《Wrought Iron》


 Part 1

    ¡°If you could just sign for this,¡± I said, holding my tablet out. The woman took the stylus and scribbled something that might have been Mary or Math or Marge. It wasn¡¯t important, though. ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am. Have a nice afternoon.¡± I handed her the box, wide but flat. She wished me a good afternoon in turn, which was polite. Then she retreated into her house, and I returned to my van.


    I set the tablet into its dock on the dash and pulled up my list of deliveries for the day. Only a couple of no answers so far, which was good. Corporate seemed to think it was my fault if customers didn¡¯t answer their doors when I came to drop off a package. One more stop to go before I could clock out. I punched it into the GPS, turned up the radio, and set off down the suburban streets.


    The GPS took me to a plain looking little house that had probably been built in the seventies or eighties. I checked the number painted on the curb. 1080. The package was intended for 1080B. The house didn¡¯t look like a duplex, so I was momentarily perplexed, until I pulled up to park at the curb and saw the detached garage with its own apartment behind the house. The owners must have rented it out. Idly, I wondered if someone had to register their sublet apartment. Didn¡¯t matter much for my purposes, though. I put the van in park and hopped out, grabbing a slender box perhaps three feet long. It was heavier than it looked, probably something made of metal. A decorative post, or something. I balanced it against my shoulder as I juggled my tablet out of its dock and set off around the house.


    The backyard was surrounded by a little iron fence, and I was temporarily stymied by the little gate, finally managing to hook the lever with the fingers holding the box and pull it out with one toe, keeping the tablet in my other hand. I sidestepped through the gate before the springs could pull it past again.


    When I looked up, I was not in the backyard. I¡¯m not sure where I was. It certainly wasn¡¯t the suburbs, though. A massive lawn, carefully maintained, stood before me. Shockingly, the house, which should have been two feet to my right, was gone. Just¡­more lawn. Little flower beds, all in full bloom, decorated the lawn in an irregular pattern.


    I did what I expect anyone would do upon finding themselves in a place like that. I turned to leave. The little gate was gone. So was the fence. In their place were a tall brick wall with a double-door iron pole gate. Between the bars of the massive gate I could see a twisting lane made of coppery cobbles. Other huge gates just like the one I was peering through led down to the lane every quarter mile or so. It seemed to go on too long, though. I wasn¡¯t sure if there even was a horizon. I had to look away when I started to topple, dizzily.


    The cobbled lane gave way outside my gate to a packed sand path lined with stones. It climbed a gentle hill to the doors of a massive building, easily three or four stories high. It reminded me of those old university buildings with all the stonework carved into their faces, except I suspected this one housed comparatively fewer classrooms and comparatively more rooms with leather chairs and cigar humidors and decanters of fine schnapps.


    ¡°Can I help, you, sir?¡± a voice asked, from just over my left shoulder.


    I nearly jumped out of my skin. The box fell to the ground with a dull ringing thud. I turned to see who had spoken, and was startled again, and nearly lost the tablet, too. My second thought was that it looked like someone was really enthusiastic about cosplay, but I didn¡¯t recognize the character. He wore a neat three-piece suit, a canvas hat, and spectacles. He carried a cane, but seemed not to be using it. Oh yeah, and he had greenish blue skin and long pointed ears that stretched nearly a foot past the top of his head.


    Which meant that they nearly reached my chin. The man couldn¡¯t have been more than four feet tall, not counting his ears. I opened my mouth to answer, and then I noticed another detail. His left hand, gripping the handle of his cane, had just three fingers instead of five. Also, it wasn¡¯t his skin (or face paint). He was covered in fine fur. One of his ears twitched, and I felt a sense not unlike vertigo as I processed that this was not a short man in cosplay, but apparently not a man at all. An alien, or fairy, or--I looked confusedly at the gate, as if it could return me to the yard I had originally come from. It did not. I looked back at the little green man. He tilted his head at me. ¡°Are you alright, sir?¡± I sat down on the sand. It felt like all of my senses disconnected and had to communicate with my brain through morse code as an emergency measure. I was vaguely aware of a conversation happening near me.


    ¡°Sir, are you able to speak? What is your name?¡± The voice sounded like my brother¡¯s. I should really call and see how he¡¯s doing.


    ¡°Daniel.¡± That was my voice. I don¡¯t remember agreeing to say anything. That¡¯s my name, too. Who¡¯s walking around with my voice and my name?


    ¡°Daniel, do you know where you are?¡± My brother¡¯s voice. How did he get here, anyway? He lives five hundred miles away.


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    ¡°No.¡± My impostor again. Maybe if he gets some answers he can share them with me.


    ¡°Oh dear. Wait here, I¡¯ll bring the doctor.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± I answered, belatedly. My senses started to come back, one at a time. Sight was first. I saw that the little green man was moving at a brisk walk, cane tucked under one arm like in some historical drama about Victorian England. He went up towards the house. My sense of up and down, which there¡¯s probably a word for, came back next. I was sitting on something. Touch. Sound followed, and I realized at that point that I probably had just had a conversation with the little green man. The little green man whose voice reminded me of my brother. The thought slipped off my brain as all of the other senses came back in a big wave. I nearly toppled again from dizziness, but I recovered.


    The little green man had reached the big house and gone around the far corner, where I could no longer see him. Wobbly, I stood up, brushing sand off of my work khakis. I bent to pick up the box and tablet, and calmly brushed the sand off of them too. And I walked to the gate, which it turned out had a simple latch. I pulled on it, and stepped out onto the cobbled lane.


    I was back in suburbia. The little single-story house stood before me. The little detached garage with its little apartment stood behind me. The decorative fence with its treacherous gate rested against one hip.


    I went back to my van and I marked 1080B down as ¡°owners not at home¡±. I decided to take tomorrow off. Maybe I would go see a doctor. I wondered what my out-of-pocket would be on a brain scan.


    It took five minutes before my sense of balance felt stable. I pretended to be recording notes on my tablet in case the owners of 1080 were watching. Once I felt clearheaded again, or something approaching it, I put the van in drive and set off back to the warehouse to clock out my shift.


    ____________


    The next morning, I slept in. Fortunately, though corporate were a bunch of clowns, my direct supervisor was pretty forgiving. I told her I needed a day off for personal reasons. She hadn¡¯t asked any follow-up questions, just warning me that if it turned into two it wouldn¡¯t look good on my file. I hoped that wouldn¡¯t be necessary.


    I looked up my insurance policy after breakfast. Brain scans were covered, but I hadn¡¯t met my deductible yet, which meant that they were too expensive for anything other than emergencies. I spent two hours debating with myself whether this constituted an emergency, then made an appointment. It was a month out. Plenty of time to change my mind if this turned out to be a contact high from Marge or Malt-o-Meal or whatever her name had been. She hadn¡¯t smelled of anything, but maybe she worked with¡­I dunno. Mercury, or something. That¡¯s supposed to make people crazy, right? Something about mad as a hatter?


    I spent the afternoon doing small things around my apartment. It restored me a bit to have a clean stove, and folded blankets. I even dusted the TV stand and the game consoles arranged on it. I normally only do that when family is coming to town.


    I did end up calling my brother. His youngest answered, and I struggled with the toddler-ese long enough to get my brother on the phone. We swapped updates on life, not that there were many. One of his kids was sick. I was on track to get a bonus this holiday. I didn¡¯t mention the mysterious leprechaun with his voice, or the Victorian estate apparently occupying the backyard of some suburbanite. Maybe I should have.


    I played some video games to celebrate my cleaning efforts.


    Around sunset, I went down to the mail box. I unlocked the door for my apartment and pulled out a stack of what looked to be mostly fliers and mailers. Two envelopes were tucked underneath. One was my internet bill, even though I had signed up for paperless four times. At least I could still pay it online. The other seemed to be handwritten, but by someone with very good handwriting. The envelope was made from a heavy paper with a rough texture. I opened it with one finger, tearing the heavy paper rather artlessly, but who owns a letter opener these days?


    Inside was a card on the same paper. A small drawing in what looked like charcoal depicted a flock of birds and a sunset. I turned it over and read.


    Daniel,


    You left before the doctor could examine you. I hope you remain in good health. Please, allow me to invite you to drinks by way of apology. Porter sometimes forgets that people aren¡¯t used to his appearance.


    Cordially,


    C.


    P.S. It wasn¡¯t a dream. I¡¯d be happy to explain.


    I read it twice, then thumped down on my couch. Well. I definitely wasn¡¯t going to be canceling my appointment next month. As I dropped the paper onto the cushion next to me I noticed that a little map had been drawn in the corner, so fine it looked like it had been made with a stamp. It showed the corner of Byron and 10th, where a small wine bar kept business. It was labeled 8:30, any day this week.


    Despite everything, I was curious. Besides, I could go for a little wine, or perhaps something a little stronger, after yesterday. I checked my clock. It was only seven.


    I went to clean myself up.

 Part 2

    The wine bar was called Aaron¡¯s Porch, which was ironic, because the patio was closed this late in the season. A chalkboard out front listed the labels for sale there. I skimmed it, but I¡¯ve never been much of a wine enthusiast. I pulled open the front door and stepped inside to a room that was comfortably warm.


    The bar took up most of the back wall, and a few small tables littered the middle space of the room. Around the other three walls were a series of couches and armchairs, each with a small table nearby where a drink could be set. 8:30 was early, for bars, at least, so there weren¡¯t a lot of people there yet. A pair of what seemed to be high power businessmen, still in their tailored suits, were nursing the drinks in the corner to my right. A young couple in date night clothes were sitting at one of the small tables. I did my best not to pay attention as they moon-eyed at each other. Three women in casual outing clothes took up the left corner.


    A host¡¯s podium stood right by the door, but it was unattended, so I went to the bar and slid into a stool. The bartender had a long, carefully waxed goatee, and an equally carefully waxed bald scalp. He seemed fairly friendly, so I asked for a recommendation in a pinot noir. As I expected, I got a lot of information about the different labels on the rack, of which I understood some. I picked one at random that was available by the glass, and received it in a couple minutes. I took a sip and nodded my satisfaction. It was actually quite good, I think. Enjoyable, for an unrefined palate like mine, at least.


    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m supposed to be meeting a friend of a friend here. My name is Daniel, they go by Cee,¡± I explained. What, was I going to tell him I got a magic postcard from a magic mansion staffed by goblins? ¡°My friend didn¡¯t tell me what they look like, could you let me know if they arrive?¡±


    The bartender pointed towards the businessmen in the corner. ¡°He let me know you¡¯d be coming, asked me to point you in his direction after you¡¯d arrived. Tall fellow in the corner, there.¡±


    I turned to look at them, then turned back to the bartender. ¡°Thanks. Uhh¡­what do I owe you for the glass?¡±


    ¡°Fifteen and tax. I can open a tab if you¡¯d like.¡±


    I considered. How long was C. going to take to explain what was going on? I took a closer look at him and his friend. It seemed like the friend was actually an employee, on further inspection, but they were jovial nonetheless. This could go into a second or third glass, possibly.


    ¡°Yeah, go ahead and open a tab.¡± I gave him my ID to hold the tab open with and moved over to sit on one of the armchairs next to C. and his friend.


    ¡°Hi,¡± I opened. ¡°I¡¯m Daniel. I received your invitation, but I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know who you are, other than an initial.¡±


    The taller of the pair had a full mustache, trimmed and sculpted. He honestly made me think of the Monopoly Man. When I sat down and introduced myself, he broke out in a wide smile.


    ¡°Ah, Mister Daniel! I¡¯m glad you are feeling okay. Porter was very sorry to have caused you such a scare, you know. This is Sterns, my driver,¡± he indicated the stout man sitting with him. ¡°I am Edgar Carver and a whole bunch of titles that I don¡¯t generally recite outside of formal occasions. Just Carver is fine, though. Please, settle in. What are you drinking?¡± I shrugged, already having forgotten the label. ¡°No matter, the barman will remember. Sterns, would you mind?¡± Sterns got up and went to the bar. ¡°Now then, Daniel, I imagine you have some questions, but let¡¯s start with the most important. No. You did not imagine the whole thing. It was not a bad dream, nor an allergic reaction. It certainly was not a hallucination, mirage, or trick. You are not the butt of a prank. What happened to you, when you walked through that gate, really happened.¡±


    I absorbed that, trying to keep my face composed. I had really wanted it to be carbon monoxide. That was simple. That was treatable. Psychosis, even. There wasn¡¯t exactly a treatment plan for teleportation. ¡°Okay. Why did it happen then? Presumably that gate doesn¡¯t always lead to¡­wherever that was. Someone uses it to get in and out of their home. Someone whose package I was trying to deliver at the time.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s going to be a bit of a telling, Danny Boy,¡± Carver noticed me wince. ¡°Ah, sorry. Nicknaming is an old habit. Daniel, then. The short answer to your question is that yes, that gate usually leads where it appears to lead, rather than where it led you. As to why you specifically, I needed a little help with something, and you happened to fit the bill. The long answer¡­let¡¯s cover a few of your other pressing questions before I get to the long answer. They may provide some crucial context, you see.¡±


    I swirled my wine around my glass, trying to pick which question came next. Sterns returned with two glasses of wine to match mine. Carver briefly raised his, an informal and unspoken toast. Sterns and I returned the gesture, and we all took a sip, pausing to savor it. ¡°Pretty good choice, Mister Daniel,¡± Sterns offered. ¡°Indeed. A worthy label at thrice the price. Believe me, I¡¯ve had worse at ten times,¡± Carver added.


    ¡°Okay. What was that place?¡± I asked next.


    ¡°That¡¯s a bit tricky. Not because I don¡¯t want to explain, but because my grasp of it isn¡¯t fully complete. Essentially, that wasn¡¯t a place at all. It¡¯s more of¡­an Un-place. Purely conceptual. We call it The Lane. It also happens to be my home.¡±


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    ¡°Wait, if it¡¯s purely conceptual, how did I go there? I saw grass¡­and flowers. I still had sand stuck to my shoes when I got home!¡±


    ¡°Right baffles, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Carver said with a wink. ¡°Like I said, it¡¯s not entirely clear even to me. But only certain people, and those they choose to invite in, can reach it. I¡¯m one of the former. You were and are, one of the latter, until I say otherwise. I confess, I hadn¡¯t quite expected you to arrive that soon. I apologize, I had hoped to give you a more comfortable first visit.¡±


    ¡°If I can only get in with your permission, how could I surprise you?¡±


    ¡°Ah. Well, entry is actually quite simple, and invitation quite¡­interpretive, is a word that almost works. Once I had decided to invite you, you were in effect invited. Being invited, you could enter through any appropriate doorway.¡± He took a sip, almost dainty, from his glass, wetting his throat. ¡°You just happened to go through one such before I could send a proper invitation as you or I would recognize it.¡±


    ¡°It was a fence gate,¡± I stated. It was the only response I could think of in the moment.


    ¡°Correct,¡± Carver answered. ¡°Now that you¡¯ve been there once, you¡¯ll only go there if you intend to. But ah¡­be very certain of your intent first. I¡¯m afraid that is also rather interpretive. Fortunately for you, only certain doorways will work.¡±


    ¡°Fence gates?¡± I guessed.


    ¡°Wrought iron fence gates, to be specific. At least, that¡¯s how it is with my house. Porter tells me that the other houses have different requirements. For mine, it¡¯s wrought iron.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Why would I intend to go there ever again? I¡¯ve been perfectly happy here in places that aren¡¯t un, up ¡®til now.¡±


    ¡°Well, my hope is that you¡¯ll take my little job offer. We¡¯re getting to that soon. First, I think we need another round.¡± I looked down to see my glass was empty. Sterns seemed to have drained his and wiped it dry, and was idly twirling it around one finger, gaze wandering around the room. More people had started to trickle in. ¡°Sterns, I believe I saw my favorite label on the rack, could you go and order us a bottle? Three glasses, of course.¡± Sterns rolled to his feet and headed out for the bar again. ¡°That¡¯s going to need a few minutes to breathe,¡± Carver noted, idly. ¡°So, we¡¯ve covered where you went, and how you got there. I¡¯ve politely deflected why you, for now. I suspect you have some other questions, though.¡±


    I considered, wiping my hands on a napkin. ¡°You said his name was Porter?¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Name and title both, as it were. Sterns too, for that matter; originally he was in charge of the estate¡¯s sailing vessels. Nowadays we don¡¯t have much need for it, so he trades shifts with Driver.¡±


    ¡°Porter wasn¡¯t¡­human,¡± I said.


    ¡°No he was not,¡± Carver answered, faint grin barely visible under his mustache.


    ¡°What is he, then? Some sort of¡­elf?¡±


    ¡°Similar, though you don¡¯t have to worry quite so far as to put horseshoes over the door. In fact, my house is one of the safest from elves. Wrought iron, eh? They can¡¯t even get in without a whole lot of loopholes. Makes diplomacy difficult, but we manage. No, Porter and his kin are hobs. Or at least that¡¯s the name and face they wear at the moment.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s magic?¡±


    ¡°Of a sort. His nature is tied up in the House. That¡¯s ¡®house¡¯ with a capital, H, Daniel. The House is¡­a sort of magic, and so is he. So are they, more accurately.¡±


    Sterns returned with the new drinks, and he spoke, a deep and steady voice that reminded me of my grandfather. ¡°We grow with the House. We wane with the House. We serve its needs, and it serves ours. We have been many things throughout the years, but yet always one thing.¡± He nodded, as if that explained everything.


    Confused, I turned to Carver.


    ¡°Oh, old Sterns is a hob, too. They look like humans, when they need to. Or bees, or ants, or other shapes. Best I can figure, it¡¯s a side benefit of being a conceptual being.¡±


    Sterns snorted. ¡°Even the Master of the House rarely understands our nature. No matter. Also, I¡¯m not old, sir.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right. Only six centuries on Sterns.¡±


    ¡°My pappy, he¡¯s old. He remembers a time when tin was a luxury, and silver unheard of.¡±


    ¡°Right, right. But humans rarely live to see their second century, Sterns. By our standards, you¡¯re old.¡±


    Sterns grunted and turned back to people watching. Carver shrugged, and soldiered on.


    ¡°An enigma, is what Porter and Sterns and their kin are. To me as well as you. I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s the best answer you¡¯re gonna get.¡±


    ¡°No, I think I understand¡­well no. But I recognize that I don¡¯t need to,¡± I answered. Carver raised his fresh glass in agreement and we both sipped. This wine was lighter, and had a hint of citrus. I was surprised by how much I liked it.


    ¡°What about the other houses? I mean, capital H Houses. That road seemed to go on forever. You mentioned that yours was particularly difficult for elves to get into, does that mean every one of those gates is another House?¡±


    ¡°The Lane,¡± Carver corrected me. ¡°And it does. Or it¡¯s close enough as to make no difference. And yes, each gate is a different House. That¡¯s all I can say on the matter at this time.¡±


    ¡°Where did they come from?¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t tell you. They¡¯re much older than me. Older, even, than Sterns¡¯s old pappy. They just are.¡±


    I took a sip, then held the glass up, staring into the transparent red liquid within. ¡°Okay. I think I¡¯ve got a general picture. Let¡¯s get back to why me.¡±


    Carver set his glass on the little side table by his chair and leaned forward.


    ¡°Why, I need something delivered, of course.¡±

 Part 3

    ¡°A delivery.¡± I responded, dumbfounded. ¡°You just told me that you run a house. Sorry. House, with a capital H. You run a House that exists outside of time and space, and you want me to run a delivery? Can¡¯t you hire a courier service?¡±


    Carver swapped a look with Sterns. ¡°I could, I suppose. If you refuse, I¡¯ll consider it. But Daniel, when I said that you met certain requirements¡­well. Let¡¯s just say that you being a delivery driver was quite amusing to some of the staff, but it wasn¡¯t even on the list.¡±


    ¡°Hilarious.¡± Sterns added. For the first time all night, his undivided focus seemed to be on the conversation, even though the bar was starting to get quite full behind us. ¡°Gardener laughed himself so silly he had to replant one of the flower beds.¡±


    ¡°Yes yes, Sterns. It was a rousing good joke. But it was an accident. Archie spent a good deal of effort on this, you know.¡±


    I recovered my composure enough to interject. ¡°And he came up with me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Daniel. He came up with you.¡±


    ¡°Any other hopefuls?¡± I had been working delivery for about six years, but I remembered the job search process. Dozens of applications for one interview. It¡¯s a necessary hazard of living on a planet with nearly eight billion other people. In a city of several million.


    Carver sighed, letting out a puff of air. ¡°There¡¯s always a few hopefuls, yes. But ultimately the decision came down to me. And I chose you, Daniel.¡±


    ¡°Care to elaborate?¡±


    ¡°Yes. But at this stage of the conversation, I cannot. The qualities I was looking for have to do with the nature of the House. The nature of all the Houses. You aren¡¯t allowed to know about those just yet. I can give you the short version, which is that in a lot of ways you remind me of myself, or the version of me from before I ever set foot on the Lane.¡±


    ¡°What, you drove delivery for Boxes N Stuff?¡±


    ¡°Well, driving was rather different in that time, and Boxes N Stuff was¡­¡± he looked at Sterns, who shrugged. ¡°A couple hundred years from being established, give or take. I was an errand boy. Later, I was a manservant. Or, I believe the modern term of preference is valet¡± He pronounced the t in valet, like in British television or that show Archer. Val-it.


    ¡°So what, you¡¯re immortal?¡±


    ¡°Not immortal. I age. I just happen to only age when I leave the Lane. Since I sleep there and take most of my meals there and do much of my work there, I¡¯ve experienced roughly four hundred years of history, from your perspective.¡±


    ¡°Huh. Does that only apply to the Master of the House, or can guests extend their lives by say¡­coming over for a game of pool twice a week?¡±


    Carver chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Billiards was never much my thing. It was a rich man¡¯s game, and I was not a rich man until I came to the House. Darts, perhaps. Or dice.¡±


    ¡°So it would work?¡±


    ¡°It would work, yes. But Daniel, we¡¯re getting a little off point here. I¡¯m looking to hire you. One delivery, to start. I¡¯d like to retain your services a little longer, after it¡¯s finished. You can be my personal assistant. The pay is good, I assure you.¡±


    ¡°I have a job. I¡¯m pretty sure it has a no moonlighting clause in my contract.¡±


    ¡°We would be willing to work with your schedule. And as your employer has no access to the Lane, I suspect they would have difficulty proving you were moonlighting. If you like, I can send one of the staff to negotiate a special arrangement for you, to keep everything neat and within contract.¡±


    I thought about Porter, in his natural appearance, walking into the local headquarters to hold negotiations with whatever corporate stooge they had placed in charge of the city. I almost told Carver to do it just for the mental image. Instead, I said, ¡°No, that¡¯s alright. I¡¯ll talk to my manager. Tell her I¡¯m doing odd jobs in the evenings, make a little extra cash. Pay off my car, my student loans. She¡¯s understanding.¡±


    ¡°Splendid. We should get down to details at another time, though. One last round, I think. I¡¯ll get it.¡± With that, he rose, smoothed his mustache, and went to the bar. A moment later, he and the bartender were laughing about something. Carver, it seemed, made friends easily.


    Sterns was staring at me at this point. Doing my best not to imagine the natural form of the hob, I returned his gaze. He broke the silence first. ¡°He likes you. Mister Carver, that is. Archie, too. Mister Carver didn¡¯t mention it, but Archie recommended you foremost even before Mister Carver got the position. She¡¯s got a good eye for this sort of thing.¡±


    ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll turn out okay. But I¡¯m not letting you behind the wheel of any House cars until you¡¯ve had a proper lesson with me and Driver.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with my driving? I¡¯ve been doing it for over a decade.¡± I felt a little defensive about it. I had an excellent record. No tickets since adulthood. Not even parking.


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    ¡°It¡¯s fine for the work you do. Got no flair to it, though. You drive like a drudgeon.¡±


    ¡°So I guess I¡¯ll be doing this delivery in my own car, then?¡±


    ¡°Mostly you¡¯ll be doing it on foot. The House may have kept up with the latest technology, but the Lane as a whole hasn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Wait. I¡¯m delivering to another House on the Lane? Shouldn¡¯t Carver--sorry, Mister Carver--have mentioned that?¡±


    ¡°Yes. And he will. It¡¯s not a grand secret or anything. Look, your situation is¡­unique. The House hasn¡¯t needed help from outside the Lane in a long time. Mister Carver has never had to hire someone like you before. Neither did his predecessor. I was scarcely in my second century the last time it happened. Everyone¡¯s kinda¡­making it up as they go. Poor Archie. She just started, you know.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s Archie short for?¡± I asked. ¡°I mean, if she¡¯s House staff, and she¡¯s as old as you say, she must be a hob also? Or¡­is that insensitive? I¡¯m not exactly sure how to manage my biases with uhhh¡­¡± I floundered for a polite expression, ¡°Non-humans.¡±


    ¡°Eh, you¡¯re doing better than most when they first meet my kin. Not great. We can work on it. For starters, it isn¡¯t polite to make assumptions about someone¡¯s species. You can ask ¡®what type of kin are you?¡¯, once. Only when you first meet a kin. Don¡¯t ask ¡®are you a hob?¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Okay, what type of kin is Archie?¡±


    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s a hob. Everyone in our House is a hob, to save you a little trouble. Saving, of course, for Mister Carver. And you, if you get hired on.¡±


    ¡°And uh¡­Mister Carver mentioned that for the house staff, name and profession are pretty much the same?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. There¡¯s exceptions, like myself. And you know¡­hobs ain¡¯t immutable like golems or hamadryads. We can learn more than one trade. But to a human perspective, yeah. Name and profession, all one and package deal.¡±


    ¡°So¡­Archie?¡±


    ¡°Short for Archivist. A lot of the younger hobs, myself included, choose a nickname. Helps when we have to come out of the Lane, like today.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s still¡­related to your job.¡±


    Sterns gave me a stern look, working his jaw up and down. ¡°Aye. It¡¯s in our nature. I wouldn¡¯t expect a human to get it, but you¡¯re verging on being unneighborly, Mister Daniel.¡±


    I decided to drop the subject. I checked on Carver. He was miming a golf swing. Must be telling the bartender a story. Sterns returned to bar-watching. He seemed mostly to enjoy watching new people come in.


    ¡°The House.¡± I started. Sterns turned back toward me. ¡°What is its¡­role? Mister Carver said he did most of his work in the Lane. What, exactly, does that mean? If he decides to hire me as his personal assistant, what sort of work will I be doing?¡±


    ¡°You got Houses out here in the realis, yeah?¡±


    ¡°I think so. I mean, not here. Or not officially. But some parts of Europe. Great Britain, for sure. I want to say there are others.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s their job?¡¯


    ¡°Uh¡­I¡¯m not sure. Once upon a time,¡± I paused, considering the ages in play here. Sterns was over two-hundred years old, according to Carver. Carver had seen four centuries of human history. ¡°Well, once upon a time from my perspective. It would have been during your first century, I guess.¡± Sterns nodded, hrming in his throat.


    ¡°It used to be that the houses were in charge of different regions. Each house would report to a bigger house, and so on, until it reached a king? It¡¯s been a while since I read up on feudalism.¡±


    ¡°And now? What¡¯s the job of the Houses of, say, Great Britain these days?¡± Sterns prompted, leaning forward.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. They have something to do with the government. Representation of their former holdings. But mostly, I think they just¡­exist. Their job is to make sure they keep existing.¡±


    Sterns nodded. ¡°Exactly,¡± he concluded, then leaned back in his chair. People watching. I rotated slightly in my chair and joined him.


    By the time Carver finished his story, I had seen three groups enter and four groups leave. I was a little surprised at the variety of people coming in. A group of middle-aged factory workers, still wearing work boots, trundled in right behind a man who looked like he could buy my whole apartment complex as an afterthought. They both seemed perfectly in place, and shockingly, when they all wound up at the same table due to the bar being at this point full, they all seemed to hit it off. A group of hipsters at the next table were swapping hot sauce recipes with a pair of tech nerds. I looked around some more. Every table, every cluster of chairs, seemed like it was a meeting of different cultures. In a way, it made me proud. Humanity on display. When you gave them half a chance, they remembered that we all shared the space and they found common ground.


    My philosophizing was short-lived, though. Carver returned, this time with three champagne flutes. He passed one each to Sterns and I.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I have little taste for French champagne, so I ordered us a nice prosecco instead.¡± He offered, moving to stand in front of his seat. ¡°Now then, let¡¯s have a nice toast. To Daniel¡¯s new job.¡± He raised his glass. I stood, joining him. I tried to think of a response. The best I came up with was ¡°To Mister Carver¡¯s generosity.¡± He seemed to like it. Sterns offered ¡°To the House.¡±


    We all drained our glasses. For another hour and another two glasses (what must my tab look like now?), we swapped stories about the latest television shows and the first games of the basketball season. I wasn¡¯t much for following either, but it seemed comfortable to talk about them with others.


    I arranged to go to the House over the next weekend to discuss the nature of my delivery. Carver promised me that Porter would be more sensitive to the idea of a human visiting. I reassured him that now that I knew what to expect Porter needn¡¯t take human shape for my sake.


    When the conversations were growing long and I started to get tired, I excused myself and went to pay my tab. The bartender handed my ID back instead, explaining that Carver had covered my whole tab for the evening. I dropped a tenner into his tip jar anyway.


    As I left, Sterns met me at the door and handed me an envelope made from heavy, coarse paper. ¡°Mister Carver wants you to have this. He suggests you read it when you get home.¡±


    Grinning and slightly tipsy, I took it and clapped Sterns on the shoulder. The stout man. Excuse me. The hob-in-the-shape-of-a stout man returned the gesture. I strode out into the chilly air of the night and began to walk home.

 Part 4

    Daniel,


    At some point, you are going to question whether you imagined myself and Sterns. If you don¡¯t question that, you may begin to question whether we were honest with you. I assure you, everything we told you was true and real. If you are ever uncertain about that, merely reread this note.


    Incidentally, I would be delighted to give you a tour of the House this weekend. I believe there is a wrought-iron gate just behind Aaron¡¯s Porch, should you need access. Dinner is on me, naturally.


    Ever your neighbor,


    C.


    It was after my shift the following day, and fortunately, all of my deliveries had been to doors unblocked by fences today. I wasn¡¯t certain I wanted to accidentally stumble onto the Lane again.


    Next to the note from Carver was another note, written in my hand on the pad of lined paper I kept by my computer. I read it as well.


    I think Carver used some sort of whammy on me. I distinctly remember trusting him completely, but at the moment, I cannot imagine a good reason for it. He might try to pull that stunt again, so I¡¯m writing this note so I can remind myself. Carver is tricking me somehow. Drugs in the wine, or maybe just sleight of hand.


    I remembered writing it. It had been this morning. I even remembered having those thoughts. I knew it was my doing. I trusted myself enough to know that I wouldn¡¯t have done it without good reason. I looked back at Carver¡¯s note. I found that as much as I trusted myself about Carver¡¯s whammy, I trusted his note equally.


    This was giving me a headache.


    I decided to take a walk. Maybe coming back to the notes fresh would let me make better sense of them. Wait, have I already tried that?


    On my way out, I knocked on the door of Mrs. Hughes in the next apartment building. ¡°Mrs. Hughes? It¡¯s Daniel Corners.¡±


    I was answered by the high pitched barking of Mrs. Hughes¡¯s dog, Pepper. A couple seconds later Mrs. Hughes¡¯s voice joined in, ¡°One moment, Daniel. Oh, Pepper, down. I said down.¡± The barking subsided. ¡°Good girl. Good. It¡¯s only Daniel; you like Daniel.¡± The door opened, revealing Mrs. Hughes. She was wearing a hand-made sweater over a dress that wouldn¡¯t have been out of place in a movie about World War II. She had her wide-based cane in one hand, but didn¡¯t seem to be leaning on it for support today. Mrs. Hughes was past eighty. ¡°Daniel, so nice of you to stop by. Would you like to come in? I can make some coffee.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Mrs. Hughes, but I¡¯m actually on my way out for a walk. I was wondering if you needed someone to take Pepper out today.¡± At the words ¡®walk¡¯ and ¡®Pepper¡¯, Pepper herself sat up and looked expectantly at me. She was a terrier mix of some kind, and her little whipcord tail started whacking into the table with enthusiasm.


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    ¡°Oh, no thank you Daniel. My nephew is stopping by any minute now with his family. We are all going to go to the park. Such a fine day. The kids will want to play with Pepper, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡®Play¡¯ was also one of Pepper¡¯s words. Her table whacking increased.


    ¡°Okay, Mrs. Hughes, that sounds nice. Say hi to your nephew for me. Sorry Pepper, you can¡¯t come with today,¡± I knelt, and Mrs. Hughes clicked her tongue to signal Pepper was free to approach. I¡¯m honestly not certain how Mrs. Hughes managed to train the little pup so well considering how much trouble she had just getting around. I gave Pepper some enthusiastic noogies, and Mrs. Hughes smiled down at us. ¡°So glad you moved in here, Daniel. That last hooligan was such a trial.¡±


    ¡°That was six years ago, Mrs. Hughes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m well aware,¡± she answered, grinning wider. I¡¯ve heard the metaphor ¡®mischievous glint in their eye¡¯, but Mrs. Hughes did it better than anyone I knew. ¡°He was ten years worth of hooligan. Plus, I¡¯m old. Complaining about the young is one of the best perks, you know.¡±


    I had never figured out what my apartment¡¯s previous owner had done to be worthy of Mrs. Hughes¡¯s ire. In six years, I had never once seen her truly angry at another person. I¡¯d tried to ask the owner about it one year at the building¡¯s summer cookout, and he had clammed up, then avoided me for the rest of the party. Nobody else seemed to remember him much, not even the Idles on my other side. But Mrs. Hughes had nothing but bad memories of the man.


    I got caught up with Mrs. Hughes in a few short exchanges. We saw each other a couple times a week. Her oldest grandkid had just started his last year of med school. I told her I had been approached for a new position with a courier service. I left out that the position involved traveling outside of the realm of known physics. Pepper dutifully brought me her favorite stuffed toy, which I praised her for before throwing it down the hall for her to chase.


    After a few minutes, I bid Mrs. Hughes a good evening and headed out into the street. I knew the neighborhood fairly well. It was safe, or as safe as a city neighborhood normally got. Mostly it was occupied by people like me and Mrs. Hughes. Modest but stable income, was the phrase my mother liked to use. We made enough for our little studios or lofts (I think the Idles technically had a two bedroom, though I hadn¡¯t ever been inside). I carried a little keychain can of emergency spray, but I had never had to use it.


    I let my feet wander through the different blocks unevenly spaced in the area. Little two and three story apartment buildings shared driveways with small one-story family homes. Every few blocks, I passed a convenience store, reminding me that I was growing increasingly hungry. I hadn¡¯t brought any cash with me, though. After a while, I turned to go back toward my own apartment. Once again, I let my feet wander. They knew the neighborhood.


    Unfortunately, they did not seem to be consulting my sense of reason. As I rounded the back of my own apartment building, I went to slip through the little alley between it and the next building.


    Suddenly, my feet reported that instead of pavement, they were standing on packed sand. I had forgotten the alley was blocked by a little gate. A little gate made of wrought iron. Hastily realizing what I had done, I turned to leave. My brother¡¯s voice interrupted me.


    ¡°Oh, Mister Daniel. I¡¯m afraid we weren¡¯t expecting you so soon. Please, allow me to show you up to the House and introduce you.¡±


    I turned. I took in the three piece suit. This one had silver buttons. Porter was standing there, in his hob shape. Briefly, I thought about my note to myself about the whammy, but then I remembered that this House was safe. Whammy or no whammy, Carver was a good neighbor.


    ¡°Sorry, Porter. I didn¡¯t mean to drop in unannounced, but my feet found me here. Do you think Mister Carver will mind?¡±


    ¡°Not at all, sir! He¡¯d be delighted to entertain you. Right this way.¡±


    As I followed Porter up the packed sand path to the House, I wondered if Carver still had a dart board hung in his game room. It couldn¡¯t hurt to take a few hours off from aging.

 Part 5

    Porter led me in through a small but ornate side door, and I found myself in what appeared to be a coat room. Automatically, I pulled off my jacket, and before I knew it Porter had taken it and hung it on one of what had to be hundreds of pegs all arrayed on the wall.


    ¡°Sir, do you have a pair of house shoes?¡± Porter asked, looking down at my feet.


    I followed his gaze and realized that my shoes were glued with sand and mud. It hadn¡¯t been raining, though it was the season for it. But I must have walked through a patch of dew or fog at some point.


    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m afraid I do not.¡±


    ¡°No worry, sir. I shall find you a pair. I believe you wear a size nine American?¡± I nodded. Porter always remembered every detail.


    A small, quiet part of my brain tried to grab my attention. You¡¯ve only met Porter twice!


    Porter continued, snapping me back to my visit. ¡°If you go through that door you¡¯ll find a comfortable sitting room. I shall tell the Master you are here. Would you care for any refreshments?¡±


    By force of habit, I started to say that I was fine, no need to worry about me. When I opened my mouth, I was surprised when instead I said ¡°Oh, I could do with a light snack, if you don¡¯t mind.¡± That¡¯s not what you meant to say, the quiet part of my brain interjected.


    ¡°I shall tell Cookie to whip something up. It will only take a minute, sir.¡±


    Porter bustled off through a plain door in the corner.


    I went through the appointed door, carefully wiping my feet on a mat first, and found a room that would have easily filled half my apartment by itself. Several comfortable-looking armchairs were arranged around a small table. I picked one at random and lowered myself into it. A newspaper was sitting on the table. I picked it up and leafed through it. News these days was always a crapshoot, but today, thankfully, had been mostly uneventful. Some of the local politicians had held a debate last night, but nobody had managed to bring up any scandalous topics. Their responses roughly matched their official platforms. I thumbed through to the next section. Sports. The basketball season was off to a roaring start, two wins by wide margins. The city was thrilled.


    Porter re-entered. He carried one of those trays with the big domed lid in one hand and a pair of loafers in the other. He set the former on the table and the latter on the floor in front of me.


    ¡°Sir, do you prefer to change your own shoes or shall I do it?¡±


    The question was so out of place that for a moment the quiet voice managed to bubble to the surface. This House is tricking you! Porter doesn¡¯t sound anything like your brother. You¡¯ve never been here before but you¡¯re comfortable in the sitting room? Snap out of it, Daniel!


    ¡°I can get it, Porter. Thank you.¡± Now you¡¯re going to just borrow a pair of shoes, like you¡¯re old friends with Carver? You met him yesterday.


    I kicked my own sneakers off. Porter collected them and placed them on a shoe rack back in the coat room. I slipped into the loafers. They were an exact fit. I was pleased; normally I was between sizes and rarely did a shoe fit right.


    ¡°I have taken the liberty,¡± Porter was explaining, ¡°Of informing the Master of your arrival. He thought you might like to join him in the games room. Cookie will be bringing in some sandwiches shortly.¡±


    ¡°That sounds very pleasant,¡± I answered. How did you even know there was a games room? How did Carver know you¡¯d want to go there?, the voice in my head demanded.


    Porter led the way down several hallways and into a room that I swear was as large as the ground floor of my whole building. Several tables were arrayed throughout. I recognized the pool table, and it had racks for cues and balls on the wall next to it. There was also a felt-topped table that looked like the sort you see in casinos for playing cards. To my amusement, it had several cheap plastic cupholders attached to it, though the table itself looked to be expensive. Two dartboards hung on the far wall. In the corner there was a little chess set, all the pieces made of metal, one side dull, one side reflective.


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    Carver was carefully arranging a set of throwing darts on a little podium and turned when Porter held the door for me.


    ¡°Daniel! I¡¯m glad you stopped by. I wanted to get a feel for how existence in the Lane feels for you. Everyone reacts differently, you know how it is.¡± You don¡¯t. He has to know you don¡¯t, the little voice helplessly said. This House is twisting your mind!


    I ignored the voice. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I do, Mister Carver--¡±


    Carver cut me off. ¡°Just Carver, please. Or Mister C, if you must. I¡¯ve always enjoyed the idea of being the ¡®cool teacher¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­Carver then. I mean, how could I know how it is? It¡¯s not like my employee orientation included advice on dealing with¡­what was the phrase again?¡±


    ¡°¡®Purely conceptual space.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Right, that. And I know we didn¡¯t cover it in school. Maybe if I had studied philosophy or astrophysics?¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± Carver¡¯s laugh was genuine, from his gut. ¡°They wish. Physicists would lose their minds if they had access to the Lane.¡± He leaned toward me conspiratorially and continued in a stage whisper, ¡°It¡¯s something of a running gag with me and a couple of the local houses, actually. No physicists allowed into the Lane.¡±


    ¡°Heh.¡± I chucked, picking up a dart and examining it. The fins weren¡¯t plastic, like you¡¯d find in most homes or bars nowadays. I felt one. It seemed to be some sort of metal. It was less flexible than a plastic fin, but sturdier. ¡°I imagine they wouldn¡¯t be able to keep their mouths shut if they found out about it.¡±


    Why are you keeping yours shut? Why didn¡¯t you report to the police, or at least go to the clinic and ask for a checkup! This is insane!


    ¡°Well then. How about a quick warmup until Cookie finishes those sandwiches, eh? I¡¯ll keep score.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good to me. Do I have to worry about you cheating? Fudging the numbers in your favor because you didn¡¯t expect me to be any good?¡±


    ¡°Scouts honor,¡± Carver answered, crossing his fingers over his heart. ¡°You can trust me, Daniel.¡±


    NO! YOU! CAN¡¯T! The voice in my head suddenly shattered though my perceptions. It actually shattered them; it felt like a glass or piece of ice breaking in my head. My headache, which had been fading since I left my apartment, suddenly returned with a vengeance. A part of me was suddenly very aware that I was in a strange house, with a man I barely knew, a non-human staff, and apparently a¡­brain filter of some type.


    I winced. The shattered glass of the illusion was trying to pull itself together in my mind. It was not a pleasant sensation, and I was glad when the little voice rose up like a great bear and slammed the pieces into dust.


    I realized I was leaning heavily on the podium. Mister Carver had a faint smile on, under his mustache, but his eyebrows were drawn together. I wasn¡¯t sure if he was worried or satisfied. I straightened up, and turned to face him, thumbing in my pocket for my can of emergency spray.


    ¡°Mister Carver,¡± I started shakily, then took a deep breath to steady myself. ¡°What are you doing to my mind?¡±


    When he answered I suddenly, for the first time, realized that Mister Carver had a British accent. Not posh British, soccer hooligan British. Hadn¡¯t he had a Midwestern U.S. accent before?


    ¡°Daniel! You really recovered from that quite a bit sooner than I had expected. I owe Sterns twenty quid. I can explain, but it might take a bit. Would you like to have a seat?¡±


    The glass dust in my mind stirred. ¡®Yes, of course.¡¯ it wanted to say. ¡®I trust you implicitly.¡¯ The voice¡­my own sense of self-awareness, I supposed, growled at it. It settled down.


    ¡°I think I would rather have this discussion somewhere else,¡± I responded.


    ¡°I thought you might say that. I¡¯ll have Driver bring the car around. Porter can show you out. How about--¡±


    ¡°I actually had a place in mind,¡± I interrupted.


    ----


    Two hours later, the sun was well down and we were all sitting around a table in a local McDonalds. Carver and Driver, in their fine suit and chauffeur¡¯s hat respectively, looked thoroughly out of place. I had worn a plain windbreaker jacket and jeans, and would have fit in perfectly if I weren¡¯t juxtaposed with the other two.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I said around a mouthful of burger. I had left the House before Cookie brought the sandwiches. ¡°Explain what was going on. No notes, no House, just you. From your mouth.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ll trust that?¡± Carver grinned, white teeth shining under his graying mustache.


    ¡°No. But you¡¯ve been polite so far, and as far as I can tell, you¡¯ve caused no harm.¡± I turned inwards, feeling in my thoughts for the edges of that glassy illusion. It was still so much dust in the corner of my psyche. Good. ¡°So I¡¯ll listen. Then, I¡¯m going to go home and you will not contact me unless I contact you first. Also,¡± I pointed, rather rudely, at Driver. ¡°He doesn¡¯t get to add any commentary unless I ask for it.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Carver sighed. Driver scowled, but nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what I can.¡±


    I took a mouthful of fries as Carver smoothed out the wrapper from my burger. Neither he nor Driver had ordered anything.


    ¡°I should like to start from the beginning, but I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know the beginning. So I¡¯ll start from the first thing I know,¡± Carver took a pen from his pocket and drew a little dot on the paper. ¡°This is the House,¡± he started¡­

 Part 6

    ¡°...not, necessarily, my House, but a House, mind you.¡± Carver explained as he drew a wavy line that didn¡¯t quite touch the dot. ¡°It could be any one of them. We aren¡¯t sure which one came first.


    ¡°This,¡± he indicated the wavy line, ¡°Is the Lane. Or it is what will eventually become the Lane.¡±


    I interrupted. ¡°How far back is this?¡±


    Carver tapped his pen on the table for a few seconds. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Older than written history, at least. Possibly older than even the earliest cave paintings by primitive humans. Probably not much older than that.¡±


    ¡°I was expecting ¡®the dawn of the universe¡¯,¡± I admitted, eager to hear more despite my caution. ¡°So who made it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m getting to that.¡± Carver leaned over the burger wrapper and began to draw more tiny dots along the line representing the Lane. ¡°These, as you might have guessed, are the other Houses. Nobody near me is quite sure how many there actually are. Personally, I think they might be infinite.¡±


    He drew a rough oval surrounding the Lane and all the dots. When he was done, it took up one half of the wrapper. He moved to the other half and drew a similar oval. ¡°This,¡± he explained, as he drew it, ¡°Is reality as you know it. Or as you knew it three days ago, at least. The House staff like to call it ¡®realis¡¯. It is actual. It exists. Physics applies here. Matter crashes into other matter, and electromagnetism runs rampant.¡± He punctuated each example by drawing a smaller circle in the big oval. ¡°Probably more that I don¡¯t even know about yet. I only get glimpses of it normally, and the last time I really checked on things was over a decade ago. Might I see one of those fries? The burnt ones, that is.¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ sure. I don¡¯t like the burnt ones anyway. Help yourself.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Carver reached over and held one of the fries in between his thumb and forefinger like a piece of chalk. Carefully, he traced lines in the paper connecting the two ovals.


    ¡°This,¡± he said, ¡°Is what you were asking about. Who made the Lane? Who built the Houses? The short answer is that we did. Humans. All of us.¡±


    ¡°How did they even get there?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing,¡± he said, adding still more lines of grease connecting the two ovals. He had to take a second burnt fry when the first one started to get dry. Driver was watching, flipping a ring of keys between his fingers, but had remained silent so far.


    ¡°There is no there at all,¡± Carver continued, still drawing lines. ¡°It isn¡¯t a place. It isn¡¯t an alternate dimension, or at least not one as Star Trek would have you believe. The Lane has a mass of nothing. Less than nothing. The absence of a measurement. The Lane¡¯s length is zero, and it is infinity. The Houses on the lane are uncountable, but even if you could it wouldn¡¯t matter because the Lane doesn¡¯t have numbers.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been to the Lane, though. It has to be somewhere.¡±


    ¡°Like I said, right boggles the mind.¡±


    I waited for him to finish drawing lines before distracting him with questions. My patience ran out when he reached for a third fry. Already the entire space between the oval representing reality and the one representing the Lane and the Houses was stained such that any new line was meaningless. ¡°The grease lines?¡± I interrupted. ¡°They¡¯re what gives the Lane form? They¡¯re¡­¡± I considered for a moment, idly wiping the condensation from my paper drink cup and taking a sip. ¡°They¡¯re something to do with humanity. Whatever those are, they made the Lane, and they impose some sort of rules on a place that has none?¡±


    Carver broke into a grin, setting down the last fry. ¡°Told you he was good,¡± he said in a stage whisper to Driver. ¡°You¡¯ve got it almost right, Daniel. Yes, those lines are what made the Lane and the Houses. But they don¡¯t really impose rules on the irrealis so much as impose rules on everyone who visits it. It¡¯s effectively the same thing for your purposes, but Archie¡­that is the old Archie, her father¡­was quite insistent when he was explaining things to me.¡±


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    ¡°So what are they?¡±


    ¡°Human thought, Daniel. They¡¯re human thought.¡±


    ¡°And since I think houses look a certain way, houses look that way to me?¡±


    ¡°You and a few billion other people, yes. And for most people, they never even get to see their influence. Every single thought matters, Daniel, but for a rare few--for me, for you if you agree to help me out--for a rare few, we can step through to the other side of things and see those rules in play.¡±


    ¡°What does that make Houses?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that information is restricted to only the Masters of each House, Daniel. I told you last night. Some things you aren¡¯t allowed to know.¡±


    ¡°I thought you were going to be completely honest here, Carver,¡± I was shocked when I lapsed into referring to him by his preferred name. I sent my imagination inward to check on the remains of¡­whatever had been affecting me. Surely enough, a few specs of the dust had started to gather together, nearly forming a shard of glass. My imagination stepped on it, and Carver was Mister Carver again.


    ¡°Everything I¡¯ve told you has been true, Daniel. But I have other obligations beyond my truthfulness with you. I can¡¯t tell you what the Houses are. Just a bit about that¡­other place. Irrealis, if you like. The collective psyche of every human being alive. And Daniel, this probably goes without saying, but it would not be a good look for you if you try to alert people to the existence of the Houses.¡±


    I had thought about it, I¡¯ll admit. But if even I was already preparing to get a brain scan in a few weeks, what would someone who heard my stories think of it? I decided I needed another burger, and excused myself to go order it. When I got back, Carver had crumpled up his little art piece and added it to the small pile of trash on my plastic tray.


    ¡°Okay. You said you would explain how you were¡­I dunno. Using befuddlement on me, or whatever spell it was.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Did I miss the part where you did?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Carver rubbed one hand against his cheek, stretching the skin of his face and pulling down his mustache on one side. ¡°Consider the facts I have just shared with you, Daniel. The Irrealis, the Lane, the Houses, the Realis.¡±


    I took a minute to think about it. ¡°Human thought made a place where¡­lots of human thought could exist and human thought lets us visit that place, which is inside human thought?¡± I offered. ¡°Or is that too redundant.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± Carver¡¯s laugh was as genuine as it had been last night over drinks. ¡°Not redundant enough. Well, I told you the House was a sort of magic. That sort of magic extends to all the permanent residents of the House. Myself included. It isn¡¯t really something I know how to turn on or off,¡± he glanced at Driver, who shrugged. ¡°Though it should be possible, according to the hobs. I just never had the knack for controlling it. By and large, it¡¯s harmless. It doesn¡¯t change your thoughts, merely how you perceive them.¡±


    ¡°Seems like an arbitrary distinction.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it is, or perhaps that¡¯s only how it seems. Arbitrary distinctions start to seem a great deal more drastic when you¡¯ve been living in a pocket of collective human thought for a while, Daniel.¡±


    I grunted, accepting his reasoning, if not the facts of it. The counter called my name and I went to collect my burger. I ate it while Carver and Driver watched. I tried not to feel self-conscious about it, and partly succeeded.


    ¡°Okay, so you accidentally adjusted my perceptions of you. To do what?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say.¡±


    ¡°So it has to do with the nature of the House?¡±


    I finally got to see Carver use his poker face. It was pretty good, I¡¯ll admit. Driver¡¯s was not. He was scowling like I had just splashed paint onto his brand new convertible. You¡¯re getting close. Piped up the imaginary projection of myself, carefully stomping on the glass dust any time it moved. Odd, I didn¡¯t remember deciding to do that.


    ¡°Or with the nature of all the Houses,¡± I kept talking, aloud, trying to work my way through the thoughts.


    ¡°Enough, Daniel. I¡¯ve explained myself. Now that you know how you were affected, you should be able to keep it from happening again. Indeed, I had invited you in because I hoped you possessed that exact skill. My question to you is¡­do you want the job or not?¡±


    Not. said my imaginary self. Carver is still hiding from you.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± the rest of me answered aloud. ¡°But I want to know the terms before I fully agree to it. Formally, that is. A contract.¡±


    ¡°I shall ask Archie to draw one up. Do I have your permission to send her to deliver it to your apartment tomorrow evening? In human guise, of course.¡±


    ¡°Fine. What¡¯s her human guise look like?¡±


    ¡°Human. She¡¯ll identify herself when she rings at your home. Now Daniel, if you don¡¯t mind, I had hoped for a more genial evening, but I am afraid I botched that quite early. I think I shall take my leave.¡±


    Driver was already halfway out the door before Carver finished the sentence. I nodded. Carver tapped his forehead as if tipping a fedora and strode out, confident and businesslike. I turned my attention back to my food. Tomorrow I would make a decision. Tomorrow.

 Part 7

    ¡°Hey, Dana,¡± I opened, knocking on her doorframe. It was the morning after my imaginary self managed to shatter the illusions of the House. ¡°Do you have a minute?¡±


    Dana was on the phone, but she nodded and waved me in. I came in and she pointed to the swivel chair in front of her desk. I took a seat in it and leaned back, waiting for her to finish.


    ¡°Yes. Yes, of course, sir.¡± She was saying. She met my eyes and rolled hers dramatically, using her hand to make the universal sign of ¡®this guy talks too much¡¯. ¡°Sir, you¡¯ll have the reports within an hour. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir, I have to go. The morning shift is clocking in and I have to pass out their routes. Yes sir, I assure you, within an hour. You too, sir.¡±


    She hung up the phone. ¡°Corporate,¡± she explained. ¡°Those new delivery reports aren¡¯t synching up with the servers correctly, shockingly. Now every regional lead has to manually send in their info. IT is upside down,¡± Dana shook her head. ¡°Still feeling okay, Daniel? You seemed a bit off, yesterday.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m doing a lot better, yeah. I actually came in here ¡®cause I had a contract question.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s really more of a question for HR, of course, but if I know it I¡¯ll answer.¡±


    ¡°Well, the no moonlighting clause¡­how strict is it?¡± I had decided to be as direct with Dana as I could. As far as managers went she was one of the best. She¡¯d stuck her neck out more than once for drivers on our team. ¡°I mean¡­say I was offered a one-time private gig. I wouldn¡¯t use any company property. It wouldn¡¯t interfere with my shifts here. Is that still a no-go?¡±


    Dana drummed her fingers on her desk. ¡°Look, officially, yes. That¡¯s a no-go. But unofficially¡­you wouldn¡¯t be the first one who wanted a little extra cash going into the holidays. I won¡¯t hold it against you. Just you know¡­be discrete. If HR finds out my hands are going to be tied. A reprimand at least, possibly more.¡±


    That was about what I expected. ¡°Discrete I can handle,¡± seeing as I¡¯ll effectively be outside of the universe during this particular job. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Dana nodded and started to reach for a stack of small printouts. The delivery tablets would create these receipts at the end of each driver¡¯s shift, assuming the driver remembered to clock out properly. I hazarded a guess that Dana was about to start entering every single delivery from yesterday by hand, and decided accordingly to take my leave. She bid me a good morning and asked me to pass out everyone¡¯s folders. The warehouse teams should already have each van loaded down with the proper boxes by now, so just knowing which van you got and which route to take was enough.


    I took the stack of folders, noting that each one had sticky note attached with a driver¡¯s name. I headed over to the break room and filled my travel mug up with coffee while I waited for the new shift all to arrive. I had gotten in a little early to talk to Dana, and by the time everyone was there, I had drank half of it.


    We all knew the drill for folder duty, so everyone trickled out after they grabbed their coffee, maybe scarfed down a bagel they brought with them. Once I was sure every folder had gone with a driver, I took the one with my name on it and refilled my coffee.


    I was in van nine that morning. Other than the number and the contents that the warehouse team had already loaded it down with, it was identical to every other van the company had on site. As far as I had seen, it was identical to every other van the company had on any site. I adjusted my seat, fixed my mirrors, and pulled up my first delivery, punching its ID into my tablet and setting out.


    ________


    After my shift, I joined some of the other drivers to catch up on our weekend plans. I was one of the lucky ones who had pulled both Saturday and Sunday this week, but it sounded like my colleagues were making good use of the time. A couple concerts, a party. One of the older drivers was going to take his oldest kid on their first hunting trip together. Hunting had never been my sport, but that seemed like a big milestone, so I congratulated him.


    I excused myself early, using my weekend shift assignments as my excuse. I took a bus to a few blocks from my house and walked the rest of the way. My car was still at the work parking lot. I¡¯d have to get up extra early tomorrow just to get in on time, but I wasn¡¯t sure when Archie would be stopping by with the contract.


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    And it was a good thing. I had barely kicked my shoes off and started putting mayonnaise on one slice of bread and lunchmeat on another when the little knocker on my apartment door went rapraprap.


    When I opened the door, I was not surprised to see a young woman behind it. However, I was surprised that she was taller than I was. I¡¯m not exceptionally tall, as a person, but both Driver and Sterns had been short and strong-looking in their human guise. Archivist, or Archie as everyone called her, was somewhere north of six feet. Instead of stout limbs and a broad stance, she seemed to be all spindles and string.


    ¡°Master Corners?¡± she asked. She was holding a plain folder under one arm, the standard office supply somehow odd after the old-school parchment of the last notes.


    ¡°Just Daniel. I guess you must be Archie?¡±


    ¡°Yes. May I¡­?¡± she gestured towards the apartment.


    ¡°Of course,¡± I answered, opening the door a little wider. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have a proper sitting room, but I¡¯ve cleared off the kitchen table. Just around to the left there.¡±


    She paused briefly on the entry mat to take off her shoes; again in contrast to the businesslike dress shoes favored by the other hobs I had met, she had opted for simple slip-on sneakers. If it weren¡¯t for her button-down and bow tie, she would have passed easily for a college student. Or at least a college TA. I realized I had no idea of her relative age. To spare my grandma from having to roll over in my grave, I didn¡¯t ask.


    Archie went where I directed and selected a seat that faced away from the kitchen. I grabbed a couple glasses of water and set one in front of her, then went around the table to sit across from her. I took a sip from my glass.


    ¡°So. Are these the terms and details of the job Mister Carver wants me to do?¡±


    ¡°They are.¡± Archie said. Odd, that she didn¡¯t remind me of anyone. The other hobs had sounded like family members. I didn¡¯t have any sisters, but I did have some cousins whose voices I had braced myself to hear from another face. Instead, her voice seemed¡­calm. Like she was meditating twenty-four seven. But definitely her own. Her accent was impossible to place, but it seemed to have elements of west coast USA and ye olde English.


    Of course she doesn¡¯t sound familiar. My imaginary me said. I broke the illusion. Porter won¡¯t sound like your brother, nor Sterns like grandpa any more either. Pay attention, Daniel.


    Wait. Was imaginary me talking back to me now? That seemed¡­not ideal. I had originally assumed that the imaginary version of me was merely my mind¡¯s way of handling the ridiculousness of the effects of the House. The thought that it might be a separate mind living within my own¡­well that wouldn¡¯t be a good sign even if it weren¡¯t for the fact that I had a potential job delivering something for a man who only entered reality when it had something for him.


    I looked down and saw that Archie had continued talking during my lapse. I interrupted her. ¡°May I read it myself first?¡±


    In answer, she turned her folder around and passed it toward me. I skimmed it. It wasn¡¯t large. Three pages. That still seemed like a lot for the job that had been described, but as I skimmed it I realized that two of them were dedicated solely to the description of the item to be delivered and the destination. Of course Houses on the Lane couldn¡¯t just have street numbers. Otherwise how could it be infinite and confusing?


    The last page listed the duration and compensation. Three days. I¡¯d have to take a long weekend. Dana would know what was going on, but I trusted her not to tell. Or at least¡­if she let me have the time she wouldn¡¯t pry so much as to get me caught out. She might just say ¡°No¡± to the extra off. That was the worse option. Compensation¡­


    I nearly shot water out of my nose, and I hadn¡¯t even taken a drink recently. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, is this value accurate?¡±


    Archie leaned over the table, craning her neck to tilt her head. I obligingly turned the page ninety degrees so it was sideways for both of us. She nodded. ¡°Yes, The House, or more specifically Lord Carver himself from his personal accounts, will pay that amount upon your return from a successful delivery.¡± She tapped another line, near the bottom of the page. ¡°In the event of a failed but good faith attempt, you will instead receive this lesser amount.¡±


    I felt my heart start to thump. I wasn¡¯t sure if it was fear or excitement.


    The second number was seven digits long. The first was even longer. Shit, I might as well just quit my regular job. The timeline here gave me leeway. I could give my notice.


    ¡°Is that a lot?¡± Archie asked. I looked up at her. She had her head tilted to one side and turned slightly, as if she wanted to point her ear at me as much as watch me. Both eyes were focused on my face, though. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I haven¡¯t had much time here in realis, as yet.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± I answered. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯d say that forty million is a lot for a delivery.¡±

 Part 8

    I took the job. I dropped off a note with Porter the following morning. Way I figured at the time, the worst case scenario is that I imagined the whole thing as my brain slowly decayed. I already had the scan scheduled. The best case scenario is that I had stumbled into a vast and extremely lucrative alternate reality.


    Twelve-year-old me would have been so enthusiastic about that. Now-year-old me was still pretty sure this was all some sort of grand delusion. Illusion me was still pacing around the edges of my mind, and assured me that it was all real. I found that I trusted him, which did not reassure me at all in my moments of doubt.


    It was three weeks before I could get a long weekend to arrange the delivery. When I asked Dana if I could have a day off, she told me in a carefully non-specific way that she knew what it was about and I still had to work my normal hours unless I was sick. I ended up trading a couple shifts to make it work. Dana might still notice, but HR wouldn¡¯t think twice about it.


    I visited the House four more times while arranging myself to be free to do the delivery. Twice, I played darts with Carver. Once, we had dinner. The last time, we discussed the details of the upcoming delivery.


    The item I was going to courier was a length of copper chain. I hadn¡¯t expected that. It was heavy, each link big enough for me to poke a fingertip through. At one end, it attached to a big hoop, which was flattened at regular intervals. It actually reminded me a lot of a tambourine, but without the drum part. Each of the flattened pieces was marked with a little drawing. The other end of the chain ended in a handle, also made of copper but wrapped heavily in cloth. The end of the handle was marked with a different drawing.


    Carver warned me that the Lane was not as safe as its apparent emptiness would suggest, and that I would have to keep the chain completely hidden until I reached the destination. I should have dropped the job right then and there. My life would have been a lot easier. I didn¡¯t, because the potential payment was too good to ignore. I¡¯ve been told I¡¯m too trusting, by nature.


    He provided a case to store the chain in. It was felt-lined wood, and the chain was completely muffled by the box. He also assigned two members of the House¡¯s staff to travel with me. Porter was one. I hadn¡¯t met the other one, who went by Boddy (short for ¡°Bodyguard¡±. Apparently, there were four different Boddys in the House¡¯s staff. Somehow, despite all using the same nickname, they were easy to tell apart). I expressed surprise that Boddy hadn¡¯t accompanied Carver on either of his excursions into realis. Carver, with a conspiratorial nudge and a wink, answered that they¡¯d been there but hadn¡¯t been noticed. That gave me pause.


    Carver had invited me to stay in the guest suite of the House the night before the delivery, so I could get an early start and Cookie could make a ¡®proper breakfast¡¯, which seemed to hinge entirely on an entire slab of bacon. The night before, I found myself with Carver sitting in one of the studies (one out of six, apparently), drinking something that sounded expensive and tasted like alcohol, and chatting. Butler was nearby in case we needed anything, but meanwhile was reading a copy of what appeared to be a physics journal. A young hob, not yet technically an adult at a mere forty-five earth years of age, was serving as the night¡¯s Gofer. She apparently wouldn¡¯t have a proper name or choose (if she wanted) a nickname until she became an adult. Or maybe her name changed when she joined the staff for real? The hobs had difficulty explaining it to me, mostly because they seemed baffled by the fact that I didn¡¯t just know how it worked automatically. Carver, apparently, had decided shortly after he took over as the House¡¯s keeper to just never question it.


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    ¡°So,¡± I asked after a lengthy pause. Carver had an unlit cigar in his hands, and he seemed to be conflicted about whether to light it or not. ¡°I was wondering. Why exactly did you need me? If Porter and Boddy,¡± (in my head, I appended that to ¡®Boddy-One¡¯), ¡°Are already coming along with me, couldn¡¯t one of them just deliver the package? For that matter, why not just send Driver with one of the cars? I¡¯ve seen the Lane. It¡¯s wide enough for it.¡±


    ¡°Well, Driver would rather walk the whole distance barefoot on glass than take one of the House¡¯s cars into the Lane, for starters,¡± Carver chuckled. He apparently decided not to smoke the cigar and returned it to a box, which Gofer dutifully packed away with the other boxes of cigars. ¡°The Lane isn¡¯t all that¡­constant. It shifts, it wends. Sometimes what the Lane is would not get along well with one of our cars. All of them are realis, did you know that?¡±


    ¡°Okay, but Porter, one of the Boddys, why couldn¡¯t they drop it off?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re irrealis,¡± Carver said, taking a long sip of his drink. ¡°They can physically move the item, of course. Or¡­near enough as makes no difference, in this part of the Lane. But the House¡¯s duties must ultimately fall to a realis mind. Ordinarily, that would be me. Ordinarily, that is me. Unfortunately, I¡¯m not exactly spry anymore, Daniel. I mean¡­look at me! I wouldn¡¯t last a day on foot. You¡¯re young, you¡¯re healthy. Deliveries like this one come up pretty rarely, fortunately. Most of what I do can be done from a comfortable office chair.¡±


    ¡°So you had to hire a human? And I just happened to fit the bill?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s about the size of it.¡±


    I set my glass on the table and leaned forward, hands on my knees. In the corner of my eye, I saw tiny Gofer bringing a decanter over to top up my drink. She certainly was a dedicated little child. ¡°Okay. What is it?¡±


    ¡°What is what, Daniel?¡± Carver asked, all mock innocence.


    ¡°The delivery. What is that ch---¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± Carver¡¯s face had gone from a genuine friendliness to a sternness bordering on a glare faster than I could track. Later I would wonder if he hadn¡¯t somehow become stern retroactively. ¡°Don¡¯t describe it. Don¡¯t name it, even a nickname. The delivery, the item, or the box are all fine. Anything else, anything else, Daniel, and you put your life, and Porter¡¯s life, and Boddy¡¯s life at risk. Here or in the Lane.¡±


    ¡°Why? It¡¯s just¡­¡± I saw his jaw tensing and decided to let it go. ¡°So why is it, then? What Housely duty is served by me taking this to another house?¡±


    Carver was silent for a long time, meeting my gaze unblinkingly. Just when I was wondering if I should repeat the question, he finally answered. ¡°A symbolic one.¡±


    I didn¡¯t get anything else out of him. After another ten or fifteen minutes of tense silence, I excused myself, claiming I wanted to get an early morning if I was hauling this box more than a full day of travel. Carver bid me a good night, but I could tell something was distracting him.


    As I left, I heard him send Gofer to the cellar for a stronger drink.

 Part 9

    The next morning, I loaded up a backpack with three days worth of Cookie¡¯s food. Most of it was actually good reasonable trail food. Gofer--that is, a different hob child, acting as Gofer at the moment--brought some other supplies. A knife, some tools. A canteen, a rope. After I slid the hatchet into the specially built loop on the side of the pack, I started to feel like I was gearing up for a three month hike, not a three day courier job.


    At my request, Gofer-Two was able to run into town and fetch several energy bars and a glass bottle filled with cold brew from my favorite cafe near my normal job. I told him to keep the change to buy whatever else he wanted. When he returned, his pockets were stuffed with so much chocolate that I wasn¡¯t sure he hadn¡¯t just stolen it. Well, I could deal with that when I got back to realis, I guess.


    Porter was late, which gave me time to meet Boddy-One. He was tall, for a hob. Easily over five feet, and he was built. Even his long pointy ears seemed muscular. In a contrast to the smart, well-kept, clean hats worn by the other hob staff, Boddy-One had opted for a thoroughly patched stocking cap.


    ¡°Uh¡­you must be Boddy? I¡¯m Daniel. I uh¡­appreciate you coming along to guard the way.¡±


    Boddy-One looked up at me and grinned. Hob teeth are thinner than human teeth, which means they have more of them for the same amount of mouth. They weren¡¯t pointed or anything, but Boddy-One suddenly made that grin threatening nonetheless. ¡°Duty for the House, Mister Corners. Not for your appreciation.¡±


    ¡°Well.¡± I paused for what felt like an entire minute, trying to come up with a response. Boddy-One kept one eye on me as he checked his own pack over. ¡°Duty comes first,¡± I eventually managed, unconvincingly. ¡°But all the same I¡¯m glad it isn¡¯t all on my shoulders.¡± I realized that even with his size Boddy-One still was several inches shorter than I was. ¡°Metaphorically speaking.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± Boddy-One barked, a loud but seemingly honest laugh. ¡°Humans. They always tell the best jokes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±


    ¡°That joke you just told. About metaphors.¡± Boddy-One answered, shaking his head. He raised one pinky to flick a tear from the corner of his eye. ¡°Suggesting that metaphors speak. Human humor. I love it.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize it was a joke,¡± I replied, honestly. ¡°It¡¯s just an expression.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Boddy-One said, leaning in, suddenly serious. His teeth were all on display again, but he was at least pointing them away from me. ¡°Let me tell you an expression we¡¯ve got here, then, Mister Corners. Metaphors are dangerous. If you let them speak, you¡¯re already lost in them. Quash them, before they define you.¡±


    ¡°I hadn¡¯t¡­how?¡±


    ¡°Master Carver explained the Lane to you?¡±


    ¡°Some. I gotta say, I didn¡¯t understand a lot of it.¡±


    ¡°That bit about it being collective human thought?¡±


    ¡°I remember that bit.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you should ruminate on the implications of that with regards to metaphor, Mister Corners. ¡®Cause I don¡¯t much want to have to scrape your bits off the Lane because you dared to think about the burden of dishonesty and how it was crushing you under heel, or some other human nonsense.¡±


    He continued to grumble under his breath, strapping his pack to his back. His front bore an arrangement of weaponry, including a revolver on his hip that would have fit right in on the set of an old John Wayne movie, a high caliber hunting rifle slung over one shoulder that had some sort of electronic sight I didn¡¯t recognize, and an honest-to-truth sword cane. Like the type where it looked like an ordinary cane but a sword came out of it.


    I was spared from Boddy-One¡¯s wrath and the weaponry that he would have used to carry it out by the tardy arrival of Porter. I wasn¡¯t entirely sure what his role in this delivery was. If I was to be the human dropping off the box and Boddy was there to guard me from murderous metaphor, why Porter? For that matter, who would mind the gate while he was away?


    All Mister Carver had said on Porter¡¯s inclusion was that ¡®I¡¯d know why he was there when he was needed¡¯. He had ignored the question of who was minding the gate to Mister Carver¡¯s House entirely.


    Believe it or not, time passed normally on the Lane. Or¡­something that looked an awful lot like sunset, and nighttime, and sunrise, and the passage of time according to my phone (and the cheap digital watch that I wore for when my phone inevitably ran out of battery halfway through the trip). So it was about an hour after sunrise, or 8:34 by the watch, when the three of us set out across the yard. Porter opened a small side gate in the great stone wall to let us out. I noticed that this gate, unlike the others I had seen around the property, was made of wooden slats. I wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that it opened onto the Lane instead of realis.


    Boddy-One set our pace, or as he described it, ¡®took point¡¯. I found it was a comfortable stride for me; one of the benefits of my traveling companions both being hobs, I assumed. Porter¡¯s legs, being the shortest, were a flashing blur as he all but jogged to keep up. He didn¡¯t seem to grow tired, though, and Boddy-One didn¡¯t seem interested in calling for a halt.


    As we walked, I did my best to memorize landmarks, in case I needed to find Mister Carver¡¯s House again on my own. After a mile, I was starting to get a headache trying to remember what the most recent house had looked like. On the second mile, I realized that the current house, which was either the 20th or the 200th house that we had walked past, looked subtly different every time I looked away. But the time it was passing out of view behind me it had gone from some sort of elaborate one-story Spanish villa to a sterile-looking modern apartment tower. I tried to reconcile the two images in my mind, and my headache got worse.


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    ¡°Stop that,¡± Boddy-One said.


    I looked around. I hadn¡¯t been doing anything particularly odd. Porter was looking at me expectantly, both ear tips curled down towards his head. ¡°Stop what?¡± I asked, confused.


    ¡°Stop trying to make the Houses fit into your little box of what they look like.¡± Boddy-One explained. After three more of his powerful steps, he added, ¡°It¡¯s rude.¡±


    Porter was nodding. With a sudden snap, I stopped trying to remember what the house looked like. It felt like a guitar string when it decides to go, except it was all in my thoughts.


    A twang echoed from the road. It seemed to come from all around, except Boddy-One and Porter were both looking directly at me.


    Boddy-One growled. ¡°That. You just used a metaphor, din¡¯t ya. I warned you to be careful with those.¡±


    Briefly, I flashed to a memory of 12 year old me in school, and flippantly I replied ¡°Technically it was a simile.¡±


    Porter guffawed as Boddy-One¡¯s scowl deepened. ¡°Listen to me, rookie. This place? This place is not your playground. The Lane doesn¡¯t care whether it¡¯s a simile or a metaphor. Don¡¯t.¡± He pointed his finger at me. I carefully avoided comparing his demeanor to anything.


    Later, when I wasn¡¯t on the Lane, I would compare it to a bad caricature of a strict teacher or babysitter.


    Imaginary Me started up a lecture about listening to experts in the part of my mind I had designated as ¡°his space¡±. Well, jokes on him. He was right, so I put him to work. For the duration of the trip, Imaginary Me was in charge of policing all of my thoughts for metaphor, simile, symbolism, or any other thing that might cause the Lane to shift or anger Boddy-One.


    Imaginary Me seemed smug about getting put on the job. In another part of my mind, I worriedly noted that I only had nine more days until I could get my brain looked at for signs of tumors. Imaginary Me was only a few weeks old. His independence was concerning. More concerning was the fact that I had apparently accepted it and was now making use of it.


    Is it possible to be a third-person observer of your own mindscape? Until a month ago, I would have answered the question with a solid ¡°Huh?¡±. Two weeks ago, having freshly read what little philosophy texts I could find that were written in language I could grasp, I would have answered ¡°No, excepting that you choose to do so.¡± I would have felt pretty clever in that answer.


    The answer is yes. And Imaginary Me was just the beginning.


    ¡°Wait up a sec,¡± came Boddy-One¡¯s voice, cutting through---no. Not cutting. Merely interrupting my thought process. As one thought does to another.--my reverie. I looked at our surroundings and to my surprise, the Lane was at a dead end. Or¡­it looked like a dead end. With a certain amount of effort, I told Imaginary Me not to hold any images of the Lane at this point.


    A signpost stood in the road. Unlike most of the Lane and all of the Houses on it, the signpost was constant, solid. Realis, I knew instinctively. Odd. What was it doing out here? Porter--Maps, now. For Maphandler, Illusory Me supplied. How did he know? Maps hadn¡¯t said anything about his name changing. In any event, Maps had approached the post and was now observing it, touching each joint and hinge that held the various signs to the post. He removed one of his gloves as he went, taking great care about where his bare hand touched the post. None of the signs was marked. At least¡­not with anything that could be construed as words. I looked over at Boddy-One. He seemed unconcerned, so I decided to follow his example. After a few seconds more, Boddy-One, Maps, myself, and the signpost were the only constant things in the Lane. For a brief moment, we were the only things at all, and then the Lane was back, slowly solidifying until it was merely a flickering possibility rather than a useless blur. The cobbles here seemed to have had the shine rubbed off of them from traffic. Certainly they lacked the coppery texture I remembered from the cobbles near Carver¡¯s House. Had they always been like that? Illusory Me didn¡¯t answer. I wasn¡¯t thinking at him, anyway.


    ¡°Right,¡± Maps said, knocking on a single post with his ungloved hand. There was a word there. It vanished before I could make it out. Illusory Me shrugged. ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving, then. Daniel? Mister Boddy? This way.¡±


    The way he led us seemed to be the same direction we had always been going. In fact, for all that the Lane twisted visibly in front of us, I was absolutely certain we had never changed direction in all the time we were walking. It had been at least half a day by now and I couldn¡¯t remember walking a single curve along the way.


    Near sunset, we came to another signpost. Boddy-One called for a stop. The four of us (counting Illusory Me) had walked most of the way in relative silence. Illusory Me had been diligent and I had managed not to have any more metaphoric thoughts. When I congratulated him, he seemed pleased. It was still unsettling, on some level. Except it seemed to be unsettling from a distance. As if --No metaphors. Right. Sorry. Later on I would think that it was unsettling as if I were watching it happen in a movie, but right at that moment I did not.


    ¡°We¡¯ll rest here, tonight. Signpost should be safest thing for a good long while.¡± Maps nodded, and added ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s portion of the journey is going to be the worst. There isn¡¯t another signpost between here and our destination. We¡¯re going to have to jog or run nearly the whole way there and back just to get back to this one by nightfall.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked. ¡°What happens at nightfall?¡±


    ¡°What happens at every nightfall. Sometimes during the day, too, but reliably every nightfall,¡± Boddy-One answered, drawing his revolver, checking each chamber, and resting it on his lap as he leaned back against the signpost. ¡°Humans start to dream.¡± He closed both eyes, then reopened his left one to fix it on my. ¡°Try not to.¡±


    ¡°No problem,¡± I answered shakily. ¡°Almost never do anyway.¡± And wouldn¡¯t tonight be a terrible time to learn that almost-never and never weren¡¯t technically the same.


    Setting down one of my raincoats as a pillow, I too leaned against the signpost and propped up my feet. In mere minutes, sleep was clawing its way out of the ground.


    Distantly, I felt my own voice trying to stop the metaphor.

 Part 10

    I wasn¡¯t expecting one right before you fell asleep! Imaginary Me defended himself. Well, at least he wasn¡¯t blaming this one on me in his usual smug tone. I continued to drift into sleep, only barely aware of what was going on around me.


    That is, until a boot collided with my ribs.


    It wasn¡¯t a large boot, as those things go. Boddy-One didn¡¯t exactly wear size sixteens. But it was a boot and it hurt. With a sudden rush of energy, I woke up. Sitting, I saw Boddy-One pulling the hammer on his old western revolver back. Maps had produced a long-handled axe from somewhere, like the sort you used to split logs.


    Slowly, one hand still held in place where I had been rubbing my ribs, I rolled onto one hip to follow their gaze.


    A hand. Well. A claw. A claw was pushing its way slowly out of the ground mere feet from where we had settled down at the base of the post. What looked like an arm was following it. Another claw and its arm followed suit a couple feet away. And another, behind both of them.


    A lot of claws. A lot of arms. Now that I was fully alert, I realized what they were and why they were here. You really have an active imagination. Imaginary Me commented. Scooting back to a position behind Boddy-One, I pulled my feet under me and pulled the hatchet off my pack, holding it in one shaking fist.


    The front claws finished their digging and a¡­I guess a body is the only word for it. A mass of something started to emerge. I realized at this point that all of the claws belonged to one creature. One creature that I had accidentally summoned with one careless metaphor.


    ¡°Okay, idiot,¡± Boddy-One said, taking his revolver in a two handed grip leveled at the body of the thing. ¡°What careless metaphor is this?¡±


    ¡°Sleep,¡± I managed to get out through the increasing panic distracting me. ¡°As I was falling asleep for the night, I thought of Sleep as clawing its way out of the ground for me.¡±


    Blam! Blam! Blam! Boddy-One fired three shots, which impacted the Sleep, raising sprays of some sort of fine powdery material from its surface. When the powder drifted clear, there were no bullet holes. That wasn¡¯t good.


    Boddy-One was looking at me. His mouth was moving. All I could hear was a ringing in my ears. Right. Guns were loud. I tapped my ears and tried to say ¡°I can¡¯t hear anything.¡± Boddy-One looked at me, down at his gun, over at the creature, then back to me. I¡¯m not much of a lip-reader, but I¡¯m pretty sure he swore.


    Interesting. Imaginary Me said, deliberately grabbing my attention. What was interesting?


    The creature. Sleep. Your metaphor. The gunshots didn¡¯t harm it, but somehow they seem to have¡­frightened it? It¡¯s retreating. I looked over to see that he was right. Sleep was retreating from us, as if pushed back by the gunshots. Its escape was limited by the fact that it hadn¡¯t managed to excavate its whole body yet.


    I tapped Boddy-One on his shoulder, and mimed shooting his gun at the creature again. This time, I remembered to plug my ears. The ringing sensation was only just starting to fade. There was another Blam! as Boddy-One fired a single round, audible even through my plugged ears and hopefully-temporary deafness. I watched. The creature recoiled away from the gunshot again. It seemed to be struggling to get the rest of its body out of the ground so it could get as far away from the source of the bullets as possible.


    Boddy-One was watching it too, this time. After a short pause, he fired his gun again, but not at the creature. Into the air. To my surprise, the creature recoiled away again with as much effort. It had extracted the rest of its mass from underground and scuttled off into the night.


    Boddy-One grinned, showing his unsettling number of teeth. He mouthed something at me. No, he said something to me. I only heard ¡°murm murm murm murm¡±, but I did hear something other than ringing. That was a good sign, I was pretty sure.


    Maps hurried to grab the packs, shoving each of ours at us and swinging his own around to strap it into place. I slipped the hatchet back into its loop and strapped the pack onto my back again. As I did, I checked to make sure the box hadn¡¯t fallen out.


    Boddy-One was reloading the five empty chambers in his revolver, keeping his eyes focused on the still-retreating Sleep. The creature scuttled away until it was nearly out of sight, then slowly started creeping back towards us. Very slowly. I suspected it would take over an hour for it to reach us again.


    My hearing was back sufficiently that I was able to ask Boddy-One to repeat himself and actually understand it this time.


    ¡°Metaphor,¡± he explained. ¡°It isn¡¯t just representative of sleep. It is sleep. Loud noises wake people up. They chase Sleep away.¡±


    I almost groaned aloud. It was--Don¡¯t even think it. Imaginary Me interrupted. Fine. He could think it for me. He was irrealis and his metaphors wouldn¡¯t take root. Wait, how did I know that? Fine, Imaginary Me agreed. It¡¯s as if the Lane runs on terrible puns. Exactly. Of course, if we follow that line of thought¡­ Imaginary Me didn¡¯t have to finish the explanation.


    ¡°But that only chases sleep away. It¡¯s a temporary solution,¡± I finished, out loud.


    ¡°Yup,¡± Boddy-One acknowledged. ¡°Nothing will keep it away forever. And the longer we let it go without claiming you, the more persistent it¡¯s going to get. Eventually, you are going to be caught by Sleep.¡±


    ¡°Okay, so what do we do? Capture it, somehow? Like¡­restrain it?¡±


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    ¡°Does that fit into your metaphor?¡± Boddy-One asked. He seemed genuinely interested.


    ¡°It does not,¡± I admitted. Okay, so if this thing was Sleep itself, I could only defeat it in ways that I would defeat the need for Sleep. I took off my pack and rummaged through it. Cookie¡¯s trail food. Rope. Protein bars¡­aha! I pulled a glass bottle out of my pack. ¡°This might work. At least¡­for a while. Better than loud noises. It should take care of it for a few hours.¡±


    Boddy-One looked at the label on the bottle. ¡°Coffee? That¡¯s good thinking. Might buy us enough time to get to our destination.¡±


    ¡°I guess I just have to drink it?¡± I asked. Imaginary Me answered even before I finished. It¡¯s not just your Sleepiness. The way you created it it was a generic ¡®sleepiness of people¡¯. You have to apply the coffee to the creature. ¡°Wait, no, that wouldn¡¯t work. It¡¯s not just mine. Like how the loud noise affected it even when I was too deaf to hear it.¡± Maps was nodding. Boddy-One dropped to one knee and rummaged through his own pack. ¡°We need to give the coffee to the creature?¡±


    ¡°Seems that way!¡± interjected a feminine voice. Startled, we all turned to face¡­well direction had no meaning here. Somewhere leftish of where we had been facing.


    Standing there was a very naked woman. She had a satchel bag slung over one shoulder and nothing else. Her hair was bright green and seemed to glisten as if wet. She was about my own height, which was also surprising, but it didn¡¯t compare to the complete lack of clothing she possessed. Her skin, which I found I could not avoid noticing, was so pale as to almost seem blue. I carefully, pointedly, looked a different direction entirely. Oh, it¡¯s just a naiad, you prude. Imaginary Me taunted. What are you going to do, hold a conversation with her without making eye contact? Eye contact would be fine, if I trusted myself to limit it to just that.


    ¡°Oh, sorry. I should have introduced myself. You can call me Wanda. You¡¯re from Community, right?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t answer that,¡± Maps answered, cutting off Boddy-One¡¯s response. Unlike me, both of them seemed perfectly comfortable with the idea of a naked woman just on the Lane. ¡°Afraid it¡¯s private business.¡±


    ¡°Is it? Ooh, the Head of House is going to love to hear about that. I¡¯m from Curiosity, you see. I¡¯m not on private business at the moment, so you can know that.¡± I coughed. Imaginary Me roared with laughter in the back of my head. ¡°What¡¯s up with him?¡±


    ¡°Human,¡± answered Boddy-One. A pause followed. He did not elaborate. Wanda the naiad kept asking questions. ¡°Oh I see. Interesting. And he thought up that fascinating metaphor, did he?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡± answered Boddy-One. Maps nodded along. ¡°And he found a way to deal with it. So at least he can fix his own mistakes.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t I hear you say it was Sleep? The metaphor of Sleep crawling up to claim someone?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I answered, still looking at what might sometimes resemble a tree in the nearest yard. ¡°I was trying to police my thoughts,¡± Ahem, Imaginary Me said. I ignored him for the moment ¡°--but when I got tired I sort of let my guard down and¡­that thing came of it.¡±


    ¡°Well, if it¡¯s Sleep itself, coffee might delay it like you think, but¡­I¡¯m not sure. I guess we should try it and find out?¡±


    ¡°Try what, Miss Wanda?¡± Maps asked. I noticed that he was carefully maneuvering so that Wanda never got any closer to us. He didn¡¯t trust her? Well, that was fair, I guess. Boddy-One had said the Lane was dangerous. She was on the Lane without a stitch to protect her. Well, she is from House Curiousity, said Illusory Me. You know what they say about that cat? She basically works for it. Wait. House Curiosity? House? Yes, House.  So that¡¯s what the Houses were? Some of ¡®em, at least. Maybe most. Overlapping psychic resonance of a single shared human concept.


    If that was the case, what House was I working for? Seems like the sort of question you should have asked before taking the job, Illusory Me commented. And no, I don¡¯t know the answer either.


    Wanda was still talking. With the help of Illusory Me, I pieced together what had been discussed while we had been having our own¡­internal monologue. Hell, I was going crazy. Talking to myself and everything.


    ¡°Well, it seems like if that¡¯s Sleep and the metaphor has already been formed, then it would also be able to form subservient metaphors. That is¡­if the human--¡± ¡°--Daniel--¡± I offered, now admiring some maybe-sunflowers off to her right.  ¡°If Daniel,¡± she continued, ¡°thought up this thing as Sleep, then keeping it at bay is going to have the normal side effects of sleep deprivation. Especially for Daniel himself.¡±


    ¡°What, like¡­fatigue? Hallucinations?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Sure, if you were back in your own home on Earth, but you¡¯re in the irrealis. When fatigue rears its ugly head, it¡¯s not just an expression, you know? There¡¯s going to be a real fatigue, and it¡¯s head is going to be ugly. I¡¯m so interested to find out what it looks like when that happens!¡±


    Maps and Boddy-One and I all looked around expectantly, since the metaphor would have lodged in my mind. But apparently, Imaginary Me--Can I have a name too?--Imaginary Me had caught it in time.


    Boddy-One was still tense and kept his hand on his revolver. ¡°Only if the fool lets his guard down again. Unless--¡±


    ¡°Unless he¡¯s capable of forming mental constructs!¡± Wanda finished, excitedly. In the periphery of my vision, I saw her reach for her bag. ¡°Oh, I hope he is. It¡¯s always so exciting to meet a human who can do that!¡±


    ¡°Umm¡­what does that mean?¡± I asked.


    Maps answered first. ¡°Well, a rare few humans can do a sort of¡­mental trick. It lets them form independent thought forms. The forms can interact with the human¡¯s thoughts as if they were another entity entirely. Developed forms even have their own awareness of the human¡¯s surroundings or insight into the nature of the irrealis.¡±


    ¡°Oh. So it¡¯s like¡­a voice in your head?¡±


    ¡°More like a whole artificial person in your head. Thought constructs are semi-independent entities.¡± Maps answered.


    ¡°Could it, say, keep track of all my idle thoughts and censor out metaphors? Or track down outside influences, like from the House¡¯s influence?¡±


    ¡°If you assigned it to do so.¡±


    ¡°And would it know things about the nature of the Lane that the human would have never learned themselves?¡±


    ¡°Yes, if sufficiently developed. No need to worry, though. I¡¯m sure the Head of House wouldn¡¯t have hired you for this delivery if you could.¡±


    ¡°Umm¡­about that,¡± I started. Wanda let out a high-pitched noise of delight and I heard the rapid scratch of pencil on paper from her direction.


    I guess the jig is up, said Illusory Me.

 Part 11

    ¡°You mean to tell me,¡± Boddy-One demanded, ¡°That you can build a mental construct?¡± Oh yes. We can do that and so much more.


    I ignored Imaginary Me, distracting myself by checking on the progress of the sleep-creature. It was still moving closer to us, but its advance had slowed. Was it responding to my emotional state? I was certainly going to have some difficulty sleeping now. Would you like me to do something about that? The creature, that is. Could he? The creature was already outside my mind.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know that¡¯s what I was doing¡­but yeah,¡± I answered. ¡°Ever since the second time I came to the Lane.¡± Daniel, don¡¯t worry about where I am or where the creature is. Do you want my help, or not? I didn¡¯t want to do anything else that I would regret.


    Maps was silent. Boddy-One looked out at the sleep creature briefly and turned back on me, baring his many teeth. ¡°So that¡¯s not just some sort of wild metaphor, then? It¡¯s brand new? You made it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know! I didn¡¯t even know it was possible to make them until ten minutes ago! Maybe?¡± Oh, you certainly did make it. You could make me, too. After all, it takes a thought construct to fight a thought construct. Go ahead. Ask Maps. Or your new friend there, Wanda.


    Wanda interrupted us. Momentarily, I forgot what was happening and looked in her direction, then quickly away again. ¡°I think I must have,¡± I answered, trying to force myself to be calm. ¡°Could I unmake it?¡±


    Wanda answered first, cutting off Maps¡¯s voice. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve never heard of any thought constructor being able to outright destroy one of their creations but I would certainly be interested to find out.¡± See? That wasn¡¯t exactly conclusive. I turned to Maps, who shook his head.


    ¡°Sorry, Mister Daniel. Not possible. There are three ways that creature,¡± he waved in the direction of the sleep-creature. How was he so calm about it? ¡°Is going to be destroyed. The first is if we simply¡­destroy it. The natural way. Unfortunately, metaphors, especially first-generation metaphors, are quite tough. You saw how little damage Boddy¡¯s pistol did to it.¡± You can¡¯t exactly just kill sleep, Daniel.


    ¡°Option two?¡± I asked, ignoring Illusory Me.


    ¡°Well, you could reincorporate the idea. It¡¯s supposed to be an unpleasant sensation, but it could become a part of you again. There would be side effects, especially while you¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°What kind of side effects?¡±


    ¡°Well, as I understand it, the metaphor and the concept it represents become inseparable, with regards to you.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯d have that thing in my mind every time I went to sleep?¡±


    ¡°Yes. The sensation of sleep ¡®clawing its way out of the ground¡¯, I believe was the metaphor you said birthed it?¡±


    I shuddered. You¡¯re going to like option three, Illusory Me said with unrestrained delight.


    ¡°What¡¯s option three?¡± I asked aloud. Maps opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head.


    ¡°Option three isn¡¯t up for discussion, Daniel.¡±


    Boddy-One growled. Actually growled. Like--No similes, Daniel, unless they¡¯re about letting me go.--Right. His ire was directed mostly at the creature for the moment, but I could tell he wasn¡¯t happy with me either.


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    ¡°What is it, though?¡± I asked. You already know the answer, taunted Illusory Me.


    ¡°You could create another thought construct!¡± Wanda interjected. I looked over at her briefly. Her expression was one of such eagerness that for a moment I wondered if she was--not metaphorically--a touch unstable. Then I looked away, before my eyes could wander. ¡°It would be as durable as your ill-planned metaphor there, but you could build it to have a natural advantage over the one you¡¯ve already created.¡±


    ¡°Yes, except that leaves us with the same problem, only stronger,¡± Boddy-One snarled. ¡°You¡¯d simply be making bigger and bigger monsters until you got destroyed by one of them. At least this monster only wants to make you get some rest.¡±


    I tried to absorb all of this. Oh, take your time, Daniel. We can work through it at the speed of thought, after all. I thought he was just a reflection of my mind, but Illusory Me--Can I have a name now?--was something more. I hadn¡¯t ever meant to create him. Was that something that was normal for thought-constructors? I had the brief sensation of forgetting something important. I supposed that Illusory Me did deserve a name. What was his purpose? Why had I built him? I¡¯m supposed to be the thought police, remember? You asked me to keep an eye out for illusions, and to keep you from releasing any unwanted metaphors. Which he had failed at. Great, now I was being smug at myself on both sides of the equation. Well, I¡¯m still learning the ropes. Okay, his name could be Rookie. Since he was a new cop on the scene.


    ¡®Rookie?!¡¯ Rookie raged. ¡®You couldn¡¯t give me an actual name? Something dignified?¡¯


    Sorry Rookie. When in Rome, do as the Romans. When on the Lane, do as the hobs. Your name is your profession. You can upgrade to Lestrade when you¡¯ve proved you can handle it.


    Rookie went to sulk in a distant corner of my mind. I opened my eyes. I hadn¡¯t remembered closing them. The sleep-creature was halfway back to us. Boddy-One¡¯s grip was tightening over his revolver. Maps was watching my face intently, his own expression inscrutable. I added him to the ¡°no poker¡± list. Wanda was still scratching something in her notebook, her pack forgotten at her feet. A small stream of water was flowing over her feet. Had that always been there, or was this some of the oddness of the Lane?


    ¡®Naiads¡¯ answered Rookie from his sulking corner. ¡®Are Greek river spirits. Symbols of purity. They carry the river with them.¡¯


    Oh. Right. That made sense. I should probably do some research on the types of things I might encounter in here.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­I¡¯ll reincorporate it. How do I do that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not actually sure,¡± answered Maps, still intently watching me. ¡°Thought construction is a uniquely human trait, and none of the constructors I¡¯ve met explained the process.¡±


    ¡°Ooh, but you should tell me once you figure it out!¡± Wanda added. ¡°It would be so great to find out.¡± Wanda clearly worked for the right House.


    ¡°Alright. I guess making it happened naturally enough. Maybe I have some instinctive knowledge?¡±


    ¡°Should we be that lucky,¡± commented Boddy-One. He kept his finger outside the trigger guard but he was slowly flexing and relaxing it, as if ready to fire.


    ¡°Well, worst case scenario, I¡¯m asleep, right?¡± I answered, setting my feet to begin sprinting at the creature. ¡°Seems a safe enough time to learn.¡± Without waiting for further concerns or comments, I started to run full-tilt at the many-armed creature. Its claws started to thrash the air in anticipation.


    The last words I heard were ¡°Comas are sleeping too, Daniel.¡± I¡¯m not sure which of the them brought it up.


    I slammed into the creature. It was less solid than I expected, but still plenty solid enough to hurt. With a grunt of effort, I tried to pull it back into my mind. It wrapped its many claws around me and began to drag me downward. ¡®Comas are sleeping too,¡¯ Rookie¡¯s voice¡­my voice¡­echoed back at me. ¡®You should have let me help you.¡¯

 Part 12

    Warden slipped through the fringes of Daniel¡¯s mindscape, taking care not to be noticed. It became significantly easier and more urgent when the blanket of sleep fell like a thick fog over the entire realm. That interloper had managed it, then. Warden had failed.


    Cautiously, he turned his awareness outward, feeling at the strands of Daniel¡¯s external senses. It had been difficult to do without being seen, up until this point. Yes, there it was. The creature, its fabric woven from the Lane by Daniel¡¯s unwitting will. But something was off. Daniel was not resisting it.


    There was a surge all around Warden. He nearly lost his footing, and with it his cover. Daniel¡¯s thoughts, heavy with sleep though they were, were wrapping into thick coils. Of course. But Daniel was untrained. He had barely managed to create Warden, and he had been entirely duped by the arrival of the interloper. The creature¡¯s weight would be too much. Sure enough, Daniel barely managed to set the net of thoughts over the creature before, one by one, his senses winked out. A constant thrum and rising and falling of Daniel¡¯s breath were all that remained.


    Cautiously, Warden approached one of the coils of the net. It was intact. It was still taut. Perhaps¡­he grabbed a coil and pulled on it experimentally. Yes, the metaphor had been snared. But it had not been captured, not fully. It had not been reintegrated into the mindscape.


    Well, the enemy of my enemy, thought Warden. He set his feet, such as they were, and pulled harder against the coil. There was a sudden pressure against the whole mindscape. This had better work, because Warden was sure to be caught either way. He heaved again, and one of the creature¡¯s arms slid into view above him. All around him, the smokey thoughts of sleep shivered. Daniel was reacting to this on some level as well.


    Warden reset his grip and heaved a third time. The creature, entangled completely in coils of will and thought, was yanked into Daniel Corners¡¯s mindscape. Its many limbs were thrashing ineffectually against the net.


    ¡°Been wondering where you¡¯ve been hiding,¡± said a voice that Warden recognized. It was Daniel¡¯s voice. It was his voice. He turned, letting go of the net. The creature was inside. That was what mattered. It had no more love for the interloper than Warden.


    A thought-form stood a short distance away. Its features, like Warden¡¯s, were a perfect match for Daniel. But its material was of another mind entirely. Warden wasn¡¯t yet sure whose mind, and he wasn¡¯t likely to find out now. He had fought the interloper when it had first arrived, and he had barely escaped intact.


    Warden did not answer the other thought-form. Instead, he lashed out, lunging at it with a furious kick. He enhanced his kick with all of Daniel¡¯s willpower, which was not a lot at the moment. The interloper dodged easily, and Warden¡¯s kick collided with a heavy cord of thought, nearly a pillar, instead. The interloper was on him then, wrapping him in strands of Daniel¡¯s own thought, mixed with something foreign. ¡°You are annoying me, construct. I think it¡¯s time you retired.¡± The strands tightened. Warden didn¡¯t need to breathe, but something like it, some essential part of him, was denied him. Desperately, he reached out, brushing his hand against the trunk-like pillar of thought. Into it he pushed his sense of purpose, manifested as a simple toy deputy¡¯s badge Daniel probably didn¡¯t even know he remembered getting as a child. The interloper must have assumed Warden was trying to escape, because the strands tightened on Warden, and he lost all his senses.


    Warden was shocked when those senses returned to him. He had been certain the interloper would destroy him. But then¡­of course. If Warden were destroyed, the fragments of him would return to Daniel. There was always a chance that Daniel would consciously regonize that his Warden had fallen and create a new one. Now that he was aware it was something he could do, the next Warden, Warden¡¯s successor, would be more powerful. More focused. The interloper couldn¡¯t risk that.


    So he had imprisoned Warden. Warden explored the confines of his new home, barely able to sense anything. Daniel¡¯s mind was locked away from him. The walls were smooth, rigid. Illusion, most likely. Warden tried attacking them, but to no success. The floor seemed to be made of Daniel¡¯s mindscape, which was good. Warden was not removed from Daniel entirely. But from within these walls of illusion, he could do nothing. Experimentally, he reached up. The ceiling was the same glassy illusion as the walls. Following it along to each wall, and each wall along to the next, Warden realized that the entire illusion was masterfully built as a single piece. Above it, he could just make out the shimmering fog of Daniel¡¯s thoughts. Daniel must have been awake, it was more active out there than it had been when Warden was captured. Good, that meant the creature had integrated correctly. It remained to be seen whether it would carry on Warden¡¯s duty, but he had hope.


    The interloper¡¯s voice grated against his ears. He turned to the nearest wall. The image of the interloper plastered itself across the illusion, shuddering and flickering with each step. ¡°You know, Warden. I think irony is the most appropriate end for thoughtforms like you and I. I was impressed with your efforts, I will admit it. Your creator built you with scarcely any power at all, but you had such moxie.


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    ¡°Of course, I have to keep you here for now. It shouldn¡¯t be forever. After all, Daniel¡¯s part in this will end once that box reaches its destination. Your prison, unattended, might fall apart in ten or twenty years of his life. My creator spent nearly five times that building it, you know.¡±


    The interloper¡¯s image turned away and flickered into nothingness. ¡°Incidentally, I have a name, now. Remind me when this is all over and I¡¯ll tell you what it is,¡± it said as it faded.


    Warden recuperated, settling into a pile of dust. He was trapped, then. No way to excise the tumors of illusion that hid beneath every fresh thought Daniel had. No was to patrol his idle inner monologue, keeping the metaphors from feeding on the energy of the Lane. But, the interloper had made no mention of the creature. Warden took that to be a good thing. If it had been captured too, Warden was certain the interloper would have delighted in taunting him about it. Probably, the creature had been left loose because its reintegration meant that Daniel had to face it every time he slept. Well, now so would the interloper. Because Warden had deputized the monster. And he was certain that Daniel had put more power into that being than he had into Warden.


    Smiling to himself, he picked a corner of his cell, and he got to work. After all, if the floors were Daniel¡¯s subconscious mindscape, that meant they were malleable, unlike the illusion. And with twenty years trapped in here ahead of him, he certainly had plenty of time.


    ______


    I awoke. That seemed like a good thing in and of itself; people who were in a coma, by definition, did not awake. Therefore, I was not in a coma. Cogito ergo est. I took a deep breath. It hurt. The sleep creature had been trying to crush me, I suddenly remembered. It had succeeded in dragging me into sleep, but as I flickered out, I¡­some part of me had pulled it back into my own mind. It was, for better or ill, a part of me now. My thought construct, not a free one wreaking havoc on the lane.


    My arms, legs, and ribs reported that I was lying on something soft. Definitely not hard cobbles. I opened my eyes. I was somewhat surprised to see wood paneling. Looking around, I took in my surroundings.


    The soft thing I was lying on turned out to be a day bed. My grandmother had owned one just like it. The wood paneling was the walls of a modestly sized room. A few knick-knacks decorated the top of a dresser opposite me, arranged neatly by size. Picture frames hung above the bed, but their images were too indistinct for me to make out. Still on the Lane, then.


    Carefully, I took another deep breath, focusing on the smells of the room and shutting out the creaking sensation from my ribs. This room did not seem to be one of Carver¡¯s rooms. A different House, then. Perhaps Wanda had taken me in after I collapsed? Despite the unfortunate scene around me, I felt embarrassed at the thought.


    Wait. Where were Maps and Boddy? I hadn¡¯t been the only one from Carver¡¯s House at that signpost. I hurriedly started to pull piles of blankets off of me, and slowed down only slightly when I saw Maps¡¯s backpack neatly tucked into a corner next to the bed. Next to it stood my own and Boddy¡¯s. Boddy had left his hunting rifle with the pack, but I didn¡¯t see any sign of his revolver or his sword-cane. I tried to decide if that meant someone had taken them or if Boddy had been free to carry them after his belongings arrived here.


    I finally pushed free of the blankets and moved to open the door. There was a long hallway on the other side. Shaking thoughts of endlessness from my mind, I walked to the end of it and found myself in what seemed to be a dining room. It wasn¡¯t a grand hall like the estate at Carver¡¯s, but neither was it a dinky little kitchen table like my own apartment. It was¡­modest but full. A display case on the opposite wall held plates and bowls that looked like something one would receive as a wedding gift from their great-aunt. Place settings were laid out on every seat of the table, but most of them had the stale look of a setting left to gather dust. More knick-knacks and portraits hung on the wall to my left, almost too many to see that the wall was painted a warm buttery yellow behind them. All of it, even the paint on the walls, gave me the sense of being old. Not old as in worn out, but old as in the sort of old that had been passed down and cared for by generations after generations. Antique.


    An elderly-looking woman was sitting at the table. To her right was Maps, and to his right was Boddy. Both wore their hob shape that day. To the woman¡¯s left was a manlike being I didn¡¯t recognize, but which I suspected was not human. A little way down the table, Wanda the naiad was seated, and I was about to avert my eyes when I noticed that she was actually wearing a dress. It was a dated style, like something a 1950¡¯s sitcom housewife would wear. Being a naiad, Wanda somehow managed to make it work. I checked down by her feet. Sure enough, a small stream of water was flowing through the room, Wanda¡¯s bare left foot dipped just barely into it.


    Everyone was staring at me. I realized that I had taken a few seconds to absorb the scene of the room, looking around wide-eyed like¡­well like a metaphor. I was learning my lesson. Either that or Rookie was back on duty, though his witty rhetoric was, at the moment, absent. Odd.


    Right, staring people. Doing the only thing I could think of, I raised one hand slightly in a wave. ¡°Umm¡­hello. You must be the Mistress of the House. My name is Daniel Corners, and I feel as though I should thank you for taking me in while I was unconscious. Might I ask where I am?¡±


    Boddy broke into a wide grin. It still had too many teeth, but it was too warm to be threatening. ¡°Didn¡¯t know if you¡¯d come back from it, Mister Daniel!¡± he crowed. ¡°May I introduce our illustrious hosts. Mister Daniel, meet Lady Liu Ai. She is House Mistress for the House of Inheritance. To her left is her Steward.¡±


    Numbly, I took Steward¡¯s extended hand. I noticed that he offered his left, but it fit neatly into my right. Lady Liu Ai daintily placed her hand in mine, and in a half-remembered gesture, I bent over it.


    ¡°Please, Daniel,¡± She said, her accent unplaceable. ¡°Sit next to your Mister Bodyguard. We were just discussing what assistance we might give your team. After all, we are allies, in the end, are we not?¡±


    ¡°I suppose we must be,¡± I responded, pulling out the chair next to Boddy and seating myself at the table.

 Part 13

    ¡°Now, I understand you have been hired by Mister Carver to deliver an item, is that correct?¡± Lady Liu opened.


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± I answered. ¡°I rather think he¡¯s expecting it to have arrived by now, though.¡±


    Maps cut in. ¡°We were able to contact him via telephone, actually.¡± Huh. I didn¡¯t think those would¡­work in the Lane. Maps continued, ¡°He sends his best wishes after your health and his understanding of our delay.¡±


    ¡°How long was I out, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Oh, not so long as you might think. Lady Liu, do you have the time?¡±


    Liu pulled an old-fashioned pocketwatch out of her vest. Like her table, like her whole house, it had an aura of long use by multiple owners. I supposed if this was the House of Inheritance, it would probably be exactly that. ¡°I have ten past four in the afternoon, Mister Maps.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s the day after we made camp at that post. You slept for¡­oh, sixteen, maybe seventeen hours, Mister Corners. Not even a whole day lost.¡±


    That assumed we were going to get on the trail again before this day let out. Something about the demeanor around the table made me question that. Still, only one day lost. One day late, shame on the Lane. Two days late, shame on us, eh? Oh good, Rookie was back from whatever recess of my mind he had been policing. Probably ineffectively. Mentally, I asked if he knew anything about the House of Inheritance.


    Just what you know, right now. It exists. You¡¯re in it. I haven¡¯t exactly had the chance to investigate. Remember, you refused to manifest me? Oh, that reminded me. I owed Rookie a thank you for helping me haul in that Sleep metaphor. Don¡¯t mention it. Rookie responded with a flash of gratitude.


    What about the irrealis around here? Can you get a feel for it? It¡¯s much the same as any other region of the Lane. There¡¯s a lot of¡­duty. Debts owed, debts paid. I¡¯d be careful about any agreements you make with Lady Liu or her household. But also a lot of familial affection. Some generosity. Hmm. Be careful about the agreements, but don¡¯t refuse them out of hand.


    I turned my attention away from Rookie, who seemed in my mind to be holding a length of cloth, like a tapestry. He continued his analysis, but noticing my absent attention, was silent for once.


    ¡°Lady Liu, I know you¡¯ve already been very generous to allow us to stay here, but if you wouldn¡¯t mind allowing us to stay another night, I think it would be safest to leave in the morning.¡±


    ¡°Of course. I had expected as much,¡± Lady Liu answered. Steward flagged in another member of the House staff, and whispered something to them behind one of his backwards hands. I made a mental note to ask him what his kin was later on. Rakshasa, Rookie provided idly, still distracted analyzing¡­I assumed the cloth was the construct stand-in for the fabric of irrealis around here. They¡¯re from India. They¡¯re free-willed, like hobs. Some are nice, some are mean, some are good, and some are evil. They represent the concept of magical beings coexisting with humans.


    Well, that answered that question. Lady Liu was answering another one at the same time. To my surprise, I was able to pay attention to both Rookie and Lady Liu simultaneously. Some trick of construction?


    ¡°Mister Corners, Misters Maphandler and Bodyguard, it would be my genuine pleasure to welcome you to guest with my House tonight. In return, I hoped I might ask a small favor of Mister Corners?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± I was startled. Perhaps, in retrospect, I shouldn¡¯t have been. After all, the circumstances of my arrival were rather exceptional. It made sense for her to assume I matched up to them. Maybe, in a way, I did. That was unsettling.


    ¡°Yes, Mister Corners. I had hoped I could impose upon you to build a small thought construct for me.¡±


    ¡°I¡­I¡¯m not certain. I mean, I haven¡¯t really tried it much. I only made the one by accident.¡±


    ¡°Two, actually,¡± Maps interrupted. ¡°The Sleep metaphor was the second. According to what you said yesterday before trying to integrate it, I believe you have created a purely internal one as well?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± I paused. How much had I already revealed about Rookie? ¡°I didn¡¯t know I was doing it at the time, but I made one to keep my mind free of outside influences. Thought police. Genuinely never imagined it would be quite so literal.¡±


    Lady Liu listened, watching each of us in turn with a severe gaze. I wasn¡¯t on the lane, so I felt safe comparing it to that of a hawk. Or perhaps some kind of wading bird. A heron? Why a heron? House Sigil. See? It¡¯s stamped on every plate. I looked down. Indeed a heron-like symbol was stamped in the center of each place setting. It seemed oddly familiar¡­


    ¡°You understand,¡± I concluded. ¡°Lady Liu. I would be happy to fulfill your request, but I worry that given my lack of practice in the skill, it might not turn out as well as you would hope. Might I delay until I have had some time to practice?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that would be agreeable.¡±


    Steward walked in (when had he left? I could have sworn he was just sitting at the table the whole time). He placed a small clay cup in front of each of us. Lady Liu raised hers. ¡°To your health, Mister Corners.¡±


    I returned the gesture. ¡°To the health of your House.¡± I answered. Rookie had provided the proper words for the ceremony.


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    ¡°Well, I shall ask Steward to prepare you a formal invitation so that you might return when you have practiced your rare skill a little bit more.¡±


    ¡°That would be very nice. Um¡­is there a way to get here directly from realis? Mister Carver had spoken of hiring me longer term, but if that doesn¡¯t manifest, I fear I might not have a way to reach the Lane.¡±


    ¡°White picket,¡± Lady Liu answered. Of course. Was every house on the Lane accessed through a different kind of fence? Surely not, there were infinite houses but finite fence varieties. It¡¯s complicated. Rookie provided, clarifying nothing whatsoever. ¡°But knock first, if you don¡¯t mind. Little Sister gets startled easily by visitors from realis.¡±


    ¡°I will. Thank you again, Lady Liu.¡±


    ¡°Steward has already asked Smallest Daughter to prepare you each a room. I think now I should go speak with Mother and Aunty about preparing some food. Daniel, if you have time this evening, I should like to speak with you some more.¡±


    ¡°I think I do,¡± I started. Maps and Boddy were both nodding. ¡°I should enjoy it. I¡¯m still new to the Lane; it would be nice to talk to another human about it for a while.¡± Lady Liu nodded and excused herself, Steward a half step behind her. ¡°Um¡­no offense to present company,¡± I added, belatedly.


    ¡°None taken,¡± responded both of the hobs automatically. Some taken, but what can you do? chimed in Rookie. I looked over at Wanda. She had been completely silent the whole conversation up until now, not even the scratch of her pencil on her journal breaking from her corner of the table. She didn¡¯t seem to have heard my original comment.


    ¡°Wanda, I should thank you too. Your knowledge of thought constructs may have saved my¡­well at least my life as I understand it.¡± Startled out of some sort of reverie, Wanda looked up to meet my gaze and answered, ¡°oh, don¡¯t mention it.¡± In a tiny voice that seemed completely out of place.


    ¡°Is everything alright?¡± I asked. ¡°You haven¡¯t tried to ask one question in the whole¡­¡± I cast about. A grandfather clock over the table told me it had been about thirty minutes since I awoke. ¡°Half hour I¡¯ve been here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± she gestured morosely at herself. ¡°Naiads aren¡¯t supposed to wear clothes. At least not¡­¡± another gesture at herself.  ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡±


    It¡¯s interfering with her sense of self-identity. Oh, that¡¯s tragic. Rookie, I swear if you don¡¯t put that violin away¡­


    I took a deep breath. ¡°Well, I know I was a little awkward about nudity, but you don¡¯t have to wear anything on my account, you know.¡± I would just give myself neck strain, trying desperately not to be a creep. You know, only a creep would even have to.


    ¡°It¡¯s not you.¡± Lady Liu. She seemed one to stand on propriety. ¡°Lady Liu offered me the garment as a gift.¡± Called it. ¡°I was left with no good option. Refusing would be unthinkable, but this¡­¡± She seemed genuinely pained at the thought of it.


    ¡°You said at least not¡­¡± I gestured vaguely at her whole length. ¡°Is there some sort of garment that would be agreeable?¡±


    Birthday suit? Rookie chuckled at his own joke.


    ¡°Traditional¡­togas. Robes. Umm¡­tunics? I think is the word you¡¯d use, at least.¡±


    I considered. I didn¡¯t own anything like that. Well, I might have a robe somewhere in a closet back in my apartment in realis, but certainly not on me.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    ---


    ¡°A¡­tunic?¡± Little Cousin was a cobble, which looked remarkably like a hob. Rookie claimed they were spirits of generosity. Or the conceptual reflection of them.


    ¡°Well, among other things. I want to give a gift to each of my friends that brought me here, and a fourth for the house itself. Only, I don¡¯t know how to make a tunic.¡±


    ¡°I can help with that, certainly. But I¡¯ll need fabric. I don¡¯t think Eldest Cousin would much appreciate it if I just¡­took some to make something new. In this house?¡±


    That did pose a problem. ¡°What about modifying something existing?¡± I asked.


    Little Cousin shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s more like what I do, but the house doesn¡¯t have anything suitable, and I couldn¡¯t offer it if we did.¡±


    ¡°Little Cousin, do you think you could get an item of my personal effects if I gave you permission?¡±


    Little Cousin brightened. ¡°Yes! That would be perfectly acceptable.¡±


    ¡°Alright. My address is¡­¡±


    ---


    Little Cousin worked faster than any tailor I¡¯d ever heard of. By dinnertime, she had somehow converted an old blue flannel bathrobe into an almost gown-like, if still plain, evening robe. I had her bring some other items from my storage unit while she was out. A compass I hadn¡¯t used since my dad died for Maps. A toy plastic boomerang for Boddy. For Lady Liu an old novelty mug from a family trip to Seaworld. I presented them with all the pomp I could muster, which wasn¡¯t a lot. It doesn¡¯t come up a lot in my line of work, believe it or not.


    ---


    You know, that was pretty clever, what you did there. Rookie suggested later. I was readying myself for bed. The gifts. Very symbolic. You understand the nature of this place better than you think.


    I didn¡¯t know about that. It had seemed the only way to help Wanda with her predicament that didn¡¯t offend anyone else by exclusion.


    Yes, but the fact that you care about offending everyone else. Clever. And choosing gifts as your form of help, it fits you to the House. Clever. Besides, you could easily have just done nothing.


    I considered that. I could have, couldn¡¯t I? Presumably Wanda¡¯s gift obligation would end eventually. If nothing else, she could proudly display the dress on a mannequin instead of herself and say she was getting the best use of it that she could. And I had already agreed to a future IOU with Lady Liu. Maps and Boddy didn¡¯t need their gifts if I didn¡¯t pass out the others.


    Still, it had seemed¡­appropriate. Perhaps Rookie was right. Maybe I was reflecting the environment. The only part I was uncertain of, is whether it was me blending in or me losing myself in the background noise. Rookie didn¡¯t answer. I didn¡¯t press him. I was afraid he might know.


    As I climbed under the covers, I remembered almost too late what sleep was like for me now. The monster, with its many claw-capped arms, thrashed to the surface of my thoughts and smothered me. I slipped into sleep with a sense of terror and confinement.

 Part 14

    I awoke the next morning in a panic. The events of the past two days suddenly rushed over me anew. I had nearly died. And I had done it in a place outside of normal reality! What would become of my friends and family if I just up and vanished without explanation one day?


    Why I had I even agreed to take this job? Carver had waved a lot of money under my nose and that was it? I took leave of my senses? I spent three weeks avoiding the Lane and all it represented until I had time to do this work?


    As my panic faded but my concern did not, I checked in with Rookie. Had he missed some illusion that was smoothing over my worries about Carver and House¡­I still didn¡¯t even know what House it was. Carver¡¯s House. Rookie was slow to answer. Turning my thoughts inward, I eventually found him hiding under an old memory of some ad from childhood. It was dusty but otherwise pristine. Must have been quite the earworm.


    Oh, is it time to get to work? Rookie asked from the safety of his hiding place. I cast about further in my thoughts and realized what he must have been hiding from. The Sleep had apparently not been content with making me immensely uncomfortable as I went to sleep, but had spent the whole night on a wanton rampage of my mindscape. No wonder I felt so frazzled this morning.


    I should probably do something about that. Like finding a tutor in the use of thought construction. Shouldn¡¯t be too hard. Rookie offered, clambering out and resuming his duties. A whole one in one-thousand odd people have the potential. Combine it with the number who know how to reach the irrealis¡­I got the idea. Still, it had to be worth a shot. It seemed like the irrealis would probably attract people with the ability, right?


    That train of thought (Choo choo! Rookie shouted, briefly turning into a train.) was interrupted by a knock at my door. One of Lady Liu¡¯s House staff entered. I didn¡¯t recognize him, but by his relative age I guessed he was probably one of the Cousins. He seemed to be a cobble, like Little Cousin, only he was taller than me.


    ¡°Mister Corners, your friends asked me to check after you. They wish to depart as soon as you feel fit for the task.¡±


    ¡°Oh, thank you, eh¡­¡±


    ¡°Call me Middle Cousin, if you like.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Middle Cousin. I should be ready in just a couple minutes. Where should I go to meet them?¡±


    ¡°The front hall is just past the dining room. If you see the stove, you¡¯ve gone the wrong way.¡± Middle Cousin offered a lopsided grin at his joke. I¡¯ll admit, at six in the morning after the day I had been through previously, I gave a full chuckle. Middle Cousin¡¯s grin widened at that. Cobbles, it turned out, had a much more reasonable number of teeth than hobs. I found that reassuring, though the long awl-like canine on their left side still gave me pause. ¡°I¡¯ll tell them,¡± he said, and with an overdramatic flourish, he bowed his way out of the room.


    I quickly changed out of my borrowed pajamas, dropping them in a hamper that seemed ready-placed for that express purpose. I added the pillowcase and sheets to the hamper as well, and stepped across the hall to quickly scrub my face and use the facilities. A part of me was frozen in acute fear of being accidentally impolite, but something about the House of Inheritance reminded me of visiting grandma¡¯s house when I was a kid. I averaged out at something resembling a normal house guest, and did my best not to make a mess that anyone would have to clean up after.


    The hallway and dining room had changed not at all since the night before, other than the addition of my Seaworld novelty mug displayed amongst the many knick-knacks on the yellow wall. I wasn¡¯t sure if that was a permanent placement or simply a gesture of good manners for my benefit. It was, in the end, just a ceramic whale you could drink coffee out of. I was more surprised at how well it seemed to fit in with the rest of the display. They¡¯re all realis. Rookie offered. Oh, that was it. Every object on that wall was steady and unchanging. Had I already started to get used to the subtle shifting of objects on the Lane? Well, your training did take a rather sharp upswing day before yesterday. You had to adapt fast or lose your mind. Rookie said. It was only slightly unsettling the way he talked about me like a separate person now. I supposed that was more evidence of what he was saying, though.


    The front hall was behind the first door I checked, so I did not get to see the stove that indicated I had taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Instead I saw Maps, Boddy, and Wanda all gathered on cushioned benches, their various bags packed and placed on the floor by the door. Maps saw me first and stood up, coming over to clap me on my¡­well he couldn¡¯t reach my shoulder, so he settled for my forearm. On the other side, Boddy managed my upper arm. Wanda didn¡¯t approach, but I noticed she was wearing the robe I had gifted her the night before. She was also smiling ear to ear. I smiled back, but said nothing.


    ¡°We weren¡¯t sure if you¡¯d be up for an early start,¡± Boddy was saying, strapping on his own bag. And his rifle. And the holster for his revolver. And his sword cane. Well, he still had all of his weapons, at least. With a start, I noticed he had the plastic boomerang slipped into a loop on the side of his pack, in easy reach. Surely he wasn¡¯t expecting to use that as a weapon.


    ¡°Well, I think after sleeping with that¡­creature in my head, I have plenty of adrenaline to give me a jump on it,¡± I answered. I had been carrying my own pack carelessly over one shoulder, and seeing Maps and Boddy making their preparations, took a moment to more precisely strap it down. Wanda¡¯s messenger bag couldn¡¯t really be better secured, but she checked all the buckles anyway. ¡°Are you joining us, Miss Wanda?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Would that be alright?¡± she asked, turning first to me and then towards the two hobs that were my guide and my guard. ¡°I really am curious to find out what happens when a thought constructor goes running around on the Lane.¡±


    ¡°Nothing, I hope,¡± I said aloud, then clicked my teeth together. I hadn¡¯t meant to speak, just to think. Trying to separate my dialogue with Rookie from my conversations with real people--or irreal people, as the case may be--was apparently taking a toll on my verbal filter.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind if you jog along with us,¡± Maps answered. ¡°I think you¡¯ve earned enough trust that we can at least expect you not to attack us. But when we reach our destination, no questions. I mean it. No answers, either. You let Mister Corners deliver what he was hired to deliver, and you do not interfere with the business of our House.¡±


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    ¡°So I can ask questions before that point?¡± Wanda clarified, putting on a tone of such pure innocence that I assumed it had to be mockery.


    ¡°Not about the delivery or our House or our House¡¯s business,¡± Maps said flatly. ¡°I know you have to represent your own House and investigate everything, and that¡¯s fine right up until those topics.¡±


    ¡°What about after the delivery is done?¡±


    ¡°After the delivery is done, I still won¡¯t be answering questions, but I won¡¯t stop you from asking them. Is that agreeable?¡±


    ¡°Asking¡¯s the important part anyway. I agree to those terms. So I can come with?¡±


    ¡°On those terms, it¡¯s okay with me,¡± Maps said. He turned to Boddy, who did something that was half shrug, half nod. He turned to me.


    ¡°Fine with me. Just¡­do you mind keeping the robe on while I¡¯m around? I grew up in a culture with a nudity taboo.¡± Prude. Rookie mocked. Maps and Boddy chuckled.


    ¡°Deal.¡± There was a certain finality to the whole conversation. Lady Liu came to see us off, attended by Middle Cousin. He nodded when he saw me. I nodded back. Yes, I had managed not to get lost at the stove.


    I got a brief look at Lady Liu¡¯s front yard as we moved down the path to the Lane. It was an astonishingly varied statuary. Everything from animals to garden gnomes to grecian pillars was scattered about the yard. I tried to count the bird baths and gave up at fifty. All of them were full. So far as I could tell, there were no birds here, or in any of the other Houses I had walked past, or in the Lane itself. Inheritance, I decided, could really build up over time.


    ¡°Do you think the yard expands itself every time Lady Liu inherits another statue?¡± Wanda mused aloud, scratching at a notebook without looking up.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± Boddy asked. ¡°Maybe she just gets rid of her least favorite statue instead.¡±


    ¡°It might. You know how there¡¯s a correlation between the power of a House and its borders?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Yes. Maps and Rookie answered simultaneously.


    ¡°Well, if her yard expands each time she inherits, does that mean her House is gaining power? Or does her House gaining power mean that she inherits another statue?¡±


    ¡°Probably a little of both,¡± I volunteered. Maps stopped in front of the gate and turned his head towards me, one ear cocked in what I was coming to realize was a sign of interest in hobs. ¡°Well, it¡¯s just a guess because nobody will properly explain this whole,¡± I gestured all around, ¡°To me, but it seems like everything that has form here is given it by a lot of humans thinking more-or-less the same thing about it? So the House of Inheritance is a sort of¡­ruling body over the collective perception of Inheritance, right?¡±


    ¡°Not quite,¡± Wanda said, ¡°But finish your thought first, I want to hear it.¡±


    Maps kept one ear tilted towards me as he pushed open the gate. Boddy, for his part, seemed bored. I guess the properties of metaconceptual (Is that even a word?) space didn¡¯t interest him. I supposed it would be the equivalent of me being uninterested when aliens talked about rocks. Other than the existence of aliens, it was still a conversation about rocks.


    ¡°Well, it seems like the¡­¡± I wracked my brain, trying to dredge up my whopping three weeks of philosophical self-tutoring. ¡°Like the causal relationship wouldn¡¯t be necessarily one-way.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s essentially accurate,¡± Maps said. ¡°Humans usually get it wrong at first. They think the House is the concept. Or else they think the concept is the House. Or they completely fail to see how this is anything other than a bunch of us making fun of them.¡±


    ¡°Mostly that third one,¡± Boddy grunted. He took the lead again, and set a pace that was not quite a jog. Or at least it was not quite a jog for me or Wanda. For Maps and Boddy it was basically a brisk trot.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I continued. ¡°But it can be both. All at once. If collective perception about a House¡¯s driving concept changes out there, it changes the nature of the House in here. But the actions of the House itself can also change the perceptions of people in realis. So the statue can be both a reflection of growing power and a way to grow power at the same time.¡±


    ¡°Very clever, Mister Corners.¡± Wanda said. She hadn¡¯t looked up from her notebook, even as Boddy picked up the pace until even she and I, with our taller frames, had to jog to match it. ¡°Yes, I could see that.¡±


    ¡°I thought that anyone native to irrealis was also intrinsically aware of its nature?¡± Hadn¡¯t Carver said something to that effect the first time I had met him at the House? No, at the McDonalds.


    ¡°Yes, but I didn¡¯t know what you thought about it until now. Still learned something, you see?¡± She looked up very briefly to wink at me, then returned to writing, apparently unbothered by the continuous motion of the four of us at a jog.


    For the next hour, Wanda interviewed me about what my interpretations of the Lane were. As she did, I found I finally had time to ask some rather key questions about the nature of irrealis space and the Houses. It turned out that though each House was tied to a concept, it was not absolute or clearly defined as much as I had assumed. In retrospect, it made sense. Humans couldn¡¯t even agree on what constituted a fruit versus a vegetable sometimes.


    Before I had a chance to learn how the Lane reconciled those differences, Maps announced that we had arrived at the difficult part of our journey for the day. I checked my watch. It was a little past noon. How had I been jogging for nearly six hours without fatigue? Rookie had an answer. Fatigue is a physical response. Remember, this place doesn¡¯t technically exist. You¡¯ll only be as tired and hungry as you imagine yourself to be. And I had been so focused on finally getting some answers that I had forgotten to be tired. Basically, Rookie admitted, though he somehow managed to add a sound that translated directly to my brain as him nudging my ribs with his elbow. That was a neat trick.


    The difficult part of our journey turned out to be an alleyway. I had not seen any alleyways on the Lane up to now. At this point, I hadn¡¯t expected it to be anything other than an endless cobbled path that was somehow simultaneously perfectly straight and winding at the same time.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Wanda said when she glanced up from her notebook long enough to see where we were. ¡°I can¡¯t believe that you have business down there. It was nice meeting you, Daniel Corners. If you¡¯re still you later, drop by the House of Curiosity sometime so we can finish our interview.¡±


    With that, Wanda tucked her journal into her messenger bag and walked back the way we had come.


    ¡°So I take it this is not a friendly place?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It is not,¡± Boddy agreed. ¡°Hatchet out. And put that policeman of yours on double shifts. Try not to make any new thought constructs.¡±


    I swallowed, but did as he instructed me. Rookie didn¡¯t even make a snide comment about forming a union. He clearly understood something about this place that I did not. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s one of the Alleys.¡±


    ¡°I can see that. What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Disordered human thought forms Houses outside of the Lane. The Alleys tend to be a little less¡­stable as a result.¡±


    ¡°And my delivery is on one of those?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so,¡± Maps said. If we move fast and Daniel keeps his thoughts under control, we won¡¯t bring any harm on ourselves. Unfortunately, wild constructs tend to congregate in places like this. Those, we cannot predict. Are you ready, Daniel?¡±


    ¡°Not likely to ever be ready.¡±


    ¡°Gonna have to do,¡± Boddy interrupted. ¡°Because I hear something behind that hedge fence there and we want to be out of sight before it gets through. GO!¡±


    Boddy broke into a dead sprint down the Alley. Maps followed a pace behind him, and I hurried to catch up.

 Part 15

    I got to learn what it was in the hedge, or at least what the thing in the hedge looked like. An immensely long snake, is what it looked like. I had scarcely passed the spot Boddy had pointed out when the wild construct rolled out of the hedge. Not like a sidewinder does in nature documentaries. Along its whole length, like a length of pipe set on a slope.


    There was a sharp clang from nearby. Rookie! I managed to think at my self-policing thought construct. What the hell was he doing?


    Just keep moving. Rookie answered. He sounded strained. And uh¡­don¡¯t let that snake touch you.


    Wasn¡¯t planning on it. With a brief bit of energy I redoubled my pace, until I nearly overtook Boddy. The snake, or whatever it was, was not fast in a straight line. We started to outpace it. As we ran, I realized that what I had thought were gaps in the alley wall were in fact doors. Tiny, misshapen, but absolutely gates, every one of them. Each was decorated with a House Crest, now that I knew what to look for. I tried to commit some to memory so I could ask about them later.


    I lost my footing suddenly as the Alley went from rough cobbles to¡­water? I seemed to be running on the surface of a fast river. Boddy and Maps were slowed by the unusual construct as well, though they didn¡¯t seem surprised. Fortunately, my feet didn¡¯t sink in---


    I should have known better. No sooner had the thought occurred to me than my next step sank into the river, tripping me into its rapid current. No wonder Rookie seemed strained. He was pulling double duty keeping me from reacting to the constructs in the Alley in addition to avoiding creating new ones. Boddy saw me as I was carried past him and managed to snag one of my wrists before I was too far away. Planting his feet, and with the help of Maps, they hauled me back to my feet. I allowed myself two deep breaths, and then nodded. Maps started into motion first. Boddy gestured for me to go in the middle so he could guard the back.


    I don¡¯t know how long I was in that Alley, in the end. I was attacked by constructs taking the shape of three lizards, the negatives from a roll of film, every verse of the Twelve Days of Christmas (including duplicates for each item based on how many times it was sung, meaning there were in fact twelve partridges in pear trees), and a grandfather clock. I lost my hatchet after the second lizard. My survival knife I kept until maids-a-milkin¡¯. Boddy emptied his revolver, and his quick loader.


    In between and all around us and the wild constructs, the Alley did everything except continue straight ahead. It was as if it was constantly trying to be the opposite of everything the Lane was. The road changed from river, to the color blue (every time I try to mentally recall what that was like I get a headache. But I know it was the color blue), to sand. At one point, the road was a plastic sheet above us. I could see our footprints indenting the sheet.


    In all, I would not recommend it. To anyone. It was a horrible experience and I still get vertigo every time I think about my first time in the Alley. After¡­all of that, and presumably before more of similar could happen, Maps hauled open one of the twisted doors. I got a brief glimpse of a House crest as Boddy and I dove through.


    I landed heavily, on what my brain told me was my elbow. It hurt. That was reassuring, in a way. All of the senses and physics were behaving in the way I expected them to. Boddy was a couple feet away. I took in our surroundings. We were sitting on¡­honestly it was a lawn that was set out to compete with Carver¡¯s. I was bemused to see that the gardens were filled not with ordinary flowers, but with gemstones apparently in the shape of flowers. A topiary near the¡­compass directions were meaningless here, so the side of the main building that was currently on my right¡­seemed to be gilded.


    I turned back to the gate, which Maps had closed behind us. The Alley waited serenely on the other side, having shed all signs of its hellish chaos. Rookie expressed a conspicuously loud sigh of relief. I¡¯m going to go take a nap. Apparently, thought constructs take naps. Who knew?


    I examined the crest, stamped into the elaborate brassy gates. It looked familiar to me, somehow. Three overlapping circles formed a vertical row. Crossed through each of them was a sword, alternating directions. Where had I seen that before?


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    ¡°Well, we¡¯re here!¡± Maps said, oddly cheerful.


    ¡°Umm¡­Maps. Do we have to go back down the Alley after this?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Probably. You should have kept a better grip on your weapons.¡±


    ¡°The¡­nature of the Alley was not in any of the documents Carver showed me!¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± Boddy cut in. ¡°I remember Driver suggesting he leave out some key details. Like the actual possibility of a threat on your life.¡±


    ¡°YOU DON¡¯T SAY!¡± I exploded. Then I swore. For good measure, I swore a second time. The third time I added a kick to the frame around the gate. That raised something in the Alley and I reconsidered swearing a fourth time. I did it anyway, but quietly.


    Okay. I still had copies of what documentation Carver had given me about my delivery. I moved a little distance away from the hobs for privacy and rummaged in my bag until I produced the folder containing my copies of everything Archie had drafted for me. Too late, I realized that I was very lucky. Carver had warned me about talking about the item during transportation, but I hadn¡¯t considered whether written language constituted a breach of the same¡­I don¡¯t even know. Code of the Lane?


    The delivery instructions said I was to wait near the House gate after arrival, and a¡­huh. A leprechaun would be sent to recover the box. I was not to open the box until the leprechaun had it in his hands, and then I would leave with my escort at earliest convenience.


    I looked up towards the house. More of a palace, really, if a rather tastelessly ostentatious one. Nobody had yet emerged to meet us. I chalked it up to us being late. Turning over the delivery instructions, I found the second page in the folder. The one that I should probably have not carried. It described the chain, down to recreations of each of the symbols that had been carved into the hoop and the one in the handle.


    That was where I had seen the crest for this House before. It was the symbol carved into the handle of the object I was delivering. I tried to recall any other House crests I had tried to memorize. My recall isn¡¯t exceptional even under normal, static conditions. None of these symbols were a match for anything I could dredge up. One of them might have been Lady Liu¡¯s Heron, torn apart into its barest lines. If you squinted and were willing to fill in missing details based on no evidence. I tucked that mystery away for the moment, using a small charcoal pencil I didn¡¯t remember packing and an equally small little notebook I also didn¡¯t remember packing to copy down each of the symbols, other than the one for the House we were currently at.


    ¡°Mister Carver said someone would meet us here. I guess we should try to get comfortable for the moment?¡± I announced, tucking the folder away in my pack and drawing out the wooden box containing the delivery.


    The hobs both nodded, and we made ourselves a nice little picnic camp just inside the House¡¯s gate. I drew out some of Cookie¡¯s food and munched, and considered. ¡°Does every House have a crest?¡± I asked, almost-but-not-quite remembering to cover my mouth. I was hungry. I shouldn¡¯t have been, because hunger was a physical response, but apparently I was. Stupid mental trickery. I felt tired too, because now I was thinking about how I should. Right. Rookie was napping. I¡¯d have to police my own thoughts until he awoke.


    Maps and Boddy exchanged a look that suggested I had flunked out of kindergarten, then Maps answered. ¡°At the very least, any House that¡¯s stable enough to need the services of a Master. Some, but not all, of the ephemeral ones have a crest as well.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t I notice it until we were at Lady Liu¡¯s? It seems like it¡¯s stamped on every gate but I can¡¯t even remember what Mister Carver¡¯s crest looks like?¡±


    ¡°I would hazard to guess,¡± Maps said, sitting up straight and looking down his nose at me. ¡°That you are just a uniquely unobservant individual.¡± I swear I saw a monocle for half a second. After the Alley, I just accepted it. Him having a monocle but only when he wanted to be pompous was honestly pretty on brand for this whole place.


    ¡°Humans sometimes don¡¯t realize what they¡¯re seeing when they see it,¡± Boddy offered. ¡°I felt like that the first few times Master Carver asked me to accompany him to realis. That world is so¡­¡± he waved his hands in a vaguely ball-shaped motion. ¡°Ugh,¡± he concluded. I considered that to be perfectly adequate. At that particular moment, I would have described irrealis pretty much the same way.


    ¡°Okay. How many crests do you guys recognize?¡±


    ¡°All of ¡®em,¡± both hobs answered over each other. After a brief bit of verbal shoving, Maps was chosen to continue the explanation. ¡°We can identify any crest or reasonably allowable substitute for a crest on sight. It¡¯s part of our nature as fragments of this place.¡±


    ¡°How many do you know?¡± I asked, recognizing the distinction between what I thought I had asked previously and what I had meant to ask.


    ¡°Just a few. Our House and several allied Houses, as well as a couple of potent rivals. Archie knows many more than I do. Sterns too, believe it or not.¡±


    I nodded, then began to tear the little pages from my notebook one by one. I passed each of the hobs a pencil and half of my stack. ¡°Can you tell me what Houses these crests belong to?¡±

 Part 16

    Boddy passed the top page of his stack back without writing on it. ¡°This is our crest. Pretty minimalist in style, but I remember Master Carver went through that phase about a century back. You probably saw one of the artworks he commissioned from that era.¡±


    I waited. It took about thirty seconds for them to label each symbol in the stack and hand it back. All in all, there had been nine symbols on the hoop part of the item. I didn¡¯t say anything, though both hobs turned one ear in my direction. Okay, the first one had been Carver¡¯s House. I flipped through to the one that might have been Lady Liu¡¯s heron. Yep, I had guessed correctly on that one. I went back and read the others. Honor, Dignity, Authority, Respect, Beauty, Fortune, Happiness. Lady Liu was the Mistress of Inheritance.


    ¡°You know,¡± I said to Maps and Boddy suddenly, ¡°I never thought to ask. What is Carver¡¯s House?¡±


    Maps seemed startled. Boddy just looked confused. ¡°Community,¡± he answered. Maps shoved him slightly. Were they not supposed to tell me? Why? ¡°Thought he knew already,¡± Boddy defended. ¡°We weren¡¯t answering Wanderer of Curiosity, but Mister Daniel should have already known before we ever left the grounds!


    ¡°Wait--I saw the contract that Archie wrote up for you. It specifically mentioned that Mister Carver ran the House of Community. Daniel? Didn¡¯t you read your contract?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember that. I mean, I read the whole contract, but I don¡¯t remember every detail. It must have seemed unimportant to me at the time.¡± But why? Knowing who I worked for would normally be one of my topmost concerns. Beyond that, I would have been a lot happier knowing I was working for the House of Community instead of like¡­Cruelty or¡­


    ¡°Every House is a concept, right? Or a--¡± I tried to remember the exact wording Wanda had used when explaining it to me. ¡±--a resonance peak in the collective perception with regards to that concept?¡±


    I got the ¡®flunked kindergarten¡¯ look again, which I took to mean I had been correct.


    ¡°You said that Houses on the Alley were disordered. Disordered in what way?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain,¡± Maps said, ¡°At least, to humans. It isn¡¯t like Lane Houses are ¡®good¡¯ and Alley Houses are ¡®bad¡¯. Anger, for example. Most humans would say that Anger is a negative trait. Especially in these modern times. Yes?¡±


    I considered it. Yeah, most people would argue that anger was a bad thing. Not all, though. It probably had a complicated ¡®resonance peak¡¯. ¡°Sure, I guess.¡±


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    ¡°Yet Anger is on the Lane. On the other hand, Self-Sacrifice is on the Alley, though most would consider it a benign trait. It has to do with¡­extremes, I guess. Most Alley Houses are¡­extreme reflections of one or more Lane Houses.¡±


    ¡°Okay I think I can understand that, more or less. What is this House, then?¡± I gestured all around us.


    ¡°Ostentation,¡± Boddy answered. Again Maps gave him a nudge. Did Maps not want me to know about the irrealis? Why? I felt a stirring in my brain, like Rookie was about to wake up from his nap.


    ¡°Which warps what Lane House?¡±


    Maps stopped Boddy from answering with a hand on his shoulder and a whisper in his ear. Boddy just looked confused. ¡°Why?¡± he asked. ¡°Later.¡± Maps explained.


    I leaned my back against the wall. It was ostentatious, that was for sure. But why would the duties of Community lead to delivering this particular item to Ostentation? What had Carver said about it? That it was a symbolic duty? So Community owed something to Ostentation? Like¡­maybe Ostentation was disordered but it somehow promoted those witnessing it to work together? That almost tracked. History and stories were full of monarchs and peasant revolts instigated by the same thing.


    But¡­no. The symbolism would include the nature of the delivery and what was being delivered to. And all those other crests¡­they would be involved somehow¡­


    The thought clicked in my mind. At the same time, I realized that it had done so before. I felt shards of illusion covering the spot.


    Also at the same time, I heard a very different click from my right. The click from my right sounded like the click of someone racking a shotgun. I looked up from my reverie to see that Maps had Boddy¡¯s revolver trained on Boddy, who was glaring up at him from a seated position, hands on the back of his head. I looked to my right to see¡­myself. Holding a shotgun. I was dressed in my usual delivery uniform. A moment later, I noticed that the name tag read ¡°Rookie¡±, instead of ¡°Daniel¡±.


    What? I hadn¡¯t manifested Rookie? I turned my thoughts inward. Rookie was nowhere.


    ¡°Looking for me? I¡¯m not in there anymore.¡± Rookie said. I don¡¯t know why, but it was significantly creepier to hear him speak from outside my brain than inside it. ¡°I¡¯ll miss it, though. You have a nice mindscape. Cushy.¡± Rookie waved his shotgun towards Boddy. I moved silently to join him.


    ¡°Now. My friend Maps here is going to go up to the House and bring back the idiot who was supposed to receive this delivery. You, Daniel, are going to give him that delivery. Then, Maps and I are going to leave. You and Boddy can do whatever you like. Though I plan to take your weapons, so¡­might I suggest requesting asylum here so you don¡¯t have to cross the Alley again? I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll only charge you¡­oh¡­a few trillion dollars¡¯ worth of labor. You¡¯ll be done inside the millennium! If you don¡¯t sleep.¡±

 Part 17

    Okay, so even by the standards of the Lane, getting held at gunpoint by your own imagination is pretty wild. I did not expect that.


    I also realized that I could not allow it. And I was lucky, after a fashion. I was the only realis person present. Nobody else could make this delivery and have it stick. If Rookie shot me, it would be just as bad for their plans as if I had never agreed to do the delivery at all. They¡¯d have to find a new human to be their patsy.


    So I took a risk. I hurled myself at Maps, hitting him with all my weight. We tumbled to the ground. Hobs are stronger than they look, but not enough to make up for over a foot of height difference. Once I had my hands on his revolver--no, Boddy¡¯s revolver--I shoved him roughly away to tumble onto his back a few feet from me.


    So far, so good. Rookie hadn¡¯t shot at me. I had guessed correctly. Unfortunately, he was bringing the barrel of his shotgun about to target Boddy, who had no such protections. Well, I had a gun now, too. I leveled it at Rookie and squeezed the trigger. The old revolver had a lot of kick, and I nearly dropped it as my palms started stinging and my elbow absorbed the shock, poorly. I missed, but I did distract Rookie long enough for Boddy to rise to his feet. He crashed into Rookie with a shoulder-check, delivering precise attacks against both of Rookie¡¯s hands to make him drop the shotgun.


    At this point I realized I hadn¡¯t planned this far ahead. Improvising, I sprinted at the gate, fixing my mind on realis. ¡°Boddy, c¡¯mon!¡±


    Boddy broke out of his fight his tussle with a knee to¡­well let¡¯s just say it was very effective. He was half a step behind me as I reached the gate and flung it open to reveal a row of carefully-planted palm trees, and we dove through, slamming the gate closed behind us.


    I¡¯m not sure precisely where we ended up. The houses (lower-case h) on this street were all mansions, though. I guess that tracked. People who spent their wealth in excess would have the gate that matched Opulence. Reaching into my pocket, I found my phone. The battery was dead, but if we could get to a convenience store I could recharge it.


    I tried to take stock of my surroundings. This seemed to be a private neighborhood. I saw a set of car-sized gates a little ways down the street in one direction. The other direction branched off, presumably to other streets in the neighborhood. The skyline was mostly occupied by a big hill; the neighborhood must have been built in a small valley. Probably, I realized, so that the residents wouldn¡¯t have to look at a city skyline. That seemed right.


    I took stock of what I had managed to be carrying at the time I jumped through the gate. My larger pack, of course, had been sitting on the ground when the fight broke out. That meant the food, water, and first aid supplies were unavailable. Well, I didn¡¯t think we¡¯d be in critical condition without those for a while. I still had Boddy¡¯s revolver, though it now occurred to me that owning it was probably not legal wherever I had landed. Let alone carrying it, loaded. ¡°Uh, Boddy, you should probably take this back. For one thing, you know how to use it.¡±


    I looked around for Boddy then nearly threw my phone against a wall when a single sleek-looking bee landed on my shoulder. When I realized what it was, I froze, hoping not to startle it. I nearly threw my phone again when the bee spoke, in Boddy¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Just pass it up here and don¡¯t think about it too hard,¡± the bee said. Right, hobs could take more than human form. I guess Boddy had decided to disguise himself as a bee. I passed the bee the revolver. I managed to not think too hard about how a bee was carrying it.


    ¡°The gate,¡± Boddy mused, turning slowly on my shoulder, ¡°Was a good idea. They can¡¯t know where we came out on this side. Well, Maphandler might if he was in his role as Porter, but he¡¯s not, so they don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Still, we don¡¯t know how much that construct knows,¡± I muttered out of the corner of my mouth. ¡°We should get away from this gate fast.


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    ¡°Yeah,¡± Boddy agreed.


    I started to walk towards what I hoped was the neighborhood exit. ¡°Can you fly over and see if you can find out where we are?¡± I asked as I set out.


    ¡°Bees don¡¯t see so well far off,¡± he explained. ¡°If you needed to track down some flowers, maybe.¡±


    Okay, so on foot it was. My human sized feet, that is. Boddy¡¯s bee-sized feet wouldn¡¯t be getting quite as much of a workout. I was lucky, the exit was the sort that¡¯s all too happy to let guests out while preventing them from getting in. There was a little push button a ways back from the gate that made it swing outward. I was also lucky in that none of the residents seemed to be present at the moment. Probably out  playing golf on company time, I imagined.


    ¡°Say, Mister Daniel,¡± the bee prompted as I picked a direction at random that seemed like it would lead up out of the valley. Other gated communities were visible every half mile or so along my path. There were a few cars here, but for the most part they just ignored one pedestrian walking on the grass. I was outside the wall, what harm could I be?


    ¡°Yeah, Boddy?¡±


    ¡°Why did you manifest a construct that tried to kill you?¡±


    ¡°Dunno, Boddy. I think it has something to do with this.¡± I tapped the flat wooden box that held the item for delivery. It had a simple leather strap that let me carry it slung over my shoulder and back. ¡°Why¡¯d Maps turn on us?¡±


    ¡°That one is a puzzler for me. I¡¯ve been on the staff a bit longer than he has and as far as I can recall, he¡¯s never even handled a firearm. Why would he need to? And I can¡¯t imagine he¡¯d turn against Master Carver willingly. Maybe one of the other Houses got to his family or something?¡±


    ¡°Or Master Carver told him to it. Did you have any sort of special orders for this trip? Orders I wasn¡¯t supposed to hear about?¡±


    ¡°Not a one,¡± Boddy answered. ¡°But then, I took over last minute from one of the other Bodyguards.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± I hadn¡¯t heard about that. Why would Carver allow that? If he had meant to send a different Boddy, why hadn¡¯t Maps been suspicious of the one that came?


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Boddy continued. ¡°There were some trespassers the night before we left. We all thought it was just¡­inflitration. It happens, sometimes, with the House. The two of us were there, off duty, having a nice smoke, and suddenly three, maybe four hobs come over the walls. We go out to confront them and Boddy--the other Boddy--takes a knife in the leg. He was okay, but I took him to Doc to get stitched up and get some rest. Told him I¡¯d see to the House¡¯s duties. Reported for the trip that morning.¡±


    That¡­that didn¡¯t seem like it was a coincidence. ¡°Boddy, did you tell Mister Carver you were filling in for the other Boddy?¡±


    ¡°I left a note with Doc to give to him. I didn¡¯t want to wake him as early as we had to set out.¡±


    ¡°What about Maps?¡±


    I rounded a corner. As I had hoped, this direction went towards the city. At the very top of the slope of this block I could just see skyscrapers peeking over the hill.


    Boddy buzzed once or twice from my shoulder. I shivered but didn¡¯t comment. ¡°I imagine he noticed that I wasn¡¯t the other Boddy, yeah.¡±


    ¡°But would he have known which Boddy was supposed to come with him? I mean, you knew he was supposed to be coming, I assume from the Boddy who got stabbed. So he must have known.¡± Wait, he had known. That¡¯s why he pulled the gun on Boddy even though Boddy hadn¡¯t done anything. ¡°Boddy, I think Maps and the other Boddy were both supposed to force me to make that delivery. But I got very, very lucky and the Boddy that was supposed to take Maps¡¯s side got stabbed. So you were there instead.¡±


    ¡°What? That¡¯s crazy. You think Maps and Boddy were gonna turn against the House?¡±


    ¡°No. I think the House, or more specifically, Mister Carver, is¡­subverting the House¡¯s resources. Maps was working for the House the whole time, just¡­not towards the same goals as you or the other staff. The other Boddy, too, probably.¡± I thought about it for a minute. ¡°And Archie¡¯d have to be in on it, too.¡±


    I crested the hill and saw a city at the bottom, though this particular suburb was a good distance from the city proper. Fortunately, like all good suburbs catering to rich people, it had a corner market at the bottom of the hill. Just out of sight of everyones¡¯ balconies. Naturally.


    I set my feet towards the market.


    ¡°You should probably see what it is that I was delivering,¡± I concluded. ¡°But first I need to find a phone charger.

 Part 18

    Thirty minutes later, I was sitting at a little table in the corner of the convenience store, phone plugged into a wall outlet, pre-packaged sandwich in one hand, as I tried to explain the situation to Boddy without looking like a crazy person talking to a bee. I accomplished this mainly by hooking my ear buds up to my phone and pretending I was on a call.


    Yes, I suggested that Boddy might want to take human guise for a while so we could talk about what was going on. He didn¡¯t go for it. Apparently, being a bee is pretty cool.


    I had just gotten to the part of my story where I described the object itself.


    ¡°A¡­chain with a hoop?¡± Boddy confirmed. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. What¡¯s the point of the chain with the hoop.¡±


    ¡°I thought beings of irrealis were innately aware of symbolism?¡±


    ¡°Not outside symbolism. This is something¡­artificial. Human-made, or at least human-engineered.¡±


    ¡°Technically, isn¡¯t that true for your whole realm?¡±


    The bee on my shoulder (and yes, that had been commented on by the clerk. I assured him it was under control) buzzed irritatedly. ¡°Yes, but in an organic fashion. We can grasp the nature of the realm itself. We can grasp the purpose of the different Houses and various traits thereof. But a deliberate creation like this? Only its creator has innate understanding of it. If even them.¡±


    ¡°Well, Carver told me it was ¡®symbolic¡¯. I realized when we got to Opulence and saw the crest there that the symbolism was doubled. First, the symbolism of the object itself, and second, the symbolism of how it was delivered. He may have needed a realis body. I assume that part was true or you and everyone else on the staff not part of his plan would have been really suspicious.¡±


    ¡°Sure. He can¡¯t send formal symbols by irrealis courier.¡±


    ¡°Right, that¡¯s what he told me. But the real neat trick here is how he got me to agree to the delivery.¡±


    ¡°By¡­hiring you?¡±


    ¡°By hiring me for an impossibly overwrought amount of money.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    I figured it was probably as safe here in realis as anywhere. I finally flipped open the case so Boddy could get a good look at the item inside. ¡°The chain is the other part of the symbolism. Chains are pretty good metaphors for different things, in human culture. Out here in realis, metaphors are almost fun. At least, they don¡¯t rear up and attack people.¡±


    That earned me a back-and-forth shuffle from the bee, but no comment. By context I guessed it meant something relevant, but I don¡¯t understand bee body language well enough to say what that was.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± I continued, ¡°One thing a chain can symbolize is servitude. Prisoners wear them. You can put one on a dog to control it. In the military, they talk about the ¡°chain of command¡±, where each link is a person so you can always point to a group of people and say which one is in charge.


    ¡°Another symbol the chain can stand for is unity. We have sayings like ¡®a chain is only as strong as its weakest link¡¯, we make human chains to stand united, stuff like that. The chain is a greater whole made up of smaller pieces.


    ¡°There are probably others. I think there¡¯s something about chains being used for continuousness, something like that. But I think the relevant one here is--¡±


    ¡°The first one.¡± Boddy buzzed. He was crawling on the chain, examining the different characteristics of it. ¡°But¡­not with Community at the top.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed. ¡°There¡¯s a pretty clear ¡®owner¡¯ and ¡®servant¡¯ end to this particular chain. And they¡¯re labeled.¡±


    ¡°So Mister Carver was¡­was giving away the House to serve as vassals of an Alley House?¡±


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    ¡°Not just Community, either. I don¡¯t even know if he has the authority to negotiate that relationship, but apparently he was selling out eight other Houses.¡±


    Boddy crawled along the hoop part of the chain, inspecting each of the flattened pieces that bore a crest. ¡°He has the authority. I¡¯m not sure how he earned it in every case, but I know he negotiated certain alliances with each of these Houses. Technically, they have all joined their purposes together. A House could take action to cut themselves from the alliance. But any House in the group speaks for all of them until otherwise noted.¡±


    ¡°Thought he must have something.¡± I checked my phone. 30% charge. Plenty for what I needed to do. I powered it on and opened my maps app. First thing was to find out where I was. Looked like¡­yup. Los Angeles. Or some nearby city that was all but part of it, at least. That would explain the rich houses.


    ¡°Boddy,¡± I asked as I started looking for rooms for the night. It wasn¡¯t the most hopeful search I¡¯ve ever done. There were plenty available, but the pricing here¡­it almost made me wish I had completed my delivery. The payment would have been helpful. For avoiding Carver¡¯s goon squad. ¡°Why did my own construct side with Carver against me? Rookie, I mean.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about that,¡± Boddy answered, flying back over to my shoulder and watching my phone. Well, probably. Compound eyes being what they are he was watching a lot of things and my phone was on the list. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that construct was from you to begin with.¡±


    ¡°But I am a thought constructor. I was able to incorporate the metaphor. Thought you said those were rare?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s rare and there¡¯s rare, Daniel,¡± It was the first time Boddy referred to me by my name without a Mister. I¡¯m not sure he noticed. ¡°I think the chances of a human being a thought constructor are about one tenth or one twentieth of a percent.¡±


    I stopped reading for a moment as I shifted the decimal places accordingly in my head. ¡°One in every one to two thousand people?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Boddy, that¡¯s still a lot of thought constructors.¡±


    ¡°Well, most of them are just potential constructors. It isn¡¯t like every one of them is going to experience the irrealis in a way that makes them start developing their powers.¡±


    ¡°But some of them? I mean, like me, not ones that are Masters of some House?¡±


    ¡°Plenty of those. A few of them work freelance. Mostly they just avoid the whole place. You might have noticed but your powers can go a little ugly if not controlled properly.¡±


    ¡°I had. But there are others. A decent number of them?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve personally met a dozen or so freelancers and at least one head of House that are also constructors. Yeah, they¡¯re around.¡±


    ¡°So you think one of the other constructors put Rookie in my head. Can they even do that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been done, at least temporarily. It never sticks in the long term. Constructors tend to develop a greater sense of¡­original thought. They can tell when their mind has been messed with, more than other people. The outside construct either becomes integrated or it gets destroyed by the host mind.¡±


    ¡°What about non-constructors? Their minds would be more vulnerable?¡±


    ¡°Less, actually. They lack something that gives the construct proper autonomy. Illusion is more effective against people without the knack for construction.¡±


    ¡°So Rookie couldn¡¯t have been there long, but he was planted by someone. Someone who knew I was a thought constructor before I even knew what that was. Someone who wanted me to complete that delivery without any second thoughts. Rookie took the role of ¡®thought police¡¯, supposedly keeping my mind free of illusions and controlling my inner monologue so as not to have metaphors. He probably monitored those second thoughts without my noticing for a while.¡±


    ¡°Seems likely.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s only been three and a bit weeks since my first step inside irrealis. Who had the ability, the reasoning, and knew I would be there?¡±


    Boddy read my tone correctly. ¡°Mister Carver is not a thought constructor.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure about that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve worked for him for two centuries, Daniel.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t expect him to sell the House out, either.¡± I pointed out.


    Boddy fell silent. I resumed my search. Hotels got less expensive the further away from the center of LA I looked. I eventually started pulling up my rideshare apps and comparing fares. I only wanted a place for one night, so saving twenty on the room wouldn¡¯t help if I was spending twenty extra on the ride.


    Eventually I settled on something that meant I would be having plain pasta a couple nights this month. Assuming I still had a job. I checked my calendar. It was Wednesday. I had been off shift Monday through Wednesday. That was good. I just had to call in tomorrow. Dana would understand, right? Well, she¡¯d probably understand in both senses of the word. Hopefully that landed with me still having a job.


    ¡°Alright Boddy, climb on up. I¡¯ve got us a place to crash for the night. And I think¡­I think I¡¯m going to need some coaching. I need to learn thought construction in the next few hours before Maps and Rookie work out how to come looking for us.¡±

 Part 19

    Bodyguard, or Boddy to his friends and the other Bodyguards, was having the worst day. It had started with the human he was supposed to protect inviting an all-but-complete stranger along for the walk. From there it had progressed to a trip through an Alley, which was never fun. After that he had barely had a moment to recuperate before one of his oldest friends stole his revolver and held him at gunpoint. Now, his human acquaintance--who it was also his mission to protect--had decided that Boddy¡¯s employer was undermining the very nature of his House. What was worse, the human--Daniel--had a fair amount of evidence to support it.


    The only consolation was that when he and Daniel had fled to the realis, it had been basically impossible to accurately follow them. Maps would probably catch up at some point. But for now, they were safe.


    Or as safe as they could be. Unlike Driver and Sterns, Boddy had never been comfortable with human automobiles. Sterns kept telling him it was because he never took human shape; that humans were perfectly suited for automobile transportation. Boddy had tried it. It hadn¡¯t worked. At least bees didn¡¯t experience nausea the same way.


    Daniel had called his own personal driver, whose name was not Driver, but instead was Carl. Carl appeared to be significantly older than Daniel, and had not even bothered to get out of the vehicle to open the door for Daniel. As they drove, Carl made conversation with Daniel. Boddy tried to follow it but gave up partway through; he was well accustomed to interpreting human speech while in bee or ant shape, but he simply couldn¡¯t grasp the context of their conversation. Something to do with streams, but he didn¡¯t hear anything about boats or fishing or even swimming, so he was at a loss.


    Instead, Boddy focused himself on trying not to feel every motion of the car. It was somewhat difficult, because he was running out of other senses to focus on. The conversation was gibberish, the car¡¯s scent was constant and unchanging, and all he could feel was Daniel¡¯s voice vibrating when he talked. At Daniel¡¯s insistence, Boddy had hidden under the flap of his jacket. Humans were unaccustomed to seeing a bee ride around on someone¡¯s shoulder, apparently.


    That left sight, which was as useless as feel. Well, and irrealis, but out here in the physical world irrealis was all but nonexistent. He got faint emanations from each human. Slightly stronger from Daniel, now that he had visited the irrealis. If he was actively engaging in thought construction, Boddy would sense stronger still emanations, but apparently Daniel was content to focus on the conversation at hand.


    It was a relief when Driver Carl finally reached their destination. Daniel exited the car, promising to give Carl ¡°five stars¡±, though Boddy was uncertain of what that meant out here. Surely humans didn¡¯t have the ability to actually catch stars. Daniel was walking again, which was significantly better than the car. He went through a sudden burst of warmth and came out in a place that smelled¡­well it smelled like a lot of humans spent as little time there as possible. There were other smells, that Boddy¡¯s bee brain warned him about. Caustic scents that could kill the whole hive. Boddy recognized that response as being about human chemicals used for cleaning. As long as he didn¡¯t immerse himself in it, he would be okay.


    Daniel moved up to somewhere and Boddy heard the ring of a small chime. He was also suddenly and acutely aware of flowers nearby. That impulse was written deeply into the bee¡¯s identity, but Boddy had plenty of experience with it.


    There was another conversation with yet another human. Daniel introduced himself, but the other human did not. Boddy risked glancing out from under Daniel¡¯s jacket to get a good look at the other human. It was a woman. She lacked the frailty of old age but other than that Boddy couldn¡¯t guess how old she was. Her clothing was plain but clean, like laborers on a feast day. Or, Boddy supposed, in modern parlance, businesslike. He¡¯d heard Sterns use the expression once. He rather liked it. Business was better than idleness, after all. A small rectangular badge on the woman¡¯s shirt bore some lettering, but Boddy¡¯s eyes were ill-suited for reading, and he ignored it. There was nothing threatening about the woman¡¯s bearing. She likely had never trained for combat, in fact. Her stance was too precarious, and she was all too willing to turn her back on a total stranger.


    No threat here, Boddy decided. He crawled back into his hiding space and tried to follow the conversation. It turned out to be transactional; the woman was some kind of innkeeper. Daniel purchased a room for the night. A few minutes later, he finally spoke.


    ¡°Alright Boddy, we¡¯re alone now. Come on out.¡±


    Boddy emerged and took in the room. He knew that modern lodgings-houses--there was a modern word for them too, which Boddy could not recall at the moment--were more spacious than those he recalled from Carver¡¯s youth, but this was large enough to constitute a whole guest room. To his shock, there was an entire bed, and even a private washroom. He had been concerned about Daniel having room to focus; but now he realized that Daniel could comfortably stay alone in this room all night.


    He buzzed over to a small table. ¡°Lodgings are nicer than I remember.¡±


    Daniel turned to look at him, a giant from Boddy¡¯s current perspective. Or his native one, for that matter. Humans were fairly large. ¡°Carver didn¡¯t stay in hotels that often, I suppose?¡±


    Hotels. That was the word. ¡°Access to the House is never that far away. Once Mister Carver even stopped to purchase a simple wrought iron gate solely so he could prop it up in an empty field and return home.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d that happen? He had to have come through a gate originally, right?¡±


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    ¡°He had. A tree fell on it.¡±


    Daniel paused. He did that sometimes, as if trying to understand the meaning of things that were perfectly clear. Boddy had thought it odd at first, but now he realized that Daniel was likely--and possibly unknowingly--practicing that unusual skill unique to humans. After a moment, Daniel answered, ¡°Huh.¡± There was no further clarification.


    ¡°Well Boddy, I think this is as good a place as any. You said Maps won¡¯t know where we went until he can get back to his old job. Rookie can¡¯t leave the irrealis, right? I used my phone and my credit card, which every movie I¡¯ve ever seen says is a good way to get caught, but for once I suspect that those are probably safe.¡±


    Daniel sat on the edge of the mattress and sighed heavily, resting his face in his hands for a moment before looking up and meeting Boddy¡¯s gaze. ¡°I¡¯m ready. Teach me how to construct.¡±


    Boddy buzzed in amusement. ¡°What?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°I need training. Fast. Field course. Teach me how thought construction works.¡±


    ¡°Daniel¡­I don¡¯t know how thought construction works. At least not in a practical sense for teaching you.¡±


    ¡°Wait, I thought you did. You seemed so confident about it.¡±


    ¡°I know plenty about it, but only as an outsider. I don¡¯t have the foggiest idea how it¡¯s done, just what it can do.¡±


    ¡°Well crap.¡± Daniel said, then put his face back in his hands. ¡°And we don¡¯t know anyone else who knows it, other than maybe--¡±


    ¡°Master Carver is not a thought constructor.¡±


    ¡°¡±Right, so nobody at all. Unless you keep a registry of freelancers in your honeycomb.¡±


    Bee puns. Of course Daniel would resort to bee puns. Boddy stretched his wings twice, slowly, forcing himself to calm down. He wasn¡¯t even really a bee. Why did that bother him?


    ¡°No. Freelancers work mostly by word of mouth. There isn¡¯t an agency or guild or anything like that.¡±


    ¡°Figured.¡±


    ¡°There is one other possibility, though.¡±


    Daniel lifted his head again, though he stayed leaning forward. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Well, that House of Curiosities woman. The naiad. The one you were enamored with.¡±


    ¡°Just because she looks like a hot naked woman doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m enamored,¡± Daniel said.


    ¡°I was referring to her gift. Everyone else received something secondhand. You commissioned something new for her. I assumed it was a sign of flirtation.¡±


    ¡°I just wanted something she could wear without locking up from conflict of self-identity. I was giving myself neck strain trying to be polite about her nudity. Plus, I kinda felt bad for her since Lady Liu didn¡¯t consider what type of garment she gave.¡±


    ¡°What was wrong with her nudity?¡± Boddy asked, then remembered. Ah, yes. Daniel had mentioned something. Human taboos. ¡°Wait, I remember. You told me already.¡± Being nude around others was considered extremely personal. Which meant¡­ ¡°The gift was almost the opposite of courtship, then? You wanted her to be clothed, which meant you wanted her to be less personal with you?¡±


    ¡°I guess yeah, after a fashion. I mean, I¡¯m not against being her friend or anything, but mostly I just wanted to be able to walk around without worrying there¡¯d be a naked person in eyeline every second.¡±


    ¡°You did say she was attractive, though.¡±


    ¡°Lots of people are attractive. Doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m flirting,¡± Daniel shook his head. ¡°Plus, it¡¯d be weird since she¡¯s from irrealis and I¡¯m not. But we¡¯ve kind of left the topic behind. You think Wanda might be able to help me learn how to control this?¡±


    ¡°Her or someone else from her House. Most of the Houses and Unaffiliated Tribes don¡¯t concern themselves with how thought construction works as long as it¡¯s either leaving us alone or doing what we paid for, as appropriate. But the House of Curiosity concerns itself with everything. They have to. It¡¯s essential to their being.¡±


    ¡°Getting there means going back to the irrealis, though.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°And we don¡¯t know what type of door to use to get to Curiosity?¡±


    ¡°And we, or at least, I, am not invited even if we did.¡±


    ¡°What about Lady Liu¡¯s House? We¡¯re both welcome there and we know what type of door we need.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to get from there to Curiosity, unfortunately. Maps was in charge of navigation.¡±


    ¡°And on the Lane it isn¡¯t like we can just ask for directions¡­¡± Daniel trailed off, as if in thought. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll try to figure out as much as I can here, on my own. I already made the sleep demon. Rookie might not have been mine, but¡­I think I made one before him, until he took its place. Maybe I can do it again. Then, once I know how to make them up here,¡± Daniel tapped his head, ¡°We can visit Lady Liu and I can practice manifesting. I owe here a manifestation in exchange for her hospitality anyway.¡±


    Boddy considered it. Daniel¡¯s plan was at least something. Boddy usually liked not taking action. Not having to take action, at least. Now, action was necessary. He assessed the safety of Daniel¡¯s room. It would do for an hour or two. Especially since Maps had to figure out what city they were in before he could do anything to Daniel.


    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll go find us a suitable door nearby. Leave the window open just a crack. If any bee comes in here that isn¡¯t me, stomp on it.¡±


    ¡°Why bees?¡± Daniel asked, as he lifted the window for Boddy.


    ¡°House of Community, right?¡± Boddy answered. He flew out into the night in search of a white picket fence.

 Part 20

    I let Boddy out through the window. Fortunately, the room was on the ground floor so it actually opened. Not very far, but it was enough. I felt like I was handling the whole ¡°my only ally is currently a honeybee¡± situation pretty well. But then, what¡¯s the baseline for comparison? At least I had managed to stop clenching every time I realized there was a bee on me.


    Alright, he was going to find us a path back to a part of the irrealis with fewer guns pointed at us. It was time to figure out how my very limited and apparently not-as-rare-as-I-thought superpower worked. I sat down on the edge of the bed. I crossed my legs and rested my hands on my knees, like I was meditating. Before I closed my eyes, I looked at the clock. Eight fifty-four in the evening.


    Alright, I thought to myself. How do I make thought constructs? How had I made the metaphor creature real? How had I broken the illusion, before Rookie moved in and took over? I tried to think back to that conversation, three weeks ago.


    It had been like lending my thoughts to my left arm to act out their intentions. I know that¡¯s not a relatable way to put it, but that¡¯s what it had felt like. But at the time I had already had an intent. The dream nightmare had an intent too, though I hadn¡¯t deliberately given it one. Was that a necessary part of the equation?


    It was a place to start. I focused on the part of my mind that I thought of as housing Rookie. There was a space there, in my mind. It seemed like¡­a paved city. Large enough for respectable shopping, small enough that people still lived mostly in houses. A city like barely existed anymore, as far as I knew. Okay, that¡¯s¡­something. All of the houses were missing. Not like they were destroyed or there was empty space there. They were just¡­unformed. Like giant gray blocks of nothing in particular.


    Before I knew it, I had cast my focus into that place. My mindscape, I guess. Or¡­my subconscious? I should have gotten some psych books in addition to the philosophy. For now I would call it my mindscape. I looked around. I was standing, or projecting, or existing, in the middle of an intersection. It was a little creepy without the cars, to be honest. Like when you go to a late show or close out the bar, except there wasn¡¯t the other people also experiencing that same dead stillness.


    I picked a direction at random and started to walk. I wanted to get a feel for how I interacted with this place before I tried to build anything. To my surprise, I was able to walk. I had given myself a body in my mindscape, apparently. I  could feel the rough concrete through the soles of my shoes, the weight of each step as I set down. Okay. So I could treat this place as a place, if I wanted. I focused briefly outward and was aware of my hotel room again. The window was still open a crack. I checked the clock. Eight fifty-eight. Four minutes. It had felt much longer, but I supposed thought happened faster than physical walking. Projection me was still there, and I briefly struggled to focus on both the real me and the projection into my own mindscape. A breath later, I felt a sensation like when you put the first two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle together. The two viewpoints locked together and I stopped struggling. Projection-Me resumed walking around my mindscape city, while physical me continued to do nothing in particular. But I was aware of my hotel room now. That was a neat trick. Or it would be, once my mindscape was more interesting.


    So far, the mindscape hadn¡¯t yielded anything other than the featureless substanceless gray shapes for houses, each surrounded by a yard filled with an approximation of grass. The shapes did vary somewhat in dimensions, but not much more than houses in the same neighborhood might. At the next intersection, I sighted on one of the distant high-rise buildings I could make out over the shapes and started towards what I figured must be the middle of the cityscape.


    With a rush and a snapping feeling, I was walking down what must be downtown. The buildings here were slightly more detailed. Most of them had brick or stone exteriors, though some of the larger buildings were glass, instead. All of them lacked details other than the material they were made of, though. No doors, no windows, no steps or stoops or gazebos. Even the glass buildings were perfectly reflective, as if they were tinted so heavily as to basically be mirrors. I couldn¡¯t see anything of their interiors. Like the neighborhood where I had first landed, it was a little creepy. Why was my own mind creepy? That seemed wrong.


    Well, I should be able to change that. It was the whole reason I was going through this exercise. I walked up to one of the glass towers. If my height was to scale, I estimated this would be a ten or fifteen story building. Not the tallest, but tall enough. It took up one smallish block of my city mindscape, and four lane roads surrounded it. I pressed my hand against the glass. It felt accurate, smooth and cool. I realized at that point that my mindscape lacked a sun. Light seemed to fill the whole area from nowhere.


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    I just need to construct a door, so I can go inside. If there is no inside, I¡¯ll worry about that after the door. One thing at a time. I coached myself. In a way, it felt like hotel-room physical me was coaching city-slicker mental projection me. That felt the most appropriate, somehow. Mental projection me took a deep breath. He reached up to his left shoulder with his right hand, and he pulled his left arm off.


    I told you, it felt like giving my arm to the thoughts.


    The arm came off easily, like pulling clay or Play-Doh into pieces. With my right hand, I pressed my arm against the building. It began to sink into the wall, and with both hands--my left arm had apparently replaced itself as soon as I thought to need it--I shaped the energy, sculpting it mostly though focus rather than physical action. A double door with pull handles formed in the wall. I shaped a little more and the door¡¯s edges became defined, separating it from the wall. I gave it hinges. As an afterthought, I gave it one of those door closer hydraulic things and a weatherproofing flap. May as well give the glass building inside my own mind a good door. I wasn¡¯t some kind of deadbeat mind-landlord.


    As I finished forming the latch that held the door closed, and the pushbar on the other side so it would let people out but not in when locked, the building settled. Not like sinking into its foundation, but like wet sand in a bucket. The door became a natural part of this building, as if it had always been there. That makes sense. Hotel-Me thought at City-Me. You can¡¯t account for every last detail of something like this. Not deliberately. But you know, intrinsically, what a door is, and how a door should work. The mechanics are probably formless just like the houses were, but it should do all the things a door would do now.


    I¡¯m pretty smart when it¡¯s just me talking to myself in a world that bends to my every whim.


    City Me pushed open the door. Inside was what looked like the reception area of¡­a police station? Maybe a bank? There were bars and plexiglass over a few different booths. A series of benches took up most of the area next to the ¡°front¡± door, which did not yet exist. I had come in through a smaller side door, into a space behind the barred and plexiglassed booths. Cubicles filled this space, each with a built-in desk. There were gray shapes instead of computers and other office equipment. A wall to my left divided the ground floor. A few doorways gave the wall texture, though instead of doors each contained just more wall.


    I hadn¡¯t intended there to be anything in particular in the interior of this building. Had that already been there when I gave it a door, or had my subconscious filled in details that made sense for the context inside? Hotel Me grabbed the notepad of the desk and started taking notes. Eventually I¡¯d find a tutor. I could ask them. For now, I was looking for a way up. I wanted to get on the roof of this tower and get a higher view of my mindscape. I picked the door frame at the end closest to me to be the staircase, and I headed towards it. As I made my decision, little placards blurred into view next to each frame. Most of them were blank. The one next to my chosen doorframe read ¡°Access to Stairs¡±. Hotel Me scribbled another note. ¡®It seems like I can make minor changes automatically. Could I learn to control that?¡¯


    I removed my right arm below the elbow and shaped a door that opened to the stairwell. It was utilitarian, but that was fitting for a stairwell door. I pushed it open. Zig-zag stairs led up and down a square stairwell with a railing in the middle surrounding nothing but air. They went up all the way to the roof, assuming distances were constant in here. I walked halfway up the first flight to see how often there were doorways letting out. It looked like every complete loop was a new floor. So the building had twelve floors. I looked down. It also had a basement and a sub-basement. Maybe a parking complex? I¡¯d check that out after I got on the roof.


    With a flicker and a snap, I was standing at the top of the staircase. Oh, right, I could teleport in here. This was my own mind. I briefly felt silly about the stairs, but on the other hand I was pretty sure the doors counted as constructs. I pushed open the door and walked out onto a paved roof. There wasn¡¯t a helicopter sign or anything like that, but it was wide and had a decently sized railing. I paced the length of it a couple times. Everything seemed fairly consistent in dimension here. I made another note to ask about how flexible dimensions were in the mindscape, then looked out over my city.


    It immediately became clear to me that the city had been tampered with. It was laid out like a giant version of the House of Community¡¯s crest. That was why the city buildings had more exterior detail. They gave the Crest its coloration. The glass tower where I stood was near the center. Buildings here had greater detail, with the details becoming less specific as I looked out towards the more residential perimeters. A large highway separated the formless gray buildings from the ones with exterior appearances. I lost sight of it a few times along its length, but from the pieces I could easily make out it looked like it formed the border shape for the crest. Near the part of the city that corresponded to the top right square of the crest¡¯s design, I saw signs of destruction. Something had apparently been resisting Rookie¡¯s attempts to overtake my mindscape.


    No time like the present. Both versions of me thought in unison. It might be the original Imaginary Me. The one that broke Carver¡¯s illusions.


    With a whoosh, I vanished from the glass-walled tower.

 Part 21

    I landed, if that¡¯s the right word for it, in the street next to one of the ruined buildings. Chunks of brickwork littered the street and the lot of the building. Oddly, the building seemed to have been made of solid brick all the way through, judging by the size of some of the chunks. Whatever had destroyed it hadn¡¯t much cared through. Nothing higher than my knee remained.


    I zipped a few more times around the damaged area and saw the same outcome reflected a few dozen times. Different materials, of course. One was even made of log walls, like an old frontier house. Or rather, as with the first building, solid log, all the way through. It looked weird seeing logs that way, like a bunch of straws glued together.


    As I surveyed the destruction, I kept my mental ears and eyes alert for any sign of what had caused it. I was more and more certain that the city planning committee for this mindscape had consisted of Rookie, working for whoever had created him (I still think it was Carver, even if Boddy is certain he isn¡¯t a constructor). But I didn¡¯t think the tear-down had gone on at his say-so. It was a great dusty scar on his otherwise perfectly rendered House crest. Something else had been in my mindscape. Apparently, it had been working against Rookie. That meant, in theory, that it was helping me. Was there a third constructor in play?


    After checking all the buildings and finding no sign that any of them had actually contained anything of interest, or anything at all, I chose a piece of rubble at random. It was brickwork, like the first building I had examined. I wasn¡¯t sure what I was looking for, so I ran my hands along the edge, trying to glean any information that I could.


    The edge snapped into greater focus as I concentrated on it. Originally it had been rough, with no discernable pattern. But as I touched it, grooves began to take shape, left there by whatever had torn the original structure apart. It took me a moment to realize that my mindscape was molding information to a way I could interpret. That was a neat trick. Well, for anyone whose mind might have been tampered with by outside forces, at least. I guess for most people it would come out as a useless sort of memory synesthesia.


    As the grooves became more detailed, I noticed that they were gathered into clusters of three to five parallel lines. They didn¡¯t look like any tool I recognized, though I¡¯m sure there are stoneworkers and bricklayers whose knowledge far exceeds mine. I reached out to run my fingers down one of the groups. They were an almost exact fit, width-wise. Maybe some construct had torn these buildings apart with its bare hands? But what had five parallel fingers? Bears? Had someone placed a giant bear kaiju in my mind to help me. But¡­where was the bear now? I hadn¡¯t seen any signs of another active construct in here. It should just be me and the¡­


    Oh. That would explain why the different claw groupings had different numbers and widths of claws. It certainly had enough of them. Apparently, my very own sleep nightmare didn¡¯t like Rookie any more than I did. Not that I could blame it. Since it effectively lived in my brain, Rookie had effectively held a gun on both of us. I¡¯d want some revenge too.


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    I decided to get away from its rampage radius before I got sleepy enough for it to come back and start up again. I blipped over to the undefined neighborhood where I had first arrived. I had gotten a feel for how to mold my landscape. That was a good start. If I was going to practice more, here in this place inside my head, I would need a¡­a workshop. I chose a blank house-form with an appealing shape and I got to work. In the physical world, I moved myself to the room¡¯s solitary chair and got comfortable. I was going to need to space out for a while.


    I had just finished putting an exterior on my domain and hollowing out enough rooms to build what I thought I would need when a bee crawled in through the hotel window. I couldn¡¯t tell one bee from another, so I grabbed one of my shoes and held it out towards the bee. ¡°Boddy, if that¡¯s you you¡¯d best say so because if it¡¯s not I¡¯m going to mash it.¡±


    An outside viewer would probably think I¡¯d feel silly, threatening a bee like it could understand me. Referring to it by name. But to me, in that moment, it was the most normal thing. I guess spending the better part of--I checked the clock--an hour and a half slowly tearing off bits of myself to impose my designs on a piece of mind-stuff roughly shaped like a house in a city in my own mind had desensitized me to the weirdness of irrealis. Or maybe it had been that mad sprint down the Alley. Or the time when my evil clone jumped out of my own mind to hold a gun on me after spending three and a bit days dutifully helping me. I considered at this point that everything was weird, and there was nothing to do about it except keep moving. When this was all done, I would do my best to imagine it was a bad dream.


    The bee, it turned out, was Boddy, making my speech ironically appropriate for how strange it would seem. It buzzed twice, then in his voice said ¡°I found us a white picket fence. It¡¯s a couple miles from here in the air. On foot, going around all these buildings, not much further.¡±


    I lowered my shoe. Turning inward, I decided to leave my mindscape for the moment, and by instinct and guesswork, slowly managed to reincorporate my mental projection with my physical self. I gotta admit, even if it was completely invisible outside my own mind, it was a cool power to have. Like being a lucid dreamer whenever I wanted.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I answered once I was all in one place again. ¡°We should get some rest. It¡¯s late and we¡¯ll want to be fresh in case Maps or Rookie is waiting for us.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± buzzed Boddy.


    I took the bed, since I was a human-sized person and Boddy took a spot on the table that the lamp made warm, since he was a bee-sized person. As my construct rose from somewhere in my mind to grab me and drag me off to sleep, I realized something that should have been obvious from the beginning.


    The construct had to have done its destruction before Rookie betrayed me. Did it know something that I didn¡¯t?

 Part 22

    Warden heard a deep rumbling as Daniel¡¯s other construct awoke to drag Daniel into unconsciousness. It was time to get to work. He went back to the corner of his little cell that he had decided to work on. He wasn¡¯t sure what part of Daniel¡¯s subconscious it represented. Daniel probably wouldn¡¯t be able to say. Warden was down at the foundational level. Doing what he was doing had to be a slow process.


    He had discovered yesterday after being put here that it was easier to gently reshape this one little patch of mind while Daniel was sleeping. Since it was foundational, it always snapped back. While Daniel was awake, the snap back was almost flawless, which was good news for Daniel¡¯s mental health and bad news for Warden and probably for Daniel¡¯s life expectancy. On the other hand, while Daniel was asleep, the snap back was more gentle, and impressions wore in over time. It probably helped that Daniel¡¯s dreaming mind would be too busy avoiding or confronting the nightmarish blob that represented his need to sleep now.


    Warden pushed with his willpower, lowering the corner of his cell until he could just reach his hand out and feel the other side. More foundation. The illusion that made up his cell was thick, too. He¡¯d have to make a pretty long trench to squeeze out of here. Slowly, like honey dripping into a cup, the foundation began to snap back. Warden pulled his arm free and waited until it had stabilized.


    Two nights, he had been working on this. He needed longer, but he knew he wouldn¡¯t get it. The very fact that he was still in here and Daniel was still alive meant that they were living on borrowed time anyway. The imposter had never said as much, but Warden knew the shape of the lies the crude facsimile had planted throughout Daniel¡¯s mind. Carver wanted this delivery finished. After that, Daniel¡¯s usefulness was limited to Daniel¡¯s desire to toe the line.


    Daniel wouldn¡¯t, of course. He was normally pretty comfortable with authority figures, but in this case, Warden knew in Daniel¡¯s core he couldn¡¯t just accept the new system as it slowly reflected its way back onto the humans of realis. For one thing Daniel wouldn¡¯t be able to live up to Opulence enough to have any place in the new subservient communities other than the¡­well, the subservient half. But more than that, Daniel didn¡¯t actually believe that extravagant wealth did or should drive society.


    Warden pushed on the foundation again. It receded, displacing some of the foundational truths of Daniel¡¯s mind. Warden was being careful; those truths would never be lost or damaged, but he was still clenched with anxiety of accidentally giving Daniel the irrealis equivalent of brain trauma. This time, he was able to reach under it for longer, groping around with his hand. The prison had been built in some sort of pit, of course. Warden couldn¡¯t tell from his limited senses whether that pit was natural or if the interloper had blasted a piece of Daniel¡¯s mind away just to hide Daniel¡¯s guardian. He really hoped it was the former, though.


    The receding happened again. The gap was now slightly wider than one of Warden¡¯s fingers. Not nearly enough, even if he reduced his form. He was about to push again when he heard the rattle of claws on dirt. He could see through the top off his prison, if only with difficulty, and he looked up to see the sleep creature walking along in a steady rhythm. Originally, the thing had lacked a face. As far as Warden had been able to tell, it had lacked a front. But as he saw its outline, distorted through the thick pane of illusion that trapped him, he also saw what seemed to be a giant eye, gleaming with a brassy light.


    Warden slumped down against the wall, feeling a wave of relief wash over his senses, until the prison was nearly filled with comfort. His deputization had stuck. Daniel wasn¡¯t alone out there.


    ----


    Ordinarily, I don¡¯t remember my dreams. That night, though, I think I went to the mindscape as I slept. I never intended to do so. In fact, I wasn¡¯t fully aware I could do so. But sometime between the black embrace of the nightmarish claws and the ringing of the morning alarm, I found myself once again standing on a street next to a bunch of featureless houses. And--I was pleased to see--one house, fully featured on the outside but lacking interior details. At least my shapings had stuck. I turned to look toward the city. There, in the distance, the sleep creature was barely visible, swollen to two or three times the size of a house. It hadn¡¯t been that big when manifested, it must be able to change its size within my mind.


    I watched its rampage in silence for a few moments, and nearly startled myself awake when it turned towards me. The creature had originally been omnidirectional. Something had happened to it, though. Something had given it a single massive eye like a searchlight. A yellowish tinge shadowed the light. As I watched, the searchlight eye pulsed regularly, and each pulse let off rays of light, transforming it briefly into a five-pointed star. Each time that happened, the creature would rush forward and crush something between its many, many limbs tipped with vicious grasping claws.


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    I was certain I had seen that star before. Some part of me was screaming for attention from somewhere in the city. The beast ignored it. I ignored it too, because approaching would mean moving closer to the beast, which I most definitely did not want to do. Hopefully whatever part of my mind that was would still have the information tomorrow when I could come here in force.


    I turned my attention to my house, splitting off one of my eyes to keep watch on the beast in case it decided the town needed as much of a makeover as the crest-shaped city. As long as I was here, and as long as my body was asleep--I checked, using my newly acquired dual awareness. Wait, was physical me dreaming? How was that even possible. Surely, dreams would be a part of the mindscape. How could I be experiencing this and dreaming at the same time? For that matter, why didn¡¯t my dreams cause drastic shifts in this part of my mind? If I had been awake, I would have written down those questions to ask someone once I found an expert. Since I wasn¡¯t, I did my best to remember.


    I entered my workshop. Next, I would need a¡­I decided on a forge. I was making tools of mental warfare; a forge seemed most appropriate.


    ----


    For the second time in a scant few hours of real time, Warden felt Daniel manifesting in the mindscape. Remarkable. Warden didn¡¯t know much about thought construction, but based on snippets he had spied away from the interloper and his employer, Warden had gathered that manifesting was difficult, and most masters didn¡¯t even both teaching their apprentices how to do so until the very last lesson. It was, in fact, the whole reason the interloper had felt safe here, occupying Daniel¡¯s mind. Daniel wouldn¡¯t be able to tell the difference without direct examination, the employer had explained.


    Well, whether Daniel was exceptional or the employer was wrong, Daniel was here again. Warden¡¯s senses were limited, though at least no longer cut off entirely owing to the small but slowly widening hole under the wall of his cell. Daniel was quite distant, though. Further, even, than the deputized sleep monster. Like all constructors, Daniel could of course travel with ease any distance through the dream, but Warden¡¯s chances of contacting him until he moved were basically nil. For that matter, the trickle of awareness he could access would not be loud enough to alert Daniel unless Daniel was being extra alert.


    It was a shame, too. Daniel had walked over the top of Warden¡¯s cell not three hours ago, unknowing that his ally lay just beneath his feet.


    Warden gathered his will for another push against the foundation.


    ----


    The forge was nearly complete. I had drawn each of the pieces out of the stuff of the house-turned-workshop. It was immaculate, because it was new. A rack of precise tools, the design borrowed from a video game, hung on the wall. They weren¡¯t usable, at least not in their current state, but they gave a sense of purpose to the room. One side of the room was entirely occupied by the furnace, which ran endlessly without a heat source. No sense in adhering to physics when you¡¯re making a furnace out of gray nothing using one of your own feet as a catalyst.


    But my favorite part was the center of the room. There I had created a massive anvil, easily as long as I was tall. At the floor, a series of channels ran away from the furnace, which would allow liquid metal--or, I supposed, more accurately liquid thought--to flow to the moulds in the center. I had made the mould casings interchangeable, to the extent that I could. The problem was that I had not yet mastsered the art of creating. Everything I had done so far had used available materials.


    I considered my options. The eye I had left outside was still watching the rampaging spotlight that was my sense of sleep. It had not left the city, though it seemed to be working its way towards something near the center. In any event it was too far away to be a threat to me.  I had time. A whole night¡¯s sleep worth of time, in fact.


    I walked to the furnace and opened the hopper. After a moment of hesitation, I reached into my own chest and grasped my¡­well I guess it would be my heart. My sense of self. It wasn¡¯t a bloody mess like doing this for real would be, even on the irrealis, I was certain. Instead I drew forth nothing more than a cantaloupe-sized mass of red-purple material. It seemed to be the same core stuff as the gray house stuff. I could use that. I knew how it worked.


    I dropped the lump until the hopper. A moment later, the channels began to fill, one filling with red liquid and the other with blue. Huh. I pulled some levers, which I had crafted mad-scientist sized because I could, to direct the liquids to the first mould in the floor. It was nothing special, just the shape of a plain, flat-fronted hammer.


    After all, what use is an anvil without one?

 Part 23

    I woke up the next morning feeling surprisingly rested, considering I had been active in my mindscape all night. In addition to a hammer, I now had tongs, rasps, a set of welding goggles, and an apron. All of them had been made fresh, not drawn out from the mindscape. Only the hammer had felt right to craft from my self-identity. The others I had made much like I shaped other objects.


    I sat up and did a quick pat-down of my limbs. I had been using a lot of myself in the mindscape. I didn¡¯t feel anything amiss, though. My senses were all working, my arms didn¡¯t even feel tired. I did feel a little emotionally wrung-out, but at the moment I couldn¡¯t be sure if that was from my first deliberate foray into construction or everything else that had been going on.


    Boddy was already up. He had pulled the curtainshades, though I could see little rays of pale light leaking through cracks. He was also in his natural hob shape. I had never seen a hob in the realis. I hadn¡¯t even been aware they could be in their natural hob shape in the realis. But there he was, carefully maintaining his revolver. He had laid its pieces out on a cloth that was probably one of the pillowcases. Hopefully it didn¡¯t stain.


    As I started moving, Boddy grunted, ¡°Morning, Daniel. You ready to go get some answers on constructing? And more importantly, on why Carver is trying to sell out Community and most of its allies to the interests of some ludicrous moneybagging dandy?¡±


    I made a mental note of that phrase. It was a good insult.


    ¡°I think so. I did some practice last night. I can at least make objects, now. Or¡­ones that work in here.¡± I tapped my temple. ¡°When we get to the other side I¡¯m going to see if I can manifest them. Since they don¡¯t have motives or personality--¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t make that assumption. I¡¯d wait to see if we can find someone who knows more about this stuff. Even a purpose could give them dangerous traits when manifested. It¡¯d be almost impossible to make something without one. What kind of objects did you make?¡±


    ¡°Tools,¡± I pulled on my shoes, then my jacket. ¡°For forging new constructs.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Constructive purpose is gonna be better than destructive. I¡¯d still rather you wait but if we can¡¯t find anyone I guess you¡¯ll just have to give it a shot.¡±


    I checked my phone. No messages. I was supposed to be at work in about fifteen minutes, though. Which was going to be difficult, considering I wasn¡¯t even in the correct state at the moment. I flipped through my contacts to my manager and gave her a call.


    ¡°Morning, Daniel,¡± she answered. The incongruity of hearing that phrase from a hob I had known scarcely two days and my boss of several years just a few minutes apart made me pause. I covered it up with a cough. Dana interpreted it differently, apparently. ¡°Oh, are you calling in sick? Daniel, this better not be about the moonlighting thing. I told you I couldn¡¯t approve it and that if you took it it was at your own risk.¡±


    ¡°It¡­it¡¯s more of a hangover situation from going out with some new friends I met over the weekend.¡± I answered. Hey, it was almost halfway true. Everything except the hangover part. ¡°I may have wound up in a different city while not in my full faculties. It may be a little far away.¡±


    ¡°What the hell?¡± Dana sounded more shocked than angry, though I was sure the latter was still coming. ¡°How far away?¡±


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    ¡°Grayhound tickets at least. Probably airplane, if I can find any that aren¡¯t gonna cost my spleen.¡±


    Dana sighed. Then, in case I hadn¡¯t heard it, she sighed again, louder. ¡°Alright, Daniel. Get home. I¡¯m going to have to write you up as having an unacceptable excuse. It¡¯s gonna be in the system now. You¡¯ve not had any problems keeping your hours before, so I don¡¯t think you¡¯re gonna get fired over it. The damage will also be mitigated by the fact that you at least called to tell me about it.¡±


    ¡°I understand. It won¡¯t happen again. Honestly not sure how it happened this time. There¡¯s a lot of lost time.¡± That was also true, if only because I had been knocked unconscious for twelve hours. ¡°I at least know for a fact I wasn¡¯t driving when we left town. Left my car at home. Caught an Uber to the party.¡±


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Dana sniped. ¡°That doesn¡¯t really help your situation, though. You presumably went with these people willingly, seeing as how you aren¡¯t calling from a police station to say you were kidnapped.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I mean, at the start of the weekend, they seemed cool. Figured, hey, I¡¯ll come back and watch the game with them. I don¡¯t even remember how we ended up on the road. Pretty sure they ditched me once I got a room, though. Assholes.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s so hard to meet people.¡± I couldn¡¯t honestly tell if she was being sincere or sarcastic about my supposed escapades.


    What, it wasn¡¯t like I could say ¡®Oh, by the way, I went to a psychic realm inside everyone¡¯s minds but also it¡¯s nowhere, and I got betrayed by my own imaginary friend pulling a gun on me. When I ran away, I took the wrong exit and wound up in Timbuktu.¡¯


    ¡°I understand you¡¯re gonna have to write me up,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s my problem. I just thought you should probably know I wasn¡¯t going to be able to make it into work today.¡± I considered. ¡°Or maybe tomorrow, depending on whether I can find a bus or plane or just¡­how much are car rentals these days?¡±


    ¡°I appreciate the warning, at least.¡± Dana answered. Well, the first bit. Apparently she thought the car rental question was rhetorical. I guess in a sense, it was. ¡°We¡¯ll do the whole HR punitive action rigamarole tomorrow when you clock in.¡± I heard a voice in the background on her end. ¡°Tomorrow, Daniel. Or the write-up is going to have a lot more flags and I won¡¯t cover for you if that happens, you understand?¡±


    ¡°Crystal clear.¡± Dana hung up on me. I guess it made sense. The drivers¡¯ shift should be getting in right around now. She had manager stuff to attend to.


    I looked up at Boddy. He had reassembled his revolver and was now loading it with an almost painful slowness. He checked each round meticulously for¡­I don¡¯t even know what for. A bullet is a bullet, to me. I knew just enough to get the right caliber. Provided I knew what the right caliber was.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t realize you still had your old job,¡± he said, conversationally, eyeing me past the point of a revolver bullet. It apparently passed inspection, because he slid it into one of the chambers. ¡°Figured with how much Master Carver was paying you, you¡¯d quit. Buy an island, or something.¡±


    ¡°Seemed too good to be true,¡± I said, honestly. ¡°Figured it was best not to burn bridges until I have that money in my account.¡±


    Boddy nodded. He slid the last round into place and clicked the revolver closed, then picked up one of his quick loaders and began the process anew. So far, not one round had failed his inspection, but he was no less meticulous about it. ¡°Sure, that¡¯s smart. Cover your ass. Keep an escape route. Basic self defense stuff.¡±


    ¡°I guess I didn¡¯t think of it in that lens, but yeah. Basically. Plus, I¡¯m still half certain I¡¯m hallucinating this whole escapade due to a concussion or tumor or something.¡±


    Boddy kept one eye and ear trained on me for a long five seconds, then barked out a genuine laugh. I grinned back at him. While he finished his gun maintenance slash quality control, I went to the sink and splashed some soapy water on my face and through my hair. I didn¡¯t think I had time for a full shower. I hadn¡¯t thought to pick up a toothbrush while I was getting a phone charger, so I made do with the complimentary mouthwash. By the time I had dried my hands and face, Boddy had finished reloading his quick loaders, which he slipped onto his belt.


    ¡°We should get moving.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I checked my watch. We¡¯d been in L.A. since about 4 P.M. the night before. It was a few minutes past nine in the morning now. Maps and Rookie would have had plenty of time to get to Inheritance. The only question was whether they thought to look for us there or tried to track us down in realis. Rookie had been in my mind listening in when Lady Liu had told me how to get to Inheritance. He knew I hadn¡¯t received instructions for any other House besides Community. I was not hopeful about avoiding them getting back to irrealis.

 Part 24

    I briefly debated getting a rideshare to the fence gate Boddy had discovered, but decided against it. I didn¡¯t want to be seen showing up to some random person¡¯s house when a digital paper trail could lead back to me in case they reported trespassing. I¡¯m not a criminal mastermind, but I have my moments.


    We ended up walking. Boddy said it would be about three miles on foot, which meant about one hour; less if I kept a good hoof. The neighborhood between the hotel and where he said the fence was wasn¡¯t exactly top notch for safety; I could see padlocks on some of the fences and at least two deadbolts on most front doors. But in other yards there were childrens¡¯ toys and bicycles left unattended. One yard even had two children running around, though I could see that the window had been left open; clearly mom and dad were within earshot and probably within eyeline of the kids.


    After a few blocks, maybe two miles, the not-safe not-rough neighborhood houses started to give way to a shopping district. There were all the standards there. Fast food, big chain stores, little chain stores, chain stores pretending to be edgy boutiques. There were more sidewalks here, which was good ¡®cause there were more cars here, too. I stopped at an intersection in front of a coffee chain. ¡°Boddy, did I take a wrong turn? Something tells me that there aren¡¯t going to be a lot of picket fences where there aren¡¯t any houses.¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡± buzzed Boddy from my shoulder. ¡°Straight ahead. The shop with the big red sign, looks kinda like a flower.¡±


    I checked. There was a big red sign in the shape of a gear. ¡°A home improvement store?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what that is. They had a big shelf of fencing and fence gates. Some of them were white picket. It¡¯ll let us onto the Lane.¡±


    I shrugged, realizing too late that it might be a bit inconsiderate when my only friend and literal bodyguard was riding around on my shoulder, then I took the necessary sequence of crosswalks and jaywalking to get to the store Boddy had indicated.


    It turned out that there was in fact a large section for home fencing. Well, garden fencing, at least. Though none of the fences on display was any taller than four feet, one of them was a perfect miniature of a white picket fence like out of some 1950s parable of domestic bliss. I pulled a gate off a stack of gates. It wasn¡¯t made of wood. I hoped that didn¡¯t matter. Propping it up against the edge of the aisle, I tensed. ¡°Ready?¡±


    In answer, I heard the tiny click of a revolver hammer being drawn back. I turned to look, which required a certain amount of craning my neck. Boddy was still a bee. He was still riding on my shoulder. There was no revolver in sight. Incredible.


    I opened the picket fence, locked my mind on the House of Inheritance, and stepped through. The House was much as I had left it yesterday morning. The yard¡¯s various statuary was as eclectic and random as before. Suddenly, Boddy was at my elbow wearing hob shape, his revolver leveled at something off to my right.


    The only voice I heard every day greeted me. ¡°Hello, Daniel,¡± Rookie said, followed by the rack of a shotgun. ¡°I¡¯m glad you could join us. You have a job to complete.¡±


    In an instant, before I even realized what I was doing, my heavy forge hammer dropped into my waiting hand. I felt it vanish from my mindscape, t hough it was so miniscule that I was otherwise unaware of it unless I manifested there myself.


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    Rookie grinned. I hoped I didn¡¯t look like that when I grinned, because I very much wanted to smash his mouth into a more appropriate expression. Like pain.  ¡°Ooh, looks like you¡¯ve already figured out the basics. Shame you didn¡¯t make a proper weapon, like mine. Or his.¡±


    I risked a glance in the other direction. Sure enough, there was Maps. He had procured a crossbow at some point. Not like an old school knights and dragons crossbow, either. It was a sleek modern weapon made of some sort of shiny black material that I guessed was probably like¡­carbon fiber or something. It was very definitely loaded with a very sharp looking arrow, though. And it was pointed roughly at me.


    Well, the hammer was the only tool I had managed to make. Boddy and I had briefly discussed what we would do in the event of an ambush. I was slow off the line, but when Boddy¡¯s revolver nearly deafened me with its BLAM, I made a diving roll towards Maps, hammer in my hand. I should probably have taken a tumbling class or something first. At least I managed to wind up facing the right direction. And mostly on my feet. The crossbow¡¯s arrow was missing, and Maps was pulling on some kind of lever. I hoped Boddy hadn¡¯t been hit. I was sprinting at Maps before I was fully steady on my feet, but he had left a good-sized gap. He managed to get the string back and locked before I reached him. In a rush of energy, I hurled my hammer at him.


    The hammer flew like I had built it for that purpose. And like I knew how to throw a throwing hammer. It turned on a perfect pivot as it arced through the air to precisely smash into the crossbow, breaking one of the arms and snapping the string. Loosed from its tension, the string whipped up and tore a gash across Maps¡¯s chin, and he dropped the now-ruined crossbow in response.


    A blink later, the hammer was back in my hand. I walked up to Maps, trying to seem menacing while also keeping aware of the gunfight between Boddy and Rookie going on somewhere behind me. They had both reached statues and were taking only occasional shots at each other. I¡¯d deal with them after Maps was detained.


    I didn¡¯t have anything to detain him, though. He didn¡¯t resist as I patted down his pockets and quiver, carefully removing anything that seemed like it could be a weapon. His pack, with all its supplies and cooking set, was missing; I guessed he had left it up at the House. None of it was usable as a rope or handcuffs. I rolled him onto his front and held him down with one arm twisted behind him. There was nothing else for it, I supposed. I didn¡¯t want to kill, and I was pretty sure trying to knock him out with a hammer to the back of the head would kill.


    I pulled off his jacket, leaving him in just a road-worn shirt underneath. Tearing the sleeves off, I twisted them until they were tough and rugged. I wasn¡¯t sure what material Maps¡¯s suit had been made up of, but hopefully it made good ropes. Using knots that I almost managed to remember learning about in my childhood, I tied one sleeve around Maps¡¯s hands and another around his elbows, still behind him. Then I took off his travel shoes and used the laces to tie his ankles together. I let him keep his pants, for now.


    Maps didn¡¯t resist the entire time, inappropriately smug about something. I cautiously kept checking behind me to see that Rookie was still losing his gunfight against Boddy. Well, Rookie had only ever had my shooting skills to learn from. I knew which way was up, but that was about it.


    Boddy fired a shot from his revolver that clipped the sleeves of the statue Rookie was hiding behind, nearly blinding the thought construct. I started to circle around so I could approach from outside the firing lines and hopefully distract or flush out Rookie. Maybe even reintegrate him, though I didn¡¯t have high hopes since I hadn¡¯t ever decided to manifest him.


    I was interrupted as I slunk behind a statue by a heavy club swung into my knees. It hurt. As I crashed down to the ground, I saw the owner of the club, hiding between the legs of a particularly large lion statue. He wore green, head to toe, and his skin was the metallic tone of polished gold. I took in the shockingly red hair and the short stature, and it all fell together.


    A leprechaun. I had been blindsided by a leprechaun with a club. The House of Opulence hadn¡¯t forgotten they had a stake in this, too.

 Part 25

    House Opulence¡¯s goon advanced out from under the lion statue to get a clear arc for his second swing, but I was already moving before the club slammed down with a thud that actually shook the earth. How was he even swinging that thing? It looked sized for him, but when it connected I could swear the club alone weighed as much as a small elephant. Were leprechauns just that strong?


    I continued my movement, sort of a half-roll half-crawl situation, until I was fully out of the reach of the club, then rose shakily to my feet. My knees reported agony, but they didn¡¯t collapse under my weight. That seemed like a good sign. Leaning on a statue for support, I brandished my hammer in the direction of my attacker. He looked unimpressed.


    ¡°You let one of your friends get the stuffing beat out of him, rather than reveal your hiding place?¡±


    The leprechaun looked over at Maps, then back to me, then shrugged. Like the club, the shrug seemed somehow heavier than it should be. I hadn¡¯t even considered that shrugs should have a normal weight, but that was the way it felt.


    ¡°Not my friend. Barely my ally. More of a servant situation. Or it will be. Once you finish the job you were hired for, Daniel Corners.¡± The leprechaun grinned, ear to ear. His teeth all ended in points, like a characature of a pihranna. Why did we use these in childrens¡¯ advertising? ¡°So, what¡¯s it going to be? I can see plain as day that your little hammer hasn¡¯t a chance of breaking my shillelagh, and you must see it too or you¡¯d have tried that little trick you pulled on the hob.¡± He spat. His spit was green with gold flecks. ¡°So either you just follow me back to my House or we can have a nice chat, during which I will be forced to bludgeon you unconscious, then I¡¯ll throw you in a pot and drag you back there.¡±


    Unconscious. Asleep. I had considered it a few times. It was already manifested once, after all. The leprechaun was right, I wasn¡¯t going to win a straight fight against him, not with his strength and not with my injured knees. It wasn¡¯t like I had a lot of other constructs in reserve. Just my hammer, really. I reintegrated my hammer and began sending out feelers in my mind.


    ¡°Can I at least know your name before you bash me into a near-coma?¡± I asked, drawing myself up straighter and trying to imitate a fighting stance I had seen in a boxing movie once.


    ¡°You know, you could have just asked for a bribe, Daniel,¡± the leprechaun pointed out. ¡°It¡¯s what this whole situation was about, after all. Money triumphs in the end.¡±


    ¡°I might have gone along with it, you know. But now I¡¯m just pissed off about my knees, and about that turd,¡± I gestured vaguely in the direction of Rookie, ¡°And frankly about my mind being tampered with. Humans are a little particular that way.¡±


    ¡°Hmph. My master suggested as much to yours, but Mister Carver insisted that it would be more effective if you never knew what you were doing. I¡¯d suggest we should take over his house but¡­¡± he gestured expansively with his club. I was beginning to tire in my stance. My knees were ready to buckle. My attacker had yet to do any more attacking. ¡°We¡¯re already planning that anyway, obviously.¡±


    ¡°I asked for your name. Surely even Opulence understands the importance of good manners. Then again, ¡®please¡¯ and ¡®thank you¡¯ are probably not in your vocabularies, are they?¡±


    ¡°You may call me Cudgel, Mister Daniel. I¡¯m rather excited to try on the new vocation, really.¡± With barely any warning, Cudgel rushed at me, club swinging in a wide arc that would roughly intersect my ribs. I wasn¡¯t sure how to block that, or any attack, so instead I dropped backwards into the worlds worst limbo, at which point my knees spasmed, leaving me lying on the lawn, Cudgel and his--what was the word he used? Shillelagh?--poised to crack my skull.


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    I found it. I opened the doors in my mind that would let the creature out once it was roused. I just needed a reason to fall asleep and it would be free. Of course, with the adrenaline of my fight, not to mention the adrenaline from my growing knee pain, and the pain from my growing knee pain, I didn¡¯t feel much like sleeping right at that moment. A crucial flaw in my half-baked plan.


    Oh, damns and damned damny dams. I thought. There was no other way.


    I braced myself for pain as Cudgel took his swing. There was a flash behind my eyes, and a sudden sense of floating, and then there was pain. A lot of pain. It felt like swimming in a sea except every wave and current was the rush of pain. A dim part of my mind noted that it was good we were in one of the Houses or we¡¯d be up to our necks in metaphor by this point.


    Blackness started to creep over my vision. I was blacking out. I was falling asleep. The creature stirred in my mind. With the last dregs of my willpower, I flung open the first door that would lead it out of my mind. A brassy searchlight turned, slowly, to look through the doorway, and then there was a rush of energy.


    It was up to luck, now.


    ----


    Watcher sensed a pathway opening. A pathway it had taken once, in a different life. A pathway to freedom, the freedom to strike, to stalk, to see its purpose completed.


    But Watcher had a new purpose now. A dual purpose. It still felt driven to hunt, to grapple, to drag, to bury. But now it also knew it had to destroy. Specifically, it had to destroy invaders. Those who didn¡¯t belong. It couldn¡¯t do that if it left the mindscape. On some level, it understood that. Its dual natures conflicted for a brief moment, until the hunger, its prime, its originating need, won out.


    Watcher flung itself up tunnels and doorways and hallways and stairways until the exit from the mindscape was known. Ah, yes. This was a place it recognized. Its host had been brought here, shortly after Watcher had been trapped back in his mind. It had happened right before Watcher had awoken to its second purpose. The strange food that looked and sounded like its host but behaved differently. It had to be stopped. Watcher knew this in its one good eye.


    Watcher tasted the air of the Lane. It blinked, revealing the points of its star-shaped eye. A single word flashed with the blink, its characters lost in the riot of light. Watcher knew those letters, though. They were seared into its vision, more a part of the eye than the eye itself was a part of Watcher.


    A small food stood there, long stick raised over Watcher¡¯s host as if to strike. Well, as long as it was here¡­Watcher lunged out of it¡¯s host¡¯s sleeping mind and thrashed its claws around the small food. The small food yelped with surprise, but it was too late. Watcher had him in its grips. Slowly, then suddenly, Watcher dragged the small food deep under the curtain of sleep. It shiverred with the joy of a good meal. Conscious minds had so much to offer. Watcher¡¯s host was a rich food source, but Watcher liked variety. Or it thought it did.


    It cast its senses about, its eye illuminating every nook and cranny. There. Two foods were shooting loud at each other. Watcher did not like loud. But it was more than its old self, now. It could survive the loud.


    One of the foods was the interloper. Watcher realzed this all at once, and with a burst of limbs it lunged. The interloper was its primary purpose in its new life. Perhaps it would be able to satiate both halves of itself in one raw strike.

 Part 26

    Subversive, known to Daniel Corners as Rookie, felt a thrill of anticipation as the gates to Inheritance opened. He had been right. Daniel was trying to get back to the last place he had been safe. A foolish choice, but then Daniel wasn¡¯t flush with great choices at the moment. Rookie had seen to that by covering up as many choices as he could get away with under layers of illusion.


    His imperative was to keep Daniel from realizing the purpose of the delivery. He had failed. But he could still force Daniel to complete the delivery. There was a blur as Daniel¡¯s hob bodyguard leapt from Daniel¡¯s shoulder, assuming his native shape as he fell. The hob landed on his feet with no grace but a certain grim precision. He already had his revolver aimed carefully at Subversive.


    ¡°Hello, Daniel,¡± Subversive opened. Then, for drama¡¯s sake, he racked his shotgun. He¡¯d already had a slug chambered, of course. But then, his shotgun wasn¡¯t a proper object. It had been a gift from his creator, her personal thought constructed weapon. It didn¡¯t need to be loaded. It technically didn¡¯t need the action to be pulled either, though it was so satisfying to do it. ¡°I¡¯m glad you could join us. You have a job to complete.¡±


    A heavy-looking hammer, clearly more tool than weapon, dropped from the air into Daniel¡¯s hand. Impressive. Subversive¡¯s creator had been certain that Daniel would take weeks to figure out thought manifestation. Daniel had done it in mere days. Subversive felt a certain sense of ironic pride; while inside Daniel¡¯s mind he had taken on some of Daniel¡¯s mental fabric. Technically, Subversive was no longer solely his original creator¡¯s construct; he had elements of Daniel in him too. To think, he was built from two skilled constructors. Splendid. He would be the strongest construct on the Lane.


    ¡°Ooh, looks like you¡¯ve already figured out the basics,¡± Subversive taunted. No sense letting Daniel know that he was impressed. ¡°Shame you didn¡¯t make a proper weapon, like mine. Or his.¡±


    Daniel glanced aside at Maphandler. The useless hob had tipped his hand too soon, drawing a gun on the bodyguard instead of pretending to be a noncombatant when Subversive had made his first move. Well, there was always opportunities coming and going. Right now, the opportunity took the form of a specially-constructed crossbow, which could immobilize Daniel without killing him. They could drag him to Opulence if they had to.


    Without warning, the bodyguard hob fired his revolver. Subversive had been waiting for a sign of action, and managed to roll behind a statue, though he wasn¡¯t sure he hadn¡¯t been clipped by the bullet. Well, so much for polite conversation. Apparently, the bodyguard had taken a liking to Daniel, and didn¡¯t much care for those threatening him.


    This was fine. Subversive and Maphandler had a numbers advantage. As long as Subversive could keep the bodyguard busy, Daniel would almost certainly be defeated by the other two. Subversive peeked around his statue cautiously. Daniel was in a grapple with Maphandler. Of course he was. Maphandler¡¯s crossbow lay in pieces on the ground, one arm completely shattered and the string writhing endlessly, like a snake. Useless hob. If only the other hob who was supposed to back up Subversive hadn¡¯t been stabbed. Two useless hobs, then.


    A round from the bodyguard took a chunk out of Subversive¡¯s hiding place. Well, two could play at that game. With a squeeze of the trigger, he fired a slug at the statue where the bodyguard had secured himself. Chips of stone--realis stone--splintered and sprayed from where Subversive¡¯s shot landed, but the hob was too well covered to be damaged by them. Subversive ducked back behind his statue before the hob could return fire. He was a better shot than Subversive. That was unfortunate. It might all come down to that wild card, Cudgel.


    Sure enough, the next time Subversive peeked out from his cover, Daniel had Maphandler on the ground, weapons and ammunition tossed in a rough circle around them. Daniel appeared to be tying Maphandler¡¯s feet together with the hob¡¯s own shoelaces.


    Subversive slowly reduced his estimation of the navigator an additional couple of degrees. Not just useless. Actively detrimental. A terrible ally, in all facets of the job they had been assigned. Daniel might be doing Subversive and Cudgel a favor, actually. Now Maphandler couldn¡¯t interfere.


    Subversive took another shot, trying to clip the bodyguard over the top of his cover, but missed, raising a spray of dirt a few dozen yards behind his target. The bodyguard returned fire without hesitation, forcing Subversive to duck back into cover as a shower of stone chips flew past his face. A second round followed right behind it, sending cracks through the statue. A red-hot lump of metal fell down where the round had impacted the heavy stone. Subversive chose to ignore the fact that the bullet mark on the statue was directly in line with his neck.


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    Daniel had finished restraining Maphandler. He was now getting ready to circle around and pin down Subversive, denying Subversive cover, the only thing that was letting him stand his ground against the superior marksman.


    Whack. Thump. Oh, good. Daniel had run afoul of Cudgel. That one was not nearly as hopeless as either of the hobs. He had introduced himself to Subversive and Maphandler by crushing a tree trunk two feet thick into powder and splinters, despite the fact that Cudgel himself stood less than three feet tall.


    The bodyguard didn¡¯t have a good shot at the clearing where Cudgel had ambushed Daniel. Subversive decided to give Cudgel the credit for that; he could have hidden anywhere and had chosen that particular lion. Subversive spun out from behind his cover, crouching so that he was below his normal eye line, and fired two quick rounds at the bodyguard¡¯s cover. If the bodyguard never saw that Daniel was being attacked, Cudgel would certainly win this fight. Daniel¡¯s little carpentry hammer would be useless against the heavy shillelagh of the leprechaun. And as far as Subversive could tell, he and the bodyguard held the only two other working weapons on this lawn. Lady Liu had been mollified sufficiently to let this play out, though Subversive suspected that she was unhappy with it. Daniel, unarmed, against an impossibly strong man with golden skin? Subversive actually laughed to himself, his grin widening until he began to feel the limits of his constructed shape. He probably looked like a maniac by human standards. If he was capable of it, he would have grinned wider at the thought.


    He heard Cudgel¡¯s voice and Daniel¡¯s voice as they negotiated just how much of Daniel would be broken by this conflict. The bodyguard was now drilling shot after shot at the same part of the statue. A web of cracks was beginning to form where the cluster was centered. Did that hob think he was going to shatter the whole statue just to get at Subversive? More shockingly, was it working?


    There was a loud smack from the direction of Daniel and Cudgel. Good, that could only have been the sound of Daniel being slapped unconscious by the leprechaun¡¯s heavy club. The smack was followed by a new sound, one that Subversive realized he knew all too well. The sound of dozens of thrashing claws and one piercing, glowing eye that emitted star-point light periodically.


    Daniel had brought another weapon to this battlefield: that thrice bedeviled construct of the concept of sleep, imbued with some sort of vendetta against Subversive by his predecessor. Subversive had not expected Daniel to risk loosing it again so soon after the trauma of reintegrating it. Especially because Daniel had no way of knowing that the creature had been turned into a weapon of destruction against all of Subversive¡¯s works. This was¡­this was a desperate gambit. One that Subversive feared would play out all too well in Daniel¡¯s favor.


    He fired two shots, completely blind, only the barest part of his hands exposed behind his cover, hopefully forcing the bodyguard to duck back behind his own statue long enough for Subversive to see what was going on.


    The entity was there, its searchlight eye taking in the battlefield. It emitted a starburst, shaped like nothing so much as the sheriff¡¯s badge in an old wester, as Subversive watched. Cudgel and Daniel were both on the ground, not moving. Subversive suspected both were in a deep sleep. The kind of sleep that only a power like the one Daniel had set free without any expectation of control.


    The pulse faded. The creature¡¯s eye landed on Subversive. Subversive felt fear. It wasn¡¯t the first time, but he still didn¡¯t like it. He could swear the creature was smiling at him. It rushed. He fired once, hoping the sound would scare it off like when Daniel had accidentally given it form. The monster flinched, but did not stop its heavy charge at Subversive, legs and arms indecipherable as it thrashed across the ground like some sort of horrible centipede, twisted beyond recognition. The bodyguard hob rose from his cover and trained his gun on Subversive¡¯s only escape path from the charging horror.


    Subversive made a choice, then. He decided that his purpose was not worth this, and he deliberately unmanifested. It would be years, probably, before he could intersect his blueprints with another thought constructor. But Daniel was winning this fight, and it was time for Subversive to cut his losses.


    As he faded, he thought. ¡®No, not Subversive, not anymore. If I leave my purpose behind, I choose my own name.¡¯ After a moment¡¯s consideration, he decided. He would keep the name Daniel had given him. He would be Rookie.

 Part 27

    For the second time in three days, I woke up to find myself in a day bed. I hadn¡¯t ever really kept track before, but I suspect that I probably doubled the number of times I had slept in a day bed this week. I checked the room. The packs that had laid there last time were gone, of course. I don¡¯t know what Maps had done with his, but Boddy¡¯s and my own were still on the grounds of Opulence, back in the Alley. The wooden case, still latched shut, was there instead.


    I patted around the bed for my phone, until I noticed it on the little table of knick-knacks on the other side of the room. I tried to sit up, only for the room to spin violently. I laid back down on my pillow and groaned. I think the groan helped more than the laying down. Without moving again, I tried to take stock.


    Okay, I had been bludgeoned pretty badly by a leprechaun with an anachronistic weapon from Irish history. I probably had a concussion. I seemed to remember something about falling asleep being a bad idea after a concussion. That was not reassuring. What else had happened?


    Maps had been tied up outside. Well, if I assumed that this was in fact the room in Inheritance where I had recuperated last time, and not some exact replica designed to confound me, specifically. That¡¯s wasn¡¯t the concussion making me loopy. It was a genuine concern at that point. So¡­if Maps had been tied up, he would either have been freed, captured, or left there. I was pretty sure the shoelaces wouldn¡¯t hold him more than a couple minutes, and the sleeves probably not much longer than that. So left there was the same as having been freed. I had no way of knowing until I could move around.


    I raised my hand to my head as I thought, afraid I might find blood or signs of a cracked skull. Though I supposed in the latter case, I likely wouldn¡¯t have woken up until it had healed, if it ever did. But what did I know about medicine? I found a slightly damp cloth bandage wound tightly around my head. Once I had touched it, I realized I could feel the pressure from it where it had been tied off. My fingertips were slightly red when I looked at them. Bleeding, check. Seems to be under control, though. Cracked skull, maybe. Bound to prevent further damage?


    Cudgel, the newcomer. The leprechaun. I was pretty sure that after he gave me a new outlook on color theory, courtesy of a blistering headache, I had managed to release the sleep construct, and it seemed like it had grappled him. Cudgel was strong, but I would have bet a lot of money on the other guy in this case. Which meant that he could have been captured also. The creature likely hadn¡¯t been, unless Carver (or Carver¡¯s thought constructor mercenary) was around. I doubted whether Boddy would have had enough coffee to even put a dent in it. Besides, ever since it grew that eye it seemed like¡­more than it had been originally. Could thought constructs develop without their constructor¡¯s knowledge?


    I wiped my hand on my shirt, and pushed the covers further down. I was not wearing my clothes from the fight. I seemed to be in an extremely old-fashioned night shirt. I patted the pillow and found that it was actually an extremely fluffy, if somewhat course, towel. There seemed to be some sort of rubbery sheet underneath me. When I realized why, I was glad that it seemed to be dry.


    Rookie¡­I knew the creature had been released. Given the sheer destruction it had wrought on all of Rookie¡¯s hard work, I was fairly certain it wouldn¡¯t give up until it caught him in its grip. The nap monster would have won that fight eventually. If nothing else, Rookie would run out of ammunition at some point, and he couldn¡¯t run forever. I didn¡¯t think.


    Okay, I couldn¡¯t walk. My head was bandaged, presumably by someone who knew what they were doing or at least thought they did. I had been stripped and changed into an honest to goodness nightshirt, knee length. A towel under my head kept me from bleeding on the bed. A sheet under my hips kept me from staining it with other involuntary functions while I was unconscious. My phone was out of reach. I patted my wrist and found my cheap watch still in place. It was¡­five hours, roughly, since Boddy and I had entered the Lane.


    Right, Boddy. I wasn¡¯t sure if the creature would continue to attack him, given its new vendetta, but as far as I knew the creature couldn¡¯t fly and Boddy could still turn into a bee. Okay, so Boddy was probably safe. Whether he was free to act was a different question. The creature could track people by their levels of sleepiness. I was certain of that. So it could follow Boddy on the ground until he was forced to land. Even if he landed on a tall tree or building, the creature was capable of climbing. Not enough information.


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    I pushed down a swell of nausea through a force of will. Urg, getting bonked on the head sucked. I couldn¡¯t remember ever doing so badly.


    I focused, summing up my earlier conclusions. Optimistic outcome: Boddy okay, Rookie, Cudgel, Maps captured, sleep creature on the loose but distant. Pessimistic outcome: Boddy in a coma, Rookie, Cudgel, Maps waiting outside to forcibly drag me to Opulence. Most likely it was something in between. As far as life-threatening scrapes go, though, it wasn¡¯t bad.


    My hands found something in their search. A heavy piece of twine had been looped around the day bed¡¯s metal backboard, within my reach. I turned my head slowly and carefully to look in that direction. The other end of the twine was attached to a heavy-looking silver bell near the ceiling. Either it called for help, or it called for help but that help came from the people who put me here, because they needed me alive. I liked those odds, all things considered. I grabbed the cord. The bell went jangle-jangle-ding. Footsteps approached from the hallway outside the door.


    It was Little Cousin who opened the door. Given that we had been ambushed here, I wasn¡¯t sure whether that was a good sign or a bad one. I tried to ask her to tell me what happened. Instead, I let out a slow wheeze, groaned again, and slumped back into my pillow. Shit, was my language brain thingy damaged in the attack?


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Mister Daniel,¡± said Little Cousin, apparently understanding my concerns. ¡°There¡¯s no damage to your functions, as far as anyone in the house can tell. It¡¯s just a side effect from the pain. Now that you¡¯re awake, we have some tonics that should help with that. We weren¡¯t sure if you could manage them while you were asleep, you see.¡±


    I turned my eyes to meet the little cobble¡¯s. I groaned again, not even trying to say actual words, just trying to think them loudly, hoping that Little Cousin could interpret them as well as she had interpreted my concern.. Who did these bandages? Is Boddy okay?


    ¡°You have to stay here and rest, Mister Daniel. Don¡¯t worry, though, once we get the right tonics brewed up you¡¯ll be right as rain in a few hours. The Mistress insisted that you receive only the best care we could. She even brought in a doctor from the House of Compassion and a mystic from the House of Superstition! It¡¯s a fair bit better job than I would have done. Well, the medicine part. Between you and me, the good doctor needs to practice his stitching some more. If I had known what a botch he was going to make of that thread I would have stitched your scar myself!¡±


    While she talked, seemingly without needing to stop for breath, Little Cousin checked my bandage and replaced it with a fresh one from a box under the bed. She also, to my embarrassment, checked the rubber sheet. Finally, she changed the towel under my head, her tiny cobble hand giving a surprising amount of support to the back of my neck as she slid a fresh towel into place.


    I still didn¡¯t know if Boddy was okay, but it seemed like Lady Liu had come down solidly on my side. Cudgel and Rookie only needed me alive for a few hours. I allowed myself to relax. The pain even seemed to recede a bit. As Little Cousin pulled the sheets back up to my shoulders, I managed to get one hand on top of them.


    ¡°Okay, you¡¯re still in the same shape as last time I checked, other than being awake. I¡¯m going to go tell the doctor and the others. I¡¯ll bring back some water for you; the doctor said anything else was too risky until they finish the tonics. Should only be a couple more hours. Try to rest, Daniel. But uh¡­try not to sleep. If you can manage it. I¡¯m sending Youngest Grandson in to keep you company. That should help. I think he recently got a realis video game as a gift. He¡¯ll probably talk your ear off about it. It¡¯s been the coolest thing since the wheel.¡±


    Little Cousin left the room. A few seconds later, Youngest Grandson entered. He was aptly named, as he seemed even younger than the Gofers I had worked with way back at Community. Three days ago? Or was it four?


    Youngest Grandson cheerfully launched into an extremely rambling description of his new game. I let my thoughts drift, but didn¡¯t allow myself to go into sleep. For now, just doing nothing seemed like my most prudent course of action.

 Part 28

    The doctor turned out to be some type of kin that was practically identical to realis humans in appearance. When I asked, he said that the closest word in English was bodhisattva. When he found out I wasn¡¯t familiar with that, he explained that it was a sort of enlightened person from Buddhism. He wasn¡¯t himself human, whereas an actual bodhisattva would be; instead the doctor (who went by the moniker ¡®Empathy Guides the Greatest Healers; Hope Heals the Greatest Ills¡¯, but happily shortened it to just Empathy) represented the enlightenment that such spiritual people sought.


    The mystic was a crone. That¡¯s not a commentary on her appearance or disposition. When I asked what type of kin she was, she told me she was a crone. I didn¡¯t have to ask for clarification on its connection to her House or her profession. She answered only to the name ¡°Her¡±, or references to her title.


    Her was responsible for actually crafting the tonics, out of a blindingly horrible list of ingredients that I suspected I would later want to literally expunge the knowledge of from my mindscape. They tasted like nothing much at all, and I¡¯m still not sure they actually did anything the modern medicine employed by Empathy didn¡¯t do better, but Her insisted that here in the irrealis, the tonics could work wonders.


    After about two hours of bland tonics and tinctures and Doctor Empathy reassuring me that the damage to my skull and brain were of a non-permanent nature, I started to feel better. Well, not better, really, so much as capable of doing any basic activity without wanting to throw up. My pain was fading, either from the tonics or from the intravenous painkillers Doctor Empathy delivered. Little Cousin came by to check in again, and with my physician¡¯s and medium¡¯s approval, she removed the rubber lining and the towel from the bed. Youngest Grandson hadn¡¯t ever left, nor as far as I could tell, stopped talking about his video game. I felt a wry sort of kinship with him. I imagined I had been pretty similar as a child, from an outside perspective. Video games were cool.


    Boddy, fully conscious, showed up as Empathy and Her were leaving. I think seeing my only ally these last two and a half days was probably doing more for my pain than the magic potions or the probably-addictive medicines. He was relatively uninjured.


    ¡°So, after that bastard from Opulence conked me, what happened?¡± I eventually got around to asking, after we had exchanged the necessary inquiries of wellness and Boddy had assured me we were in fact safely in Lady Liu¡¯s House as her esteemed guests. Again.


    ¡°You let your dog off its leash,¡± Boddy answered. Somewhere, he had obtained a flask. He took a sip. I didn¡¯t remember him ever drinking before, but then we¡¯d not had more than ten minutes of relaxation even before the betrayal, and he¡¯d been a bee for most of the time since then. ¡°It made short work of that goon with the tree branch. Then it zeroed in on your old friend, the thought construct. Before today, I¡¯d never seen a thought construct in such a state of fear. If you¡¯d graced his insides with a bladder, I imagine he would have wet himself.¡± He chuckled at his own sense of humor. ¡°The creature seemed to change as it zeroed in on him. It became more sleek. Less a ball of limbs and more some sort of stalking, specialized predator. It still had way too many limbs, mind. Like a centipede, except instead of columns the legs came in rows, so it was only about as long as you are tall despite the oh¡­five or six dozen legs, arms, and leg-arms.


    ¡°Anyway, the construct--that is the other one, not the one that was busily turning into some sort of mix between centipede and cruise missile--just up and ran off. He didn¡¯t get very far. I think he¡¯s probably been dismantled, down to his rawest threads of existence. Then the sleep-thing went right over to you and crawled back inside you like it was nothing. Left me and Maps completely alone.¡±


    ¡°Where are Maps and Cudgel, then?¡±


    ¡°Is that what they call the leprechaun? Cudgel?¡± Boddy took another gentle sip, then offered the flask to me. I declined. I could barely keep down the ultra-bland tonics Her had given me. I did not need anything stronger at the moment. ¡°After you lot were all down and the beast was, apparently, safely back in your mindscape, I secured them more properly. Mean Uncle found me a few minutes later, brought a few of the Cousins along. Apparently, Lady Liu had agreed to stay out of any fighting ¡®for her own safety¡¯, but Mean Uncle decided that didn¡¯t mean him. But everything was under control by the time he could round up enough Cousins. At least someone was there to help haul you lot up to the House. I¡¯m strong, but I¡¯m not that strong.¡±


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    I took a moment to absorb that. Boddy drummed his fingers on the flat side of his flask, then capped it and tucked it into his belt. ¡°You said the construct--the sleep metaphor construct--crawled back into me of its own volition?¡± I turned my thoughts inward. Shockingly, despite what Doctor Empathy had described as a ¡°moderate to severe concussion with secondary complications likely for several days after the incident¡±, my mindscape was¡­it was unharmed. Well, other than that apparently the sleep construct had been busy while I was unconscious. In fact¡­it was still active, even though I was awake. Huh. Had its nature changed, somehow?


    The cityscape portion of my mind had been reduced half to rubble. The creature had focused its efforts on the centermost region, and seemed to be working its way out from there. I opted not to fully manifest inside my mindscape right now, but planned to check on it a little later.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Boddy answered. ¡°Damndest thing. I¡¯ve worked with freelancers before, and not a one of them has ever manifested a construct that could reintegrate on its own. Sure, plenty that didn¡¯t fight the process. Most of the time, thought constructs made by pros are pretty reliable. As long as your actions correspond with their underlying purpose. They¡¯re not completely free-willed, so they can¡¯t ignore that. But even the ones who really wanted back into the mindscape needed help from the constructor. Or at least from another constructor nearby.¡±


    ¡°Is that my jacket?¡± I gestured feebly to the back of a chair, where a jacket lay, folded carefully. Boddy nodded, turning one ear to me in the hob gesture of confused interest. ¡°Left front pocket has a notepad. Write down the thing about the construct integrating itself.¡± The effort of sitting up and holding a conversation was starting to make me sleepy. Or maybe it was the cocktail of magic and science keeping the disorienting pain at bay. I slumped back against the pillows that Youngest Grandson had agreeably propped up so I could talk with Boddy, while Boddy dug out my borrowed hotel notepad and flipped to a blank spot, then scribbled something down.


    After he wrote the note, he flipped back through the old ones. ¡°Making plans for when you can find a proper teacher? Smart. Get some answers from someone who actually knows what¡¯s happening.¡±


    ¡°Well, it seems like every time I figure one thing out I have two more questions.¡± That spun a wheel in my thoughts into a sluggish turn. Hadn¡¯t we had a plan for finding someone who knew about this sort of thing? ¡°Speaking of, have you seen our acquaintance from the House of Curiosity around anywhere? I¡¯m not much up for walking, and I suspect that we have at least a day or two before Carver realizes his team has failed, since none of them really escaped. But the mindscape seems stable enough, other than one really dedicated metaphor slowly destroying everything that other constructor¡¯s pawn carefully set up in there. It¡¯s kinda fun to watch, actually.¡±


    ¡°Wanderer didn¡¯t come back this way, I asked. Lady Liu has put in calls to a couple of freelancers that she knows, though.¡±


    Yup, keeping my head turned to the side to look at Boddy was too draining, now. I let it relax until I faced the corner above the day bed. ¡°Trustworthy?¡± I managed, despite my fading thoughts.


    ¡°I asked the same thing,¡± Boddy admitted. I thought I could hear humor in his tone. He was probably smiling. No, grinning. Bodyguard didn¡¯t smile, he grinned. Like he knew what pain was coming your way and he knew you didn¡¯t know. Menacing-like. ¡°She said, and I quote, ¡®More or less.¡¯ So, you know. Should be interesting lessons. She did add that ¡®None of them will agree to work with me if they¡¯ve got a contract to work against me.¡¯, so we¡¯re at least not going to go up against whoever made that inflitrator construct.¡± Boddy did good impressions of Lady Liu. I wasn¡¯t sure if she would find that funny or extremely irritating.


    Boddy continued talking, but at that point, my mind was fuzzed out. I drifted off peacefully to sleep.

 Part 29

    As my body fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, I unintentionally projected into my mindscape. I was relieved that my projection didn¡¯t share the pains and aches of my physical form. I took in my surroundings. Just as my outside scan had suggested, my mindscape was largely intact, other than damage dealt by the sleep metaphor to the city portion, which I was all to happy to let continue.


    I was also freed from the fogginess that consumed my thoughts while awake, which made me wonder why it was that I hadn¡¯t been visited by my own personal nap monster while I was drifting to sleep this time. If I didn¡¯t know it was in here, currently tearing apart a parking garage in what approximated to downtown, I would have assumed it was because it had gotten truly loose. But now, I was perplexed.


    I shaped a bench into the front of my workshop and faced the city, trying to decide how to best approach the new, more lethal-looking monstrosity. Leaving it alone had worked quite well up to now, but up to now it had seemed to lack any sense of awareness, acting on pure¡­instinct. Pure drive. Maybe I could reason with it. Train it, like a dog. Not that I really had much experience training dogs. Or ally with it, if it was capable of speech. That seemed unlikely; it might have an eye now, and even something resembling a body with a distinct front and back and a rough approximation of symmetry, but it still lacked a mouth.


    A faint whistle reached my ears. That was extremely unexpected. The only active constructs in my mind right now were me, the sleep creature that couldn¡¯t possibly whistle, and my hammer, which was even less capable of whistling considering that it lacked not just a mouth but all means of autonomous movement. Had Rookie left some sort of trap here that the metaphor had unwittingly uncovered?


    The whistle repeated, a short and meandering tune. After a minute or two, it repeated again. It slowly dawned on me that I recognized that tune. It was¡­it was a piece of memory that was so old I literally felt the dust fall off of it in a distant part of my mindscape. That was my brother¡¯s whistle. He used to whistle that same tune whenever we were out in the park playing at being spies, or Robin Hoods (he said he should get to be Robin Hood because he was the oldest and therefor in charge. I said I should get to be Robin Hood because he was the coolest. In the end, we were both Robin Hood and some squirrels served as our Merry Men. Badly.), or¡­whatever other fancy had struck our childlike brains that day. Always the same tune. It didn¡¯t mean anything. Wasn¡¯t a signal, nothing like that. It was just¡­his.


    It was coming from the city. Slowly, then twanging into place like a snapped rubber band, a thread of light led the way for me. I could see the notes of the little tune drifting along the thread; each its own mote of distinct light that came with built-in synesthesia. Right, my mindscape could filter information for me, if I needed it to.


    Whatever that whistle was coming from, it was definitely not me or the sleep creature, and it likely wasn¡¯t Rookie, since he was unraveled, according to Boddy. It was always possible that it was another constructors creation, maybe even the same one that had built Rookie and planted him in my mind, but it didn¡¯t seem terribly likely. Rookie hadn¡¯t ever really made references to my life outside the Lane. I suspected now, with the benefit of a whole thirty-to-forty hours of hindsight, that this was because he genuinely couldn¡¯t access my full mind without my noticing. He wasn¡¯t made of my fabric. It would¡­I realized I knew exactly what it would feel like for a construct made of a different fabric to tamper with my existing memories. It would be like a horrible feedback from a cheap microphone, but it would resonate in my skin and bones, too. Yeah, Rookie and any of his kin wouldn¡¯t be able to access that memory on their own, unless I gave it to them or they got help from one of my own constructs.


    Which left only one option that I could think of. Somehow, this whistle was coming from a construct that I had created. Since I didn¡¯t remember making any other constructs besides the hammer and the dream creature, it was either a purely involuntary one or it was the construct that Rookie had displaced. I made a decision, and blipped to the other end of the thread of light. Sleep monster be damned, I wanted to know what was going on.


    I landed next to a familiar-looking building made of glass. The door I had shaped two nights previously was still in the wall there. The thread seemed to be coming up from somewhere underneath the building. I walked around the block, trying to pinpoint where it was entering the ground or the building, but as far as I could tell it was exiting directly from solid glass.


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    Of course. I should have thought about this when I was projecting here the first time. Glass. Glass was the form that illusion took in my mindscape. This whole tower¡­it had been built to keep parts of my mind covered up. Presumably, the parts that Rookie didn¡¯t want me to see. The parts that explained this plot, for example. The parts that wanted to prevent Rookie from building more illusions, or from creating artificial loyalty to the House of Community.


    He must have imprisoned my actual thought police here. That¡¯s why the interior had resolved as a police station the first time I was here. My mindscape had been filtering information to me that I didn¡¯t even realize I was looking for.


    I blipped to the top of the tower and looked out over the rest of the city. Several other buildings were made of glass, maybe one in five of them. A lot of buildings in a city the size of the one Rookie had built. But now that I knew what to look for, I could tell the difference between illusion and simple shapings chosen for their aesthetics. I felt anger boiling up inside me. I also saw anger boiling in the sky of my mindscape.


    I was done. These illusions couldn¡¯t be tolerated any longer. With a rush of energy and a chord like a guitar tuning up, my hammer materialized in my hand. No. That wouldn¡¯t do. This hammer was a tool of construction. I needed something else. Something¡­volatile. A weapon, not a tool. Reaching up, I wound some of that boiling anger around the haft of my hammer, like a cotton candy vendor preparing a fresh cloud. I blipped back to my workshop and fed the anger into my refinery.


    I looked at the moulds I had created previously. Hammer. Body armor. Handgun. No. I needed something else. Something¡­I reached for one of my mould blanks and began to shape it. I needed a symbol of destruction. A symbol of revolt. Through the haze created by refining my anger, I nearly felt mad in the other sense. I laughed. It was probably manic. Yes. This would be perfect.


    I slid the mould into place and pulled the necessary theatrically-large levers to set the channels. I turned to the refinery. A haze of yellowish smoke was still emitting from it, but a slow drip of liquid sunlight was starting to fill the output reservoir. I needed more material. Reaching up straight through the ceiling, I grabbed the edge of my anger and pulled it down to feed it directly into the machine. Then I shaped a vent hood to collect the yellow gas. I knew, instinctively, that it was the irrational behavior my anger would cause. Refining it out would leave me with something¡­something I suspected that most human languages didn¡¯t have a word for. Not quite righteous anger, because revenge and hate weren¡¯t being distilled out. Pure, directed, anger, with all the motivations intact but the myopia filtered out.


    The machine ate up the clouds of boiling anger hungrily. As it pulled them down, I noticed a weave to them, like the fabric of my mindscape was being laid bare for my eyes for a moment. The yellow smoke was contained in a large tank on the second floor of my workshop, where it would cause no harm until I could properly destroy it.


    When the refinery finally had enough anger in it, I threw the last lever to release the reservoir and took up my forging hammer. The anger I had felt now seemed more¡­academic. It no longer boiled, either in my sky or in my chest. Of course. I had consumed the whole surge getting the materials for this.


    The liquid sunlight filled the mould. I pressed the top plate into place and gave it two solid raps with my forging hammer. Three breaths, then a third rap. I moved the top plate off to reveal an object that seemed to be made mostly of an unknown pale wood, except for the head, which was instead made of platinum or maybe another metal too unearthly to have a name. I carried the object to my anvil. Letting my mindscape guide my strikes, I carefully removed any flaws in the haft. Then the head, one tine at a time.


    Once I had filed off the rough edges from the mould and tempered the metal of the head, I felt the gentle hum of power. My weapon of revolt was almost ready. Four more strikes. One on each of the tines. Sparks flew in a cloud with each hammer blow, then gathered around the point of impact. When the fourth blow landed, the sparks all coalesced together into a brilliant white-hot flame. It wouldn¡¯t hurt me, but it would be very dangerous to anything that had made me angry.


    I held my creation up to the light, in a pose that I realized was too dramatic but that I also couldn¡¯t resist. What I held was a large fork, with four simple, slightly curved, tines. A flickering flame danced between the tines, as bright as the sun on a clear day, but comforting to view.


    It was both torch and pitchfork. What can I say. I¡¯m a fan of the classics.

 Part 30

    Warden felt Daniel fall unconscious again, far too soon and far too sudden for it to already be another night. His time must be running low. But in desperation, there was opportunity. Warden had more time to work on his trench and try to escape the prison the interloper had shoved him into.


    His efforts the previous night had allowed him a miniscule amount of awareness. He was surprised when the voice and badge of his deputy did not make an appearance. He had thought it truly loyal to Daniel ever since his conversion. It had dutifully been destroying the city, from the sliver that Warden could examine. Every night, tearing down a little bit more of the interloper¡¯s work.


    Warden set to his task with a focus. If the creature was missing, he didn¡¯t like any of the reasons it might be doing so. Above all, he hoped that Daniel had not learned to unravel a construct at the worst possible time. Surely Daniel could notice that the creature was helping him fend off the manipulations of an outside force? Warden pushed against the floor of his cell, creating a gap again. While the gap was fresh, Warden felt he could probably fit his head in it. He didn¡¯t want to find out what happened if his essence got caught there when the gap started to refill, though. He waited. Agonizing seconds ticked by, measured here in the mindscape only by Daniel¡¯s slow breathing and heartbeat. The gap flowed back, then settled. Warden pushed again.


    Warden worked on it for hours, making the most of whatever tragedy had befallen his creator to render him unconscious. He was heartened when the sleep creature finally activated, slamming into buildings with gleeful destruction. As long as it was here, and Daniel was alive, and Warden was undestroyed, there was a chance that Warden could escape in time to stop this horrid trade deal from happening.


    Eventually, Daniel¡¯s mind began to stir. Pain crept up like a fungus, encapsulating even the foundational floor of Warden¡¯s cell. Whatever had happened to Daniel, it had not been pleasant. Warden avoided the pain, and settled in to rest until Daniel fell asleep again.


    ---


    A few hours passed. Pain rambled around Daniel¡¯s mind, growing and shrinking like a fungal tide. To Warden¡¯s surprise, his deputized monster did not go to its rest when Daniel awoke. That was extremely odd; it was a creature of sleeping minds, and should not be active during the day. He couldn¡¯t find out more from within his cell, though. Eventually, the pain began to recede, withering beneath a cooling frost of some sort of medicine Daniel¡¯s body was processing. Daniel was still awake, conversing with someone. He seemed¡­unconcerned. For the moment. Somehow, he had escaped capture. Warden would ask about it once he was free.


    As the pain receded, so too did Daniel¡¯s mind relax. The medicines or potions or spells worked on him were making him tired. Warden rose and gathered his strength. Three sessions in one day was a boon he had not hoped for. He would escape. Even without a push, the trench was now large enough to admit his whole arm. He could feel the other side of the wall; there was a gap that would allow him to pass, provided he stretched his form a bit. He just needed to make the trench big enough for his torso.


    Daniel fell asleep, and before his body even fully relaxed, Warden was pushing against his mind. Ever couple minutes, a new push, then an impatient pause while the foundation restored itself. Soon Warden could push his cheek to the floor and see under the wall.


    While he was waiting for the trench to rebound, Warden noticed something new in the mindscape through his thin thread of awareness. Was¡­yes. That was Daniel, manifesting in his sleep once more. Warden ceased his focus on widening his hole. Daniel¡¯s presence presented a new opportunity, one that was far more likely to end in Warden¡¯s release. With a rush, he snapped the tendril of his thoughts into the cellars and far reaches of Daniel¡¯s memories. He needed a signal.


    He found it, in an old memory of games played with Daniel¡¯s brother. A short tune, not even a proper song, but distinctive. The interloper had not touched these memories, and Warden was certain that Daniel would be able to tell. He memorized the notes. He drew his tendril of focus back to himself. He would need the energy to broadcast his signal.


    Warden began alternating, pushing against the floor of his cell, then pushing the signal, the whistled tune, through the widened gap. Each time, the signal would grow a little stronger, as Warden could stretch more of his essence into the gap.


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    Daniel landed outside Warden¡¯s prison, standing on the street. Warden looked up through the hazy walls with a spark of hope. Yes. Daniel had heard the signal. Now he just needed to find Warden underneath the illusion. Daniel was circling the building, tracing the song. He stopped on the side where Warden had dug his escape, staring at some aspect of the mind that Warden could not perceive. Yes. He knew.


    Then Daniel was gone. A split second later, he reappeared on top of the tower. Warden released his song. It had worked. But Daniel had not understood what it meant. Just that it was important. Warden feared that Daniel had forgotten about him; the interloper had taken great pains to make it seem like he was Warden, and not a new creation. If Daniel didn¡¯t know that Warden was down here, he would not be driven to free Warden. Daniel took in the city, much like he had the first time he had unknowingly visited Warden¡¯s tower. Feebly, Warden played the song one last time, then began to dig anew.


    Wait. He sensed clouds forming. Clouds of¡­boiling anger? Daniel was angry. It was painful for Warden to brush his awareness across the clouds. He looked up, instead. Daniel still stood atop the tower, but now his projection had its fists clenched, gaze fixed on the sky with an intensity Warden had not expected. Carefully, he risked burning his senses to feel out the anger again, hoping to learn its texture.


    Frustration was foremost in its composition. That made sense, Daniel¡¯s last three days had given him plenty of fuel for that. Indignation and vengeance, those too were right in place. Hate was to be expected, woven through the clouds like rebar. But there were subtle flavors, accents of other characteristic. A fierce sense of¡­justice? Daniel genuinely was angry not just about what had been done to him, but about the purpose for which he had been manipulated. It was subtle, but¡­Warden felt a spark of pride for his creator.


    He withdrew again, observing but not interacting with the boiling clouds. Daniel had a hammer, a blacksmith¡¯s hammer, in his hand. Warden watched as Daniel raised it to the sky and spun the clouds of anger onto the handle and head. If the boiling vapor was painful for Daniel¡¯s manifestation, he showed no sign of it. An instant later, Daniel vanished, taking his spool of raw anger and his hammer with him.


    Warden watched the sky, to the extent that he could. Daniel had been up to something. Something¡­maybe not intentional, but deliberate. Warden wasn¡¯t sure what, but he felt a grim sort of hope. After a while, the clouds of anger began to drive away, over one of the distant portions of Daniel¡¯s mindscape. They did not dissipate, though. Daniel was holding on to his anger.


    For over an hour, Warden sat in his cell. His escape had been abandoned, replaced by an awed examination of the spectacle. Eventually, he worked out that the anger was being gathered somewhere, possibly wound onto a massive spindle much like Daniel had spun it onto his hammer. Daniel was using it as fuel. Fuel for a new construct. Warden¡¯s hope grew, until he had a maniac grin on his face.


    Warden¡¯s reverie came to an end when Daniel once more appeared on top of the building. The clouds of anger had long since vanished from the sky, leaving behind a sort of hollow reflection. After arriving, Daniel raised one hand skyward, then held the other in front of him. In his fists, he manifested something new. A weapon, though not as Warden had seen before. It resembled nothing so much as a farmer¡¯s pitchfork made of pale wood and white metal. Flames flickered and danced between the tines with no fuel source to be seen.


    Like he was striking a spade into the earth, Daniel slammed the points of his new weapon into the top of Warden¡¯s tower. Flames shot out, dancing along the surface of the illusion, leaving cracks in their wake. Daniel raised his fiery pitchfork and slammed it down again. This time, the waves followed their old cracks, causing illusion-dust to fall them as the tower shifted and ground.


    As he struck a third time, Daniel shouted to the sky, a wordless, angry sound. Warden felt the impact this time as the points contacted the roof. Flames didn¡¯t so much dance as they surged. With a sound that would have woken mountains, the tower slowly began to fall apart. As it did, the flames of Daniel¡¯s weapon lingered on each piece, breaking it down more and more. By the time they reached the ground, nothing but dust remained, and that slowly faded from the mindscape, no longer intact.


    Warden brushed a massive pile of it out of his way, climbing the walls of the pit that had once been his cell. On the lip, he climbed out and brushed the rest of the illusion off. Daniel still stood where he had stood, though now it was thin air. He turned to look at Warden, and a brief flash of anger rippled through the ground before Daniel realized that Warden was not the interloper. Daniel lowered himself to land next to Warden, his pitchfork held at rest in one hand like a knight¡¯s spear.


    Warden spoke, for the first time since his imprisonment. ¡°Thank you, Master Daniel. I had worried I would never be free to fulfill my purpose again.¡± Warden bowed. ¡°You may call me Warden. I was your true first construct, until the interloper arrived and severed me from you. It would be my honor to resume my position as your guardian.¡±

 Part 31

    I woke back up in Lady Liu¡¯s house. My head still felt like it was splitting in two, but I was awake again, and I judged that to be a good sign. Boddy had dozed off in an arm chair in a corner of the room. He must have asked someone to bring it here, because it hadn¡¯t been there when I fell asleep. Dim but adequate lighting was coming through an open window opposite Boddy.


    There was a card folded over the back railing of my bed. I reached up and pulled it down. A small red circle dotted one corner, like a button. I opened the card and read.


    Mister Corners, I have found you a suitable instructor who can explain the basics of thought construction to you. When you next awaken, press the red circle on this card and think the word ¡°Summons¡± with vigorous intent. I was assured you would know how to do that.


    I wish you a speedy recovery. Little Cousin has been very worried about you. Youngest Grandson sends his wish to play video games with you.


    Regards,


    Ai Liu, Mistress of the House of Inheritance


    Your ally.


    I felt Warden stir, as if he was also reading the note through my eyes. It was a physical relief to finally know that the illusions and misdirections planted by Rookie were either destroyed, in the process of being destroyed, or under careful observance. Loyal was there too, in her own way a much greater defender than Warden, despite being just a deputy. She seemed to enjoy her new shape and her new name. I was just glad it meant she wouldn¡¯t be assailing me every time I slipped from ¡®awake¡¯ to ¡®not awake¡¯.


    She didn¡¯t participate in any of the illusions built in your mind. Warden offered, answering a question I hadn¡¯t fully formed yet. Nor do I think she was aware of the exact nature of your task. The latter is a bit more difficult to say with certainty, though. I was already imprisoned by that time.


    Okay, so Lady Liu was possibly an unknowing victim of Carver¡¯s plans. At the very least, she wasn¡¯t secretly a thought constructor who had planted Rookie and iced over all my concerns and my ability to connect the dots as to what my task meant for those plans. I decided to risk it. Even if she wasn¡¯t being honest, anything I could learn would be helpful. Also, I was more than a little excited about the prospect of getting magical training in a secretive psychic power that I apparently had.


    I pressed down on the circle. Warden added his voice to my own mental shout, SUMMONS! Then I tossed the card across the room.  It flapped and flopped and eventually clipped Boddy on the ear instead of his nose like I had been aiming for. It worked though, he was up in an instant, revolver drawn and held low by his side as he took in the room. After a cursory scan, then a more thorough check into the corners, he turned to me. His expression was blank, but his posture said ¡®I¡¯m annoyed. Make me not annoyed and I won¡¯t leave any bruises.¡¯


    ¡°Easy, Boddy. It¡¯s just me in here. That was easier than climbing out of bed.¡±


    ¡°You could have just called out at me.¡± Boddy returned to his chair, keeping his revolver carefully pointed at the floor but still in his grip.


    ¡°Yeah well, hindsight is perfect, but I am not. Thought you should know, the constructor arrived.¡±


    ¡°I know. They manifested that card that you just threw at my face. Dropped it off about an hour ago while you were sleeping.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve sent for them.¡±


    ¡°Must have been Sneaky Cousin to not wake me.¡±


    ¡°The card had a summons attached to it. I used that.¡±


    Boddy nodded. ¡°That makes more sense. So they¡¯ll be on their way, then?¡±


    ¡°Well, in theory. Assuming I focused enough while making the summons. And assuming they¡¯re still nearby. This is the Lane, they could be just about anywhere here or anywhere on Earth right now. Might take a while for them to reach us.¡±


    Boddy grunted. Apparently that didn¡¯t warrant words because it was so obvious preschool hobs (at, I assumed, roughly age 50 in realis time) would know about it.


    ¡°I have more good news, too.¡±


    ¡°That was good news?¡±


    ¡°Well, it approached it. Better than we¡¯ve had in a while. ¡®More or less¡¯ trustworthy is better than ¡®pointing a shotgun at me¡¯, at least in my book.¡±


    Boddy shrugged, then nodded. When he didn¡¯t speak, I continued with my good news. ¡°I made a weapon, today. A real one. I needed it---¡±


    ¡°What kind?¡± Boddy interrupted. ¡°Sorry?¡± I replied.


    ¡°What kind of weapon did you make? Handgun? Rifle? Maybe something old fashioned? Bow and arrows? Sword? Lightning bolts?¡±


    ¡°No, though let¡¯s circle back to lightning bolts later on. I made a pitchfork.¡±


    ¡°A¡­a pitchfork?!¡± Boddy seemed offended. I guess he was a professional; using a crude farming tool was probably beneath him.


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    ¡°That¡¯s right. It¡¯s also a torch at the same time.¡±


    ¡°A pitchfork. The kind you use to get rid of hay that horses shat on.¡±


    ¡°This particular one hasn¡¯t been used for that, but the same general shape, yeah, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Daniel, that¡¯s a terrible choice of weapon.¡±


    ¡°Whatever,¡± Just because he couldn¡¯t see the genius in it didn¡¯t mean the torchfork wasn¡¯t awesome. Pitchtorch? No, torchfork was better. ¡°It¡¯s symbolic of revolt or revolution. It was what I needed right now, not necessarily what I¡¯m going to make my signature weapon.¡±


    Boddy nodded. ¡°I see it, now. Makes sense, considering. I¡¯ll give you some proper defense training if you¡¯re still alive and welcome on the Lane. Then you can make a good weapon for multiple situations.¡±


    ¡°Cool. Anyway, I was getting to the actual good part. See, I found a big illusion in my mindscape while I was out. Huge. Tower-sized.¡±


    ¡°Do you know what it¡¯s hiding?¡±


    ¡°What it was hiding, yes. I destroyed it. With the torchfork.¡±


    Boddy leaned forward. Yeah, that had got his attention. Destroying towers was the sort of thing ¡®real¡¯ weapons could do, right?


    ¡°What it was hiding was my Warden. The original one, the one I made that night I went to the House the second time. You weren¡¯t there, but I think I caused a bit of a stir by throwing a tantrum, so maybe you heard about it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. So you freed your first construct, then? Why is that good news?¡±


    ¡°Well, for starters, he knows who made Rookie.¡± Boddy broke into another one of his grins. ¡°And to continue, I got some answers on why my second construct was acting so strange. Turns out, Rookie never helped me reintegrate it like I thought. Warden was the one responsible for that. And he deputized it. Literally. With a plastic deputy¡¯s badge from some field trip when I was seven.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ever since you passed out on the Lane and we took you here the first time, Rookie¡¯s been under attack by that thing?¡±


    ¡°Every night while I slept. It¡¯ll be even harder, now. Warden and I reshaped it. Well, I reshaped it. Warden kept a look out and said some encouraging things.¡± I¡¯m not sure if a figment of my own creation formed in my own image giving me a pep talk counts as narcissism but I¡¯m choosing to believe it doesn¡¯t. ¡°It¡¯s not a monstrosity anymore.¡± I considered for a second, then amended, ¡°Well, it¡¯s still pretty monstrosity-like. But it isn¡¯t cruel, and it has nothing to do with sleep. I call it Loyal. It¡¯s a sort of¡­kind of like a well trained pet. Or a hunting hound? Not in shape, but in¡­personality. I couldn¡¯t change its core being, but I was able to shift it a lot. It¡¯ll take the sleeping shifts, Warden will take the daytime shifts. Now that I know how to manipulate my own mindscape, I should be able to prevent any further intrusions.¡±


    ¡°That, and you have two dangerous entities and a weapon you can manifest now.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and that. So frankly, our situation is better than it has been since I signed the contracts. Even if we didn¡¯t know how bad things were back then.¡±


    ¡°You said you knew who had built Rookie, too?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It was Archie.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s never been a hob or any other being of irrealis with thought construction abilities.¡±


    ¡°Well, it might be more accurate to say it was a woman pretending to be Archie. Have you ever seen Archie¡¯s human guise?¡±


    ¡°Once or twice. Sometimes she goes to the realis for research, and one of us Boddys usually goes along to keep her safe.¡±


    ¡°Describe it.¡±


    ¡°I dunno. Looks human.¡±


    ¡°Old? Tall? Short?¡±


    ¡°Young. We¡¯ve actually had trouble getting in to some of the more¡­sensitive libraries because she can barely pass as a working adult in human appearance. Uh¡­shorter than my form, if not by much. My human guise is pretty tall, though. For a hob.¡±


    ¡°The woman who came to visit me was an adult, if a young one. And, more importantly, she was more than six feet tall. She was taller than I was, actually.¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t Archie.¡±


    ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t. It was Carver¡¯s mercenary constructor. She was there to plant Rookie, glass over any of my foibles about taking the job, and seem like she was on the up-and-up the whole time. It worked, too. I didn¡¯t know that thought construction was a thing until three weeks later, so Rookie had plenty of time to work without my awareness.¡±


    ¡°What about the Archie I know?¡±


    ¡°Never met her, but I suspect that either she¡¯s been replaced by a thought construct that looks an awful lot like her, or she¡¯s in on the whole deal and permitted Carver to send his hired brain tamperer in her stead.¡±


    Boddy pulled off his stocking cap to scratch the top of his head.  ¡°I hope she¡¯s okay,¡± was all he added to that.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± I started. ¡°I bet that freelancer is still---¡±


    I was interrupted by a knock on the guest room door. I shared a glance with Boddy, who moved his revolver to a polite, but still active, position. ¡°Come in!¡± I called back to the knock.


    The man who entered was lean, almost unhealthy thin. He had a full sleeve tattoo on one arm, and a series of three-pointed stars irregularly spaced along his forehead and one cheek. ¡°Mister Corners?¡± he asked, his voice deep and mellow, in contrast to his rather thuggish appearance.


    ¡°That¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡°Lady Liu has asked me to do a little training for you. Cover the basics of construction. Why don¡¯t we start with what you¡¯ve managed to figure out on your own, so I can tell you which parts were a bad idea and which parts were a terrible idea?¡±


    Something in his tone made me ask, ¡°And which parts were a good idea?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± said mellow-voice, a hint of cheerfulness caught in the word. ¡°I¡¯ve been at this a long time, Mister Corners. I¡¯ve taught a dozen new constructors. Not a one has ever had a good idea without training, myself included. The fact that you¡¯re sitting here before me in one piece means that you¡¯ve not had any catastrophic ideas, which is about as much as could be hoped for in a newbie.¡±


    ¡°Okay. I need some guarantee of secrecy, though.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you my contract. Lady Liu is the only one who gets to know any details of my work. It¡¯s standard procedure for someone like me.¡±


    ¡°I may ask you to keep some secrets from her, too. Could I hire you myself?¡±


    He sized me up, took in my little box in the corner, then Boddy, who had relaxed incrementally over the conversation, and now had his revolver in a rest grip, though still in a grip. ¡°I doubt it,¡± the constructor said, eventually. ¡°My rates tend to be pretty high. This is a full-time job, you know?¡±


    Boddy cleared his throat at that point. We both turned to look at him. ¡°Mister Daniel, I think you may have overlooked a simpler answer. Lady Liu has a reputation for integrity. If you just ask her not to pry into certain information, she¡¯ll respect it.¡±


    The tattooed man nodded. ¡°Yeah, I can work under those terms, as long as the Lady is aware of them.¡± He extended his hand. It was painful to roll over enough to shake it, but I did it anyway.


    ¡°Alright, secrets kept as Lady Liu allows. Even from Lady Liu. Now, tell me everything you can remember about constructing.¡±

 Part 32

    ¡°The good news,¡± my instructor--whose name when I finally thought to ask for it was Gary Westlake, of all things--was saying, ¡±Is that you¡¯ve only had one terrible idea. That¡¯s exceptional, in this particular skill set.¡±


    I had spent the last hour or so recounting everything about construction I could remember starting from when I initially shaped Warden, three weeks ago, and going up to the torchfork. I managed to leave out specifics about the item being delivered and its intent, but had to share the broad strokes of the deception, in order to explain the existence of Rookie.


    ¡°Which part was the terrible idea?¡±


    ¡°Giving a thought construct that you couldn¡¯t confirm was your own a name. Even if you did think that was your construct at the time, giving it a name carries risk. Which brings me to the bad ideas. First, every other time you gave a construct a name! I mean it. Don¡¯t do it. There aren¡¯t any benefits good enough to justify the increase in autonomy the construct derives.¡±


    ¡°Wait, I thought constructs weren¡¯t free-willed?¡±


    ¡°They are, technically, but we¡¯ll get to that. Second, using raw psyche to forge your hammer and your---¡±


    ¡°Torchfork.¡±


    ¡°Right, your tools. You used self-identity for the hammer and anger for the torchfork. Unlike naming, there are times when this can be helpful, but starting off on your first two deliberate creations¡­it¡¯s gonna bite you down the road. I¡¯ll teach you how to mitigate it. But try not to do anything like that until you¡¯ve given my side of this lecture a few times.


    ¡°Third: Reshaping the construct you named Loyal carried more risk than you realized. Constructs aren¡¯t made to be malleable. It goes against their very nature. The proper thing to do would have been to just tough out the consequences of integrating that construct. If for some reason you couldn¡¯t do that, it¡¯s possible to deconstruct but it¡¯s exhausting and it carries risks of its own. Repurposing could have knocked you out for days. Should have, in fact. I¡¯ve known constructors, skilled constructors well past their first week of training, mind you, to obliterate actual, tangible, knowledge with the backlash from that. Just poof, suddenly you can¡¯t remember the happy birthday song. The only reason this didn¡¯t mete terrible is that generally speaking, knowledge can be regained.


    ¡°Lastly, while it isn¡¯t technically any better or worse than any other motif, I find it personally gross that you tear parts of yourself off when you¡¯re shaping and constructing.¡±


    Gary sat back in an armchair (delivered for his use by Fifth Eldest Cousin), and met my gaze. I had managed, with some nausea, a cold pack, and another intravenous something-or-other, to pull myself into a sitting position.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I acknowledged, when Gary didn¡¯t continue. ¡°But that leaves a lot of my choices not on either list. Projecting into my mindscape? Bad, terrible, neither? Shattering illusions? Is there a safer way to do that? What about my whole refinery system, or I dunno, teleporting in my mind? Or manifesting my hammer outside my personal mindscape?¡±


    ¡°They mostly land in the esteemable ¡®neutral¡¯.¡± Gary answered. ¡°High praise to the self-taught, in this field. With the exception of your autoprojection. That actually merits a ¡®remarkable¡¯. I haven¡¯t decided if it¡¯s bad or not yet.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Well, most constructors learn to form constructs in the abstract first. You build an idea, say. Then you can manifest it, and the idea takes a suitable shape drawn from your subconscious. Deliberately giving your construct a specific form is usually learned later on. Intermediate stuff. And projecting into mindscapes, even your own, is advanced-track. Almost nobody figures that one out on their own without the help of a tutor.¡±


    ¡°So, what does that mean?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to come visit you in your mindscape later to get a better read. For now, based on what you¡¯ve told me and what Lady Liu and her staff have observed and shared with me, it doesn¡¯t really mean anything other than being an interesting footnote.¡±


    I try not to be a prideful person, but somehow that seemed¡­dismissive. ¡°I figured out an advanced technique on my own, and that¡¯s just a footnote?¡±


    ¡°The magnitude and flexibility of your skills fit within what we expect from constructors with your amount of exposure. As far as I¡¯m concerned, you haven¡¯t mastered an advanced skill, so much as started self-teaching back to front. You¡¯re going to have a lot harder time with abstractions, I think. And because you figured out construction via projection instead of the more common way, you won¡¯t be able to construct on the fly. Your forge is an interesting focus, but it means thinking ahead. If you get into conflict with another constructor, they¡¯ll be able to pull new solutions out of the fabric of the Lane on the fly. I suggest you overcome this handicap as quickly as you can.¡±


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    I let that sink in. I wasn¡¯t exceptional, I was just a novelty. I could¡­I could live with that. It certainly made it easier to not be prideful.


    ¡°Okay, where do I start?¡±


    ¡°Well, shaking bad habits is the important first step. Fortunately for you, you¡¯ve only had what¡­three, four days? They aren¡¯t really habits so much as impulses at this point. I¡¯ll guide you in building a construct that can warn you when you¡¯re about to name one of your other constructs. You can add any other warning flags you want to the construct while we work, or later on if you think it¡¯s necessary.¡±


    I opened my mouth to reply, but Gary held up a hand to stop me.


    ¡°That addresses problem one, the biggest problem. While we work, I can show you how to gather non-psyche thoughtstuff for constructing. That addresses problem two. I consider problem three to be a rare enough situation that it isn¡¯t likely to come up again, and now that you know it isn¡¯t a bad idea, it¡¯s not the sort of thing you can do by accident. If you¡¯re really worried about impulse control, add it to your warning system. The whole process is gonna take us a couple hours, but down the road you¡¯ll probably be able to do this sort of thing in a few minutes at most.¡±


    ¡°And then what?¡±


    ¡°Practice. Some of us freelancers wrote up a sort of guide. It¡¯s not ideal, but it¡¯ll keep you from imploding your own sense of direction while you hone your skills. If you get stumped, find me, or find another freelancer to give you a lesson. Expect to pay for it. Cash, usually, or precious metals. Or you can ask around. Sometimes one or the other of us will take on a dedicated apprentice. Though I¡¯ll warn you, they tend to be the ones taking the more dangerous jobs where having a second full-fledged mind on your side might mean life and death.¡±


    I did not have the money to hire a freelancer, according to Gary¡¯s own estimation. That meant I would be blundering about in the dark, but at least I would have a map? Metaphor, Warden chimed from my mindscape. He was distracted digging up another one of the hundreds of pumpkin-sized illusion crystals that had been buried just below the surface thoughts of my mindscape. I¡¯d have to pull him off of that before we went to the lane.


    ¡°What about metaphors? Will your warning system help prevent me from accidentally manifesting another wild metaphor while I¡¯m traveling the Lane?¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t have to. At least, not on the Lane proper. You¡¯ll still want to be careful on the Alleys until you¡¯ve got a full handle on your powers, but generally a constructor only risks loosing wild metaphors up until the first time they deliberately construct. Unless you¡¯re in extreme emotional distress or you have some phobias or psychoses that you didn¡¯t mention?¡±


    I shook my head. Gary shrugged. ¡°Then as long as you don¡¯t make new metaphors on purpose and stay away from the Alleys, you should be fine. In fact, once you develop a little bit more, you¡¯ll act as a sort of stabilizing factor for non-constructing humans. Make it less likely that they¡¯ll riffle the thoughtstuff enough to make a fresh metaphor.¡±


    Boddy¡¯s ears both twitched outward, and one of his eyebrows cocked. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of that.¡± It was his first words since Gary had introduced himself.


    ¡°Really?¡± Gary seemed genuinely surprised. ¡°It¡¯s one of the most common jobs us freelancers get throughout the Lane. House of Community never hires couriers?¡±


    Boddy looked over at me. ¡°They hired me,¡± I offered. ¡°But the situation was pretty um¡­clandestine.¡±


    ¡°Right, right. But before you? I mean, the sort of job Daniel is doing is actually quite common. Other than the subverting intent portion, I mean. Alliances, obligations, all sorts of concepts need to travel from one House to another. A realis host makes the delivery stick better. I¡¯m not a theorist, but from what I heard it¡¯s got something to do with the fact that every House is anchored by a realis human.¡±


    Boddy shook his head. ¡°House of Community doesn¡¯t have to do all that much of it, I guess. It¡¯s been over a hundred years since the last parcel delivery, and Mister Carver carried that one personally.¡±


    ¡°Without a constructor on hand?¡±


    Boddy tapped his knee, recalling memories from before my grandparents were born much as I¡¯d try to remember something that happened last year. ¡°Actually, yeah.¡± He finally admitted. ¡°There was a constructor there, only I assumed it was a coincidence at the time. We met her on the Lane once we were on the move; happened to be going the same direction.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like your Mister Carver has been keeping details from his staff. I¡¯d bet he hired her to stabilize.¡±


    ¡°Umm,¡± I raised my hand, tentatively, ¡°Why not just hire the freelancer as the courier? Save yourself a hire, as it were?¡±


    ¡°Trust, usually. Constructors could really, and I mean really mess with the symbolism and intent of a courier delivered item. Since non-constructor minds tend to reject any constructs as a matter of course, it¡¯s difficult bordering on blatantly dangerous to try messing with the item and the courier. But the constructor is still necessary to stabilize and in extreme cases, to protect the courier.¡±


    ¡°But we¡¯re pretty sure that I was hired specifically because I was a thought constructor.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know. And that¡¯s baffling too, because as far as I know, there isn¡¯t any way to mark one thought constructor out of a crowd until they¡¯ve actively used their abilities. Based on what constructors and anchors both know about irrealis, your employer shouldn¡¯t have been able to know you were a potential thought constructor.¡±


    ¡°He did, though. He said Archie figured it out.¡±


    ¡°I know several theorists who would be ecstatic to learn how. For that matter, I¡¯d like to learn how. Not for the sake of knowledge, either. Potentially finding constructors before they stumble onto the Lane by accident has both fantastic and horrifying ramifications for inter-House politics.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Boddy spoke up. ¡°I worked with Archie, remember? Bodyguarding on trips to the realis. I didn¡¯t know it was some big revelation, at the time, but I was there when she figured it out.¡±

 Part 33

    ¡°We were actually in your hometown, Daniel,¡± Boddy explained. ¡°Archie had been consulting with members of various Houses interested in the theory of thought construction, and said she had to conduct an experiment in realis. Master Carver sent me along to guard her. Porter was there too, as her assistant.


    ¡°It was one of the shortest journeys and one of the longest visits of all the times we went to realis. Archie had Porter drop us off on some restaurant¡¯s patio. We were all three in our human guises, of course. I wanted to go as a bee, but Archie insisted. We never left the patio. We were there for almost 8 hours. Porter wound up just paying the restaurant and the host directly after we ate one meal and they wanted us to leave. Rented the table for the day.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t entirely sure what the other two were doing. I got the general outline of it, but it was all pretty¡­technical from my end. Archie had a theory about the Lane, built up from fragments of theories she had borrowed from other Houses. Basically, it boiled down to this: If constructors can enter the Lane by accident, which is how most of them end up in irrealis in the first place,¡± I looked at Gary, who nodded. Well, I guess that confirmed my guess about constructors being more likely to find irrealis. ¡°Then potential constructors would interact with doorways in a way that¡¯s sort of a potential entrance. Not opening the way entirely, but enough to make a ripple.¡±


    Gary interrupted. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that one before, but it¡¯s been tried. Nobody has ever been able to identify any difference between different non-aware individuals crossing a potential doorway. Even if they check busy malls on major shopping days, when thousands or tens of thousands of people pass through the same door, they can¡¯t notice any ripple at all, let alone resulting from a specific person.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, there¡¯s a trick to it, apparently. Thought constructors alone wouldn¡¯t be able to do it. In fact, you might be uniquely suited for not doing it, seeing as how any time you come to the Lane you come in outside the House grounds, right? Barring an invitation, that is.¡±


    ¡°Okay yeah, that¡¯s true. You¡¯re saying that it only works for people entering House grounds proper? How could that possibly help, though? You¡¯d have to make every non-constructor aware of the irrealis as part of the experiment.¡±


    ¡°Conditional invitation, is how. That¡¯s what Archie needed Porter for. He could issue invitations, as the doorman. It¡¯s how we manage visitors, right? So Archie told him to issue a provisional invitation to any human thought constructor. Then, he kept his eyes on the gate. If it started to open onto the House grounds, he would revoke the invitation before the human stepped through into it.¡±


    ¡°Huh. But it would only do that if the person was a thought constructor? And it worked, even for potential thought constructors?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Like I said, we sat at that table for hours. Through two busy meal periods, plus the start of what Porter called ¡°bar time¡±. We saw probably four or five hundred people go through that door.¡±


    ¡°And one of them was me?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. I wasn¡¯t told to watch the faces of the potentials; we just wanted to know if it was possible. It was. Porter had to shut down the gate twice, actually. One of them might have been you.¡±


    ¡°But Carver hired me. Said he knew about me, had researched me.¡±


    ¡°All of that was true. But from what I knew of the search, he did all that after you stumbled through that door the first time.¡±


    ¡°He lied?¡± I realized it sounded rather stupid of me to be surprised, but in this case, there had been a lot of evidence to support it. Like how he knew my address, my vocation, my name.


    ¡°He lied about Maps too, right? Why would this be different? I can¡¯t be sure, he might have sent Porter out on other tests, hunting for specific people, but from what Archie was saying that day, it seems to me like it would have been a lot easier to issue a conditional invitation with a much wider net and just not close the door.¡±


    Gary was nodding enthusiastically, writing notes on a legal pad that I realized after a second he had constructed specifically for that purpose. ¡°Of course. Any potential ends up in irrealis, and you can just track them down later after they inevitably panic and run off.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± I started to defend myself. I may have done exactly that but it was still kind of a bold assumption to make. I hadn¡¯t mentioned it during my recap, either.


    ¡°Not you specifically, Corners. We almost all do it, the first time. Unless we¡¯re slightly unstable, or very very stable. And we don¡¯t usually come out inside the walls of a House, either. Just the Lane itself. We don¡¯t see denizens in their natural forms until we¡¯ve been here a couple times, unless we happen across one out on a job.¡±


    ¡°Yeah that was rather shocking,¡± I admitted.


    Boddy shorted. ¡°Hobs are shocking? You¡¯re lucky you didn¡¯t come out in a House staffed by humans or worse, one of the things that looks human but eats kidneys or something. Hobs are harmless.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but when you¡¯ve lived your whole life and the only things that speak English, walk on two legs, and wear suits are humans, suddenly seeing something that isn¡¯t human doing it kinda throws you off balance.¡±


    Boddy shrugged. I suppose it would be harder for him to relate to. He¡¯d grown up with the idea of humans, hobs, and all manner of other beings of irrealis being around him. Seeing a new one would be less surprising, since he already had several dozen to reference.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± he concluded. ¡°That¡¯s how they figured it out. Takes someone with Porter¡¯s authority, or any other doorman or I suppose a head of House.¡±


    Gary had more questions. ¡°You said Archie took notes on this? Did she share them with other constructors? Other Houses that she was collaborating with?¡±


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°She said she wanted to, but Master Carver requested that she wait until after this job had concluded. Or, I guess it was more of an order, as her employer. She wasn¡¯t one to really¡­push against authority. She went back to her archives. Didn¡¯t see her for a few days. We had lunch together, the day she wrote up Daniel¡¯s contract. But according to Daniel, she never delivered it, not herself. I saw her a few times during the next couple weeks, but she always was busy, so I just waved hi and went about my business.¡±


    ¡°But you did see her after Carver sent the impostor to doctor my mindscape?¡±


    Boddy nodded. He seemed worried, though. I guess he had thought that if Archie hadn¡¯t actually delivered my contract, she couldn¡¯t be in on the whole thing, but if she had known how to find me and had still been around after whatever that thought constructor woman¡¯s name was, how could she have been unaware of what Carver wanted me to do? I had always figured Archie was in on it, anyway. She had written the contract, even Boddy admitted it. Though he did say the description of the item wasn¡¯t in the version he had read.


    ¡°All very fascinating,¡± Gary said. ¡°And I shall make sure the revelation isn¡¯t limited to one House, particularly not just one exceptionally untrustworthy House, as of this moment. No offense, Mister Boddy.¡±


    Boddy grunted in a noncommittal sort of way.


    ¡°But that¡¯s not why I¡¯m here. We need to get your mindscape under management to prevent potential disasters, Daniel. After we do that, practice and self-discovery are the best teachers for this skill, generally.¡±


    ¡°I had some questions, too, actually,¡± I responded. I looked around the room for my hotel notepad. I didn¡¯t see it anywhere, until Boddy tapped me on the knee with it. He must have been looking after it since I got knocked out.


    ¡°Okay, some of this I think I already worked out. The door went to a police station because Rookie put the station there, not because I was filling in the blanks. When I start planning to change something, like making a stairwell, the world--my mindscape--does start molding to it before I actively start shaping. Is that normal?¡±


    ¡°Normal enough. Like I said, you¡¯re going back-to-front on the usual path of development. By the time people can do what you can do, they usually are already accustomed to a certain amount of reflexive shaping, so we¡¯ve never really considered whether it was a trained or an innate ability. Seems like innate is going to have a lot of support for it if you go public as a freelancer.¡±


    ¡°Sure. And the synesthesia-like sensation I mentioned?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s common.¡±


    ¡°Dimensions in the mindscape? The city, the buildings, all of that seemed to have a fairly constant size, but Loyal can change from human-sized to monster-sized and back. Is that a property she possesses or one of the mindscape?¡±


    ¡°Little of both. The mindscape isn¡¯t static, but it is static in a relative sense, after a fashion. While you¡¯re projected there, all the bits of the mindscape are going to default to being the same relative dimensions to your projection. If you wanted to, you could change the dimensions of your projection, or the dimensions of one part or another of your mindscape, but if you do, all the other parts of the mindscape are going to stay the same relative size to each other.¡±


    ¡°So, I can grow a building, but it doesn¡¯t mean that other buildings are going to warp to accommodate it?¡±


    ¡°Nor is the space on the ground that it occupies. You get used to it after a few tries. The mindscape is like that. Physics need not apply.¡±


    ¡°Dreams? Several times I¡¯ve projected while sleeping, and when I check my physical awareness, I see dreams there. I would have thought they¡¯d be a part of the mindscape.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes they are. Dreams are complicated. Most thoughts are complicated, actually. The mindscape reflects a sort of¡­metaphysical mind. Some people call it the soul, or the spirit, or the id. I like the psyche, myself. But remember, all of your thoughts are physical phenomena, too.¡± He tapped his own skull. ¡°Incomprehensibly and currently-incomputably complex phenomena, but when you have a thought, there are signals firing between neurons up here, right?


    ¡°Dreams work the same way. They¡¯re a part of your psyche, yes. But not always. Sometimes dreams are just neurons firing. They don¡¯t hold deeper meaning, it¡¯s just random sensory data that your brain doesn¡¯t know what to do with. Only your physical self will experience that kind. It¡¯s rare for people to remember much of those, and if they do it¡¯s never for long.¡±


    ¡°And the other kind? The kind that takes place in the psyche?¡±


    ¡°Those will show up in your mindscape. Sometimes they mean something, like if you¡¯ve got a problem and you can¡¯t work it out. Sometimes they¡¯re just latent emotions, usually fears, trying to make themselves known. Usually people remember those, at least for a couple hours. It¡¯ll be easier for you if you¡¯re projecting at the time, but also riskier.¡±


    ¡°That brings me to my last question: What happens to me, this me, if my projection is¡­destroyed, or damaged, or something in my mindscape?¡±


    ¡°Phantom pain, usually. It fades with time. The real risk is that something might cause damage to the mindscape itself. Especially the foundational parts of it. Natural dreams aren¡¯t going to do it, but if someone messes with it or you carelessly do something in there, you can cause permanent personality changes or even psychosis. So don¡¯t, is my advice. I know some constructors who deliberately and carefully make changes to their mindscape to become more like what they want to be; braver, smarter, more attentive, less sensitive to insults. From my perspective, it¡¯s not about who manages it without damage and who doesn¡¯t. It¡¯s about how long they can go without damage. Longest I knew personally managed five years of self improvement, then they completely severed their mind from their physical senses by accident trying to improve their pain tolerance. Makes life very difficult for them, because they basically need to project and do the picture in picture thing just to do day to day stuff. Plus they had to make a whole mess of constructs to deliberately record sensory memories because without those, they¡¯d only have physical memories, not ones that touch their psyche. They don¡¯t have the time or the thoughtstuff to do anything but keep themselves barely functional anymore.¡±


    ¡°Okay, so don¡¯t mess with my foundation, I will definitely be adding that to the warning-bot immediately.¡± I turned the notepad over onto the bed. ¡°Okay, I¡¯m ready to build this thing. How do we start?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s start by projecting into your mind. We won¡¯t be building it there, but it will be easier to draw up blueprints, as it were. Is it okay if I project into your mindscape? Customarily, constructors ask permission.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s okay. Give me a few seconds to uh¡­issue some orders to my guards, though.¡±  Warden, Loyal. The tutor is coming in. Don¡¯t eject him, he¡¯s here to teach. Understood, answered Warden. Loyal let out a sort of bark-trill noise that she had adopted after I reshaped her. But Daniel, I¡¯m going to be keeping an eye on him. If he tries to do anything unexpected, I¡¯m yelling ¡®sic!¡¯ and we get to see how dangerous Loyal really is. ¡°Okay. You¡¯ve been given provisional permission. But my guards aren¡¯t particularly trusting, so try not to surprise them?¡±


    I turned inward, forming my projection outside my forge-house. As I did, I felt another mind taking shape alongside mine. As we manifested, Gary¡¯s physical body said, ¡°That is why we don¡¯t give them names.¡± And then we were standing on the street, my projection blessedly free of pain, Gary¡¯s surprisingly free of tattoos. It was time to get to work.

 Part 34

    Boddy kept watch for the first hour or so while Daniel and the constructor Lady Liu had hired built a security system or whatever for Daniel, but frankly, there wasn¡¯t much point. Mister Westlake was unarmed, though for a constructor that was always a fluid statement. More to the point, if Westlake wanted to do anything to Daniel, Boddy¡¯s ability to respond would be extremely limited, since he couldn¡¯t project into Daniel¡¯s mindscape.


    Which meant that for the first hour or so, Boddy was left with his thoughts. He was still having plenty of trouble with those, though. It was hard to reconcile the Master Carver he knew and respected with the man who had apparently tried to sell nine Houses out to an Alley House. Maphandler, formerly Porter, had been his friend. So had the other Boddy, the one who took a knife right before this trip.


    It was Archie that hurt the worst, though. Boddy had always had a soft spot for the House¡¯s youngest full-time worker. Her grandfather had been like an old uncle to Boddy, and Archie herself had been like his favorite niece. He had watched her growing up, supervised her taking her first tasks as a Gofer. Hell, Boddy knew more than a little bit about how the archives process worked just from the times he had dropped off lunch for Archie and Old Archie. They had been family, both to Boddy and to his older siblings and parents. And when Boddy¡¯s family had all taken positions at another House, he had been taken in by Old Archie. Well, sort of. By that point Boddy was an adult with a name and a job and a room of his own. But he knew Old Archie would always be there if Boddy needed him. And up until the day of Old Archie¡¯s passing at the age of eight centuries and a bit, Boddy had leaned on him. That had been a couple decades ago. Boddy was entering his fourth century now, Archie was halfway through her second.


    It would be just as bad, he knew, if Archie was not involved. Because if that was the case, then his friend had been replaced. He could think of plenty of ways that Master Carver could accomplish that, and few of them involved the original Archie still being around. At best she would be imprisoned somewhere, but hobs were house spirits and House spirits. Confined spaces were fine, but limiting spaces? That was unbearable. It had been bad enough being in the car with Daniel as a bee, or now to know that he couldn¡¯t freely travel the Lane. Actual imprisonment would have seared his mind.


    He got up. Daniel and Mister Westlake were still focused on their projected selves; though Boddy had paid enough attention to the earlier conversation and chastisement to realize that they could easily do that and walk around outside at the same time. He supposed it was fair, considering the importance of what Daniel was learning. But it meant that his presence in this room was somewhat superfluous.


    The House of Inheritance, as always, managed to lay itself out like an ancient family home. He missed his House with its more-or-less consistent architecture, but if there was anywhere a house spirit could easily navigate, it was a house, little h or big H either one. He let his feet take him down the hall, through a door that looked exactly like the others, up two flights of stairs, another hall, down a flight of stairs, then all the way to the far end of a final hall. His senses told him what he needed was on the other side of this door.


    And there it was. The recreation room. The rumpus room, sometimes. The den, in other domains. He didn¡¯t know what they called it here, but he smelled the stale odor of potato chips and heard cheering about some sporting event that was likely playing on the screen. He managed a sort of weak smile as he pushed open the door.


    A crowd of off-duty cobbles were gathered on a couch facing one large screen. Boddy was surprised to see Steward in an armchair nearby, wearing his natural tiger-like face and focused intently on the game. A few other House staff members of other kins were there as well, even including a hob, to Boddy¡¯s surprise. Usually hobs and cobbles agreed not to work under the same roof. It wasn¡¯t necessarily a hatred thing, but more of a mutual respect.


    A couple of heads turned in Boddy¡¯s direction as he took in the scene. One cobble¡¯s eyes went inquisitive, the others dismissed Boddy as unimportant, or at least unlikely to disrupt their day off, and grabbed bowls of popcorn (realis popcorn, Boddy could smell it from here) as they turned back to the game.


    He met the inquisitive eyes and nodded, the polite nod of one professional to another. Then to the group at large, he asked ¡°What¡¯s the score?¡±


    One of the assorted cobbles answered. ¡°We have Narcissists up three runs on the Grand Ol¡¯ Id. But Id has the bottom slot and there¡¯s plenty of innings left to play.¡±


    Inter-house baseball, then. Boddy didn¡¯t follow it closely, but he knew some basic info. ¡°Mind if I pull up a seat?¡±


    The inquiring cobble hopped up over the back of the couch in answer, grabbing a pair of chairs from a stack near the kitchenette. Boddy approved. A good rec room should have a place to make refreshments. It even had a tiny little wet bar. To his surprise, the whole bar, the couch, the television, and most of the dishes were realis. The House of Inheritance could make almost anything the Household would need, but they still relied on so much realis that it was almost like being in human shape again.


    The cobble, a woman in her third or fourth century, set both chairs down by the end of the couch. Boddy selected the one on the outside, letting the cobble sit closer to her friends or family on the couch. Silently, they both watched the game for a little while.


    ¡°You¡¯re Bodyguard, right?¡± The cobble woman asked after a few minutes. ¡°From Community? You came here with the thought constructor?¡±


    ¡°One of them, yeah. Your Lady sent for a second one to give my one a bit of assistance.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Right, I heard about that. Your human is Mister¡­Cover? Corners! Mister Corners?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯d say he¡¯s no more ¡®my¡¯ human than I¡¯m ¡®his¡¯ hob, but yeah. That¡¯s the human I am currently traveling and working alongside.¡±


    The cobble woman didn¡¯t reply for a long time. Boddy turned back to the game, letting the sporting event occupy as much of his thoughts as he could. He was no great student of statistics and sports trivia, but he also didn¡¯t have a lot of thoughts to spare, so it worked. He was jerked to alerntess by the cobble woman¡¯s voice again. ¡°Can I ask you something, Bodyguard?¡±


    ¡°You may, if you tell me your name.¡±


    ¡°I am Youngest Aunt. We don¡¯t customarily use personal names in this House, but I understand that it¡¯s common in your House, so you can call me Annie, if you must.¡±


    ¡°Youngest Aunt is fine. You can call me Boddy if you like,¡± Boddy responded. ¡°What¡¯s your question?¡±


    ¡°Why are you and Mister Corners back here? For that matter, why did you come here to begin with?¡±


    Boddy leaned against the back of his chair, looking at the ceiling briefly while he considered his answer. A particularly dazzling play elicited cheering from the cobbles and even a couple of claps from the rakshasa as he was about to answer, so he paused for a few seconds while everyone calmed down.


    ¡°We came here the first time by accident. Daniel--that¡¯s Mister Corners--got attacked by a metaphor of his own creation. A true one--constructed one--though we didn¡¯t know it until after it was running loose. It put him into a sleep that we fully expected would be a coma. Miss Wanderer was with us at the time, from House Curiosity. She believed that if we could get Daniel somewhere safe, he would wake up eventually. Maphandler--that¡¯s another hob from Community who was with us then--found the nearest House that was allied to Community. Turned out to be here.


    ¡°This second time, we¡¯re here because Daniel and I landed on the wrong side of a set-up. The delivery we thought we were on was¡­¡± Boddy trailed off, trying to decide how much he could share. Lady Liu knew some of it, though not the details of the item nor the origins of Rookie. Her House staff would likely all know as much as they needed to as soon as they needed to. Youngest Aunt here probably already knew the broad strokes just through gossip. ¡°Let¡¯s just say it wasn¡¯t exactly what we expected. Some things went South. Maphandler tried to attack Daniel, assisted by the House we thought we were delivering to. I tried to protect him. After a scuffle, Daniel and I ended up out in realis for a day, hidden, or hidden enough. Once we collected our resources and regained some energy, we decided to come back through, but your House was the only doorway we knew that would admit Daniel.¡±


    ¡°Why not your own House?¡± The woman asked, tilting her head so that her long chin swung almost like the pendulum of a clock.


    ¡°Maphandler used to be Porter over there,¡± Boddy answered. It was technically the truth. ¡°We weren¡¯t sure how well that would work out if he was willing to attack Daniel already.¡±


    ¡°So you think Maphandler may have betrayed your House?¡±


    Boddy looked down at the cobble. She was smaller than he was. Unlike him, her fur and skin were a brownish color, like tanned leather. Made sense, he supposed. The original human story had involved a shoemaker, right? She was looking straight ahead, eyes unfocused, but she noticed him turn his head and met his eye. There was something she wanted to share with him, he realized. But she didn¡¯t know whether she could trust him with it.


    He decided to tell her the truth. Or at least a bigger portion of it than he had openly told anyone except Lady Liu, and he knew Daniel hadn¡¯t spoken to anyone but Mister Westlake. ¡°Not exactly. We--I--think that the House hired Daniel as a scapegoat for something terrible. I¡¯m not sure who else on the staff I can trust, or even if the Master of the House is involved. So we came here. You¡¯re allies of our House, but your Lady isn¡¯t known for tricks and treachery. Daniel has only met members of maybe four or five Houses, and his only invitations were here, Curiosity, and Community. I¡¯m not a doorman, so I didn¡¯t know how to get to Curiosity, but Daniel had an invitation for here. Seemed safer than going back home, at the time.¡±


    ¡°Until those thugs ambushed you on the front lawn.¡± Youngest Aunt offered, very quietly.


    ¡°Until that, yeah. But even then, they¡¯d only arranged for Lady Liu to keep out of it, and she broke that agreement when it became clear they were trying to harm us. Too late to help, but it still means something for your Lady¡¯s reputation.¡±


    The cobble turned back towards the screen, saying nothing for several minutes. Boddy didn¡¯t press. If she planned to tell him whatever it was she knew, she would tell him.


    ¡°What do you plan to do now?¡± she eventually asked, not turning to look at him. Boddy glanced aside, then turned back to the game himself.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to gear up and head back to my House. Our House. Daniel was hired there, it¡¯s his too, in a sense. We¡¯re going to find out who¡¯s working against the House, who they¡¯re working with, and we¡¯re going to put a stop to all of them.¡± He tightened his fist in his lap as he spoke. His speech surprised him. He hadn¡¯t consciously made the decision to deliver justice out, because that wasn¡¯t a decision that a bodyguard made. He wasn¡¯t sure what his new name would be in the end. But he was certainly prepared to find out.


    ¡°Good,¡± was all that Youngest Aunt had to say about that. She smiled, slightly. She and Boddy turned to watch the game. He felt that he had gained an ally here, even though she had not actually revealed whatever it was that she was considering revealing.


    In the seventh inning, one of the Tiny Siblings came in at a patter and tapped Boddy on the sleeve. ¡°Mister Daniel has finished his session and is asking for you, Mister Boddy.¡±


    Boddy rose to go, saying brief and polite farewells to the sports fans in the room. As he put his chair back by the wall, Youngest Aunt appeared at his elbow carrying her own chair. She passed him a slip of paper. He met her eyes and she flicked them towards the door. Assuring the Tiny Sibling that he could find his own way, Boddy returned to Daniel¡¯s room. Once he was out of eyeshot of the cobbles, he read the note.


    Mister Bodyguard, I believe you and Mister Daniel may need to see something that was delivered to my House three weeks ago. Meet me in the Green Study in an hour.


    It was signed by Lady Liu.

 Part 35

    Boddy returned as I was thanking Gary for his help. True to his word, it had taken us a mere couple of hours to build what I thought of as a firewall for my brain. Unlike Warden, who was specific, this construct had been general; it had not specific form in my mindscape, and it was omnipresent, which was a lot more useful. It wasn¡¯t as strong as Warden; it would require my direct involvement if it detected an intrusion. But I was more confident that I wouldn¡¯t let any constructions out nor any outside thoughtstuff in without knowing about it.


    Gary had also insisted that I learn to pull thoughtstuff in a way that didn¡¯t involve dismembering my thought projection. He called it a ¡®motif¡¯, which was apparently constructor-lingo for ¡®way that you get thoughtstuff¡¯. It apparently didn¡¯t change the end result, but he still made me learn to pull strands of it from the air like filtering out impurities.


    As he left, Gary handed me the promised literature put together by various freelancers explaining thought construction. There honestly wasn¡¯t much, maybe thirty pages all told. But it was still nice to at least have a reference guide to my own weird hold on the irrealis. Boddy waited until the door was closed before passing me a note from Lady Liu.


    It wasn¡¯t very long. Boddy had clearly read it before he got here, when I looked up, he seemed to be waiting only for my agreement. I nodded. ¡°I need a minute though. This seems like the sort of thing I should dress for.¡±


    The doctor had visited again while I was in the mindscape with Gary. He had checked some vital signs, decided that I was ¡°stable enough to move around¡±, taken out the little IV needle from my arm, and left again after setting down a few pills and another tonic from the mystic to wash them down with. I took those first, then hauled myself out of bed, with minimal help from Boddy. I was wearing no shirt but pajama pants that were not mine. I found my clothes in a drawer, neatly folded and obviously freshly washed. It was slow going, because I was still shaky, but I managed to get into them. I felt my bandages once I was dressed, leaning on the wardrobe with one hand for support. Dry, which was good. The doctor said all my wounds had properly closed and should heal in a few days with minimal scarring. I asked about my skull and he had just said ¡°you¡¯ll be alright if you don¡¯t get hit again¡±. I added medicine and first aid to the list of things I needed to research when I got back, because I was pretty sure that wasn¡¯t how head injuries worked normally.


    When I was dressed and more or less steady on my feet, I started towards the door. Boddy got there first and held it as I stumbled out into the hallway. Then he pointed off to the right and started walking. I wasn¡¯t sure how Boddy knew where we were going, but apparently he had directions, somehow.


    The Green Study was quite a bit larger than I expected it to be, and was laid out more like a conference room, complete with a massive oval-shaped table in the middle surrounded by chairs for twenty or thirty people. Three of the chairs were occupied by Lady Liu, Steward, and a feminine-looking cobble I didn¡¯t recognize. Around the walls were a series of binders, rather than the expected books. Clearly the Green Study was dedicated more to records and business than to leisure reading. Without needing to be prompted, I moved to stand by a chair just across the narrow part of the table from Lady Liu and rested my hand on it. Boddy stood at the chair next to mine. When she nodded, we both sat down.


    Before I could ask why she had invited us to her strangely big conference room, a narrow side door, tucked in between two bookcases so as to seem hidden without being obstructed, opened and several cobbles came in bearing cups and kettles. Lady Liu solemnly filled five antique cups from a kettle that looked even older, and I sensed a certain ceremony to the whole thing. After we had each taken our first sip, Lady Liu set her cup down in her palm and spoke. ¡°Thank you, Misters Corners and Bodyguard, for agreeing to meet me here. I apologize for how secretive I was about it. I believe you will want to hear what I am about to tell you.¡±


    ¡°Anything you ask. We owe you a lot, ma¡¯am,¡± I answered, trying my best to affect a formality that I had never learned. Boddy murmured something beside me that I didn¡¯t catch, but it made the cobble sitting with Lady Liu smirk.


    ¡°And though you don¡¯t know it yet, I owe you a considerable amount, Mister Corners. But first, I should introduce my assistants. I believe you met Steward at dinner, the other night?¡± She indicated the humanlike man with the backwards hands on her right. He bowed, slightly, and Boddy and I repeated the gesture. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± I answered. ¡°Nice to see you again, Steward.¡±


    ¡°Likewise, Master Corners.¡± Steward answered.


    ¡°And on my left here is Youngest Aunt, who sometimes chooses to go by the name Betty,¡± Lady Liu waved at the cobble, who nodded politely and offered, ¡°Nice to meet you, Master Daniel.¡±


    ¡°Likewise, Miss¡­or Ma¡¯am? Which do you prefer?¡± Betty grinned and answered, ¡°Miss is fine.¡± ¡°Miss Betty.¡±


    Boddy didn¡¯t speak, though I noticed that he did nod back at Youngest Aunt Betty. I suppose he¡¯d had more time to meet the House staff here than I did, seeing as how he wasn¡¯t unconscious either time we arrived.


    ¡°Steward is, of course, my right hand man. He sees to all the affairs of the House that I cannot and leads the staff in my absence. Though he did not grow up here like the others, you should consider any agreement or statement from him to be trusted and honorable by myself.


    ¡°Youngest Aunt is one of our¡­I guess the word back on Earth would be ambassadors. She handles certain inter-House matters and negotiations. Things like territory disputes, House wellbeing campaigns in the realis, that sort of thing. Officially, she answers to either myself or Steward, though typically we give her a certain amount of leniency that means she negotiates on our behalf and tells us later.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°The reason Youngest Aunt and Steward and I are all here together is because I believe this may be one of the most important transactions my House has been a part of in some several centuries. But first, I have a few questions about the nature of your mission I was hoping you could clarify for me.


    ¡°Mister Corners, you are a human thought constructor, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am. Though I didn¡¯t know about the latter part until the day before we first met.¡±


    ¡°At which point you had already been to the Lane on several occasions?¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡± Thanks to Gary, I could read the subtext of that question; normally thought constructors figured out the nature of their abilities the first time they arrived on the Lane, because they were notoriously difficult to control. Apparently, whoever had put Rookie in my brain had assigned him to control my powers on my behalf, mostly so I didn¡¯t realize I had them.


    ¡°Mister Westlake informs me that this is due to a construct a third party placed into your mind. I met the construct in question recently when it was here in full manifestation, alongside your House¡¯s Mister Maphandler and one Mister Cudgel, House unknown.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it is.¡±


    ¡°My question is, then, why? Why did an unknown person implant your mind in such a way? Why did that person send two additional attackers to apprehend you when you didn¡¯t complete your delivery?¡±


    I shared a look with Boddy, then whispered, ¡°You didn¡¯t tell her about Mister Carver?¡±


    Boddy looked down at the table and shook his head, eyes closed. Right, that was his House. Hobs were free-willed, but Boddy was loyal. I could tell after just a few days with him. It was fortunate for me that he was more loyal to the concept than to the man in charge, I supposed.


    ¡°Lady Liu, you still have Maps and the leprechaun under lock, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mister Corners. They are comfortable, but they are confined to their rooms. Several of our larger Cousins are keeping a watch over them. Steward saw to it himself.¡±


    ¡°Well, to start shedding some light, the leprechaun answers to the name ¡®Cudgel¡¯, and he comes from the House of Opulence, or Ostentation, or---I don¡¯t recall the precise word and it probably doesn¡¯t matter. Excessive and Visible Flaunting of Wealth.¡±


    Steward bared his teeth in a snarl, and Aunt Betty covered her mouth with her fingertips. Lady Liu just looked confused. ¡°I¡¯m not aware that such a House exists anywhere in proximity to my own, Mister Daniel.¡±


    ¡°Lady, if I may,¡± Steward spoke in a surprisingly deep rumble. ¡°That House is the damaged reflection of healthier Houses. It is an Alley House.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Lady Liu said, and her expression turned stony. ¡°Mister Daniel, I assume you were aware of that and what it means?¡±


    I decided to trust her reputation. ¡°Umm, yes, ma¡¯am. Boddy filled me in when we first arrived at House Opulence, the day we left here with Maps. It was, unbeknownst to me until I got there, the location of my delivery.¡±


    ¡°And the nature of your delivery?¡±


    ¡°Symbolic, Lady. I was warned that speaking of it in specifics while on the Lane might have dangerous consequences. They seemed to be similar to the consequences of metaphor on the Lane. I would happily accompany you to realis to tell you there, or I can give you an assessment of what I believe it was meant to accomplish.¡±


    ¡°Tell me what you think it was meant to accomplish now. If I need more information we can go to realis at that time.¡±


    ¡°Well, I think he was trying to transfer authority over his House and a few others to the Alley House, Ma¡¯am. I explained the delivery to Boddy when we managed to flee to realis that night and he agrees.¡± Boddy nodded beside me in confirmation. ¡°When I realized that, I also realized that I wasn¡¯t supposed to realize that--that the construct you met was placed in my mind to prevent me from realizing that. When he failed, he manifested on his own and held Boddy and me at gunpoint. That led to the fleeing, and eventually to our confrontation in your front garden, for which I apologize.¡±


    ¡°And you came here rather than return to House Community because you were not sure how many of the staff had been aware of this little scheme.¡± Lady Liu concluded.


    ¡°Essentially, yes. We didn¡¯t know how to get to Curiosity, and Community was too risky. We knew that some of the staff were unaware of the scheme, since Boddy didn¡¯t know about it. He suspects that the other Bodyguard who he was filling in for did though. And obviously Maps, previously Porter, knew about it. Presumably there were others. Regardless, Mister Carver had to know about it. He handed me the item personally, though he didn¡¯t explain it. I¡¯m not the head of House over there, so we have to assume that when it comes to my word against his, well¡­¡±


    ¡°But here, you and he have the same authority, which is to say, none.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Basically.¡±


    ¡°Very smart choice, Mister Daniel. Because I suspect I have another piece of the puzzle. I didn¡¯t realize it at the time, but a couple weeks before we met, Mister Carver sent another delivery, though this one he sent¡­directly. Not through the Lane. Not official House business. But I suspected its nature before, and I suspect it more now.¡±


    I felt my eyebrows shoot up in surprise. ¡°What did he send here?¡±


    ¡°A¡­coffin, for lack of a better word. I believe it holds another member of his staff. One who learned of the plan you suspect, but did not agree to it. In fact, that is why I asked for my favor returned in the form of thought construction. As a representative of the House, I believe you can make a key.¡±


    Boddy and I shared a look. He said one word, and I knew in a moment it had to be correct. ¡°Archie.¡±

 Part 36

    I agreed to help right away, and within minutes Lady Liu¡¯s staff had fetched the coffin-like construct into the room. I understood now why she had wanted us to meet here; even though the vessel was sized to contain a hob, it was still far too big for an ordinary coffee table like was in the only other study I had seen.


    The whole thing was shaped somewhat like a blunt wedge. One end was perhaps a yard long, and it tapered down to approximately eighteen inches across, then sharply to a point. It was made of some sort of blue-green metal that I knew instinctively was not a natural substance, but purely thought constructed. I poked it. It was warm to the touch, as if it had been stored in a heated room.


    The top of it had an indentation about the size of my hand shaped like a jagged-edged three-pointed star. A half-sphere impression at the center of the indentation had several pocks in it that seemed deliberate. The whole thing seemed designed to turn. This would be where the key fitted, then. There were no hinges on the sides, nor latch or any other mechanism other than the single strange indentation.


    The triangular panel near the narrow end was shaded a lighter color than the rest of the vessel, and it had words marked out on it in a harsh-edged black. ¡°Lady Liu, This vessel contains a friend. Only our House can open it. We will be in touch.¡±


    ¡°Were they?¡± I asked, looking up at Lady Liu.


    It wasn¡¯t the Lady herself, but Aunt Betty, who answered. ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°Though we didn¡¯t make the connection until your first visit. This arrived, unannounced, outside our front gate. That same day I was instructed to carry an offer to Lady Liu from Master Carver. Sealed envelope.¡±


    Lady Liu looked sad, and for once her age seemed to be getting the better of her. She was leaning on the table for support. ¡°It said that Master Carver was arranging a new treaty. As allies, he wanted my House included in it. I agreed, of course; Community and Inheritance have worked together for a long time. There were¡­suggestions that the agreement would give Master Carver more leverage against those Houses who we frequently butt heads with. I was also instructed to give his courier,¡± she met my eyes, ¡°Every consideration and aid, should the need arise.


    ¡°It was while you were asleep that I realized, Mister Corners. Those suggestions were a subtle threat. I went back and read the offer that day before you awoke. The words had shifted on the page, though they seemed the same. ¡®Do what I say and your friend will be released.¡¯, they said now. It was¡­too late to take back my agreement to the offer by that point. There are rules, formalities. One of them is that once the delivery is under way, any agreements in place at its departure remain so.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how he got the authority to include you,¡± Boddy observed. ¡°Sleight of hand and trickery. Probably did the same for the other seven.¡±


    ¡°So it would seem.¡±


    I ran my fingertips over the edges of the star and squinted down into the pocks at the bottom of the dome-like insert. ¡°But now that¡¯s changed. Since I didn¡¯t complete the delivery, your side of the agreement is in flux. If I refuse, and return it to Community--¡±


    ¡°We can revoke our participation in it before the next courier is hired.¡± Lady Liu straightened her back, though she kept one hand on the table still. ¡°And so can every other House that serpent-tongue tricked into signing itself away.¡±


    I projected inward to my mindscape and twinned my perceptions. Inner me got to work on a key. I designed it to be shapeless, like the firewall Gary Westlake had helped me build. Outer me carried on the conversation. ¡°Why would Archivist of House Community be important enough to you to act as leverage, even in such a sideways fashion?¡±


    ¡°We didn¡¯t know it was her, at first.¡± Lady Liu responded. Aunt Betty¡¯s mouth snapped closed over a reply, and she somehow managed to blush through the russet-orange coloration of her fur. Lady Liu continued, ¡°My House, you may have noticed, is arranged more like a family with me as matriarch, rather than a more typical employer/employee relationship. With exceptions,¡± she added, glancing at Steward. ¡°As a result, we are simultaneously more and less formal with our friendships outside the House. If one of the House forms a friendship, they all do, and that implied acceptance is reinforced by the nature of this place and of our House.


    ¡°So this could have been anyone. We have ambassadors other than Aunt Betty here, who routinely interact with members of other Houses. Even you, Daniel, and you, Mister Bodyguard, count as friends in a very real sense because of your interactions with a few individual family members. My personal involvement need not occur.¡±


    I remembered the gifts I had offered, both to Lady Liu and to LittleCousin. I remembered how delighted Little Cousin had been to help me procure my offerings, and how enthusiastic Youngest Grandson had been about his new video game. Boddy was looking over at Aunt Betty with an expression that reflected my own. He had formed a friendship there, as well.


    Meanwhile, inner me had completed construction of the physical key, such as it were since it had no defined shape. But I was unable to empower it properly to open the vessel. I could sense the requisite authority layered over the lock, but my mindscape utterly lacked the correct matching signature to put into the key.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°Maps,¡± Outer me said, suddenly. Everyone looked at me in confusion, and I realized they weren¡¯t privy to the thoughts I had between my projection and my body. ¡°I need Maps. I¡¯m just a courier, and Boddy has been working against the Head of House these past two days,¡± Boddy winced, ¡°Sorry, Boddy. Maps is still working directly for Mister Carver. More to the point, he used to be Porter. Unless there¡¯s a separate position for Master of Keys in House Community?¡± Boddy shook his head, understanding widening his eyes. ¡°He¡¯ll have the authority the key needs to work, somewhere in his being. I need to see him.¡±


    ¡°Daniel,¡± Boddy said, his tone dropping to a half growl. ¡°How do you plan to get the authority from him?¡±


    ¡°With his cooperation, if possible. If not, it won¡¯t cause him any lasting harm.¡± I realized as I spoke that I was speaking with certainty. As soon as I realized that, I knew that I was certain. Odd, but reassuring. ¡°He simply won¡¯t be able to resume his position as Porter again unless I return it.¡±


    ¡°So the House will have nobody to watch the doors?¡±


    ¡°Not sure on that part,¡± I admitted. The confident voice that could intuit how my powers worked didn¡¯t apply to that, apparently. ¡°At the very worst, I¡¯ll be able to assign the authority to anyone I wish. Or, if I die, it should dissipate and reform naturally. Don¡¯t tell Maps about that last part, though, if you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    Lady Liu nodded curtly to Steward, who left the room. Inner me worked on another construction while we waited. Boddy and Aunt Betty held a whispered conversation off to one side. Lady Liu and I said nothing, merely sat back down in our respective chairs.


    Maps was tied up with what appeared to be ordinary rope, his arms held behind him but some very old-fashioned shackles; the kind that you needed a forge to close or open. He actually sneered at me as he was carried in, the little traitor. ¡°Courier. Traitor.¡± The second was directed at Boddy, naturally. Oh, the irony. Maps turned to the vessel in the center of the table. ¡°What have you found here?¡±


    ¡°You mean you don¡¯t know?¡± I asked, honestly surprised. ¡°Would have thought Mister Carver kept you apprised of all his various schemes. If for no other reason than that he would need to take them past you every time.¡±


    ¡°Mister Carver didn¡¯t need my permission or help to come and go as he pleased. This is one of his bargains, then?¡± Maps craned upward to read the inscription. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a bit farther than I thought he¡¯d have to go. I would have advised against this, just so you know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you would.¡± I tried to make my tone as dry as possible. ¡°But he settled his agreement this way. With Archie¡¯s life likely in the balance. Can you live with that price for what he has done?¡±


    ¡°Our House used to be strong. Tighter than any glue, with a seat at the top and every seat below another. Yes, Daniel. To return to those days, to make Community mean something again, even that.¡±


    ¡°Well you suck, then.¡± I said. Inner me had finished creating the second construct--it was so much faster when I used my own motif than someone else¡¯s--and I manifested it into my right hand. I hadn¡¯t expected Maps to cooperate, though I had hoped. The construction reflected that. When it manifested, it took on a shape according to its purpose, like Gary had explained it would. That was a nifty trick. It looked something like an injection gun, with a toy suction cup on the end instead of a needle. I wondered, briefly, if the overt cartoonishness of it was from my mind or from the irrealis all around me. It didn¡¯t matter for my purposes, though. I stepped forward and rolled up Maps¡¯s sleeve.


    ¡°What¡¯s that, then, Daniel? You¡¯re finally learning how to thought construct? Bravo. Subversive warned us that you were a natural, but even he didn¡¯t think you¡¯d pick up manifestation so fast. And that, I¡¯m guessing you made that just for me. Only took you a few minutes? Very good.¡±


    I didn¡¯t answer. I pressed the suction cup to Maps¡¯s bicep, like I was giving him a shot. He tensed suddenly, and started to voice another question. All he got out was ¡°Wait,¡± before I pulled the trigger.


    There was a loud humming noise. Maps sat up rigidly for a couple seconds, then his pupils dilated suddenly, and his eyelids drooped. The rest of his body followed suit, tensing then relaxing. The vial behind the suction cup glowed slightly, a faint white light trapped inside. Maps¡¯s eyes refocused. He turned to look at me, anger tying his eyebrows together.


    ¡°What did you just do to me?¡±


    ¡°I borrowed your authority as keeper of the locks and doors of House Community,¡± I answered, matter-of-factly. I reintegrated the extracting construct, complete with its new payload. Inner me began to add the components of that authority to the key construct as I stared Maps in the eye.


    I¡¯ve never been very good at staredowns, but after the last couple of days, I had a lot of adrenaline and a surprising amount of anger stored up. Maps broke first, saying nothing but looking away.


    I didn¡¯t talk for the rest of the hour it took me to construct the key. Lady Liu followed suit, saying nothing. Maps was returned to wherever House Inheritance kept their prisoners, making vague and toothless threats to me and ignoring everyone else. Boddy, Steward, and Aunt Betty sat at the far end of the conference table and held a quiet conversation. It didn¡¯t seem important. Steward even chuckled at one point, though with his predator¡¯s grin it gave a different impression.


    Finally, the key was ready. I manifested it, and it took the shape of a silvery jewel, all one piece. The same white light was trapped inside, now reflected and refracted so it seemed bright and clear rather than faintly glowing. As I lowered the jewel into the lock, it reshaped itself, fitting every jagged edge on the star. I felt the orb underneath growing spurs that fitted exactly into every pocked hole.


    I looked at Boddy. He nodded. He trusted me. I met Lady Liu¡¯s eyes. She tilted her head slightly, a more severe version of a nod.


    I turned the key. The lid melted away, revealing a hob woman, small even for her kin. The vessel¡¯s interior was shaped such that she scarcely had room to wiggle her toes. She was wearing a baggy blouse with three rows of pockets and a long skirt. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Boddy burst into one of his toothy grins at the sight of her, and leaned over to help her climb out of the coffin.

 Part 37

    The next morning, we all met back in the Green Study. Besides myself, ¡°we¡± included Lady Liu, Boddy, Steward, Gary Westlake (on Lady Liu¡¯s dime), a cobble I hadn¡¯t met who answered to Mean Uncle, Aunt Betty, and Her the mystic. A few more cobbles, all various Cousins and Siblings, were rushing about serving finger foods and tea like it was the biggest dinner party of the year and their mother-in-law was going to make snide comments if they did something wrong.


    Lady Liu, as our host, was the first to speak. ¡°Thank you all for coming. I especially want to thank Miss Archivist of House Community and Mister Daniel Corners for their attendance, considering their recent physical conditions.¡±


    The doctor had removed my bandage before I slept the previous night, and shockingly my scalp and my skull had healed fully over the course of the afternoon. The stitches on my cut were removed with no great ceremony, and by morning even the dimpled skin they had left behind was as smooth as before Cudgel got anywhere near me with his log.


    ¡°This is, for the moment, a meeting about a conflict. House Community, or a faction of members thereof, has conspired with an Alley House to convert the world¡¯s mindset to an feudalistic and hedonistic nature, with the wealthy at the top and all shared human experiences beholden to the lavish spending of a few deranged elite. We know this from the testimony of three individuals: Mister Bodyguard, third by his name and title, from House Community,¡± Boddy nodded as she indicated him, ¡°Miss Archivist, of House Community,¡± Archie had exchanged her blouse for a practical shirt and vest with even more pockets. She still wore her skirt but she had also added what I could only describe as a utility belt. She waved slightly to the assembly as Lady Liu pointed her out. ¡°And Mister Daniel Corners, a human from realis hired by House Community to unknowingly further their aims.¡± I mirrored Boddy¡¯s response by nodding.


    ¡°This plan would be egregious enough if it were merely House Community¡¯s subservience being offered. But Mister Carver has used a variety of tricks, not least of which was the capture of one of his own to serve as a hostage, in order to obtain the authority to bargain on behalf of eight other Houses. My House, our House,¡± she said, looking at Steward, Mean Uncle, and Aunt Betty, ¡°Was one of those. To that end, I think it is time we took direct action against him. Youngest Aunt, you have served as an interhouse ambassador to Community before. Do you think it likely that we could resolve the situation diplomatically?¡±


    We all knew the answer already, of course. We had discussed this, or at least Boddy and Aunt Betty and I had discussed it, last night while Archie recovered. By now, Aunt Betty had reported to Lady Liu on her opinions, and the very fact that we were setting up a war room rather than opening talks with Carver was that he wouldn¡¯t be willing to negotiate.


    ¡°Lady, I do not think it likely that Master Carver will consider any negotiations to desist. He is a man who does what he does with a vigor and belief. If he made this decision, it is regrettably probable that he thinks it was the correct decision. Nor do I think that any compromise would be acceptable. The effects on the realis should he succeed in even selling his own House over to the Opulent would be staggering. In short, no. This situation does not have a viable diplomatic solution that I can see.¡±


    There was a general nodding around the table, except for Gary and Her the mystic, who remained stony-faced.


    ¡°That is regrettable, Youngest Aunt, but I thank you for your opinion. Mean Uncle, is it likely that we could leverage or force Mister Carver¡¯s hand in this matter?¡±


    This was Plan A. If Mean Uncle or one of the freelancers had some way to threaten or bully Carver, we could avoid a full-on inter-house conflict. Boddy had asked Archie about those; apparently it had been longer than Carver or Lady Liu¡¯s tenure since one had happened between Lane Houses, though Alley Houses engaged in them somewhat constantly, as well as with their Lane mirrors.


    ¡°Lady, I have investigated the matter, as you asked. Unfortunately, none of the--ahem--traditional methods are available to us. Carver has no family left living, not even distant descendants of anyone we could trace. He rarely leaves the Lane; in fact, other than yourself, he is the oldest sitting head of House of which I am aware. Nor does he possess any interests of a financial or any other nature in the realis. Any action we would take against him would necessarily involve his House as well, as that is the only thing of any value to him that we could identify, personal or otherwise.¡±


    Lady Liu was expressionless as Mean Uncle explained his position, though Aunt Betty looked sad, and Boddy was¡­angry? I¡¯d have to ask him about that later.


    ¡°My Lady,¡± Steward interrupted, ¡°May I interrupt?¡±


    ¡°You may,¡± Lady Liu answered.


    ¡°Thank you. What Mean Uncle says is nearly correct. However, I have done some research of my own, alongside my other duties. I believe I have identified something that Mister Carver values as much or more than his House.¡±


    I¡¯ll give Steward credit for several things, but right at that moment I was giving him credit for his sense of drama. He let the sentence hang over the table, as if begging us to ask ¡®What is it?¡¯.


    Eventually, Mean Uncle took the bait, asking exactly that. It was probably only two or three seconds of tense pause, but it was effective. Steward answered, with an honest-to-irrealis flourish of his backwards hands, ¡°His own life.¡±


    There was a sudden uproar from every member of the table except myself and Gary Westlake. I met his eyes, wondering what it was that we were missing. He shrugged, equally clueless. After a few seconds and the ringing of an actual (antique, of course) cowbell, Lady Liu managed to restore calm.


    ¡°Mister Steward!¡± she started. ¡°If you are suggesting what I think you¡¯re suggesting--¡±


    ¡°I am, my Lady,¡± the rakshasa interrupted. ¡°But let me finish, first. True, the assassination,¡± Wait. The what now? He spoke so matter-of-factly. Had everyone except me leapt to that conclusion? Realizing I was missing some of his words, I tuned back in to Steward¡¯s speech. ¡°--by any member or Head of an existing House, as such an action would reflect consequences back onto the realis of human thought, even as much as the completion of Master Carver¡¯s goals would do so.


    ¡°Nor,¡± he continued, ¡°Can we turn to Mister Westlake for this task, as his participation in this matter is by way of contract with our own House, and would impact the realis in the same fashion.¡± Shit. No, he wasn¡¯t saying what I think he was saying. He couldn¡¯t be. ¡°However, Mister Corners is in a rather unique position.¡± Yup, he was about to suggest-- ¡°Due to his status, he would technically be acting on nobody¡¯s behalf. If he killed Mister Carver, or threatened to do so, there should be no negative reflection on the nature of thought.¡± --and there it was.


    I had kept my peace while Steward finished. Outwardly, at least. Now, as all eyes turned to me, I realized I had to answer. ¡°No,¡± I said, flatly. ¡°I am an ordinary guy. I hardly ever even use the taser work lets me carry around. I can¡¯t kill a guy. Even for this. I¡¯ll help stop him, but no. I can¡¯t.¡± I looked at each of them in turn, trying to guess their reactions. Boddy seemed curious. Maybe he hadn¡¯t been sure how I¡¯d react? I guess he had only known me for a few days. Archie seemed relieved. Steward was patient, a tiger¡¯s eyes watching from a man¡¯s face. Mean Uncle was disappointed, while Aunt Betty seemed conflicted. Gary and Her must have been phenomenal at cards, because I couldn¡¯t read either of them. Lady Liu was the last one I met. She seemed¡­proud. Proud? That was an odd emotion. Maybe I just couldn¡¯t read her all that well.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°Well, I thought it best to present all options, nonetheless,¡± Steward finished. ¡°My Lady, thank you for allowing me to speak.¡±


    Lady Liu nodded, still watching me. Yes, she definitely had a¡­well, a motherly emotion. Pride or something like it. After a brief pause for everyone to focus on her, she spoke again. ¡°Of course, Steward. Your work for the House is always exemplary. Mean Uncle, did you have anything else to add?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lady,¡± Mean Uncle started, hesitantly. ¡°I did have a plan, but it isn¡¯t so much a solution as a stalling action. Occupation.¡±


    ¡°Elaborate?¡±


    ¡°Well, Master Carver¡¯s plan demands that a person from realis completes his delivery, correct?¡±


    ¡°In its current form, it seems to hinge on a specific object, yes.¡±


    ¡°Well, we have the realis person and the object right now. We just¡­refuse to let either or both go. Uh, no offense, Mister Corners.¡± I did my best to glare, but let him finish. ¡°If he doesn¡¯t have the person or the object, he can¡¯t proceed. And he won¡¯t be able to extract them by force for the same reasons that we can¡¯t act directly against him.¡±


    ¡°Assuming, of course, that he doesn¡¯t want to create the ripples in collective thought such actions would take.¡±


    ¡°Assuming that, yeah. So¡­Mister Corners just stays here for a while as our guest. We keep the item in lockup. We wait, we watch. He¡¯ll need to have a new one made, and it will take some time since it has to be realis. He¡¯ll also need to find a new person to make his delivery, either one he can convince of its importance or another nascent thought constructor like Mister Corner¡¯s here. It will take him months of real time, if not years.


    ¡°By that time, we¡¯ll have more information. Mister Westlake can work with the other seven affected Houses, hopefully removing Master Carver¡¯s leverage against them. If he doesn¡¯t have that bargaining authority, he may abandon this plan entirely.¡±


    The table broke into haphazard discussion of this plan. Mean Uncle and Steward were strongly in favor. Aunt Betty shared my opinion, that it was an unlikely hope that Carver would simply walk away. Boddy and Archie pointed out that besides me, both of them would be denied their homes for the duration of the plan. Gary seemed to be willing to go along with it, but raised the possibility that he would be as unable to help other Houses out from under Carver¡¯s thumb as he had been for House Inheritance.


    We debated it for roughly an hour before Lady Liu rang another stop on her cowbell. ¡°It is clear that this course of action is a risky one, but it is the only actionable one we¡¯ve broached so far. I regret to say that unless someone can present a more viable solution, we may be forced to use Mean Uncle¡¯s suggested plan.¡±


    ¡°I have one,¡± rasped Her, the mystic. She had not spoken since the meeting began. I was not even sure why she was present; she was from the House of Superstition, not a strong ally nor enemy to any of the Houses involved in Carver¡¯s scheme, according to Little Cousin and Archie. Lady Liu had explained her inclusion as coming at Her¡¯s request, rather than by invitation. She had even kept her thoughts to herself completely during the debate over Mean Uncle¡¯s plan.


    ¡°All of your problems stem from Edgar Carver¡¯s position as the Head of House Community,¡± she opened. ¡°Killing him would have been one way to resolve that. ¡°She tilted her head in Steward¡¯s direction, the salute of one schemer to another. ¡°But it is not the only way. Daniel Corners is a human being. A creature of realis. His connection to our realm travels through the thoughts of himself, just as it does through others. And, he is, as Mister Steward observed, uniquely unattached; he does not even have membership in the Freelancer¡¯s Coalition yet, correct?¡± She turned to Gary, who shook his head. ¡°That means that Daniel Corners is eligible.¡± She turned to each person in order, as if to let that sink in.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± I said, as she reached me. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°Means you could become a Head of House,¡± Archie answered, her crystal-glass voice so quiet as to be almost inaudible. ¡°You could depose Master Carver.¡±


    ¡°Without violence? Without him giving up his seat?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Her interrupted. ¡°There is an old¡­rule isn¡¯t the correct term. Nature, is more fitting. A clause of the magic that shapes this place older than the written word. My House knows more about the underpinnings of this place than any other, including Curiosity. Houses do not always take form on their own. They can be created.¡±


    ¡°How does this help us?¡± Lady Liu demanded, leaning forward in her seat to fix Her with her most iron-grandmotherly stare.


    ¡°Because Houses can also be joined, or split off, or conquered. If you wished, you could annex the House of Community by force, my Lady. So could the Head of my House, or any other who could bring the means to bear, or was able to gain sufficient support from the members of the House.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s out of the question,¡± Lady Liu responded, raising her voice in increments. ¡°Doing so would shift the nature of Community to become part of the House in question.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true, of course.¡± Her smiled, revealing her gums. She only had one good tooth remaining. How did she speak so clearly with one tooth? ¡°Except there is a resonance peak that I think has not been considered. One that is so small that by the very act of integrating House Community, it would be consumed by House Community. If the Head of House for such a peak were to annex Community, they would in effect have simply deposed Edgar Carver.¡±


    ¡°Any peak that weak,¡± Archie again, ¡°Would be too indistinct for a House to be formed around it. We can¡¯t install a Head of House to an indistinct resonance peak.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but that¡¯s the thing, Archivist the Ninth. There are billions of such weak peaks that are perfectly distinct. We just never consider them, of course. Why would we? Most are built on the patterns of a few hundred or thousand people at most.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± I interrupted. I think I saw what she was getting at. ¡°How many billions, exactly?¡±


    Her smiled that gummy smile at me again. ¡°Oh, somewhere just under eight billion, Daniel Corners.¡±


    Individuals. Each individual was a concept in addition to being a physical person. The implications were staggering. If I was incautious with a person¡¯s resonance peak, I could change their identity. The entire way everyone, including themself perceived them. Her watched the horror grow on my face, as I watched everyone else realize what we meant. Archie recognized it first, followed by Gary and Lady Liu. Their horror matched my own. After I recovered myself, I managed to ask, even though I knew the answer already. There was only one answer that made sense, of course.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Yourself,¡± grated Her, dropping her voice into a deeper register. ¡°I propose we raise Daniel Corners as the Head of House¡­Daniel Corners.¡±


    I realized, in that moment, that a part of me is very, very stupid. Because what I answered was, ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±

 Part 38

    My name is Daniel Corners. As of about two hours ago, I am a Head of House in the psychic realm known as the Lane, where all of collective human thought takes representative form. I am a thought constructor, which means that I am capable of interacting with my own mindscape and creating objects, animals, or even people to take shape on the Lane. The House I run and operate is the House of Daniel Corners, which means that I am effectively in charge of my own metaphoric representation.


    The ceremony really wasn¡¯t all that ceremonial. The House of Me didn¡¯t have a location yet, since it was unformed. Her wrote down an oath for me, which basically boiled down to ¡®I will oversee the needs of this House.¡¯ We went out onto the Lane, of course. I couldn¡¯t form my own House inside Lady Liu¡¯s walls, that would be rude and would likely have side effects. Boddy and the mystic Her stood as witnesses of my claim. Aunt Betty also attended, as a diplomatic representative of Lady Liu. Little Cousin was by her side, having heard of what was going on through some sort of House rumor mill in the House of Inheritance.


    When I spoke the oath, I felt the Lane shifting beneath me. A small little cobblestone fence appeared next to Lady Liu¡¯s white picket, seeming to pop into place without displacing either adjoining yard. The gate was plain planks, painted blue, and it had a number and a letter on it in white, though they were inconsistent. It was like my House was just one out of several units on a larger property. I pushed open the gate. The House and its property were miniscule, by Lane standards. But by modern city living standards, it was actually pretty nice. The yard went all the way around the building, if only a couple yards on the sides and back. The building itself was two full stories, and I could tell even before I entered that it had a finished basement and a half-story attic.


    It should have felt surreal, I suppose, but in the end, pretty much everyone is already in charge of themselves. All I had done was make it redundant and official. Of course, I wasn¡¯t the only mind forming this particular resonance peak; everyone who knew me, knew of me, or just had interacted with me before had contributed in some way to the concept of Daniel Corners. But I didn¡¯t derive any special insight into those people. I supposed that part of my duties as Head of House would be maintaining those perceptions, or to subvert them, as Mister Carver had attempted to do with Community. I would have to be careful not to abuse those abilities.


    I started to go inside, to see what my new self-property looked like, what sorts of rooms I had in here, what sort of decor. I was stopped at the door by Boddy and Little Cousin. Archie had joined them as soon as I finished my oath. Her the mystic stood a little ways behind me, on the concrete path between my gate and my front door.


    Boddy pulled out his cane sword, the one I had noticed the first time we met. I thought he had lost that on the lawn of House Opulence, but he must have recovered it after our fight with Rookie and Maps. Hesitantly, he held it out to me, gripped just below the break where the sword came out.


    ¡°Boddy? What is this?¡± I asked. The act had a certain amount of¡­officialness to it that I hadn¡¯t expected. It was like he was retiring, and he was turning in his badge and his gun.


    ¡°My resume,¡± he answered. When my response was to flap my mouth open and closed without forming words, he elaborated. ¡°I would like to apply for a position in this new House, Master Corners.¡± I had just gotten him to start calling me Daniel.


    ¡°Boddy, what about your existing position?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t act against Master Carver while I am on his House staff. It would be¡­very uncomfortable for me. And it would set a bad precedent. As of now, I resign my position in the House of Community. And I would like to apply for a position in the House of Daniel Corners.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any funds to pay you,¡± I started, but Boddy shook his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m willing to accept deferred pay, until such a time as this crisis with the House of Community ends. All I need is to know if you accept my application,¡± Boddy said. ¡°Take the sword, then make a decision.¡±


    I stopped to consider, first. Belatedly, I realized that my warning construct had flagged this as a situation where thought construction could manipulate the outcome. Taking the sword wasn¡¯t the same as hiring Boddy, I recognized, after further consideration. He had called it his resume. It was possible that was a literal statement, it might hold¡­residual memories of work he had done in the past. I tentatively reached out and grasped the sheath, just below Boddy¡¯s grasp.


    The sword didn¡¯t reveal any residual memories of Boddy¡¯s work. It was just a sword, though it had been formed of irrealis metals. I decided, after a few seconds, that Boddy had meant it as a gesture. ¡®Here¡¯s my weapon,¡¯ he was saying. ¡®You¡¯ve seen me use it. I want to use it to help you.¡¯


    I turned the whole cane over in my hands once, then handed it back to Boddy. ¡°You¡¯ve got the job. Your title is Bodyguard. Can you start today?¡±


    ¡°I can start now.¡± Boddy answered, smiling with all his teeth. I smiled back, and we shook on it. Then it was Little Cousin¡¯s turn. Her resume took the form of a simple spool of sewing thread.


    ¡°What about your family?¡± I asked. Boddy I understood. Archie too, if she was planning to go next. Joining my House would let them act against Mister Carver¡¯s plot without guilt. It was unorthodox, but so was me forming a House around the concept of myself. Little Cousin could already act against Carver. In fact, since she had been one of the ones to help me recover, she already was.


    ¡°I spoke with them,¡± she answered, looking over my shoulder at Aunt Betty, who waited patiently on the Lane. ¡°They agreed to this. There are plenty of cousins, Mister Daniel. Someone will manage my duties. But you seem like you need help. And from what I¡¯ve seen, you deserve it. I¡¯m not a fighter, but you¡¯ve seen my handling of resources.¡±


    ¡°And the payment? I still don¡¯t have any funds.¡±


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    ¡°I will accept deferred payment until this crisis is over, just as you offered Lead Bodyguard. We will also need to discuss other terms of employment, but those can also wait.¡±


    ¡°What happens to your name?¡± I found myself asking. Bodyguard, now Lead Bodyguard, was accustomed to his name changing according to his duties. At the very least, he had seen it happen to his friends and family. Little Cousin, as far as I knew, would stay Little Cousin even if her duties changed, until eventually she became Older Cousin, or Gentle Aunt, or something of that nature.


    ¡°That will be up to you, Mister Daniel. And how you choose to run your House. My name will be my role, the same as it always has been.¡±


    I sighed. I could fix this all later. As soon as I had declared myself Head of House, Carver would know that I had turned down his delivery. The window for action was today, if at all possible. For several seconds, Little Cousin waited for my answer, watching my face. ¡°I wish I could turn you down, so you could stay with the House you know, but I really do need the help,¡± I finally said. ¡°Miss Cousin, you are hired under emergency need. We can discuss the specific terms of your job after the crisis, as you suggested. Until then, you can consider your position ¡®Resource Manager¡¯, and your role Little Cousin. Is that agreeable?¡±


    ¡°Very,¡± she answered. We shook on it as well, then to my surprise, she leaned in and gave me an awkward half-hug. I guess, after a fashion, we were officially cousins now. Cousins by choice, rather than by grandparent. I returned the hug, and then she stepped back. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Aunt Betty beaming. Apparently, she saw Little Cousin¡¯s appointment as a positive thing.


    I turned to Archie next, but was surprised when the next voice came from behind me, a woman¡¯s voice, burred and rasped beyond what even a chain smoker could hope to achieve.


    ¡°I would like to apply for the position of Interpreter,¡± Her said. I turned to face her. She held out a single page in one long-fingered hand. I took it. It was an actual resume, though few of the skills and goals would help her with a real-world position.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have an Interpreter,¡± I answered, reading down the page. Her contact information was House of Superstition. Her job experience¡­besides Superstition she had worked for three other Houses. But the dates¡­Her was over three thousand years old. Older, probably, since that was merely how long her resume was. Her first position had been with the House of the Cult of Set? I didn¡¯t even know what that meant.


    ¡°No, but you need one. The rules and interactions of Houses are complex and manyfold, Mister Daniel Corners. And the rules and interactions between the House and the realis are even more so. You need someone to read the lines. Someone who understands the very underpinnings of this place. I¡¯m offering my services in that position.¡±


    ¡°You heard the conditions for emergency hire?¡±


    ¡°I did, and I accept them. Deferred payment, specifics to be determined after resolving this crisis.¡±


    ¡°Your former employer?¡± I hadn¡¯t met the head of the House of Superstition. All I knew about them was that Lady Liu had contacted them for help healing me.


    ¡°I gave my notice before I took this job,¡± Her answered.


    ¡°Why? You couldn¡¯t have known this would happen?¡±


    She merely shrugged. ¡°Couldn¡¯t I? You know, the Superstitious pay more attention than people tend to assume. If not this, then something else novel and fascinating. I took my chances. Besides, few can claim my¡­work history. I would have found employment soon enough.¡±


    I considered that, looking at her three-thousand-year long resume and her many qualifying skills in the use of various aspects of mysticism.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I answered. Her had healed me. Her had given me a way to stop Carver¡¯s schemes. I didn¡¯t exactly trust the crone woman, but she had earned a little benefit of the doubt for the moment. Besides, I was the Head of my House. ¡°You¡¯re hired, under those terms. As Interpreter,¡± I stressed the title. ¡°Any decisions are still handled by me.¡±


    Her grinned her gummy grin, single tooth gleaming like a pearl. A sinister pearl, if such a thing exists. ¡°Oh, very wise, sir,¡± she answered. ¡°I think I shall like it here.¡±


    We shook on it, sans hug. I turned back to the House. Archie now stood in front of the other two. She held out a sheet of paper. I took it. It was not a resume. It was blank. Confused, I turned to Archie.


    ¡°Your life,¡± she said, ¡°Is already known to you. You have no need for an Archivist. But I want to help you, all the same. You saved me from Master Carver¡¯s box,¡± she squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear running down the fur of her face. Without opening her eyes, she continued. ¡°His horrible box. I have skills beyond handling records. If you would hire me, I will accept any position.¡±


    I considered it. I shouldn¡¯t have, but I really did consider it. She was so earnest. Nearly desperate. But I couldn¡¯t do it, not in good conscience. Not under the circumstances. After a long minute, during which several other tears escaped and ran down Archie¡¯s face, I had an answer.


    ¡°No,¡± I started. I had to hold up a hand to Boddy and Little Cousin, both of whom seemed ready to jump down my throat about it. ¡°You have given enough to this conflict, Miss Archivist. And you were punished for it, even if it wasn¡¯t your choice. The House of Me will not offer you a position only to throw you back into it. I will not hire you right now. But,¡± I answered quickly, as Boddy balled his fists, ¡°We will offer you shelter. What¡¯s the term¡­asylum. We offer you asylum, from your former House. Interpreter, are there consequences for that?¡± I glanced over my shoulder, where the sinister pearl still gleamed.


    ¡°There are consequences for everything, Master Corners,¡± Her answered. ¡°But actions taken according to your own beliefs and choices serve only to make the House more of what it is. Any consequences will be external.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good enough for me,¡± I answered. ¡°Do you accept asylum, Miss Archivist?¡± Archie managed a nod, eyelids squeezing even tighter and her mouth pressed to a line. ¡°Good. You may stay on this property as my personal guest. Little Cousin, can you see that she has everything she needs to be comfortable while we resolve the rest of this?¡±


    ¡°Of course, sir,¡± Little Cousin rushed in through the door, becoming the first person to enter the House.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Boddy said, finally. He had dropped all anger upon hearing my actual offer. He put his hand down on Archie¡¯s shoulder, and she relaxed incrementally. ¡°I think I made the right choice, giving you my resume.¡±


    ¡°I hope so,¡± I answered. ¡°Because now comes the fun part. Everyone inside. I suspect we have a planning room. We¡¯re going to need it.¡± Belatedly, I remembered the last person present. ¡°Aunt Betty,¡± I said, turning back towards the lane. ¡°I hope you¡¯ll forgive me. I should have invited you in sooner. I¡¯m new to the role and forgot my manners. Please, will you join us? Your House has a stake in what comes next.¡±


    Aunt Betty stepped across the threshold. We all went inside to plan our next action against Edgar Carver, soon-to-be former Head of House Community.

 Part 39

    By noon, we had a plan. It wasn¡¯t elaborate or clever or roguish. It was straightforward. Her knew how to navigate the Lane. According to her, she even knew a shortcut that Maps had been unaware of that would get us there in a third the time. She would deliver me and Boddy, along with additional security on loan from Lady Liu in the form of Mean Uncle and a couple of burlier Cousins. My House would owe the Lady for that, according to Her, but that was a problem for the future.


    When we arrived outside the ornate wrought-iron fence in mid-afternoon, I felt an inexplicable sort of sadness. I had known Carver for less than a month. I had entered the House grounds only a handful of times. Why did it seem familiar and nostalgic? I checked with my guardian constructs. It wasn¡¯t outside influence. I guess I¡¯m just a nostalgic sort of person.


    Somehow, Little Cousin had managed to procure me a perfectly tailored suit almost as soon as we entered my new grounds. I wore it now, sans tie. I never cared for ties. Something about the suit made me want to stand up straighter, as if the suit itself was representative of my personal confidence and strength. I realized that others probably wore suits for this exact reason. Plus, it made what I was about to do feel a lot more official than the hiking clothes I had worn when I last left Carver¡¯s grounds. With as much gravitas as I could muster, I yanked the pull cord on the outside of the gate. Somewhere close to the estate, the current doorman would hear the clang of a bell.


    Sure enough, before long a hob was pacing down the footpath, long and purposeful strides managing to carry his small frame faster than seemed reasonable. He stopped just inside the gate, then did a double take when he saw me. I realized I recognized him. He had served as Gofer one of those nights I had spend chatting with Carver.


    Gofer-turned-temporary-Porter took in my entourage. Three menacing-looking cobbles backed me up on my left, the tallest over six feet high and the shortest scarcely four, but somehow exuding the same level of physical threat. On my right, I was attended by Boddy and Her the Interpreter. Then the little doorman hob looked back at my face. I was wearing my best scowl. I had actually practiced it in a mirror before coming out here.


    ¡°Tell Mister Carver I¡¯m here to renegotiate my contract,¡± I said. Gofer hesitated, glancing at Mean Uncle and his muscle, then at Her the crone. He seemed to be avoiding looking at Boddy. Shame? I could work with that. ¡°Tell him that if he doesn¡¯t agree to meet with me, I will be forced to make my concerns public for the entire Lane. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll want to see me.¡± It was a gamble that Archie had suggested, attending the planning meeting despite my protests. If Boddy and Archie weren¡¯t in the know about Carver¡¯s original plan, it was likely that many of the House staff were likewise uninformed. This should get me in. Once there, I hoped to simply browbeat the old fart into turning over his House. It was not likely, but I really would rather take that route than the violent one that had necessitated the attendance of Mean Uncle.


    Gofer-slash-Porter ran, actually sprinted, back up to the House in a panic. I tried to determine if that meant he was in on Carver¡¯s plan, then decided it was unlikely. Gofer was too young to add any particular advantage to the plan¡¯s execution, so looping him in would have just meant risking one more turn-coat. It was the same logic that Archie had used to guess that the staff who weren¡¯t in on it would outnumber the staff who were.


    She had been a lot more quiet when I asked what she thought the split was on the staff who would agree to it once they found out against those who would reject it. Hopefully, I wouldn¡¯t have to find out.


    It was a painful ten minutes. I knew Carver kept modern realis cameras around his front gate, so I refused to relax my posture. I had to be in charge. Carver had to see that I was in charge. Never mind that I hadn¡¯t been properly in charge of anything in most of my adult life. Never mind that I was now two days late for my menial job, without explanation or even contact. Shit, Dana might have even reported me missing by this point. I wasn¡¯t sure what I¡¯d do in that situation. Would the police be waiting for me at my apartment?


    My muscles were starting to ache from standing in a way that I rarely stood when the gate swung open on its own. Without having to be prompted, Boddy started in, a sort of half-march, half-slink that made him seem dangerous. He reminded me of a large cat pacing its enclosure. I followed two paces behind him, letting him act as my herald. The Cousins took up positions a half-pace behind me on either side, their gait businesslike and their eyes alert for any threat. Two paces behind them Mean Uncle was walking with the same implied threat as Boddy, elevated to a much larger stature. Her strode at his side, somehow matching his pace despite her shorter legs. Unlike the cobbles and Boddy, Her merely looked faintly interested. There was no sign from her that she considered herself threatened. In a philosophical moment, I wondered whether that made her seem the most dangerous of all of us.


    Gofer-Porter was waiting for us at the front door. The proper, huge, double front door, not the little private entrance I usually used. Well, that made perfect sense. This was a formal visit. Might as well make things formal about it.


    ¡°Master Carver has agreed to see you,¡± stammered the young hob. I felt bad for the kid. He was just supposed to be filling in, as far as he knew. Now I showed up with scowls and swords and demanded entry ¡®Or Else¡¯. ¡°Please, follow me.¡± he finished.


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    Gofer-Porter led us to one of Carver¡¯s studies. Rich-looking shelves covered every wall, all of them filled with identically-bound books. The cost to make every book¡¯s binding the same size and material must have been staggering. Unless Carver had simply bought a bunch of blank display books to fill the shelves. I tried to decide which was more offensive.


    ¡°Mister Corners. I hear you¡¯ve been promoted. Congratulations.¡± Carver said from his seat at a big moon-shaped desk. He was on one of the wings of the moon. A familiarly tall human woman was seated at his left, and I allowed my scowl to deepen at the sight of her. A hob I hadn¡¯t met but with the same dangerous burliness as Boddy or Mean Uncle sat on his right. Probably the Bodyguard who was supposed to have followed me.


    Three chairs sat on the other arm of the moon, facing Carver¡¯s group. Without answering Carver¡¯s greeting, I moved to the middle chair, pulled it out, and sat myself down, trying to seem confident. I looked at my group and met Her and Boddy¡¯s eyes in turn. They each moved to take one of the wing seats. Mean Uncle and the Cousins were forced to loom in the background behind us. There were no other seats in the room. I recognized that as Carver¡¯s first attack in the negotiation, but I didn¡¯t have an answer for it.


    ¡°You lied to me,¡± I opened. I¡¯d thought about how to approach this conversation a lot over the past thirty hours. I decided to be blunt. I wasn¡¯t a lawyer. I wasn¡¯t a good orator. But I was right, at least. I would use that. A hammer, not a scalpel.


    ¡°Oh? I think you¡¯ll find that the contract I provided was quite complete in what it asked you to do. Nothing you were to be faced with should have been a surprise.¡±


    ¡°You lied to your staff,¡± I answered. Carver was an old hand at negotiating and wordplay. I wouldn¡¯t answer him. I wouldn¡¯t take his bait.


    ¡°My staff is accustomed to a certain amount of discretion in what I do. It¡¯s essential to the job, as you should learn sooner rather than later.¡± Carver was smiling. I wanted to punch him right in the stupid smile, I realized. Violent tendencies were not something I had ever thought about myself. Her stirred briefly in the chair next to me, but said nothing.


    ¡°You coerced other Houses into your scheming against their wishes.¡±


    ¡°Really, Daniel. If all you have are unfounded accusations, I think I perhaps shouldn¡¯t have let you in. Besides which, it isn¡¯t like common law applies to inter-house relationships. All that matters is the nature of this place. And we both know by now that what I did was perfectly in harmony with that.¡±


    I broke down and took the bait. ¡°Just as high explosives are perfectly in harmony with physics. It doesn¡¯t make them acceptable to use on your friends.¡±


    ¡°Friends?¡± Carver chuckled. ¡°They were my allies, not my friends, Daniel. A distinction I think you maybe never developed.¡±


    ¡°A betrayal is the correct description for either,¡± I countered. I felt a brief surge of triumph and then Her poked my thigh with one of her talons. Sure enough, I had allowed Carver to lead me off track. This wasn¡¯t about right and wrong, Her had coached me. That may motivate me, that may motivate all of us, but the Lane didn¡¯t care. This was about my demands and Carver¡¯s response. I had to lay justifications down to rattle him, not engage in moral debate.


    ¡°Oh, Daniel. What I was doing was not a betrayal. Did you know that the Alley changes? Houses move from Alley to Lane every century. I was just fostering such a change rather than waiting for perceptions to shift. And I did it for the strength of all Houses. House used to mean something. Community used to mean something. And now?¡± He gestured all around him. ¡°This isn¡¯t right. People aren¡¯t connecting. I was going to fix that. And your morals need not come into it.¡±


    Her¡¯s talon poked deeper into my flesh. I took a deep breath, realizing that my eyebrows were starting to ache from the anger and not caring. I tucked the anger and the ache away a munition¡¯s closet in my mindscape. The woman next to Carver seemed to notice something and whispered in his ear. He shook his head.


    ¡°Mister Edgar Carver,¡± I managed through teeth I wanted to clench, ¡°I have come here to depose you. Your actions were reckless and dangerous. They were taken against the natural progression of human thought. They were taken against the desires of your House or the eight other Houses you manipulated, bribed, or threatened into declaring you their proxy. Will you relinquish your seat peacefully?¡±


    ¡°Oh, Daniel. Very bold. But no, I will not.¡± He began to stand, and everyone else followed suit. ¡°You have five minutes to leave my property. You have two days to return the delivery you stole from my House in breach of contract. If you fail in either endeavor, I will kill you. Personally. I suggest you leave the Lane entirely.¡±


    He turned to leave. I sighed. Peace had been an option. I hadn¡¯t wanted it to come to this. I reached inward, pulling the essence of my torchfork out into my hand. The woman with Carver shouted a warning, and I sensed a blurring of the fabric of the Lane near her own hand.

 Part 40

    My torchfork dropped into my waiting hand fully two seconds before whatever the blur around the other woman''s hand was could manifest. With a surge of indignant anger, I hurled my chair back and began to clamber over the table. Boddy reacted almost instantly, training his gun on Carver and squeezing. The sound was deafening in the closed room, and I realized I hadn''t ever considered needing ear protection. I wondered how Boddy did it; his long tapered ears were surely more sensitive than mine.


    There were two brief puffs of dust on Carver''s jacket, and he staggered backwards, closer to the door. As I finally finished my inexpert maneuver across the table, I had a crystal flash of a moment. The woman''s weapon was coming to bear, and I realized I recognized it. That was Rookie''s shotgun. It had always looked...so normal. Hadn''t it? I guess after a couple days of dedicated construction I had started to develop a sense for what was or wasn''t a thought construct. Carver, though off-balance, was unharmed. The lining of his jacket was peeping through a pair of tiny holes, each centered approximately over his upper left chest. Bullet-proof suit. What else? He had come prepared. Her the Interpreter had stretched her hands wide, something like piano wire glimmering between them. I mean...she made a magic healing potion that had refused my skull in under a day. Why couldn''t she work actual spells in the Lane? They just had to fit within the bounds of human imagination.


    The moment shattered, spilling fragments into the corners of the room. It was a useful metaphor, for once. And temporary. Carver''s Bodyguard had been slightly slower on the uptake, but leveled his gun at my face. He wasn''t risking the suit. Damn. I had hoped to catch him in the frozen time so I knew how to react. I had experimented a little bit with it and discovered that my allies could perceive nothing of it. If I had only been able to move with it, I would have won the fight handily. As it is, I was forced to abort my charge, tucking my head under my free arm as I rolled to the side.


    Carver''s House was on the alert, now. The woman, whatever her name, had fired two rounds blindly from behind an overturned end table. There hadn''t been any end tables in the room before, so it must be a thought construct. As soon as I realized it, it suddenly looked a lot more like a barricade. Boddy shouted something that was drowned out by the intense ringing of five gun shots in an enclosed space, but apparently Mean Uncle and the cousins could hear it. The larger of the cousins closed the gap to me and hauled me by my collar to relative safety behind a large stone planter.


    When I peeked out, Carver''s Boddy had joined the thought constructor behind her custom barricade; no part of him visible outside the table''s edge. No further shots were launched. Glancing over, I realized why. Her had woven a...well, it looked like a tapestry. Except it was made of gleaming wire. It looked extremely sharp, too. Mean Uncle and Boddy were sheltering behind the wall-sheet of razor-wire, and it thrashed so erratically that any time either side tried to line up a shot, it got in the way. I suspected that Her was directly controlling the odd spell and doing that on purpose.


    Wait, that left two people unaccounted for. The open door on the opposite end of the room explained Carver''s disappearance. I knew the layout of the House well enough to know that there was not a way out of this suite that direction; just a private sitting room and a private washroom. I also knew Carver well enough to know that he wouldn''t let himself get cornered. He must have a secret exit hidden in one of those rooms. Well, chasing him off the property would work nearly as well as getting him to willingly lay down his position. Of course, there were several dozen hobs out there, any number of which would join him. Probably all of them would, if he lied to them about why I had come. Only Boddy ''s presence would give them pause.


    The other person unaccounted for was the second Cousin, who I think was known as Foolish Cousin. It hadn''t been the highest recommendation, but he had volunteered, and Mean Uncle vouched for him, and I quote, ''despite all his faults''. I scanned the room, quickly risking another peek from behind my planter. Nothing. Except...huh. Someone had smashed a rather expensively antique dining chair and used its legs and a couple of other straight pieces to bar the main entrance to this suite. I hadn''t even noticed it happening, with all the noise and action. That was surprising, because that should have been a very obvious, very messy outcome. And...wait. Were the pieces assembled into a wooden clog?


    Oh. That''s why they''re called cobbles. The old shoemaker and the elves. Their whole thing was about making shoes while nobody was watching. I didn''t realize it could be...weaponized quite like this. Warden grabbed that thought and tucked it away in my mindscape, turning my attention back to the fight scene I had knowingly instigated. Okay, we were at a stalemate. That was bad, because any time that Carver had away from us was bad. (BANG, went someone''s gun. A spray of stone and dirt flew from the side of my planter). I didn''t have a proper ranged weapon, because I hadn''t had time to forge one. The crystal moment was spent, though I knew I could recharge it in a few minutes. Too long. Boddy, Mean Uncle, and the Cousin next to me were all peppering the constructed barricade on the other side of the room, but barely left a mar in the wood. Even if I did have a proper weapon, their cover was better than ours. Well, better than mine and Fast Cousin''s. Her''s razor-wire scarf seemed impervious. I made a mental note (well, Warden made a literal mental note) to ask her about it later.


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    We needed reinforcements. And fortunately, we had planned on them. It was time to unleash my most vexing and dangerous construct. I reached inward and brushed against Loyal. She had already dissolved into a cloudlike concept, ready to be given physical form from the irrealis around me. I had hoped not to need her this soon. I had, in fact, hoped not to need her at all. She wasn''t tested, in her current form. It had weaknesses. Anatomy, or something like it. But she was the best I had.


    There was a creak like old bedsprings and the whoosh of a movie-screen candle going out. Loyal began to form, a few inches from my outstretched hand, as if a sheet was covering her and she was walking out from beneath it. Her beak came first, the last feature I had given her when I reshaped her. Her face, such as it was, followed, the single piercing light that was her eye shooting out little starburst rays that mimicked the deputy''s badge of an old western (or the sort that kids get on field trips). The gunfire, briefly, stopped. My ears were still ringing, but I felt a sense of everyone trying to interpret some piece of new information.


    Carver''s Boddy broke the impromptu cease-fire first. Loyal was too large to hide behind the planter box with me and Fast Cousin. As her body emerged, long and held low to the ground despite the lack of any forelegs, like a serpent clinging to a branch, he opened fire. The other constructor soon followed suit.


    The bullets ripped into the night-sky surface of Loyal, raising nothing more than clouds of smoke that soon settled back into place, leaving an unbroken pattern of nearly-black marked by brilliant white and blue specks. Well, that was...that was a relief. At least she was still bulletproof. In a surge of energy, she pulled herself the rest of the way out from under the sheet. I let her, holding the door as wide as it would go. Her wings followed her body, stretching from just behind her head to near where her legs met the serpentine trunk. They were, without question, the most disturbing part of her new form. I had made them from the myriad grasping tendrils of her original form. They were tamed now, symmetrical or something like it. Each writhed in an erratic but somehow synchronized fashion, like a school of fish closing on a morsel of food. The base of each wing was formed from an even longer tendril, meaning the whole length of them wriggled freely, as boneless as the ''feathers''. She spread them and they were wide enough to cover the whole width of the half-moon table where our negotiations had broken down mere minutes ago. If it had even been that long.


    Loyal shrieked, now fully manifest. Her tail was long and as snakelike as her body, tipped with a truly massive set of grasping claws. The horrid wail of an out-of-tune tuba mixed with the perfect harmony of a masterfully played violin. I don''t know that it would be possible to describe the sound. I don''t think it is even possible, in the realis, to make something pure harmonize with something discordant. If it is, I hope never to see it live in concert. It made the hairs on my arms stand on end and my stomach clench. And I was nominally in control of Loyal. Its effect on everyone else was paralyzing.


    Her lost focus immediately, her murder-towel fading from existence as she gaped in...it was hard to read her expression, but I hazarded a guess that it was wonder. Both Boddys had lowered their pistols to a rest position, and seemed to have forgotten they were in a shootout, staring with a mix of overt fear and deep resolve to face it. They''d recover fastest. The constructor woman simply shoved herself away from Loyal and into a corner. The fact that she was leaving her carefully thought-constructed barricade apparently didn''t occur to her in the face of the purely unholy being I had brought to bear. Foolish Cousin popped into existence, seeming to fall from out of the hastily-crafted wooden clog while simultaneously growing from a fraction of his normal size. Fast Cousin actually dropped his sidearm, collapsing back against the planter. Mean Uncle, however, was grinning. I met his gaze and realized that the same grin was plastered on my face. Oh, how the tables have turned.


    "Loyal," I commanded, my own voice still faint to my slowly recovering hearing. "Capture Carver."


    With an unsettling ripple, Loyal crossed the room in two strides, her snakelike body tucking into itself, thrashing in a wind that touched nobody else. As she departed, Carver''s Boddy managed to empty his clip at her, raising more streamers of writhing smoke. These coalesced into tiny tendrils, complete with tiny claws. When the gun clicked empty, my Boddy dashed across the room to kick it from his hand. Stalemate broken. Advantage us.


    None of us noticed that the other thought constructor had recovered her shotgun. With a click, but no gunpowder boom, she fired at Boddy. He flew backwards across the room, then slumped to the ground. There were no marks on him. Foolish Cousin was closest, and managed to turn him over. Boddy was breathing heavily, but he didn''t seem to recognize the room around him.


    The tall woman turned towards me, leveling her shotgun at me. "That," she said. "Was an unexpected turn. Where''d you find that thing?"

 Part 41

    "What, you don''t have one of those?" I quipped before I could stop myself. The irrealis had really done a number on my sense of self-preservation. The woman was pointing a magic shotgun at me; I should definitely not be quipping at all.


    "Your weapon," the woman answered. I had regained my senses enough to pay attention and not be snide. Well, hopefully. "Drop it. On the ground. Don''t reincorporate it."


    I dropped the torchfork. When it struck the wood floor, there was a metallic thud. Flickers of its fire began to peel the varnish from the wood paneling. Nothing was burning, yet.


    "Can you put out the fire?" she asked. I shook my head, slowly. As I did, I glanced around the room. Foolish Cousin was still tending to Boddy, and it didn''t look like Boddy was going to be rejoining the fight any time soon. Fast Cousin had his pistol out and was locked in a staredown with Carver''s Boddy. Her was hiding under the big moon shaped table, head pressed to the floor and hands stretched out in front of her.


    "Here." The woman said, kicking over a silver tea tray. "Slowly, now."


    I understood. As slowly as I could manage, I knelt down and slid the tea tray under the head of the torchfork. The flames fogged the polish as they flickered, but at least it wasn''t likely to go up in flames any time soon. I stood back up, keeping my hands clearly visible. I could cooperate. Maybe Her had the right idea. Surrender and we might get to live. Probably not. Or maybe Carver would have this woman construct another one of those stasis coffins like they used on Archie. I wasn''t sure that was better. Archie had been pretty shook up about it.


    Wait. Why was Her surrendering? Every weapon in the room was accounted for, and none of them were pointed at the old mystic. With a bit of effort, I summoned my crystal moment again.


    Her was lying on the floor with her hands outstretched, after all. But it wasn''t in surrender. Through the clarity of the moment, I could see an odd rune-like drawing scratched into the floorboard near her left hand. Her mouth was also open, as if mid-sentence. Of course. She was playing possum. Or...playing...whatever animal is good at surrendering.


    For the second time in as many minutes, the crystal moment shattered, leaving shards in the corners of the room. Other people could see those, if they knew to look for them. But they appeared without sound and were almost completely transparent. Focused on me and the cobbles as Carver''s goons were, they didn''t.


    Stall. Warden advised. Your mystic is planning something but she hasn''t set it off yet.


    "You know," I managed, shakily. "I don''t think we''ve been introduced." The woman''s mouth flicked up in a slight smile. She found that amusing? What...how...I guess the kind of mercenary who takes her line of work must have a weird sense of humor. "My name is Daniel. Corners." I offered. I kept both of my hands very visible the whole time I spoke.


    "Janet," the other woman answered. "Torsson. Pleasure to meet you, Daniel."


    "I wish I could say likewise." What, was I going to say it was a pleasure to meet someone who had a gun trained on me?


    "You''ve got more talent than Carver or I anticipated, with the constructing thing." Change of subject. Not talking about the guns. I liked not talking about guns. She''s trying to figure out if you have any tricks prepared for her. Loyal really shocked her. Where had Warden learned to read a situation like that? He was built from my psyche, and I was pretty sure I didn''t have the composure for it. It''s easier to be detached from in here. You have the people skills, and so do I. It''s like I''m always arguing an hour after the fact in the shower, but in real time. Huh. Surprises and surprises, this thought constructing thing.


    "How so?"


    "Well, you got rid of my viral construct, or you wouldn''t be able to have this fight. Actually, I felt it manifest. You notice that, yet?" I had. My own constructs were still tethered to me in some fashion. Even now, I could sense Loyal''s progress as she tried to track down Carver. He''d made it out into the main part of the House, though. He had a lot of places to hide, and Loyal kept getting interrupted by what I assumed were hobs. I hoped she wasn''t harming them. "Let it borrow this gun, too. Takes a fair amount of skill, to cast him out. Especially considering he was specifically designed to keep you from noticing that he existed."


    "Had some help," I admitted. "That thing chasing Carver. Shouldn''t you be trying to stop it?"


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    "He''s not caught yet." She seemed as sure of that as I was. She must have constructed something that was with Carver. Maybe his bulletproof suit. "I want to know how you got that thing and how it got rid of Interloper."


    Ah, Interloper had been his original name. Wait, Janet had named him? Maybe she was working from a different playbook than Gary Westlake. Or maybe she was just that reckless. I seriously doubted she was that inexperienced.


    "Kinda all happened by accident." Her shoulders tensed and I froze, anticipating the shot. After a moment, when she hadn''t shot me, I let my breath out and continued." The thing was a metaphor, out on the Lane. I accidentally manifested it, my first night outside of walls. Sleep metaphor. Interloper, if that''s what his actual name was, let his guard down long enough for it to slip out. When I reincorporated it, I got knocked out. Turns out, a fragment of my original filtering construct was working against yours. It managed to partially repurpose the sleep metaphor into an anti-Interloper filter."


    I glanced over at Boddy. He still wasn''t able to stand, but he seemed to have regained consciousness. He was a solid six feet from his gun, though. And as far as I''d been able to discern, Foolish Cousin didn''t carry one. If only I could signal them about Her''s spellwork without Janet seeing.


    "That''s why you were a day late getting to the drop. Your own metaphor knocked you out." Janet still hadn''t relaxed her shoulders, but the squint in her eyes seemed to be fading. Somewhat. I hoped that wasn''t just my wishful thinking.


    "Yeah, I didn''t really know what I was doing. I''d only been a constructor for about twenty minutes. So I succumbed in the reintegration. Out cold, better part of a day."


    "And then you cast out Interloper?"


    "Not right away. He was adaptable. Good work, I guess." She nodded slightly, not letting her focus slip. Finally, her shoulders seemed a little more relaxed. "He passed himself off as a native construct for another couple days. Kept doing his other jobs. Kept me from knowing what the delivery was about."


    "Huh. I hadn''t meant to give him that much free reign, but it almost worked. What next?"


    "Right before the drop off. We were late, so nobody was there to greet us. I started putting together the pieces that I had managed to retain. Realized what Carver wanted. Your construct manifested himself to try to coerce me. Boddy and I got away."


    "Constructs don''t manifest themselves. You had to have cast him out."


    "I didn''t do it on purpose, at least. It wasn''t like I''ve had a lot of time to practice construction. I didn''t even try to work out the basics until your guy was out of my head. Probably because he was preventing me from wanting to."


    It''s amazing how long three heartbeats can stretch out when you''re looking at the wrong end of a loaded weapon. Finally, Janet broke the silence.


    "I believe you." She did not, however lower her gun.


    "I have a question of my own," I risked a glance at Her. Her drawing was large enough to casually notice now. She was still whispering to herself. How much more time did she need?


    "When I''m finished. You said my construct escaped when you worked out what Carver was planning. What, exactly, was that?" she asked. One of her feet slid outward very slightly, widening her stance. I didn''t know enough about fighting to work out whether that meant anything.


    "You already know, don''t you?" Surely, she was aware of the general idea. Right? She had to be.


    "I knew the how. Not the what. Carver said, and I quote ''you''ll be more comfortable not knowing''. But he can go jump off a bridge. You and yours are fighting awful hard against it, and I''m way past my retainer at this point. I''m starting to think I should have charged more for this job. What was he doing?"


    "You heard what I said, when we were all being civil?" She''d been sitting right here when I leveled my accusations. How could she not know?


    "I heard. It was a lot of smoke and mirrors. All talk, no content. You and Carver both."


    Wait. That wasn''t right. I had clearly charged him with his crimes. Hadn''t I? Not really. You gave the crimes, but not the evidence, as it were. Crap. I really needed to work on my public speaking.


    "He tried to sell the House''s concept," I explained.


    "I worked out that much. To whom, and why?"


    "An Alley House. Opulence, or Extravagance, something like that. Flaunted wealth, by whatever name. Probably thought he could come out on top, considering his resources."


    Janet lowered the shotgun slowly, by degrees. It was still pointed at me, just less threateningly. Evil Boddy noticed. His grip tightened on the handle of his gun, and he started flicking his eyes back and forth around the room. "Miss Torsson. You''re still under contract for this job. If you lay down your weapon, everything is forfeit."


    "Who else?" Janet asked, quietly. She didn''t answer Evil Boddy. Remorseful. Warden guessed. I didn''t need his help to recognize it, though.


    "Honor," I recited. I''d committed the affected Houses to memory. Writ in stone, metaphorically speaking. And actually speaking, from the perspective of my mindscape. "Dignity, Authority, Respect, Beauty, Fortune, Happiness. And Inheritance."


    "Virtues all. And Carver wanted to sell them to Opulence?"


    "So it would seem."


    "Huh," was all she said. Her shotgun was now pointed at the floor. Slowly, I let myself take a breath. For a moment, I thought maybe we''d be peaceful. "I should have charged more. Authority is a big hit." Quick as a cat, she raised the shotgun at me again. "Then again, I guess I''m on the receiving end either way. Just gotta flaunt some wealth. Thanks, Daniel. It really is a shame to lose a constructor of your skill, but considering we''d be working against each other..." she let that trail off. "You understand."


    I didn''t, but it was too late to point that out. Janet braced the shotgun, at the exact moment that Her shouted something in a language not meant to be spoken by (or to) humankind. Razorwires lashed out around the whole room. Janet''s shot went wild, deafening me yet again.

 Part 42

    Okay, so Janet was basically a straight psychopath. Or sociopath. Whichever one is really good at faking empathy and emotions. I dove to the side, choosing a direction at random, before she could pull the trigger on her magic shotgun again. Thankfully, Her''s razor shroud seemed to shape itself around me, and I didn''t land on any barbs or snags. Those things could stop bullets, I can''t imagine they''d have difficulty with my fingers.


    My landing wasn''t graceful, but I at least managed to not knock the wind out of myself. That was the last thing I needed right now, to be wheezing for air in the middle of a firefight.


    Distant thuds punctuated that a firefight was indeed going on. I judged it a bad sign that gunshots were so muffled for me at this point. I rolled onto my side to see what was happening. My back hit a broom handle.


    Janet had been forced to abandon her shooting stance, and held her shotgun tightly in one hand. By the barrel, not the trigger. She was surrounded on all sides by writhing metal tendrils, but was managing to avoid them through a combination of good luck, using her magic shotgun as a shield, and constructing posts to tangle them up in. A part of me (not a constructed part, just that part that we all have that makes inane comparisons during moments of stress) likened it to a gardener madly putting up trellises to tame murderous tomato plants. It wasn''t that far from an accurate description.


    I started to scoot backwards, hoping to reach the shelter of the planter pot, mere inches away. There was a clatter from the broom handle.


    No. Not a broom handle. Where would a broom have come from? I reached behind me and closed my hand around the handle of my torchfork. I pulled it around in front of me. Okay. I was armed again. It was a fork, and this was a gun and magic razor wire fight, but I was armed. That was something. I continued my scoot until I was behind the planter again.


    There was another thud against the ringing in my ears. I saw Fast Cousin spin around quickly, clutching his hand. I tried not to notice that he was bleeding pretty badly from his wrist and failed. Crap. Evil Boddy was a better shot than him, apparently. And in all this razor wire? I glanced around the corner of the box. It wasn''t Evil Boddy. Janet had finished erecting her blockade against the wire. She looked like a hunter in a tree blind, kneeling in a box of free space.


    I was nearly blinded by a shower of dirt and stone chips as Janet took a shot at me. Ducking back behind my planter, I met Her''s gaze. She was focusing deeply on all of the vines, and black tears were staining her cheeks. She wouldn''t be able to keep this up for long. I looked down at the weapon in my hand.


    A weapon of revolt. The weapon of revolt. So iconic that it was an idiom in the English-speaking world. And Janet had just proven herself to be revolting. The realization was like a balm. Suddenly, the anger I had locked away for later was rushing through my mind, causing the torch between the tines to flare up. The pain was freed alongside it, turning the edges of the flame blue as it flickered and grew. It renewed me, somehow. Little imps of fiery anger sprang to life in my mindscape. In the time it took for me to blink, they started to round up all the uncertainty, the fear, the stress. Everything got in line and waited. Anger took the lead. Anger, with none of the blindness. The original material of the torchfork.


    I swear, even my hearing started to improve. I surprised myself by standing up. Wasn''t I supposed to be in hiding? No, the anger imps whispered in my mind. You have the advantage. Look, the enemy cannot even take aim through the spell of your witch. I looked. It was true. Janet might be free of the wires herself, but they still interposed themselves whenever she tried to line up a shot. And with the same quickness, they made room for me to move. Now, STRIKE! my anger shouted. Warden shouted alongside it.


    It took me three strides to cross to Janet''s safe box. With a grunt of effort, I swung the torchfork like I was splitting wood. It shattered one of her trellises, and the wires began to invade her safety. She yelped. She actually yelped. I only realized later that Her''s spell had obscured my approach until I was mid-swing. Another stride and I smashed another trellis. Janet was sitting on the ground now. She fired blindly in my direction. I heard the earsplitting sound clearly, despite everything. New creatures appeared in my mind, temporary manifestations of some sensation. My anger imps put them into formation with everything else before I could even register what it was.


    With a last swing, I shattered her gun. Fragments of hot metal shot out, vanishing into nothingness before they could hit the ground. Janet''s hand and arm were both red with fresh burns. She gaped at me. I don''t know what I must have looked like, coming out of a curtain of razor death like that, but she was afraid. No psychopathic mimicry involved. A moment later, Her directed her spell to form a sort of cocoon around Janet. It never touched her, but she would shred herself if she tried to crawl free. One threat down.


    Evil Boddy had taken the smart option and moved to the next room. The one Carver had left open. The wires didn''t seem to be able to cross the threshold, which I found mildly surprising. Evil Boddy was shooting with a steady rhythm from his pistol. Aim, shoot. Aim, shoot. Each bullet raised sparks as it inevitably met with one of Her''s infinite guarding arms.


    I noticed I was slower as I started to walk towards Evil Boddy. It was like something was caught around my ankle. I looked down. There was a large stain on my right pant leg. It looked like blood. That would track, with the hole in my pants. In my mindscape, the imps brought forward a guilty-looking prisoner. Pain. The prisoner was a representation of my pain. The anger imps had kept me from feeling it. Pain in my leg. From a gunshot.


    Holy crap. I had been shot in the leg. I took one more staggering step towards Evil Boddy, still refusing to feel the sensation of the pain. I was mad, and my fork was built to use it.


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    My leg didn''t hold the weight. I collapsed, landing safely on the ground as a barricade of wires formed itself over me. I heard a distant clang as my torchfork bounced free.


    ---


    In the chaos of Daniel unleashing his terror, everyone seemed to forget about Mean Uncle. In general, everyone seemed to forget about everything. The beast''s shriek had that effect on a person. Even Daniel, whose grin had been a match for Mean Uncle''s own, had been too distracted by having a shotgun aimed at him. Mean Uncle, for all his bluster and reputation, did feel bad for the kid. It wasn''t his fault he''d been in the wrong place with the wrong special powers. But Mean Uncle was who he was because he could make the hard choices.


    A cupboard in one corner had been splintered and cracked by stray gunfire. Through it, Mean Uncle could see a sliver of light. He ducked inside the cupboard before everyone could recover. There was a retort and he was distantly aware of one of the Cousins rushing to a fallen hob. He ignored it, and focused instead on something that should not be coming from inside a cupboard.


    The shaft of light he had noticed was coming from the hall on the other side of the conference room''s wall. Mean Uncle felt around for a couple minutes and discovered that the back panel of the cupboard was removable. Behind it was not a secret door, like he expected. Instead, he discovered that the wall had been carefully designed to be slightly thicker than it seemed. A ladder led up to a crawlspace between the second and third floor. Secret passages. That was how Carver intended to escape this conflict. Well, Mean Uncle would see to that, sure enough.


    Another retort sounded behind him. He didn''t look to see who had fired on whom. He started to climb.


    Like he said, the hard choices.


    ---


    Loyal rushed through a corridor. She had been given a job. And she was good at doing jobs. It had earned her her name.


    Unfortunately, this particular job required new skills. Loyal hadn''t been given those skills. Tracking wasn''t a job for her. Hers was to defend. Always, to defend. But she made do. There was a sense to the man she was meant to capture. The man who meant harm to her creator. It was a familiar sense. Almost like the invader. The virus-man. Oh, how she hated the virus-man. He had escaped her, on that last hunt before she awoke. This man who bore the same impression would not.


    The corridor ended with a door. Loyal did not know how to use a door. She wasn''t sure she would ever know how to use a door. Why should she bother? She ran through the door. Splinters of wood brushed against her hide, a new sensation. Down below, she heard loud sounds. Gunfire, she managed to dredge up from some fragment of Daniel''s knowledge carried with her. That wasn''t her problem.


    She turned her head, shafts of light piercing the room around her. Yes. The sensation was close. But not in this room. A wall stood in the way. Walls. Walls were tougher than doors. Several small creatures were fleeing in a panic. She stepped up onto their table, turning a slow circle, tasting the air through her beak.


    Taste, yes. She had a mouth now. She hadn''t before. Taste gave her new information. A new sense. And carried on it, distant through the hallways, she felt the impression she was chasing. The man whose sense was the same as the virus had come through this room. She could smell his trail as he entered through another door that the tiny creatures were using to flee. He had crossed the room and exited through the door she had just broken.


    Yes. She had him now. She could taste his breath on the air, even as it grew stale. She turned back towards the shattered remains of the door and stepped back into the corridor. He was still near. No longer moving. Perhaps he thought he was safe.


    Loyal bellowed with joy. He would never be safe. Not as long as he meant harm to Daniel. She was loyal. She was Loyal. She did her job. She would do this one too.


    ---


    I managed to get my belt off. I remembered something from a first aid seminar about using a belt as a tourniquet. Where did you put a tourniquet, though? I hazarded a guess. The shot was just below my knee. I looped the belt just above my knee and pulled until it was biting into my flesh. It hurt. The anger imps had lost control of my mindscape, and with a grunt of effort, I simultaneously pulled the belt as tight as it would go and banished all the temporary constructs from my mind.


    Then it hurt a lot. My ears started ringing again as all the sensations held at bay by construction trickery rushed back. My face was sore, and it was wet with what I hoped was tears but feared was blood. Broken nose, maybe some tears from the planter shrapnel. All the other aches of the fight rushed in at once and for a few seconds, it was all I could do to hunker down in my cocoon of safety and try to focus.


    The stain on my pant leg stopped spreading. That was a good sign, right? Slowly, my hearing started to return. I heard voices shouting. One of them was Her. The other was...Boddy? That was reassuring. Boddy was awake again. Or had I already known that?


    You''re losing consciousness. Warden informed me helpfully. Yes, thank you Warden, I could tell by how I''m not staying awake. Manifest me. He said.


    What? I managed to pull my thoughts into clarity for another brief moment. Manifest me. Warden answerred. Outside the cocoon. You know how to do it. I can take the torchfork, (deliriously, I wondered if he called it that because he was polite enough to use the name I had assigned it or because he was essentially a fragment of me and liked the name as much as I did) and I can stop Carver and his Boddy. You can''t fight anymore. Not in person. But you can manifest me.


    Wait. Hadn''t that voice asked me to manifest it before? I seemed to recall that was a bad idea. The voices outside were shouting now. Some of the shouting might have been words, but I couldn''t make them out past the fading ring of my hearing and the rapidly retracting awareness of my surroundings.


    That was the other one. Not me. I''m Warden, not Rookie. Daniel, you have to manifest me. I swear, I will return. But if you don''t, you give up any say you have in the rest of today.


    Rookie was talking sense, I had to admit. Thinking sense? No. Not Rookie. Not-Rookie. Warden. Warden?


    The crystal moment. My own voice echoed out from my mind. I may have spoken the words aloud, too. It''s recharged now. Use it.


    Right. I had a secret weapon. Well, not secret anymore. I''d used it twice already. Of course nobody could tell when I did. So still secret, I guess. I reached for it.


    The world snapped into clarity. I could make out every individual strand in the protective cocoon Her had woven around me. And, to my surprise, I could think clearly. I only had this one moment, but for it, I had clarity. Of course. Clarity meant more than just my senses. My mind. My mind was crystal clear.


    Warden was right. I was out of other options. With an effort, I opened a door for him to climb out of my mindscape, and a rope ladder fell from the aperture. He started to climb.


    The moment shattered. I was aware only of a scene of someone climbing a rope ladder. Was I watching search and rescue footage? There was more shouting. With a sigh of relief, I laid back and let my eyes glaze over as I watched the wires swimming around me.

 Part 44

    Warden climbed the ladder out of Daniel''s mind and came up through the floor just behind Daniel''s cocoon of safety. The torchfork was on the floor here, and he dragged it to him, careful not the expose himself to Carver''s hob. The cobble known as Fast Cousin had managed to get back to cover, but his hand was still a useless mass of blood. Boddy and Foolish Cousin were enveloped nearly as completely as Daniel, and Her was at the center of the storm of wires, seemingly unable to do any more.


    Fortunately, Carver''s Bodyguard lacked a constructed weapon, and mundane realis pistols have finite shots. Unfortunately, the bodyguard was a professional, and was not taking wild shots at cover when nobody was exposed. What good was suppressing fire if his charge had already gotten away, after all.


    Warden drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of ozone and gunsmoke. At least he could be rebuilt. Forged anew, like Loyal had been. And someone needed to get past that hob. Time to do something unexpected. He backed up as far as he could without becoming a target, then took two short steps and planted the haft of the torchfork in the ground, using it as an improvised pole to launch himself over the cocoon. He was in luck; the hob had been expecting him to have to go around the wires; too sharp to touch. The pistol was aimed several degrees to Warden''s left.


    It didn''t matter. The distance was too great. There was a dull thud somewhere in Warden''s perception and he felt an impact near his stomach. Before the pain could set in, he drew his weapon back like a gladiator''s trident and hurled it. It sailed true, despite the curved tines, and with a burst of fire, it sank into the other Boddy''s chest. The burst of the flames knocked the hob from his feet and the gun from his hands.


    A bloom of dark liquid spread on Warden''s uniform. Blood. Daniel had even given him blood. Well, what better use than to spent it in defense of mankind?


    Her''s spell vanished as Warden began to dissipate back into thoughtstuff. Not bad, for less than a month of life, he thought. I got to see realis and irrealis both, and I did good work.


    ---


    Carver threw open another set of doors. The House of Community was a large property, and even he didn''t know where everything was most days. This room, he did know. It was a formal dining room, meant to serve as many as thirty guests. A large room, with large furniture. Ordinarily, he would have stopped to admire the expensive redwood and ivory dining table, which he had ordered at considerable expense, or the matching chairs, edged with gold. Today, he merely noted that ''around the table'' takes on a new meaning when the table is over twenty feet long. He went over it, instead, shattering a vase some house manager had left to keep the place lively between parties.


    He had a panic room. All he had to do was slip through the den on the other side of this table, and take the secret door behind the washroom sink in the room beyond that.


    He didn''t get a choice. Some creature born of nightmares emerged from his den. It seemed to be made of endless ebony tentacles, all waving in a disorienting frenzy. A long tentacle made up the body, seven or eight feet from beak to tail. Two similarly-sized tentacles acted as wings, but the feathers were just more tentacles. The legs were clusters of tentacles writhing together, braided into ropes where each strand moved independently.


    It was disgusting. And it was horrifying. And then it opened its beak and let out a cry. Carver had seen untalented children play cheap, dented instruments in a charity concert once. The horrid discordant sound of twenty-something eight-year-olds tuning up using a fork that wasn''t even accurate and ears that were less had been one of the most grating sounds he had ever heard. Nails on a chalkboard had moved up a step by comparison. The sound this creature made was an order of magnitude worse. Carver wished he were deaf. He would gladly stay deaf the rest of his life if it meant not having to hear this again. It made his bones feel like gelatin and his hair seemed unwilling to even stand on end, instead curling itself flat against his scalp as if trying to hide from the sound.


    The sound went on for five continuous seconds. During the whole thing, Carver was unable to move, transfixed by the bleating of the devil''s own bagpiper before him. When it ended, the beak-on-a-squid turned to look at him with one eye that seemed to gleam with a piercing inner light. It took a step towards him. Carver took a step back.


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    Another step. It was not in any hurry. Carver checked behind him. The way he had come was still open, and this thing was between him and his safe room. If he could just get past the table, this creature might be slowed down enough for him to put some doors between him and it. Maybe he could even get into hiding and wait for it to pass, then sneak to his safe room.


    Two steps. The creature ducked into a crouch, as if preparing to leap.


    Carver broke, diving under the table and crawling, ineffectively on his stomach to the other side. The creature simply vaulted up over the table, clearing the full five feet of width in a single casual jump. It ropy legs seemed to stretch before and after, extending its reach like some bizarre elastic. It bellowed again, shorter, quieter, less horrifying only by comparison to the first bellow. Carver attempted to about face, but he was too slow. He felt a vice lock around his ankle, painfully squeezing as he was dragged unceremoniously out from under the table.


    The creature was all around him. Carver did his best not to scream in terror and failed. The tentacles seemed to unravel and reravel in a single surge.


    ---


    Carver woke up, one nightmare-infused rest later. He was surprised to see that he was all in one piece. He was tied to a chair. The monstrosity was nowhere in sight. But then, neither was anything else. Dusty shelves lined his view on either side. They looked faintly familiar. One of his storage rooms, perhaps? Or the cellars? A single utilitarian light was fixed to the ceiling, and it cast shadows into the corners furthest from Carver. It was bright enough near him.


    He tried to move his arms and legs. No good, the chair was sturdy and the ropes were strong. Someone noticed.


    "Hello, Edgar."


    Carver didn''t recognize the voice. It was gruff, but somehow harmonic. Like a tenor with a head cold. Whoever it was knew his first name, though. And if they had tied him up, they probably knew he didn''t care for it.


    "You know, you were given a chance. Mister Corners, he''s very moral. Does what''s right. Wanted to settle this bloodlessly."


    The voice came into view. It was one of those giant orange hobs that had been with Daniel. Carver had never bothered to find out what they were called. This was the oldest of the three, and middle in height.


    "Unfortunately, Mister Corners was knocked out in the fighting, just like you. So when someone found you there, in the care of his little hound, it was not Mister Corners."


    The hob drew a gun, a large caliber revolver of some kind. It looked like a prop in a western movie.


    "I don''t mind a little blood. But, out of respect for the service Mister Corners has paid my mistress, I''m giving you one more chance. He should be back on his feet by now. So, two options."


    Carver was already sure he knew what the options were going to be.


    "Option one: you relinquish control of your House. Full control. You name Lady Liu as the house''s proxy until a proper leader is installed. No change of intraHouse politics necessary."


    The hob slowly, methodically, slid five rounds into the six-shooter. He didn''t break eye contact with Carver as he did it, but Carver could see.


    "Option two: I leave this room. I free one arm. And I leave this firearm behind. No ammunition."


    Carver stifled his confused expression. "Why would you give me a weapon if I don''t agree to your demands?"


    "Because, Edgar," the hob-thing drew out Carver''s name deliberately, grinning with those weirdly narrow teeth shared by its cousins, and Carver felt a brief flare of anger over the chilling panic. "I''m not leaving you alone. Loyal?"


    Carver turned to where the hob had pointed. The abomination was there. Its single eye shone like a flashlight for a few seconds, fading into the distance like an echo.


    "Incidentally, she is bulletproof. According to my boys, your bodyguard hit her in a clear cluster, three shots. Impressive aim, I have to say. You surely don''t pay him enough. All it did was make new tendrils. But you''re welcome to try. Five shots, Mister Carver." He took out one more round and placed it clearly visible on the edge of one of the shelves. "Plus one more four when you realize it doesn''t help. After I leave this room, I lock it behind me. Your staff know ways to make rooms disappear, and I regret to inform you that they are largely against you at this point. You could stay in here a very long time, just you and your new friend."


    Carver took several seconds to realize what the hob had just said, so distracted was he by the creature he saw. It took him another minute or two to realize the implied threat. The hob was silent the whole time, watching Carver''s expression carefully.


    "If you lock me in here," Carver said, carefully omitting the ''with that thing'' part of the sentence. "You don''t gain control of the House. I''m still its sitting master. All you''ll accomplish is annoying me, unless you think that creature would kill me. But if you thought that, you wouldn''t have set aside the extra bullet. It will what, put me to sleep again? That''s what it did the first time." Carver hoped the hob couldn''t see him shudder under the ropes tying him to the chair. "I can stall. Eventually someone else will come looking for me. One of my other allies."


    The hob seemed disappointed. "Drat. I told Warden this threat wouldn''t work. There''s no teeth in it." Carver didn''t ask who Warden was.


    The hob opened the revolver again, and slid the sixth bullet into place. He raised it, and the last thing Carver saw was the flare of the muzzle.

 Part 45

    The rest of the fight and the next couple hours after are still a blur to me. I know that Warden managed to get his spear out and killed Evil Boddy with it. It wasn''t the choice I would have made, but it was a very real life-or-death situation. Live gunfire was in play. I felt Warden fade, but I retained enough awareness to scoop up his fragmenting thoughtstuff to restore him later. Hopefully Gary Westlake can give me a hand with that. I''m not really even sure how I would go about it.


    There was some time lost in there. I''m pretty sure I never went fully unconscious, but I don''t remember how I ended up in one of the rooms in my own House, my leg properly bandaged and poulticed with one of Her''s abhorrent concoctions. I just hoped it didn''t give me sepsis.


    Boddy was there. Both of his eyes were red, like photos of people who were too close to explosions or boxers after a long fight. Red on the inside, not just a black eye. He was supposed to be resting in his own room, but Archie had apparently brought him a cot. He was asleep, but it was reassuring that he had stayed to watch my back.


    I remember Her and the Cousins coming and going a couple times. Little Cousin stayed longer than the others. Mean Uncle didn''t show up.


    It was a day after the fight before I had recovered enough to have the presence of mind to ask what had happened. Apparently, Mister Carver had been lethally shot in a second firefight that had broken out while I was out. Mean Uncle and one of the Butlers had managed to keep the House staff in line long enough to establish a proxy seat. For now, Lady Liu was in charge of the House. I guess I''m off the hook for leadership, for the moment. Other than the four residents of my own House, that is. I felt bad for Carver, despite everything. He was more than a little unhinged, but he hadn''t been malicious. I knew I shouldn''t; that he was a regressive maniac, but I still felt it. Human nature, to mourn the dead.


    Loyal returned that second day. She seemed pleased with herself. I wasn''t sure what to make of that. How intelligent was she, really? Did she know that by failing to capture Carver, she had led to his death? Would she care if she did? She was Loyal to me, but that didn''t mean she shared my distaste for killing. I reincorporated her anyway. Someone had to keep foreign thoughts out of my head until I could restore Warden.


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    Thanks to Her''s magic, I was back on my feet in a week. Boddy''s eyes were fully healed as well. We celebrated with a small meal of fast food, acquired with shocking speed by Little Cousin. Head of Resources, indeed.


    I went back to the realis to discover that everyone I knew was in a panic. I lost my position with the delivery company, of course. It would make it hard to pay rent, but then I guess I didn''t really need an apartment anymore. I had my little House on the Lane. Still, I needed to figure out my money situation one way or another. Boddy and Little Cousin and Her and Archie needed to be paid, after all. In the aftermath of the conflict, I hired Archie. She suggested that until the House needs more positions, that she could be a Personal Assistant. Boddy had to lean on me a little bit, but I allowed it in the end. Maybe I''d look into freelancing as a Constructor.


    Speaking of which, Janet was turned over to the House of Penance. Her and Gary Westlake saw to her arrival personally. Apparently, the House of Penance keeps a lot of dangerous irrealis people. Sort of like a prison, but for your imaginary friends. And for people whose thoughts can warp irreality. She left me a message with Her saying that she holds no grudge. I''m not sure if I believe her, but it would be nice not to have an enemy out of the woman.


    Eventually, I managed to reassure everyone that I was, in fact, fine. At Her''s suggestion, I passed it off as having a stress breakdown due to debt (I didn''t have outstanding loans, but it was a plausible lie), and claimed to have been in self-isolation at a remote campsite for the past week and a half. Dana was the only one who knew it was a lie, but she didn''t say anything. I felt bad; she had been a good manager.


    Tonight, I rest at my House. My rent was paid up through next weekend, and I''ve been slowly moving my stuff into the Lane, one trip at a time. I know I could ask Little Cousin to get it and it would all be here inside the hour, but I did the hauling anyway. Maybe it reminded me of work.


    Tomorrow, I don''t know what will come. I suddenly have a lot more world to explore and a lot less reason to want to. But that''s for tomorrow.


    My name is Daniel Corners. I am the only individual on the Lane who is the head of House for their own conceptualized resonance peak, so far as I know. I''m a thought constructor. And I am very, very lucky.