In Dreams Wake

Stepping into the lecture hall for the day’s lesson, Fielding stood before the lone table which was filled with a large assortment of oddities. Beck immediately noticed Patch sitting in the middle of the group, watching over everything in their dormant state.

“Looks like you brought the whole kit with you today,” Beck said.

The man smiled. “If you are an explorer of the Reverie, these are certainly the essentials,” Fielding said, gesturing to the supplies before him. “Some of these you are familiar with and don’t need explanations on their usage, but it is important to examine the basis for these artifacts since many brush against the fabric the dream world is made from. Let’s open with this; What makes a room a room?”

He thought for a moment. “I can’t help but assume this is a trick question. The best I can come up with is that a room is an enclosed space.”

“You’re correct on both fronts. What I’m trying to get at is, what are the minimum requirements for what makes something what it is? This concept we refer to as the prototype of an object. Your description hits close to the prototype of a room, but it isn’t specific enough.”

Fielding picked up Patch. “A velour appears in your own dream in the Reverie if it is in the same room you go to sleep in. While the main purpose of them is guardianship, this property of them also lets us examine what constitutes a room. Under your definition, when you left Patch out in the hallway they would have still been with you to protect against the Stranger, since the whole estate can be considered an enclosed space, no? So how would you refine it?”

“In that case, a room is an enclosed space of irreducible complexity. A space without other spaces inside of it,” Beck said.

“If we put Patch into a cupboard which was inside your bedroom, would they be in your dream world?”

“Yes. Well, maybe. Would that matter to a velour?” Beck asked, becoming increasingly frustrated.

A sympathetic smile crept onto Fielding’s face. “That is the trick. Inherently we know what a room is, but it is not easily defined. There may not even be a definition that can be communicated with language. For most of the concepts and artifacts we use in the Reverie we know how to utilize them, but our understanding of why they work the way they do is vague at best. Velours exemplify this. We know how they operate, but the reason they are even alive is a mystery.”

“So, did someone have a doll with them as they slept and accidentally discovered their sentience in the Reverie?” he said.

Fielding chuckled. “Some artifacts are that simple to stumble upon, but velours are a bit more complicated.” He tapped the metal diamond on its chest. “This here is what actually gives it life.”

“You just said you didn’t know how they are alive.”

“It’s the matter inside this phylactery which is the conundrum. The material becomes unusable under direct observation, but it constitutes some form of ‘soul’ for the creature. Believe me, the ritual for creating them is quite delicate,” Fielding said.

Beck eyed his teacher warily. “These ‘artifacts’ and ‘rituals’, this isn’t some sort of witchcraft, is it?”

“No, no. We are not using some dark being’s power to do forbidden arts. If we were, Nora would be a million miles from here. I use the term ‘ritual’ because there are a series of steps to make these items, but we haven’t figured out the importance behind each step yet. It’s like rubbing two sticks together to start a fire without understanding that it’s the friction that builds the heat.”

“I heard almost the same exact analogy the other day from the circus’s soothsayer, and that doesn’t make me feel any better about hearing it from you.”

“I can see why you’d be concerned about this, then,” Fielding said with an amused grin. “They sound like they also have experience on the matter, I’d keep an eye on them if you aren’t already.”

“She is a prime suspect in the detective work you’ve forced me into, yes,” Beck said.

“Anyways, whether it’s some strange form of science or not, these artifacts are integral to our work in the Reverie, so let’s continue.” He set Patch down and picked up another item, a familiar bulky-looking helmet with several telephone devices and threads protruding from it. “This here is unique in that it works in tandem with a velour. Usually artifacts are self-sustaining.”

“I’ve seen Amelia with that. She uses it to talk to me while I’m in the Reverie.”

“Yes. This contraption allows us to communicate between different planes of existence, using the velour as an anchor.” Fielding explained. He pinched one of the threads that coiled down to a pin, which Beck assumed attached to the doll in some way. “This is another one where we know little of the actual logistics, but our best guess is that a physical connection between the telephone components and a velour allows us to interface with the Reverie. The ability to reach out across the dream world is something innate to the velours, and we are borrowing that.” He patted Patch’s head.

Beck was sure that the logic made sense in some way, but he couldn’t put it to words. He thought back to how he plucked a telephone from a couch the last time Amelia used this contraption. “When I’ve been ‘called’, a phone seems to appear in a random location. Why is that?”

Scratching his head, Fielding responded, “We can’t know for sure, but there seems to be a degree of uncertainty in the connection, something like static over a wire. Or like trying to talk through molasses. Fortunately it’s precise enough that the receiver manifests nearby, and the Reverie takes care of the rest. Have you noticed that urge to pick up the telephone when you are being contacted?”

He remembered in the tenements how his attention had been caught, like something appeared in the corner of his vision, and demanded he investigate until he retrieved the telephone. Beck nodded.

“The fixation that is forced upon you is the Reverie’s way of self-correcting the connection and making sure it terminates. It’s good at filling in the gaps like that. Now, it would be awfully convenient to use this to constantly monitor travelers from the waking world, but why might that be a bad idea?”

“Besides the traveler needing to hold the receiver, the ‘fixation’ is off-putting. What happens if I ignore it when someone is trying to call me?” Beck asked.

Fielding raised a finger. “That’s the catch; you can’t. We’ve tested to see if someone with strong will-power can ignore the urge, but so far none have. So if you are in a precarious situation when someone tries to call you, it would be mighty inconvenient. Which is why we only use it sparingly.”

“Here’s another artifact you’re familiar with.” Fielding picked up a small hoop with twine strung around it, a dreamcatcher. “This one was already perfected by the natives of this land centuries ago, so we didn’t need to do any trial and error. As you know, dreamcatchers are excellent at protecting your conduit back to the waking world, but they have a dual purpose.”

From the pile of trinkets on the table Fielding plucked a key, the same one embossed with geometric patterns that his uncle made him procure. “Ever wonder how you were able to pull this with you from the Reverie to the waking world?”

“I considered it something inherent with the Reverie. You’re implying that the same area of effect used to block out intruders can, er, ‘catch’ things and bring them back out with us?”

“Precisely! Normally pulling things from our dreams into the waking world isn’t something we can do.”

“I don’t know Mister Fielding, you and yours have a different definition of ‘normal’ than everyone else,” Beck commented.

His teacher waggled the trinket at him. “Be as it may, you’d be surprised what you can pull through with you.”

Setting the dreamcatcher and key aside, Fielding next showed him one of the metallic tokens that rested on his nightstand. The disc was tossed to him, and he caught it awkwardly against his chest. Beck held it before him, running a finger over his own engraved name. “My uncle said this was an invitation of some kind. It allows others to access my dream world.” He offered the token to Fielding.

“Ah, you must be careful with these,” Fielding said, closing Beck’s fingers over the token with his large palm. “You’re correct, these will allow anyone you give them to access to your world in the Reverie. They effectively dismantle any natural security your world has, so if given to the wrong person they can be devastating.”

Opening his hand, he looked at the token and then back to his teacher. “I understand, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t have access to mine.” Beck held the token back out again.

Fielding took it with some reluctance. “Very well. Now, for the mechanics of this, it is an invitation by technicality. If it weren’t, then no access.”

“Are you saying if I wrote up a formal invitation to someone, that would also grant them access to my dream world?”

“Yes, if they’re awakened. This here,” Fielding waggled the token, “is simply more convenient. You see, access is only guaranteed as long as you have the invitation. If it is lost or destroyed, you’ll need a new one from the sender. Since letters aren’t exactly known for their durability, we tested what exactly made them artifacts in the Reverie’s eyes. The conclusion we came to is that there are two vital components: identity and value.

“The aspect of identity is more clear.” Fielding tapped the name on the token. “When we receive an invitation, we need to know who it’s from, of course! The person’s name lets the receiver — and the Reverie — know whose world they are being invited to. The invitation must be deliberately sent in some way by the owner to the recipient as confirmation of this identity. Passing it off in person is the easiest method, but mailing it like a traditional letter also works.

“Value is less intuitive. It took a while to even figure out it was a necessary part to an invitation, since the way the concept exists in a pen and paper one is figurative. When writing to someone to invite them someplace, it is because that person has meaning to you; the value is sentimental. Once we figured out that value is transitive, we fashioned these coins here. They’re made of silver.”

That made Beck raise his eyebrows. “Where on earth are you getting the wealth to run this venture? There were a dozen of these on my bedside table!”

“Rowan has his grants from investors, but Nora acts as accountant,” The man said, shrugging. “You can ask her about our finances, however I don’t know how risky of a question that is to ask.”

“Is there anything around here that Nora doesn’t run?” he asked incredulously.

Again the man shrugged, but instead of responding Fielding went over to the end of the table where his pack was. He carried the whole thing over to his student, and opened it before him. “This one is both fragile and rare, so look only.”

Peeking inside, there was a single item nestled at the bottom of the bag surrounded by cloth padding. It was a light bulb, its filament still burning brightly despite not being screwed into a socket. “I imagine this would be useful in the dark,” Beck said, looking at it in wonderment.

“The light isn’t the main purpose. This is a flash bulb; when it shatters, it will blind and daze anyone in the area who isn’t prepared for it. And I do mean literally blind, if you don’t properly shield yourself. I’ve only used these in emergencies.”

Beck now looked at the light bulb with trepidation. “So it’s fragile, rare and harmful. I don’t think I’d trust myself to keep this in one piece,” he said honestly.

“I used one recently, so this is the only one in our supply anyways. They can only be found in the in-between, buried like tubers. It’s like trying to find truffles, but with the possibility of blasting out your senses,” Fielding said.

Ignoring his teacher’s last remarks, Beck looked over the array of items before him. “Do any of these ‘artifacts’ help deal with the figments in our dreams?”

The excitement with which Fielding had been showing him the various curios faded into an almost concerned frown. “I’m not sure I get your question.”

“The actors populating my dream world, some of them are starting to catch on to the fact that things are not normal, and according to my uncle it will collapse if they figure out they aren’t real. Is there something here that will distract them, or make them forget they saw anything out of place?”

Instead of the careful deliberation and thoughtful responses that Fielding usually gave, the man’s face contorted into one of angry disbelief. “Beck, we can’t be playing with people’s lives like that!” he bellowed, his composure slipping.

Beck shrank back, eyes wide. He’d never seen Fielding this way before.

Upon seeing his student’s confusion and fear, the thunder in Fielding’s features died down. “Has Rowan not taught you about gradients at all?” he asked in a quiet voice, as though to make up for his outburst.

Beck shook his head frantically, still stiff from shock.

The disbelief in the man’s expression shifted to annoyance and then resignation. Fielding let out a sigh. The remaining fight seemed to deflate out of him, until only despondency was left. “This is something that shouldn’t be delayed any longer. Return to your room, we’ll need to go into the Reverie for the final part of our lesson.”