In Dreams Wake

By the time Amelia was driving their group back towards the commons, evening was beginning to settle over the city. Outside of the vehicle’s cabin, the stars began to emerge from behind the sun-kissed sky. Beck glanced at the troupers. Zayne was gazing out the window at the sunset, but Florence’s expression still held an echo of the wonder she experienced watching the film.

It was a deceptively short trip, the vehicle arriving at the edge of the park much quicker than Beck remembered from previous visits. The assistant cut the engine and craned her neck to look out at the street.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

Amelia kept her gaze focused on the grid of buildings. “Just finish up your business quickly.”

“As you wish.”

Beck let them out of the vehicle, and the trio walked up the hills of the green. In the waning sunlight the illumination of lanterns from the caravan lit up the field below like fireflies. With the last of the crowds from the day pulling themselves away from the scattered stages of the circus it was easy to navigate to the wagon the siblings called home. One of the lanterns cast its light on the side of it, making the firelit cliffs of the mural appear like they were within arms reach.

They stopped in front of the stairs leading up into the wagon where a pool of candlelight trickled down from the inside and gathered. “Well, visiting your family’s estate was an enlightening experience,” Florence said, her features a silhouette in the glow. “I believe I have a more accurate picture of your clan now.”

“Oh?” He raised his brow. “I suppose it is my turn to be enlightened, then.”

“Whatever it may be that your uncle has you working on, it’s clear his passion for it has rubbed off on you as well.”

Beck couldn’t help but be incredulous. “That would be frightening if it were true. I’m not on the best of terms with him right now, I’m fairly certain that disqualifies our motivations being the same.”

If Florence was at all fazed by his remark she didn’t show it. “I only speak the truth that I observe, whether you accept it or not is up to you,” she said with a shrug of her shoulder. “However, I didn’t get the impression that your uncle was the type to do whatever he is doing out of malice. If an unsavory outcome arises from your work, I find it unlikely it would be deliberate.”

“Now that’s right comforting,” Zayne prodded.

She shot her brother a withering look, then caught Beck’s eyes again. “I’m not telling you to be careless; as a fortune teller, my advice is only meant for self-reflection.”

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment.” He looked away for a moment at the ever-brightening stars. Despite the threat that these people could be his enemies, they were the closest thing to a friendly presence at the moment. Especially with how evasive Rowan and his company was with information that endangered him. When considering his next words he tried to convince himself that it was for the purpose of maintaining eyes on potential moles like his uncle wanted, but he couldn’t detach his misgivings and his need to stay sane from the equation.

“Spending time with you two has been greatly beneficial to my stay here in America. Sometimes at the manor it feels like I’m isolated from those of my own generation. These get-togethers have been good for my well being in addition to, ah, tempering my pride. If any more opportunities present themselves, I’d be glad to accept.”

A giggle escaped Florence’s mouth. “Beckham, you can just say you would like to meet up again!”

“I would also appreciate less jawing,” Zayne said with a smirk. “I ain’t the educated type, and all your big words are hard to follow.”

“It runs in the Barclay line, I’m afraid,” Beck said.

Florence tapped her chin. “Zayne, your performance is in a few days, right?”

Her brother’s jovial demeanor quickly shifted to something sour. “I suppose it is.”

“That would be a good event for Beckham to attend, yes?”

Zayne sighed. “I dunno, not sure it would be the best use of his time —” he became lost in thought, as though something just occurred to him. “Well, I guess we could make it work. Yes, let’s plan on it.”

“Seeing more of your tricks would be enjoyable,” said Beck. “What day?”

“Wednesday evening,” Zayne replied begrudgingly. “And it ain’t tricks, I only work in magic.”

“Keep an eye on this one,” he said jokingly to Florence. “Make sure he isn’t practicing what he’s warning against!”

“Nan won’t let me forget that it’s part of my duties.”

Beck glanced up at the sky. Purple was starting to tint the Eastern horizon. “I ought to be heading back, Amelia will be starting to worry.”

“Farewell until next time.” The siblings saw him off with a wave as he exited the fairgrounds, one of the last visitors of the day.

As he walked across the commons, Beck considered the day he’d had. Thus far, it had been the most fun during his stay in Boston. He supposed that Florence and Zayne were the closest to friends that he had on this side of the ocean. Even if they had been harsh about his uncle, their doubts weren’t thoughts he hadn’t already had himself. At the least they were honest, which was in short supply at the madhouse that was the Barclay manor.

Engaged in his thoughts, it wasn’t until he was approaching where Amelia had parked that he froze. The vehicle was no longer there. Looking up and down the street he didn’t see the jade-colored car peek out from under the streetlights as they started to buzz to life.

Turning once again to peer across the road, a group in the distance caught his attention. Several people were further down the sidewalk, carefully inspecting the automobiles at the side of the curb. Unsure what they were doing, Beck stared at them intently. One of the men looked about at the commons before his gaze settled on him.

The man barked something at the others, who all stopped looking at the vehicles and turned to Beck. Panic began to build at their attention, and his mind snapped out of its haze. His uncle had told him that there were spies around working for the Stranger, and this crowd was being very conspicuous. When they made a move in his direction his body decided it was a good time to bolt.

Beck ran across the main street, drawing some angry horns from the passing vehicles. The blaring drowned out any sounds of advancing footsteps. Taking a glance over his shoulder he saw his pursuers caught on the other side of the road, traffic picking back up from his mad dash. Hoping to put some more distance between them he continued to run down the side road.

Going by what sense of direction he had from his excursions through the city, he sprinted down streets and alleys in what he thought was the general direction of the manor. Given the short drive back to the commons Beck figured the hill the estate was one would appear above the roofs of the buildings if he got close enough. After many twisting passages though, the walls around him didn’t make way to any landmarks he recognized.

Coming to a halt, he put his hands on his knees and tried to suck in breath, the exertion of sprinting something his body wasn’t used to. Through his panting he listened to his surroundings, but neither the sound of pursuit nor the growl of automobiles reached his ears. The nearby throughways were much too narrow for a vehicle, and the buildings all still had their industrial brick faces. Somehow he’d traveled to one of Boston’s older wards. Which meant he was terribly lost.

Due to the relative quiet, Beck could make out the murmur of voices nearby. Wandering closer, an alley branched off from his current path. Down the alley a few men were smoking on a stoop beneath the halo of a lamp. Judging from their beaten and battered attire, they appeared to be on a work break even though the evening was starting to encompass the sky.

“Hello there,” he greeted them as he walked up. “Would you gentlemen be able to help direct me?”

Their conversation died and the trio looked at him with annoyance and incredulity. They looked amongst themselves before coming to a silent agreement and rising from the steps. “Yeah, we’re good at directin’,” the lead one said, a man not much older than him with a squarish face. “Been all through this city, know it like the back a’ my hand.”

“Fantastic! Do you know where —”

“Ah, ah,” the leader interrupted him. “Our services ain’t come free.”

An uncomfortable tension filled the air. “What’s your price?” Beck asked, worry slipping into his voice.

The other two workers crept up on either side of him. “How much ya got?” one asked, leering over him.

“Uh —” Not knowing what else to do, Beck reluctantly drew out his billfold and started flipping through his bank notes. “Well, I have —”

The leader snatched the billfold from his fingers and tossed it to one of his lackeys. Dismayed, Beck watched the man rifle through his money and make an unpleasant frown. “Only pounds, nothin’ of use.”

“Well, that ain’t gonna fly,” the lead said, his lips scrunching. “Either we get some American tender, or the only place we’ll be directin’ you is into a brick wall.”

With dread Beck realized he’d stumbled from one bad situation directly into another. He tried backing up, but the three had him surrounded. “Look, I don’t want any trouble, I can get you want you want, I just need time to —”

“Lou,” the one rifling through his billfold said, holding it out for the others to see. The leader glared at his lackey, but their eyes caught on the passport being shown. He turned to Beck with a gleam in his eyes.

“A Barclay, huh?”

A splatter of red hit the front of Beck’s shirt, staining the fabric. Just as quickly as it landed, someone reached out with a napkin and vigorously wiped at the mess.

“You ought to be more careful Mr. Barclay!” Lou spoke loudly. “Isabella’s penne and bolognese is a king’s treat, but not worth ruining your outfit over!”

Beck uttered an apology through his mouth of pasta, looking down at the dish to try and mentally escape from the situation he was in. He sat at a small booth in an equally small restaurant, wedged in on all sides by a group of men that cared little for personal space and how boisterous they were being. The one on his left was still rubbing the stain on his shirt, while the man on his other side was sprinkling more parmesan over the plate. Somewhere in the room a phonograph was playing a concerto, only adding to the cacophony. With how overwhelming the scene was, Beck almost wished the hooligans had remained hostile instead of becoming chummy like they were now.

Another plate of pasta was pushed onto the table. “No more, I’m already full,” he pleaded. If any of the people attending heard him, they made no indication.

Thankfully, he was saved when another member of their group entered the eatery. “Mr. Barclay’s ride is here,” they announced.

The crowd of bodies blocking him in began to disperse, carrying their enthusiasm and bravado to the rest of the building. Relieved, Beck got up from the booth. Before he made it to the door, one of the men held out a suitcase to him.

“An apology for the whole debacle,” they explained. “Give this to the big man for us, won’t ya?”

Before he could give a response the case was in his hands and he was pushed out the door. Blinking, Beck took in the night around him. At the edge of the narrow street the familiar emerald coupe was idling. He lugged the suitcase with him and let himself into the back seat. In the front mirror he could see Amelia, her face expressionless as always.

“What happened? Where were you?” he questioned, exasperation in his words.

Amelia’s eyes met his in the reflection. “There were people searching for us. If I waited any longer, they would have seen me.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “I told you not to take too long.”

“So, what? You just abandon me there and hope for the best?” he shot back.

“Would you rather we both be in peril?” Beck’s only response was a simmering glare, so she continued. “You should have contacted the manor instead of wandering the city.”

“That’s where I was walking to, for your information.”

Amelia leaned back to face him directly. “Only our drivers are able to get back to the manor. If you’re out in the city, getting a ride from the Barclay’s is the only way to the manor.”

Beck stewed in his seat, not having enough energy to argue that absurd statement. In the gap in the conversation Amelia guided the vehicle away from the curb and out into the tangle of streets. The car took many more turns than he remembered from previous trips out; unfortunately she was right, he wouldn’t have found his way back to the Barclay estate.

“Who were those people anyways?” Beck asked.

He saw Amelia raise a brow. “Which ones?”

“The ones looking for us. They didn’t look like the people Fielding described as those from Midwich.”

“Rowan is good at making enemies,” she said.

“And how did they know where we were?”

Once again she locked eyes with him in the reflection. “You can figure that one out.”

That wasn’t the response he wanted to hear. Not because he didn’t have his suspicions, but because he didn’t want to consider them. He knew what Amelia was getting at: someone told the Barclay’s assailants where he and Amelia were going. And for the first time, everyone at the circus knew exactly where they were going to be that evening. With how amicable Florence and Zayne had been, surely it couldn’t have been them? But what of their caretaker?

He put those worrying thoughts to side, saving them for consideration when they were safe back at the manor. All at once he became aware of the suitcase in his lap again. Why did those thugs even give this to him? Undoing the latches he opened it.

Inside were rows of bottles cushioned with cloth. They were all unmarked, but it didn’t take genius to know what they contained. While this wouldn’t be an issue in his home country, here in America —

Noticing his horrified expression, Amelia said, “Give the liquor to Nora, she’ll take care of it.”

He wordlessly closed the lid. The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. The gates to the estate appeared out of the dark, and Amelia guided the vehicle up the hill and to the mansion’s entrance. It wasn’t until they went into the foyer that normal life seemed to resume, their appearance causing a commotion. Several staff were at a makeshift station housing stacks of paper and a few telephones. Their entrance caused the servants to elicit sighs of relief and a palpable anxiety in the air seemed to clear. Nora was among them, and while she too displayed a flash of concern it was almost immediately replaced with her normal scowl.

“Do you know how much stress you two have put us under tonight?” she spit out as she stormed over to them. “We thought something terrible happened! What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“There were workers from Midwich about, we had to make a detour,” Amelia explained.

While that explanation would not have cut it if it had come from him, Nora’s anger lessened slightly from the assistant’s version of events. When she saw what was in Beck’s hands, it flared back up again.

“How did you even run into the Lombardi’s?” she tutted. Before either of them could answer she held up a hand. “Forget it, I don’t want to know.” Nora took the case from Beck and handed it to one of the servants. “Put these with the rest.”

Everyone began to scatter, and as the foyer became quiet Beck began shedding the stress of the evening. What transpired was now thankfully behind him, but one point he couldn’t shake. Why was his uncle associating with ruffians and criminals? It certainly explained how his uncle’s business was able to remain solvent when Beck hadn’t seen a lick of psychology being done, but the partnership only opened up even more dangerous questions. Just how low was his family willing to stoop to accomplish their goals, and why were so many people after his uncle?