existed outside of time.

    Next to the fireplace was a woman that looked as old as the rocking chair she sat in. She looked up from her half-finished knitting when Amelia leaned through the door frame. ¡°What is it?¡± she demanded.

    ¡°Nora, do you have time to settle Beckham in?¡± Amelia asked.

    The old woman scrutinized the man standing in the hallway. ¡°The young Barclay is here already, is he? No one bothered to let me know as usual, I see.¡± She spoke in an accent Beck realized was an Irish brogue. It didn¡¯t provide much comfort to hear a voice from a region close to home though, especially when the person speaking it stared him down with an impenetrable scowl.

    He raised his hand in a hesitant greeting. "Hello Ms. Nora, I''m Beckham Barclay."

    "I figured that out when Amelia introduced you," she snipped. Putting down her work, she stiffly rose to her feet and shuffled over to them. "He''s politer than Rowan at least," she commented to the assistant.

    Beck frowned. "You shouldn''t talk about your employer like that."

    Nora snorted, closing and locking the door behind her. "He knows how much of an oaf he can be, and at least one of us around here needs to keep his manners in check. Otherwise I''ll be interrupted like this at all hours because he can''t keep his schedule in order." She turned to Amelia. "Speaking of which, does Rowan have any other surprises I should know about?"

    "Nothing that wouldn¡¯t also be a surprise to me,¡± Amelia replied.

    ¡°A normal day, then. Come along,¡± Nora said as she started down the hallway.

    They followed behind the housekeeper, matching her sluggish waddle. Eventually she brought them back out to the great expanse of the entry hall. The afternoon sun was starting to wane, casting elaborate patterns across the floor. It still hadn¡¯t set in for Beck that this was going to be his home for the next couple months. His surroundings gave him the impression of a castle, and he wasn¡¯t used to being royalty.

    ¡°I thought we were just in the staff wing. Am I not staying there?¡± he asked.

    ¡°If you were already told that, then you should also know the main hall is for guests. It would be best if you stuck to the main building for your stay. We don¡¯t want the annoyance of having people wandering around the West Wing. I suppose if you are looking for someone specific, that¡¯s an exception. The East Wing is strictly off limits," Nora explained.

    "That''s where my uncle works, right? Won''t I need to go there for tutoring?"

    She gave him an incredulous look. "Are your ears blocked? What did I just say?"

    Before Beck could sputter a response, Amelia said, "There''s a lecture hall next to the library, we''ll be using that for your lessons. Don''t give me that look, Rowan is very particular about who he lets into his inner sanctum and there are a lot of delicate tests that shouldn''t be interrupted in there."

    "There won¡¯t be any reason for you to stray from the main building anyways since everything you need will be provided here. Meals will be served on the promenade ¡ª that¡¯s the balcony overlooking the main hall ¡ª at the hours you would expect. If Amelia hasn¡¯t mentioned it already, you can make use of the telephone here if needed,¡± Nora said, motioning to the one resting at the top of the stairs. ¡°You can let me know if there are other amenities you want, but don¡¯t expect me to cater to your every need.¡±

    ¡°It should also be mentioned that if you want to go anywhere in the city you¡¯ll need one of the estate¡¯s drivers,¡± Amelia added as they passed out of the entry again.

    ¡°Yes. Don¡¯t bother with taxis. They couldn''t find the manor if it was the only building in the city. I don''t believe anything else has slipped my mind, right?¡±

    ¡°The greenhouse.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes. There¡¯s a conservatory at the back of the estate where we grow exotic plants. Needless to say, you aren¡¯t allowed there either.¡±

    ¡°Is there anywhere that I am allowed?¡± Beck asked.

    ¡°There¡¯s no need for cheek, young man,¡± Nora glowered at him. ¡°Given how busy Mr. Barclay is, you should count yourself lucky you¡¯re allowed on the premises at all.¡±

    ¡°That should be all the critical information. Now if you''ll excuse me I should make sure Rowan is on track for tonight," Amelia replied as they approached the library.

    Beck turned and gave her a silent plea, which she patently ignored as she broke off and entered the room. Without comment Nora continued ambling past, turning the corner and revealing the end of the hall. A set of imposing doors stood at the far side, similar to the front entrance. A sole doorway branched off before reaching them.

    ¡°Since you¡¯re bound to ask anyways, that leads to the East Wing.¡± She pointed to the large doors. ¡°This other room is where you¡¯ll be staying. Its vicinity to the building next door isn¡¯t an excuse to bother anyone coming or going from it. If you do become a nuisance to any of Rowan¡¯s associates I¡¯ll find out, and then I¡¯ll move your quarters to below the kitchen sink.¡±

    He simply nodded, and without further ado Nora unlocked the smaller door to his suite with a key. She motioned Beck inside with all the warmth of a jailer.

    A small corridor led into the main space. The walls throughout were covered with a faint floral pattern; Nowhere near as fancy as the ornamentation he had seen so far, but good enough to give the room a homely feel. And the room was small, the smallest one he¡¯d seen yet. Beck wasn¡¯t sure if he should have been disappointed by that, but he also didn¡¯t know what he would do with a court-sized bedroom anyways.

    It wasn¡¯t shabby by any means though, in fact he hadn¡¯t seen a view as nice as the one that greeted him outside the bay windows. They overlooked a portion of the garden that had been delicately manicured and gave the illusion of being inside a meadow rather than in the heart of a metropolis. In front of that was a solid mahogany desk that housed a lamp and some stationary, and a luxurious bed rested opposite.

    These indulgences weren¡¯t what caught Beck¡¯s eye, but rather one of the decorations. The end tables, the vases and the pastoral painting on the far wall seemed normal enough. It was the cushioned chair in the corner, only large enough for an infant, which made a prickle of unease run to the base of his neck.

    ¡°Ms. Nora, what on earth is that?¡± he questioned, gesturing to the creature taking up the seat.

    It wasn¡¯t living, as far as he could tell. A squashed head perched on top of a rotund body, which was covered in fur that resembled the bark of an oak. The limbs dangled from the chair as though it were a person. Beck realized it was a stuffed animal of some kind, but instead of a teddy bear it had the proportions of the real animal, giving it an uncanny effect.

    ¡°That¡¯s a doll, a special kind that protects the occupants of the room.¡±

    Beck entertained the idea that this was a practical joke that had been concocted for him, but it didn¡¯t seem like a smart idea to question Nora about that. ¡°It¡¯s a bit creepy,¡± he said instead.

    The housekeeper rolled her eyes. ¡°Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder I suppose. You¡¯ll need to get accustomed to Patch, he¡¯s been a part of the estate for as long as I have been here.¡±

    ¡°The doll¡¯s name is Patch,¡± he said impassively. It stared at him with dark, glassy eyes.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    ¡°That door over there leads to a washroom,¡± she continued. Beck turned his attention to the opening next to the oddity. ¡°It is fully stocked right now, but additional supplies can be found in the pantry.¡±

    He peeked in. Light from a small window near the ceiling didn¡¯t reveal anything out of the ordinary, but the claw-foot tub seemed excessive for a guest room.

    ¡°Any questions?¡± Nora asked as Beck turned back to the short entryway.

    ¡°Rowan¡¯s library overlooked a courtyard of some kind; Am I allowed to explore the grounds of the estate?¡±

    She curtly nodded. ¡°Yes, any of the outdoor areas are free to use barring the conservatory, but that isn¡¯t an excuse to find yourself in a place you¡¯re not supposed to be. Obviously anywhere out in the city is not under our jurisdiction.¡±

    He nodded, hesitating. ¡°Can the doll be removed from the room?¡±

    An exasperated expression covered Nora¡¯s face. ¡°No! Patch stays, and you won¡¯t mess with him if you know what is best for you.¡± With that, she shuffled out of the room.

    <hr>

    The lecture halls Beck remembered being in at university all had a grandiose air to them. You could feel the history seeped into the wood grain of the seats and in the dimpled slate of the chalkboard. There was a palpable reverence that the pupils and professors paid to the hallowed halls many renowned scholars had passed through before. It was an energy that Beck latched onto when he started his degree. All of the faces and places he had encountered at university were a blur in his mind, but it was that atmosphere that whisked him through his courses and sent him across the ocean to his uncle.

    The lecture room he was currently in could easily pass for a closet. At least, in comparison to the rest of the manor; it was the smallest room he''d encountered yet, a corridor-like space with only one window at the end and containing only an easel and a battered table.

    After Amelia retrieved Beck and led him here, he was sure there was some kind of mistake. When he heard about a lecture hall, he''d imagined the Barclay version of that would be a grand amphitheater with a lectern. If he was a visiting academic and this was where he was deposited, he''d start to have second thoughts about visiting.

    But given that Beck was family and the Barclays had more important people to impress, he gave Amelia what he hoped was a sure smile and waited as she went to fetch his uncle.

    He wasn''t remotely surprised when Rowan did not show immediately; from his brief interaction it seemed the man was easily distracted. After five minutes Beck started to tap a rhythm into the table with his fingers. Later on, he wished he had brought a watch with him to make sure he hadn''t been brought here too early.

    When Beck was about to get up, his uncle appeared in the doorway. Rowan paused upon seeing him, as though he uncovered a new puzzle.

    "Oh, you''re already here." He scrambled over to the easel and selected a short crumb of chalk. Hesitating, he studied Beck for a long moment. "Tell me, what have you studied in your schooling this far?"

    Beck frowned. "As I¡¯m sure you know I''ve primarily been focusing on psychology. I''ve studied Freud¡¯s and Titchener¡¯s work, and delved a little bit into Behaviorism as well. Recently I¡¯ve been researching how the human psyche is utilized in art and literature.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like the standard well-rounded curriculum I¡¯ve seen from many universities. Freud¡¯s analysis on unconscious drives will be helpful here, but Structuralism will be a bit worthless.¡± Rowan stared at Beck for a few uncomfortable seconds, before scowling at the chalk in his hand like it was an unfortunate new development. ¡°Regardless, we¡¯ll need to start at the start. The work we do in the manor doesn¡¯t have any analogues to others¡¯ theories, although the basis has some commonalities.¡±

    He swiveled to face his nephew, ¡°First off, it¡¯s imperative you remember this sequence: lintel, parlor, ivory, mammoth, extinction.¡±

    Beck looked at him funny. ¡°I don¡¯t understand what any of those have to do with ¡ª Is this some sort of mnemonic?¡±

    ¡°I think so?¡± His uncle thought for a moment. ¡°No, it isn¡¯t. But it¡¯s still critical that you have it memorized! Please repeat it.¡±

    ¡°Lintel, parlor, ivory, mammoth, extinction,¡± Beck said with barely disguised confusion.

    ¡°Very good.¡± He scratched out words on the easel¡¯s chalkboard with a practiced flourish. When he stepped back the phrase ¡°Cognitive Psychology¡± was scrawled across the full width of the slate.

    ¡°This way of viewing the psyche is examining the actions our minds undertake; how we perceive the world around us, the processes that go on behind the scenes, the various methods that control what we do. It is about exploring the primal parts of us we didn¡¯t know existed until they are brought to our attention. The goal of your tenure here will be to recognize those instincts and learn how to...¡±

    Rowan trailed off as he noticed Beck¡¯s raised hand. For a brief moment Beck felt uncertain as his uncle looked at him in a way he couldn¡¯t describe.

    ¡°There¡¯s no need for the formalities,¡± Rowan said. ¡°You can go ahead and ask if you have something to ask.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to interrupt you mid-lecture,¡± Beck said sheepishly.

    ¡°No need to worry, this isn¡¯t a lecture. Those involve significantly more people,¡± he said, gesturing outward. ¡°It¡¯s just the two of us; this is a dialogue.¡±

    ¡°Okay, then. I was wondering if this ¡®cognitive psychology¡¯ isn¡¯t just psychoanalysis?¡±

    ¡°Yes! Good!¡± Rowan shouted, Beck flinching back in his seat at the sudden outburst. ¡°Jumping right to the main question! If you¡¯re implying that both methods look at the same brain patterns, then you are correct. It¡¯s the application where the two differ tremendously. Think of the brain as some unfathomably complex machine.¡± He drew a box on the board with a single line branching off from its left side. ¡°As of the present we don¡¯t know what the inside of this machine looks like, we can only guess. Freud looks at its outputs and tries to rewire the machine to get the desired responses. While effective, what downsides can you see with this?¡±

    Beck thought for a minute. ¡°Using the same analogy, I suppose if someone fiddles with the inner workings of the device without understanding it, the structure of the machine is still a mystery.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. That viewpoint is only concerned with what comes out; the modifications and products imply the inner workings.¡± Rowan slammed his hand down on the table, startling Beck again. ¡°What¡¯s the sequence?¡±

    ¡°Lintel, parlor...¡± he trailed off, bewildered.

    ¡°What instrument is common to parlors?¡±

    ¡°Pianos?¡±

    ¡°And the piano keys are made out of?¡±

    Beck sat in silence for a moment, then continued, ¡°Ivory, mammoth, extinction.¡±

    ¡±We¡¯ll need to work on that. Anyhow, back to the topic at hand. Every machine is initiated by some outside force.¡± He added a few lines connecting to the right side of the box. ¡°There are always one or more inputs to get the process started.¡±

    ¡°So by controlling these inputs, you''re saying the mind can be run the way you want it to?¡± Beck asked. ¡°At least, to some extent.¡±

    ¡°As you said, only to a certain degree. But because we are focusing on changing what feeds into the brain rather than what comes out of it, we are liable to find inputs we didn¡¯t know were separate from the other ones. Through stumbling across these divergent inputs, we can discover functions of the mind we never knew existed.¡±

    Rowan flipped the board around, scattering chalk dust. On the other side was a lithograph of a house. It looked to be from the prior century, a two-story cottage surrounded by prairie.

    ¡°Now watch closely.¡± Rowan grabbed at where the entrance to the house was, revealing the door was attached like a tab. He pulled it all the way back, revealing the hint of an interior behind it.

    Beck wasn¡¯t sure what he was meant to be paying attention to. Staring at the entrance, he couldn¡¯t tell what was beyond it. He leaned forward. When his head came to a stop, the house continued to gradually grow in his vision. It didn¡¯t seem out of the ordinary, until he noticed the sides of the print slowly recede.

    The scene became more distinct. Wood grain and blades of grass became more clear, details that should have been too minute for ink strokes. Now the house took up everything, the portal inwards the only way forward. In the dim lighting inside Beck began to make out the outline of something. His vision drew closer. It was the boxy frame of a piano, a figure hunched over it whose hands moved with slow, deliberate precision. No sound came from the instrument, only the faint crashing of waves and the cries of gulls.

    His uncle closed the door. He blinked. The lithograph only showed a house resting in a prairie.

    ¡°What the devil was that?¡± Beck exclaimed, jumping from his seat.

    His uncle gave the image a quick glance. ¡°It¡¯s a fairly standard print, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± Rowan said, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

    ¡°What kind of illusion are you using?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t take credit for anything; based on your reaction, I assume that your perception was changed in some way.¡±

    ¡°No that can¡¯t be! I don¡¯t know what happened, but it felt too real to just be something my mind orchestrated.¡±

    ¡°Almost like a new sense you didn¡¯t know you had?¡± his uncle pointed out.

    Beck grew silent as he let the implications of what he¡¯d just heard and seen sink in. ¡°But if such things exist, how does no one else know of them?¡± he eventually asked. ¡°Surely this would be revolutionary, espoused by every scientist! Why would this only now be brought to my attention?¡±

    When he turned to Rowan however, his uncle was lost to his own mind. He was craning his neck towards the ceiling, looking perturbed like he heard a creature scurrying above the plaster.

    ¡°Uncle?¡± Beck prodded.

    Rowan snapped his attention back to his nephew. ¡°My apologies, I¡¯ll need to cut this discussion short. Something¡¯s come up.¡±

    ¡°But we only just started!¡± he complained. Beck estimated the lecture couldn¡¯t have lasted more than ten minutes.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll pick this up later. But before then I have an assignment for you.¡± He reached into his suit, pulling out a small, engraved key. The embossing on it gave the impression of a topographic map.

    ¡°This key is hidden, and your task is to find it. You will not need to leave the manor to do so. Be vigilant for any alien urges, and seek them out,¡± Rowan instructed before depositing the item into his breast pocket.

    Beck had anticipated his work here to involve research and papers, and was wholly unprepared for the possibility of a scavenger hunt. He tried reasoning what this had to do with his education. ¡°If I wanted to find it, couldn¡¯t I just follow you to see where you stow it?¡±

    Rowan turned an eyebrow at that, pulling his pocket inside-out. Nothing fell out.

    ¡°Huh,¡± was Beck¡¯s only reply to that.

    ¡°Now what is the correct question?¡± his uncle asked.

    Beck wore a look of concentration as he thought for a moment. ¡°What does the key open?¡±

    Rowan gave a smile of approval. ¡°This one opens your mind,¡± he said, then strode out of the room.

 3: Synchronicity

    By the end of Rowan¡¯s lesson it was dinnertime, and wafts of something savory drifted from the main atrium. Nora was already approaching from the main hall when Beck exited the cramped lecture room, and merely motioned for him to follow back the way she came.

    The promenade was lit up dramatically, the table at the balcony overlooking a mostly dark entryway. Flickering pockets of candlelight were spaced around the great hall, giving the impression that they were dining over a sea of stars.

    The grand atmosphere seemed wasted, though. Despite the abundant array of foods set out, the only other people at the table besides Beck were Amelia and Nora. When asked where everyone else was, Amelia explained that people tended to be busy and not have time to sit down for their meals. She then promptly went back to the newspaper she was reading.

    Nora similarly ate in silence, perusing a sheaf of notes between bites. The roast and confections Beck had on his plate were treats that were reserved for holidays back home, but the others made it seem like this menu was an ordinary affair.

    With his stomach full, Beck excused himself and made his way directly to his suite. Even though it was still early in the evening he was ready to turn in, the traveling and culture shock having caught up to him. He briefly paused outside his door to glance at the East Wing. The faint sound of activity was still heard behind the doors, but it was impossible to tell what work the noises belonged to.

    Once inside, Beck went over to the desk and turned the lamp on. He jumped in surprise when the doll emerged from the darkness.

    ¡°Cripes! Don¡¯t do that to me,¡± Beck whispered. The bear stared back silently with its glass eyes.

    He bent down next to the chair to give it a closer examination. Although it was the size of a stuffed animal, this doll certainly wasn¡¯t meant to be a child¡¯s toy. Even to his untrained eye Beck could tell this was crafted with deliberate artistic intention. He gripped one of the limbs, feeling something solid beneath the surface. Definitely not conducive to hugging.

    A strange pattern on the bear¡¯s chest caught his attention. He moved his hand over to a raised diamond-like protrusion, which looked like it was made from something metallic. Tapping on it made a slight ring, like it was hollow. Beck had no idea what purpose it could serve.

    His luggage had made its way to his room, and as he rifled through it for his pajamas he noticed something else had arrived as well. A shallow bowl was now sitting on the bedside table, filled with what looked to be tokens.

    He picked one up. It was cold to the touch, made from a lightweight metal. He immediately noticed his own name engraved into the center of the disk, which made their intent even more confusing to him. Around the edges were lines curving in random directions similar to the patterns on the key his uncle briefly showed. How the two were related he couldn¡¯t guess; He¡¯d figure it out when he wasn¡¯t exhausted.

    Putting everything back in its place, he quickly changed outfits and went back to the lamp. He drew the curtains, extinguished the light and crawled into bed.

    <hr>

    Beck was surprised that despite his earlier tiredness he was alert and staring up through the darkness, his uncle¡¯s lecture capturing his thoughts. He still wasn¡¯t sure what to think of what he experienced, whether it was a cleverly crafted trick or it really was a natural phenomenon he had yet to experience in his life.

    He didn¡¯t even know if the scene was in the realm of psychology at all, or some sort of magic. He¡¯d heard a phrase once that magic was just ascribed to things humanity had yet to understand the logic for, but wasn¡¯t sure that cleared up the day¡¯s occurrences.

    Anxiousness for the next day kept the other part of his mind busy. It wasn''t one borne from stress, but from the excitement of what was to come. He''d felt similar butterflies in his chest when he¡¯d first started at university. It was an eager anticipation that one carried with them into the rush of something new. In spite of his uncle¡¯s quirks and not knowing the how behind Rowan¡¯s knowledge, he¡¯d been hooked in. It wasn¡¯t a want; that one glimpse behind the veil had set the stone rolling, and he could do little about the nature of the slope he was on.

    Somewhere in the corner of the room he heard a knock.

    He broke out of his thoughts and looked down past his bed. Beck felt a surge of adrenaline pulse through the vein of his neck. The only illumination was from beyond the curtains, revealing only indistinct shapes in the darkness and nothing more. He strained his ears, but for a while he heard nothing else. His pulse began to slow as Beck thought it could have been a random bump in the night.

    Then he heard the sound again. And again. Beck held his breath as it became a rhythmic thump, matching his heartbeat for a few moments until his blood started pumping faster. The sound had the cadence of footsteps, but he put off the idea of an animal lurking inside the walls. It was too slow and deliberate.

    It started close to the bathroom, but with dread Beck realized the noises were getting closer. He became rooted to the spot as whatever creature was creeping passed the foot of his bed. It made its way past the floral painting on the wall, then to the near corner of the room. Then it traveled along the wall parallel to the headboard, settling to a stop behind Beck¡¯s head. He became as still as he possibly could, certain that the plaster was the only thing separating himself from it.

    There were a few seconds where the noise stopped. Then he heard the rapping of a knock next to his ear. When Beck continued to remain frozen, another knock sounded against the other side of the wall.

    He pulled the bedsheets over his head like he did as a child when he was scared of the dark, as though the thin layer of cloth would protect him. Beck¡¯s breathing became amplified in the pocket he created. As he struggled to rein in his panic, he realized the knocking had stopped.

    He began to count the pulses ringing in his ears. He made it to sixty before he heard the creature crawl towards the opposite corner it had come from. Beck had to strain his ears again to even hear its departure, everything else drowned out by his heartbeat. The presence seemed to recede into the wall on his right, creeping to the limit of where the bedroom merged with the entryway and then coming to a stop.

    After a minute of inactivity Beck began to breathe again. Another minute passed and he slowly pulled the sheets down from his face.

    He looked down at the spot where he last heard the noises. He couldn¡¯t make anything out except for the faint edge of the wall. He kept staring, but the dark refused to abate. It seemed like his eyes were glued to the spot, his vision caught like water above a drain. His pulse quickened again as he became aware of the fact he couldn¡¯t shift his gaze. He couldn¡¯t help but wait until something inevitably jumped out at him and ¨C

    Beck awoke with a start. Breathing hard, he scanned his surroundings. He was still in the guest room, the one that the dream had so vividly recreated.

    He knew for a fact he was awake this time. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly how he knew, but the best way he could describe it was a sense of awareness that only seemed to be imitated in his dream. He wasn¡¯t pushing back against some unseen hand that orchestrated his actions.

    He glanced in each corner of the room, but nothing jumped out and attacked him. It was more than a little relieving to know that he¡¯d left the monster behind in the sleeping world. That was the case, right? His mind reluctantly examined the dream. The accurate depiction of his room in the vision startled him. And if that much was duplicated from the real world, would that mean that the creature existed there too?

    It was an unwelcome thought. Even though it was an irrational idea, no matter how hard he tried he could not shake it from his head. He turned to the miniature chair in the corner. He could only make out its silhouette, but couldn¡¯t tell if the doll was still sitting there, lost somewhere in the folds of shadow.

    Beck sank back down into the bed, stealing glances at the walls around him. He decided that he would stick to the safety of the mattress, an island in the night. It was rather unlikely the bear was lurking somewhere below, but he didn¡¯t feel like taking any chances.

    <hr>

    While the evening saw the promenade wrapped in a warm darkness, the morning filled the hall with an almost blinding light. The sun cut across the cavernous room in wide swaths from the tall windows. Night had made the building seem infinite, but the day drew everything inward and somehow made sitting at the table feel intimate.

    Nora and Amelia were as conversational as they were at dinner. Beck wasn¡¯t sure what to make of the quiet before, but with a fresh mind he realized it wasn¡¯t necessarily because of some sort of tension. Those silences were thick and heavy, but the one before him was empty, like the air could pass right through them. A form of lethargy, perhaps?

    His uncle was there for breakfast, the only addition since the previous meal. While Beck ate a feast of eggs and french toast, he noticed Rowan was only occupied with a mug. The smell of coffee flowed from the cup, but his eyes still looked distant.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    After blinking, his uncle¡¯s eyes met Beck¡¯s and he gave him a practiced smile. ¡°I trust your accommodations have been sufficient?¡± Rowan asked, breaking the quiet.

    ¡°They have been more than enough, thank you.¡± He dipped another piece of toast in the syrup and stuffed it in his mouth.

    ¡°Sleep well?¡±

    Beck gave what he thought was a convincing nod. ¡°Mmhmm,¡± he hummed. He didn¡¯t think a creature in his dream was enough of an excuse for why he was tired. Swallowing quickly he added, ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to the next lecture.¡±

    The shine returned to Rowan¡¯s eyes. ¡°That¡¯s good, so am I.¡± He went back to staring at his coffee.

    From the corner of his eye Beck saw Amelia shift as though she was going to make a response, but none came. He looked over at Nora, but she was still lost in her papers.

    ¡°Should I prepare for the same time as yesterday?¡± he asked.

    Although the question was directed at Rowan, Amelia was the one who answered. ¡°It will be in a couple of hours, ten o¡¯clock today. You¡¯ll have to forgive the changing timetables, they vary on a day-to-day basis.¡±

    He balked at her. ¡°How does everyone here function without fixed schedules?¡±

    ¡°A ruddy good question, that,¡± Nora mumbled.

    Amelia just shrugged. ¡°We have outside help, administrators with a great deal of experience with Rowan¡¯s way of running things. You will meet them eventually if you stay long enough.¡±

    Beck was dumbfounded. He thought that Rowan¡¯s erratic behavior was something only his uncle possessed, but the longer he stayed at the manor the more he realized that the whole place was subtly infused with the same energy. It was unclear if it was all his uncle¡¯s influence, or if each person brought a portion of strangeness with them. It would take a while for him to acclimate to days without agendas and courses without normal work.

    He gripped the table after remembering the assignment his uncle had given him. ¡°I haven¡¯t gotten to that key problem from the last lecture, is that due for the upcoming one?¡±

    Rowan swirled the contents of his mug around, sloshing the liquid like he was panning for gold.

    ¡°Uncle?¡±

    ¡°Oh, that was directed to me?¡± Rowan said, breaking from his stupor. ¡°There isn¡¯t a set deadline, but I encourage you to find it as quickly as possible. That said, we¡¯re willing to wait as long as it takes.¡±

    Beck hesitated before asking his next question. ¡°And, you want me to find a key? A literal one? You¡¯re not expecting a paper on cognitive psychology?¡±

    His uncle gave him a peculiar look. ¡°Of course. I never speak in the figurative. Well, I suppose except for when I am. Speaking in the figurative sense, that is.¡±

    Yes, it would take a while to get used to this.

    <hr>

    With the time of the lecture approaching Beck made his way to the classroom and was surprised to find he wasn¡¯t the first one there. A man with bronze skin and dark hair tied down into braids was leaning against the wall, his coat loosely draped over one shoulder. The man¡¯s stature was befitting of a bodyguard, not someone Beck expected to see wandering the manor. He wasn¡¯t sure what to make of the newcomer until the man noticed him and gave a bright smile.

    ¡°Hello, you must be Beckham?¡± The man stretched out a hand in greeting.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Beck said, reluctantly shaking it. His hand became engulfed by the man¡¯s palm.

    ¡°I¡¯m Fielding, head of research for Rowan. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you!¡±

    ¡°Likewise.¡± He looked the man up and down, trying to figure out their role. ¡±Will you be helping my uncle teach today?¡±

    Fielding¡¯s expression melted into a more sheepish grin. ¡°I¡¯ll be in charge of your schooling for the time being.¡±

    At first Beck was surprised a teacher could have the kind of build the man had. Then his irritation grew, which he tried to keep from his expression. ¡°If my uncle is busy, he could have told me during breakfast.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s more complicated than that; I believe Rowan mentioned the key you should be looking for?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I am aware. I haven¡¯t had a chance to look for it yet. My uncle essentially said there was no set date it was due.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± Fielding said, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°He neglected to mention that he wouldn¡¯t personally continue with you until you¡¯ve found it.¡±

    Beck stared at him, uncomprehending. ¡°Why on earth is that the case?¡±

    ¡°Finding it is critical to the next phase of your education. You¡¯ll have to forgive your uncle, he doesn¡¯t always make things clear when he explains something. One of the smartest men I know, but his way with words has much to be desired.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make any sense! I was able to follow his lecture fine, I don¡¯t see how finding where he leaves his personal effects will help me learn anything!¡± Beck paced the few steps between the sides of the room, before letting out a sigh and unclenching his fists. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m not angry at you, Fielding. Amelia already informed me of my uncle¡¯s disinterest in teaching me, I just figured that after yesterday that was an exaggeration.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it isn¡¯t lack of interest keeping your uncle tied. Every person Rowan tutors goes through the same initiation. He can only afford to spend his time on the most integral parts of your journey here.¡± Fielding leaned in with a coy expression. ¡°And believe it or not, that key is crucial to your understanding of our field of study.¡±

    Beck looked at him skeptically. ¡°I¡¯ll believe it when I see it.¡±

    ¡°Regardless, my job is to help prepare you for when that time comes. Consider these supplemental lessons that will come in handy for the future. Now come, take a seat.¡±

    Begrudgingly, Beck took the one chair at the table. A rucksack lay on the tabletop that he presumed Fielding had brought. Despite his annoyance, he tried to give the man his full attention.

    ¡°Now, how familiar are you with Jung¡¯s collective unconscious?¡± Fielding started.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard about it in passing. One of my professors called it ¡®fantastical nonsense.¡¯¡±

    The man chuckled. ¡°An expected response from those fully enveloped in academia. To their point many ideas central to this hypothesis stem from the various mythologies of the world, which many perceive as fantasy. Whether you believe in a certain pantheon isn¡¯t the premise though, but rather what can be gathered from the cultures who held those beliefs.¡±

    He dug into the pack on the table and pulled out a rugged portfolio. Opening it, he revealed a myriad of photographs and tracings. All of them showed pictograms carved into rough stone faces.

    ¡°Are these from the Nile?¡± Beck asked.

    ¡°Indeed. These are the writings of our ancient ancestors, thousands of years ago. All of the steles here depict the dreams of the author. In ancient Egypt they believed that what they saw in their sleep could be revelatory, that something was reaching out through the veil to contact them. The important point is that they saw the dream realm as a place that directly influenced reality. To them it was an intersection of the past, present and future; A crossroads between worlds, if you will.¡±

    ¡°Okay, so is the collective unconscious about dreaming?¡±

    ¡°Not specifically, but it¡¯s an apt example. While Egypt formed their culture around these beliefs, other civilizations around the world developed similar customs. Rome and Greece had its oracles to divine the nature of dreams. The Celts slept at the burial grounds of their ancestors to receive prophetic knowledge. Even the English in the Middle Ages wrote of visionary dreams in its literature.

    ¡°The point being that all of these groups from across the globe had the same inclination that there was something special about dreams, that there was some sort of beyond that couldn¡¯t be interacted with in the waking world. And as far as historians have discovered, each civilization came to this same conclusion in isolation from each other. But how could that have happened?¡±

    Fielding tapped the side of his head. ¡°That¡¯s where the collective unconscious comes in. Jung theorizes that in every human mind there are symbols and ideas buried deep inside that manifest themselves in our behavior without us realizing it. If you¡¯re willing to accept that, then the idea of dreams as a gateway could be part of this collective, remaining dormant until its existence is brought to our attention.¡±

    Beck gave his instructor an incredulous look. ¡°Surely there are more simple explanations for the phenomenon? It could be that dreams elicit a primal fear of the unknown, the same feeling often brought about by forces of nature that past societies attributed to deities, and thus the two concepts became linked. Or the elements of peoples¡¯ real lives that appear in their dreams allowed their minds to work problems in different ways, which they attributed to spirits upon absence of an alternative explanation. What¡¯s with the smile?¡±

    The man shook his head, still grinning. ¡°Your response is similar to how Rowan would respond, had he not already believed in this. He never entertains an idea unless he can touch the evidence.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re saying that¡¯s a bad thing?¡±

    ¡°No, of course not! It is important to approach things from a logical angle. Since psychology exists almost entirely in conjecture, my job is to either prove or refute these theories without a shadow of a doubt. If neither is achievable, then it remains a hypothetical.¡±

    ¡°So which of those categories does the collective unconscious fall into?¡± Beck asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯d like to spend our time discovering.¡± Fielding reached back into his satchel and pulled out more folders of documents. "Each of these contains background on different cultures from around the world. We''ll be examining what their traditions and beliefs reveal about their psyche, and how they connect to each other."

    The next couple hours were spent doing research Beck was accustomed to from university, and what he had expected to be doing when he first arrived at the manor. To him it seemed the work was more akin to anthropology than his own field, but he didn''t want to bother Fielding over something so trivial. But that wasn''t the main reason why he began to feel anxious as the minutes ticked by.

    "How is this meant to assist with the hide-and-seek game uncle Rowan has set up for me?" He asked.

    Fielding looked up from his stack of papers. "Don''t worry about that right now. While this will help expand your horizon and hopefully open it up to the answer Rowan is after, that''s not the main goal of my lessons."

    "I understand, it''s just ¨C" Beck frowned.

    "Frustrating? It''s okay to feel that way. When I was first introduced to Rowan''s work I had similar grievances." Fielding closed the folder in front of him. "That''s enough for today, it''s best not to do this sort of reading when your mind is elsewhere."

    He couldn''t bring himself to get up from the desk. "You wouldn''t happen to have any hints about that key?"

    The man thought for a moment. "Sleep on it. It helps to internalize what you''ve learned from the day, and waking up will give you a fresh perspective."

    ¡°And how long does this initiation process usually last anyways?¡±

    Fielding paused for longer this time. ¡°As long as it takes.¡±

 4: Interloper

    After Fielding¡¯s class, Beck began his hunt for the key. The library seemed the obvious starting point, so he made his way next door. He stopped at the entrance. Without the presence of his uncle there this time he was able to fully take in the weirdness of the place. Besides strange things he had never seen before, the space had an indescribable feel to it, like the air was composed of something different.

    Making sure no one else was around, he made his way over to the dark box with a glass window on the front. Beck saw himself in the milky reflection, but saw no obvious use for the artifact. Gripping the sides of the box he tried to peer deeper inside, but there was only dark.

    He moved over to the hanging hoop. Strings criss-crossed the middle like a spider web and feathers hung down from the rim. It seemed to be of Native American craftsmanship, but he couldn¡¯t be sure.

    He felt around each of the ornamentations, checking for hidden objects or compartments. The notion seemed absurd, like something from a mystery dime novel, but it was something he could picture his uncle having. Not having any success, Beck turned to look around at all of the shelves. Suddenly there seemed to be a lot more books in the room than he remembered there being. He selectively pulled out any volumes that caught his attention, but the collection stored in the room seemed very ordinary.

    He climbed one of the ladders and retrieved the encyclopedia with the long tassel his uncle pulled out during their first meeting, but he couldn¡¯t see what his uncle saw in it. Examining the designs on the bookmark he couldn¡¯t make any meaning from them, and the writing in the text itself was just about the life cycle of butterflies.

    The only other place to search in the library was the desk. Beck quickly combed through the pages covering the desk¡¯s surface before turning his attention to the globe. Lightly resting his hand on it, he rotated it around its axis. Whatever his uncle¡¯s fixation was on the object, it appeared to just be a normal globe.

    The drawers were last. To his surprise they were unlocked, which made him hesitate; he wasn¡¯t fully prepared to rifle through what he assumed was Rowan¡¯s private belongings, and had anticipated something limiting him.

    Shaking his head, he carefully opened the first drawer. Resting on top of everything else was a rectangle of material with strange swirling patterns on it. Beck pulled it out. The material felt synthetic under his fingers, and the ink didn¡¯t form any recognizable shapes or words that he could make out. It reminded him of patterns used in optical illusions but that didn¡¯t help matters. He put it back.

    Going through the other drawers he didn¡¯t find any key or clues to its whereabouts. Beck was about to close the last one when he noticed the corner of a familiar print resting at the bottom. He pulled it out and found it was the lithograph that his uncle had used in his lesson. He stared hard at the doorway to the cottage for several minutes, but the image refused to move. Feeling stupid, he slipped it back into the desk.

    Not wanting to spend all of his time searching the one room, Beck made his way through the rest of the main building. The second floor was made up of guest suites similar to his own as well as lounges he assumed his uncle must use during the galas Amelia had told him about.

    When he found nothing in the obvious hiding spots, he went down to the ground floor. There he found even more rooms for entertaining guests: elaborate dining halls, a music room where a piano took center stage, even a dark theater with a row of seats and a moviegraph, but no key.

    After no progress with his initial sweep, he went through the upper rooms more closely. Beck didn¡¯t realize how much time had passed until Nora found him halfway underneath a bed in one of the other guest rooms.

    "Lunch is ready," she said, bemused.

    The meal was awkward not only because of the funny looks the housekeeper gave him across the table, but doubly so because of Rowan''s absence. It was like his uncle was just playing with Beck at breakfast, which soured his mood even more.

    Afterwards Beck expanded his search area and investigated the west wing. He avoided the staff quarters ¨C assuming his uncle had enough sense to honor others¡¯ privacy ¨C but he found other common rooms he was able to search through.

    The laundry room was empty, so he was able to wander through it without scrutiny. But even going through all of the nooks and crannies all he turned up were linens and supplies, only making him feel like a fool despite doing what was asked of him.

    The rest of the west wing seemed to be filled with other utilities until he stumbled into the kitchen. Beck froze when he saw workers still busy preparing food, but when no one paid him any mind he continued inward. Shuffling around the cooks he was able to peer into some of the cupboards and drawers, but only the expected dishes and silverware were present.

    ¡°Beckham, what are you doing?!¡±

    He spun around to find Nora in the doorway again, this time disbelief pulling at her features. Everyone was staring at him now.

    ¡°I¡¯m just looking for something I lost,¡± Beck responded, his voice working slower than he would have liked.

    The lines on the housekeeper¡¯s face deepened. ¡°You¡¯re disrupting my staff and fiddling around with estate supplies. If you keep this up, Rowan will know about my full displeasure.¡±

    ¡°I was instructed by my uncle to go looking for ¨C¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care! Now get out of here before you incite my anger!¡±

    Beck half-walked, half-ran out of the west wing, only slowing down when Nora was out of sight. He made his way back towards his suite, stopping short of the door. He gripped the doorknob and squeezed, venting as much frustration as he could into it before slipping inside his suite.

    Taking a note from Rowan he stayed there while dinner came and went. Laying on his bed while he kneaded his forehead, he tried to let the immeasurable disappointment of day deflate. Beck had never been treated as a nuisance before, and he was beginning to consider the possibility that this was all a joke at his expense. Maybe when he next ran into his uncle he¡¯d have a laugh and start up his actual lessons. Somehow Beck doubted that would be the case.

    He began to reevaluate yesterday, thinking that perhaps his enthusiasm was due to the experience of visiting America or finally disembarking from the stuffy ship. He thought back to the vision he had seen when his uncle presented the image of the cabin, the same ordinary print he had found in the desk earlier. Had it all been a farce? What would be the purpose in tricking him, anyways?

    As his thoughts wandered in the dwindling hours of the day, he occasionally heard activity in the hall outside. The sound of groups of people arriving and departing threatened to break his spiraling until he finally gave in to the distraction and listened closer. He could hear people talking, but everyone who went past seemed to talk in hushed tones and he failed to make out any words. Besides the footsteps on the marble floor, the only other sound was a nearby door swinging shut as workers began to head out for the night.

    Beck opened his eyes, his mind now in focus. The sounds outside his room grew less and less frequent. Soon he heard no one. He pushed himself up, leaving the bed and walking to the entrance of his room. As quietly as he could he opened the door and peeked out. The lights were still on, but he saw and heard no one.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Softening his steps he exited the room and looked down the hallway. The double doors stood resolute at the end. He swallowed, clenching and unclenching his hands as he stood transfixed. With an exhale, he approached the entrance to the east wing. Pressing his ear to the door, he didn¡¯t hear any noises coming from the other side. Taking a breath, he pulled on the handle.

    The door didn¡¯t budge. After a second he pulled again, but it remained stuck in place. Beck was strangely relieved he didn¡¯t have the option to break that specific rule. He looked down at the handle, but didn¡¯t see a keyhole. He wasn¡¯t sure how it could possibly be locked, but decided that was a puzzle for another day.

    Beck went back to his suite. As he rounded the corner of the entryway his heart skipped a beat. It had grown dark and the bear doll was looming at the edge of the lamp light, judging him as he came in.

    Sighing, he crouched down in front of the doll. He wasn¡¯t sure why everyone was so fond of it, but he didn¡¯t think he would be able to sleep comfortably with the doll in the room. Having nightmares about creatures in the walls wasn¡¯t something he wanted to relive.

    Beck lifted the chair it was on and brought it outside into the hall. ¡°You can keep watch from out here,¡± he told it. The bear continued to stare back blankly.

    He closed the door behind him and prayed that the grievances of the day were behind him.

    <hr>

    Despite his hopes, restlessness plagued him as he tried to sleep. He woke in bursts, the nighttime outside the windows not giving any indication of time passing at all. He couldn''t attribute it to excess energy again; each time he opened his eyes he was still tired.

    He gave a huff, staring back at the windows as though he could will the sun to rise faster. With his mind in a haze, he slowly realized that while the world outside was dark, the inside of his room was still dimly lit. His eyes landed on the desk lamp which was still burning. He wasn¡¯t sure why he¡¯d forgotten to switch it off, but he reckoned it was the main reason for his insomnia. Beck made to get up and extinguish the light, but his body didn''t move.

    Confused, he commanded his limbs to rise again. They still didn''t obey him.

    It took a while for his body and mind to synchronize, but when they did panic began to seep into his chest, making his lungs feel like lead. Sucking in air felt like operating an unfamiliar machine. Looking down at his body, he felt the uncanny sensation of being trapped inside himself. He couldn¡¯t recall what could have led to his current paralyzation.

    His eyes darted around the room, the one action that still belonged to him. Nothing in the dim glow of the lamp looked out of place, but the dark clinging to the surfaces only heightened his anxiety. He tried calling for help, but his lips remained motionless.

    The strained breathing that reached his ears soon faded, and for a minute Beck figured that he must be blacking out. Yet despite the sensation of a boulder on his chest he still felt his chest rise and fall; it wasn¡¯t oxygen deprivation that impaired his hearing. Something had sucked all of the noise out of the world. Again he tried yelling, but again his body ignored him.

    Slowly, in the far corner of the room a patch of light began to grow. As though someone had heard his silent cries, the door to his room was opening. The rectangle of light grew until upon its completion the shadow of a man entered the frame. What Beck assumed was his rescuer moved up the entry corridor, the shadow traveling forward until it blotted out the illumination from outside.

    When they turned the corner into the room proper, Beck¡¯s stomach dropped. The man was not one he had ever known, if it was even a man at all. They were made from the same material as the darkness. The lamp light touched the fringes of their figure but slipped off harshly when it tried to reach inward, making him a contour of a person. What Beck could make out were the separate silhouettes that the man was made of; a long trench coat, a hat resembling a fedora, and a face with no discernable features save their severe cheekbones.

    What he knew for sure was the outline belonged to a stranger. Terror added to the weight on Beck¡¯s chest.

    After a brief pause of consideration, the figure approached the foot of Beck¡¯s bed. Silence clung to the stranger like a cloak, smothering. The silence was like a faint static, a faulty telephone connection. Even if he could scream, he wasn¡¯t sure his voice could escape being swallowed by the nothingness.

    The man reached out towards him. Dread threatened to suffocate as the man made to grab him. Beck could only watch, unable to close his eyes as it drew ever closer.

    Suddenly their hand stopped a meter from his head, blocked by some invisible force in the air. Their hand flattened against the unseen barrier like it was a pane of glass, but they were unable to push through. Slowly the man traced the surface, searching for a way to reach past.  They pressed outward until their fingers reached the wall and stopped.

    Beck saw the figure reluctantly pull back, their arm falling to their side. Although their face was obscured by the impenetrable dark, he could feel the man¡¯s gaze on him while they stood in silence. As Beck looked up at the stranger and they in turn watched over him, he contemplated the void that they were. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a sort of instinctual recognition. This was the man who lurked in every closet, under every bed, at the bottom of every stairwell, in the corner of everyone¡¯s vision. Every nightmare and waking terror incarnate. That was the one who stood at the foot of his bed like a sentinel.

    Then, with the same spontaneity with which the man entered, they turned and departed down the corridor. Their shadow receded in the rectangle of light from outside, then the light itself shrunk back as the door to Beck¡¯s room shut.

    With the intruder gone, he finally remembered to breathe. His lungs still felt like a weight was pressing down on them and his body remained slack, but he felt minor relief at having avoided what he could only imagine was a terrible fate.

    Control over himself returned like a switch had been thrown. Beck bolted upright and gasped in as much air as he could take. He felt a buzz in his limbs and a cold sweat dripped down his face. He looked around wildly to make sure he was alone, but the lamp that lit his room just moments ago was now off.

    He got out of bed with shaky legs and turned the light on. No demons jumped at him from the shadows, and as noise returned all he could hear was the nighttime stillness and the beating of his own heart.

    Hurrying back to his bed, Beck sat against the headboard and stared at the entry to his room. As the minutes and hours passed he anxiously waited for the hallway light to trickle back in. He waited and waited, but the only light that entered was the dawn.

    <hr>

    The full consequences of his sleepless night didn¡¯t settle in until he got up from his vigil. His limbs felt like jelly, and an unrelenting headache rested behind his eyes. He struggled into his clothes and hobbled out to breakfast.

    Beck was too out of it to notice that the atmosphere at the promenade was completely different. It wasn¡¯t until he was at the table that he realized everyone was watching him. It was the look from his uncle that stopped him in his tracks.

    ¡°What is the sequence, Beckham?¡± Rowan said softly, looking up at his nephew.

    Beck¡¯s tired mind tried to process what his uncle was even referring to. It took him a long time to remember it was a repeated phrase from his first lesson at the manor. ¡°Uncle, wh ¨C¡±

    ¡°What is the sequence!¡± Rowan yelled.

    Taken aback, Beck immediately said, ¡°Lintel, parlor, ivory, mammoth, extinction.¡±

    His uncle let out a breath. ¡°Good to know you were paying attention,¡± they said.

    Beck nodded slightly, before taking a seat at the table.

    Before he could take some food for himself, his uncle addressed him again, ¡°Beck, Ms. Nora has brought to my attention you¡¯ve been breaking the rules we¡¯ve set in place.¡±

    The frustration from yesterday started creeping back in. ¡°I thought I was allowed anywhere in the mansion except for the eastern wing, if that¡¯s not the case you should have let me know.¡±

    His uncle frowned. ¡°No, not that.¡±

    ¡°Then what?¡± he asked, annoyed.

    ¡°This morning Nora found Patch outside of your room after explicitly telling you to keep him inside. There aren¡¯t many restrictions I¡¯ve placed on your stay here, but you¡¯ve disobeyed one of the few there are and by far the most important one. If you can¡¯t keep a simple command, we¡¯ll need to terminate your apprenticeship and send you back overseas. Do I make myself clear?¡±

    Rowan¡¯s cold intensity immediately quelled Beck¡¯s anger. He looked around at the rest of the table. Nora held a placid expression, and Amelia was still reading through the morning¡¯s paper. Turning to his uncle he was drawn into the man¡¯s face. It held the same casual, almost lazy unconcern that he displayed over the past couple days, but his eyes had grown deep, an unfathomable depth that threatened no escape.

    ¡°Yes sir,¡± he said curtly.

    ¡°Very good.¡± His uncle smiled, returning to his coffee. ¡°As for wandering the estate, I¡¯m personally not against that, but Nora can be very touchy with people messing with her house. From personal experience, I wouldn¡¯t want to get on her bad side,¡± he said with a chuckle.

 5: Calliope

    ¡°Rough morning?¡± Fielding asked, seeing the sullen look on Beck¡¯s face.

    ¡°Moreso the last couple of days.¡± He took a seat at the lecture room¡¯s table, glancing at the knapsack resting at the corner. ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive me, I haven¡¯t gotten much sleep since I arrived so I may have a hard time focusing on your lesson today.¡±

    The man looked down at him with concern. ¡°Nora can help if there are any accommodations you need for your room. She¡¯s also good with natural remedies, perhaps she can create something to keep you more alert or help you stay asleep.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think Nora and I are on the best of terms right now, I¡¯d rather not push my luck.¡±

    Fielding put on a reassuring smile. ¡°She is always in a sour mood, I wouldn¡¯t take it personally. I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll ever manage to annoy her more than Rowan does.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen them argue,¡± Beck said.

    ¡°You¡¯ve probably only seen them together at mealtimes, then. Those times are a ceasefire between the two. And Nora is usually the one doing the arguing, Rowan just has made a habit of ignoring her.¡± He waved his hand. ¡°But if you think some distance is a good idea, you¡¯re in luck. The lesson for today is more hands on.¡± Fielding reached into his pack and pulled out a flyer, handing it to his student.

    Beck glanced over the gilded text, his eyes narrowing. "''Xander''s Band of Mystique: Discover wonders beyond your wildest dreams!¡¯ What¡¯s this about?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a vaudeville troupe that is beginning to set up on The Commons. Rowan and I agreed a good project related to your studies would be to investigate and analyze their culture. We want you to go down there, make conversation with the performers and report back."

    He looked back down at the paper as he fought to contain an incredulous laugh.

    "Is something the matter?" Fielding asked.

    "This seems a transparent way of getting me out of my uncle''s hair."

    His teacher shook his head. "Rowan and I planned this ever since we found the circus was arriving. Vaudeville is an amalgamation of cultures and lifestyles concentrated into a single people, a unique subset to study in their own right. More importantly, they''re one of the few groups of people that keep folklore and superstition alive in the modern age. This is a prime opportunity to apply what we studied yesterday and pull out the archetypes found in their beliefs."

    He got up and paced down the corridor-like room. One by one he unclenched his fingers. ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to study anthropology.¡±

    ¡°If you think this is a form of punishment, you¡¯re mistaken. Our company has wanted to travel down to the Commons but are unable to. Complicated would be putting the situation lightly.¡±

    Beck gave him a curious look, but remained silent.

    ¡°Since you don¡¯t have history in the area, you will be our envoy,¡± Fielding continued. ¡°We never do things without purpose here, remember that.¡±

    Beck settled back into the chair. The garish slip of paper was the only thing before him now. Yesterday it was reams of information cataloging ancient civilizations from around the world. Yet he couldn¡¯t keep his mind off the cabin from his first night, beckoning him to a reality beyond his understanding.

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll go,¡± he said reluctantly.

    Fielding clapped his hands. ¡°Excellent, I¡¯ll go fetch Amelia so she can take you there. Go prepare yourself if needed, and she¡¯ll meet you out front.¡±

    <hr>

    The buildings that passed by were all unfamiliar. Beck expected to remember at least one landmark from his initial drive through Boston, but all of the roads seemed to twist in on themselves in unnatural patterns. The volume of vehicles and pedestrians obscured any edifices he might have recognized. He was happy that he wasn¡¯t the one who needed to navigate this maze.

    ¡°Is it always this mad driving through the city?¡± He asked over to Amelia.

    ¡°Usually more so,¡± was her response. She weaved the vehicle around a group of workers standing in the road before swerving back into the lane. ¡°It probably doesn¡¯t need to be said, but we strongly discourage anyone from trying to walk between the manor and the city proper.¡±

    "Is there not a map available?"

    "There is, but you can¡¯t rely on them in a city that¡¯s ever changing. Especially not in a place like this; most areas spread out, this one grows inward.¡±

    He stared back out to the soaring buildings, unpacking her words. "Surely the urban system could have been organized better?¡±

    ¡°Once the foundation is laid, people can only add to what already exists. These streets were designed for horses and foot traffic, the builders never considered machines that would take their place. Rarely can someone prepare for what they don¡¯t know,¡± she commented.

    Shortly, the walls on either side gave way to an open field. Beck stared in disbelief as rolling hills and trees passed by on one side and the metropolis on the other. They glided along the edge of the landscape until the flags of a big-top tent crested the nearest rise.

    ¡°We¡¯re here.¡± Amelia pulled over to the sidewalk.

    Beck stepped out of the vehicle. The acrid scent of the city was at odds with the fauna he saw before him. A strange sensory experience to be sure, but far from the strangest he¡¯d encountered since arriving in the country. The sound of horns came from the opposite side of the hill.

    "Don''t wander off yet," she said.

    He turned and realized his feet had begun traveling towards the music. Amelia handed him a small card containing a phone number.

    "It''s for the line at the estate, in case you can''t find your way back."

    ¡°You¡¯re not coming with me?¡± he asked.

    She shook her head. ¡°This is your assignment.¡±

    Beck looked at the open landscape, then back to the vehicle they arrived in. "I think I can find my way back."

    ¡°I¡¯ll be waiting here for your return, then,¡± Amelia said with a hint of a smile.

    Beck went towards the horns, the hill presenting itself to him. As he climbed, different layers of sound added to the noise. The percussion of hammers, the melody of voices, and nearing the crest he could just make out the subtle sound of strings underneath. Even though they couldn¡¯t have been orchestrated together, the clamor combined to form an impromptu symphony.

    At the top he hesitated, beholding the sight before him. A cloud of dust swirled around the camp, kicked up by a sea of people. Crates, wagons and stages broke up the crowds, their vibrant hues making the grounds a whirlwind of color. In the eye was the great tent striped in royal blue and gold. Its sides were furled, allowing the troupers to bring in seating and equipment. Through the other side he could see the foot traffic extend out until it got lost in the dusty haze.

    From above the scene was hypnotic, drawing Beck down into the thick of the crowd. In its midst, visibility became the space directly in front of him. Looking up he could see the tops of the attractions emerge like islands, but making his way directly to one seemed impossible; he was subject to the spiraling current of bodies that he¡¯d seen from the hill, winding through the grounds in a subconsciously agreed-upon order.

    As he was swept past the menagerie of displays he was able to capture a few moments of awe: a quintet that entirely consisted of instruments except for one chanting singer, a juggling duo that bounced bottles between each other¡¯s limbs, a man bending a steel rod like it was made of rubber, a group of ladies clad in ribbons and not much else whose dance traced the patterns of the wind. Just as one of the women looked his way and gave him a wink, he was carried off to the next stand.

    Knowing he wasn¡¯t just there for the entertainment, Beck spotted an opening between a pavilion and a wagon and exited through it. The space beyond was populated with only a few  stragglers, hemmed in from the crowds by the carriages. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the dust and sweat from the masses off his brow.

    Now that he had a moment to breathe Beck was able to fully appreciate the craftsmanship of the tents and vehicles around him. The colors he¡¯d seen from afar were much more vivid up close, the fabrics making up the walls around him more saturated than seemed possible. The wagons were constructed like something from the midlands of Europe, and their sides displayed murals of far away and imagined landscapes, making them seem like they had traveled from a folk tale.

    One painting in particular caught his eye, and he wandered over to decipher its story. The paneling was coated in blue and turquoise, depicting cliffs overlooking the sea. Nestled on the edge was what looked like a settlement, but made entirely out of the rich fabrics of the tents around him. Campfires colored the canvases vibrant reds and oranges, transforming the village into a dancing flame. Its light wisped up and out of sight like vapor, crawling over the contours of the wagon up to the roof. He stepped back to see where it trailed off.

    Beck was roughly pulled to the side by his arm before he could even cry out in surprise. Hands steadied him as a log passed through the space where he had been, carried by two workers off towards the big top.

    ¡°Sorry about that, wasn¡¯t gonna be enough time to warn you,¡± a voice said next to him.

    He turned to the man, who smiled warmly at him. ¡°Thanks for taking me out of harm¡¯s way, I must have been lost in my thoughts,¡± Beck said. ¡°If I¡¯m not meant to be back here then it is entirely my fault.¡±

    The other man chuckled. ¡°Believe me, happens more than you¡¯d think; The daydreaming part, that is. Our group is meant to fill people¡¯s heads with flights of fancy, so we¡¯ll take the compliment.¡± Their accent was from somewhere deep in Mississippi, making his voice richer than their slight frame and youthful appearance suggested.

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    ¡°As for trespassing, we¡¯re all on public ground,¡± the man continued. ¡°Our wagons are the closest that comes to private, but us folk are used to people wandering around our stuff.¡±

    Beck looked around at the other performers idling around the edges of the tents. ¡°This feels more like backstage, I didn¡¯t mean to intrude and break the illusion.¡±

    ¡°If your wonder was broken, then the fault is mine,¡± the man said, indicating his dark, tousled hair and unbuttoned dress shirt. ¡°I¡¯ve earned the blame, having only just woken up. Hopefully I can bring some of that magic back.¡± With a hand flourish he took a bow. ¡°I am Zayne the Magnificent, and I¡¯ll perform for you a trick of the eye, mister ¨C¡±

    ¡°My name is Beckham, but you don¡¯t owe me anything.¡±

    ¡°I insist! If only for my own practice and your entertainment.¡±

    Zayne brought his arm back up, a silver coin dancing across the knuckles of his right hand. Catching it between his thumb and forefinger, he quickly deposited the coin into his left hand. Beck watched him slowly unfurl his fingers to reveal the coin had vanished from his palm. Beck raised his eyebrow at the man.

    ¡°Something on your mind?¡± the performer asked with a slight smirk.

    ¡°Surely the coin is just in your other hand?¡± Beck said, pointing to Zayne¡¯s right hand.

    The man shrugged and turned his other palm up, revealing only empty air. Zayne¡¯s expression turned to one of confusion as he patted his pockets. ¡°Where did I put it? Ah, right.¡±

    He grabbed the space next to Beck¡¯s head and produced the coin between his fingers. Zayne twirled it between his knuckles again before depositing it into a pocket. ¡°Misplaced it in the ether,¡± he commented.

    Beck eyed him up and down. "Quite impressive! I can''t say I know how you did that."

    "I can only do parlor tricks when performing off the cuff, with enough preparation there are no barriers to what I can do,¡± Zayne said with a spark in his eyes. ¡°Now, was there anything specific you¡¯ve visited our humble band to see? If so, I can point you in the right direction.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡± Beck shifted his gaze, clasping his hands behind his back. ¡°I¡¯m more of a student than a tourist. I¡¯m researching different cultures and the stories they contain, so I was just browsing all of the sights that vaudeville offers,¡± he explained, waving his arm around. ¡°And, well, I¡¯m not sure what I¡¯m meant to be looking for,¡± he added sheepishly. The idea of coming to the circus for that very reason now seemed silly; Beck didn¡¯t know how Fielding had talked him into this.

    Zayne regarded him with a curious expression. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard of anyone searching for that when they visit. Our matron, Nan, is the one who tells tales to the rest of our troupe, but I haven¡¯t seen her do it for an outside audience.¡± He thought for a moment. ¡°Let me ask, I¡¯ll be right back.¡±

    The man broke off and entered the wagon that had enraptured Beck earlier. He waited, not knowing how else to pursue his goal. It wasn¡¯t until minutes later that Zayne returned.

    ¡°Well, Nan is out somewhere, but we¡¯re not sure where at the moment,¡± he said, looking out towards the bustle of the rest of the grounds. ¡°However, my sister reminded me that she would be a good substitute ¨C she¡¯s being trained by Nan herself, you see ¨C and would be willing to answer questions for you.¡±

    ¡°That would be greatly appreciated!¡± Beck replied.

    Zayne held up a finger. ¡°There is a cost for her help. A favor. She is an act too, and after hearing how you indulged me in my own practice, my sister would like you to participate in her own recital.¡±

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t have any performance skills to speak of ¨C¡±

    ¡°Oh, nothing of that sort!¡± Zayne assured him. ¡°Her clients are passive in their participation, she merely needs to read your mind!¡±

    If anything, Zayne''s reassurance only made Beck more apprehensive. But, having blundered his way this far, declining the offer filled him with an anxiety he couldn''t explain.

    "I suppose I can volunteer. Where to?"

    "Right inside," Zayne said, gesturing into the wagon. Looking up through the narrow doorway, Beck could only see darkness. Reluctantly he stepped up into it.

    As the gloom settled around him, he noticed faint pools of candlelight pocketing the shadows. Two of the candles stood at either end of a short table in front of him. Their light revealed a pair of delicate hands resting on the other side of it.

    "Welcome, traveler, to my domain," a voice spoke from the dark.

    "Hello, Madam," Beck replied.

    The hands lifted slightly. "You may call me Florence. Please, take a seat."

    As his eyes had been adjusting, an ottoman appeared at his feet. He sat and looked at the woman across from him. Dimly he could see a face. Braids arced over her forehead like curtains, which staged a coy grin.

    "What is your name, sir?" She asked.

    "It''s Beckham, miss."

    ¡°Well, Beckham, are you from around here?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m visiting for the summer.¡±

    The corners of her mouth shifted. ¡°That makes us both travelers in this place, then. You seem the academic type, is that the impetus for your journey?¡±

    ¡°More or less. Does this matter to your craft?¡±

    Her hands laced together, and she brought them up to her chin. ¡°It¡¯s not common for the well-read to find themselves delving into the superstitious.¡±

    Beck instinctively frowned, hoping the shadows masked his expression. "My instructors are unconventional in their teaching methods."

    ¡°Curious. Regardless of your reason, the moment has brought you here.¡± She leaned in. "Let me see your face."

    Beck brought his head forward, letting the candles light his contours. He could see Florence scrutinize him. At the same time the background around her slowly came into focus as his eyes continued to adjust. Beads, cloth and twine in various patterns ¨C some that Beck vaguely recognized ¨C hung from the roof around the fortune teller.

    "Interesting, here¡¯s what lies ahead of you." She reached below the table and drew out a worn journal, flipping to a blank page. Pulling a fountain pen from her sleeve, she began writing down what she spoke.

    ¡°Curiosity has a hold over you. Your mind is full of questions, and the pursuit of their answers have led you to where you are today. Some of what you seek is just an arm¡¯s length away, but their solutions fill you with satisfaction in their logical completeness. Other knowledge has never been touched by human hands, and even if you see through the eye of gods your hunger will not be satiated.

    ¡°Your composure appears strong, which is why your reckless actions will come as a surprise to many. It¡¯s natural to you to chase a path to its conclusion. Not out of malice, good intentions will lead deeper into danger. Perhaps that won¡¯t deter you from continuing forward; to you, it¡¯s just an obstacle to surmount.

    ¡°The same way you present yourself makes you a mystery. Even you yourself haven¡¯t reached the limit of your depths. In some minds, you are the puzzle to be solved. Others, not knowing how to categorize you, will try to enforce their own preconceptions. Those are the ones to be wary of, since to them you are in the shape to be molded.

    ¡°Grab your inquisitiveness by the horns. Temper your nature, refine it to suit your needs. Watch out for the ones who watch you.¡±

    Beck was caught by her words. ¡°What was that last bit?¡±

    Florence carefully pulled the page out along the binding and held it to him. ¡°That¡¯s why I always write it down,¡± she said with a knowing smile.

    He gently took it. Angling the page to the candlelight, he stared through the scrawlings.

    "You seem uncertain," she said.

    Pursing his lips, Beck glanced timidly at the fortune teller. ¡°I presumed the use of divination or tarot, not something like this.¡±

    ¡°Are you disappointed?¡± She asked, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°No! No, I wasn¡¯t implying that.¡± He waved his hands. ¡°It just seemed you were using your intuition rather than signs to guide your words.¡±

    The candor slipped from her face. ¡°You don¡¯t trust my powers?¡±

    ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean ¨C¡±

    ¡°I jest, I jest!¡± Humor reappeared in Florence¡¯s eyes. ¡°I know my form of fortune telling is unconventional, but most of the time my patrons can¡¯t tell the difference. Judging by your reaction, you must be some sort of behaviorist.¡±

    It took a moment for Beck¡¯s mind to reorient. ¡°Yes, my field of study is in the social sciences. You caught me on the wrong foot, I wasn¡¯t expecting what I learned to be relevant here.¡± He glanced back at the page. ¡°I¡¯m curious, why don¡¯t you use more arcane methods, for lack of a better word?¡±

    ¡°Is that one of the questions I owe you an answer to?¡±

    ¡°I suppose it is.¡±

    She leaned back with a sigh. ¡°Everything I learned came from Nan ¨C She¡¯s my mentor. While familiar with the arcane, as you call it, she decided to strictly go by what was tangible and safe. Through no fault of our own my people are looked down upon, Nan didn¡¯t want to further tarnish other¡¯s opinions by using divination.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate your honesty. It was foolish of me to broach a sensitive subject; you can blame my ¡®inquisitive nature.¡¯¡±

    ¡°You know how to apologize to a lady, at the very least. But what is it that you intended to ask?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m hunting down folklore, so the question about your traditions was tangential. It sounds like this mentor of yours may have more insight into the storied history of your troupe, however there are some things you may know about.¡± He pointed to the side of the wagon. ¡°The painted scene on the outside, is there a story behind that?¡±

    ¡°Now that is an interesting question,¡± Florence said. ¡°That mural has been there as long as I have been around, I don¡¯t even know if Nan remembers its origins. Those cliffs and waves under that night sky, it¡¯s a place that many have visited but often forgotten about, a muse.¡±

    Beck looked at her vacantly. ¡°So, you¡¯ve been there before?¡±

    ¡°In a sense,¡± she responded with a teasing smile.

    ¡°Right. Well, how about this?¡± He gestured to one of the decorations hanging from the roof, a hoop with cords stretched across it to form a net. ¡°Does it have any significance?¡±

    ¡°That? Nan says it comes from Ojibwe culture, American natives from the north. The form is a spider web, a protective charm meant to ward against night terrors. Any reason for the interest?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen one before; I¡¯m staying with my uncle as an understudy, and he has one of these hoops in his library.¡±

    ¡°This uncle of yours must be a peculiar man.¡±

    He chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s rather an understatement.¡±

    Florence thought for a moment. ¡°Assuming he¡¯s the one sending you on this assignment, that likely means he didn¡¯t procure it thinking it was just some ornament. Your uncle probably knows exactly the talisman¡¯s purpose, which is even more curious.¡±

    "Should I be worried?"

    She shrugged. "He''s your relative, should you be worried?"

    "He''s a recluse academic, so no." He glanced back towards the opening. "I appreciate the candidness in your responses, but I don''t want to waste your time; is there a time or place I can find Nan, if that is acceptable?"

    ¡°Usually an appointment with the psychic extraordinaire isn¡¯t cheap, but for storytelling her admission is just an attentive ear. While the circus is setting up she is out brushing shoulders with the local elite ¨C they see her services as a fun parlor trick ¨C but come a few days she will be around for her nightly tales. If you are by then, I¡¯ll see what I can do for introductions.¡±

    ¡°Thank you Ms. Florence, I¡¯m indebted to your hospitality.¡±

    ¡°Before you go, I have one ¨C¡± Her eyebrows pinched in thought. ¡°Rather, two questions of my own. First, do my insights seem accurate?¡±

    Beck quickly skimmed over the page in his hand. ¡°Accurate enough. For the predictions, I¡¯ll have to wait and see; I¡¯m not sure I want them to be or not.¡±

    ¡°Then, the second: What is it like overseas?¡±

    The question caught him off guard. ¡°Well, not much different than over here I¡¯m afraid. Older, for sure, but modernity has buried the past of both lands.¡± He reached up to rub his face. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m sounding like my uncle all of a sudden.¡±

    Florence smiled, but he could see disappointment in the corners of her eyes. ¡°Proximity will do that,¡± she said.

    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s another reason for me to get out more. Anyways, I appreciate your performance and insight.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll meet again.¡± She waved as he exited the wagon.

    Outside, the light burned Beck¡¯s vision, and it took him a minute before the world reappeared through tightly-lidded eyes. Zayne was dallying around the outskirts of the caravan.

    ¡°Thanks again for all of your help,¡± Beck called out. ¡°I would have been rather lost otherwise.¡±

    Zayne turned and beamed at him. ¡°Not a problem! Make sure you don¡¯t forget this.¡± He formed a circle with his thumb and forefinger, then reaching through it with his other hand he pulled out a kerchief.

    Beck reached for his own, realizing it was the one Zayne was holding. ¡°I must have dropped that, thanks for picking it up.¡±

    He handed it over to Beck. ¡°Items have an unfortunate habit of ending up where they aren¡¯t meant to be. Take care, and don¡¯t be a stranger!¡±

 6: Pushing Objects Through Walls

    After the circus, the day seemed to pass in a blur. Driving back with Amelia to the estate, an afternoon reading and rereading the words Florence had given him, another dinner with no Rowan; he found himself in bed before realizing any of those events had transpired.

    Beck pulled the sheets in around him. Despite how little his studies had been progressing, he was still exhausted. His eyes itched. The endless riddles and solutions just out of reach wore him down more than any physical strain could.

    He hadn¡¯t had any opportunity to search for Rowan¡¯s key that day. Tonight could be used to search in the places he wasn¡¯t supposed to, but the idea didn¡¯t have any appeal. As far as he knew, all of the nooks and crannies in the manor that were available to him had already been scoured.

    There was still the East Wing, but it didn¡¯t seem that anything short of breaking the door off its hinges would grant him access. Rowan never explicitly said it was off limits, but Nora had given him a stern warning the first day. Beck had no qualms going against his uncle¡¯s wishes, however angering the housekeeper seemed a quick way to be run out of the house.

    Rubbing his eyes, Beck laid back and slid under his sheets. As he settled, he realized with annoyance that the lamp on his desk was still lit. It illuminated Florence''s predictions, the only other occupant of the desktop. He began to pull the bedding away, propping himself up.

    He froze with one leg over the side of the bed, the fabric still gripped in his fingers. His pulse quickened as he remembered the night before, where something similar had triggered the nightmare. Had the light been on before? Did he even remember entering the room?

    For a few seconds all Beck could hear was the blood rushing past his eardrums before he calmed down and let out a breath. He wasn¡¯t paralyzed like before, and he could hear the nighttime sounds of crickets and distant traffic from outside.

    Getting to his feet he made his way to the desk. He briefly looked back to the room¡¯s entrance, but nothing lurked in the crack under the door. Beck turned back to the light, but before pulling the cord he noticed the curtain hadn¡¯t even been drawn.

    Muttering to himself, he reached for the curtain, blearily looking through the glass panes. In the morning the sunshine would cascade into the room, but for now the only light burning outside was the fixture hanging over the front entrance. Although he doubted the Barclays were expecting anyone at such late an ¨C

    He blinked. To his surprise there was someone standing on the front stoop. It wasn¡¯t the phantom from last night; this figure was short ¨C a young girl ¨C and wore a pale blue dress, a bow of the same color in her hair. Unlike the shadowy man, he could clearly see her face. She wore a pensive expression, and clasped her hands behind her back as though she was waiting for someone to let her in.

    Beck hadn¡¯t a clue why a child would be out front at this hour. The best course of action seemed t o be to let Nora know about this. Beck picked up the telephone from the desk to contact her.

    ¡°Hello?¡± he spoke into the mouthpiece.

    ¡°Good, I finally got through to you.¡±

    Beck hesitated. The voice wasn¡¯t one he recognized. ¡°I¡¯m trying to reach Nora. Is she there?¡±

    There was a pause on the line. ¡°No, she¡¯s not here, but you¡¯ve reached the right person.¡±

    He tried to process what the one on the other end was saying, but it felt like his mind was moving through putty. ¡°Sorry, there¡¯s some sort of mistake. I must have dialed the wrong number.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t a mistake. You just thought you needed to talk to Nora, but I was the one who contacted you,¡± the voice said.

    ¡°Excuse me, who is this?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here to guide you in this world. You''re dreaming, Beck.¡±

    He rested his free hand on the desk, feeling the grain of the wood beneath his fingertips plain as day. ¡°Sir, I¡¯m going to end the call now.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t hang up,¡± they commanded.

    Beck froze with the receiver next to his ear. He couldn¡¯t bring himself to return the device to its cradle, and any words he tried to string together dried up on his tongue.

    ¡°Let me ask you some questions,¡± the voice continued. ¡°Why did you pick up the telephone?¡±

    He felt control of his voice start to come back. ¡°Well, there¡¯s a girl who was outside ¨C¡± Glancing out the window, the stoop was empty. ¡°There was someone at the manor entrance, I was just going to let the housekeeper know,¡± he replied numbly.

    ¡°Then why did you answer instead of call?¡±

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°What did you first say to me when you picked up the phone?¡± the voice asked.

    Beck tried to think back, but it was difficult, more so than it should have been. ¡°... ¡®Hello?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right. When you¡¯re calling someone, it¡¯s the one who answers that speaks first. You were the one that answered.¡±

    ¡°I Suppose I did. And?¡±

    ¡°Here¡¯s the important question, Beck. Why would you answer the phone before someone called?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t,¡± he heard himself say.

    Realization flooded his mind as though a fissure had opened in a dam. He had responded to a message that hadn¡¯t been sent yet, subconsciously answering it as though it had been expected. The phone hadn¡¯t rung, but he picked it up regardless, not noticing that his role had been reversed.

    He didn¡¯t have a telephone in his room. At least, not in the physical world. The one in front of him had a burnished copper casing like the ones in the rest of the manor, so for a brief second Beck figured someone could have moved one into his room without his knowledge. But that wouldn¡¯t explain why there wasn¡¯t any cable connecting the receiver to the housing. He held the handle out in front of him. If this was within his realm of understanding, he might as well have been speaking into a rock.

    Warily he brought the phone back up to his ear. ¡°You claimed earlier that this is a dream. The situation is... strange, but how would I know for certain that¡¯s true? I feel too lucid to be asleep.¡±

    A long sigh came from the other end. ¡°Not believing until the truth is right in front of you; you¡¯re a Barclay through and through. The surest way to tell if you are in-transit is if your bed is occupied.¡±

    Beck didn¡¯t have a clue what they were talking about, but despite the speaker¡¯s confusing language, he knew for certain the only one who used this room was himself. He turned around anyway though, since if this bizarre interaction had taught him anything it was to not trust his senses tonight.

    What he saw in front of him he couldn¡¯t reconcile. There hadn¡¯t been anyone else in the bed when he was lying down before, but a form was there now. The figure appeared to be in a deep sleep, but in the light of the lamp he could see movement on their face. Beck approached the body before he completely lost his nerve.

    On closer inspection the movement he saw earlier were the eyes; They were rapidly skittering under their eyelids like the person was entrenched in a novel, unable to stop reading. As for the rest of the face, what Beck had denied at first glance seemed to be the uncomfortable truth. It felt like he was observing reality from an angle it was never meant to be viewed from.

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    ¡°There is someone in the bed ¨C I am in the bed,¡± he said quietly.

    ¡°Everything is as it should be then,¡± said the caller. ¡°Now that we¡¯ve disposed of the veil, so to speak, I¡¯d imagine you have many questions. It would be best if I answer them face-to-face.¡±

    Beck glanced uneasily at his doppelganger. ¡°How do we go about that, then?¡±

    ¡°That part is simple. Just open the door and let me in.¡±

    The line went dead. He looked one more time at the receiver in disbelief before turning to the desk to return it. However, the cradle for the phone was no longer there. Tightening his grip and finding only air, he realized that the handle, too, had vanished, directly out of his fingers. He braced against the wall, finding that, at least, reasonably tangible.

    Despite his better judgment he traced the wall around to his suite''s entry. A shiver went up his spine; now there was the impression of something on the other side of the door, its shadow flickering in the space underneath. Beck didn''t know how he knew, but he couldn''t imagine the one on the other side was anyone he knew.

    "I know you''re out there," he called.

    "Okay, and?" It was the same voice from the phone. Gruff, but not necessarily in an intimidating way. Like a river before the snowmelt. "I''m not here as a thug, I''m here as a guest."

    Beck waited, and soon his curiosity became greater than his fear. He hugged the wall up to the door and looked out the peephole. There wasn''t anyone in view outside, despite the shadows leaking through into his room. Whoever was outside couldn''t be larger than a child, which only made Beck more confused.

    He swung the door open. A pair of beady eyes looked up at him. The figure was familiar to Beck: A small creature in the shape of a bear, velvet and leather substituted for its fur. Unlike when it occupied the small chair in his room, the doll now stood on its hind legs, rising to just above his knee.

    "Hello Beck, it''s a pleasure to finally meet you," it said.

    Beck stared at it mutely.

    The bear raised its forepaws up to him. "Can you pick me up? Human buildings weren''t designed for my kind to traverse."

    ¡°I would like to wake up now,¡± Beck stated.

    It made a staccato humming sound, which Beck realized was a form of laughter. ¡°It¡¯s normal for the adjustment to be a bit of a shock. But you¡¯ve made it this far without slipping back to full sleep, and you¡¯re not running and screaming, which is better than most.¡±

    ¡°Normally I don¡¯t have dreams that are this self-aware, but when I wake I can put this episode behind me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s not the case anymore,¡± the bear said. ¡°You¡¯d better bring me inside, you¡¯ll probably want to be sitting down for what I have to tell you.¡±

    Not knowing what else to do in his situation, Beck crouched down and picked up the doll. It was lighter than he was expecting; he assumed something alive would have more mass. He held the bear out awkwardly in front of him, its legs dangling in the air.

    The creature sighed. ¡°This is rather undignified, but very well.¡±

    Reluctantly Beck brought the doll back inside. He considered putting it on the tabletop, but decided to put it alongside the other oddity on the bed while he took a seat at the desk.

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch that body, or I¡¯ll toss you out.¡±

    ¡°Ah, I guess you didn¡¯t try messing around with it. I can¡¯t even try, don¡¯t worry yourself,¡± it said. The bear sat on its haunches at the edge of the bed. ¡°Now, to the point. Yes, you are in a dream, but it is much more than that. We¡¯re in a place called the Reverie, a space between sleeping and awake where dreams and reality meet.¡±

    Beck ran a hand through his hair, staring at the creature in bewilderment. ¡°This is a strange vision for sure, but for all I know this is just a fever dream. Let¡¯s suppose this Reverie of yours is real. How would I have gotten here?¡±

    ¡°That answer isn¡¯t so simple, but I will try my best.¡± It pointed at the body beneath the sheets. ¡°As you can see, you¡¯re asleep. Normally people aren¡¯t aware of the Reverie, even when they pass through it; their awareness is dormant, but with enough encouragement it can be awoken. That¡¯s why Master Rowan and Master Fielding have been teaching you about seeing beyond your senses, to try and open your eyes.¡±

    ¡°Hang on, my uncle is in on this?¡±

    ¡°Well of course. He¡¯s the one who stationed me in your room.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m even more lost now,¡± he admitted. ¡°Who even are you?¡±

    ¡°My name is Patch,¡± the bear said.

    ¡°Your name is actually Patch.¡±

    If the bear had fur, it would have bristled. ¡°The name I am given is a respectable title, and any complaint about it will be taken as a direct insult against my creator.¡±

    Beck raised his hands in defense. ¡°Alright, better question: What are you?¡±

    Patch huffed, but settled down. ¡°My kind have gone by many names. Children of the Reverie. Phantasms. Master Fielding calls us Oneiroi. But due to our current physical appearance Master Rowan coined the term Velours, which has become the accepted colloquialism in the manor. And while we are summoned for many reasons, our main purpose is guardianship.¡±

    ¡°Hold on, is that why you were put in my room?¡±

    The bear nodded its head. ¡°Very good, you¡¯re starting to catch on. That¡¯s also why when you forcibly removed me from the room the previous night it was a grave error in judgment.¡±

    ¡°What ¨C How was I supposed to know that when all of this information has been withheld! What would I even need protection from anyways?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s something that Master Rowan wanted to tell you about himself,¡± Patch said. ¡°Speaking of, he is eager that you move forward with initiation. This will let him know that you are ready.¡±

    The creature reached into a seam stitched onto its chest and pulled out a key. It was the very same that Beck was looking for, the same outlines he remembered etched on its surface.

    ¡°I would have never found this in the real world, would I.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Patch said. ¡°This key is meant to open your mind, and now it has.¡±

    Beck took the key, turning over in his palm as he thought. ¡°If I¡¯m asleep right now, how will I be able to show this to my uncle?¡±

    ¡°Hold onto it for now, it will make sense later.¡± Patch got down onto his paws and lumbered over to the head of the bed. ¡°Waking up will make things more clear. To do that from the Reverie, you¡¯ll need to climb back into your body.¡±

    That wasn¡¯t a phrase that Beck ever expected or wanted to hear. ¡°I¡¯m not touching that.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not as visceral as it sounds. The you that¡¯s in bed is your body in the waking world, it¡¯s incorporeal here.¡± Patch walked onto the body, but the bear¡¯s legs passed through the form, giving the illusion they were wading through a river. ¡°Master Rowan likened it to slipping through a projection.¡±

    Beck forced himself up and walked over to his double. Slowly he passed his fingers through the figure¡¯s chest. Nothing solid touched his fingertips, but the air inside felt like a cool vapor. A sudden desire to fill that emptiness drew him in, aligning himself with the shape of the body.

    ¡°The transition may be a bit jarring at first,¡± he heard Patch say somewhere next to him. ¡°But soon it will be as natural as ¨C¡±

    <hr>

    Sunlight drifted into his eyes, waking him. Beck sat up, feeling more well-rested than he had since he¡¯d arrived. The dream was still at the forefront of his mind. It felt so real at the time that he couldn¡¯t reconcile his anxiety while in it to his current vigor.

    The feel of something solid in his hand pulled his attention. He held the object up to the light, and the key shined back at him. The impossibility of it following him from his sleep loomed over him, but he tucked that thought away for later. Beck rubbed his thumb over the engravings, if only to convince himself it was really there.

    Across the room, the bear was sitting back in its chair, their glassy eyes watching over him. ¡°Patch,¡± he called over. The doll didn¡¯t move. Beck got out of bed and wandered over to it. ¡°Hey, Patch!¡± He grabbed the creature¡¯s shoulder, but it remained motionless and unblinking. Unsure, he let the doll be.

    In a hurry Beck showered and dressed, arriving at the grand hall while breakfast was already underway. Amelia, Nora and Rowan all sat around the table in the midst of their usual routine.

    ¡°Good morning, uncle,¡± he said. Rowan gave him a murmured greeting, not looking up from his coffee.

    Beck placed the key on the table next to the mug. His uncle¡¯s eyes, which were miles away, reentered the room as he saw what lay before him. He slid his hand from the drink and curled his fingers around the key.

    Rowan¡¯s demeanor shifted. A proud smile passed his lips, and Beck could see a shine ignite in his eyes. ¡°Now we can finally begin,¡± his uncle said.

 Bonus 1: Act I Concepts

    Concept Art:

    Here are a few art pieces I personally made during the development of Act I that relates to the story.

    This first one was a general concept I made for "The Stranger" from Chapter 4. The piece as a whole was inspired by a Thornhill song by the name of "Something Terrible Came With The Rain." The title and sound of the song seemed a perfect fit for this character, although this specific scene isn''t something that will be in the story.

    The character himself is based on the urban legend of "The Stranger," also known as "Hat Man". They''re a demon that can appears during sleep paralysis, who watches the victim from the end of their bed. Some have also alleged to have seen him before an untimely death. I''ve taken pieces of the lore to use in this story, but I am using my own world-building and mechanics to explain his nature, as well as fleshing him out into his own character.

    Another concept that is heavily inspired by Chapter 4 but does not explicitly appear in the book. This was my first time ever drawing the Beck, and I think I got across the face I imagined him to have: messy, curly hair, lean, and a pronounced jawline.

    The layout of the room does not reflect the layout of his suite in the story, but I wanted to capture the other-worldliness and deceptive reality it his. I like how the composition turned out, but not my best attempt at drawing "The Stranger."

    My concept for Patch. The initial idea for them arose from Anya Boz''s room guardians, animal-like dolls meant to protect homes from negative influences. I took that concept and ran with it. These creatures are called Velours in my world (French for "velvet"), and are personal protectors and guides in the Reverie. They will be elaborated on a lot more in Chapter 7.

    Similar to Boz''s dolls, I made the Velours have proportions similar to their animal counterparts. It aesthetically separates them from traditional animal dolls, and makes them more uncanny (which is a good thing in this case). Velours will appear as a variety of different animals, but I specifically made Patch a bear due to teddy bears being commonly associated with keeping someone safe while they are sleeping.

    Commissioned Art:

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    I have a lot of artist friends, so I also got some art done from them for characters in the story. Here are the pieces I''ve commissioned thus far:

    Patch by ScottyArtz on Twitter

    Patch by Foxena on Twitter

    Beck and Patch also by Foxena on Twitter

    Bonus Commentary:

    With the story being as early on as it is I can''t reveal too much about the world or characters, but I can talk about what initially inspired the story since a most of that core was put into Chapter 6. The story and specifically the Reverie itself started life as a Bioshock fan-fiction. For those unfamiliar with the series, it features civilizations existing parallel to 20th century America that were built on good intentions but that eventually devolved into chaos. The civilization I imagined was one that existed as a world in limbo, a place that people could only visit when they existed between life and death. Since attaining such a comatose state isn''t desirable, the few that entered hid secrets too dark to hide in the real world, sure in the security of a reality no human would dare tread willingly.

    The unreality of this limbo world bloomed later on. I tend to latch on to specific music, making the experience of a song the main inspirations for my stories. In this case one of the biggest songs that spurred on In Dream''s Wake is called "Pushing Objects Through Walls" by the musician I Will Never Be The Same. If you were curious about the abstract title of Chapter 6, now you know where I lifted it from. The music depicts a dream-like state with illogical rules of nature which drew me in, and while the coma angle had some of that, I pivoted towards lucid dreaming in no small part to this song.

    There are a couple of lyrics that jump-started the story. The first is the opening verse:

    "Slowly pushing objects through walls

    Answering the phone before someone calls

    The lights won''t turn on

    You are there I can feel it"

    The second line especially grabbed me, and is something else I directly lifted and used in Chapter 6. The idea of the song also implanted the idea in my head of someone getting up from their bed, only to turn around and realize a copy of themselves is still sleeping there. I imagined seeing this would change a person in some way, and eventually became the trigger that fully opened Beck''s mind to the reality of the Reverie. The first half of Chapter 6 was the first part of the story I wrote, since I wanted to make sure I could actually achieve the tone and atmosphere I wanted.

    The outro of the song also caught me:

    "This thing inside will never die

    No matter how much you try

    So just close your eyes and let it inside

    Cause this dream was real."

    I liked the idea of what happens in a dream having repercussions in the real world. I definitely got the idea from the movie Inception, but this song brought it back to my attention (I guess the movie was effective in its premise).

    Later, the world took on more identity after I started listening to a lot of music by Caravan Palace. Their whole aesthetic solidified the idea of a Roaring Twenties setting. It made a lot of other pieces fall into place too; the turn of the century saw the world teetering the line between holding to folklore and rushing into modernity with scientific discovery. This tension is something that makes for interesting character dynamics, so there are many in the story that are a melding of both ideas. Rowan is a man at the forefront of psychology, but is obsessed with a dream world whose rules more closely resemble fairy tales. Florence is a soothsayer in a troupe who brings wonder to its audience, but she uses social science as her intuition.

    Speaking of psychology, its influence can be seen in many of the other chapter names. Gestalt is an organized whole seen as something greater than the sum of its parts, a way to describe the lore and concepts that make up the Reverie. Perceptual Set is the predisposition we have to see things a certain way, something Beck needed to overcome to discover the Reverie. Synchronicity is the simultaneous occurrence of events without links to each other (basically the collective unconscious), something that in the universe of the story is explained by the existence of the Reverie.

    That''s all for now, I''ll have a lot more to dig into and explain once things start to get rolling with the story, so until then stay tuned!

 Act II: Beyond The Edge

Stolen story; please report.

 7: Mezzanine (pt. 1)

    "First things first, I would do well to show you the basics of the Reverie in person. To do that, you¡¯ll need to invite me into your dream," Beck''s uncle explained. They both stood in his suite, Rowan commandeering the room like it was a lecture hall. Meanwhile, Beck sat on the edge of the bed, confounded at what his uncle was trying to explain to him.

    ¡°Alright, how would I even do that?¡± Beck asked.

    Rowan went over to the bowl on the bedside table and took one of the strange metal tokens from it. ¡°We made these for that very purpose,¡± he said, handing it to his nephew. ¡°They are simple invitations that allow others access to your world in the Reverie. All you have to do is give it to me, and the effect will be active.¡±

    Beck looked between the disk and his uncle. "How ¡ª"

    "There will be a time for exploring the inner workings, but now is not that time," Rowan interrupted.

    He handed the disk back. There were countless questions running through his head, but given the fickle nature of his uncle he decided to humor him for now.

    ¡°Excellent. Now all that is left to do is to enter in." Reaching into his jacket pocket, Rowan pulled out a small vial containing a clear liquid. "This is a serum we use to quicken the transition, it will put you to sleep like that," he punctuated with a snap of his fingers.

    Beck looked at it dubiously. "What exactly is in it?"

    His uncle looked down at the mixture. "I don''t know."

    An uneasy laugh escaped Beck''s mouth. "There''s no way I''m drinking that."

    "Oh heavens no! The serum is very potent, you only need a dab of it under your nose. And while I don''t personally know its contents, Nora is the one who concocted it."

    "I''m not sure that makes me feel any safer."

    His uncle chuckled. "Nora can sometimes be a miserable traditionalist, but that''s how I know I can trust her methods." He held out the vial to Beck, who reluctantly took it. "I''ll be off to my own quarters, we''ll reconvene inside."

    Rowan strode out of the suite with the token in hand, leaving Beck alone with the vial. Sighing, he uncapped it and dipped a finger into the liquid. Covering it back up, he put the vial on his bedside table. He stared at his finger, trying to rationalize what on earth he was doing. A part of him was wondering why he was even entertaining this madness his uncle was putting him through, convinced that the previous night was a grand delusion. The last few days could easily have made him crack like his uncle had.

    The other part of him was eager to dig deeper. The idea that what he¡¯d experienced was real was a terrifying prospect, but that paled in comparison to the exhilaration of the possibility. This was why he had traveled so far from home, hadn¡¯t it?

    His curious half won out, and he put his finger up to his nose. It smelled like a mixture of lavender and herbs, altogether more pleasant than he expected. He waited for the effects to kick in, but he didn''t feel any more tired than he did before. Beck reached back for the serum to get a bigger dose.

    "You won''t be needing any more of that," a voice said.

    He jumped in surprise, before the small, ursine form of Patch pulled themselves up onto the bed. Beck was confused, until he looked down and saw he was sitting in the same phantom version of himself he saw last night. The form was passed out in a less than flattering way.

    "When did that happen?" He asked.

    "The sleeping solution from Mistress Nora is powerful," the bear said. "Master Rowan says it''s so instantaneous that sometimes you don''t even notice the transition into the Reverie."

    Beck looked around the room, noticing the mid-morning light still streaming in through the windows. It seemed that the flow of time reflected that of the real world here. He shifted his gaze to the doll, who sat unblinking at the foot of the bed.

    He pointed at Patch. "When I awoke last time, you weren''t responding to me. Are you only alive when I''m dreaming?"

    The bear tilted its head. "More or less. I was created in your ''waking world,'' and my form there reflects my appearance here. But my kind primarily has a presence in the Reverie. Most of what happens outside of here we are blind to."

    Beck tried to make sense of what the creature was saying. "So you didn''t hear what my uncle and I were talking about a minute ago?"

    Patch shook its head. ¡°I am only aware of changes in your world that affect me here, the biggest of which would be if I were moved to a different room. I am only able to be here with you now because you are asleep in the same room as I.¡±

    He chewed on what the creature said. Beck had a strong desire to not be made a fool of like the previous night, and worked to wrap his head around the alien logic Patch presented him with. ¡°So when I moved you to the hallway a couple of days ago, that disabled you from being here?¡±

    ¡°Yes. If I¡¯m not in a dream with someone, I remain in a dormant state. I believe it is the closest equivalent to sleep my kind has, but we have more of a sense of our surroundings. We can tell when the space around us changes in your world.¡±

    ¡°But when you were in my dream last night, you entered from the hallway anyway. Why didn¡¯t you just appear in my room like you did right now? Your chair is in my suite, and this is where I¡¯ve started dreaming both times,¡± Beck said, running his fingers through his own phantom.

    The bear huffed. ¡°Entering into someone¡¯s dream isn¡¯t so simple. The Reverie has a lot of tricky rules binding it. As for your specific case, the entrance to your dream isn¡¯t the door to your room.¡±

    The sound of a muted knock came from outside. Beck got up from his bed and walked to the window. At the front entrance to the manor he saw his uncle standing with his arms crossed, his fingers beating a fidgety rhythm against his elbows. Bizarrely, he wore a brightly-colored fur scarf around his neck.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°We¡¯d better go down and meet up with Master Rowan,¡± Patch said. ¡°You should carry me there, but this time the proper way.¡±

    He looked at the doll with bewilderment. ¡°You¡¯re pulling my leg.¡±

    The bear chortled its strange laugh. "If I needed to walk everywhere, the going would be much slower. Come over and sit on the edge of the bed."

    Beck complied and sat next to the creature. He tensed when he felt Patch climb onto his back, digging its small metal claws into the fabric of his shirt. Patch''s front legs hung around his neck like a collar while its back legs gripped his sides. "This is the optimal position for both of us," it said.

    He stood up. The carry was reminiscent of a small child riding piggyback, and again Beck was surprised at the doll''s relative lightness compared to its size. He felt and probably looked ridiculous, but he thought he understood what Patch meant by "optimal." The doll was able to cling to him with relative comfort on Beck''s end, and his hands were free to use.

    Still, the situation raised many questions. ¡°Do all of you ¡ª all ¡®velours¡¯ ¡ª rely on humans in some way? I can¡¯t imagine another reason why you are here. For that matter, how do you subsist? Is there a land of living doll creatures somewhere?¡±

    Patch bumped his head against the back of Beck¡¯s neck. ¡°Go to Master Rowan, we can talk on the way.¡±

    He headed towards the entrance to the suite. When he opened the door he was greeted with the same hallway he was used to from his time in the Barclay estate. Before he could comment on that, the doll said, ¡°Velours are bound to humanity by our nature. We were created by them, hence we are your servants.¡±

    That wasn¡¯t a response he was expecting. ¡°Are there any of you who live free?¡±

    ¡°I think you misunderstand; It isn¡¯t servitude in the way that a human is forced to serve another human. It is a fulfillment of our purpose to assist travelers in our realms.¡±

    Beck shook his head, jostling his passenger. ¡°All people have a will of their own. Even if there is a purpose to life that doesn¡¯t mean everyone will follow after it.¡±

    The bear let out a deep hum, as though evaluating the man¡¯s reply. ¡°There is something important you must keep in mind. Although my form is one reminiscent of the animals in your world and my speech is understandable, I am not a person.¡±

    ¡°What does that matter? Even if you are some other being, I can¡¯t help but regard you in anthropomorphic terms. That is part of my nature.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t my kind that you should be careful of, Master Beckham. In the Reverie there are things in the shape of a man that are not human.¡±

    He stopped in the middle of the hallway. The creature on his back suddenly felt very alien, and despite the warmth of summer he felt a shiver run up his spine.

    ¡°Part of my purpose is to make sure we avoid such unsavory beings,¡± Patch continued. ¡°We have a sixth sense for the landscape of this realm, running into such entities only occurs with a lack of caution.¡±

    Beck murmured something to himself, then continued towards the atrium. He didn¡¯t speak the rest of the way.

    Finally he arrived at the front door, the great hall still filled with mid-morning sunlight. Beck pulled it open. His uncle stood on the other side, appraising the exterior of the building. After a time his uncle turned to him, noticing the open entrance.

    ¡°I have to say, this is quite impressive!¡± Rowan said, walking into what was effectively his own house. ¡°This world is much more detailed and expansive than what you typically see from those newly awakened to the Reverie.¡±

    He made a half-shrug, unsure how to respond to that. His uncle rested a hand on the ridiculous scarf he wore, and Beck nearly jumped when it moved. His mind took a moment to reframe the bundle of fur as a fox-like animal that curled around Rowan''s neck. It raised its head and sniffed the air, regarding him with beady eyes. Like the creature on his own back, this one also had the appearance of a doll.

    "You''ve already met Patch, this one is named Spool," his uncle said, patting the velour on the head.

    "Hello, Spool," Beck said in greeting, raising his hand in an awkward wave.

    A cat-like murmur emerged from the fox''s throat before it rested its head on Rowan''s shoulder and closed its eyes.

    "That one isn''t much of a talker," Patch commented.

    "Which is exactly why I prefer them over carrying you around everywhere," his uncle remarked. The bear snorted, which Rowan pointedly ignored. "I''d imagine you have numerous questions," he directed at Beck.

    He opened his mouth and closed it, trying to sort through the thoughts thundering through his head. Finally he said, "What have you pulled me into? I feel clear-headed, but I don¡¯t know if I can trust what is before my eyes. For all I know, these visions could be the result of hypnosis or some form of stimulant.¡±

    ¡°If you were concerned about being drugged, you shouldn¡¯t have consumed the serum,¡± his uncle said with a wry smile. ¡°I assure you, this is really happening. The continuity between the waking world and here should be sufficient proof.¡±

    Beck¡¯s eyes wandered around the hall, its familiarity reassuring him, before settling back on the creature curled around his uncle¡¯s neck. ¡°It seems outlandish, but Patch said this is a dream. Supposing that is true, how does this ¡®Reverie¡¯ interact with the real world? What even is this place?¡±

    ¡°Ha! You do realize you are asking me to explain something that defies our understanding? I can only try to estimate it in human terms. It¡¯s like ¡ª¡± His uncle held his hands out flat, his left hand hovering below his right hand. He wiggled his lower hand. ¡°We live on this waking plane of existence, a reality bound by natural laws. However, when we sleep our minds are open to another layer,¡± his uncle explained, moving his upper hand. ¡°When we dream, we are accessing that other world, where nothing is impossible.

    ¡°Where we are now exists between these two planes,¡± Rowan continued. ¡°You can consider the Reverie like a half-floor between the waking and sleeping layers. It has rules governing it like our own world, but those rules adhere to the figurative logic of dreams. Hence why we have beings like the Velours,¡± he said, patting Spool on the head. ¡°In a strange way, it seems natural that they are counterparts to the stuffed animals children use to ward off nightmares.¡±

    Beck stared at his uncle blankly. ¡°I don¡¯t follow.¡±

    The bear on his back was the one who piped up. ¡°Remember I said how velours are guardians in this world?¡±

    Although most of what he was experiencing still felt frustratingly obtuse, the pieces aligned just enough in Beck¡¯s mind for him to grasp the concept. ¡°So, because teddy bears are perceived as some sort of protective force while people sleep by the collective unconscious, in the Reverie they literally manifest as protective entities?¡±

    His uncle gave him an approving smile. ¡°That is the conclusion we have come to. Or our running hypothesis, rather. Like I said, the rules of the Reverie are fluid.¡±

    Beck grinned. He wasn¡¯t even sure why he was grinning, his uncle¡¯s answer only opened up questions of an even stranger nature, which should have been endlessly frustrating. Instead, the mystery felt reassuring, like stumbling across a pleasant memory he¡¯d forgotten. Closer in his pursuit. What it was he was after, he couldn¡¯t quite place.

 8: Mezzanine (pt. 2)

    His lips began to slip down. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me about any of this ¡ª the Reverie, the velours ¡ª when I had first arrived?¡±

    ¡°I suppose telling you about the secret reality I¡¯ve been researching along with the living decorations around the manor would have put your mind at ease?¡± Rowan said with a knowing smirk.

    He blinked. ¡°Ah, I see what you mean.¡±

    ¡°Besides, simply knowing of the Reverie and experiencing it are two different things. Finding yourself here requires a deeper awakening, for one must be both awake and asleep to walk these lands. This lucid state can only happen when the mind is opened up to it, bit by bit. Otherwise everyone would be aware of this place. As it currently stands, most people slip directly between the waking world and the sleeping world, being none the wiser.¡±

    ¡°So the lessons you and Fielding were giving me were to ¡®open me up¡¯, then.¡±

    ¡°More or less,¡± his uncle said. ¡°We¡¯ve found that a person¡¯s preconceptions often get in the way of what is possible. Everything we do pre-awakening is about pulling those barriers down.¡±

    Beck let the explanations sink in. Somehow, the strange behavior by everyone at the estate and the peculiar experiences he¡¯d had made sense in the context of the otherworldly existence his uncle described, the one he claimed they were currently in. The possibility of a madness overtaking his uncle was one Beck had seriously considered in his short tenure, but now if that was true then that same madness had overtaken him as well. At the very least, what his uncle took to be true had far reaching implications that made Beck uneasy.

    ¡°If Nora made the sleeping serum I took, that means she knows about this world. Who else is a part of this?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Come now, you¡¯re making this out like we¡¯re running a hustle!¡± Rowan gave his nephew an awkward smile. ¡°We¡¯re merely seeking solutions to the quandaries of life, same as any other researchers. Isn¡¯t that right, Patch?¡±

    The bear on Beck¡¯s shoulders grunted. ¡°It¡¯s as you say, Master Rowan.¡±

    ¡°As for who¡¯s involved, everyone in the mansion is privy to what we are looking into in one way or another, even the cooks, although most never enter the Reverie. Myself and Fielding are the main ones to actually travel through here.¡±

    Beck carefully weighed his next inquiry. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sent here to learn psychology,¡± he said quietly.

    ¡°No. Your father entrusted you to me, specifically to try and awaken you to the Reverie. I apologize for the duplicity in that, but Whit and I knew, as you now know, that there are little alternatives in this initiation.¡±

    For as long as Beck had known his father, he had been a quiet but steady anchor. His father was a level head, even if that made people outside the family assume Whit simply didn¡¯t have emotions. Beck understood his father¡¯s cool nature, but what his uncle just told him painted Whit as cold. He couldn¡¯t remember a time his father had withheld information from him. Beck could only conclude that this was another unspoken signal, that this endeavor had his father¡¯s blessing.

    From the little time Beck had spent with his uncle, it seemed that social quirks ran in the family. Rowan wasn¡¯t shy like his father, but lacked a social awareness that put Beck on edge. Before, he supposed his uncle¡¯s constant unpreparedness was a symptom of that, but his awakening to the Reverie was met with immediate action. Beck recalled what Fielding had mentioned during their first lesson, how the initiation was used on all of Rowan¡¯s students. ¡°How many people have you brought through this process, uncle?¡±

    His uncle gave a nonchalant roll of the shoulders. ¡°Dozens. If you were wondering where all of those students are, many never made it to the position you are in. Those that did are either helping with our work behind the scenes or have moved on. You are the only one we are teaching right now.¡±

    Before he could continue that line of questioning, Beck heard a strange sound coming from the fox around his uncle¡¯s neck. He realized the creature was snoring. Recollecting himself, Beck let out a long sigh. While understanding his family¡¯s intentions was important, what interested him now was his present surroundings. ¡°Why does this place look identical to the Barclay manor? Is the Reverie just a copy of the real world?¡±

    ¡°In some ways, but there are ¡ª¡± Rowan titled his head, as though trying to knock loose the phrase that was stuck in the folds of his mind. ¡°I suppose you can call them edges, where what appears real and what is fantasy meet. The Reverie is a very compelling illusion. Come, it would do well to show you some of what I am talking about.¡± He walked towards the stairs. Beck followed.

    While they ascended to the second floor his uncle continued, ¡°There is a lot to the landscape of the Reverie, but let us focus on where we are currently. Everyone who enters the Reverie has their own space, their own dream world that becomes manifest. I have my own. So does Fielding. This is your dream.¡±

    ¡°Patch has one too?¡± Beck asked.

    He felt the velour on his back shake its head. ¡°This only applies to humans,¡± it said.

    ¡°Since this space belongs to you, the architecture is dictated by your mind. When someone is first awakening to the Reverie, that person will subconsciously project a place they are familiar with. I guess you like my estate.¡± His uncle looked around the space as they reached the promenade. ¡°Like I mentioned, the size and detail of this world you¡¯ve made is impressive. Usually a novice will only manifest something small and simple, like a single room.¡±

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t this dream look like my family¡¯s home back in Britain? Obviously that¡¯s the place I would be most familiar with.¡±

    His uncle raised his eyebrows. ¡°You¡¯d best ask yourself that, this is what came most readily to your mind. Of course once you are experienced enough with the Reverie you¡¯ll be able to reconstruct your own space.¡±

    As they headed down the hall, Rowan suddenly stopped at an alcove to the side which contained a vase on a small stand. He started rotating it slowly, staring intently at the filigree at the base of the decoration.

    ¡°If this is my own personal space, how were you able to enter?¡± Beck asked, taken aback by his uncle¡¯s strange routine.

    ¡°By default no one would be able to enter your dream, but that¡¯s where the invitation comes in. Like we discussed before, the Reverie operates on figurative logic,¡± he said, not looking up or pausing from carefully turning the vase. ¡°Your space knows that you belong, but I am an outsider. However, because a formal invitation in the real world is a universal symbol that signifies one¡¯s allowance to be somewhere, that concept has become a law in the Reverie.¡±

    Beck furrowed his brow. ¡°But all that I handed to you was a metal token with my name on it, and you were the one who gave it to me first.¡±

    Rowan gave a chuckle. ¡°An astute observation. To you and me, the procedure is illogical. I don¡¯t believe any person would perceive the token to be an invitation. But the Reverie acknowledges it as such. The token is an invitation distilled to its base form.¡±

    That only left Beck more confused, but his uncle had stopped his bizarre activity and was continuing through the mansion. He followed after him until they approached the end of the hallway. Instead of heading into Beck¡¯s suite, Rowan strode to the doors leading to the East Wing.

    ¡°Master Rowan, careful,¡± Patch warned.

    His uncle stopped before the doorway. ¡°You haven¡¯t been through here yet, correct Beckham?¡±

    He shook his head. Beck hoped that attempting to get in wasn¡¯t perceived as entering by the Reverie.

    Rowan pulled at the door. For a moment Beck thought it would be locked like in the real world, but it swung open easily. The space beyond was dark, appearing pitch black. At first he thought it was due to the lack of light, but after staring at the impenetrable nothing he realized that was exactly what was there: nothing. Then it dawned on him that there was a tangible something, not a wind nor a sound, but a vertigo that drew him closer to it.

    His uncle held out an arm to stop him. ¡°Don¡¯t get too close, there¡¯s a drop-off.¡±

    Beck looked down from where he stood. The darkness went on forever. ¡°What¡¯s out there?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a gap in your knowledge, an unmapped area. If you step through you¡¯ll fall out. Please don¡¯t, it¡¯s a hassle to retrieve those that do,¡± Rowan remarked.

    ¡°I would have thought that if this leads to the outside we would see, you know, the outside. Or the edge of this dream or something of that sort.¡±

    ¡°In this world, a house can fit inside a thimble,¡± the bear said.

    ¡°As Patch is alluding to, the Reverie is non-Euclidean,¡± his uncle explained. ¡°In some places you can travel a mile and end up in the room adjacent. In others the same passage is on both sides of the door.¡±

    The type of unreality they were talking about was hard for his mind to comprehend, but Beck was quite sure that in the real world there wasn¡¯t a void in the East Wing. He retreated from the emptiness, now certain that the mansion he was in wasn¡¯t real.

    His uncle closed the door. ¡°Needless to say, you must watch your footing. While the space in there is somewhere you obviously shouldn¡¯t go, there are places where the floor can collapse from underneath you. Not to fret though, that¡¯s why we have velours.¡±

    ¡°As mentioned, my kind has a sense of the Reverie that humans do not have,¡± Patch said. ¡°Not like sight or smell or sound, but a knowing of the shape of this world. Even before Master Rowan opened the door, I knew what was on the other side.¡±

    His uncle continued from there. ¡°From what I¡¯ve come to understand this isn¡¯t just intuition; I assumed that the East Wing would be unmapped based on my own experiences with the Reverie, but to velours it was already fact. Having a velour with you is essential to traversing this realm in any capacity, they can guide you if any problems arise.¡±

    All of his uncle¡¯s strange descriptions in his teachings Beck had been able to tolerate, but there was an uncomfortable vagueness in his last statement. ¡°What kinds of problems?¡± Beck broached. ¡°Like if someone uninvited enters your dream?¡±

    Rowan pondered for a moment. ¡°In the unlikely event that there is someone malicious wandering the Reverie then your velour can protect you, but no one can enter your own space without an invitation.¡± His uncle shook his head, focusing his eyes somewhere beyond the walls of the hallway. ¡°No, the landscape itself is the paramount obstacle.¡±

    Beck hesitated. Something was still pulling at the back of his mind. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if this is true, but in the nights leading up to meeting Patch the dreams I had felt similar to this. Too real for them to be just dreams. And, well, the night Patch was outside my room, someone else came in. Someone I didn¡¯t recognize.¡±

    Rowan snapped his gaze back to his nephew. ¡°What did they look like?¡± His tone remained the same, but his eyes had become oceans.

    ¡°He was wearing a long coat and a short-brimmed hat, but he was a silhouette, as though the light parted around him.¡±

    The fox around his uncle¡¯s neck raised its head, suddenly startled and alert. A deep growl emerged from Patch. But the most startling reaction was from Rowan himself. He regarded Beck, still as a statue. His uncle¡¯s silence was deafening. The two velours¡¯ agitation would have already put him on edge, but the intense scrutiny of the other man was what scared him the most. Beck felt like an insect that lay ready for dissection before the other man.

    ¡°I see,¡± Rowan finally said. He started pacing down the length of the hallway, leaving Beck stranded with his own racing heart. Even when his uncle had reached the limit of the corridor and turned around to pace back the way he had come, Beck still found himself rooted to the spot, not knowing how to react.

    His uncle returned to where he stood. His eyes were once again sharp and knowable, conviction lining the man¡¯s face. ¡°It seems we must expedite your training.¡±

 9: Infinite Structure (pt. 1)

    Beck was escorted back to his suite by his uncle. The spectral copy of himself was still splayed on the bed, an obvious sign of them still being in his dream.

    ¡°Wait in the library when you come to,¡± his uncle commanded before he swiftly left the room.

    Patch dropped from Beck¡¯s shoulders with a snort and climbed into the small armchair he usually sat in. Beck crawled into his own outline on the bed, feeling himself growing drowsy. How could he even fall asleep if this was a ¡ª

    He was back in the waking world. His limbs were sore from the awkward position he¡¯d collapsed in; he supposed it would be better to already be lying down when applying the serum next time.

    Beck quickly climbed out of the bed, passing Patch who was once again lifeless in its chair. He crossed the hall to the library to find he was the first one there. It wasn¡¯t long before the others arrived. Amelia entered first, wordlessly moving to the desk and clearing a space for herself amongst the papers. Beck heard the rest before they arrived; Fielding, Nora and his uncle were arguing, bringing their feud with them into the room.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have you know the manor isn¡¯t going to run itself for much longer if you keep pulling me away to these clandestine meetings,¡± the housekeeper huffed.

    Fielding rubbed his head. ¡°Patience Nora, I¡¯m sure this will just take a minute. Now what is this about, Rowan?¡±

    His uncle seemed the only one at ease, but Beck found it hard to read the man in the best of circumstances. ¡°Since we¡¯re all gathered we can finally get to that.¡± He nodded towards his nephew. ¡°Beckham here told me that he was visited by the Stranger.¡±

    Nora clicked her tongue in annoyance, meanwhile Fielding regarded Beck with wide eyes. ¡°Are you certain? What did they look like?¡± The man asked.

    ¡°As I told my uncle, they had the appearance of the outline of a man in a hat and coat. They were just a shadow, like something out of a nightmare,¡± Beck said. He wasn¡¯t as shaken as when his uncle questioned him before, but still his teacher¡¯s apparent fear put him on edge.

    ¡°Did they do anything to you?¡± Fielding continued.

    ¡°Of course not,¡± Nora cut in. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t be having this conversation if ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Did they do anything to you?¡± Fielding repeated with more force.

    Beck vigorously shook his head. ¡°No, they tried to grab me but there was some sort of invisible barrier in the way. I couldn¡¯t move though, I was paralyzed by ¡ª something, I don¡¯t know what. There wasn¡¯t any sound, no white noise, nothing.¡± He swallowed, for the first time realizing that if that horrifying encounter had taken place in the Reverie, then he had narrowly avoided something terrible. ¡°I don¡¯t understand, if Patch wasn¡¯t there what was stopping this intruder from getting to me?¡±

    ¡°That would be the wards we have in place throughout the premises,¡± Nora replied. ¡°Every suite has one in case anyone is stupid enough to sleep without their velour. Did you not explain any of this, Rowan?¡±

    ¡°Good lord woman, my nephew just awakened last night!¡± His uncle frowned in annoyance. ¡°We haven¡¯t been able to cover prototypes, let alone who the Stranger is. What¡¯s important is to agree on how to proceed now that they¡¯re in the picture. I¡¯m sure you already know my stance on this and I won¡¯t ¡ª¡±

    ¡°This situation is different,¡± Fielding interjected. ¡°Beck is the one in the most danger right now, not you nor me. This shouldn¡¯t have happened, by the way, if it was clearly communicated how important Patch was from the start ¡ª¡±

    At this Nora joined in the chorus of loud voices until they were all in the midst of a quarrel again. Beck backed off, not wanting to find himself in the middle of it. While the three were caught in their own whirlwind, Amelia continued to attend quietly to the papers before her.

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    He went over to see what she was doing. Scrawls of conversation were being recorded next to each of their names. ¡°Is a transcript really necessary?¡± Beck asked.

    ¡°Do you really think Rowan will remember any of what we¡¯re discussing come tomorrow?¡± She said, not looking up.

    Given his uncle¡¯s restlessness, she made a good point. With a murmur he let Amelia continue her work. When he shifted his attention back to the argument he heard Fielding call out, ¡°It would be best if he returned to his home!¡±

    ¡°Hold on, I¡¯m not backing out of this!¡± He was surprised he¡¯d just said that. So was everyone else; the shouting ground to a halt as they all turned to him. His mouth went dry at their stares, but he soldiered on. ¡°Now that you¡¯ve shown me these things, how could I go back and forget that the Reverie exists just beyond my reach?¡±

    Rowan gestured to Beck; he figured that he¡¯d proven some sort of point his uncle had been trying to make.

    Fielding looked at him with concern. ¡°I know firsthand the draw that other world has, but now that the Stranger knows you¡¯re awakening, things are more precarious than they already were.¡±

    He raised his eyebrows. ¡°Are you implying that by default there is inherent danger to the Reverie? I ought to have known that before you dragged me into this!¡±

    ¡°There is only risk in not knowing. If you do not know how to properly drive an automobile you¡¯d also be in danger trying to do so. Traversing the Reverie is similar. There are other obstacles like the unmapped area we found, but they can be avoided with experience,¡± his uncle explained.

    ¡°Which is not the case for the Stranger,¡± Fielding pointed out.

    Rowan sighed. ¡°What you¡¯re suggesting isn¡¯t an acceptable alternative.¡±

    ¡°If I go back to Great Britain, would my world in the Reverie even change?¡± Beck asked.

    Fielding shook his head. ¡°No, that¡¯s not why ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Once you¡¯ve entered the Reverie, there isn¡¯t a way to leave it behind.¡± A hush fell over everyone at his uncle¡¯s words. ¡°Any time you dream, it will be there. The only way to permanently cut it off is to erase your memories of it.¡±

    The information struck him in the gut. This was nowhere near the level of seriousness Beck was expecting when he traveled here. He felt exploited, coerced into doing something that he could not take back. Like pulling the trigger of a gun while his uncle reassured him it was perfectly safe.

    Before Beck could voice his anger, Nora spoke up. ¡°There are natural solutions to that, Rowan. We still have the concoction that induces a dreamless sleep. I can give Whit the recipe.¡±

    ¡°And when he inevitably misses taking it one night?¡± his uncle said. ¡°That would be a stopgap at best.¡±

    ¡°I am not going anywhere,¡± Beck said adamantly. His emotions ran circles around each other, but his mind was made up. ¡°This happened because Patch wasn¡¯t in my room when I slept, right? So as long as I have them with me this Stranger you keep mentioning shouldn¡¯t be an issue?¡±

    ¡°Having Patch with you will be sufficient protection,¡± his uncle affirmed. ¡°Velours have natural defenses that make them excellent guardians.¡±

    ¡°Then if the other dangers only arise due to ignorance, teach me. Teach me how to navigate this Reverie, if indeed it is a fixture of my life now.¡±

    Fielding and Nora didn¡¯t look happy about the proposal. To be fair, Beck hadn¡¯t seen Nora be anything but. ¡°If you can¡¯t be convinced otherwise, then I suggest Rowan and I bring you up to speed as quickly as possible. After you¡¯re aware of the risks you¡¯ll be able to reevaluate your decision,¡± Fielding said.

    ¡°I¡¯m on board with this,¡± Rowan added. ¡°Beckham, that means during the day your traditional lectures will still continue, but focusing on more relevant topics. Your sleep will be highly regulated, and most of that time will be spent getting acquainted with the Reverie.¡±

    Beck was already regretting this course of action, but replied, ¡°I understand.¡±

    His uncle clasped his hands. ¡°That covers that, then. I¡¯ll let Ho-Sook know about the unfolding situation.¡± Beck cocked his head at the unfamiliar name, but his uncle pressed on. ¡°Fielding, prepare the first lesson for later today. Nora, you can go back to whatever it was that was so important.¡±

    With that they left the room, some with grumbling and others quiet, as though they had just had an ordinary discussion. Beck remained behind, letting his head slow down from the whirlwind of a talk they just had. Amelia got up from the desk, glancing over at him before she too walked off. He might have been reading too far into it, but Beck thought he saw a piteous glimmer in the look she gave.

 10: Infinite Structure (pt. 2)

    The day burned slower than Beck imagined it would. Normally he would spend his downtime pouring over literature, but after that morning he had no desire to visit the library again. Instead he spent the day in his room, sitting at the desk. He tried to draft a letter to his father, but whenever he glanced down at the words they described none of the thoughts on his mind. After what he¡¯d been told about his father¡¯s involvement in this endeavor, he wasn¡¯t really sure what he wanted to write to him. After a while Beck stopped trying.

    Afterwards, all he could do was lay down and be subject to his own thoughts. There was no going back to normal. If what his uncle said was true, wherever he went, the Reverie would follow. On the one hand, it filled him with trepidation. If he couldn¡¯t run away from that other world, it would be safest to be around those knowledgeable on it. On the other hand, it demanded attention. If the only direction was forward, Beck was more than happy to go willingly.

    So it was a hesitant optimism that Beck found himself with when he was back in the familiar corridor-like space of the study hall. The afternoon glow coming through the window painted the blackboard a smoldering orange as Fielding scratched a large circle onto it.

    ¡°This is where we are now,¡± Fielding said, writing ¡°us¡± in the middle of the shape. ¡°A reality connected to the Reverie. For the sake of simplicity, everything else outside of this circle is also the Reverie,¡± he tapped the space with his chalk.

    ¡°Is the implication that there are worlds that are not tied to the Reverie?¡± Beck asked.

    ¡°Yes, what you know as reality used to be separate from all this,¡± he gestured at the blank space.

    Beck paused in contemplation. ¡°How are you certain that was the case? Are you saying that humanity didn¡¯t used to dream?¡±

    ¡°Questions like this are why I didn¡¯t want us to get off topic,¡± Fielding said with a chuckle. ¡°To keep explanations short, the place where common dreams come from is mutually exclusive from the Reverie, although I can understand why you¡¯d think otherwise. As for how we know ¡ª¡± Uncertainty marred the man¡¯s usually cheerful demeanor, similar to that morning. ¡°That¡¯s something you¡¯ll need to ask your uncle about, he is more versed in that than I.¡±

    ¡°Getting back on track, let¡¯s investigate this area out here,¡± Fielding gestured to the empty space on the board. ¡°What do we have?¡±

    ¡°We have our own personal spaces in the Reverie.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± He drew several squares underneath the circle, connecting them to it with lines. ¡°Once awoken to the Reverie, whenever you sleep you¡¯ll enter into your own dream world. This acts as a refuge of sorts for you which will build itself up around you. It has a degree of flexibility in your hands, but only to an extent.¡±

    ¡°Uncle mentioned something of the sort. What do you mean by that?¡± Beck asked.

    ¡°Rowan informed me that your space takes the form of this very manor. Now, would it be believable if zoo¡¯s worth of animals were suddenly roaming the halls?¡±

    ¡°The obvious answer you¡¯re going for is ¡®no¡¯, but that¡¯s honestly hard to determine at this point.¡±

    A grin returned to Fielding¡¯s face, as well as some of the mirth Beck was used to seeing from him. ¡°Fair. Generally speaking it would seem abnormal, and trying to manifest a stampede in your dream would be ill advised. Smaller changes, however, are more likely to go unnoticed. No one would bat an eye if a cupboard were suddenly locked that was not before. Even though I¡¯m sure the Reverie seems strange to you right now, there is a rigidity to it that must not be overlooked. Rowan will guide you in that regard.¡±

    The man drew a line between two of the squares. ¡°As you¡¯ve experienced, another traveler can enter your space if they have an invitation from you. They create a doorway directly between the two worlds.¡±

    ¡°Would I be able to travel to my uncle¡¯s space in the Reverie then?¡±

    ¡°I should clarify; all of these lines are personally attached to a single person.¡± Fielding pointed to the line he just drew. ¡°This here is Rowan¡¯s passage between his world and yours. In order for you to travel to his world, you would need an invitation from him. Then it would be like this,¡± he said, drawing a second line between the two squares. ¡°These doorways not only act as conduits for people, but for objects as well. Your connection between this reality and your own dream space is what allowed the key to transition from one place to the other.¡±

    Fielding tapped his chin. ¡°Now, have you tried sleeping while in the Reverie?¡±

    ¡°It feels like falling asleep when I enter back into my apparition, but I¡¯m assuming that¡¯s not what you mean.¡±

    ¡°No. And if you did, you¡¯ll find that while you can go to sleep, you can¡¯t go deeper. We¡¯ve discovered that there is a level of complexity a world needs for it to allow the creation of personal spaces. Worlds that do allow that, like this one, we call progenitor worlds. This reason is why I refer to this world as a reality; it is complex enough to feel alive.¡±

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    ¡°My dream world felt real when I was in it,¡± Beck commented. ¡°Even when I see impossible things like holes in the world and my own reflection sleeping in my room, it doesn¡¯t feel like a dream.¡±

    ¡°The mind is good at convincing us that something physically exists. It¡¯s when the logic breaks down that we realize the illusion. Whereas our own spaces need rules to exist, that¡¯s not the case for all of this area out here,¡± Fielding said, gesturing to the negative space. ¡°This in-between is where things get weird.¡±

    Beck perked up at that. ¡°Go on.¡±

    ¡°This area is filled with spaces operating on their own internal rules, similar to what you would find in our own personal ones, but they belong to no one. Rowan believes they could just belong to the Reverie itself. Regardless, if our own spaces are where dreams and reality fit together, the in-between is where dreams and reality crash into each other. Like the collective unconscious made manifest, without any filter.

    ¡°I can¡¯t understate how vast the in-between is. It goes on and on, personally challenging my definition of forever. So enormous that it touches everything. And that¡¯s where its importance comes in.¡±

    Fielding erased a small portion from the bottom of one of the squares. ¡°Once you are outside of reality, any of these worlds open up to the in-between. And if you are persistent enough,¡± he drew a dotted line from the opening out to another of the squares. ¡°You can travel through to anywhere else connected to the Reverie.¡±

    Beck rested his chin in his hand, thinking through the information. ¡°Would someone be able to enter into a personal space that way, even if they don¡¯t have an invitation?¡±

    ¡°Are you wondering if the Stranger was able to enter your space this way?¡±

    He nodded. It had been on his mind since the previous night. A discrepancy in how his uncle claimed the Reverie operated.

    The man sighed. ¡°I suppose this is where we loop back around to that topic. We are fairly certain this is how the Stranger traverses the Reverie, but even if you make it to someone else¡¯s personal dream space, you are correct in assuming an invitation is still required. You can get to the front door, but it would still be locked.¡±

    ¡°Then how was this Stranger able to get in?¡±

    Fielding raised his arms in a shrug. ¡°Quite honestly, we don¡¯t know.¡±

    Beck let out a breath, matching his instructor¡¯s gaze. ¡°You don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°I was asked by Rowan to inform you of the dangers associated with this pursuit, and this is one of them. We have some knowledge of the Reverie, but what we don¡¯t know greatly eclipses that. We wouldn¡¯t be looking for help, otherwise.¡±

    He took a minute before responding with a measured tone, ¡°Like I stated earlier, despite these developments I don¡¯t really have a better option than to move forward. What does the Stranger even want, anyways?¡±

    Fielding tapped the large circle representing reality. ¡°They want this. We are not certain of the why, but we are certain of the how. If they can get in through one of these personal spaces connected to our reality, they can travel along the conduit to enter into our world.¡±

    Beck remained silent for longer this time. ¡°Okay,¡± he eventually said. ¡°If this figure is trying to break into our reality, where are they from?¡±

    Walking to the other end of the board, Fielding drew another large circle. ¡°This is where they are from. A parallel reality, somewhere out beyond the in-between. Our current goal is to find this place, and thus we venture out into the unknown to find a path to it.¡±

    The prospect of an undiscovered world should have excited him, but instead Beck felt numb to the information. The optimism he¡¯d entered the lesson with was gone. ¡°If someone from this place is so dangerous, why would we want to go there?¡±

    ¡°Besides its existence, we know very little about this other reality. We need to figure out what is going on over there and why they want our own so badly if we hope to permanently put a stop to their activity.¡±

    ¡°Fielding,¡± he started slowly, ¡°How do we even know this other reality exists? In every case of conjecture, not once would the idea cross my mind that this is the explanation for the Stranger¡¯s origin.¡±

    His teacher looked at him with a placating smile. ¡°That¡¯s something we¡¯ll get into at a later time, once Rowan runs you through some of what he ¡ª¡±

    ¡°You will tell me now,¡± Beck interrupted.

    The smile faded from Fielding¡¯s face. ¡°You simply aren¡¯t ready for that information. There is a reason for the ordering of our lessons.¡±

    ¡°We agreed that I would be taught about what to look out for in the Reverie, yet you¡¯re withholding answers still,¡± he said, frustration lacing his words. ¡°Even if uncle is the one in control of what is and isn¡¯t shared, what purpose would this obfuscation serve?¡±

    ¡°We are trying to protect you,¡± Fielding said. His expression was one of concerned resignation.

    ¡°I can¡¯t protect myself if I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m up against! If you refuse to elaborate on this other reality, then what of this connection between our reality and my personal space,¡± Beck said pointing to a line between the circle and square. ¡°We can call this a ¡®conduit¡¯ all we want, but from my limited knowledge I only know of one entrance to and from the Reverie and that is through my own mind. So what exactly are you worried the Stranger would do to me?¡±

    The man looked profoundly uncomfortable. The receding sunlight cast on to his face, illuminating his irises like glowing embers as he shifted his gaze away from his student. ¡°We are afraid that when you wake up, you won''t be the one in the body.¡±

 11: Quantum Mortality (pt. 1)

    Beck slipped into the Reverie just as smoothly as he had that morning, his ethereal outline peacefully asleep in bed and none the wiser to his dream-self ripping the sheets away and storming to the entrance of the room. He was startled when something pulled at his pant leg, but when he looked down it was just Patch catching it with their claw.

    ¡°In a rush?¡± the creature asked.

    ¡°Yes, to give my uncle a piece of my mind,¡± he retorted.

    A knock rang from the door to the suite. Beck pulled it wide, and his uncle stood framed within it. The fox-like velour was once again draped around the man¡¯s shoulders, unmoving except for the twitch of its nose.

    ¡°You have something to say?¡± He said, a corner of his mouth turned up.

    Beck pointed an accusatory finger at him. ¡°What is this game you¡¯re playing? Earlier you argued in favor of bringing me deeper into this venture, yet the information most important to my well-being is restricted by your word.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s nonchalant expression remained unmoved. ¡°I take it you were able to ferret something surprising out of Fielding?¡±

    ¡°You could say that, yes. Only the fact that while we¡¯re in the Reverie there¡¯s the possibility of others hijacking our bodies!¡±

    The fox made a sleepy grunt, which his uncle silenced with a scritch under the chin. ¡°Like you pointed out, I am all for getting you up to speed,¡± he said. ¡±But I also stated that these things must be learned in order. It¡¯s useless to teach calculus if the student has yet to comprehend algebra.¡±

    ¡°I understand that you¡¯ve been hiding a real and present threat from me.¡± He glared at Rowan, challenging him to deny his claim.

    His uncle considered him. ¡°If you did know an inkling of what you were talking about, you would know that the threat is very much not present. But if it will put your mind at ease, let me show you why.¡±

    Rowan made his way past Beck into the room and stopped at the foot of the bed, much as the Stranger had before. Beck¡¯s ghostly echo remained unaware of the man standing before him. ¡°Your duplicate here is a reflection of your body in the waking world, while the you that is here discussing this with me is your consciousness. When your consciousness returns to your body, that is when you wake up. But what if a different person enters your body here? Nature has programmed us to return to the waking world when a consciousness returns, but we¡¯ve discovered it doesn¡¯t care which consciousness.

    ¡°For the sake of the scenario, let¡¯s suppose I am a malcontent who wants to assume your appearance,¡± his uncle continued. Before Beck could react, Rowan reached towards the form in the bed. He made to stop his uncle, but their hand hit something solid before getting to his double. Rowan felt against the invisible obstacle some more before turning back to his nephew. ¡°As you can see, you¡¯re protected from outsiders even if you aren¡¯t being guarded by a velour.¡±

    Beck ran his arm through the air above his sleeping phantom, but wasn¡¯t blocked like his uncle was. ¡°Is this something to do with the fact that this dream belongs to me?¡±

    ¡°Partially, yes.¡± Rowan motioned to the head of the bed frame. ¡°The source of this protection is behind there, why don¡¯t you move the bed to the side?¡±

    Beck gave him a withering look. ¡°Don¡¯t feel like pitching in?¡±

    His uncle rapped his hand against the invisible surface in reply.

    With a sigh, he went to work pushing the furniture out of the way. Patch butted one of the bed posts with their head as though to help, but it still remained heavy and left Beck winded. Once an ornament on the wall poked out from behind the frame he stopped. It was a hoop hanging off a nail, sinew stretched across it in a spiraling pattern, feathers hanging from the bottom of it. He recognized the decoration as the same type that was displayed in the library.

    ¡°It¡¯s a dreamcatcher,¡± he said.

    ¡°So you¡¯ve heard of it,¡± his uncle noted. ¡°Do you know what legends say about them?¡±

    He thought back to what the fortune teller had told him. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that they are meant to stop bad dreams.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the general idea. Because of that cultural imprint, they act as a ward against foreign entities in the Reverie.¡±

    Beck went to touch the dreamcatcher, but the wood and fibers passed through his fingers, like how the body in the bed reacted to his touch. ¡°Is it anchored to the waking world?¡±

    ¡°Yes, they are similar to the velours in that regard; they are both tied to the room. We have them throughout the manor as security against those in the Reverie. That one is hanging in the same place in the waking world, protecting your room.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m guessing it doesn¡¯t stop me because I am the owner of this dream, but why isn¡¯t Patch affected? They were able to prance through my double just fine.¡±

    ¡°You and I are different types of creatures,¡± the bear said. ¡°Our husks aren¡¯t compatible with each other¡¯s cores.¡±

    Beck slowly nodded, not really catching what the velour meant. He remembered how the Stranger¡¯s presence had been blocked by an unseen force, the very same way his uncle was held back now. ¡°If this wasn¡¯t here, then I would have been in deep trouble. What would we do if the dreamcatcher was removed?¡±

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    Rowan looked at him with incredulity. ¡°That wouldn¡¯t happen, no one here is foolish enough to do that.¡±

    ¡°For the sake of argument let¡¯s say that someone else has woken up in my body, what would we do?¡±

    His uncle sighed. ¡°If that were the case, there¡¯s nothing really stopping you from retaking it. Your consciousness would still be active here in the Reverie, and with a velour with you it wouldn¡¯t take much effort to pull the other¡¯s consciousness out of your body so you can re-enter.¡±

    Beck studied the man, whose tight smile could be read as anything from familial pride to a pained grimace. ¡°Why are you trying so hard to convince me to not be afraid of this possibility when you yourself are terrified of it?¡±

    Rowan raised an eyebrow, his features contorting into bemusement. ¡°What gave you that impression?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why you had me memorize the sequence of words when I first arrived, is it not? Otherwise I can¡¯t imagine why you would be so adamant I recite it after sleeping without Patch in the room. If possession wasn¡¯t such a concern, why have a system like that in the first place?¡± He paused, realization flooding in. ¡°It has happened to someone before, hasn¡¯t it?¡±

    His uncle opened his mouth to respond, but a voice from the hallway brought him to a halt.

    ¡°Mister Barclay? Are you in there?¡±

    Beck gave his uncle a perplexed look. Rowan was frozen for a moment, before pointing at his nephew and then to the entry of the suite. With reluctance he went and looked down the short corridor. A young woman was at the other end, peering around the doorframe. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, and her curious eyes peered into the darkened room with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

    The woman¡¯s expression mirrored how Beck felt. ¡°Hello,¡± he called out. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    Uncertainty grew on her face. ¡°I¡¯m the help you hired, sir.¡± Her voice had an Irish cadence to it, but not one as strong as Nora¡¯s. She looked past him into the shadows of the room. ¡°Should I come back later?¡±

    ¡°Um,¡± Beck trailed off, desperately trying to gauge what was going on. Rowan was now at his shoulder, and Patch at his feet. ¡°Sorry, you¡¯ll have to forgive me, I just woke up. My uncle came to fetch me, I¡¯ll be out in a minute.¡±

    ¡°Alright.¡± She still looked unsure, but backed away from the doorframe nonetheless.

    He turned to his uncle. ¡°Another traveler?¡± he asked under his breath.

    Rowan gave a slight shake of his head. ¡°I believe she¡¯s earnest in her claims. We can discuss afterwards, but remember that this is your dream, and hence your manor,¡± he whispered.

    Beck hummed, believing he understood what his uncle was getting at. He walked out into the grand hallway, blinking against the brightness. His uncle and Patch followed. As the bear ambled out into the light, the woman smiled down at the creature.

    ¡°Those are beautiful kitties, what is the big one¡¯s name?¡± she asked.

    If Beck wasn¡¯t taken aback, he would have laughed. ¡°That one is named Patch.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a lovely name!¡± She crouched down and rubbed the velour between the ears, making the bear grunted happily. The fox around his uncle¡¯s neck craned its head to look. Beck thought the other creature seemed almost jealous.

    ¡°I¡¯m all out of sorts,¡± he admitted. ¡°What¡¯s your name, Miss?¡±

    She straightened up. ¡°It¡¯s Maude, sir. In searching for where I was meant to be I believe I found the servants¡¯ wing, but most of the doors were locked.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± His uncle¡¯s words about how his dream world operated came back to him. ¡°Check the drawer of the console table out in the foyer, I must have left the keys there.¡±

    ¡°Very well, I¡¯ll take a look, sir.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Miss Maude.¡±

    With a swift nod, she turned about and started down the hallway, her boots clacking a receding rhythm into the manor. Beck glanced back at his uncle, whose grin was now genuine.

    ¡°Quick with the uptake as always, it seems,¡± Rowan noted.

    Worry crept onto Beck¡¯s brow. ¡°Do you think there will actually be a key where I told her it would be?¡±

    ¡°More than likely. You¡¯re the master of this world, small changes like what you requested the Reverie is more than willing to fulfill; it likes to correct itself if it perceives a gap in its fabric of reality. When you spoke of the theoretical location of the key, you created the gap to be filled.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure if I was going about things correctly, like if I wanted to affect a change I needed to think about it hard enough or something silly like that.¡±

    His uncle tutted. ¡°Telepathy is still in the realm of fantasy, I¡¯m afraid. The Reverie is most amenable to spoken or written word. If I were to guess, with how long they have both existed in humanity¡¯s history, this subconscious realm has grown quite accustomed to our languages.¡± He put a hand on Beck¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t worry yourself with the minutiae, you already manifested change in this dream like a natural.¡±

    Beck let his mind wander back to the person who appeared to them. ¡°That woman, did the Reverie create her?¡±

    Rowan moved his head around in short arcs, as though sifting through his words. ¡°In a manner. An appearance like hers was inevitable, given the nature of the setting your mind has created here. The Reverie latches on to the blueprint of reality you have in your mind, both in constructing the landscape of your dream but also how it operates. A mansion isn¡¯t made to be empty, there are always people running it and living in it. I¡¯m sure this maid is only the first of many the Reverie will populate your world with.¡±

    He hadn¡¯t considered that anyone would manifest out of the ether to attend to his manor here, but now that it was a fact it made sense to Beck. Normally the places he found himself when dreaming weren¡¯t barren like this one had been. ¡°I haven¡¯t met or seen anyone like this Maude in my waking life, why wouldn¡¯t a dream version of Nora or someone else I know appear instead? That would follow the mental blueprint idea you posited.¡±

    ¡°If this were a normal dream that would make sense, but the Reverie is rarely that simple. In my travels I have yet to come across a clone of myself or anyone I know, even when willing my own dream to materialize them. My theory is that humans inside this realm adhere to reality in that there is only ever one of us, that everything that makes up a life cannot be replicated.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a shame. It would have been interesting to see what alternate versions of yourself were up to.¡±

    His uncle¡¯s eyes grew serious. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want multiple Nora¡¯s running around, one is more than enough.¡± That elicited a laugh from Beck, but he continued on. ¡°If there were multiple versions of us, would we all be living identical lives, or would all of our personalities be different? Who could say for certain who the canon version of us would be? In that hypothetical, when I die my legacy would be overwritten again and again up to time immemorial, until any sign of my personal existence would be whittled away to nothing. It¡¯s a horrifying prospect.¡±

    Beck¡¯s amused expression melted. That didn¡¯t seem like a topic he wanted to think about too hard. ¡°So, do you think Maude could be like Nora was when she was younger?¡± he asked instead.

    Wrinkles formed around the edges of Rowan¡¯s mouth. ¡°Heavens no. When she was your age she was probably just as ornery as ever. Now come, it is time to show you what the terrain outside of your dream looks like.¡±

 12: Quantum Mortality (pt. 2)

    As his uncle strode down the hallway Beck started to follow after him, before hearing a grunt from Patch.

    ¡°Ah, sorry.¡± Beck stooped down so that the velour could climb up onto his back. ¡°I still need to get used to that.¡±

    Patch grumbled as they made their way to the foyer. The room was fully lit with electric lamps, unlike the sea of candlelight Beck was used to at nighttime in the waking world. Maude was already there, polishing the banisters of the grand staircases to a shiny finish. On the first floor Beck noticed a table against the wall he could have sworn hadn¡¯t been there before; it was difficult to imagine he had somehow brought it into existence.

    As they passed by the maid to the front entrance, she gave them another weird look. ¡±You¡¯re taking the kitties outside?¡±

    He stopped in place. ¡°Uh, they are mousers. We¡¯re just taking them to the greenhouse,¡± he explained.

    ¡°Alright.¡± She only sounded half-convinced, but went back to her work.

    The two went out the door into the night air. Beck realized it was the first time it had been mild out, the Summer sun and confined city infrastructure making the days sweltering. He hadn¡¯t gone outside at all in the evening since he¡¯d arrived, but he figured the Reverie must be acting on his preconceptions of how the climate was as darkness settled over Boston. He wasn¡¯t sure if the garden lights along the winding driveway were an addition by the Reverie too, but he appreciated their guiding glow along the path.

    He looked up and out past the hill the Barclay estate was built on. The night was alive with the glare of city lights, indistinct stretches of illumination painting the horizon. Beck couldn¡¯t make out the individual buildings, but even so, he wondered if it was possible his dream extended that far. That wasn¡¯t what he wanted to ask his uncle about, though.

    ¡°What¡¯s up with Maude¡¯s perception of Patch?¡± he said as they walked down the path..

    ¡°People see what makes the most sense to them, if they aren¡¯t awakened. Even for those living in your dream, it¡¯s more believable that the velours are common pets than living dolls, I imagine.¡± The man raised a finger. ¡°Those people that populate your dreams, they are the ones that you need to convince.¡±

    Beck turned to him ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°If you can¡¯t convince them of this world¡¯s realness, it will slip away.¡±

    It took a moment for him to follow where his uncle was going with his line of thought. ¡°You mean if I try to subvert the dream¡¯s expectations too much, there will be consequences? Fielding said as much in his lesson today.¡±

    Rowan nodded. ¡°The Reverie gauges your performance based on the human reaction. And while it may not seem like it, you are performing. Not in a stage play, but in the small idiosyncrasies life has drawn out from you that convinces the other actors that, ¡®Yes, everything is as it should be.¡¯ The actors themselves aren¡¯t even aware of the part they play, and they must not be allowed to see behind the scenes, or else the dream¡¯s illusion will break.¡±

    His uncle¡¯s flowery language, while getting across the gravitas of the concepts, continued to lack the clarity Beck desired. ¡°So you¡¯re saying if one of these ¡®actors¡¯ realizes they are a part of a dream it will jolt us back awake, or something of the sort?¡±

    ¡°Not necessarily a single actor, but the majority. If the consensus is that this isn¡¯t real, that¡¯s when you¡¯re in trouble. If you have one actor in the entire dream and they read past the illusion, you¡¯re finished. For a dream that consists of a village¡¯s worth of them though, if a few find out, then the foundational belief in reality of the rest is enough to keep it stable.

    ¡°As for what happens in the event that the veil is lifted, when I say the dream will break I do mean that. If you think of this world as a bubble, then realization is when it bursts. If you are caught in it, you¡¯ll be ejected out into the space between dreams.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that where we are going now?¡± Beck asked with a hint of concern.

    ¡°Indeed. If you walk there and are prepared with velours like we are then we¡¯re not in any immediate danger. The issue is that the direction in which you are thrown from a collapsing dream is arbitrary. Remember the pitfall you have in the East Wing? The in-between is much more full of holes than our dream worlds are. You are just as likely to be launched into one of them as you are to land somewhere safe.¡±

    The fortress-like structure of the estate felt a lot less reassuring to him now. ¡°Something else to avoid then. So, what, we need to keep up the lie that this is really happening?¡±

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    His uncle gave a shrug. ¡°They¡¯re figments of your imagination, if morality is what is tripping you up. Dreams are deceptive by nature, just in the Reverie you are the one deceiving the dream. Otherwise it might realize the house you¡¯ve built on thin air is meant to collapse.¡±

    ¡°And do I even want to hear how you know of these repercussions of ¡®raising the veil?¡¯¡±

    Rowan raised his shoulders again, but stopped part way as though realizing a shrug wasn¡¯t the most appropriate response to that question. ¡°That has an easier and more definitive answer; in one of Fielding¡¯s scouting missions he came across a similar party from Midwich and was able to make off with some of their materials. Contained were papers documenting their findings of the Reverie, including the phenomena they had experienced.¡±

    Beck looked at his uncle blankly. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of Midwich.¡±

    Rowan returned his stare. ¡°Has Fielding been teaching you anything? He was meant to cover that today.¡±

    A part of him was screaming inwardly in frustration while the other part filed through the avalanche of information his teachers had given over the past 24 hours. The latter was able to formulate a guess before the former made its way outward. ¡°Is it the supposed parallel world that the Stranger is from?¡±

    ¡°The very same,¡± his uncle said.

    ¡°Well, we never got that far in the lesson. Fielding refused to elaborate on why he was certain of its existence; Do you have an explanation?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No, can¡¯t say I do.¡±

    Beck¡¯s eyebrows snapped up in surprise. His uncle was brazenly shameless in his admission, donning the same placid look he often wore.

    ¡°All we really have are written accounts and Fielding¡¯s word,¡± Rowan continued. ¡° The man has never given me a reason to question him, so I trust the veracity of his account even for something so outlandish. But even in the absence of such a place, the Stranger and his cohorts are still very much an immediate threat.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± Beck held up his hand. ¡°There are people working for him?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± his uncle replied in his infuriatingly matter-of-fact tone. ¡°The Stranger wouldn¡¯t be as much of a problem otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Not so much work for him, but work with him,¡± Patch growled from his back. ¡°They have an unnatural aura about them, no one would want to be the lapdog of that thing.¡±

    ¡°If you see any in the Reverie they¡¯re easy to recognize. They always wear impractically long coats, for some reason,¡± his uncle said.

    ¡°Okay, so let¡¯s see if I¡¯m understanding this correctly. There¡¯s a team of people out there who are dedicated to breaking into our reality, backed by a figure who is the living embodiment of a nightmare. We are currently headed deeper into the Reverie, the place where said evil organization is residing. Does that sound right?¡± Beck couldn¡¯t hide the exasperation in his voice.

    ¡°That¡¯s the long and short of it, yes,¡± his uncle said.

    ¡°Does it not concern you we are walking towards danger without any protection?¡±

    Rowan smiled. ¡°That¡¯s what the velours are for.¡± Beck shot him a skeptical look, so he pointed at Patch. ¡°If you wouldn¡¯t mind, it seems my nephew needs a demonstration to put his mind at ease.¡±

    With a grunt the creature dropped from Beck¡¯s back onto the cobbled road. Even in the dim light of the garden lamps the diminutive bear looked far from intimidating. At first it didn¡¯t seem like the velour was doing anything until he heard the tearing of fabric. He stared in alarm as the stitching across the bear¡¯s form snapped, but instead of stuffing falling through the gaps, more cloth was revealed underneath. The additional material expanded outward, continuing to contort and rip apart into grotesque shapes.

    Terrified, Beck stumbled backward. His foot caught on the edge of the path, and with a curse he fell to the grass. Patch now towered over him, his form still ursine but no longer soft and doddering. They now much more closely resembled their animal counterparts in stature, possibly even bigger. Fabric and threads hung off their pelt in matted clumps, and their limbs belied a musculature that could crush an automobile. The copper claws that had been blunt nubs before were now wicked sabres that dug into the stone.

    The monster looked down at him, letting out a huff through its nostrils that trailed into a low, bassy growl. Under its intense gaze, Beck was trying his hardest not to wet himself.

    ¡°This is what will be protecting us out in the wilds of the Reverie,¡± his uncle said. He stood closer to the beast than what had to have been safe, but appeared unperturbed despite the fact that the bear now stood a head taller. ¡°Do you think this will suffice?¡±

    Unable to find his voice, Beck vigorously nodded.

    ¡°You should turn back before you scare him off,¡± Rowan said, laying a hand on the bear¡¯s shoulder.

    Another rumble emerged from the creature¡¯s throat, before they acquiesced and began to fold back into themselves. Cloth tugged back into its body in a way that shouldn¡¯t have been physically possible until all of the seams closed and reknit themselves. Patch was back to resembling the doll Beck was used to. They turned to him sheepishly, its ears pulled back. ¡°Sorry for the scare.¡±

    Beck tried to speak but only a croak came out. Swallowing, he tried again. ¡°Do ¨C Do they all do that?¡±

    ¡°Depends on the velour, we each have different specialties,¡± Patch grunted.

    ¡°Patch is definitely one of the more impressive ones we have. Spool here has yet to do anything exciting,¡± Rowan said.

    The fox twisted its head around to him and let out a sad cry.

    ¡°Well, we both know it¡¯s true,¡± Rowan said, looking into the creature¡¯s beady eyes.

    Beck shakily picked himself up from the lawn on shaking legs, brushing grass from the seat of his pants. ¡°Well now, are we quite done with the theatrics?¡±

    His uncle still wore an amused smile. ¡°Very well. Now that you¡¯re assured, let¡¯s continue.¡±

 13: Catoptric Cistula (pt. 1)

    Reluctantly, Beck let the velour climb onto his back again. His uncle led him to the front gate of the manor, through which the streets of Boston flowed. Instead of going through he went to one of the gateposts under the lamplight.

    ¡°Look here,¡± Rowan motioned to the brickwork.

    He examined where his uncle was indicating closer and realized there were some protrusions. They looked familiar, but were completely out of place here. ¡°Are these buttons for a lift?¡±

    ¡°Elevator buttons, yes. You only have two right now, which makes sense. We¡¯re at the main exit of your dream world; any guess what these do?¡±

    Beck looked around him. ¡°I don¡¯t see any carriages to take us to different levels, so I imagine different dreams are analogous to floors in this case.¡±

    ¡°Very astute, as always,¡± his uncle said with a grin. ¡°The first button always leads out to the in-between. All subsequent ones lead to other¡¯s dreams. You¡¯ve only invited me to your dream, thus the one additional button.¡±

    He scrutinized the controls. ¡°They aren¡¯t labeled, how do you know which is which?¡±

    ¡®You¡¯ll need to memorize them. Memory techniques are something we¡¯ll need to work on as you become more accustomed to the Reverie. Being able to mentally keep track of things can get you out of many rough spots out here.¡± Rowan raised an eyebrow at his nephew. ¡°I personally have dozens of buttons in my own world, and this aspect is on the lower end of complexity in this field.¡±

    ¡°Something else to look forward to,¡± Beck muttered to himself. He looked out through the gateway into the city beyond. ¡°It just looks like Boston out there,¡± he said louder.

    ¡°No, you wouldn¡¯t see anything; it¡¯s set to my floor ¡ª er, dream ¡ª right now. The connection is still one-way.¡± His uncle thrust an arm through the gate, but it did not appear on the other side. To Beck, the forearm terminated uniformly at the threshold between the estate and beyond. Pulling his arm back, the spatial divide splitting his uncle¡¯s limb traveled up past his wrist and fingers until it was whole again.

    ¡°Huh,¡± was all Beck could say. The sight was strange, but not the strangest thing he¡¯d seen that day.

    ¡°Now if you¡¯d hit that first button there, we can see what type of landscape we¡¯re dealing with.¡±

    He pressed it, and as soon as he did the space beyond the gate instantly changed. The soft glow of twilight spilled through the portal, mixing with the yellow glow of the lamplight. Ahead, the terrain was no longer rivers of asphalt, but a wooded glen overlooking a pond. A pungent scent akin to the soil of an April morning drifted through.

    Beck pulled his gaze from the scene to the edges of the gate. Above the arch of it and past either gatepost was the nighttime of his dream. Clutching a bar of the fence surrounding the property, he angled his head to catch as much of a glimpse as possible past the entrance. On the other side was just the end of the driveway where it met the main road. He drew back to look back at the forest that sprawled out impossibly through the same space. A thrill ran through him, a familiar kind from his first lessons when he was ignorant of his uncle¡¯s duplicity.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sensing anything immediate,¡± Patch said.

    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± said his uncle. ¡°Seems a pleasant enough space to be connected to.¡±

    Rowan strolled through the entrance into the glen with Beck trailing in his footsteps. The air immediately tasted different, unsullied by humanity¡¯s chemicals. It subtly reminded him of home, but the light breeze did not carry the Atlantic salt that flavored his memories. The dirt under his shoes felt supple. The fading light of this space¡¯s sun filtered through the leaves above in small smatterings, but what it revealed looked very much to Beck what he would expect to find along wooded paths in the real world. All of these familiar trappings should have felt comfortable, but instead undermined some of the enthusiasm he felt.

    ¡°This place feels too normal,¡± he said to no one in particular.

    ¡°It isn¡¯t uncommon to find more ordinary spaces like this,¡± his uncle replied. ¡°Usually there is some level of unreality the Reverie imposes on the in-between, although it may be difficult to pick up on when first entering a region.¡±

    They ventured towards the pond. Between the tree trunks Beck glimpsed tiny flashes of light. He realized that what must be fireflies danced in small pockets around them, always a few steps off the trail they walked. The well-trodden path wasn¡¯t the only indication of others having passed through; over the pond a jetty had been constructed, though no boats were moored to it.

    As they approached the dock, Beck began to realize that something was off about the woods. It was convincing in its appearance and in the earthy smells that arose from the fallen leaves carpeting the ground, but the sounds were wrong. Rather, the lack of them.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°Do animals exist here?¡± he asked.

    Rowan relaxed his muscles and turned to his nephew; apparently Beck wasn¡¯t the only one that noticed the strange atmosphere. ¡°Depends on the space, but the ones like these woods that aren¡¯t as strange do tend to attract wildlife.¡±

    His uncle didn¡¯t mention the obvious. There was no birdsong. No chittering of mammals. No buzzing of insects. He wasn¡¯t sure what that meant, but it felt ominous.

    ¡°Take a look around, see if you can find anything out about how this place operates,¡± Rowan suggested.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to wander too far and get lost.¡±

    His uncle patted Spool on the head. ¡°The velours are excellent guides, you don¡¯t need to worry about that. Just heed Patch¡¯s warnings if he senses something.¡±

    Rowan started down a trail that branched off from where they stood. Not knowing what else to do, Beck headed off in the opposite direction. The thin path he walked was peaceful, winding through the oaks that made up the forest. The crunching of leaves under his feet broke the haunting silence, but besides the decaying foliage and the numerous trees, there wasn¡¯t much else to this land.

    ¡°So, what are we even keeping an eye out for?¡± he asked the velour.

    ¡°We are scouting,¡± the bear said. ¡°Mapping new regions like this is critical to Master Rowan¡¯s understanding of the Reverie. All of the areas in the space between dreams are interconnected through doorways like the one at the entrance to your dream.¡±

    He looked around him through all of the trunks, seeing nothing but more trees. ¡°I would think if they are anything like the one we traveled through to get here that they would be easy to spot.¡±

    ¡°You underestimate the scale of the Reverie.¡±

    ¡°Fielding compared the amount of spaces like this that exist to infinity, I am aware of how huge it is.¡±

    ¡°Master Fielding is correct, but perhaps only described to you the broader picture,¡± Patch grunted. ¡°These in-betweens can be small, or they can be expansive. I am not sensing any pitfalls nearby, so this one could be the latter. Entrances to other in-betweens are similarly random. There might be a few clumped close together, or there might be miles between them. There might be only one, the same one that we used to enter in.¡°

    He sighed. ¡°I assumed that traversing undiscovered dream worlds would be, you know, exciting.¡±

    ¡°Once you are more experienced, I think you will find the boring worlds more desirable. The interesting ones ¨C if you could call them that ¨C are not for those with weak wills. They aren¡¯t suitable for those with strong wills either, for that matter.¡±

    Beck scowled, but refrained from commenting. He turned to the surrounding woods again, focusing on a group of blinking lights nearby. Breaking from the trail, he wandered towards them. While he expected the fireflies to start floating away from him, they remained in place even as he drew near. It was then that he noticed the pattern that the lights illuminated in, blinking in and out in perfect sync with each other.

    He reached out and touched one. It wasn¡¯t an insect at all, but a small bulb. The dim twilight had hid the illusion, but up close Beck could clearly see that all of the lights were linked together, the wire connecting them draped over the underbrush and snaking under the fallen leaves.

    ¡°Well, this certainly is out of place.¡± Beck tugged on the cord, but it was firmly tethered to the ground. ¡°Not sure what purpose these would serve.¡±

    ¡°It probably doesn¡¯t serve any,¡± Patch said. ¡°Many features like this only imitate aspects of your reality.¡±

    Beck let the wire go and strayed further from the trail. He hadn¡¯t gone far when a sound split the quiet next to him. Patch immediately became alert on his back as Beck flinched from the noise. Due to the surprise it took him a moment to realize it was a warbling bird call that was startling close. The cry ended, but Beck remained frozen for a minute, unsure of what to do.

    Warily he took a step, and immediately another cry rang out. A bubbling panic started to rise in him before the sound repeated the same tones that the last call had. His curiosity overcame his fear and he walked towards the sound. It didn¡¯t react as he stumbled through the underbrush towards it, and when he came across what was making the sound Beck already had a good idea of what it was.

    The call faded as Beck located the box it was emerging from. It appeared like a form of radio device that was dangling from one of the oaks. The cord connected to it was tossed over a branch, its end also rooted into the ground like the string of lights.

    His uncle came jogging in from behind, setting off the audio device again. Rowan didn¡¯t look concerned at all, admiring the bizarre setup with an inquisitive eye.

    ¡°It¡¯s motion-activated, somehow!¡± Beck yelled over the chirping blaring in his ear.

    Before it fully died down again, his uncle bent down to pick up a stone. He tossed it deeper into the forest, and a cacophony of animal sounds followed, emerging from more devices scattered throughout the forest. The amplified calls were almost deafening compared to the calm before. Beck cupped his hands over his ears until the noises passed.

    ¡°I suppose if there was any wildlife in this world, they would have been scared off long ago by this ruckus,¡± his uncle said.

    ¡°Who strung up all of these contraptions anyways?¡± Beck mused.

    ¡°Probably no one,¡± replied his uncle. ¡°The Reverie likely created the world this way. In its entirety it is quite impressive, but the details are where it becomes confused.¡±

    ¡°A natural force can be confused?¡±

    ¡°Calling the Reverie a ¡®force¡¯ might be reductive. There¡¯s a reason the wind and the seas were worshiped by cultures of old, but you have to admit that none of what we would consider natural could replicate those that interacted with it.¡±

    Beck looked at his uncle, trying to gauge his meaning. ¡°So the Reverie is a god,¡± he suggested.

    Rowan twisted his features into a grimace. ¡°I¡¯m sure there are those who believe that. Personally, if an entity can only achieve creation through smoke and mirrors, I don¡¯t think they could be considered a strong god. If you¡¯re interested in discussing the theological implications of the Reverie, Fielding has a good ear for it. Nora, on the other hand, would probably beat you over the head with a broom.¡±

 14: Catoptric Cistula (pt. 2)

    Beck once again surveyed the foliage around him. He tried to spot the other noisemakers to keep his thoughts from his uncle¡¯s reasoning, but either the devices were too hidden or his mind too scattered to locate them.

    ¡°Normally we would want to be thorough in our scouting, but for the sake of our sanity let¡¯s stick to the path for now,¡± his uncle said.

    He murmured in agreement, and they moved out of the forest proper. The speaker next to them activated once more as they left, prompting Beck to cover his ears again.

    Back on the trail he felt more at ease. Despite still being in an alien land, he couldn¡¯t help giving in to the familiarity of the facade. The path they were on cut a loop around the pond, offering little variation in scenery. The same types of oak surrounded them, and he was starting to become convinced they wouldn¡¯t find anything else unusual until a hollow under one of the tree¡¯s roots caught his eye.

    He pointed to it. ¡°Over there.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s gaze followed to where he was indicating. Beneath the arc of the root a dim light shone through. ¡°Good eye, that looks promising,¡± he said with a smile.

    They walked over to it and Beck crouched down to get a better view. There was an opening under the root through which he saw the backside of a wallboard and a decrepit wooden floor. The light source was somewhere overhead, above where the space beneath the hollow should have ended.

    ¡°There¡¯s a room under there,¡± Beck said, ¡°but the opening looks like a squeeze. Is there a way to make it larger?¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately, probably not,¡± his uncle said. ¡°Patch, Spool, see what¡¯s on the other side.¡±

    Patch dropped from his back, and the fox velour flowed off Rowan¡¯s shoulders. The latter padded on tiny, graceful feet in contrast to its sluggish demeanor, and both velours slipped through the entrance. Their soft footsteps faded out and left Beck and Rowan to themselves.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, it did happen.¡±

    Beck turned to his uncle. ¡°Pardon?¡±

    Rowan¡¯s jaw was slack, almost stuck open, like he was struggling to push the words out of his throat. ¡°There was an incident where another¡¯s consciousness entered a body,¡± he was able to get out. ¡°That is how we know of the phenomena in the first place. Otherwise we wouldn¡¯t have known we needed dreamcatchers or pass phrases or any of the other measures that have been put in place. We haven¡¯t had an occurrence since.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Beck said. An uncomfortable silence settled over the glade. There wasn¡¯t an appropriate response he could think of to fill the space.

    He kicked himself for having yet to acclimate to his uncle¡¯s social mannerisms. His uncle pulled on conversation threads in a seemingly random order, which was still putting him on the back foot. It had been nearly an hour since they were arguing over that uncomfortable subject, enough time that any anger he¡¯d felt had dissipated. A voice somewhere deep inside him was nagging at him that he ought to still be angry, but his uncle¡¯s explanation smothered it.

    A pattering of footsteps announced the return of the velours. When they emerged the fox immediately circled Rowan¡¯s feet while Patch casually lumbered up to the humans. ¡°This is another opening into the tenements,¡± the bear stated.

    ¡°Well, we were going to run into them sooner or later,¡± his uncle mused. Any trace of vulnerability he had shown earlier was gone. ¡°It¡¯s a relatively safe area, so we can go ahead into it.¡±

    Beck nodded and approached the hole. When he got close he hesitated. ¡°It¡¯s a rather small opening,¡± he reiterated. The velours were able to pass without issue, but for a person the gap wasn¡¯t even tall enough for someone to go on hands and knees.

    His uncle bent down and examined the gateway. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll get stuck,¡± he said.

    ¡°Thanks, that¡¯s comforting,¡± Beck retorted.

    He stared down into the hole, caught by a guttural unease. Closing his eyes, he let out a long breath and lowered himself onto his stomach. He crawled forward. Dangling fibers from the root above brushed against his shoulders and showered dirt onto his back. The ground under him became clods that stuck to the heels of his palms and the knees of his pants. When his head emerged into the room he let out his breath ¡ª he didn''t realize he''d been holding it. Drywall crumbled from the wall within as he scrambled out of the hole. This gateway was a much less pleasant experience than the one leading from his dream into the glen.

    The building he found himself now certainly reflected how Patch had labeled it. The passage back into the forest was a hole at the bottom of the wall, the remainder of which was a patchwork of wallpaper and bare wood. The rest of the space was more put together, but similarly dilapidated. An entire home was squished into a single room; a stove, bed and rugged couch all stood within hand''s reach of each other. It held the appearance of being lived in, but there were no occupants.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    He heard a grunt as his uncle came up through the hole in the wall. Rowan stood up, not bothering to brush off his now filthy suit. To be fair, his uncle didn¡¯t seem to be concerned about most other decorum, either.

    ¡°So you¡¯ve been to this space before,¡± Beck said.

    His uncle nodded. ¡°Many of the areas we¡¯ve mapped connect to this world in some way. It¡¯s not surprising we came upon this place. Sometimes it feels like all roads in the Reverie lead here.¡±

    Rowan ignored the strange room layout and went straight to the door, opening it. Patch scrambled up Beck as he followed him out into a long corridor. He looked to the side and his vision was caught, trying to decipher the pattern down the hall. In the dim yellow light of the sconces he saw there were lines running diagonally from each corner of the ceiling and floor, meeting at a fuzzy, indistinct place in the center. It took a few seconds for his brain to reframe what he was seeing to the reality of the space; it wasn¡¯t a pattern on the far wall, the lines were the edges of the hallway as it stretched endlessly into the distance. The pale grain in the middle was where the fog encroached, what could have been miles away.

    He felt Patch butt the back of his neck again, causing him to unfreeze. Given the doors that lined the corridor and the sheer vastness of it, Beck could understand how so many other in-betweens were connected to this place. While he had been caught in his daze, his uncle had begun walking in the opposite direction from him. He jogged to catch up.

    Following his uncle¡¯s lead, he glanced over at the other doors they passed. Each had a plate with the room number on it. They were all several figures long, which didn¡¯t help give Beck any reference to where they were in this building. As they continued on, one of the numbers on a door caught his attention. The character wasn¡¯t an Arabic numeral, although it looked like a backwards seven with a serif on the bottom. Blinking, he more carefully examined the other numbers. On a passing glance they appeared normal, but on closer inspection all of the numerals were off; the lines crossed and looped in ways that only imitated known symbols. Beck figured this was another aspect that the Reverie had ¡°confused.¡±

    He was so focused on the figures that it came as a surprise when another hallway opened up perpendicular to them instead of another door. His uncle was already going down the new hallway, and Beck gratefully followed after. Not only was it a departure from the mind-numbing corridor they had been traveling, but he also saw the far wall down this one. This hallway had an end.

    There were more doors on either side, but when they reached the far side of the hallway it opened into a stairwell. Relieved to be somewhere he could gauge their position, Beck leaned over the railing to see how far up they were.

    He immediately regretted doing so. Looking down was like staring into infinity. If there was a ground floor, it was so far away as to be beyond sight. Vertigo overtook him, and it took a considerable amount of willpower to push away from the side of the stairs instead of succumbing and toppling over the edge.

    Beck slumped down against the wall with his head still spinning. ¡°How many floors does this building have?¡± he gasped.

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know if we can guess,¡± Rowan said. ¡°One time I had Fielding try and reach the top of the tenements, but after a day of climbing he called it quits.¡±

    He looked at his uncle with big eyes. It wasn¡¯t only the scale that made him uncomfortable; His mind struggled with the idea of being inside the Reverie for that long.

    ¡°Master Beckham, if you please,¡± Patch said from behind.

    Beck realized he was squishing the velour against the wall he was leaning against. ¡°Sorry,¡± he mumbled in apology as he got to his feet. ¡°How do we even begin to explore this place?¡±

    Before his uncle could reply, a faint sound drifted up from the chasm-like stairwell. It was the distant sound of footsteps. As they echoed up the shaft, it became difficult to pinpoint how far away the source was. It could have been a hundred feet or miles.

    ¡°Are there other members of your company exploring here?¡± he asked quietly.

    Rowan stared ahead silently for several seconds. ¡°We should head back.¡±

    They hurried to the never-ending corridor and down the way that they had come. When they passed a door that looked like all of the other ones, Patch said, ¡°This is where we entered.¡±

    ¡°Good, good.¡± Rowan looked intensely towards the direction of the stairway. Beck strained his ears, but didn¡¯t hear anything now besides the soft buzzing of the sconces.

    ¡°Now, your task for tonight,¡± his uncle continued. ¡°We do need to start mapping this section of the tenement. Looking through the rooms near the entrance back to the woods is as good a place as any to begin.¡±

    ¡°Mapping to discover any other adjoining in-betweens, to find a path to this Midwich place,¡± I said.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°So, how would I even keep track of all that I¡¯ve seen?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be doing that for you,¡± Patch said. ¡°Understanding the landscape of the Reverie is natural to us velours.¡±

    ¡°What if I wander off too far and can¡¯t find my way back?¡±

    His uncle pointed at Patch.

    ¡°And what if ¡ª¡± He trailed off as he turned in the direction of the stairwell.

    Once again his uncle pointed at Patch. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have any troubles tonight, but God forbid you do, you¡¯ll be in good hands.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re leaving me here,¡± Beck said flatly.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see any reason why I need to stay, you¡¯ve proven yourself more than capable tonight,¡± Rowan said. He opened the door that led back to the glen. ¡°Besides, I have other duties that I must attend to. I enjoy exploring the Reverie as much as anyone, but don¡¯t have the time for it.¡±

    Beck raised an eyebrow. ¡°Alright, but when should I return back to the waking world?¡±

    He thought for certain his uncle was going to gesture to Patch again, but instead replied, ¡°We¡¯ll give you a call.¡±

 15: Polymorph

    With the task of exploring the innumerable rooms in the tenements, Beck expected to become bored quickly. Due to his experience at the Barclay Estate he assumed this was yet another mundane assignment to get him out of his uncle¡¯s hair, either because they didn¡¯t have interest in teaching him or they wanted to distract him from uncovering more uncomfortable truths about the Reverie. Beck was certainly discovering aspects of this strange dream world as he combed the building, but only the ones that fascinated him.

    If this was reality, each residence would have been more or less the same. He had been in similar complexes before. He couldn¡¯t quite remember the reason why he was familiar with these impoverished conditions, but he expected the same types of meager accommodations in each room. While the furnishings themselves weren¡¯t out of place, the way they were arranged were.

    Most of the rooms had some form of bed, be it a thin mattress or a collection of blankets on the floor, but some were oddities. Beck came across a residence with a bed whose legs were a meter and a half tall, making the climb into it a feat. Another departed completely with the other furnishings and was laid out like a dormitory. That room had bunks spaced throughout, with the mattresses at the tops of the bunks kissing the ceiling. When he opened the door to yet another room, the bed frame was blocking the entire entrance.

    There were even stranger things he encountered. One door opened into a space that could have easily housed several of the other rooms, but along every wall were stacks of ovens. A second door opened into another hallway, in the space where the adjacent rooms ought to have been. The small bits and bobs that cluttered spaces were still there, including books. When he looked inside them to see if they contained any information about this world, he was met with the same imitation of language that was on the door numbers; the characters all looked like letters, but none that Beck recognized.

    While each bizarre discovery was interesting to Beck, he didn¡¯t come across any more gateways to other worlds. ¡°I suppose finding the entrance back in the woods was an anomaly,¡± he commented.

    Patch pawed through a series of dirty mugs left on the floor of the room they were currently in. ¡°Sometimes progress through here can be slow,¡± the creature said.

    ¡°Your sixth sense wouldn¡¯t happen to extend to the passages connecting the in-betweens?¡±

    The bear shook its head. ¡°It is difficult to explain why certain things are apparent to velours while others are not. Gateways, searching for them with our ¡®understanding¡¯ is like trying to locate the color purple by scent. Pitfalls though, they are compatible with our ¡®understanding.¡¯ The best way I can describe them is that we can hear their danger. They sound like a branch snapping in the forest.¡±

    Beck screwed up his face, the confusing logic of this dreamscape making his head hurt. ¡°Have you sensed any pitfalls in this place?¡±

    ¡°No, this world is too new to have any.¡±

    He stopped going through the cabinet he was searching and looked over at the velour. ¡°So they are a result of decay, whereas unmapped areas are a result of missing knowledge.¡± Even the impossible realities were subject to the ravages of time, it seemed. The concept of entire landscapes flaking away like rust was one that elicited equal parts awe and alarm. ¡°These tenements are recent, then.¡±

    ¡°Not older than a century, most likely,¡± Patch grunted.

    Beck raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is that your definition of ¡®new?¡¯¡±

    ¡°In the grand scheme of the Reverie, yes. If Master Fielding¡¯s theories are to be believed, the Reverie is at least as old as human civilization.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s been around for that long, why is my uncle claiming the Reverie as a recent discovery?¡± he asked.

    The bear ruffled its ears. ¡°Master Fielding told you about Midwich. It is certain that it is a world that has had access to the Reverie longer than your own has, and Master Fielding says it isn¡¯t a stretch to imagine there were other predecessors as well. The Reverie has certainly been calling to those from your world for a long time, but traveling it is the new development Master Rowan is talking about.¡±

    While Beck was tempted to take the creature¡¯s words for what they were, he couldn¡¯t help but assume his uncle was not letting his servant tell the full story. With all of the lies and half-truths his teachers had been pedaling, it was easy to give into his paranoia. He read Patch¡¯s expression for any kind of deceit, but it was difficult to tell with an animal face, let alone one made from fabric.

    Something at the velour¡¯s paws caught his attention. He bent down to one of the mugs on the floor. ¡°Hey now, what¡¯s this?¡± The outside was identical to the other ones, but inside there wasn¡¯t a bottom. The ceramic vanished down past where the dim light of the room could penetrate. ¡°You¡¯re sure this isn¡¯t a pitfall here?¡±

    The bear peered down into the cup. ¡°If it was, I would have known. Which means this must be a gateway.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize they could be this small.¡±

    ¡°Most are smaller. We¡¯ve probably passed countless ones that were too small to notice. Knotholes in the floorboards, punctures in the walls, those sorts of holes. Ones that velours can fit through are rare, let alone ones our masters can traverse.¡±

    Beck supposed it made sense, since size followed a similar trend in nature, too. He began to work his hand into the opening.

    ¡°Don¡¯t do that,¡± Patch growled.

    He was taken aback by the sudden aggression. ¡°Why not? I want to know what¡¯s on the other side. I can pull back quickly if needed.¡±

    ¡°What do you think will happen if the mug breaks while your arm is in it, Master Beckham?¡±

    His eyes grew wide, and his hand snapped back out of the mug. Curiosity wouldn¡¯t let him leave the object alone though, so he reluctantly grabbed it by the handle. It was light, which surprised him; if an entire world was connected to the bottom of the mug, he was expecting it to weigh more than a cup of water.

    He tipped it on its side. At first nothing happened, but then Beck heard the sound of moving liquid and something poured out of the mug and onto the floor. A brownish liquid splashed against the floorboards and onto his ankles, making him jump back in alarm; it was hot. He¡¯d tipped the mug back upright, but he caught the scent of the substance as the puddle on the floor steamed.

    ¡°No way,¡± he said. Excitedly he picked up one of the other mugs that looked relatively clean and strode to the sink in the room. Beck tilted the bottomless mug again and poured some of the liquid into the other cup. He blew on the surface of it before tentatively taking a sip.

    ¡°Master Beckham, are you sure that ¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s tea!¡± He exclaimed. ¡°It¡¯s full of tea!¡± He tipped the mug again, and more of it poured out into the sink. Beck thought that the stream would stop, but it kept going until the volume of it threatened to overflow the bowl of the sink.

    Before it could, something else caught his attention. He put the mug down and approached the run-down couch sitting in the corner of the room. Beck parted the cushions and reached deep into the crevasse at the back of the seat. A phone receiver emerged when he pulled his arm back, which he brought to his ear.

    ¡°Hello?¡±

    ¡°Hello there, Beck.¡± It was Amelia. ¡°How has your expedition in the Reverie been going?¡±

    ¡°Well, I ¡ª¡± He suddenly broke from his daze, realizing he had pulled the device from seemingly nothing, and was once again communicating across planes of existence he didn¡¯t fully comprehend. ¡°Well, now I am quite disoriented.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a common symptom of talking this way,¡± Amelia said.

    ¡°This happened with Patch, but I thought that was a one-time ordeal,¡± Beck said.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure Rowan or Fielding can explain the logistics, but by using some tools we are able to reach out to people traveling in the Reverie. Are you at a good resting point?¡±

    ¡°I could go for a little longer, this place is extraordinary! I¡¯ve found unlimited tea.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± he heard Amelia say, a hint of bewilderment in her voice. There was a long pause on the line. ¡°Rowan wants you to come back now, if you¡¯re able. It¡¯s morning.¡±

    ¡°Goodness, I must have lost track of time. How late is it?¡±

    ¡°I think you misunderstand. The sun is rising.¡±

    Beck almost dropped the phone in shock. ¡°Already!? I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can!¡±

    ¡°Understood. We¡¯ll meet you on the other side.¡±

    The speaker went dead. Beck looked around for a place to hang up the receiver, but it had already disappeared from his hand. With wild eyes he turned to Patch. ¡°It¡¯s already the next day! Why didn¡¯t you warn me?¡±

    The bear rolled its shoulders in a shrug. ¡°My entire existence is tied to the Reverie, I don¡¯t have any concept of time.¡±

    He gave an exasperated sigh. Making his way to the door Beck peered down the hallway, but he¡¯d gone down so many in his exploration that the direction back to the woodland gateway could have been any which way. ¡°I don¡¯t even know where we are anymore,¡± he admitted.

    ¡°I know the way out,¡± Patch said. ¡°Navigation is one of my main purposes, after all.¡±

    Beck knelt down and allowed the velour to climb up onto his back. Before he left the room, he went back and retrieved the bottomless mug; he certainly wasn¡¯t going to leave something as valuable as that behind.

    Patch fed directions into his ear when he was out in the hallway. His earlier assumption was correct; he never would have found his way back on his own. The velour led him through numerous corridors and staircases Beck had forgotten he had even traveled. Eventually they made it back to the familiar room with the hole at the base of the wall. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed back out into the open air of the forest while Patch walked through the opening without any effort. In the woodlands, the dirt path around the pond led almost directly to the gateway; An offshoot of the trail led to the entrance of the Barclay estate. The gateway on the forest side was constructed of a tangle of trunks and branches that mimicked the shape of the iron archway.

    Passing to his own dream, the sky was a bright pale blue of mid-morning. His own world seemed to reflect the time of reality, and the acknowledgement of passed time made him pick up his pace.

    Going through the front doors he was taken aback. The foyer was now gleaming and completely decorated with flowers, like the garden outside had transplanted itself to here. Beck usually considered floral arrangements like these garish, but the tempered hues and delicate placements gave the entry an elegance that was timeless. The housekeeper was carefully pruning the wilting buds off one of the displays.

    ¡°Maude, this all looks lovely!¡± Beck exclaimed.

    She turned to him with a tired smile, then went back to her clipping. Despite being out all night and returning with his outfit ruined, the housekeeper kept quiet. Either part of her job was to withhold judgment, or his odd behavior was being hidden by the veil hiding the Reverie from her.

    He strode up the stairs, down the main hallway, and into his suite. He left the mug on his desk there before laying down in his duplicate form on the bed. Beck closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was in the real world; Patch was once again a doll presiding in its armchair, and Amelia was sitting at the foot of the bed.

    ¡°Welcome back,¡± she said. Her expression was blank; it must have been a normal occurrence for her to watch over people as they slept.

    Beck felt wide awake, which surprised him. Being active in the Reverie through the night must have been fine so long as his physical body was sleeping, he figured. ¡°My uncle wants to see me?¡± he asked.

    ¡°He wants you to meet with Fielding, who has another assignment for you. He¡¯s in the lecture hall.¡±

    Pulling the sheets aside, he got up from the bed. Beck was still wearing his clothes from the previous evening; he¡¯d need to make a point of changing when his uncle¡¯s company wasn¡¯t constantly pulling him in every direction. When he stood he finally saw the instrument Amelia had on the desk. ¡°That has to be the most ludicrous device I¡¯ve seen.¡±

    It was a headpiece, like a type of helmet, but with a candlestick phone grafted to it. The earpiece was mounted where the wearer¡¯s ear would be. The mouthpiece dangled from the other side on a metal arm, similar to a microphone on a headset. A cord trailed from the case of the phone, but instead of an electrical wire it was a few threads of yarn entwined that connected to Patch¡¯s form.

    Despite the ridiculousness of the helmet, Beck was reasonably sure of its purpose. ¡°You used that to send a message to me in my dreams?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Amelia answered. She didn¡¯t elaborate.

    ¡°Well, okay.¡± Not receiving any more information, he awkwardly skirted past her.

    He crossed the hall to the classroom, where Fielding was already waiting for him. It seemed his next lecture was about to begin. Or perhaps the previous one just hadn¡¯t ended yet.

    The man gestured for him to take the sole seat in the room. ¡°I take it your first journey into the in-between was illuminating?¡± Fielding prompted.

    ¡°That¡¯s rather an understatement.¡± Even though he had just left, he was already looking forward to diving back into the Reverie. ¡°I was told you have something you want me to do?¡±

    The man nodded. ¡°Were you able to ingratiate yourself with some of the folks down at the circus grounds?¡± Fielding started.

    Due to his singular focus on the dream world, it took him a moment to remember he even went to the fairgrounds. The circus in the real world felt like it was an experience from a past life. He¡¯d almost completely forgotten about the charming magician and fortune teller he had met there, but his teacher¡¯s question brought them back to the forefront of his thoughts. ¡°I suppose I have, why?¡±

    ¡°We want you to go back to the troupe and discover more about them.¡±

    There was a long silence.

    ¡°You want me to go back to the circus,¡± Beck said.

    Fielding¡¯s only response was a knowing smile.

    A frown began to emerge on Beck¡¯s brow. ¡°That was just to prepare me for awakening, right? Going back seems like a waste of time now that I have access to the Reverie.¡±

    His teacher said nothing, still grinning.

    After his teacher¡¯s continued refusal to speak, annoyance edged into his voice. ¡°If you and my uncle are too busy, at least have me doing something productive! You told me that we never did anything that didn¡¯t have a purpose behind it.¡± After saying those words, realization flooded him. ¡°Good lord, the troupe is involved in this business, aren¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± the man said. ¡°We did want you to get a taste of their folklore, since many such stories are influenced by the Reverie in some way, but Rowan and I wanted to be, ah, efficient with your teaching.¡±

    ¡°So, what? Is my uncle the ringmaster of the circus or something?¡±

    Fielding chuckled. ¡°He certainly runs a circus, but only the one here at the estate. No, there is only one person we are interested in, and they certainly aren¡¯t on our side.¡±

    ¡°Hold on, you think that the Stranger has a mole. In a group of vaudeville entertainers. What ¡ª Why on earth?¡±

    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re perfectly aware of how far-fetched that sounds. That¡¯s why we didn¡¯t want to spring this on you immediately after awakening to the Reverie!¡± Fielding was still smiling, clearly enjoying Beck¡¯s reaction to the revelation. The man clasped his hands. ¡°Based on what you know now, why do you think we would be concerned about the troupe?¡±

    It took a minute for Beck to form an answer. To his teacher it might have appeared that he was simply having a hard time making the connections, but that wasn¡¯t the case. Beck was still struck by the fact that even the most innocent of activities he had done had ulterior motives behind it. He understood now why no one else in the Barclay company could go down to the Commons; if someone aligned with the Stranger was there, someone like Fielding probably would have been recognized immediately. But Beck was brand new to his uncle¡¯s enterprise. He hadn¡¯t visited the troupe as a tourist. He had gone as a spy.

    After dwelling on those troubling thoughts, he answered Fielding. ¡°From what I gathered about their culture, they believe more in esoteric ideas, for lack of a better phrase. I presume that means they would be more open to the Reverie, so you think there could be someone who is a dream traveler. Since the circus has just arrived in town, you believe this could be used as an opportunity to sneak someone into Boston.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a decent portion of the reasoning, yes.¡±

    ¡°If I may be honest, that sounds like you are taking significant leaps in logic. When I have to imagine the most extreme scenario to understand where my uncle is coming from, that¡¯s not a good sign,¡± Beck said.

    ¡°Oh, I agree that it isn¡¯t worth jumping to the worst conclusion without evidence,¡± said Fielding, ¡°However, we have a contact ¡ª someone we call our ¡®administrator¡¯ ¡ª who has credible sources that point to those from Midwich trying to do exactly what you suggested. And the administrator, she is very much the opposite of Rowan. I¡¯ve never met a more cautious person, and that¡¯s why I trust her when she provides us with information this outlandish.¡±

    ¡°And will I get to meet this ¡®administrator?¡¯¡±

    ¡°I imagine so, sooner or later,¡± Fielding replied. ¡°For now, it would be a huge favor if you revisit the circus grounds. We don¡¯t know who the potential infiltrator is, but it would likely be someone with an interest in the arcane. I realize you probably didn¡¯t have much time to talk to people on your one visit, but are they any people that would fit that description in the troupe?¡±

    ¡°I have a few ideas, yeah.¡±

    Fielding beamed at him. ¡°Excellent! When should we drive you over?¡±

    ¡°The evening; I¡¯m already expected,¡± he replied.

    It wasn¡¯t lost on Beck that his teacher omitted an important detail; those working for the Stranger did know about him. The Stranger had seen him already. It might have been possible that Fielding had overlooked that fact, but he doubted his uncle had. No, his uncle was probably more than aware of the danger that he was requesting his nephew to put himself into.

 16: Something Terrible Came With The Rain

    Florence watched the light melt from the sky to make way for twilight. The transient period between the day and the night had always been her favorite time, but here in the city the darkness was a relief. She had assumed that the ocean would have made Boston cooler than inland, but the paved streets and towering monoliths of brick and steel absorbed the sun, making the daytime feel like being smothered in a blanket. It made being stuck in the caravan even more suffocating.

    Which made the evening¡¯s embrace even more welcome. She watched the colors in the sky turn from gold to pink to violet. The first stars were starting to peek from their hiding places when she sighed and leaned back into the carriage.

    The interior was dim, lit only by the candles she used for her readings. She pulled a set of matches from under the table and gave light to the lanterns scattered around the antechamber. A cushion rested in the back corner, which Florence settled into.

    In the back room, she heard shuffling like leaves skimming across the ground. Frowning, she asked, ¡°Zayne, are you still working on that taxidermy of yours?¡±

    The sounds stopped. ¡°It can¡¯t be considered one if it was never alive to begin with.¡± She could hear the smug smile in his voice.

    ¡°It¡¯s grotesque enough to be one, though.¡±

    For a while she heard no response.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, that was uncalled for,¡± Florence said. ¡°You¡¯ve been spending an awful lot of time on that project of yours.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a delicate process,¡± Zayne replied from the other room. ¡°Need to manually place each feather.¡±

    ¡°But what about practicing for your performance? That¡¯s only a few days away, and I¡¯ve hardly seen you working towards it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need to practice, I¡¯ve already got a handle on the tricks.¡±

    A very typical response from her brother, but she couldn¡¯t help but worry. There was no doubt he had the charisma to hold the attention of a crowd, but one could easily turn on the entertainer if the illusion of magic was broken. She swore that his self-confidence would be his undoing, and she didn¡¯t know what Zayne would do if he was barred from performing in the future.

    ¡°So, are you gonna go to the campfire tonight?¡± He asked. ¡°Nan is gonna be back from visiting the nobility of the city.¡±

    Florence couldn¡¯t help but smirk. ¡°Zayne, no one calls the rich that anymore, it¡¯s the twentieth century!¡±

    ¡°Well, are you gonna?¡±

    Before she could respond, there was a knock against the doorway of the wagon.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have any more visitors, you can come on up,¡± she called out.

    ¡°Oh,¡± someone said from outside. ¡°Is this not a good time?¡±

    That wasn¡¯t a voice she recognized from the troupe. Confused, she rose from the cushion. The voice was familiar from somewhere, but who had she really gotten to talk to recently that wasn¡¯t her family or just some patron? Well, there was that one visitor from Britain ¨C

    ¡°Now is fine, I just wasn¡¯t expecting you!¡± Florence called back.

    After a moment, a young man emerged from the dark up the stairs. It was the one she had been thinking of, the one with the short, curly hair and severe facial features. He looked just as sheepish as he did the first time, his eyes never settling on any one object and his hands tucked against himself like he was trying to make room for someone who wasn¡¯t moving past him.

    ¡°Is it okay to be here at this hour? All of the crowds are gone,¡± the man said.

    ¡°We do like to have some time to ourselves, but one outsider is manageable,¡± she said. ¡°You are welcome here, I¡¯m merely surprised you accepted the offer to return at all.¡±

    Zayne poked his head out from the other room. ¡°If you don¡¯t want someone to come back, you oughtn¡¯t invite them!¡± he teased. He turned his attention to the man. ¡°It is a good surprise to see you again, Mister Beckham! Took my advice of not being a stranger, I see.¡±

    Beck started to visibly relax. ¡°I am glad to be warmly received somewhere, at least. That hasn¡¯t been the case where I¡¯m staying.¡±

    The mirth faded from her brother¡¯s face. ¡°That¡¯s a right shame!¡±

    Reading the man, he seemed to Florence even more guarded than he was before. Something must have rattled him since their first meeting. ¡°Is your peculiar uncle being a nuisance?¡± she asked.

    ¡°That is one way to phrase it,¡± Beck said. ¡°Ever since my first visit, things have been a whirlwind. Needing to clear my head was one of the reasons why I came here.¡±

    ¡°Did you find what you were chasing after?¡±

    ¡°I found the solution, but it only unlocked more questions. But I suppose that¡¯s what you predicted would happen,¡± he said with a slight curl of his lip. ¡°That is also why I am here; I am still investigating stories, searching for more answers. You told me that your mentor would be around in the evening, is that the case tonight?¡±

    It was clear to Florence that Beck wasn¡¯t giving them the full picture. That wasn¡¯t something that bothered her ¨C in her profession, that was the norm ¨C but all of her other patrons had common secrets. Even though she had never traveled outside of their caravan train, she had experienced life vicariously through those that visited her. The man before her, there was something he was holding onto that was new. Something she couldn¡¯t identify.

    The curiosity welling inside her is what prompted her decision. ¡°Yes, Nan is here tonight. However, as you know, favors are our currency, and if I introduce you to her I would require one from you.¡±

    ¡°What is it you want?¡±

    ¡°I would like to visit this house of peculiarities you¡¯ve been talking about. It has piqued my fascination.¡±

    Beck raised his eyebrows, but said, ¡°I¡¯m sure that could be managed.¡±

    Zayne was the one that appeared more surprised. He looked at his sister in shock, but said nothing. She could guess what he was thinking; It had been a long time since she had left the wagon train on their journeys. There simply hadn¡¯t been a reason to. The landscapes of America had long since offered up the last of its icons, contrary to what Nan thought.

    ¡°Excellent.¡± Smiling, she walked towards the stairs. ¡°Follow me, I¡¯ll take you to our matron.¡±

    Having recovered his composure, Zayne said, ¡°Going to the campfire anyways, it seems.¡± He didn¡¯t move to join them, still too obsessed with his craft.

    She led him out into the engulfing twilight. Lanterns hanging from the eaves of the carriages made pockets of light amidst the field, growing more numerous as they approached the biggest grouping of wagons. The sound of a lute being plucked and the crackle of burning logs began to be heard from within the center. The glow of the flames bled out from between the wheels, turning the circle of carriages into a shadowbox.

    They slipped between two of the wagons. Inside the circle everything was bathed in orange. A series of logs made an inner loop on which a crowd of people sat, the campfire casting their flickering shadows across the sides of the wagons around them. Outside of their performing outfits they almost looked like ordinary folk, besides their modest clothing and air of gaiety which flew in the face of the modern age. Florence doubted her companion could tell one act from another in their current attire.

    The exception of course was their matron. She stood on the fringes of those conversing with themselves and losing themselves in the soft music, overseeing the merriment with watchful eyes. Even if her stance wasn¡¯t enough indication of her status, her outfit made her stand out like a jewel. It was difficult to tell where her royal-colored robes ended and her scarves and beads began. Ornaments swirled around her like she was the eye of a hurricane, and while Florence knew her for the kindhearted woman that she was, the display demanded that patrons give her their attention and respect.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°Nan,¡± Florence called to get the woman¡¯s attention.

    She slowly turned her head to face them, her wrinkles and liver spots shifting like desert dunes as she smiled at her protege. ¡°Hello, dear.¡± Nan¡¯s voice was like stones on a riverbed, weathered and smooth. ¡°I see you¡¯ve brought a companion.¡±

    ¡°This here is Beckham, he has traveled from overseas and has requested to see you,¡± Florence said.

    Nan eyed the man, who looked uncomfortable and out of place with his fancy slacks and jacket. ¡°Usually the bourgeoisie send messengers to request an audience with me, which means you are here for something other than a reading. Curious.¡±

    ¡°Hello Madam,¡± Beck greeted. ¡°I came to learn about the history and stories of your people, and Florence mentioned that you are the storyteller of this group. Is it okay if I take a moment of your time to ask some questions?¡±

    The older woman pursed her lips. ¡°If fairytales are what you are after, this city has a library you can visit.¡±

    The man was momentarily struck by her words, but recovered shortly. ¡°As full of knowledge as our institutions are, there is some that is only passed through word-of-mouth and lost to all except the record keepers of old. That is what I am seeking.¡±

    Nan hummed, the sound Florence had grown accustomed to when her mentor made a realization about one of her clients. ¡°Knowledge of the hidden aspects of the world can lead quickly into trouble, Mr. Beckham.¡±

    Florence looked over at the man. He was chasing after something magical in nature? Judging by his temperament, that didn¡¯t seem like something he would pursue on his own. If Beck¡¯s words were true, this must be at the behest of his teachers. Another reason for her to investigate where he was staying.

    ¡°I think you have the wrong impression,¡± Beck said. ¡°I¡¯m under the tutelage of a man of science, we are researching an unidentified phenomenon and are checking to see if it is something that others have experienced throughout history.¡±

    ¡°Everything is supernatural until the explanations of science make it natural. Even fire was from the realm of the gods before it was tamed,¡± Nan told him. A large crackling noise emerged from the flames as one of the branches in it became consumed. A trouper fed it more to keep it satiated. ¡°If your subject were merely something that could one day be natural, you would not have come to me searching for answers.¡±

    ¡°Is it so wrong to be informed of such matters?¡± the man asked.

    The matron regarded Beck with a soft expression of pity. ¡°When the world was younger, I had the same optimisms you have about the vast unknown. I dedicated myself to channeling such mysteries for a time, but there is a reason I turned my back on it.¡±

    Nan moved towards the ring of logs around the campfire. The conversations between the performers began to cease, the lute falling silent as the player¡¯s fingers hovered over the strings. ¡°There is a story I wish to tell you that relates to your predicament, Mr. Beckham,¡± the woman continued. ¡°I first heard this one when our group passed through the Great American Desert. It is a tale set in the same region of the Southwest, about a family who wanders into misadventure trying to lay claim to the wastes.¡±

    Florence shot the matron a worried look. ¡°Nan, are you sure that story is appropriate? We don¡¯t want to frighten our guest now, do we?¡±

    The woman ignored her ward. ¡°Come, take a seat,¡± she gestured to one of the open logs.

    Appearing unsure about the whole ordeal, Beck sat before the fire. She doubted he expected these theatrics when he broached the topic. Florence took a seat next to him. She doubted he expected these theatrics when he broached the topic. Both of them along with everyone else around the campfire turned their attention to the old fortune teller as she paced the outskirts of the circle.

    ¡°It is the turn of the twentieth century,¡± Nan began. ¡°The sky was still unfurled, the sea still dancing, and the world yet to be tamed.¡±

    ¡°Hold on,¡± Beck interrupted, ¡°That was only a couple of decades ago. The modern age had already started to come to fruition, and we¡¯d already conquered the wilderness.¡±

    Nan patiently waited for the man to finish. ¡°There are stories that have yet to be told, so the world has yet to be tamed,¡± she responded, before getting back to her tale. ¡°There was a man named Obadiah who was a part of the Gleason family. He had with him a wife, two sons, a dog, and a dream to live beyond his means. While his countrymen had all but bought out the lands of the East and the lands of the West, those between still presented promise to those hardy enough and stubborn enough to settle it.

    ¡°Seeing the opportunity in those wilds, Mr. Gleason uprooted his family to the territory of New Mexico. Now in the previous century it was assumed that the land was barren, only fit to be passed through as fast as possible. But an aquifer had been discovered north of the region that made the eastern reaches of the territory fecund, so it was there that Obadiah aimed to settle.

    ¡°After scouting the land for weeks to find the right location to start, Obadiah discovered a plot of open soil a few miles out from a settlement, ringed by the rocky cliffs of the region, perfect for protection against the elements and the wildlife. Mr. Gleason staked a claim to that land, and brought with him his wife his two sons, his dog, and the dream that had led him there to begin with. They started to prepare the property, building their homestead in the mild winter of New Mexico in preparation for planting in the spring.

    ¡°Now, Obadiah was a simple man. Not that he had a lack of intellect, but he took life as it came. When there was an unoccupied land ripe for the taking, he seized the opportunity. It didn¡¯t concern him why such a pristine property so close to civilization hadn¡¯t yet been taken.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t long, however, until people took notice of the Gleason¡¯s settling of the land. They came during the height of the day, two men of the Navajo tribe, while Obadiah was siding the dwelling for his family. Usually meetings between the native tribes and the settlers were over land disputes, but this was not the case here; no, if only the Gleason family were so lucky. There were no prior claims to the land, the Navajo informed Obadiah, but there was a reason that the natives and the settlers alike had left it well alone. They warned him that the land was cursed; there were yee naaldlooshii ¨C corrupt witches, the antithesis of the Navajo way of life ¨C that had been known to stalk the area.

    ¡°Obadiah, being who he was, did not heed the warnings of the native messengers. He believed that the men thought it was dangerous ground, but they were not obstructing him from fulfilling his dream, so along with that and his wife, his two sons, and his dog, Obadiah finished building their farm. Come springtime his family tilled the soil and prepared their crops, waiting for the rain to come and bless their new home. Unfortunately, when it did come, it brought something terrible with it.¡±

    Another branch from the campfire collapsed inwards, sending a gush of sparks into the air. In the heat shimmer of the flames, the matron¡¯s figure flickered like a mirage, her voice a disembodied narrator that enraptured the whole company in her fiction.

    ¡°When the storm arrived one night, even one as skeptical of omens as Obadiah knew that it was no normal storm. It was like God himself swept across the desert. The sons trembled in their beds. Mrs. Gleason battened the windows. Obadiah gathered emergency lanterns and supplies. It was the first time fear had so thoroughly gripped the man¡¯s heart.

    ¡°His wife was the one who heard the baying of the dog. The storm had arrived so quickly that the family had left their pet outside in the midst of it. She called out to her husband, who upon realizing his mistake rushed to the back door of their homestead. His dog was there, wailing to be let in. Obadiah hastily removed the barricades, and the wind yanked the door open. The dog shot inside like a bullet, but the man was sucked outside into the vortex.

    ¡°He was thrust out into the mud of his fields. The rain and wind was a turbulent wall of force all around. Obadiah looked up and saw into the wrathful jaws of nature, certain that his life was about to reach its end. It was a lightning flash that galvanized the man back into action, and he found the strength to crawl against the natural forces. Amazed, he was able to make it back to the doorway of his home and wrench the door back shut.

    ¡°Relief washed over the man as he realized the natural world had not come to take him that night. Soaked through, he stoked the fire in the hearth and hung his coat out to dry next to it. While in front of that warmth the brutality of the storm began to quiet, until the dregs of the rain splashed from the gutters.

    ¡°In the transition between the storm and silence, Obadiah¡¯s wife called out again. ¡®You still need to fetch your dog from out there,¡¯ she told her husband. Obadiah was confused by her words, until he strained to hear what she had. Now that the monsoon had reduced to a drizzle, he heard the unmistakable barking of his dog out in the darkness, likely taking shelter under the shed at the edge of the property.

    ¡°Even though Mr. Gleason knelt beside the fireplace, he felt the cold, piercing sensation of fear return. Obadiah rose to gather his family, but there in the center of the space was the dog that he had let in. It wore the same form that his familiar hound did, but that¡¯s where the similarities ended. The creature stood on its hind legs in a disturbing imitation of its bipedal counterpart, and the being¡¯s mouth was stretched into a wicked human grin.

    ¡°And so by the morning the stretch of land was once again abandoned. Obadiah, his wife, his two sons and his dream were no more, having encountered the yee naaldlooshii, otherwise known as the ¡®skinwalker¡¯ in the English tongue. His dog, however, escaped into the wilderness, sometimes seen at a distance still wandering that accursed ground. Some say that what they are seeing is the very same creature that had brought the Gleason family to an unnatural end that fateful night.¡±

    Nan¡¯s story came to an end. The campfire was still burning as strong as it had at the beginning, but just like in the tale an unspeakable chill had settled over the listeners. Gradually, some of the other performers gave quiet thanks to their matron and went back to their conversations, while others simply filtered out of the circle of wagons to turn in for the evening.

    Turning to Beck, Florence saw him staring into the fire and blinking, as though to burn the story from his memory. The man eventually got up, and Florence followed after him as he went over to the matron.

    ¡°Thank you for your time in telling the story, Madam,¡± Beck told her. The tone of his voice suggested he was disquieted by the tale. ¡°However, I¡¯m not sure I understand how it relates to my situation. Are you saying that we should be prepared for the unexpected?¡±

    Nan gazed once more at the man, the lines of her face smoothed in a way that Florence interpreted as disappointment. ¡°That is one way to interpret the story,¡± she said. ¡°As for me, it seems like this: there are some things buried that were never meant to be unburied.¡±

 Bonus 2: Spool

    Hey there, this is the author speaking. Just wanted to post a quick update as well as show a bonus image I made.

    For the start of this year writing the story has been painfully slow, due to moving and other life-related busyness, and I am probably the one most frustrated by that since I wanted to get this story out at reasonably quick. This past week, just after posting the last part of Polymorph, I got a hard-hitting virus and was laid out for the week, but in that time I planned out the remainder of Act II. Of the sections of the story, this one was the most nebulous in my mind as well as the longest by far, but now that I have all of the remaining plot beats threaded together I am a lot more confident about getting through the rest of the act.

    Based on the layout I made, there are 7 more full chapters in Act II (so with the format I''ve been posting, 14 parts). In Dream''s Wake (the first book in The Reverie series) will have 4 acts total, with the last two combined probably being as long as Act II will end up being. My personal goal is to finish this act by early Summer, and the whole story by the end of the year. Once I am done with Act II, I''ve been thinking of running some ad campaigns here on RoyalRoad; some of the chapters coming up in this section are some of the main reasons why I wanted to write this story to begin with, so I''m hoping those exciting chapters will be a good time to market the story more.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    In the first Bonus I posted art I''ve made for the story, and while I haven''t had much time or energy to draw much more of them, I did just finish a first concept for Spool, the fox-like velour that Rowan uses in the story. I have a couple of other clear Ideas I want to sketch out for the human characters in the story, but the animals were done first since they are a lot less intimidating to work on:

    I am truly thankful to everyone who has read and continues to read this story! I''ve gotten some helpful words of advice and encouragement from fans of the work, and I cannot understate how much those help motivate me to keep working away on this!

 17: Living Fiction (pt. 1)

    Beck was sitting down for the most peculiar breakfast he¡¯d had. The scrambled eggs, potatoes and other dishes in front of him were normal fare, and although they smelled delicious, he didn¡¯t feel particularly hungry. The other strange matter was that while he was sitting at the promenade in the Barclay estate, it was the one inside his own dream world.

    When he had arrived back from exploring the tenements that night, Maude had ambushed him with the promise of food as soon as he had stepped through the doors. Beck¡¯s immediate reaction was to say no ¡ª he wanted to get to his real breakfast ¡ª before he realized that it would be suspicious to the figments of his dream if he appeared to never eat.

    He assumed that the maid simply ignored his schedule in the Reverie, but it was clear she simply didn¡¯t have time. Now, however, she did; Beck began to see other workers pass through the entry going about their business. It seemed the Reverie had started providing him with an entire staff to run his manor.

    ¡°Come now, don¡¯t be shy!¡± she broached.

    Beck looked to Patch for support, but the bear was curled up at the foot of his chair, resting. Unfortunately talking to a cat, or whatever the maid saw the velour as, would also raise many questions.

    ¡°I appreciate the meal, but you¡¯ll have to forgive me if I can¡¯t finish it. I¡¯m not used to eating at this hour,¡± he said. Given it was the perfect hour for having breakfast it was an audacious claim, but it wasn¡¯t like he was an expert in lying like his uncle was.

    ¡°With your hours, you probably have your first meal of the day at midnight,¡± Maude commented.

    He took a bite of the eggs to give himself time to think of a response. It shouldn¡¯t have surprised him, but they tasted exactly like what he expected scrambled eggs to taste like. Perhaps the sensory realness of the Reverie was something else it had plucked from his real life experiences.

    In the end he took a page from his uncle and stuck with a half truth. ¡°My work involves the science of dreams. By its nature most of the research happens throughout the night, hence the odd hours.¡±

    ¡°Cripes, that must be a nuisance,¡± Maude said. ¡°I can¡¯t fathom what you do in that line of work, but you¡¯ve probably heard many fascinating stories about what people dream about.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± The housekeeper didn¡¯t need to know she was participating in one right now.

    He took another mouthful of the food and looked around the entryway. The other staff were still bustling about. Beck didn¡¯t know what they even needed to do to keep a fake residence in order, and their presence was more of a hindrance than a help. If his world wasn¡¯t populated, he didn¡¯t have to keep up the facade of relative normalcy every time he was here.

    Down on the first floor his eye caught a splash of color. Next to one of the flower displays, a young girl in a blue dress and with a blue ribbon in her hair was peering up at Beck from between the petals. It was a shock to see a child in the Reverie, and for some reason the girl gave him a sense of recognition he couldn¡¯t place.

    He turned back to Maude. ¡°Who¡¯s that girl?¡± he asked with urgency in his voice.

    She was taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. ¡°Who do you mean?¡±

    Beck turned to indicate the girl down below, but she was gone. ¡°There was one passing through, long dark hair and a blue outfit. Does that sound familiar?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s possible one of the new hires brought their daughter with them. I¡¯ll let everyone know to keep careful watch over their children,¡± she said, still giving him a wary look.

    ¡°I see.¡± It was clear Maude didn¡¯t know what was going on with that girl, either. Beck reluctantly took some bites of the meal to appease the housekeeper, who eventually wandered to the West Wing to the staff quarters. Once he was sure she was gone, he got up and made his way back to his room.

    <hr>

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    When Beck woke up back in the real world he was immediately struck with how hungry he was. It was much more noticeable since he just ate in the Reverie. That did answer one thing that Maude¡¯s breakfast brought to his attention: food in the dream world did not affect his corporeal body. A fact that anyone would have found obvious, but his experiences at the manor made him throw what was certain out the window.

    He got up and changed into a new outfit. Another aspect of life with his uncle that he would have found insane previously is sleeping in his slacks and shirt. Beck noticed that he appeared in the Reverie in the same clothes he fell asleep in, and he had no desire of exploring that world in his pajamas.

    Eager to eat some real food, he rushed out into the main hallway and almost got run over by a cart being pushed by. Being caught off guard, it took Beck a moment to digest what had almost hit him. The cart was manned by a few people wearing white gowns, which seemed out of place until he noticed what they were moving; sheets, oblong pans and bags of intravenous fluids.

    There was only one passage past where Beck¡¯s room was, to the East Wing. The door was open, held in place by Rowan. As the doctors went past him, he gave his nephew a polite smile.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Beck asked.

    ¡°Nothing out of the ordinary,¡± his uncle said. ¡°We just need to top up on supplies.¡±

    Without any more explanation, Rowan closed the door and disappeared into the East Wing. For a minute he stood and waited, listening for anybody else approaching. After concluding he was alone, Beck went up to the entrance. In the past few days he had almost entirely forgotten about this section of the manor. He pulled at the door handle, but it still remained as unyielding as ever, just like his uncle.

    Frustrated, he walked down the opposite way to the promenade. As always Nora and Amelia were already at the table, distracted with their usual morning routines of scrutinizing documents and perusing the morning¡¯s paper. Beck loaded up a plate with toast and porridge before taking a seat and looking across at his coworkers. If his uncle and Fielding were not being forthcoming, perhaps those under their employ would be.

    ¡°What does the company do in the East Wing, anyways?¡± he said bluntly.

    Amelia looked up from the newspaper she was reading with a bored expression, while the housekeeper gave him her typical sour face. ¡°Has Rowan really not told you about our basic operations?¡± Nora chided. ¡°That¡¯s where everyone mapping out the Reverie is.¡±

    Beck couldn¡¯t help but narrow his gaze. ¡°If that¡¯s the case, why aren¡¯t I allowed there? That¡¯s what I have been doing the last few nights.¡±

    The housekeeper could only respond with a huff.

    ¡°Sensitive information, as well as uncomfortable truths, lie on that end of the manor,¡± Amelia spoke up. ¡°Rowan doesn¡¯t want that to fall into the wrong hands. Nor does he want those who can¡¯t handle it to have access.¡±

    A hush fell over the table. Beck knew that the way his uncle treated him was abnormal, but hearing what he thought of him laid out so plainly struck him. He picked at his toast to distract himself.

    ¡°It¡¯s not like there is much you¡¯re missing out on,¡± Nora grumbled. ¡°Most everyone working in that wing is sleeping.¡±

    ¡°If that¡¯s all that they are doing, why would they need the attention of medical staff?¡± he countered.

    ¡°You must have seen them pass through this morning, then,¡± Nora said, very much unconcerned. ¡°Many of our workers stay in the Reverie much longer than just a single night. They¡¯ll be inside for days, even weeks, and we need to take care of their bodies while they are still traveling.¡±

    That made him pause. Logically, the idea of willingly sleeping that long made no sense unless someone had unwavering commitment to the mission his uncle and Fielding were heading. While he had experienced for himself the present threat of the Stranger, Beck couldn¡¯t imagine what urgency prompted such drastic dedication. Perhaps it simply testified to the scale of the Reverie, and how far away the land of Midwich was. He considered his own time spent exploring the in-between, and how the hours seemed to slip away. Was the same fascination he felt in those fantastical landscapes the same one keeping others anchored in that other world?

    Regardless of the situation, Nora wasn¡¯t telling the full story. Whether it was for the same ¡°protection¡± that his uncle claimed was the reason for his misdirection, he wasn¡¯t sure. Seeing as he wasn¡¯t going to be getting any straight answers to his most pressing concerns, he went back to his breakfast. After taking more bites out of his toast, he was reminded of his experience with Maude earlier.

    ¡°When you eat in the Reverie, what happens?¡± he asked.

    As soon as he said it, he realized just how stupid the question sounded. He expected the normal agitated response from the housekeeper, but she replied to him in a measured tone. ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard, nothing at all. The sensations are still there, but it does not affect your body here.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t hunger in the Reverie,¡± Amelia added. ¡°Neither do you grow tired, or need to do many of the other things you naturally need to do.¡±

    ¡°So while I¡¯m exploring I don¡¯t need to eat or sleep at all.¡±

    Nora set down the papers she was sifting through and her face became soft. ¡°There are reasons to eat and sleep other than sustenance,¡± she said. ¡°Routines order a person¡¯s life. Even when they aren¡¯t necessary for survival, they make us human. I worry a lack of them is detrimental to our sanity.¡±

    The sincere concern from her was unexpected. ¡°Do you think that has affected some of the people here?¡± Beck said.

    The housekeeper tutted. ¡°It would at least explain why Rowan is so unstable most of the time.¡±

 18: Living Fiction (pt. 2)

    Stepping into the lecture hall for the day¡¯s lesson, Fielding stood before the lone table which was filled with a large assortment of oddities. Beck immediately noticed Patch sitting in the middle of the group, watching over everything in their dormant state.

    ¡°Looks like you brought the whole kit with you today,¡± Beck said.

    The man smiled. ¡°If you are an explorer of the Reverie, these are certainly the essentials,¡± Fielding said, gesturing to the supplies before him. ¡°Some of these you are familiar with and don¡¯t need explanations on their usage, but it is important to examine the basis for these artifacts since many brush against the fabric the dream world is made from. Let¡¯s open with this; What makes a room a room?¡±

    He thought for a moment. ¡°I can¡¯t help but assume this is a trick question. The best I can come up with is that a room is an enclosed space.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re correct on both fronts. What I¡¯m trying to get at is, what are the minimum requirements for what makes something what it is? This concept we refer to as the prototype of an object. Your description hits close to the prototype of a room, but it isn¡¯t specific enough.¡±

    Fielding picked up Patch. ¡°A velour appears in your own dream in the Reverie if it is in the same room you go to sleep in. While the main purpose of them is guardianship, this property of them also lets us examine what constitutes a room. Under your definition, when you left Patch out in the hallway they would have still been with you to protect against the Stranger, since the whole estate can be considered an enclosed space, no? So how would you refine it?¡±

    ¡°In that case, a room is an enclosed space of irreducible complexity. A space without other spaces inside of it,¡± Beck said.

    ¡°If we put Patch into a cupboard which was inside your bedroom, would they be in your dream world?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Well, maybe. Would that matter to a velour?¡± Beck asked, becoming increasingly frustrated.

    A sympathetic smile crept onto Fielding¡¯s face. ¡°That is the trick. Inherently we know what a room is, but it is not easily defined. There may not even be a definition that can be communicated with language. For most of the concepts and artifacts we use in the Reverie we know how to utilize them, but our understanding of why they work the way they do is vague at best. Velours exemplify this. We know how they operate, but the reason they are even alive is a mystery.¡±

    ¡°So, did someone have a doll with them as they slept and accidentally discovered their sentience in the Reverie?¡± he said.

    Fielding chuckled. ¡°Some artifacts are that simple to stumble upon, but velours are a bit more complicated.¡± He tapped the metal diamond on its chest. ¡°This here is what actually gives it life.¡±

    ¡°You just said you didn¡¯t know how they are alive.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the matter inside this phylactery which is the conundrum. The material becomes unusable under direct observation, but it constitutes some form of ¡®soul¡¯ for the creature. Believe me, the ritual for creating them is quite delicate,¡± Fielding said.

    Beck eyed his teacher warily. ¡°These ¡®artifacts¡¯ and ¡®rituals¡¯, this isn¡¯t some sort of witchcraft, is it?¡±

    ¡°No, no. We are not using some dark being¡¯s power to do forbidden arts. If we were, Nora would be a million miles from here. I use the term ¡®ritual¡¯ because there are a series of steps to make these items, but we haven¡¯t figured out the importance behind each step yet. It¡¯s like rubbing two sticks together to start a fire without understanding that it¡¯s the friction that builds the heat.¡±

    ¡°I heard almost the same exact analogy the other day from the circus¡¯s soothsayer, and that doesn¡¯t make me feel any better about hearing it from you.¡±

    ¡°I can see why you¡¯d be concerned about this, then,¡± Fielding said with an amused grin. ¡°They sound like they also have experience on the matter, I¡¯d keep an eye on them if you aren¡¯t already.¡±

    ¡°She is a prime suspect in the detective work you¡¯ve forced me into, yes,¡± Beck said.

    ¡°Anyways, whether it¡¯s some strange form of science or not, these artifacts are integral to our work in the Reverie, so let¡¯s continue.¡± He set Patch down and picked up another item, a familiar bulky-looking helmet with several telephone devices and threads protruding from it. ¡°This here is unique in that it works in tandem with a velour. Usually artifacts are self-sustaining.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen Amelia with that. She uses it to talk to me while I¡¯m in the Reverie.¡±

    ¡°Yes. This contraption allows us to communicate between different planes of existence, using the velour as an anchor.¡± Fielding explained. He pinched one of the threads that coiled down to a pin, which Beck assumed attached to the doll in some way. ¡°This is another one where we know little of the actual logistics, but our best guess is that a physical connection between the telephone components and a velour allows us to interface with the Reverie. The ability to reach out across the dream world is something innate to the velours, and we are borrowing that.¡± He patted Patch¡¯s head.

    Beck was sure that the logic made sense in some way, but he couldn¡¯t put it to words. He thought back to how he plucked a telephone from a couch the last time Amelia used this contraption. ¡°When I¡¯ve been ¡®called¡¯, a phone seems to appear in a random location. Why is that?¡±

    Scratching his head, Fielding responded, ¡°We can¡¯t know for sure, but there seems to be a degree of uncertainty in the connection, something like static over a wire. Or like trying to talk through molasses. Fortunately it¡¯s precise enough that the receiver manifests nearby, and the Reverie takes care of the rest. Have you noticed that urge to pick up the telephone when you are being contacted?¡±

    He remembered in the tenements how his attention had been caught, like something appeared in the corner of his vision, and demanded he investigate until he retrieved the telephone. Beck nodded.

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    ¡°The fixation that is forced upon you is the Reverie¡¯s way of self-correcting the connection and making sure it terminates. It¡¯s good at filling in the gaps like that. Now, it would be awfully convenient to use this to constantly monitor travelers from the waking world, but why might that be a bad idea?¡±

    ¡°Besides the traveler needing to hold the receiver, the ¡®fixation¡¯ is off-putting. What happens if I ignore it when someone is trying to call me?¡± Beck asked.

    Fielding raised a finger. ¡°That¡¯s the catch; you can¡¯t. We¡¯ve tested to see if someone with strong will-power can ignore the urge, but so far none have. So if you are in a precarious situation when someone tries to call you, it would be mighty inconvenient. Which is why we only use it sparingly.¡±

    ¡°Here¡¯s another artifact you¡¯re familiar with.¡± Fielding picked up a small hoop with twine strung around it, a dreamcatcher. ¡°This one was already perfected by the natives of this land centuries ago, so we didn¡¯t need to do any trial and error. As you know, dreamcatchers are excellent at protecting your conduit back to the waking world, but they have a dual purpose.¡±

    From the pile of trinkets on the table Fielding plucked a key, the same one embossed with geometric patterns that his uncle made him procure. ¡°Ever wonder how you were able to pull this with you from the Reverie to the waking world?¡±

    ¡°I considered it something inherent with the Reverie. You¡¯re implying that the same area of effect used to block out intruders can, er, ¡®catch¡¯ things and bring them back out with us?¡±

    ¡°Precisely! Normally pulling things from our dreams into the waking world isn¡¯t something we can do.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know Mister Fielding, you and yours have a different definition of ¡®normal¡¯ than everyone else,¡± Beck commented.

    His teacher waggled the trinket at him. ¡°Be as it may, you¡¯d be surprised what you can pull through with you.¡±

    Setting the dreamcatcher and key aside, Fielding next showed him one of the metallic tokens that rested on his nightstand. The disc was tossed to him, and he caught it awkwardly against his chest. Beck held it before him, running a finger over his own engraved name. ¡°My uncle said this was an invitation of some kind. It allows others to access my dream world.¡± He offered the token to Fielding.

    ¡°Ah, you must be careful with these,¡± Fielding said, closing Beck¡¯s fingers over the token with his large palm. ¡°You¡¯re correct, these will allow anyone you give them to access to your world in the Reverie. They effectively dismantle any natural security your world has, so if given to the wrong person they can be devastating.¡±

    Opening his hand, he looked at the token and then back to his teacher. ¡°I understand, but I don¡¯t see why you shouldn¡¯t have access to mine.¡± Beck held the token back out again.

    Fielding took it with some reluctance. ¡°Very well. Now, for the mechanics of this, it is an invitation by technicality. If it weren¡¯t, then no access.¡±

    ¡°Are you saying if I wrote up a formal invitation to someone, that would also grant them access to my dream world?¡±

    ¡°Yes, if they¡¯re awakened. This here,¡± Fielding waggled the token, ¡°is simply more convenient. You see, access is only guaranteed as long as you have the invitation. If it is lost or destroyed, you¡¯ll need a new one from the sender. Since letters aren¡¯t exactly known for their durability, we tested what exactly made them artifacts in the Reverie¡¯s eyes. The conclusion we came to is that there are two vital components: identity and value.

    ¡°The aspect of identity is more clear.¡± Fielding tapped the name on the token. ¡°When we receive an invitation, we need to know who it¡¯s from, of course! The person¡¯s name lets the receiver ¡ª and the Reverie ¡ª know whose world they are being invited to. The invitation must be deliberately sent in some way by the owner to the recipient as confirmation of this identity. Passing it off in person is the easiest method, but mailing it like a traditional letter also works.

    ¡°Value is less intuitive. It took a while to even figure out it was a necessary part to an invitation, since the way the concept exists in a pen and paper one is figurative. When writing to someone to invite them someplace, it is because that person has meaning to you; the value is sentimental. Once we figured out that value is transitive, we fashioned these coins here. They¡¯re made of silver.¡±

    That made Beck raise his eyebrows. ¡°Where on earth are you getting the wealth to run this venture? There were a dozen of these on my bedside table!¡±

    ¡°Rowan has his grants from investors, but Nora acts as accountant,¡± The man said, shrugging. ¡°You can ask her about our finances, however I don¡¯t know how risky of a question that is to ask.¡±

    ¡°Is there anything around here that Nora doesn¡¯t run?¡± he asked incredulously.

    Again the man shrugged, but instead of responding Fielding went over to the end of the table where his pack was. He carried the whole thing over to his student, and opened it before him. ¡°This one is both fragile and rare, so look only.¡±

    Peeking inside, there was a single item nestled at the bottom of the bag surrounded by cloth padding. It was a light bulb, its filament still burning brightly despite not being screwed into a socket. ¡°I imagine this would be useful in the dark,¡± Beck said, looking at it in wonderment.

    ¡°The light isn¡¯t the main purpose. This is a flash bulb; when it shatters, it will blind and daze anyone in the area who isn¡¯t prepared for it. And I do mean literally blind, if you don¡¯t properly shield yourself. I¡¯ve only used these in emergencies.¡±

    Beck now looked at the light bulb with trepidation. ¡°So it¡¯s fragile, rare and harmful. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d trust myself to keep this in one piece,¡± he said honestly.

    ¡°I used one recently, so this is the only one in our supply anyways. They can only be found in the in-between, buried like tubers. It¡¯s like trying to find truffles, but with the possibility of blasting out your senses,¡± Fielding said.

    Ignoring his teacher¡¯s last remarks, Beck looked over the array of items before him. ¡°Do any of these ¡®artifacts¡¯ help deal with the figments in our dreams?¡±

    The excitement with which Fielding had been showing him the various curios faded into an almost concerned frown. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I get your question.¡±

    ¡°The actors populating my dream world, some of them are starting to catch on to the fact that things are not normal, and according to my uncle it will collapse if they figure out they aren¡¯t real. Is there something here that will distract them, or make them forget they saw anything out of place?¡±

    Instead of the careful deliberation and thoughtful responses that Fielding usually gave, the man¡¯s face contorted into one of angry disbelief. ¡°Beck, we can¡¯t be playing with people¡¯s lives like that!¡± he bellowed, his composure slipping.

    Beck shrank back, eyes wide. He¡¯d never seen Fielding this way before.

    Upon seeing his student¡¯s confusion and fear, the thunder in Fielding¡¯s features died down. ¡°Has Rowan not taught you about gradients at all?¡± he asked in a quiet voice, as though to make up for his outburst.

    Beck shook his head frantically, still stiff from shock.

    The disbelief in the man¡¯s expression shifted to annoyance and then resignation. Fielding let out a sigh. The remaining fight seemed to deflate out of him, until only despondency was left. ¡°This is something that shouldn¡¯t be delayed any longer. Return to your room, we¡¯ll need to go into the Reverie for the final part of our lesson.¡±

 19: Living Fiction (pt. 3)

    Beck emerged from his bedchamber in the Reverie quite suddenly, startling Maude, who was tending to a bouquet arranged in the hallway. He very much did not want to interact with her at the moment, especially with the way Fielding had reacted upon him bringing up the actors of his dream world.

    ¡°You¡¯re up early. What¡¯s the occasion?¡± the housekeeper said after collecting herself. Her tone was cordial enough, but Beck couldn¡¯t help but read between every letter, a slow paranoia creeping in about what was going through this woman¡¯s mind. He considered, if the Reverie had drawn out his own experiences into this place, was it feeding off his emotions, too?

    Putting that disquieting thought aside, he said, ¡°I have midday appointments on occasion. Inconvenient for my more nocturnal schedule, but as you know I¡¯m beholden to my client¡¯s timetables rather than my own.¡±

    Maude looked at him briefly before returning to clipping the dead offshoots from the plants. Hurriedly Beck went down the hallway to the promenade, then out the front door towards the gateway.

    ¡°You should be careful of Miss Maude,¡± Patch said from his back. ¡°She seems clever, and may be starting to realize you¡¯re hiding something from her.¡±

    ¡°She would have less suspicion if I wasn¡¯t carrying you around everywhere I went,¡± he retorted.

    Patch grunted, but said nothing.

    Down at the bottom of the path Fielding was already waiting. The gateway to the estate wasn¡¯t displaying any other worlds to Beck, but he noticed a third button had appeared on the gate column.

    ¡°Welcome to my world,¡± Beck said.

    The other man¡¯s attention was on the manor at the top of the hill. ¡°It¡¯s uncanny how similar it¡¯s appearance is to the one in the waking world,¡± he commented. ¡°I presume your conduit is somewhere inside?¡±

    ¡°Yes, the interior is identical to the real world as well.¡±

    Fielding fixed his gaze on the facade like he wanted to say more, but instead turned his back to the building. ¡°In that case, we need to head in the opposite direction.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± Beck walked through the open gate and made to enter the city proper, but noticed his mentor wasn¡¯t following. The man was staring through the opening in consternation. ¡°Is there a problem?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have an invitation to my world so you were able to pass through, but the gateway back to my own world is still open for me. An oddity to be sure, and an annoyance for me.¡± He frowned. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll have to use the delinquent method of exiting.¡±

    Fielding went to the iron fence surrounding the property and gripped the bars. The man hoisted himself up using just his arms, making the feat look much easier than it was. He knew that his teacher looked physically adept, but it wasn¡¯t something that mattered in the classroom. Out here in the Reverie where the landscape was as chaotic as it was in the tenements, it seemed that being fit was a benefit. Or, did physicality even matter in this space?

    His teacher vaulted over the top of the fence and landed before him in a crouch. Fielding dusted off the knees of his trousers and straightened. ¡°Onward, then.¡±

    And so they ventured into the fake metropolis of his dream. His consciousness had captured Boston¡¯s overstimulating nature; As they walked down the street the acrid smell of vehicle exhaust assaulted his nostrils. The belching of engines and buzz of the crowds hung in the air like mist. All of the sensory noise made him focus his sights above to the towering edifices which stood as dividing lines in the chaos.

    They walked down several blocks before his teacher addressed him. ¡°Beck, do you notice anything strange?¡±

    He turned to Fielding. At first Beck didn¡¯t know what the man was referring to, but then he realized that his uncle always brought someone else with him each time they had been together in this world. ¡°You don¡¯t have a velour with you,¡± he said.

    Fielding screwed his mouth up in an attempt to contain his laughter. ¡°You aren¡¯t wrong, although that isn¡¯t what I was referring to. Take in your surroundings, there is an absence here that shouldn¡¯t be.¡±

    Beck did what his teacher suggested and looked through the crowd before him. Focusing on one of the passersby he watched them cross from the corner of his vision to his direct line of sight. Their outline didn¡¯t sharpen, the haziness around their figure making them appear more like the floaters that swam across his vision. Soon he realized that every person surrounding them had the same indistinct quality.

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    The blurriness made him bring his hands up to rub his eyes, much like he did to wipe the sleep from them. To his surprise, his vision cleared; there were no other people surrounding them. The smells and sounds of a bustling city persisted, but the only sights were the roads and buildings. With the other elements gone, the other stimuli reaching his senses seemed to be projected from thin air.

    ¡°There isn¡¯t anyone living out here,¡± Beck stated. He tried to remain composed, but the sudden emptiness made him shiver. The illusion of the place being populated made it seem like they were traversing a city of ghosts.

    ¡°Yes, there was never anyone here. It would take an extraordinary mind to be able to maintain the pretense of a village in the Reverie, let alone a whole civilization. Did you notice before I mentioned anything?¡±

    Beck shook his head.

    ¡°Imagine a painting,¡± Fielding started. ¡°The epicenter of a created world is like what is displayed on the canvas. But what about what exists beyond the edge of the image? We can guess what is there based on what is inside the painting, but the farther past the canvas you go the less defined the imagined landscape becomes. Such is the case here. The world the Reverie has plucked from your mind loses clarity the farther from the center it becomes. This transition is what we call the world¡¯s gradient.¡±

    That made sense, in the weird Reverie kind of way. Beck was quite certain he couldn¡¯t fit an entire world in his head. ¡°When the workers of my manor go out into the city for supplies, it just seems normal to them, then?¡±

    ¡°As you¡¯ve experienced, the Reverie is excellent at fooling people, even more so those who aren¡¯t awakened to its tricks. Let¡¯s keep going,¡± Fielding said, continuing to walk away from the estate.

    It didn¡¯t take long for the landscape to become even more abstract. The more they walked, the simpler the architecture of the buildings became. The phantom noises of people in the crowd and automobiles on the streets started to blend together into a meaningless drone. Soon the structures and the ground became mere suggestions, fading into an off-white. Each new development made Beck more nervous, but Fielding¡¯s confident stride kept him from questioning his teacher. It was when they were surrounded by nothing but emptiness that he began to worry.

    ¡°It is unwise to keep going, Master Fielding,¡± Patch spoke up.

    The man didn¡¯t respond. In the surrounding pale Beck thought that it was the end of the line, but still the environment changed as they progressed. Everything was still white, but saltiness began to fill his nostrils. The breaking of an invisible tide rang in his ears. He gazed around but still saw nothing but the interminable blank space, his teacher now absent from his vision as well. He felt water lapping at his ankles, filling his shoes.

    Panic began to swell up inside him. ¡°Mister Fielding!¡±

    The man came into focus at Beck¡¯s side, and the sensations abated. They were once more standing at the edge of nothing, the city of Boston arising in vague contours behind them.

    ¡°If you feel like you¡¯re starting to drift again, hold on to my arm,¡± Fielding said.

    Beck balked at him in dismay. ¡°What is happening out here?¡±

    Fielding stared out into the blank horizon. ¡°This is where reality ends, and fiction begins,¡± he stated.

    ¡°What are you even saying? That out there is some kind of purgatory?¡±

    One of the man¡¯s signature smiles crossed his face, but this one was slight and melancholy. ¡°No, people who venture out too far come back, but never as the same person they were when they entered into it. Gradients don¡¯t just regress the sensory experience, but our very identity. If we were to keep walking into this void, eventually we would be naught but a moving picture. Going farther, we would be a collection of photographs. Farther still, and we would just be words on a page. Eventually, you become adrift in the unending ocean of a blank page.¡±

    Beck scanned the emptiness ahead. He couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine what Fielding explained was like, but if it captured the same feeling he felt before his teacher anchored him back to reality, he shuddered to think what fully succumbing to it would be like. ¡°What does this have to do with the actors in my dream world?¡±

    ¡°The objects and people swallowed up by the gradients, they aren¡¯t left on their own; the space on the other side of gradients absorbs them, weathers them into a blank slate, and repurposes them, making them a part of someone else¡¯s narrative.¡±

    ¡°So the staff working in my manor ¡ª¡±

    Fielding shook his head. ¡°Are likely not those who fall into this case, but people created by the Reverie. It is uncommon, but those who have had the misfortune to be drawn past the edge of some reality end up in a similar situation as these ¡®actors,¡¯ working as cogs of the dream without any knowledge that they had a past life.¡± He turned and peered down at Beck. ¡°Given this information, what do you think the difference is between us and ¡®actors?¡¯¡±

    Still caught up in a rush and faced with such a heavy question, Beck could only reply, ¡°I¡¯m not sure, Mister Fielding.¡±

    His teacher didn¡¯t look disappointed, but neither did he look pleased by the response. ¡°Even if the Reverie¡¯s creations aren¡¯t human, if we cannot differentiate between the two, it would be wise to treat both with the same modicum of respect. Otherwise, we may begin to lose some of our own humanity.¡±

    There was a long pause as they stood at the edge of the world. Beck thought he heard the distant sound of lapping water, but couldn¡¯t be sure if it was a trick of his mind. Eventually, Fielding spoke up again. ¡°Was Rowan the one who gave you the term ¡®actor?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Beck said.

    ¡°I see. Well, we should head back. In the future, Patch can warn you if you are approaching a gradient. That is, if you don¡¯t notice the landscape dissolving first.¡±

    They walked back through the impression of Boston, the shapes and sounds gaining more clarity with each step. When the manor came into view, Beck had never been more relieved to return to the strangeness he was used to.

 20: Nighthawks (pt. 1)

    ¡°So I told her that she would be able to visit, and I don¡¯t like the idea of breaking my word. I know this puts you in a difficult situation, but I believe the damage done to the connections I have to the troupe would be severe if I don¡¯t follow through,¡± Beck explained.

    Nora, Amelia and his uncle all stared at him over the breakfast spread. The last time that he¡¯d visited the troupe at Fielding¡¯s behest, Beck had been sent to suss out a spy who was working for the Stranger, which had seemed a wild premise. However, he¡¯d once thought the same of the Reverie, so against his better judgment he figured his uncle¡¯s company had some way of knowing where their enemies were located in the waking world.

    And after his latest visit to the circus grounds, the idea of someone there having ties to the Reverie didn¡¯t seem as far-fetched. The matron he had talked to seemed cordial enough, but her reluctance to talk about esoteric matters cast suspicion. If the Reverie was as old as Patch alluded to, then surely it wouldn¡¯t have gone unnoticed by those seeking out arcane knowledge? And if she was truthful about abandoning such pursuits, what of her protege, Florence? Or Florence¡¯s brother?

    Regardless, the fortune teller introduced Beck to the matron at the cost of allowing her to visit the Barclay estate. Which is why he needed to tell his superiors about the agreement, even if it didn¡¯t sit well with them.

    His uncle set his mug of coffee down. ¡°This is an excellent development, very good Beckham!¡±

    Not anticipating that response, he gave his relative a puzzled look. ¡°Isn¡¯t it a bad thing to let a potential enemy into our dwelling?¡±

    ¡°The manor is more than equipped to handle those who have ill intentions. It had better, with all of the rivals Rowan makes,¡± Nora grumbled. ¡°Anything that would be valuable are locked away, so all you¡¯d need to be careful of is not handing out invitations to the Reverie like candy.¡±

    ¡°Even so, I fail to see how this is anything except an inconvenience,¡± Beck said. ¡°How is this helpful to us? If the people I¡¯m bringing here do happen to be in cahoots with the Stranger then they more than likely already know who you are, and by coming here they¡¯ll realize that I¡¯m working for you.¡±

    ¡°The hope is that your intuition is correct and you are bringing the spy here,¡± Rowan said.

    Beck¡¯s confusion deepened further. ¡°Why on earth is that?¡±

    His uncle grinned, a spark of excitement igniting in the man¡¯s eyes. ¡°It is beneficial if they are aware of us, but do not know that we know who they are. When someone thinks they have an advantage over the other, that¡¯s when their guard is lowered and they have the highest chance of slipping up.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure you aren¡¯t a tactician, uncle?¡±

    ¡°The Reverie is my main priority, but I still am a psychologist, and analysis of behavior comes with the territory,¡± Rowan said. ¡°Now, we might as well have a correspondence sent over to your friends at the circus so that they are prepared for your arrival.¡±

    He let out a sigh. ¡°I suppose this means this is happening today, then.¡±

    Nora scowled. ¡°Today¡¯s the Sabbath, it¡¯s not a day to have guests over.¡±

    Beck ignored the housekeeper. ¡°Pray tell how you plan on getting mail over to a group who have no residence?¡±

    ¡°I have my ways,¡± his uncle said, the mischievous smile remaining on his lips. ¡°Just let me know who to send it to.¡±

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    ¡°I don¡¯t like this one bit, dear,¡± Nan said.

    The midday sun was beating down on the encampment, baring its heat down on trouper and guest alike. Even away from the crowds and inside of their wagon the temperature was still oppressive. Florence couldn¡¯t believe that her matron still wore her full regalia while she herself was burning up with a vestment cut at the elbows. But perhaps that was why Nan was being more uncompromising than usual.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure everything will be fine, Nan. From my conversations with Beckham his uncle is not the most socially adept, they probably didn¡¯t know this would come across as forceful,¡± Florence reassured.

    The matron¡¯s wrinkles became more pronounced. ¡°That¡¯s a charitable way of putting it. The letter was more like a demand than an invitation.¡±

    When she had gotten up in the morning, said invitation was waiting on the steps of their wagon. That in itself was out of the ordinary since the last time she had received mail ¨C Well, there wasn¡¯t a last time. It was from a man who she assumed was the notorious uncle of Beckham, one Rowan Barclay, who wrote to her on Beckham¡¯s behalf. The letter stated that an escort was coming to bring her and Zayne to their home and that they should be ready by the early afternoon. It seemed the assumption was that they were already on board with visiting that very day.

    ¡°I understand your concern, but this is something that I requested to do,¡± Florence said. ¡°You aren¡¯t the only one skeptical about the subject of this man¡¯s studies, and I wanted to assess the situation for myself.¡±

    The old woman clasped her hands in front of her. ¡°That was an impulsive decision, but it is said and done now. I do not fault you for looking out for the wellbeing of others, but it is wise to be discerning with who you involve yourself with, and I fear that Beckham and his family are more trouble than they are worth. When these escorts arrive, you can simply tell them that you have changed your mind.¡±

    ¡°Helping people with their problems is our profession,¡± Florence pointed out. ¡°You¡¯ve brushed shoulders with the elite of the cities we¡¯ve visited, at least one must have confided something terrible to you. Would you have just let it run its natural course until disaster struck? If it were me, I couldn¡¯t in good conscience let that happen.¡±

    Nan closed her eyes, and Nora could see the wrinkles in her mentor¡¯s face slowly shift. When her pale eyes opened again, she had her answer. ¡°When you are requested, either as a performer or a guest, you are the representative of our entire company. Even if you must step on someone¡¯s ego, you must do so with an air of dignity and grace.¡±

    ¡°Oh Nan, thank you! Thank you!¡± Florence wrapped her arms around Nan¡¯s neck, who pulled her into a hug.

    ¡°This is your first headline act dear, I can¡¯t help but overthink and worry over everything that could happen,¡± Nan said, her head resting next to Florence¡¯s ear. ¡°Promise me you won¡¯t let yourself be dragged down by them.¡±

    The night that Beckham returned, there was a certain fanaticism that wasn¡¯t there when they first met. The curiosity was still there, but it had blossomed. To her it had seemed the man was chasing a world of expanding opportunities, and between their meetings he had somehow found it. The closest Florence had gotten to that was the discovery of her muse, but one could only be so enamored with something inside oneself. She too desired the same freedom that he had found. So to reassure her matron she lied, ¡°I promise.¡±

    Across the way, Zayne emerged from the entrance of their wagon. He was still buttoning up his shirt, likely only getting ready now after having been asleep well into the morning, much to their matron¡¯s consternation. All of his preparation must have gone into his hair, which was slicked back with enough oil to make it shine. He glanced up and noticed them sitting on the other side of the green, and put on the toothy smile he always wore in public.

    ¡°And please make sure your brother doesn¡¯t cause too much trouble,¡± Nan added quietly.

    ¡°Of course,¡± she said.

    Zayne approached them. ¡°Still on time,¡± he said proudly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t push it, you were nearly late,¡± Florence commented.

    ¡°It seems he came just in time,¡± someone said. She looked over, and Beckham was walking up to their tent. He was in casual attire, most likely to it being the weekend, but Florence and Zayne were dressed to perform. They didn¡¯t have the luxury of pretending to be normal.

    ¡°Mister Beckham,¡± Nan said in a curt greeting.

    The man nodded. ¡°Madame. I will make sure everyone returns safe and sound.¡°

    The matron pursed her lips but said nothing. The most effective reassurance was the one that didn¡¯t need to be said.

    Beck made a sweeping gesture. ¡°Shall we be off, then?¡±

    ¡°Yes, let¡¯s,¡± Florence said.

    ¡°Off to adventure!¡± Zayne exclaimed, spreading his arms wide.

    Beck put on a forced smile. ¡°I¡¯m afraid it won¡¯t be too exciting, but I¡¯ll leave that up to you to decide.¡±

 21: Nighthawks (pt. 2)

    He led her and Zayne through the swirling crowds of visitors to the fair grounds and out to the open lawn of the commons. It was easy to forget that they were in the middle of a metropolis when she spent all her days around the caravan, so it was almost a surprise when buildings and roads spread out in front of them. Beck led them to a waiting vehicle, one with a flowing body and a shiny emerald sheen.

    ¡°This is a rather fancy taxi,¡± she said.

    ¡°My uncle insists on using a more personal form of transportation.¡±

    The man opened the door for them, and they slid onto the back seat. Inside it was plush, just as luxurious as the outside. Beck took a seat next to Florence, which confused her until she realized they weren¡¯t the only ones in the vehicle.

    ¡°Well hello miss!¡± Her brother called to the lady in the driver¡¯s seat.

    The woman turned back to them. ¡°You must be Mister Zayne and Miss Florence. I¡¯m Amelia, one of the Barclays¡¯ assistants.¡±

    Even though in the dim light of the cabin she couldn¡¯t make out much of the lady¡¯s features or expressions, Florence immediately felt tense in her presence. She wasn¡¯t sure if it was her piercing green eyes or the tone of her voice, but Amelia gave off the impression of a repressed storm. Regardless, she did not let what she felt slip past the mask she presented to her clients. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Amelia.¡±

    Without another word the driver turned back to the wheel and guided the vehicle into the Boston traffic. For someone who had never ridden in an automobile before, it was a strange sensation. Florence simultaneously felt anxiety at the illusion of nothing controlling their movements, but also a rush of excitement from the same idea. She had to suppress the urge to laugh in giddiness, realizing that this experience alone was worth the trip.

    She turned to Zayne. He was gazing out the window, resting his head in his palm, boredom across his face. Florence found it hard to believe he didn¡¯t seem even the least bit thrilled by the journey, but she didn¡¯t let that take away from her own elation.

    ¡°So where is it that your uncle lives?¡± she asked Beckham.

    The man peered out the front. ¡°Looks like we¡¯ve already arrived. I could have sworn the estate was further out from the commons.¡±

    An estate? For a moment Florence thought she had misheard, but then the vehicle passed through the gates of a fenced off property. Gardens lined the avenue as they traveled upwards, a large structure rising above the crest of the hill.

    ¡°Beckham, why didn¡¯t you ever mention your family owned a mansion?¡± she said, her excitement growing. Florence thought that this was going to be a regular house visit, but the opulence she saw around her was like what Nan described in her excursions. This trip was turning out to be something only her matron normally did.

    He rubbed at his temple. ¡°Ah, well, I didn¡¯t want to give the impression I was from the upper class. My uncle¡¯s holdings were just as much of a surprise to me when I first arrived in America.¡±

    The automobile glided to a stop in front of the entrance. Beckham let them out of the vehicle while Amelia held the front door open for them. Florence¡¯s heart soared as she walked into the grand hall, a space so vast she was certain the entire caravan could fit inside.

    Zayne whistled, the tone amplified by the room. ¡°Now this is a lifestyle I could get used to.¡±

    As the siblings spun around and took in the manor, Amelia pulled Beckham aside and spoke to him quietly. When Florence turned back, the woman was walking off into the depths of the building.

    ¡°Well, let me show you around!¡± he said with a half smile

    He guided them upstairs to the balcony overlooking the main hall. From above it looked like what Florence imagined a high-end hotel lobby looked like. From Beckham¡¯s implications, his stay here had felt like that, too.

    Their tour began in the manor¡¯s library. Having only a stack of books in her wagon at any one time, this was more books in one place than she had seen in her entire life. While Zayne poked around at the odd memorabilia that littered the shelves, she perused the volumes. All of the ones she picked up were encyclopedic in nature. If that¡¯s what all of the shelves contained, she could understand where the Barclays got their serious demeanor from. Reading dime novels was what kept her adventurous spirit alive, but she doubted that mere stories were what had caused Beckham¡¯s revelation.

    They were shown the music room, an impractically empty room save for a grand piano taking center stage. After Zayne prodded Beckham about his musical prowess, he convinced him to sit and play a song. The man was quite good. Perhaps not talented enough to be an act, but the notes still resonated with her in an indescribable way.

    Beckham took them outside to the gardens that took up the front of the property. While the topiaries and foliage was as elegant as the interior, the paths snaked in a way that could easily get someone lost. Florence supposed that tracked with the rest of the impractical use of space she¡¯d seen at the manor. From what Nan had told her of her experiences with the elite, it sounded like the more money one had, the more illogical their dwellings became.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    She looked over to the extensive face of the building. ¡°What does your uncle do with all of the extra rooms, anyways?¡± Florence asked. ¡°We must have only scratched the surface of them.¡±

    A hint of concern appeared on the man¡¯s brow before it quickly fled. ¡°He runs his company out of the East Wing. I haven¡¯t actually been there, but I¡¯d imagine it¡¯s full of bureaucracy.¡±

    ¡°No, no, that can¡¯t be the case at all.¡± A cheeky grin creeped up Zayne¡¯s face. ¡°Knowing the nobility, they¡¯d put as little as possible inside. That room we visited with the piano? Maybe the entire wing contains rooms filled with a single instrument. You know, a fiddle room, a flute room, and so on.¡±

    Beckham let out an amused chuckle. ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then my uncle spends all day beating his own drum.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s where he does all of his magic,¡± Florence said.

    He glared at her, but Zayne¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°The forbidden kind,¡± she sighed. ¡°It¡¯s apparently what Mr. Barclay is involved in.¡±

    ¡°I can assure you, it is nothing of the sort,¡± Beckham said, scowling. ¡°Your matron assumed as such, but it¡¯s simply a theoretical field of science.¡±

    ¡°Whatever the case, Nan¡¯s concern still applies, and your family would do well to heed the warning.¡±

    Beckham opened his mouth to argue, but her brother spoke up. ¡°What is your uncle getting from the deal?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± he said, shooting Zayne a questioning look.

    ¡°Well, when I was yea high,¡± Zayne motioned with his hand, ¡°Back before the troupe, I lived in the bayous along the Louisiana, and voodoo was the king of the river. Those that practiced it always had a reason, be it love, power, revenge ¡ª If your uncle is doin¡¯ a similar trade, findin¡¯ the reason why lets you know what to watch out for.¡±

    ¡°Look, my family isn¡¯t doing any magic, it¡¯s just ¡ª¡± Beckham held up his hands, closed his eyes and breathed in. ¡°My uncle¡¯s doing his research for the sake of protection, so while we don¡¯t necessarily get along, I trust his goal.¡± He waved his hand. ¡°No matter, I remembered another room that I think would strike your fancy.¡±

    He led them back inside and to a room on the first floor. It was dark, no windows letting any natural light in. Only a dim light shone, illuminating a peculiar device that stood in the center of the space. Curious, Florence approached it. The machine sat on a tall platform, a telescopic lens pointed towards the far wall. A couple spindles protruded from it, although she wasn¡¯t sure what their purpose was.

    Someone in the darkness cleared their throat. With a sharp intake of breath she whipped around to see who had startled her. An older gentleman was standing in the shadows, holding up a strip of film.

    ¡°Hello uncle, what are you doing here?¡± Beckham asked, who didn¡¯t seem surprised in the least.

    ¡°It¡¯s my house, I don¡¯t need a reason to be anywhere,¡± the man said flatly. He didn¡¯t turn his gaze to them, focused intently on the strip held between his fingers. He slowly pulled at it, looking at each dark frame in the film as it passed by his vision. It was a strange ritual to Florence, who wasn¡¯t really sure what the man was trying to accomplish.

    ¡°We have guests,¡± Beckham said, ¡°These are Mister Zayne and Miss Florence, siblings from the circus down at the commons.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Barclay.¡± She gracefully bowed in a practiced curtsy.

    Beckham¡¯s uncle finally averted his gaze from the film and briefly scrutinized the two of them. ¡°You don¡¯t look like brother and sister.¡±

    His nephew looked mortified. ¡°Uncle!¡±

    Zayne couldn¡¯t help but laugh and put on one of his wide, goofy smiles. ¡°I like this one already, he¡¯s a riot! I could say the same between you and Beckham, if I wanted.¡±

    The man didn¡¯t seem to know how to react to Zayne, so Florence spoke up. ¡°In the traditional sense, we aren¡¯t siblings,¡± she explained. ¡°The familial terminology might seem strange to those outside our traveling community, but despite our lack of blood relation we still treat each other as such. We were all orphans at one point, but being picked up out of squalor and living life together on the road creates unbreakable bonds.¡±

    His expression softened, melting into an attempt at a grin. ¡°Those with similar experiences tend towards stronger connections with each other.¡± Rowan cast his attention to Beckham. ¡°Was there something you were looking for?¡±

    ¡°I was hoping to set up the moviegraph for our guests,¡± he tilted his chin towards the contraption in the center.

    ¡°Of course. Here, let me do that for you, Zayne and Florence can take a seat.¡± The man walked towards the machine with the film reel he¡¯d been fiddling with and started threading it through the spindles.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Florence said softly to her brother, who was absent-mindedly staring at the machine. She tugged at his hand, and guided them to the row of seats at the far side of the room that were peeking out of the dark.

    Upon taking her place, she turned back to the two Barclays as they fussed over the device. Now that the older one was in the light, she was able to read him. Rowan was tall and slim like Beckham, but the former wore a short beard that was starting to speckle with gray. With his appearance and the way he operated the machine with an awkward smile, Florence could see where the image Beckham had of him as an eccentric intellectual came from.

    It was the man¡¯s deep, blue eyes that told a different story. Whole universes could fit inside them. While she could stare at them all day to unravel the secrets within, she doubted he would sit still long enough to let that happen. However, the fragments on the surface she glimpsed all conveyed a consistent narrative, a sorrow like that of a sailboat on the sea when the winds were silent.

    Before Florence could consider more of the man¡¯s inner being, a click sounded from the device and a beam of light shot from the lens, casting a rectangle of light into the wall in front of them. Beckham took a seat next to them as the light turned dark. Text faded onto the pane of light: ¡°Treasure Island.¡± She had read the Stevenson novel, so was this a slideshow of the illustrations depicting it?

    To her amazement, when the title went away and the light now displayed the Admiral Benbow Inn, it wasn¡¯t a still image. It was moving. Somehow, the mechanical box had captured a window into the imagination, allowing the three of them to be privy to a fantasy that before had been trapped in paper and ink.

    Florence couldn¡¯t help but smile as on the far side of the light Jim Hawkins journeyed away from everything he had known. For the duration of the spectacle, the room she was sitting in ceased to exist. Nan was correct, the Barclay¡¯s were harnessing magic. And if this was a hint of what they had to offer, Florence wasn¡¯t sure she could resist its charm.

 Current Delay and the Future of the Story

    Hey there, just a quick temporary post to let people know what is going on, since it''s been over a month since the last story update.

    I''m always swamped with different projects, and for most of the past month I''ve been helping a friend renovate their website, which has taken most of my free time. I hate going so long without posting the story, but I didn''t think I would be able to handle both at the same time. We''re nearing the end of the update, so once that is all set I should be ready to get back to writing. Updates will hopefully resume around mid-August.

    Speaking of the story, I recently got some very helpful feedback from Chtae</a> about some of its shortcomings. Fellow authors will probably understand the feeling of looking at a story for so long that you know there are parts that could be better, but not knowing why something is off or how to fix it, and their advice helped me to break through that block. The changes needed to fix these underlying issues will be quite extensive and will require rewriting big chunks of the first half. Before I get to that I will finish the current draft of the story so that I have all of the pieces on the table to work with and rearrange as needed.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    With that in mind, here''s the current plan for the story going forward:

    <ol>

    <li>Finish writing and posting the story until I reach the end of the first volume.</li>

    <li>Make revisions to the whole volume.</li>

    <li>Relaunch new version of the story as a separate story, changing this one into a link that points to the new version.</li>

    </ol>

    There are a few reasons for this. The biggest reason is so I can be more in line with what attracts follower retention and audience growth on RoyalRoad. I''ve noticed that consistent weekly updates is what attracts the most readers. I''ve been posting as I write, so that was never really an option with how slow I write, but with a completed and revised draft I can easily meet that schedule. I was planning on running an ad campaign, but now I want to wait until I have the revised version to do that, so that I can spend most of my effort marketing instead of writing.

    As for this current version, I appreciate everyone who has read and has continued to read it! This is essentially a first draft and I greatly appreciate all of the feedback I''ve gotten on it. Again, I''ll still be posting this version of the story until the end. It will be a bit bumpy, but for those of you who don''t mind that I hope you continue to enjoy In Dream''s Wake!

    Until the next update,

    Halflite

 22: Nighthawks (pt. 3)

    By the time Amelia was driving their group back towards the commons, evening was beginning to settle over the city. Outside of the vehicle¡¯s cabin, the stars began to emerge from behind the sun-kissed sky. Beck glanced at the troupers. Zayne was gazing out the window at the sunset, but Florence¡¯s expression still held an echo of the wonder she experienced watching the film.

    It was a deceptively short trip, the vehicle arriving at the edge of the park much quicker than Beck remembered from previous visits. The assistant cut the engine and craned her neck to look out at the street.

    ¡°Is something the matter?¡± he asked.

    Amelia kept her gaze focused on the grid of buildings. ¡°Just finish up your business quickly.¡±

    ¡°As you wish.¡±

    Beck let them out of the vehicle, and the trio walked up the hills of the green. In the waning sunlight the illumination of lanterns from the caravan lit up the field below like fireflies. With the last of the crowds from the day pulling themselves away from the scattered stages of the circus it was easy to navigate to the wagon the siblings called home. One of the lanterns cast its light on the side of it, making the firelit cliffs of the mural appear like they were within arms reach.

    They stopped in front of the stairs leading up into the wagon where a pool of candlelight trickled down from the inside and gathered. ¡°Well, visiting your family¡¯s estate was an enlightening experience,¡± Florence said, her features a silhouette in the glow. ¡°I believe I have a more accurate picture of your clan now.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± He raised his brow. ¡°I suppose it is my turn to be enlightened, then.¡±

    ¡°Whatever it may be that your uncle has you working on, it¡¯s clear his passion for it has rubbed off on you as well.¡±

    Beck couldn¡¯t help but be incredulous. ¡°That would be frightening if it were true. I¡¯m not on the best of terms with him right now, I¡¯m fairly certain that disqualifies our motivations being the same.¡±

    If Florence was at all fazed by his remark she didn¡¯t show it. ¡°I only speak the truth that I observe, whether you accept it or not is up to you,¡± she said with a shrug of her shoulder. ¡°However, I didn¡¯t get the impression that your uncle was the type to do whatever he is doing out of malice. If an unsavory outcome arises from your work, I find it unlikely it would be deliberate.¡±

    ¡°Now that¡¯s right comforting,¡± Zayne prodded.

    She shot her brother a withering look, then caught Beck¡¯s eyes again. ¡°I¡¯m not telling you to be careless; as a fortune teller, my advice is only meant for self-reflection.¡±

    ¡°Well, I appreciate the sentiment.¡± He looked away for a moment at the ever-brightening stars. Despite the threat that these people could be his enemies, they were the closest thing to a friendly presence at the moment. Especially with how evasive Rowan and his company was with information that endangered him. When considering his next words he tried to convince himself that it was for the purpose of maintaining eyes on potential moles like his uncle wanted, but he couldn¡¯t detach his misgivings and his need to stay sane from the equation.

    ¡°Spending time with you two has been greatly beneficial to my stay here in America. Sometimes at the manor it feels like I¡¯m isolated from those of my own generation. These get-togethers have been good for my well being in addition to, ah, tempering my pride. If any more opportunities present themselves, I¡¯d be glad to accept.¡±

    A giggle escaped Florence¡¯s mouth. ¡°Beckham, you can just say you would like to meet up again!¡±

    ¡°I would also appreciate less jawing,¡± Zayne said with a smirk. ¡°I ain¡¯t the educated type, and all your big words are hard to follow.¡±

    ¡°It runs in the Barclay line, I¡¯m afraid,¡± Beck said.

    Florence tapped her chin. ¡°Zayne, your performance is in a few days, right?¡±

    Her brother¡¯s jovial demeanor quickly shifted to something sour. ¡°I suppose it is.¡±

    ¡°That would be a good event for Beckham to attend, yes?¡±

    Zayne sighed. ¡°I dunno, not sure it would be the best use of his time ¡ª¡± he became lost in thought, as though something just occurred to him. ¡°Well, I guess we could make it work. Yes, let¡¯s plan on it.¡±

    ¡°Seeing more of your tricks would be enjoyable,¡± said Beck. ¡°What day?¡±

    ¡°Wednesday evening,¡± Zayne replied begrudgingly. ¡°And it ain¡¯t tricks, I only work in magic.¡±

    ¡°Keep an eye on this one,¡± he said jokingly to Florence. ¡°Make sure he isn¡¯t practicing what he¡¯s warning against!¡±

    ¡°Nan won¡¯t let me forget that it¡¯s part of my duties.¡±

    Beck glanced up at the sky. Purple was starting to tint the Eastern horizon. ¡°I ought to be heading back, Amelia will be starting to worry.¡±

    ¡°Farewell until next time.¡± The siblings saw him off with a wave as he exited the fairgrounds, one of the last visitors of the day.

    As he walked across the commons, Beck considered the day he¡¯d had. Thus far, it had been the most fun during his stay in Boston. He supposed that Florence and Zayne were the closest to friends that he had on this side of the ocean. Even if they had been harsh about his uncle, their doubts weren¡¯t thoughts he hadn¡¯t already had himself. At the least they were honest, which was in short supply at the madhouse that was the Barclay manor.

    Engaged in his thoughts, it wasn¡¯t until he was approaching where Amelia had parked that he froze. The vehicle was no longer there. Looking up and down the street he didn¡¯t see the jade-colored car peek out from under the streetlights as they started to buzz to life.

    Turning once again to peer across the road, a group in the distance caught his attention. Several people were further down the sidewalk, carefully inspecting the automobiles at the side of the curb. Unsure what they were doing, Beck stared at them intently. One of the men looked about at the commons before his gaze settled on him.

    The man barked something at the others, who all stopped looking at the vehicles and turned to Beck. Panic began to build at their attention, and his mind snapped out of its haze. His uncle had told him that there were spies around working for the Stranger, and this crowd was being very conspicuous. When they made a move in his direction his body decided it was a good time to bolt.

    Beck ran across the main street, drawing some angry horns from the passing vehicles. The blaring drowned out any sounds of advancing footsteps. Taking a glance over his shoulder he saw his pursuers caught on the other side of the road, traffic picking back up from his mad dash. Hoping to put some more distance between them he continued to run down the side road.

    Going by what sense of direction he had from his excursions through the city, he sprinted down streets and alleys in what he thought was the general direction of the manor. Given the short drive back to the commons Beck figured the hill the estate was one would appear above the roofs of the buildings if he got close enough. After many twisting passages though, the walls around him didn¡¯t make way to any landmarks he recognized.

    Coming to a halt, he put his hands on his knees and tried to suck in breath, the exertion of sprinting something his body wasn¡¯t used to. Through his panting he listened to his surroundings, but neither the sound of pursuit nor the growl of automobiles reached his ears. The nearby throughways were much too narrow for a vehicle, and the buildings all still had their industrial brick faces. Somehow he¡¯d traveled to one of Boston¡¯s older wards. Which meant he was terribly lost.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    Due to the relative quiet, Beck could make out the murmur of voices nearby. Wandering closer, an alley branched off from his current path. Down the alley a few men were smoking on a stoop beneath the halo of a lamp. Judging from their beaten and battered attire, they appeared to be on a work break even though the evening was starting to encompass the sky.

    ¡°Hello there,¡± he greeted them as he walked up. ¡°Would you gentlemen be able to help direct me?¡±

    Their conversation died and the trio looked at him with annoyance and incredulity. They looked amongst themselves before coming to a silent agreement and rising from the steps. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re good at directin¡¯,¡± the lead one said, a man not much older than him with a squarish face. ¡°Been all through this city, know it like the back a¡¯ my hand.¡±

    ¡°Fantastic! Do you know where ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ah, ah,¡± the leader interrupted him. ¡°Our services ain¡¯t come free.¡±

    An uncomfortable tension filled the air. ¡°What¡¯s your price?¡± Beck asked, worry slipping into his voice.

    The other two workers crept up on either side of him. ¡°How much ya got?¡± one asked, leering over him.

    ¡°Uh ¡ª¡± Not knowing what else to do, Beck reluctantly drew out his billfold and started flipping through his bank notes. ¡°Well, I have ¡ª¡±

    The leader snatched the billfold from his fingers and tossed it to one of his lackeys. Dismayed, Beck watched the man rifle through his money and make an unpleasant frown. ¡°Only pounds, nothin¡¯ of use.¡±

    ¡°Well, that ain¡¯t gonna fly,¡± the lead said, his lips scrunching. ¡°Either we get some American tender, or the only place we¡¯ll be directin¡¯ you is into a brick wall.¡±

    With dread Beck realized he¡¯d stumbled from one bad situation directly into another. He tried backing up, but the three had him surrounded. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t want any trouble, I can get you want you want, I just need time to ¡ª¡±

    ¡°Lou,¡± the one rifling through his billfold said, holding it out for the others to see. The leader glared at his lackey, but their eyes caught on the passport being shown. He turned to Beck with a gleam in his eyes.

    ¡°A Barclay, huh?¡±

    A splatter of red hit the front of Beck¡¯s shirt, staining the fabric. Just as quickly as it landed, someone reached out with a napkin and vigorously wiped at the mess.

    ¡°You ought to be more careful Mr. Barclay!¡± Lou spoke loudly. ¡°Isabella¡¯s penne and bolognese is a king¡¯s treat, but not worth ruining your outfit over!¡±

    Beck uttered an apology through his mouth of pasta, looking down at the dish to try and mentally escape from the situation he was in. He sat at a small booth in an equally small restaurant, wedged in on all sides by a group of men that cared little for personal space and how boisterous they were being. The one on his left was still rubbing the stain on his shirt, while the man on his other side was sprinkling more parmesan over the plate. Somewhere in the room a phonograph was playing a concerto, only adding to the cacophony. With how overwhelming the scene was, Beck almost wished the hooligans had remained hostile instead of becoming chummy like they were now.

    Another plate of pasta was pushed onto the table. ¡°No more, I¡¯m already full,¡± he pleaded. If any of the people attending heard him, they made no indication.

    Thankfully, he was saved when another member of their group entered the eatery. ¡°Mr. Barclay¡¯s ride is here,¡± they announced.

    The crowd of bodies blocking him in began to disperse, carrying their enthusiasm and bravado to the rest of the building. Relieved, Beck got up from the booth. Before he made it to the door, one of the men held out a suitcase to him.

    ¡°An apology for the whole debacle,¡± they explained. ¡°Give this to the big man for us, won¡¯t ya?¡±

    Before he could give a response the case was in his hands and he was pushed out the door. Blinking, Beck took in the night around him. At the edge of the narrow street the familiar emerald coupe was idling. He lugged the suitcase with him and let himself into the back seat. In the front mirror he could see Amelia, her face expressionless as always.

    ¡°What happened? Where were you?¡± he questioned, exasperation in his words.

    Amelia¡¯s eyes met his in the reflection. ¡°There were people searching for us. If I waited any longer, they would have seen me.¡± She let out a frustrated sigh. ¡°I told you not to take too long.¡±

    ¡°So, what? You just abandon me there and hope for the best?¡± he shot back.

    ¡°Would you rather we both be in peril?¡± Beck¡¯s only response was a simmering glare, so she continued. ¡°You should have contacted the manor instead of wandering the city.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s where I was walking to, for your information.¡±

    Amelia leaned back to face him directly. ¡°Only our drivers are able to get back to the manor. If you¡¯re out in the city, getting a ride from the Barclay¡¯s is the only way to the manor.¡±

    Beck stewed in his seat, not having enough energy to argue that absurd statement. In the gap in the conversation Amelia guided the vehicle away from the curb and out into the tangle of streets. The car took many more turns than he remembered from previous trips out; unfortunately she was right, he wouldn¡¯t have found his way back to the Barclay estate.

    ¡°Who were those people anyways?¡± Beck asked.

    He saw Amelia raise a brow. ¡°Which ones?¡±

    ¡°The ones looking for us. They didn¡¯t look like the people Fielding described as those from Midwich.¡±

    ¡°Rowan is good at making enemies,¡± she said.

    ¡°And how did they know where we were?¡±

    Once again she locked eyes with him in the reflection. ¡°You can figure that one out.¡±

    That wasn¡¯t the response he wanted to hear. Not because he didn¡¯t have his suspicions, but because he didn¡¯t want to consider them. He knew what Amelia was getting at: someone told the Barclay¡¯s assailants where he and Amelia were going. And for the first time, everyone at the circus knew exactly where they were going to be that evening. With how amicable Florence and Zayne had been, surely it couldn¡¯t have been them? But what of their caretaker?

    He put those worrying thoughts to side, saving them for consideration when they were safe back at the manor. All at once he became aware of the suitcase in his lap again. Why did those thugs even give this to him? Undoing the latches he opened it.

    Inside were rows of bottles cushioned with cloth. They were all unmarked, but it didn¡¯t take genius to know what they contained. While this wouldn¡¯t be an issue in his home country, here in America ¡ª

    Noticing his horrified expression, Amelia said, ¡°Give the liquor to Nora, she¡¯ll take care of it.¡±

    He wordlessly closed the lid. The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. The gates to the estate appeared out of the dark, and Amelia guided the vehicle up the hill and to the mansion¡¯s entrance. It wasn¡¯t until they went into the foyer that normal life seemed to resume, their appearance causing a commotion. Several staff were at a makeshift station housing stacks of paper and a few telephones. Their entrance caused the servants to elicit sighs of relief and a palpable anxiety in the air seemed to clear. Nora was among them, and while she too displayed a flash of concern it was almost immediately replaced with her normal scowl.

    ¡°Do you know how much stress you two have put us under tonight?¡± she spit out as she stormed over to them. ¡°We thought something terrible happened! What do you have to say for yourselves?¡±

    ¡°There were workers from Midwich about, we had to make a detour,¡± Amelia explained.

    While that explanation would not have cut it if it had come from him, Nora¡¯s anger lessened slightly from the assistant¡¯s version of events. When she saw what was in Beck¡¯s hands, it flared back up again.

    ¡°How did you even run into the Lombardi¡¯s?¡± she tutted. Before either of them could answer she held up a hand. ¡°Forget it, I don¡¯t want to know.¡± Nora took the case from Beck and handed it to one of the servants. ¡°Put these with the rest.¡±

    Everyone began to scatter, and as the foyer became quiet Beck began shedding the stress of the evening. What transpired was now thankfully behind him, but one point he couldn¡¯t shake. Why was his uncle associating with ruffians and criminals? It certainly explained how his uncle¡¯s business was able to remain solvent when Beck hadn¡¯t seen a lick of psychology being done, but the partnership only opened up even more dangerous questions. Just how low was his family willing to stoop to accomplish their goals, and why were so many people after his uncle?

 23: Force With No Release (pt. 1)

    The musty scent of aged wood filled Beck¡¯s nostrils as he opened the door. The neverending maze of tenements here in the Reverie was shabby and left to decay overall, but the room he just uncovered was noticeably old. The door leading in had the same almost-numbers adorning it as all of the other ones, but inside was like peeking into a time capsule. The furnishings looked like they had been transplanted from the Georgian era, and the room was only lit by candlesticks sitting on various surfaces.

    ¡°Patch, is it safe to enter?¡± he asked, the sudden change in style putting him on edge.

    ¡°There are no pitfalls or other dangers I can sense,¡± the bear said.

    The velour¡¯s reassurance didn¡¯t dispel his unease at how out of place it felt. ¡°Is this a gateway to a new world of the in-between?¡±

    Patch made a non-committal grunt. ¡°Could be. Or this room falls into what is considered normal for this one.¡±

    He stepped inside. His feet left trails in the thick layer of dust on the floor. The state of disuse made Beck question how and why the candles were even burning, but chalked it up to another bizarre quirk of the Reverie. The lack of melted wax at least made it seem that some unnatural force was at play. It was as if observation alone kept the licks of flame alive, time and chemistry foreign concepts to this space.

    An antique couch was the main furnishing, its upholstery faded and ravaged by time. Its high back drew Beck¡¯s eyes to the portrait on the wall. Although half hidden in shadow, what he could see by the candlelight made a shiver run down his spine.

    ¡°What in God¡¯s name is this,¡± he muttered, mortified.

    It was an oil painting done in the baroque style, depicting a figure in a dark tailcoat facing the viewer. At a glance that¡¯s all that it was, but lingering on the portrait started to reveal abnormalities. The face was absent, instead replaced with a smooth surface cut with perfectly round holes. The circles burrowed into the head, forming orifices of varying sizes. When looking at the hands, what Beck first took for gloves were in fact part of the anatomy. Instead of fingers, only a thumb and one fleshy appendage like a flipper emerged from the palms.

    ¡°This is not something I¡¯ve seen before,¡± Patch stated, their beady eyes staring up at the portrait warily.

    He looked over his shoulder at the velour. ¡°You haven¡¯t come across anyone else who looks like an octopus?¡±

    ¡°None that I recall.¡±

    The offputting figure continued to stare back at them. ¡°Let¡¯s search the room quickly and get out.¡±

    With the far reaches of the room wreathed in darkness, Beck carefully grabbed one of the candlesticks. Nothing of interest appeared out of the gloom until he reached the very back. A narrow door was nestled in the corner, what he assumed was a closet or pantry. He pulled at it and the door opened with a sharp tug.

    There wasn¡¯t a closet inside. He was looking out from an intersection in the tenements, a long hallway branching out directly in front of him. A hallway that was occupied. Three men wearing long, dark coats were walking down it away from him, but turned in surprise when they heard the door open.

    For a moment both parties were frozen. Disbelief spread out between them, like two groups chancing upon each other in the middle of the wilderness. The trio clearly resembled the people from Midwich his instructors warned him about, but a part of him thought that perhaps they could be reasoned with and then they could be on their way. That hope was dashed when the moment broke and they drew pistols from their belts.

    Many things happened quickly. Beck had enough wits about him to back away from the opening just as sharp cracks sounded from beyond and holes ripped through the flimsy door. A rush of air brushed past his leg and when he looked down he noticed a tear in his pants, as well as a red fluid dripping into his shoe. A detached part of him considered it odd that he didn¡¯t feel the searing pain, the adrenaline instead causing his limbs to shake. The candle seemed to slip through his fingers of its own accord.

    After the initial shots he heard the thump of footsteps rapidly approaching. The sound of tearing fabric added to the noise, and Beck realized Patch had dropped from his back at some point.

    ¡°They have a velour, get through quickly!¡± someone shouted from the opening.

    Turning, he saw that the bear had transformed into the hulking beast he had witnessed before, taking up nearly half of the room. Patch charged at the doorway and swung their massive claws into the hallway, blocking their assailants from entering.

    Hazy smoke started drifting upward from where the candle had fallen and spilled its flames onto the carpet.

    The crack of more gunshots rang out, perforating the bear¡¯s hide. They did nothing to slow the velour down.

    ¡°Run, Master Beckham!¡± Patch bellowed.

    That snapped him back to his senses. He scrambled back towards the entrance of the room. Ducking out into the tenement hallway, Beck couldn¡¯t help but glance back inside. Fire was starting to crawl up the far wall and smoke gathered near the ceiling. Patch writhed in the doorway, snarling like a feral beast to scare the group off.

    Unbelievably, past the smoke and monstrous bear he saw the men running directly towards Patch¡¯s outstretched limbs without a hint of concern. Ignoring any sense of self-preservation, the one at the front dove to the side as though he could squeeze past the bear¡¯s frame.

    They didn¡¯t stand a chance. The bear swatted the man aside like he weighed nothing, and Beck heard a sickening thud as they hit a wall.

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    Once again paralyzed by the violence, Beck could only watch as another continued to pepper Patch with bullets. The bear roared at the one wielding the gun, distracted just long enough for the third man to slip under its limbs. The flames were starting to lick at the bear¡¯s feet and attacked the man¡¯s coat.

    The pursuer had a single-minded purpose. Beck realized he had stayed too long when with the thrashing beast directly above them and the inferno all around, the man whipped out their pistol and aimed directly at him.

    A back leg lunged down on the gun, crushing both it and the arm holding it. The man let out a grunt, a sound disproportionate to his injury. Before Patch could stomp down again, the man rolled out from under them and into the room. They stumbled to their feet and charged Beck, their mangled arm hanging limply behind them and aflame.

    Beck¡¯s legs started working again, and he sprinted away from his crazed pursuer. Wallpaper and doorways whipped past, yet despite his breakneck run he heard the one chasing him not far behind. More staircases, more hallways. When he¡¯d been running so long that he should have felt exhaustion he still had energy in him to keep going. Whether from the adrenaline of fleeing a malevolently determined man, or from the Reverie not allowing him to grow tired, he wasn¡¯t sure.

    With fear coursing through him it took Beck returning to the familiar room that separated the tenements from the pond to realize that Patch hadn¡¯t been there to guide him back to the entrance. He¡¯d retraced his steps through the labyrinth subconsciously. With no time to give that any thought, Beck pushed that to the back of his mind and dove under the crumbling wall of the room. The dirt tunnel leading to the surface was what separated him from danger.

    Forced to a crawl, the attacker finally caught up. A hand grabbed Beck¡¯s ankle, who cried out as a shock of pain traveled up his leg. He finally remembered that in the thick of things he¡¯d been shot. The man¡¯s grasp seemed to trigger the pain that he¡¯d been ignoring, leaving Beck incapacitated as he was dragged back into the tenement.

    He instinctively curled his arms around his head to guard it. A blow struck his forearms, sending more pain shooting up his frame. Tears blinded him. Beck flailed his arms to find any kind of purchase on his enemy. His fingers brushed past something, and he quickly thrust his hands toward it.

    The man¡¯s fist became held in his grip. Muscles tensed as the attacker tried to wrench free, but Beck¡¯s fingers became a vice as panic locked his joints in place. Even still Beck could see small pockets of light where the man¡¯s coat burned. His vision began to clear and he finally got a look at the man¡¯s face. It was almost unnerving how plain his attacker looked, but that wasn¡¯t what surprised him. The man had the same intense look of panic that Beck wore.

    A rumbling in the ground started, quickly picking up in intensity. The attacker only stopped trying to pull his fist away when the thundering became unignorable. He turned his head as Patch tore through the wall like it was paper.

    The bear¡¯s mouth clamped down on the man¡¯s shoulder and yanked him off Beck. Patch whipped his head around, slamming them against the wall. Before the man could recover from his dazed state, Patch brought both of their front legs down on him. The resulting sound was like an insect being crushed, magnified.

    Beck watched, firmly rattled, as his velour stepped off the attacker and shrank back down to its normal size. What was left of the man was a singed and tangled mass of limbs. A pressure was building inside of his head, forcing him to look away.

    ¡°Master Beckham, you¡¯re injured,¡± Patch stated, padding up to him.

    Numbly, Beck brought his fingers down to his leg and prodded at where the bullet hit him. It stung fiercely, but not enough for it to be lodged in his flesh. ¡°I think it¡¯s just a graze.¡± He tried swallowing. It was difficult with how dry his mouth was. ¡°What the devil happened?¡± he croaked out.

    Before the velour could answer, a wheezing sound emerged next to him. Beck¡¯s gaze snapped back to the broken body, and to his horror saw that they were still alive. Their bloodied lips were twitching and their bulging eyes were locked on him, pleading.

    ¡°Patch,¡± he uttered just over a whisper. The man¡¯s expression bore into him. It was so heavy. ¡°Can you put him out of his misery?¡± He could scarcely believe the words coming out of his mouth, but with how the figure struggled to draw breath ¡ª

    ¡°That ¡ª I can¡¯t do that, Master Beckham.¡± It was the first time the velour seemed to have a hard time finding the words to say.

    ¡°What do you mean? The man is suffering!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a matter of personal guidelines, it simply cannot be done,¡± the bear attempted to explain. When they saw Beck¡¯s panicked, confused look, Patch continued, ¡°Attempting to end this person¡¯s pain will only increase it.¡±

    With how alight his mind was with the events that had just transpired, it took several seconds to realize his body was in motion, crawling up through the dirt tunnel and then sprinting down the forest path, away from that grisly scene. At first he wasn¡¯t sure why he was running, but as his thoughts caught up with him it dawned that his body had simply reacted on primal instinct, trying to carry him away from the terrible revelation that had come to him.

    Beck understood what the velour was getting at. For reasons beyond his understanding, it was impossible to end the man¡¯s life. Sleep didn¡¯t exist in the Reverie, neither did hunger, and it seemed that death, too, did not tread this realm. Suffering, though ¡ª

    He collapsed at the side of the path, retching. His bile soaked into the forest floor. Thoughts of inescapable fates and agony without reprieve wouldn¡¯t leave his head.

    Tilting his head, Beck scanned for the pond and found he was across from the pier he saw the first time he entered this forest. He scrambled over to it and leaned over the side. With shaking hands he cupped some of the water and brought it to his mouth, washing the sourness out.

    Soft footsteps approached. Looking over, Patch was ambling over to him, still in their smaller size. ¡°I apologize you saw that, I realize for humans that type of brutality can be distressing,¡± they said.

    Beck stared ahead at nothing, waiting for his rapid breathing to settle before attempting to talk. ¡°Is he just going to be like that forever now?¡± he gasped out.

    After a moment of hesitation the bear shook its head. ¡°If they make it back out of the Reverie, they will be returned to normal.¡±

    He couldn¡¯t help but laugh derisively. ¡°Pray tell how they will get back to their world in that condition?¡±

    ¡°One of his fellows might find them and help them back. It would be best to leave the body, so that the other party can do with it what they will.¡±

    At that Beck remained quiet. The possibility of recovery and the weird sense of honor that Patch suggested made him feel slightly better, but his emotions and heart still raced. At the very least he knew that not even his worst enemies deserved a fate like that, so he nodded.

    Several minutes passed before he felt like he could move without shaking. Turning to Patch he blanched at their appearance. ¡°Dear lord, are you okay Patch?¡±

    The bear had holes through its fabric hide, threads and stuffing trailing out from within. ¡°Velours and humans are not alike, and my phylactery is safe,¡± they said, indicating the diamond-shaped container on its chest. ¡°It¡¯s my duty to protect my ward, and sustaining damage on their behalf is part of that duty. Although I¡¯m afraid Mistress Nora will be upset at my current condition.¡±

    Beck rubbed a hand across his face. He really needed time to sort out everything that had happened beyond just his immediate reaction. Slowly he picked himself up from the pier, before stopping when something caught his eye between the boards. The darker water beneath the pier showed small reflections of the wood above it, but he thought he could see something else down there. In the thin space between planks he could have sworn that hints of bricks and mortar lurked below.

    ¡°Patch, look at this,¡± Beck said, indicating the gap in the pier.

    The bear glanced down, twisting their head around at different angles. ¡°I see nothing, Master Beckham.¡±

    Looking down again, Beck couldn¡¯t be sure if what he was seeing was the Reverie dangling something in front of him or a trick of his strained mind. ¡°Nevermind, I¡¯m a bit skittish right now.¡± Even if there was something there, his primary concern was to get out of the Reverie as soon as he could.

 24: Force With No Release (pt. 2)

    Limping back to the estate, it didn¡¯t even occur to Beck how he appeared until he crossed the threshold of the foyer. His groundskeeper Maude was pruning the field of flowers she had set up in the entryway, who upon turning to him gasped in shock.

    ¡°Good heavens, Mr. Barclay!¡± She stared at the bullet wound seeping into the leg of Beck¡¯s pants. ¡°Let me ring a doctor to come see to you.¡±

    He held up a hand. ¡°No, I have it covered. My personal physician is on his way as we speak,¡± he lied, weariness heavy in his voice.

    Maude continued to regard him with concern, but Beck could tell when skepticism creeped into her expression. ¡°Dare I ask what happened?¡±

    ¡°Well ¨C¡± In his muddled state, Beck struggled to remember what story he¡¯d been feeding her. ¡°One of my patients had a violent episode after a particularly troubling dream.¡±

    She looked hardly convinced, but didn¡¯t question him on it further.

    ¡°Due to the incident I¡¯ll be gone on holiday to recover. I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯ll be gone,¡± he said.

    ¡°Very well. The manor will be in pristine condition upon your return.¡± Maude went back to tending the flowers.

    Beck shuffled as quickly as he could manage up the stairs and down the hall towards his suite. He had to get out of this infernal plane. When he reached his room and the doppelganger resting on his bed, Beck barely gave Patch time to drop from his back before he flopped down and emerged back into the world above.

    As he came to, he immediately noticed how his clothes clung to him. He was drenched in a cold sweat that made him shiver when he pulled the covers back. Immediately he got up and went over to the small chair where Patch sat. Relief washed over him when he saw the bear was in its inert state. When Beck saw the various holes that peppered the doll, his relief gave way to concern. It seemed that the damage Patch sustained had carried over to this world, somehow.

    He felt his leg. His own injury was gone, something that he hadn¡¯t noticed in his scramble over to Patch. The fact that didn¡¯t carry over from the Reverie softened the blow of what happened ever so slightly, but it did raise the question of why Patch retained their wounds. Perhaps it was because a velour¡¯s nature was more connected to the Reverie and ¡ª

    No, he wanted to put any thoughts of that place out of his head. Grabbing Patch he scuttled back to the bed and sat against the headframe, holding the doll close. The sun slowly emerged outside. As time slipped by, Beck tracked the rays as they traveled across the walls.

    Eventually a knock came to the door, which he didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°Beckham, breakfast will be cleared if you do not get up this minute!¡± Nora¡¯s muffled voice came from the hallway.

    When no response came from his lips he heard mumbled cursing as the door swung open. The housekeeper''s head appeared around the corner. Her scowl quickly vanished when she saw the state that Beck was in.

    ¡°Are you well, or do you need medicine?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°No, I just need some time.¡±

    Nora gave him one last stare before retreating wordlessly from the room. Beck sat on the bed and watched the sunlight continue to travel across the room. It almost seemed like the hours were slipping past him too quickly. He gripped the doll tighter.

    ¡°Patch?¡± He whispered.

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    The velour continued to be dormant, watching him with vacant beads for eyes. No, this was still real.

    After more time passed Nora appeared again, causing him to jump.

    ¡°If you need to talk through something ¡ª well, at the very least you should talk to Rowan, if it''s related to the Reverie,¡± she said.

    Beck gave a non-committal tilt of his head but remained quiet. The housekeeper disappeared once more, and the light from outside started to grow more orange. As it started to dim he continued to check on Patch, who was still nothing more than a doll despite Beck¡¯s growing fatigue. When night was beginning to settle through the window, he heard a crowd of people approach.

    They entered through the small entrance one by one. At the front was his uncle, followed by Nora and Amelia. His uncle stopped at the foot of the bed.

    ¡°What happened?¡± He asked.

    Beck still didn''t want to talk, but looking into his uncle''s eyes, he had the impression that wasn''t going to be an option. He wore a lazy grin as though it were a casual interaction, but his eyes were deep and emotionless.

    ¡°I encountered some people who attacked me,¡± he said quietly.

    His uncle gestured to Patch¡¯s battered form. ¡°I figured. Now, if you will give the velour to Nora, she can have it fixed up.¡±

    Beck didn''t let go of the doll. He could feel his fingers starting to tremble. ¡°Uncle, I ¡ª I was shot!¡±

    His uncle didn''t so much as blink. ¡°That is unfortunate, but running into anyone in the Reverie is a rare occurrence, and you''re back safe and sound due to Patch''s protection, no worse for wear.¡± The corners of his smile turned up more, as though that would be comforting. ¡°If it will make you feel safer, we can train you on firearms so you have that extra ¡ª¡±

    ¡°A gun?!¡± Beck could barely contain a nervous laugh. ¡°A man was in the throes of death, yet unable to die! If I had known the Reverie was capable of such horrors, I would never have entered!¡±

    ¡°Yet you have, and there is no turning back now.¡±

    ¡°On the contrary, uncle. I have made up my mind, and I will be chartering a ship back home. I need to get away from this madness.¡±

    Amelia shot a look to his uncle, but said nothing. Nora was looking at him with what almost looked like pity.

    ¡°Beckham, that would be ill-advised,¡± she said.

    ¡°As you said yourself, since the Reverie cannot be left behind, this estate is the safest place you can be,¡± his uncle said. ¡°We have all of the wards and professionals one can have to ensure your protection.¡±

    ¡°I''ll just leave with Patch, then!¡± Beck spat. ¡°They''re the only one who has actually looked out for me in my time here!¡±

    Rowan looked at him sharply. ¡°The velours are property of the estate, none will be going with you back to England.¡±

    He stared at his uncle in disbelief. Several words tried to form on his lips, but none accurately represented the cascade of emotions he felt. First shock at his uncle''s callousness, then betrayal, then fury. From his uncle''s perspective he imagined his face must have been like a film that silently bared his feelings.

    ¡°Beckham, I know this hardly seems fair, but this is for your benefit. What if the same fate that had befallen this man in the Reverie happened to you? How would we even know that you needed rescue?¡±

    A silence stretched between them until he could bear it no more. ¡°If I am staying here, then I just won''t dream,¡± he spoke through gritted teeth. ¡°I recall Nora mentioning that she had a serum that induced a dreamless sleep.¡±

    For the first time his uncle hesitated. ¡°I would normally allow such a request, but these aren''t normal circumstances. Your travels inside the Reverie are compulsory, we will not be providing Nora¡¯s serum to you.¡±

    ¡°So, what? You¡¯re just my jailers now as you watch me suffer for your own sick pleasure?¡± Beck sputtered.

    ¡°I''m not a sadist; I have been instructed to run your time here with us this way,¡± his uncle explained.

    ¡°By who?¡±

    ¡°Your father.¡±

    Any vitriolic response he had died. A numbness began to take his limbs, and a bitter resignation filled his body. He felt Patch slide through his fingers as his uncle retrieved the bear and passed it off to Nora.

    ¡°I believe it would be best if Fielding accompanies you on your next journey,¡± his uncle said delicately. ¡°He¡¯s dealt with similar binds to what you''ve been in, and I believe his presence will put you more at ease.¡± He put on what he thought was a reassuring smile, before leaving the room.

    Nora followed shortly after, looking over Patch and frowning at all of the holes. ¡°You should get some dinner, we don''t want you to starve,¡± she said over her shoulder.

    Amelia went last. She looked at him and parted her lips as though to say something, before she thought better of it and left Beck to himself.