In Dreams Wake

With the task of exploring the innumerable rooms in the tenements, Beck expected to become bored quickly. Due to his experience at the Barclay Estate he assumed this was yet another mundane assignment to get him out of his uncle’s hair, either because they didn’t have interest in teaching him or they wanted to distract him from uncovering more uncomfortable truths about the Reverie. Beck was certainly discovering aspects of this strange dream world as he combed the building, but only the ones that fascinated him.

If this was reality, each residence would have been more or less the same. He had been in similar complexes before. He couldn’t quite remember the reason why he was familiar with these impoverished conditions, but he expected the same types of meager accommodations in each room. While the furnishings themselves weren’t out of place, the way they were arranged were.

Most of the rooms had some form of bed, be it a thin mattress or a collection of blankets on the floor, but some were oddities. Beck came across a residence with a bed whose legs were a meter and a half tall, making the climb into it a feat. Another departed completely with the other furnishings and was laid out like a dormitory. That room had bunks spaced throughout, with the mattresses at the tops of the bunks kissing the ceiling. When he opened the door to yet another room, the bed frame was blocking the entire entrance.

There were even stranger things he encountered. One door opened into a space that could have easily housed several of the other rooms, but along every wall were stacks of ovens. A second door opened into another hallway, in the space where the adjacent rooms ought to have been. The small bits and bobs that cluttered spaces were still there, including books. When he looked inside them to see if they contained any information about this world, he was met with the same imitation of language that was on the door numbers; the characters all looked like letters, but none that Beck recognized.

While each bizarre discovery was interesting to Beck, he didn’t come across any more gateways to other worlds. “I suppose finding the entrance back in the woods was an anomaly,” he commented.

Patch pawed through a series of dirty mugs left on the floor of the room they were currently in. “Sometimes progress through here can be slow,” the creature said.

“Your sixth sense wouldn’t happen to extend to the passages connecting the in-betweens?”

The bear shook its head. “It is difficult to explain why certain things are apparent to velours while others are not. Gateways, searching for them with our ‘understanding’ is like trying to locate the color purple by scent. Pitfalls though, they are compatible with our ‘understanding.’ The best way I can describe them is that we can hear their danger. They sound like a branch snapping in the forest.”

Beck screwed up his face, the confusing logic of this dreamscape making his head hurt. “Have you sensed any pitfalls in this place?”

“No, this world is too new to have any.”

He stopped going through the cabinet he was searching and looked over at the velour. “So they are a result of decay, whereas unmapped areas are a result of missing knowledge.” Even the impossible realities were subject to the ravages of time, it seemed. The concept of entire landscapes flaking away like rust was one that elicited equal parts awe and alarm. “These tenements are recent, then.”

“Not older than a century, most likely,” Patch grunted.

Beck raised an eyebrow. “Is that your definition of ‘new?’”

“In the grand scheme of the Reverie, yes. If Master Fielding’s theories are to be believed, the Reverie is at least as old as human civilization.”

“If it’s been around for that long, why is my uncle claiming the Reverie as a recent discovery?” he asked.

The bear ruffled its ears. “Master Fielding told you about Midwich. It is certain that it is a world that has had access to the Reverie longer than your own has, and Master Fielding says it isn’t a stretch to imagine there were other predecessors as well. The Reverie has certainly been calling to those from your world for a long time, but traveling it is the new development Master Rowan is talking about.”

While Beck was tempted to take the creature’s words for what they were, he couldn’t help but assume his uncle was not letting his servant tell the full story. With all of the lies and half-truths his teachers had been pedaling, it was easy to give into his paranoia. He read Patch’s expression for any kind of deceit, but it was difficult to tell with an animal face, let alone one made from fabric.

Something at the velour’s paws caught his attention. He bent down to one of the mugs on the floor. “Hey now, what’s this?” The outside was identical to the other ones, but inside there wasn’t a bottom. The ceramic vanished down past where the dim light of the room could penetrate. “You’re sure this isn’t a pitfall here?”

The bear peered down into the cup. “If it was, I would have known. Which means this must be a gateway.”

“I didn’t realize they could be this small.”

“Most are smaller. We’ve probably passed countless ones that were too small to notice. Knotholes in the floorboards, punctures in the walls, those sorts of holes. Ones that velours can fit through are rare, let alone ones our masters can traverse.”

Beck supposed it made sense, since size followed a similar trend in nature, too. He began to work his hand into the opening.

“Don’t do that,” Patch growled.

He was taken aback by the sudden aggression. “Why not? I want to know what’s on the other side. I can pull back quickly if needed.”

“What do you think will happen if the mug breaks while your arm is in it, Master Beckham?”

His eyes grew wide, and his hand snapped back out of the mug. Curiosity wouldn’t let him leave the object alone though, so he reluctantly grabbed it by the handle. It was light, which surprised him; if an entire world was connected to the bottom of the mug, he was expecting it to weigh more than a cup of water.

He tipped it on its side. At first nothing happened, but then Beck heard the sound of moving liquid and something poured out of the mug and onto the floor. A brownish liquid splashed against the floorboards and onto his ankles, making him jump back in alarm; it was hot. He’d tipped the mug back upright, but he caught the scent of the substance as the puddle on the floor steamed.

“No way,” he said. Excitedly he picked up one of the other mugs that looked relatively clean and strode to the sink in the room. Beck tilted the bottomless mug again and poured some of the liquid into the other cup. He blew on the surface of it before tentatively taking a sip.

“Master Beckham, are you sure that —”

“It’s tea!” He exclaimed. “It’s full of tea!” He tipped the mug again, and more of it poured out into the sink. Beck thought that the stream would stop, but it kept going until the volume of it threatened to overflow the bowl of the sink.

Before it could, something else caught his attention. He put the mug down and approached the run-down couch sitting in the corner of the room. Beck parted the cushions and reached deep into the crevasse at the back of the seat. A phone receiver emerged when he pulled his arm back, which he brought to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello there, Beck.” It was Amelia. “How has your expedition in the Reverie been going?”

“Well, I —” He suddenly broke from his daze, realizing he had pulled the device from seemingly nothing, and was once again communicating across planes of existence he didn’t fully comprehend. “Well, now I am quite disoriented.”

“That’s a common symptom of talking this way,” Amelia said.

“This happened with Patch, but I thought that was a one-time ordeal,” Beck said.

“I’m sure Rowan or Fielding can explain the logistics, but by using some tools we are able to reach out to people traveling in the Reverie. Are you at a good resting point?”

“I could go for a little longer, this place is extraordinary! I’ve found unlimited tea.”

“Oh,” he heard Amelia say, a hint of bewilderment in her voice. There was a long pause on the line. “Rowan wants you to come back now, if you’re able. It’s morning.”

“Goodness, I must have lost track of time. How late is it?”

“I think you misunderstand. The sun is rising.”

Beck almost dropped the phone in shock. “Already!? I’ll be back as soon as I can!”

“Understood. We’ll meet you on the other side.”

The speaker went dead. Beck looked around for a place to hang up the receiver, but it had already disappeared from his hand. With wild eyes he turned to Patch. “It’s already the next day! Why didn’t you warn me?”

The bear rolled its shoulders in a shrug. “My entire existence is tied to the Reverie, I don’t have any concept of time.”

He gave an exasperated sigh. Making his way to the door Beck peered down the hallway, but he’d gone down so many in his exploration that the direction back to the woodland gateway could have been any which way. “I don’t even know where we are anymore,” he admitted.

“I know the way out,” Patch said. “Navigation is one of my main purposes, after all.”

Beck knelt down and allowed the velour to climb up onto his back. Before he left the room, he went back and retrieved the bottomless mug; he certainly wasn’t going to leave something as valuable as that behind.

Patch fed directions into his ear when he was out in the hallway. His earlier assumption was correct; he never would have found his way back on his own. The velour led him through numerous corridors and staircases Beck had forgotten he had even traveled. Eventually they made it back to the familiar room with the hole at the base of the wall. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed back out into the open air of the forest while Patch walked through the opening without any effort. In the woodlands, the dirt path around the pond led almost directly to the gateway; An offshoot of the trail led to the entrance of the Barclay estate. The gateway on the forest side was constructed of a tangle of trunks and branches that mimicked the shape of the iron archway.

Passing to his own dream, the sky was a bright pale blue of mid-morning. His own world seemed to reflect the time of reality, and the acknowledgement of passed time made him pick up his pace.

Going through the front doors he was taken aback. The foyer was now gleaming and completely decorated with flowers, like the garden outside had transplanted itself to here. Beck usually considered floral arrangements like these garish, but the tempered hues and delicate placements gave the entry an elegance that was timeless. The housekeeper was carefully pruning the wilting buds off one of the displays.

“Maude, this all looks lovely!” Beck exclaimed.

She turned to him with a tired smile, then went back to her clipping. Despite being out all night and returning with his outfit ruined, the housekeeper kept quiet. Either part of her job was to withhold judgment, or his odd behavior was being hidden by the veil hiding the Reverie from her.

He strode up the stairs, down the main hallway, and into his suite. He left the mug on his desk there before laying down in his duplicate form on the bed. Beck closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was in the real world; Patch was once again a doll presiding in its armchair, and Amelia was sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Welcome back,” she said. Her expression was blank; it must have been a normal occurrence for her to watch over people as they slept.

Beck felt wide awake, which surprised him. Being active in the Reverie through the night must have been fine so long as his physical body was sleeping, he figured. “My uncle wants to see me?” he asked.

“He wants you to meet with Fielding, who has another assignment for you. He’s in the lecture hall.”

Pulling the sheets aside, he got up from the bed. Beck was still wearing his clothes from the previous evening; he’d need to make a point of changing when his uncle’s company wasn’t constantly pulling him in every direction. When he stood he finally saw the instrument Amelia had on the desk. “That has to be the most ludicrous device I’ve seen.”

It was a headpiece, like a type of helmet, but with a candlestick phone grafted to it. The earpiece was mounted where the wearer’s ear would be. The mouthpiece dangled from the other side on a metal arm, similar to a microphone on a headset. A cord trailed from the case of the phone, but instead of an electrical wire it was a few threads of yarn entwined that connected to Patch’s form.

Despite the ridiculousness of the helmet, Beck was reasonably sure of its purpose. “You used that to send a message to me in my dreams?”

“Yes,” Amelia answered. She didn’t elaborate.

“Well, okay.” Not receiving any more information, he awkwardly skirted past her.

He crossed the hall to the classroom, where Fielding was already waiting for him. It seemed his next lecture was about to begin. Or perhaps the previous one just hadn’t ended yet.

The man gestured for him to take the sole seat in the room. “I take it your first journey into the in-between was illuminating?” Fielding prompted.

“That’s rather an understatement.” Even though he had just left, he was already looking forward to diving back into the Reverie. “I was told you have something you want me to do?”

The man nodded. “Were you able to ingratiate yourself with some of the folks down at the circus grounds?” Fielding started.

Due to his singular focus on the dream world, it took him a moment to remember he even went to the fairgrounds. The circus in the real world felt like it was an experience from a past life. He’d almost completely forgotten about the charming magician and fortune teller he had met there, but his teacher’s question brought them back to the forefront of his thoughts. “I suppose I have, why?”

“We want you to go back to the troupe and discover more about them.”

There was a long silence.

“You want me to go back to the circus,” Beck said.

Fielding’s only response was a knowing smile.

A frown began to emerge on Beck’s brow. “That was just to prepare me for awakening, right? Going back seems like a waste of time now that I have access to the Reverie.”

His teacher said nothing, still grinning.

After his teacher’s continued refusal to speak, annoyance edged into his voice. “If you and my uncle are too busy, at least have me doing something productive! You told me that we never did anything that didn’t have a purpose behind it.” After saying those words, realization flooded him. “Good lord, the troupe is involved in this business, aren’t they?”

“Of course,” the man said. “We did want you to get a taste of their folklore, since many such stories are influenced by the Reverie in some way, but Rowan and I wanted to be, ah, efficient with your teaching.”

“So, what? Is my uncle the ringmaster of the circus or something?”

Fielding chuckled. “He certainly runs a circus, but only the one here at the estate. No, there is only one person we are interested in, and they certainly aren’t on our side.”

“Hold on, you think that the Stranger has a mole. In a group of vaudeville entertainers. What — Why on earth?”

“Oh, we’re perfectly aware of how far-fetched that sounds. That’s why we didn’t want to spring this on you immediately after awakening to the Reverie!” Fielding was still smiling, clearly enjoying Beck’s reaction to the revelation. The man clasped his hands. “Based on what you know now, why do you think we would be concerned about the troupe?”

It took a minute for Beck to form an answer. To his teacher it might have appeared that he was simply having a hard time making the connections, but that wasn’t the case. Beck was still struck by the fact that even the most innocent of activities he had done had ulterior motives behind it. He understood now why no one else in the Barclay company could go down to the Commons; if someone aligned with the Stranger was there, someone like Fielding probably would have been recognized immediately. But Beck was brand new to his uncle’s enterprise. He hadn’t visited the troupe as a tourist. He had gone as a spy.

After dwelling on those troubling thoughts, he answered Fielding. “From what I gathered about their culture, they believe more in esoteric ideas, for lack of a better phrase. I presume that means they would be more open to the Reverie, so you think there could be someone who is a dream traveler. Since the circus has just arrived in town, you believe this could be used as an opportunity to sneak someone into Boston.”

“That’s a decent portion of the reasoning, yes.”

“If I may be honest, that sounds like you are taking significant leaps in logic. When I have to imagine the most extreme scenario to understand where my uncle is coming from, that’s not a good sign,” Beck said.

“Oh, I agree that it isn’t worth jumping to the worst conclusion without evidence,” said Fielding, “However, we have a contact — someone we call our ‘administrator’ — who has credible sources that point to those from Midwich trying to do exactly what you suggested. And the administrator, she is very much the opposite of Rowan. I’ve never met a more cautious person, and that’s why I trust her when she provides us with information this outlandish.”

“And will I get to meet this ‘administrator?’”

“I imagine so, sooner or later,” Fielding replied. “For now, it would be a huge favor if you revisit the circus grounds. We don’t know who the potential infiltrator is, but it would likely be someone with an interest in the arcane. I realize you probably didn’t have much time to talk to people on your one visit, but are they any people that would fit that description in the troupe?”

“I have a few ideas, yeah.”

Fielding beamed at him. “Excellent! When should we drive you over?”

“The evening; I’m already expected,” he replied.

It wasn’t lost on Beck that his teacher omitted an important detail; those working for the Stranger did know about him. The Stranger had seen him already. It might have been possible that Fielding had overlooked that fact, but he doubted his uncle had. No, his uncle was probably more than aware of the danger that he was requesting his nephew to put himself into.