 
## Where the Rivers Run Backwards

### By Neil Dowgun

### Copyright 2018 Neil Dowgun

### Smashwords Edition

### Smashwords Edition, License Notes

### Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

### Chapter 1

This is the beginning.

Percy wonders whether anyone else has ever had such a clear premonition. A moment of their life that shouts _this is_ the start of their real work. That everything that came before was preparation without consequence, and that everything that comes after will be stacking stones upon a foundation being laid _right here, right now_. He has reached the place where the sidewalk ends and is leaning, ever so slowly, over the precipice.

But this is eroding his bargaining power. Percy has to try quite hard not to betray that he would do anything for this job. That he has been doing everything he can think of to land this job for eight years. And yet, maybe that would be seen as a good quality? Where is the line between enthusiasm and desperation? Why has he never gotten this far and yet it seems very, very important to project the demeanor of someone else who has interviews like this every day and actually just stumbled into the wrong room but what do you know I would be perfect for this opportunity, thank you so much?

_This is the problem,_ Percy thinks, _all you have to do is picture this man handing you the contract. This IS the beginning. THIS is the beginning. This is THE beginning._

The man on the other side of the desk - who was introduced as "Mr. Townsend" - is composed, even relaxed. He has a fancy leather pouch for holding papers, which presumably holds the proposal Percy submitted a month earlier. Maybe it holds other background information as well. Percy has already been asked many questions by many people inhabiting shabbier offices at Mogogo, and some of the questions pop up in every single interview. It seems inefficient for this Mr. Townsend to have to ask the same questions again, but Percy hopes he does, actually, because he has practiced the answers for those. Regardless, the leather folder sits on the desk, closed. Perhaps Mr. Townsend consulted it before Percy arrived, perhaps not.

"So they tell me you work in sewers, is that right?" Either Mr. Townsend is not one for small talk, or this is a question that he considers a friendly preamble, because he smiles amiably.

"That's correct. It's a dirty job but somebody's got to do it." Percy smiles tightly and Mr. Townsend does the same. "Actually, I asked for that assignment at Delacroix, it was the only department that really gave me a chance to practice, you know, with my equipment."

"Did they equip you, then?"

"Oh no, I had everything already, most sewer techs go down with just a headlamp - they do give you that - but they let me use whatever I wanted to bring myself. Personally. So I had my echospect, my thermospect, my pherotracer, all this gear. I found it made me a lot more comfortable because I could sense everything that was around me. The other guys down there keep having to look one way, look down at the map, look another way. The map gets wet, you're screwed. It's sad, really, the state of it."

"So you saw potential for using these technologies to improve the maintenance of our sanitation systems."

"Yes, exactly!" Percy will take credit where he can get it. "Or, well, I do see that potential, sure. I brought it up a couple of times. But to be honest, the folks over at Delacroix didn't really want to hear it, and I didn't want die on that hill. Meaning the sewers. Mostly, I wanted to test my tools. For example, I found the echospect doesn't give you great performance when it's in air and you're trying to see what's under the water - which comes up a lot in the sewers - but if you get a second echospect and submerge it... well. It works a lot better."

"Were you ever... stranded in a sewer?"

"Stranded? In a sewer?"

"Forgive me." Mr. Townsend sighs, ever so softly. Then he proceeds, as if quoting someone else: "Please describe a situation in which you faced adversity, how you overcame it, and what you learned from the experience."

"Oh, I see, yes sir." Percy smiles, because he has received this question many times. He takes pride in the fact he has never been stranded in a sewer, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen. He retells his usual story of tracking down his lost teammates and leading them out through unmarked and forgotten passages. He is not exactly a great storyteller though, and this feat of ingenuity and heroism never seems to impress people the way he feel it ought to.

"And what did you learn from the experience?"

"Of course. I learned to always have a backup plan. Map it out before you even start the first plan."

"And yet," Mr. Townsend smiles as if this reminds him of a private joke, "you have proposed an excursion to the unmapped Brussa Basin of Sarrassas." He puts his hand over the leather folder, but does not open it. "Does that cause you any concern?"

"Aha, I see what you mean," Percy backpedals, "but really, I meant it as a metaphor. The point is my echospect is plan A, the pherotracer is plan B, the... logs from previous expeditions are plan C, etc."

"I see."

Percy decides it is time for some real self-promotion. If not now, when? "If nothing else works, I have my innate sense of direction. I bet I could tell you how to get from this office to any landmark in this city, and I only arrived two days ago."

"I would bet that's never landed you an opportunity for employment before though, has it? And there is a difference between memorizing a map of a city, I suspect, and finding your way in uncharted wilderness."

"Ah!" this time it is Percy who is smiling at a private joke, "that is why I have been practicing not using maps. I arrived in the city two days ago and went on a sojourn myself, without looking at a map. I picked out the buildings in the distance that I wanted to go to..." he points off to a far corner of the room, as if it is the Goddard tower, or the Shae Opera House. _This building is probably tall enough for us to be looking down on the Goddard tower, if the windows were facing the other direction,_ Percy thinks. "I found my way to each one, and now I bet I could draw you the route I took and you could compare it to any map and know where I have been."

Instead of offering the pen and paper, Mr. Townsend laughs at him. "Yes, yes, you're just as Mrs. Andrews told me! There's no need to perform your trick again, I trust her not to exaggerate. So you wish to be a cartographer, I think. Hobby turned into trade."

"It's not _just_ a hobby," Percy replies, defensively, "I took extra classes in geography at Hart Academy. I've kept up with the latest techniques. Sometimes I write letters to the journals to ask them to clarify their methodology..."

"Let me get to the point, Mr. Camphan. This," Mr. Townsend waves his hand back and forth between them, indicating the interaction itself, "is not part of our process at Mogogo. You got wind of the fact we're looking to hire a team to do some research for us down in Sarrassas, and you applied."

"But," he continues, "whereas most candidates send us a letter spelling out their enthusiasm for becoming part of the Mogogo family, you have sent us," he fingers the folder, "a proposal for a one-time service. As a contractor, I believe it said."

"You do business with contractors, don't you?"

"Frequently, yes! In fact that's why you're here. Vetting contractors is usually my job. But maybe what you don't understand, Mr. Camphan, is that usually we see a need, we search for and evaluate the offerings of the contractors, and then we solicit these sorts of proposals."

"All right?" Percy is hoping in vain that this is leading to a pat on the back and praise for being so proactive.

"Perhaps more to the point, the outside firms we normally employ are established businesses. Groups with reputations and history that make the vetting process possible. Arguably it is less risky for us to hire someone outright, as it means we can fire them immediately if it turns out the interview process was lacking and they are incompetent. Or untrustworthy."

"I do understand that, sir, though I appreciate that I've never been on your side of the table." Percy can feel this conversation taking the wrong path, one he had not bothered to practice. Frankly, he isn't sure why Mr. Townsend asked him here anymore, was it just to take him task for impudence? It can't be. He must, at least, be leaving the door open for himself to be convinced.

"I also understand that there aren't too many established enterprises that offer exactly what you're looking for, however. The field of, let's say, 'civilian reconnaissance', has been almost entirely populated by men like me using the resources of benefactors to risk their lives. It's an odd business model, I agree, but it's the only one that seems to have been established."

"It's an antiquated business model, quite frankly. You're talking about men who went to Sarrassas two hundred years ago! These days there are companies who have started in-house divisions for this kind of enterprise, I expect you know that."

"I do. A few. I won't lie to you - I did apply to them. When I was younger. I was a bit too inexperienced, in retrospect."

Mr. Townsend clucks his tongue, theatrically. "Too inexperienced. Let me see if I've got this straight. You've never been an apprentice, or any sort of accomplice, on an expedition to Sarrassas."

"No, sir."

"You're aware that you are proposing to _lead_ an expedition? Or do I have that wrong, are you proposing an expedition be formed to which you may attach yourself?"

"I am proposing that I organize and lead the expedition, yes. Unless you have a more experienced, enthusiastic cartographer available?"

"We have employees who have been to Sarrassas, I assure you. But here is my point. You have never organized an expedition or seen anyone organize one. You are asking Mogogo to pay you a lump sum, in return for risking the 'mysterious shrouded interior of the continent,'" Mr. Townsend says this last part as if he is quoting someone, but Percy is sure he didn't put such a stupid phrase in his proposal. "And we will essentially have a gentleman's agreement that you will return with an rendering of the Brussa and any particular points of interest. And you will be left with... the money?"

"And the memories."

"You understand why this smells peculiar, don't you? Anything you discover there will rightfully be the property of the company, and yet I haven't known you for more than twenty minutes. I don't know if you are an honest man, and I certainly don't know if you are a loyal man, although God strike me down if I would ever insinuate the worst about someone I do not know. You have no relevant track record either way, quite frankly. Yet you want to be paid to do things your way. Well that's not how it's going to be."

So Mr. Townsend is a negotiator, it is all becoming clear. His tone and attitude are becoming somewhat menacing, but the message is actually music to Percy's ears. This man wants to negotiate on price, that's always what negotiators want. And the price can only be lowered so far, before anyone would deem it unreasonable. But honestly, Percy would be willing to make the trip without recompense, if someone would just supply the transportation and the food. As long as he hasn't made that too obvious, he is sure Mr. Townsend will be willing to offer a bit more.

"I'm open to negotiation," Percy says, trying not to smile, "to be honest, I'm not a lawyer, and I never thought what I wrote up for you would constitute a legal, binding document. If your people write one up with new terms, I'll be happy to look it over. If you want to only supply the resources necessary for the trip at first, that's fine, you can defer any 'reward' for success until I return with what I've promised."

Mr. Townsend sits back, a bit perplexed by not being met head on. He seems to be a man who relishes confrontation. He gathers himself, as if for another assault, and Percy feels the tension that comes when both people are trying to choose their words carefully.

"Humor me. You've already gone through the normal interview process for new employees. Why would you rather have the reward not guaranteed as further employment?"

THIS is the beginning. This IS the beginning. This is THE beginning.

Percy mimics the humorlessness of his sparring partner. He sits forward, putting his fingers tentatively on the expensive, polished desk. He locks eyes with Mr. Townsend, and holds his gaze while furiously trying to put his words in the right order. It feels like a long time, but the other man waits patiently, unflinchingly.

"I want to prove I can do this," Percy says. "These opportunities don't come up very often. As you said, I have no track record, so when they do come up I tend to be passed over. We all have to start somewhere. So if I can find you something valuable, then I expect you to at least let me advertise that I've led an expedition, which not many can say. I get some exposure, and hopefully the next time an opportunity does come along, you call me. Or someone else calls me. But if I come back and you don't want to finance any more trips to Sarrassas, I don't want you to pay me to do something else for you. I have been there. I might end up working in the sewers again. I _only_ want to be paid to do _this_."

### Chapter 2

Percy has lost track of time.

He is lying on a plush twin-sized bed, in an unfamiliar room. How long did he sleep, and how long has he been awake since then? From the leaden feeling in his temples he guesses that the answer to at least one and probably both questions is "not long enough." It is an odd kind of hotel room that does not provide a bedside alarm clock, but maybe it's his own fault for misplacing his watch.

He rolls over to see a table and chair, strewn with the telltale signs of a classic Percival T. Camphan private celebration. A fallen, empty bucket of what had to be fried chicken. A tall, empty glass with the frothy remains of a milkshake at the bottom. And a bottle of liquor with the label turned away. It's almost certainly whisky, probably whatever he could find yesterday. Why not go a little nuts when you're given a chance you've been waiting for your whole life? He is pleased, at least, that the bottle is still mostly full and that the cap is in place. Hedonism does not come naturally to certain people.

The last item on the table is a pad of paper \- not his usual sketch pad, but a standard pad of lined paper, maybe acquired from a drug store - of which multiple sheets have been torn away. It seems like an odd complement for the other refuse. What had he been trying to write? Or maybe he had been drawing? Perhaps he had tried to record the path to the market or liquor store where his reward had been bought, and then realized it was unimportant. Maybe he had written down some phone numbers and stuffed them in a pants pocket.

But now his head is clearing just a bit. Maybe he had started putting together arrangements for the trip. After all, now that funding has been secured, the most important task is to rally the troops. And then he might call his mother, but first things first. He had Jason and Theo's phone numbers, and if they were amenable he would take the train to see them and give a pitch in person. He could imagine it would not be easy to convince Jason - who had a daughter not long ago - that the time was right to embark on their dream voyage, but what could you do? He would need the train ride to write those talking points, maybe he shouldn't even mention the reason for the visit during the call.

He did not have Max's number though. He hadn't even talked to Max in years. Maybe it was a ridiculous idea to try to include him. But he would be frustrated if he knew Percy had a free ticket to Sarrassas and he wasn't invited. And the last he knew, Max had moved to a communal home out west, where they either didn't believe in phones or didn't believe in keeping in touch with your old pals. The only recourse, then, would be a letter.

Yes, that must've been what he'd been working on. Max was the only person in the world to whom Percy would write a letter. Percy has no confidence that it will reach him, partially because anybody might change addresses in three years, and partially because the transfers of mail between company regions has become worse and worse every year. Who knows who is even in charge of where Max is living now. But it's certainly not Delacroix, or Mogogo. And that means there's a very real chance his carefully worded missive might be lost. At least with the phone you knew immediately when something went wrong.

Percy wants to find that draft of the letter now, to edit it, to perfect it, but he can't muster the will to raise himself up out of bed. He focuses on the letter, and finds that it is conjured total and complete in his mind, as if he had just finished writing it moments ago.

Dear Max,

It has been too long! I hope you are doing well and in good health. What have you been up to? I would love to catch up, so if you get this letter call my mother at 515-907-1189. I am living in hotels temporarily but she will know a number where you can reach me. Don't worry about me, the hotels are just the first step!

It has taken years, but we finally have the opportunity to mount our own expedition into the heart of Sarrassas, just like the pioneers of the golden age. Don't worry about money, we are being paid to go. It really is a fantastic opportunity so please call me as soon as you get this if you have any interest AT ALL. I am calling on Jason and Theo as well, and we'd all love to see you.

Please don't hesitate, because we are scheduled to fly to Bluberth on October 12th - just a week away! If I don't catch you before then, you can still call me before we go into the bush, as I hear they have personal phone lines in Bluberth now. Please call even if you decide you can't make it, as it might be the last time we get to talk for awhile!

Looking forward to catching up with you, your friend,

Perk

Was it too desperate? Theo would've been able to do a better job selling the idea, but there's more than one way to skin a cat. Theo's slick confidence wasn't always Max's cup of tea anyways, maybe guilt would be the best way to coax him out of hiding. Maybe he has just been waiting for one of them to reach out. Percy starts to feel a dark fountain of regret rising up in his stomach. _Three years. Three years and... six months?_ Percy seems to remember Jason's wedding as warm, but dotted with little islands of steadfast snow. That meant it was probably March, maybe even April. How could he not have tried to talk to his friend for three years and six months?

Then Percy realizes it isn't just regret. His stomach physically clenches and he gasps in pain, but fortunately nothing else escapes from him. A few moments later, the feeling passes without explanation. It was an odd sensation, with no ostensible purpose. Is he going to need to get himself to a toilet soon? Does he need a pill? Or was it just a modest punishment for a modest sinner? It is unclear.

He decides he needs to get out of bed after all, aching head be damned. The words of his letter seem to physically float before his eyes and will not let him sleep, and as long as he stays awake it feels as if all his blood is pooling in the back of his skull. He rolls himself over and gracelessly drops to his knees on the floor. Fortunately, it turns out to be carpeted. He raises himself up, waits unsuccessfully for his head to clear, and then looks upon a room that makes no sense.

Well, at first it makes perfect sense. It is a room, and there is a bed and a table and a chair, which all have tangible purpose. There is a door, which presumably leads to a hall or a suite. There is a lamp, which remarkably lights up when he touches the shade. There is plenty of open, carpeted space, more than even the most luxurious hotels he has been in before, but no one has bothered to fill it with anything useful. Yes, it's the lack of other fine things that is perplexing in a room that feels like it must be costing him - or Mogogo, rather - a lot of money.

There is no alarm clock. There is no phone. There is no radio. There is no television. There are no paintings on the wall. There is no en-suite bathroom. There is no bureau. Percy has a small panic attack - there is no luggage in the corner where he would normally throw it!

But most of all, yes _most_ of all, it must be the lack of windows that is making Percy feel so out of sorts. All hotel rooms have windows, even when they only look onto the concrete backside of another hotel. He couldn't expect a view of a serene forest, or mountains, but he expected at least a slight connection to the outside world; that opportunity to sit and observe and to crack the window feel the gentle breeze.

All of a sudden he realizes that it is also unbelievably hot in this room, considering he is supposed to be getting pampered. There is no fan or ventilation system as far as he can tell, which seems downright inconsiderate. Although he has never felt the need for such luxuries normally, clearly a hotel that prides itself on accommodating its patrons would have thought seriously about investing in _something_. Especially if they found it impossible to orient the rooms so they would all have windows. Percy begins to search, just in case there is a switch that needs to be activated.

Unfortunately, fifteen minutes of close inspection of the walls - he even pushes aside the scant furniture to check behind it - reveals nothing, and the process has only made him more sweaty and uncomfortable.

"God help me, it's hot in here," he murmurs to himself.

"I'm sorry about that," replies the room.

The voice seems to come from everywhere, and although it takes Percy by surprise, he is not nearly as surprised as he probably should be. This is something he was truly unprepared for, but perhaps because he is so glad for assistance, he does not stop to think about this marvel.

"You're sorry?" he asks.

"Yes. I want to make you comfortable. Would you like the temperature lower?"

"Yes, please."

"What temperature would you like?"

This seemingly simple question stumps Percy for a second. Having never done more to cool himself personally than to open a window or turn on a fan, he finds only a blank space when he asks himself _what is my ideal temperature_.

"What is the temperature now?" he asks instead.

"Four thousand, four hundred poshom."

"Four _thousand_?" Percy cries instinctively, and then realizes why the number makes no sense. "Four thousand four hundred _what_?"

"Four thousand, four hundred poshom."

"I'm sorry?"

" _I'm_ sorry," insists the room, and pauses for a moment. It's just long enough for Percy to wonder if it is waiting for him to offer his forgiveness, but then it continues:

"We are having trouble communicating."

"I agree," mumbles Percy.

"I will decrease the temperature. Please say 'Stop' when you are comfortable."

Then without any sound, or movement of air across Percy's sweating forehead, he begins to grow cooler. He enjoys the sensation just a bit too long, before finally realizing that it is quite a bit too cold, and he barks for the room to stop.

"Better?"

"A little bit warmer, please."

The temperature begins to rise again, and this time Percy is ready. He gets close enough to his ideal temperature - although he still has no idea how to quantify it in degrees, or "poshom". _What the hell is this place?_ Percy does not recall asking for special voice-command facilities in his hotel. How could he? He didn't even realize they existed.

"That's good. 'Stop', I mean."

"Ok. I want to make you comfortable. Let me know if there's anything else I can do."

Percy's head is throbbing again, but maybe it's just confusion. "You can tell me where I am."

"You are in a hospitality suite."

"Ok, good. Good." He doesn't know what he expected. The bed calls to him like a sumptuous siren, and further questions seem liable to make his headache worse. Yet, he fears that it's not going to be easy to sleep, regardless.

"Room," he says, because he feels silly asking the room for its name, "can you play something relaxing?"

"Do you want music?"

"No, not music. Noises. Do you know what 'white noise' is?"

"I don't. Is this what you mean?" Soft sounds of songbirds chirping commences. Objectively, it should be calming, but It's just about the worst noise Percy can think of for sleep. It reminds him of sunlight.

"No. Please." He crawls back into the bed.

"Is this what you mean?" Bells toll. Percy can't believe it, but this is even worse than the birds. Bells are for church, and crowds, and getting up early to get extra clean.

"No!" The bells stop.

"Do you want to try more sounds?" Percy thinks about it. He can hear both birds and bells now, though he's sure he's imagining it.

"Yes," he mumbles, into the pillow.

The room plays some steel drums. Car motors. Crickets, which aren't so bad. However, just when he's starting to get used to that it changes to what sounds like an a capella single played backwards. What kind of torture chamber are they running here?

Just when Percy can take it no longer, the ambient noise transforms into a bright, friendly sounding burble, like a small waterfall.

"Stop, that's the one," he mutters. He's barely able to get the words out, his fatigue is upon his so quickly. His last thought is _I gotta tell Theo about this place tomorrow_ and then he sinks into the imaginary waters.

### Chapter 3

"What are we doing tomorrow?" Jason asks the room.

Percy is twelve again. He is stretched out on his top bunk re-reading _Sarrassas: From out of the Mist,_ his favorite non-fiction book. It's actually debatable whether the book is fiction or not, since most of its "facts" would be more accurately described as "legends" of Sarrassas. _If the legends are faithfully related as told by the original source, then is the author writing a history? Or since they're all probably nonsense to begin with, would it have to be considered fiction?_ Mr. Allens would probably have an opinion, but Percy doesn't want to ask him. He seems like the kind of teacher who might get frothy if he knew the boys were doing anything besides the reading he'd personally assigned.

Max is on the bottom bunk, where Percy cannot see him unless they both lean way out to the side. Jason's lanky frame is draped across his desk chair, with his feet reaching all the way over to Max's desk. When the boys first arrived at school, Theo, Jason, and Percy all expressed a desire for the top bunks and played rock-paper-scissors for them (Max politely withdrew his name from the running). Jason lost, but refuses to sit himself on his bottom bunk until it is actually time for lights out.

"No baseball?" Max asks.

"It's getting awfully cold," Jason points out. Their game the previous weekend had ended with a lot of raw, sore fingers.

"I think they're showing a picture in the auditorium after dinner," Max offers.

"All right, well what are we doing the rest of the day?"

"Don't want to get a head start on your lit paper?" Percy teases.

"If I have to," Jason sighs, "but I don't have to, unless there's nothing better to do." He tosses a baseball straight up into the air, and catches it before it can plonk him on the head.

Nobody answers for awhile. Percy's attention drifts back to his book. He is on the page where the entire list of known pictograms - etchings made into the cliffs and cave walls of Sarrassas - are listed. The pictograms appear as illustrations in other chapters of the book as well, as if they were the original method of telling the stories. But Percy isn't buying that. The basic stick figure representations of fish and men and mountains don't do much to excite the imagination. They were more likely to be markings of territory or guidance for where the fishing or the hunting was good. Percy has heard of vagrants in Delacroix constructing a similar picture-based language to tell which towns are the friendliest.

However, his attention keeps getting pulled back to a set of symbols, all found together, which have slight variations from the more common pictograms. There is a man symbol, similar to the sign on a men's room door, but with a single thin horn - or maybe a feather - sticking up from his head. "Hunter", the book claims. There is a zig-zagging line - very similar to the symbol for "River" - but at the bottom it ends in a tight spiral that is not explained. Frustratingly, the book simply asserts that this symbol also means "River." And there is a final, unlabeled one that looks like the symbol for sun, but with blunted edges instead of pointy ones. Maybe it is a particular kind of flower? These three particular pictograms have been found in one spot, in the Brussa cliffs southeast of Bluberth Bay -

"I want to do something _different,_ I guess." Jason interrupts his train of thought. "Get out of here."

"Then we'll have an adventure!" Percy proclaims, in a dramatic voice. "Why don't we take a walk... _off campus."_

"Why?" Max asks.

"Why not?" Percy replies automatically, rolling over so he can dangle his head over the edge of the bunk and see Max. "Besides," he says, appealing to Jason, "it would be different, for sure."

"That's true." Jason admits, non-committal. He tosses the ball again.

"Yes, but why. If we run into one of the teachers in town, they'll think we're up to something."

"Nah, the seniors do it all the time! Where do you think they go?"

"Probably to watch other pictures at the actual picture palace," Max replies coolly.

"Exactly, better selection of pictures!"

"I bet it isn't, really. The picture palace back home only had one or two at a time. Not really different from the auditorium."

"I always figured they were going off to find girls," Jason says wistfully.

"Do you think so? Where?"

Jason shrugs. "St. Laurel's?"

They each consider this in silence for a minute.

"Listen, we don't need a plan," Percy says, "we've never been to town before, why don't we just have a look around?"

"I've been to town. I walk through it to get to the train."

"Sure, obviously. Me too. But there's gotta be more to it than meets the eye, Jase."

In the hall, there is the sound of laughter and boys shouting. "I think Theo's back," announces Percy. "He's bound to have an opinion."

"That doesn't make him unique," Max retorts.

On cue, Theo throws the door open with a bang and tosses his bag up onto his bed. He is flushed, probably fresh from the gym showers.

"The gang's all here!" he exclaims, taking in the room. "Oh, sorry, did you want that closed?" Jason has reached out a long leg and nudged the door shut again.

"Yeah, it's cold out there." Jason says.

"I'll say. You all have managed to keep it nice and warm in here," Theo appraises. "You getting started on the paper for Codsworth already, Perk?" He asks, indicating the book in Percy's hands.

"Nah, later. Sunday, I expect. This is just for fun."

"It doesn't look that fun, what's it about?"

"Sarrassas. All the crazy stories people have about it. It's actually pretty cool."

"Huh, never would have picked it out myself." Theo sets about unpacking his bag into the laundry hamper.

"I think I've read that," Max pipes up. "Is that the one with the rivers that run backwards?"

"Yeah! Exactly." That happens to be one of Percy's favorite stories.

"What do you mean, backwards?" Jason asks.

"Just... the wrong way."

"Like, South to North?"

"No! Fool," Percy laughs, "like they run away from the ocean."

"Well where the hell do they go then?" Jason replies, a little indignant.

"That's why it's obviously just a story," Percy points out, "you can't have the whole water cycle reversed. The oceans not going to start draining and the rain isn't going to start falling upwards into the sky. In the book, the guy thinks maybe it got started just because the water was flowing backwards temporarily, like from a big flood or something."

"I always thought it must be very confusing for the fish," Max speculates.

"Anyway," Jason says, "we were having a conversation before you came in, Theo."

"Oh were you?"

"Yeah, about what we're going to do tomorrow. Percy had an idea to go into town."

Theo's eyes light up. "Hey, that's brilliant, Perk! Actually I was just talking about that with some of the second years. I don't think you guys know them. They had a fab joke too."

"Oh yeah?"

"What's the difference between Hart and prison?"

Jason acts as if he is giving it serious thought. "Something about the food being better in prison?"

"No, jeez, you don't have to guess," Theo scolds. "When society pays to lock you away from them - that's prison. When you pay to lock yourself away from society, that's Hart."

"Hm. Good one." Jason doesn't seem like he means it.

"It's barely even a joke, is it?" Percy muses. "Deep thinkers, those sophomores."

"Anyway," Theo regroups, "where were you gonna go?"

"Oh," Percy says, "we hadn't figured that out, really."

"Picture palace, maybe," reminds Jason.

"Maybe St. Laurels," Percy counters.

"Nahhh, you don't want that trouble. Four lads walking around St. Laurels in the middle of the day? We'd be sticking out like sore thumbs, and those nuns carry rulers everywhere, you know? If you want to sneak into St. Laurel's, that's got to be under the cover of darkness. Or you'll need an in, if you know what I mean." Jason gives Percy a look, and Percy can almost hear Jason's voice in his head saying _as if you do, Theo._

Theo stops pacing and muses. Jason tosses the baseball into the air and Theo snatches it before it comes back down.

"Picture palace though... I like it. We might even see some girls from St. Laurel's there, on neutral turf. They must go out sometime, it's probably Saturdays. Nothing's probably showing until noon though, right?"

"Right," Percy and Jason reply almost in unison.

"Well maybe we can find the closest drug store first. I've been craving some fireballs. You in Maximus?" Theo bends down to look directly at Max in his bunk.

"I dunno. I might do my essay tomorrow so I can have a free conscience on Sunday."

"You mean you haven't started already? I'm shocked."

"Well I have and I haven't..."

"Oh come on Max," Percy groans.

"Listen," Max says, grasping for a defense against the peer pressure, "what if the picture palace is just showing the same picture we could see in the auditorium? There can't be that many of them coming around. Why would we pay to see it, when we can see it for free?"

Theo, as ever, is quick on his feet. "I'll tell you why, Maximus. We'll go and see it first, and then we'll go to the auditorium and threaten to spoil it for everyone if they don't give us a dollar. We'll make back our money and then some." Jason laughs out loud, and Percy has to smile.

"And don't think we'll make any exceptions for you, Max, so you better come to town."

"I don't know..."

"Listen Maximus." Theo leans in close. "You start that paper right now. Give it - " he pretends to look at his watch " - two solid hours. If you can't turn out a quality piece in that amount of time, the rest of us are just flat out screwed. We've no hope. Cuz it'll take us at least three times as long."

"I'll see how far I get," Max says through a small smile. Percy knows he'll be on board with the plan by tomorrow.

### Chapter 4

"Perk! How're you doing, buddy?"

"Theo! I'm glad I caught you, I was about to give up."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Your assistant kept telling me you weren't in, when do you get in in the morning?"

"Oh, hah! Sorry my man, I'm out west right now, I just arrived in Santo Lucio." Theo hisses the exotic name with relish. "I'm a couple hours behind you. Glad you kept with it though, good to hear from you."

"You get to go to Santo Lucio for work?"

"I get to go wherever there's money to be made. It so happens that can be a lot of nice places. What's up with you?"

"I'm..." Percy pauses for dramatic effect, "going to Sarrassas."

"Oh yeah? Did Mogogo come through? Or did you finally decide to take a vacation?"

"No, it's on Mogogo's dime."

"Even better."

"Yeah, I guess I wanted to say thanks for the tip."

"No problem, connecting people is what I do. I just met these two women at a conference yesterday -"

"I'm impressed but I don't need to hear this, Theo."

"What? No, that's not where I'm going, although one of them was practically straight out of a magazine. Very glamorous, poised. But no, check it out. She was telling me about never being home and how it's affecting the moods of her dogs, and they won't eat and we're bonding a bit over it but she has to go talk to someone else. I start talking to this other woman, who was standing maybe five meters away from us at the time, and it turns out she just financed her sister's new pet psychology business!"

"Really? Pet Psychology?"

"Crazy, right? I mean, both crazy in the crazy coincidence way and the 'why the hell would you back that' way, but I got her one customer with some deep pockets that evening."

"Did you get a finder's fee on that?"

"Hah! I wish. Oh hey, I've got a breakfast I have to get ready for. I'll talk to you later?"

"Wait!" Percy is forced to blurt it out. "I mean, I gotta go too, but I wanted to ask. Do you want to come on this trip to Sarrassas?"

"With you? When is it happening?"

"Next week."

"Hey! You know what, I'll be there myself."

"Really?"

"Yeah, in Bluberth. I'll have Deidra give you the phone number and address. We should hang out!"

"Really... yeah, that's great." Silence briefly fills the line. Percy feels like he had more to say, but time is short. He got what he wanted already, he supposes. Was there something else important? He has the strangest feeling, as if has just been talking to Theo in a dream. But Theo wouldn't want to hear about that.

"All right, see you soon buddy!"

"See you -" but Theo has already hung up. In a way that is fortunate, it is almost time for Percy's appointment with Mogogo's welcoming committee. He tried Theo four times throughout the morning, but of course it wasn't until the last moment that he had picked up. _From Concordia to Santo Lucio and then to Bluberth in a week?_ Percy is already dreading just the single flight that was coming up. Maybe Theo has some mild psychosis that makes him enjoy air travel.

_Nonetheless,_ Percy reflects, _that went extremely well._ He and Theo have a date for next week, in Bluberth, where it should be easier for someone to say "sure, I'm already here, let's go on a camping trip" rather than convince them to fly across the ocean. The letter to Max is written and ready to send - that's what he should have asked about, whether Theo has a more recent address for Max. _Oh well._ That leaves old reliable Jason, who always was the most amenable to his plans anyway.

The welcoming committee turns out to be a party of one, but she is more than up to the task. She is a beachy blond named Jenna with gigantic earrings and an irrepressible bubbly attitude. Percy wonders if she ever gets feedback from the corporation to be less cheerful. Maybe if they have her do the firings as well.

"Percival Camphan, is it? We're so happy to have you!"

"Thank you, glad to be here."

"You know, there was an Arthur Camphan who worked here until last week. He retired, he was quite a bit older than you. No relation, I suppose?"

"Sorry, can't be."

"Oh well, I just love kooky coincidences."

"Well, I guess you can still count it. It's not _that_ common a name."

Jenna proceeds to give Percy a tour of the Mogogo facility that he really doesn't need. She explains how the break rooms are spread out in the floor plan, but he's not going to actually be working in this building, is he? She explains the history of Mogogo's rise from a small parcel delivery company to a global, multi-faceted giant. Percy has heard the same story at Delacroix too many times. She talks about the all-inclusive cafeteria and the flexible hours, and Percy can only wonder whether that means he can take as much beef jerky and canned peaches as he needs for the trip. They never sit down, they just walk and observe other employees going about their day. One would have to be really excited about their first day of work to make it through this exercise without being completely exhausted.

Fortunately, Jenna seems to know that. Her sprightly nature is unflappable, and she is adept at breaking up the mandatory monologues with questions for Percy that force him to stay engaged.

"...and then, on the first Friday of every month, we have a cookie swap for anyone who wants to participate. You bring in home-baked cookies and trade them for other kinds! I love to bake but I'm not the best at it, so it's always a good deal for me!"

"It really... sounds like there's a lot going on."

"Yep! We try to keep it new and fresh. It's not as exciting as where you'll be going of course! What made you want to get into the _exploring_ business?"

"Well..." Percy has a couple of responses prepared for this because it's been a pretty common question over the last several years. Both in interviews and at the rare party where he's gotten drunk enough to talk about leaving his sewer gig. Since he has already the job though, he opts to go the informal route for once. It has been awhile.

"Well, when I was a kid, they were really just exploring Sarrassas - with intent - for the first time. Getting beyond the beaches and into the wilds, systematically. Of course, they didn't have the equipment we have now, so they didn't get that far, but that just made it more mysterious. A whole continent that could be hiding anything - people were writing all these books about it and each one seemed to say 'you know what's in your hometown, but here there could be anything.'"

Jenna smiles enthusiastically, urging him to keep going.

"So, I used to have a dream where I would go over the mountains and deep, deep into the mist, and there would be a perfect spot for setting up a little house. It would be besides a big waterfall, so there would always be clean water, but nobody else could possibly find it unless I told them where it was."

"Aww! I love that." She seems to be eating it up.

"Of course, I would tell my friends about this, so then we had a group of us that all wanted to go to Sarrassas. So the plan changed a little bit, we would each have our own cabins. Close enough to find each other but far enough apart for the mist to give us some privacy. These are the kinds of plan you get when you've stuck four boys to a dorm room."

"So cute."

"Have they... told you about the stipulation I had put in the contract, about bringing on extra hands for the expedition?" Percy is nervous that the lawyers may have written this in a way that would undermine his plans, even though he read the contract three times, slowly, before signing.

"Yes," Jenna stops walking to sort though the binder she is carrying. "Thank you for reminding me. All you need to do is get any crew members to sign this - it's the same as the last six pages of the agreement you signed - and get that to us before you leave."

"I think at least one of them will be meeting me in Bluberth, actually -"

"That's fine! We have a small satellite office there, you can hand in the papers before leaving the city." She hands him half a dozen stapled packets. "Actually," she daintily takes one off the top, "I'll need this. Let's stop by Rod's desk. He's going to be your Mogogo rep on the ground." She abruptly changes direction, and then waits for him to fall into step beside her.

"I didn't realize you were going to -" Percy stops himself before he says _force_ \- " _lend_ me any extra people."

"Oh yes, believe me, you'll be glad Rod is around. And we'll get you a pilot, of course, who knows where our base in Sarrassas is located." Now they are walking more briskly down a much quieter hallway. Jenna has to use a key to get through a heavy locked door into a dark, cool room.

"Percival," she says, delightedly, "this is Rod." A mass of curly hair in a chair swivels around to meet him. The young man half-stands to shake his hand.

"Hiya."

"Nice to meet you," Percy replies. He takes in the stacks of equipment heaped all around Rod's desk, and the room in general. Some of it he thinks he recognizes, but the room is quite dark.

"So, you two will be traveling buddies," Jenna hands Rod the packet she took, "you'll have to sign this, we're kind of dealing with a special case." Rod takes the papers with a nod.

"If you need to bring anything in terms of equipment, just talk to Rod. He'll make sure you get it and that it's kept in good shape on the trip."

"Anything?"

"Almost anything," Rod shrugs.

"So we can get... some pherotracers? Some thermotracers?"

"Sure."

"Great! I guess I'll just keep my personal ones in storage."

"Is that all? You want a seismospect?"

Percy can't help himself. "What is that?"

"Well, you know what an echospect is, right?"

"Of course."

"It's kind of like that, but meant to be used against a solid surface, like the ground. You can use it to tell how far down bedrock is, or you can use it to listen for movement of water, maybe, or animals. It's pretty cool." Rod reaches into a pile of metal and withdraws a box that looks quite heavy.

"Are we going to need that in Sarrassas?"

Rod shrugs. "I've never been."

"Well. Are you excited?"

Rod considers this. "Yeah, I guess so." It doesn't feel like a lie, but it also doesn't seem to be true.

"Me too, me too." He has the full attention of Jenna and Rod now, as if they're waiting for him to lay out a brilliant master stratagem. "What else do you have in here that might be useful?"

"Uuuuuuuummmmm," Rod stands up and peeks around the columns of his mini warehouse and grabs a box containing many smaller metal-and-glass boxes, "I was going to bring a bunch of these."

"Which are?"

"Sample collectors. Vacuum sealed. And then there's these guys..." he hands Percy some little disks connected by webs of cabling. This is getting a bit overwhelming. Percy can picture the pair of them hiking through the mountains with backpacks the size of horses. Rod, now standing, surprisingly looks like he might enjoy lifting that kind of weight. He's got a sizable paunch, but his shoulders and arms are well muscled.

"Are these... sensors as well?"

"They're for us. Wearable sensors. They can monitor air quality and your pulse."

"So, like the pherotracer, kind of an early warning system?"

"Yeah, I guess. Do you really use pherotracers?" Rod pushes aside a stack of cardboard and unearths a pair of short, sleek, metal rods with handgrips. They look like they might be some sort of weapon, designed to fend off curious wildlife. They don't have an edge or a barrel though, are they electrified or something?

"Whoa, what are those?"

Rod raises an eyebrow and hands one of the objects to Percy, handgrip first. Percy takes it reverently, careful not to jostle or point it at anything important looking. Maybe he should have been more thoughtful about protection in the wilds. In the sewers there was never anything bigger than a rat to fend off. No large predators have ever been reported near the Brussa mountains, but still. All this time he was worrying about just being able to survive and not get lost, but perhaps there were other dangers to which the old books and magazine articles never even alluded. Dangers with poisonous fangs or monstrous claws. Percy holds the object up to his face, looking closely down the barrel for a sight. But, no, Rod is watching him with confusion.

"They're just hiking poles, man."

### Chapter 5

Percy has never considered himself afraid of the dark. In the sewers it is dark all the time, complete and utter darkness. You know not only that you are in the dark, but that the dark extends for miles and miles in every direction. You get used to it. If you're an experienced sewer jack you probably know your territory well enough that you know you're not going to bump into anything, and if you're in unfamiliar territory, well, everyone has their bag of tricks. The echospect is the most versatile, telling him exactly what is around him, almost as if he could reach out his arms and touch the slimy walls at a hundred paces away. The thermospect can quickly help him identify if something is _alive,_ because it's often comforting to know that it's not. And, in a pinch, there is always the standard headlamp.

All that is to say, Percy is not afraid of the dark. But he does find himself somewhat afraid of not knowing where he is. This is something he is just discovering about himself right now, since he never actually thought the situation would arise. Perhaps if a giant were to pluck Percy up by the ankles and dangle him over its open maw he would realize he is afraid of being eaten alive. But that situation, like this one, has always been too unlikely to even cross his mind.

Now it is all too clear that a very specific, undiscovered fear has existed in Percy all his life - probably as an ancient motivator to not get himself lost in the woods or caves or sewers - and it. Is. Taking. The wheel. It is dark. And it is warm. He does not have any of his tools. And he is as still as he can be. For all around him there are little noises, a chorus of a thousand little motions that he cannot see. Together they create a perpetual, maddening whine. But worse than that, there are little breezes that brush by him, so quick and light that they too might be made of nothing more than sounds. Sometimes they feel as if they might poke, or slice, or tug at his unfortunate, exposed body. Sometimes they feel like they might be trying to speak to him through Morse code.

Percy is reminded, unfortunately, of one particular job that took him into some kind of drain fly metropolis. Up until that point, he never thought he might have a fear of _insects_ , either. But it hardly mattered that they didn't carry disease, and that they couldn't bite through his suit anyway. It was the only time he thought the echospect had broken. The walls and the ceiling and the even the air around him all seemed to be moving, propelled by one insane, feral mind. He wished he had not turned on the headlamp. It would have been better to have lived the rest of his life believing the echospect had been wrong.

Now, the fear compels himself not to move, despite the constant, tenuous probing. He cannot shake his imagination, that there are a million tiny, ravenous _things_ exploring him, trying to decide what to _do_ with him, and that if he moves, they will suddenly know too much. If they figure out what he is, that he is flesh and blood and he is alive? That sin alone will be enough for the judgement to be made, that they will do what they are destined and impelled to do, because wherever he is the rules are the same for tiny ravenous _things_ : it is eat or be eaten.

If Percy himself were such an oblivious tool of nature than he doubtless would give in to the torture within minutes. He would thrash and strike out and try to free himself from his invisible enemies. But Percy is blessed and cursed with reason, and over time - minutes or hours or days it really cannot be said - the instinctual fear gives way to a little reasonable voice saying "this has gone on long enough, hasn't it? If something wanted to eat you it would have already. Or at least it would have done more than poke at you." So Percy continues to lie in place, but now he is thinking, _really_ thinking, about what in the hell is going on. Even as the noises swirl around him, trying to confuse any rational thought.

It doesn't help. Scenarios leap to mind but none of them make sense. He doesn't know where he is or what is happening, and if he wants it to stop there might only be one way: he starts to raise his arm.

"Please keep as still as you can." It is strange voice, and yet a familiar one.

"Hello?" Percy lowers his arm again, perturbed at the request but relieved that the outcome wasn't more painful.

"Hello."

"How much longer do you need me here?"

"Approximately four hours. I can put you back to sleep if you like."

"Not yet," somehow the idea of being asleep in an unknown place is even more upsetting than being awake there. "Tell me what's going on first."

There is no response. Only the constant, scornful drone.

"For god's sake, please tell -"

"I would like to assure you that you will be fine. I cannot narrate what is happening to you quickly enough, but none of it will have any effect beyond the four hours."

"That's really not an answer."

"I'm sorry."

"Listen, is this Hell? Or are you just trying to do an impression of it?"

"I'm sor-"

"I mean, usually when you torture somebody you ask them some questions so they know they can end it!"

"You may only be familiar with one of the many kinds of torture. But this is not meant to be torture."

"I think I can say it's torture if I'm the one being tortured!"

"Are in pain?"

Percy pauses. He wonders if the right answer could offer a way out. But some people are not natural liars.

"No."

"I'm glad."

"But they are making me very uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry. I want to make you comfortable."

"Well, you could turn on some lights."

"I have to tell you that past experience indicates you would find that _less_ comfortable."

"Oh god." So is it true then? Is he in some pit full of insects, or bats? Maybe it's something that's just as blind as he is, and the darkness is his only salvation. Either way, the placidity of this other party is infuriating. He has to know; he can't bear the ignorance. He compulsively shuts his eyes, though it will obviously make no difference.

"Just... tell me what is touching me. Please."

"They are medical machines. They are examining you for a wide range of maladies and, when necessary, administering aid."

"Oh." Of all the possibilities, this doesn't seem nearly so bad. As a boy Percy feared needles as much as the next child, but surely something that is meant to help is better than something that is meant to harm. And if you had told him it was two dozen doctors poking and prodding him he would have become very anxious about someone making a mistake. But machines... their penchant for precision is almost comforting right now. What kind of machines though? None he's ever heard of could move this fast, and quietly.

"And it's going to take what? Four hours? Can we play twenty questions or something?"

"We can. I can select a concept and you can try to guess it."

"Just stop," a deeper, but softer voice interrupts, "and put him back to sleep now, please."

"Wait, no, it's ok -" Percy starts, but the feeling of drowsiness in upon him incredibly fast. The light had already abandoned him, but now the other sensations and sounds are fleeing too. He is dropping down into a darkness deeper than the deep.

### Chapter 6

"So, did you finish that paper yet?"

Percy, Jason, and Max are walking down Bering Street, away from Hart Academy and towards the center of East Kingsford. Theo trails them casually, keeping perfect pace but walking as if neither hell nor high water could compel him to move any faster. The day is cold - as Jason predicted, far too cold for baseball - and all four are wrapped up in unfashionable plump jackets and three are wearing woolly hats. Jason has either forgotten his or never had one in the first place. Perhaps he is trying to show off a superior tolerance for the cold that he has earned from living the furthest north. Or perhaps he was hoping the weather in this part of the country would let him play baseball and wear T-shirts all the way through December. It was he who broke the silence, as if talking might give his face something to do beside get pricked by the wind. Percy can feel the cold on his own nose and eyes, but watching Jason's pale skin turn bright red makes it seem even worse.

"It's mostly done," Max reports.

"What's it about?"

"Well I can't tell _you guys._ We can't all hand in papers with the same themes, Mr. Codsworth isn't stupid."

"Just asking, jeez."

"Did you have any ideas a theme that you didn't use?" Percy asks. "That's always the problem I have, is coming up with the idea in the first place."

"Maybe I did, I'll tell you for fifty bucks."

"Aw, you're not worth that much."

"I think he was just looking for your _two cents,_ Max," Jason titters.

"All right, I'll give you both one for free, but you'll have to fight over it," Max replies. "I wanted to do an expose on how the five act structure of Shakespeare's plays was all superimposed on his work _after_ he was dead, and how the whole analysis of dramatic structure that uses that as a basis is therefore unfounded. Who says you have to write things with rising and falling action? Life doesn't work that way."

"Whoa, that's some deep stuff, right there," Percy admits, "are you sure I can use that?"

"Absolutely."

"He's messing with you, Perk," Jason butts in. "Codsworth's class is all about dramatic structure next month, it says so on the syllabus."

"You _read_ the syllabus?!" Theo exclaims, apparently not too cavalier to ignore them after all.

"I guess we both did," grins Max.

"Ah, so it would be like giving old Cod a big middle finger to turn in that paper?" Percy still isn't sure he sees the joke.

Jason chuckles. "At worst, I guess. Even in the best case you'll have used up all your best material a month early."

"No really," Theo interjects again, "why would you bother reading the syllabus?"

"So I'd know what days to claim I have religious holidays," Max retorts.

Theo considers. "I know you're being sarcastic, but it's not your worst idea."

"Do you think Shakespeare is ever using sarcasm?" Percy wonders out loud. "I really can't freaking tell because every fifth word is some nonsense nobody uses anymore."

"Well they're... plays," Jason points out, "If you went to one I think you would know if the actor is being sarcastic."

"They just interpreted the text though, how do they know?"

"They're better at it than you."

"Hm." Percy isn't quite satisfied. "I still think he should've written it in italics or something. Like in some comics -"

"Sh." Theo is suddenly standing amidst them, hand on Percy's back. They've wandered into the first block of shops in Main Street. There are now other pedestrians ambling about, mostly older ladies, some accompanied by young children. Percy wonders again whether they're likely to run into any of their professors here. Who else would live in East Kingsford, really?

"All right, where are we going?" Somehow Theo wants to be leader without actually taking charge. Percy looks left and right, quickly perceiving there is really only one option.

"Left," he commands, and starts moving. "Down there is where all the action will be. No one would put a picture palace on the outskirts of town."

"They would if it was a drive-in."

"Well if it's a drive-in we won't be able to get in anyway."

As they walk, Theo and Jason point out stores that might be of interest, though most of them aren't. The avenue is dominated by clothing stores and bars and fancy restaurants that aren't even open yet. Percy ignores the pizza places and ice cream shops too. They would have been more appealing several months ago, when the leaves were just turning. At last he sees what he is looking for, but not on Main Street. A block down a much smaller alley his eagle eye spots the unmistakable bright yellow-and-red sign and newspaper-plastered windows of a bodega.

"Come on, guys," he says, "I've found your stop for fireballs."

The store is nicer than Percy is used to - the shelves are well-kept wood instead of metals or plywood boards. The cashier seems as uninterested as any cashier in any bodega though, which is comforting. Theo finds his candy and goes to pay immediately, while the others mill about, questioning whether anything here is worth their carefully saved pocket change.

Theo is already at the door though. "Guys!" he quietly exclaims, "come on, we're going across the street."

At first it's not readily apparent what his goal is, but then he starts walking briskly to a bicycle repair store on the opposite corner. Percy can see that there are a couple of people maneuvering a bike through the door. They must be girls. It's a bit hard to tell, with their long coats and hair hidden under hats, but even still they are slender and feminine. One is quite tall, even taller than Jason, and the other is shorter than average, but that's about all he can tell. Theo does not get across the street in time to help them, so he stops outside the store to wait for backup.

When Percy and the others arrive, Theo boldly strides in before they can protest, forcing the rest to follow him. But once inside, the boys naturally begin to wander as aimlessly as they did in the bodega. Percy is not in the market for a bicycle, especially not as winter is coming on, but he tries to feign interest in them anyway. He manages a few sideways glances at the girls as they talk to the employee at the register, but then retreats to the back of the store. There are some interesting gadgets back here: electric and mechanical noisemakers, headlamps, fancy locking mechanisms, and some whose function is not readily apparent.

"Whatcha doin back here?" Max has sidled up beside him.

"Just looking at stuff. Check this out, I think it's like an echomen for your bike."

"What does that mean?"

"It like, sends out little noises and listens for the echoes, like a bat. It tells you if something is up ahead that you can't see."

"What for?"

"Maybe if you're riding in fog? That's why they use them in Sarrassas, because it's foggy all the time, apparently."

"Wouldn't you rather have a light on the front though?"

"Yeah, seems a bit dangerous. Pricey too." The gadget is over thirty times the weekly allowance his mother gives him. It must be more expensive than many of the bicycles themselves.

"What are you guys looking at? Theo's going for it." Jason has joined them. They all surreptitiously look down the aisle to where Theo has joined the girls at the front counter. They can't hear what he's saying but the girls don't appear to be particularly amused.

"I think they're seniors," Jason points out, "He doesn't have a chance."

This turns out to be prophetic, as it's only a few more seconds before Theo turns casually towards the back of the store and makes a beeline for them.

"I guess it wasn't love at first sight?" Jason asks.

"Only for one of us," Theo shrugs, "but my brother says romance is like baseball, Jase. Nobody bats 1.000, but just because you might strike out doesn't mean you shouldn't swing." Jason nods as if grateful for this wise counsel.

The boys all shuffle awkwardly in place. When it's clear that the girls are waiting on the cashier, and that they are not going to be the first ones to leave, Theo lamely leads the troop to the exit. Percy is the last one out. Halfway through the door, and with the others already several paces away, he turns over his shoulder to the older girls.

"Nice bike," he says quickly. The taller girls turns and gives him a smile, but he barely lets himself take it in before turning and fleeing to his brethren.

### Chapter 7

Percy has to return to the Mogogo headquarters to meet with his pilot. It's a bit unnerving even just thinking about the flight. It will only be his third flight, and it will be the first where he actually gets to meet the pilot. And probably the first that only has one pilot... he's never thought about it before, but Percy is pretty confident that co-pilots are required on commercial airlines. He begrudgingly adds another item to the list of fears he never thought he'd have to deal with: being stranded in the ocean.

Jenna is there to make introductions, but Rod apparently is not important enough for this, or this is not important enough for him. They wait in a lobby which has gone from a whirlpool full of people at nine in the morning to a stagnant pond by eleven. Every person entering, standing, or even quietly coughing is practically an event. And so when she enters it is obvious who she is, because Jenna stands up to greet her and because no one else is entering the building at that moment.

At first Percy isn't sure the pilot is a woman. Despite her slight stature and tight jeans she has fairly broad shoulders and is wearing a bulky leather jacket. From far away her hair appears close-cropped, but it turns out it's pulled back into a frazzled bun.

Still, despite the palpable tomboy vibes, Percy is struck by her youth and comeliness. From thirty paces away she directs a beaming smile at Jenna and quickens her pace.

"Welcome back!" Jenna calls.

"Thank you, thank you. Glad to be back!" The two women come together and quickly embrace. "I hear I'm headed out soon though. No rest for the weary," she sighs. She laughs at Jenna's look of concern. "Don't worry about it! That's why I'm here. I guess we've got some things that need sorting?"

"Right you are. First, I want to introduce you to _Percival_ ," Jenna coos, "our new member of the family."

"It's Perk, actually," Percy interjects quickly, sensing that this is a moment that might make quite a lot of difference in the long run. "Or, anyway, if we're going to be working together, most people call me Perk." Out of the corner of his eye he can tell that Jenna is making some kind of mental note, and is embarrassed he hadn't bothered to correct her before.

"It's a pleasure to know you, Perk," the new woman says amicably, "you can call me a Zell."

Or at least, Percy _thinks_ she says "A-ZELL". Somewhere in his mind a tiny man goes running off to a room full of file cabinets. He searches through reams of women's names. He comes up with nothing. Feeling his time grow short, the tiny man returns to his post with the best answer he could find.

"A... dele?"

"A ZELL" she returns, putting the emphasis, as before, on both syllables.

"Azelle." Percy imitates. He cannot say why, but he assumes it must have an "e" on the end.

"You must've hired this one for his quick learning," Azelle says, smirking, to Jenna. "I think he'll have figured it out by tomorrow."

Jenna makes a little smile but stops herself from laughing, probably trying to avoid alienating the jokester or the butt of the joke.

_Strike one, buddy_ , Percy thinks to himself. It's a little echo of Theo or Jason that tends to resurface whenever there are pretty women around. But now the two of them have started talking and walking away, and Percy follows along like a puppy, taking Azelle's measure. He has become terrible at judging anyone's age - the year or two that was so significant as a teenager seems meaningless now. At this point all he can do is put people into marketer's demographics, but he can say Azelle fits squarely in the category of those woman who are old enough to have their own lives - who could be married or mothers of young children \- but who cannot possibly be described as matronly yet.

Jenna takes them to a conference room that could be described as cozy, but only by an optimist, and even then through clenched teeth. In the close quarters, Azelle is forced to acknowledge that Percy has been following them.

"You're new, right? Where are you coming from?" she asks. Up close, Percy can see a bright smattering of freckles forming a bridge from cheek to cheek over her nose.

"Oh, you really don't want to hear about that."

"Aw, that just makes me want to know more."

"It involved a lot of trekking through sewers."

She grins. "Ooh, you didn't think I would want to hear about sewers? I bet I've been in worse places."

Percy laughs but doesn't respond, and there is a momentary silence. She's still wearing the leather jacket, even though the conference room is quite warm. Percy wonders if she's always wearing it. Does she wear it to the beach? What would she look like in something completely different, like a sundress? What would she look like with her hair down? What about in a sundress _and_ the jacket?

"Well, this is a probably a step up then, in any case," she continues. "I might be able to guess, but why'd you decide to make a switch?"

Percy hesitates. Jenna is still with them, and it's a bit awkward giving his practiced story twice in front of a particular person. He's not a liar, but it still feels like they're trying to catch him in some inconsistency.

"Well," he starts, "I always wanted to explore Sarrassas. Even the job in the sewers was mostly so I could practice with the equipment I'd need to navigate in poor visual conditions."

"Why Sarrassas?" Azelle asks, "Nobody normal has ever wanted to go there." Of course. Percy resigns himself to the spiel. Maybe he can get through it quickly.

"When I was a kid I read all about it in magazines, and it was this wild, unclaimed place that could be hiding anything, anything you wanted. And even fifteen, twenty years later it's still like that. I used to dream of my own personal little waterfall, hidden in the mist. A place where I could set up a homestead -"

"Whoa, you actually dreamt that?"

"No... no. It was like, an aspiration, not a while-you're-sleeping dream."

Azelle laughs at him. "Obviously, that makes sense. It was just the way you were talking about it was quite, um, fanciful."

_Strike two, focus up_ warns Theo/Jason.

"Well that's natural," Jenna enthuses, "it is all sort of romantic, in a way, isn't it?"

"Kind of..." Azelle replies. She scrutinizes Percy for a second, and then turns to Jenna.

"While I'm here... I think HR owes me a paycheck?"

"Oh, of course," Jenna replies. "But... I don't have it on me. I'll go find it and make sure it gets to you before you leave. Percival will be able to bring you up to speed on the itinerary, right? It sounds _very exciting_." And with a gentle touch on each of their shoulders, she gambols away.

"So!" Percy says, although he's not sure why. This is not exactly what he expected today.

"Lay it on me, Perk."

"I'm not sure exactly what I'm supposed to tell you... you're the pilot, right?"

"Yeah, so, destination, timetable, cargo, contacts, et cetera, et cetera. Should Jarvis be here?"

"I don't know who that is."

"Oh _shit."_ Azelle leans across the table. "Did he get fired? Maybe they should've had him train you first before leaving."

"I really don't... I'm not replacing anybody -"

"Oh! Huh, then maybe he should be in here, he usually has this all ironed out. He has a folder with all the details written down so I don't forget... Who _are_ you then?"

"I feel like we covered that. Perk? From the sewers?"

"No, what I mean is..." Azelle leans in again. She is close enough now that he can practically feel her breath as she speaks. "Do you mind if I say... this is all very weird."

Percy tries to speak normally, even though Azelle seems to want to whisper. "There's a reason for that, I guess. Mr. Townsend told me this is not how you all usually do things."

"Oooh, Mr. Townsend! Are you my new boss or something, then? Jarvis' boss?" She chuckles. Percy can feel the conversation slipping away from him. He was supposed to have a job to do here.

"Maybe I am your boss," he says decidedly, but instead of the look of shock he was hoping for, he only gets an incredulous smirk. "Temporarily, at least. Because I'm only working here temporarily. I just need a flight for me and some friends to Sarrassas. To Bluberth. Or, really, as close as we can get to Welkinrest. We're going into the bush."

This has the effect he had been hoping for, but the shock only registers on Azelle's face for a second. At least it has dismissed her cavalier attitude. For the first time she is unable to maintain eye contact, but it doesn't make Percy relieved. Her air of jokey confidentiality has been replaced by dour seriousness and Percy wishes they could rewind.

"So you are planning on going into the mists." She considers this, licking her lips ever so tentatively.

"Right."

"Well first, _that_ doesn't make you my _boss."_ She pauses, perhaps to emphasize this point. _Strike three and you're outta here,_ the Theo voice sings gleefully. "Second, _we_ are not going into the bush, I'm only flying the plane. Third, I can get you _into_ Welkinrest, though it'll be on a bush plane. But most importantly, have you ever even been to Welkinrest before?"

"I haven't even been to Sarrassas before," Percy admits.

"But they're paying you to go?"

"Mogogo is, yeah."

"Huh. To do what?"

Percy hesitates.

"You can tell me, you think I don't have clearance to know? I know everywhere we fly. That's..." she sits back and crosses her arms, "...that can tell you a lot about what's going on."

"Really?"

"You didn't even know we could fly into Welkinrest, did you?"

"Fine. So you've flown to Sarrassas before?"

"Maaany times."

"Then you might be able to help with more than just getting us there. We are looking..." Percy pauses for a little bit of dramatic effect, "for a _new port_ on the other side of the Brussas. Or a strip suitable for landing planes. A place where Mogogo can set up shop on the continent that isn't already... taken."

"Whoa," she says with mock enthusiasm, "that'll take some real next-level pioneering spirit right there. Seems like it might be hard to find a port without, you know, a boat."

"As I'm sure you know," Percy persists, "it's incredibly dangerous to fly a plane - or sail a ship - around the unexplored bulk of Sarrassas because of the lack of visibility. So we're gonna do it the hard way."

"Right on. So I fly you out there, you walk into the mist, and nobody even knows how long you'll be gone. How do I know when to pick you up again? How do you know how much food to take if you have no idea how far you'll need to go?"

"Those are great questions, though they're not really your problem." Percy tries to put on a brave, noble face. "I guess you could say, as far as you're concerned, this is a one way trip for me."

She studies him. Percy tries not to look away from those dark, scrutinizing eyes, but he finds himself lingering on the other parts of her face. The pointed chin, the thin, unadorned lips, the few rebel strands of wavy hair that have broken loose from their bun. She still hasn't taken her jacket off. Is that a pilot thing?

"You do like playing the romantic, don't you?" It's not a question that expects an answer, she already has it. Azelle doesn't let him go yet though.

"No offense to your plans, but they're not very original. You know, many people have gone into the interior of Sarrassas without a plan of when or how they're getting back and - surprise! - some of them don't come back."

Percy is confused. This woman seems like she's been reading his boyhood book of legends. He tries to remember exactly what they said. "If you're referring to two hundred years ago, when they were writing the logs on _vellum-"_

"Recently -" she hisses. Another memory is jogged.

"If you mean the _Graham_ surveys," he whispers, now leaning across the table himself, "most of them did come back. In fact all but one person was accounted for, and wayfaring technology has improved vastly just in the last ten years. They didn't have any of the stuff we've got for navigating -"

"No. Listen." she interrupts. "People _from this company. This year."_ Percy's realizes his mouth is suddenly very dry. He searches her face for signs of deceit. She seems like a practical joker.

"You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"Did you..."

"I flew them there. Their agenda wasn't much different from yours."

"Maybe they're still searching."

"Maybe. But you know what I would be concerned about, if I were you?"

"What?"

"That Mogogo hired you to go to Sarrassas, they kind of gave you a blank check for a plan, but they definitely _didn't_ hire you for a rescue mission."

"Well I wouldn't have signed up if it was a rescue mission. Finding someone who left no concrete plans about where they were going in the Brussa Basin seems like a huge waste of..." but Percy trails off. Azelle gives him another one of her knowing smirks, but there is no humor behind it this time.

"I'll write up a better itinerary," he finishes.

### Chapter 8

There are voices, but no words.

There is light, but no images.

His vision blurs and shimmers, sounds come in and out. Percy tries to push himself forward, upward, anyward, swimming towards revelation. He is not moving, but the world moves around him.

He tries to close his eyes, but the light remains.

He tries to speak, but cannot hear himself.

A face appears, without a head.

It would be a fine face, if it were in children's comic strip. Clean, bare essentials. Eyes, mouth, nose. No hair or wrinkles necessary.

It is smiling at him.

A voice speaks, and the face replies. Its black mouth contorts and writhes to show that it is speaking, and Percy strains to hear, to understand.

"...blemfishah leturning now."

" _You're sure that he can hear us? Can he see?"_ The face does not produce this sound.

"Aaaaapiper nome shells signs of responsiveness."

"Oh Percy, dearest, can you hear us now?"

"Where are you?" he strives to say. He cannot see who is speaking.

" _Did he just try communicating, Chap?"_

"I cannot be one hundred percent certain, but increased cerebral activity indicates he is at least processing some of his surroundings," the face says.

" _Then turn him over here, towards me, please."_

The face moves out of the center of his vision, towards his left. From the right, a person appears. Her face is dark, and reddish. Craggy. She is wearing a flowing two-toned garment, that looks very complex to tie together. Although he can only see her from the chest upwards, he can see the garment is adorned with numerous shiny badges and bangles.

" _If you can hear me, Percy, tell me so."_

"Can you hear me?" he asks.

Apparently not. She waits patiently.

"I don't know you," he says. "Is this a dream?"

" _I think that something's wrong,"_ she says, but not to him. _"You'll have to take exaggerated measures for replies."_

There's a jolt of pain, deep in his gut, close to the groin. Another in the solar plexus. His mouth opens violently, expelling air, all the air, all the air he contains. They are pinching him like a piece of bubble wrap. He chokes and gasps. His vision shimmers again, as if he's slipping back beneath the surface of a pond.

"Help," he manages.

" _Enough! I think that was sufficient, Chap."_

"I registered his response as well. I'll start the protocol." The headless face rotates back in front of him.

"Hello," it says.

Percy doesn't have any breath left to spare on pleasantries. He feels like throwing up.

"Hello," insists the face. "Hello," a third time.

"Can you hear me?" Percy chokes.

"Yes! What would you like me to call you?"

"Percy."

"Perfect. Do you have any questions for me, Percy?" Jesus, where to begin with this guy. Percy can barely think. He should have questions, that much is obvious, but it's hard to sort out which questions are the important ones.

"Where are your ears?"

"My diaphragm transducers are located beneath my display."

"What?"

" _He's not completely acclimated, Chap. Not every question needs an answer now."_

"Am I naked? I feel naked."

"That depends on the definition of the word 'naked'."

"That's comforting. Is this real?"

"That depends on the definition of the word 'real'."

"So, no," Percy decides. He strains to turn his head to see more around him, but he's unable to move it. Behind the face there is bright light and blurs of color, but it's like trying on the glasses of severely nearsighted friend.

"Do you remember where we left off last time?" the face asks him. It's apparently done with fielding questions.

"No, I don't know you," Percy replies.

"Protocol complete," the face proclaims, somewhat rudely. The red woman swivels back into view.

" _Do I -"_ she starts.

"I don't know you either," Percy promises her.

" _That's fine. Whenever information sticks we start in earnest. Que sera, sera. Until that day we will be courteous."_ Her voice is deep, but lilting and flowing. Things could be worse, he supposes.

Suddenly the woman and the face recede, as if he is adjusting the focus on binoculars. Percy can see their entire, standing bodies, and he realizes that maybe he is standing upright as well. It takes some time to adjust though; he still feels as though he is flat on his back.

The face - still smiling, always smiling - appears to be painted on the surface of a globe. The globe is held up at eye level by a tall skinny pole. The pole, in turn, is supported by a set of three wheels. It's like a mobile, friendly lamppost.

The woman is significantly larger than he thought, maybe three meters tall. Her complex white and maroon toga-like garment conceals her entire body except for one unwrapped arm. She extends it, inviting him to follow her. The featureless landscape behind her has resolved into an iridescent, curving hallway.

" _We're going to your quarters now. I hope that even through repeated memory loss your decor preferences remain set."_

Percy finds that he can move, although he has no feeling in his legs. He floats along behind the woman, and the lamppost, who also seem to be floating along the elusive, wavering floor. He is able to track the swish of the woman's robes as if she is walking in slow motion, but they trail behind her, concealing her feet. She moves so smoothly, perhaps she is on wheels too. The hallway never ends or splits, instead it just goes forward with a consistent, shallow curve. Is this whole place a circle? What possible reason could the architects have had for such long pointless hallways? It has the bright, antiseptic feel of a hospital, but it's designed more like, well, like a sewer.

"What's your name?" he finally manages to ask. The questions he should be asking - the reasonable questions - are slowly starting to come back to him.

" _Call me Patricia. He responds to Chap."_

"I guess I gathered that."

" _You may consider us your mentors here. If you require assistance Chap will always be where he can hear you call, but still, he's not built for emotional support."_

"Am I... are we alone here?"

"Yes," Chap says, automatically.

" _In time you'll be prepared to meet with other folks beyond the two of us, just wait."_

Percy can't help himself. Her up-and-down sing song voice is "I'm sorry if this is rude, but are you talking weird on purpose?"

" _You're recognizing inexperience. I'm not a native speaker of your tongue, but Chap has picked the nuances up fast."_

"Yeah. I mean, he's understandable, but I didn't want to disparage your style. It's just..." Percy feels like he is somehow missing obvious explanations, "...are you talking in iambic pentameter?"

" _Aha! You have an ear for meter too!_

I'd like to bring some comfort using words

And patterns that you recognize. It's hard

To find yourself with strangers as your hosts,

And little touches give us confidence."

"For sure," Percy rejoins, taking pleasure in the challenge, "the language is my own, but still; I do not speak so... naturally. I can't speak that way off the top of my head."

" _It's quite alright, your speech is parseable."_

The trio arrives at the end of the hallway, which has an open doorway into a pale blue-grey room. There is a comfortable looking bed, a dinette, a countertop with a sink, various bookshelves and bureaus, and tasteful photographs of landscapes on the walls. The floors are hardwood, and mostly covered with cozy wool rugs. Unlike most hotel rooms, there is just one extra fluffy pillow on the bed and the sheets are neat but not tucked in. It feels like home, but not home. Like a replica, or a carefully arranged theater set.

"Is there a kitchen?" is Percy's first question. "Or... a bathroom?"

"No, just let me know if you need anything," is all Chap has to say.

"Have you been tailoring the room for me?" Percy notices a miniature fountain sculpture in the corner, which is unusual. It reminds him of a fountain in one of Delacroix's parks, but at 1/20th scale. "It seems very... customized to my taste."

"Yes, is there anything you want to change? I want you to be comfortable."

"No...no." Percy takes it in again. Is he really the kind of person who would settle for pale blue-grey walls? He tries to picture the room yellow, or dark red. Nope, this is fine.

"If I can't get a kitchen, maybe a liquor cart would be nice?"

" _We do impose a few restrictions here,_

So you maintain a stable state of health."

"Sure, I was just kidding." Patricia gives him a look that makes it clear she knows he wasn't. Did he ask for it before? Did they mention memory loss earlier? "Anyway, it looks perfect."

"Excellent, prepare to disengage," Chap warns, but it's not enough warning. Suddenly Percy feels as if he is looking down at the room, falling into it as if from a great height. He is flung forward, and his legs, which he could have sworn were just working, crumple under him as he lands hard on his hands and knees. He can feel the tremendous impact, but somehow there's no pain. That really should have hurt, is all he can think.

"I'm sorry," Chap says, "I'm trying to make the transition more gentle."

"That would be great. I do, actually, need to use the bathroom though." Instead of pain in his knees, there is a ominous roiling in his gut. His throat quivers with dread. He is going to need some privacy, soon. "If it's not here, I didn't see it down the hall..."

"Just a second." A small bucket with a padded seat, riding on a trio of wheels like Chap, comes whizzing into the room.

"Uhm... really?" Something inside him is trying to get out. He struggles to speak while holding it back. "I can't use that..."

"I'm sorry," Chap says, "what can I do to make you more comfortable?"

Then he can't contain it any longer. His head pitches forward and his mouth opens and a thick, viscous amber liquid oozes out. The little rolling chamber pot moves with glorious speed, positioning itself underneath his face before the long, thin tendril can reach the ground. It slowly drops onto the bottom of the bucket, forming delicate coils that dissolve into one big puddle.

"Everything is perfectly normal," the lamppost says. Percy hopes - _really_ hopes - that's not true.

### Chapter 9

"You wouldn't! You've been trying to leave us since the day we sent you off to school!" Percy's mother is in tears, but this is only the start of the argument, not the end. Percy is at home - his mother's home - just for a formal farewell before the journey. It's the right thing to do.

"Mother, I've told you this day was coming. What do you think I've been doing with my time? Working the sewers is no way to live."

"Oh Percy..."

"Don't you remember? This is what I wanted when I got out of Hart. You have to have been prepared." Percy moves in for an embrace, an uncharacteristic approach that he hopes will cut off this embarrassing goodbye before it can go any further. There's little cause for embarrassment though, really. The only witness to his mother's dissolution is his little step-sister Danni, just on the cusp of her teenage years, and therefore no stranger to this woman's overreactions.

His mother takes a purposeful step backwards though, leaving Percy with his arms extended for no reason.

"You're not going to leave that easily. You're going to watch an old woman cry, and you're going to remember."

"Oh mother..." - he tries to step forward again \- "come on, I'll be back before you know it."

"How long?"

"Three months." In his head, he cannot help but add _if all goes well_. If he were talking to anyone else in the world, he would add that contingency, but sometimes being optimistic is more important than being accurate.

" _Three months!?_ I suppose you won't be able to call, or to write -"

"No, obviously I won't be able to. If they had phone lines where I'm going no one would pay me to go." Percy forces a smile, but this doesn't help. "Come on, you've gone three months without me before. You've gone much longer than that."

He can tell this is over the line, even as he says it. It's too accusatory. He wouldn't have thought a face could convey despondency and wrath at the same time, but the proof is staring him down now.

"What are you saying? Are _you_ mad at _me?"_

"No! No, no, no... I'm just trying to rationalize -"

"That's what you're always trying to do, rationalize away -"

"That was a mistake, I'm sorry -"

"Who is being irrational now? The boy who wants to run away to a mystery land?"

"I'm not a kid -"

"It sounds like something a little boy would do to me!" Percy gives up on arguing this point. He knows he can't win. If you don't have any water to pour on the flame, all you can do is deprive it of more fuel. Danni is apparently memorizing the nutritional facts of her cereal box.

"I just don't understand. Maybe it _is_ my fault. I sent you to that school and they taught you that you didn't need your mother anymore. And they put these ideas in your head! Oh, Danni, don't listen to your big brother, he's crazy. That's what they all say. He wants to go to a candy land where anything is possible but the water is poisonous and they cut off people's feet for trespassing. Why not take the whole family! Your brother can build us a hut and we can all sleep on one big reed mat." She gives an audible _huff_ and turns away. Hopefully she's running out of vitriol.

"What's done is done, ma. It's the past. And most importantly, what's done is that I've moved out and someone else is renting my apartment. And they've already given me a lot of money to go." He invites her to hug him again.

"Call me crazy if you want to, but I'm going."

"It's just..." and now his mother steps forward into his arms and looks up at him more softly... "it's just that I feel like you are going to die. And then I will die of sadness!"

"For Pete's sake, why would you say that?"

"Because I _dreamed_ it Percy, I dreamed that you died." She pokes a finger hard into his chest. Across the room, Danni pretends to pick up the morning paper, but she is clearly monitoring the conversation. It's unlikely that this kitchen has ever seen _this_ amount of guilt dropped on somebody before..

"You dreamt it."

"Yes!"

"When?"

"Last night!"

"So what? This is ridiculous, I dreamt I had sex with Maryanne Marlow last night."

" _Percy!_ How dare you!"

"Did you really?" Danni cannot contain herself, and excitedly tries to push the line of conversation in this new direction.

"I don't know," Percy backpedals, "but I woke up feeling great, and _not_ panicking over my imminent death." He's got to get them off the topic of dreams. He's never been able to remember much of them, but his dreams have been troubling as well lately. Full of cold, and darkness, and strangers. But he doesn't want to confess that and validate his mother's superstitions.

"The point is, that even if I did, that wouldn't mean it was vision of the future. I shouldn't put any stock in it, or waste time analyzing it."

"I dunno," teases Danni, "maybe you should look her up. With that kind of sugar momma you wouldn't have to work at all."

Percy can't help smiling, although his mother doesn't. It seems like Danni is growing up sane - or at least with a sense of humor - which is a minor miracle.

"That's genius. Listen, is my old stuff still in my room? Before I go there are some books I want to find."

"A lot of it is in the downstairs storage room," Danni replies, "although I... have some of it."

"I'll check there first, whatever you want, you can keep. It's not that important."

He embraces his mother fully this time. She tells him she's not letting him go without a meal, even though he ate breakfast hours ago.

While she's distracted with pulling out fruits and eggs, he heads down to the lower part of the split-level. There is more than one closet, but he knows which room Danni means. He and his mother always called it the storage room and apparently that tradition has been passed along.

It could have been a walk-in closet, but because it is partially tucked under the stairs it is too inconvenient for standing. Some of the shelves that were affixed to the walls are still there, but others must have fallen off and not been replaced. Instead they've been adding to the stacks of boxes. It makes sense. As all rivers must run to the ocean, all material goods brought in this house must eventually end up in this room.

Percy lifts the flaps of one box after another, trying to deduce what each contains based on what is on top. Toys that Danni has obviously outgrown. Camping equipment - had anyone ever used this besides him? He has much better stuff now. Old paint cans. There used to be albums and albums of photographs down here, which contained the only pictures of his father that Percy ever saw. But he can't find them. His mother must have thrown them away, which strikes him as unusually proactive and callous for her. Maybe Danni's father had something to say about it.

Anyway, now is not the time for that. Percy has found what he is looking for, a box of books. He's been thinking about all the books he used to read about Sarrassas - hell, all the books he used to read on _any_ subject - which over time have been replaced by newspaper articles. This box apparently contains _all_ of his old books, so he has to sort through and set the relevant ones aside. He's sure he used to have more than this, what has happened to them all? Did his mother throw them away at random and leave others to collect dust under the stairs? Did he lend them to Max or Jason or forget them at Hart? Or maybe Danni had taken up an interest in the subject and rescued them. That would be all right. They were mostly outdated and disproved legends anyway, more useful to those who wanted to fantasize about Sarrassas than actually survive there.

He is momentary perplexed by the presence of a lone magazine with a giant warhead on the front cover, but it only takes him a second to remember why he wanted to keep it. The main story is irrelevant, but the mag also featured an article with an account of the most ambitious - at that time - expedition into the interior of the mysterious continent. Percy could not believe it hadn't been longer, or on the front cover. He sits back against the wall and carefully flips the wrinkled pages until he finds it.

The Secrets of Sarrassas

It's said that when mercantile legend Maurice Goddard was asked where he would like to be buried he said "where no man has tread for a thousand years, and no one shall tread for a thousand more. But since such a place does not exist, I will have to live forever." This was in the waning years of the Age of Conquest, when empires were expanding every year and fighting wars over territory they had only claimed months before. Of course, when he did die, Goddards family opted to fulfill his wishes - cleverly \- with a burial at sea.

But perhaps they forgot to include Sarrassas on their list of options.

Dr. Julius Graham will tell you that his first love is biology, but he also holds a PhD in history, and has written a thesis on the exploration of Sarrassas. The two topics overlap more than you might think.

" _The records from that time, and from that area, are shockingly spotty," he tells me. "By this time everyone was so obsessed with claiming new land that they practically had a routine. But the logs of the ships that landed on Sarrassas are largely either lost or unfinished." Apparently they traced the outline of Sarrassas on the map, decided they had had enough, and moved onto greener pastures._

Dr. Graham is leading an ecological survey of the continent, starting with the area around the coastal town of Bluberth. The lack of information from the past has yielded a unique opportunity, and his team is excited about the possible biodiversity in the untouched wilds, especially in the Great Brussa \- or "Misty" - Basin. Most of it is thought to be mountains and grassland, but as Dr. Graham shows me, it's quite unlike any other place in the world.

" _We know of at least one species that is found only here, but here it is dominant." At first I assume he is talking about an apex predator, but it turns out none of those have been found. "We call it 'Spider Grass'," he says, holding up a specimen. I can see why. The stalk is as thin and delicate as a spider's web, and at the top is a spread of even finer tendrils, which, in the right light, could be mistaken for a levitating spider._

Here is there is an photographic insert. A proud bespectacled man - presumably Dr. Graham - stands amidst a group of kneeling assistants. In the background are impressive mountains, but the sky looks overcast, gray and flat.

How could a plant - and such a fragile one at that - be described as dominant? That's part of the mystery. Like the region's eponymous mist itself, it seems to be hemmed in by the mountains to the west and the ocean to the east, but it has adapted to the climate so well no other plant life has been recorded in the basin. Nonetheless, Dr. Graham is excited to study it and the animals that depend upon it to survive.

" _It's a whole other food chain," he explains, "if you start at the bottom with a lifeform that doesn't exist anywhere else, then everything else that eats it is going to have to adapt as well. It's quite titillating."_

Dr. Graham also thinks the grass may explain why the records from the last intrepid explorers were so pitiful.

" _I think they found they couldn't grow anything!" he laughs. "The roots of the grass make such a dense weave that you can hardly dig out enough of a soil sample to fill a thimble!" Of course, there are other theories. Anita Whitmore, one of Dr. Graham's assistants, wanted to share hers._

" _I think they may have come ashore and been spooked to not find any people here. They could see evidence of people" - she is referring to the pictograms which can be found around the mountains, and which are thought to be tens of thousands of years old - "but unlike the other places they explored, they never mentioned any natives. I find that creepy even now, and I bet they did too."_

Yet, Dr. Graham and Ms. Whitmore are undeterred. The secrets that Sarrassas holds are too tempting, and secrets are harder and harder to come by in the world of biology. Even though basin appears to be nothing but spider grass, he is confident there is something of value waiting in the mist.

" _It's like the first guy who decided to eat a lobster," he jokes, "everyone else was turned off by the claws and the shell, but those would only be there to protect something good inside."_

### Chapter 10

" _Today I'd like to try an exercise_

In representing how you see yourself."

"...sure." Patricia and Percy are in a new room. It's quite large, but the available area for movement is still fairly small, with most of the space taken up by tables with cabinets installed underneath. More cabinets line the walls. Its main purpose must be storage, but calling it a "storage room" feels like an insult. This is not a place for moldy boxes; it is too clean and grand for seldom used camping equipment and ironing boards. Yet, a word like "warehouse" doesn't seem to fit either.

" _I ask a favor Percy; please engage_

With us today. We only see a part

Of who you are and what you feel through

Exterior facades. We ask for more.

Not just for us, but you may benefit

As well, for if we come to understand

What you need, truly, I think we can help."

"No problem. Frankly, I've gone through much less polite... assessments before."

" _I hope this will not prove to be a chore_

Not all find comfort in expression, yes?"

"Again, it will be no problem."

" _Fantastic, let us start by picking out_

A medium you are handy with, my friend."

"Um...?" It is clear to Percy that a choice has been presented, but a choice between what? There are people who have a preferred method of self-expression, or even two or three, but then there are people who have not voluntarily expressed themselves honestly in their whole adult lives. Percy is one of the latter.

"I usually like to express myself through dry sarcasm, if that's allowed?"

" _Believe me, wit like yours is valued but,_

I am afraid I meant a visual form.

The purpose is to show us spirit which

Your words, however clever, cannot bare.

You understand me? Wear your heart upon

Your sleeve, and let your art become your coat

Of arms, so that you need not monologue."

"So... what are my options though?" Percy looks around the room in vain for some finished work of art that might give him an idea of what is being asked.

"I can list them for you," Chap chimes in helpfully. Percy realizes the lamppost bot has been waiting silently behind him the whole time. "Let me know if I'm going too fast."

"All right."

"We have acrylic paints, asemic writing, calligraphy..." Patricia dutifully checks in a nearby cabinet, and starts pulling out some paint brushes, paints, and fancy looking pens.

"Ceramics... " Patricia looks around, and then starts to walk to one of the corners of the room.

"Crochet, collage, decollage -"

" _Oh Chap, you must reduce your pace a tad_

As often is the case, your words fly fast

Much faster than a poor old pair of feet."

"You don't have to bring them all out," Percy assures her, "I don't do any of them often, but I know what they are."

"Excellent. We have dyes, eromima, erotica, fromage, fumage..."

"Ok, I was wrong," Percy concedes quickly. "Do you have... colored pencils?"

"I'm sorry, we don't. I already read through the mediums that begin with the letter C. I can read them again?"

"No, that's all right," Percy sighs. "Give me the paint."

"Acrylic? Enamel? Fresco? Guaoche? La-"

"It really doesn't matter. Maybe one where you don't have to mix anything together. Where you already have a nice set of colors."

"We have the most variety of colors in acrylic. What would you like for your instruments?"

" _I think I'll save us all some trouble Chap,"_ interjects Patricia, returning to the original cabinet and taking out an armload of tubes, and selecting a large paint brush, a tiny paint brush, and a canvas roughly the size of a bathroom mirror.

" _Please let me know if these do not suffice."_

"I think they'll be all right, I'll just do my best with what we have." Percy inspects the tubes. Black, cyan, scarlet, white... what color did people usually use for skin tone? It certainly wasn't included in his piecemeal, childhood box of colored pencils. Probably some combination of white, pink, and brown, he guesses. Unfortunately it looks like there _will_ be mixing involved, after all. He can remember accidentally turning large puddles of paint into grey soup by adding just a touch too much black. This is really the only memory of painting he has as a child.

"Do you have a mirror?" he asks Patricia.

Patricia looks at Chap, as if expecting him to answer, but the face does not waver on the little peculiar orb. It is fixed, as always, on Percy, with a small, deferential smile. It gives the impression that it is ignoring Patricia intentionally sometimes.

" _A mirror is unnecessary, no?_

The purpose of the exercise is not

To reproduce your countenance in hue,

But to reveal the shades of anguish or

Excitement held within that fickle shell."

"Regardless, you asked me to paint myself the way I see myself, and the first thing that is coming to mind is what I see in the mirror. To be honest, it's really the only thing coming to mind. Once I, you know, _get into it_ I'll add some flavor. Or whatever. I really just want to make sure I don't paint myself the wrong color by accident and muck up whatever kind of analysis you're going to be doing of this portrait." Percy pictures himself as a nondescript gray puddle. "If it looks weird, I probably didn't mean anything by it, I'm probably just a crappy artist."

" _Yet still, I think you do not need -"_

"Please, Patricia?" Percy turns to his other, normally more accommodating host. "Please, Chap?"

"No problem, I'll fetch a mirror for you!" Percy waits, but nothing seems to happen.

"Are you bullshitting me, lamppost?" Percy snaps. Patricia softly but firmly grasps his shoulder, holding him in place. He turns to look up into her stern, dark eyes.

" _I fear that you are not prepared to see_

Yourself as we perceive you, Percy. Once

An egg is broken thus it must remain.

And once the eye has trained itself upon

A vision yet to be conceived by mind

It also finds itself without repair.

But mind so captured by a thought cannot

Be freed without some extirpation of

Its preconceptions. So! You ask, you look."

Without really having parsed this strange speech, Percy turns back to Chap and finds he's been joined by a small, wheeled end-table. Instead of a chamber pot this time it holds a large mirror. At first he thinks it's angled incorrectly, and is reflecting some odd gray bush behind him. He turns in confusion, but there's nothing there.

He looks again, and sees Patricia standing firmly by that bush. Even still at twenty steps away, his heart stumbles and he chokes on his own inhalation. He _is_ a gray, nondescript puddle. He trembles and the puddle trembles back. Patricia's massive hand is now holding him up instead of weighing him down. He furiously turns away from the image.

"Your mirror is freaking broken, Chap! You'd better give it a good scrub down."

"The mirror is polished and intact."

"God! What? I mean, what is this? Am I dead? That's what this is, isn't it? Oh, jesus help me! I've died and become a ghost and you're punishing me! In, really, the strangest possible way."

" _Your heart is quickened still, so sad your eyes_

Are quick to judge. You think, therefore, you are.

So look again, and know that this is not

Your penance but your preservation, friend."

Forcibly, she turns his shoulders so he is facing the mirror once again. Again, his first impression is of a man-shaped puddle, then of a ghost. This is not him in the mirror - he can see Patricia clearly, but the cringing phantom she contains is a blur. The light shimmers and dances off it unpredictably - it is silver, then bluish, and then white and feathery. It looks as if it is a splattering of paint itself, shooting off in all directions rather than holding to a solid form. Beside it, Patricia looks gigantic and concrete.

"I don't understand, I really don't." Percy slowly lifts his arm, and the apparition in the mirror does the same.

" _Look closer if you are unsatisfied_

With what you know already, or stay dumb."

Percy wonders if she is trying to insult him, or if she's just struggling with the language. Her massive hands guide him forward gently, as if he would be allowed to stop, but not to run. But he doesn't stop. As the phantom in the mirror approaches, he begins to see that it is covered in fine hairs. They dance and shiver, even though there is not hint of a breeze in the room. When they pick up the overhead lights at the right angle a shimmer of silver runs in waves across his shoulders. He raises his hand and slowly, tenderly, touches it to where his cheek should be. His hand feels a light, cottony cloud. His face barely feels anything at all.

"What the hell _is_ this?" he thinks out loud.

" _So you would say this is peculiar too?_

Admittedly I was confused by your

appearance when we first engaged but rinds

Can hide a fruit of any kind, I say."

"Oh lord, I _must_ be dreaming," Percy moans. He presses his fingers deep into the fur until cheek and fingertips both register a connection. He is solid, or at least partially so. He takes a few more steps towards the mirror, and then hastily shuffles right up to it, staring this alien in the face.

The eyes are his eyes, deep-set and brown. The shape of the head is familiar. But all over, where there should be skin, or at most short brown hairs, there are long thin filaments, maybe twenty to thirty centimeters long. He parts them, trying to dare himself to look at where they hook into his supple flesh, but the skin beneath and in between is also changed. It is greenish, darkened, mottled, and he has to let the hairs cover it up again. Except they're not hairs.

"They're plants," Percy breathes, in wonder. He is now looking at the stalks going straight up from the top of his head. A couple of them bear little tufts of even more impossibly delicate material, that look like they will disintegrate at the slightest touch. _Spider grass,_ he thinks, this time to himself.

" _Now, are you apt to put yourself to task;_

Commit an image to our page with ink

So we may know your truth, regardless of

Its correlations to the real world?"

Percy does not reply. He wants to gaze into the mirror forever, into his own eyes. Perhaps it's not a mirror at all, but a crystal that shows the future. Perhaps he is destined to be nothing more than food for the grasses of Sarrassas.

"Is this how you see me, or am I crazy? Am I covered in weeds?"

" _The mirror shows your exact replica."_

"But _why?"_

Patricia looks to Chap, but Chap's blank smile looks back without an answer. He feels as if the other Percy must be the one with the answers. The mute Percy, the sprouting Percy, the Percy he can control but never understand. It's as if there is a person trapped in the mirror who knows the answers to every question he has asked, but who has no means of communication. Patricia grabs his shoulders again, and he flinches.

"I'm not going to paint myself."

" _I must insist, it is required soon."_

"I can't! This is ridiculous! All you have for me are questions and tasks and never any help. Why can't we do what I want to do?"

" _And what would you prefer to do today?"_

Percy doesn't even need to think about this. He is sick of these strange unnameable rooms. He needs to get his bearings. And there's one reliable way to do that.

"I want to go outside."

Patricia's face changes, ever so slightly. It is like a stone statue trying to smile, or grimace.

" _It may surprise you but I want that too._

However, it's contingent on this task."

She extends the paintbrush towards him, and he takes it.

"I see how it is," Percy says, accusingly. "This for that. I scratch your back, et cetera. I don't _understand_ it but..." Patricia's other hand is still holding him in place, "...but I guess I'm in no position to argue."

" _Be easy, Percy. We know less than you_

Expect, and you must give yourself your due.

You know yourself, and that is lore we lack.

I will remove myself so fear no judge

Of your abilities and look within.

Our Chap will fetch you anything you need."

With that, Patricia releases him, and walks away. At the far end of the room she takes a last look back at him. _God, it is hard to read her expressions. Does she pity him? Is she frustrated? Is she even capable of losing her temper?_ Perhaps she is simply a more elegant version of Chap, and those robes simply hide another automated, mobile lamppost.

Speaking of Chap, now Percy is left alone with the automaton. He wonders what it is capable of. It keeps a vigilant watch over him, but seems incapable of restraining him. The strange little end-table that seems to be running errands for him doesn't seem dangerous either, but who knows what other sorts of mechanical abominations might be stationed just outside the door. Could he run? Where would he go? One has to know one's position in order to escape from it, right? No, that's wrong. Theoretically he could just keep running, and opening doors. The more of his surroundings he can see, the more he can extrapolate. He's never tried to mentally map an area under time pressure before, but they say practice makes perfect. It would be so much easier if they would take him on one trip outside...

His alien countenance stares doubtfully back at him from the mirror, and his confidence abandons him. _You know yourself_ \- he would have thought so, too. But maybe not anymore. What does he really know? Only that he is alive, and still thinking. He does not know his captors any better. But he will paint them a picture, and test the strength of Patricia's word.

Percy obediently picks up the canvas and brush, and dips it deep in a jar of black paint. He gets the whole brush covered, all the way up to the handle, and with a heedless hand he slathers it onto the canvas. He moves it up and down, back and forth, around in circles, until the canvas is a labyrinth of blackness. In some places the globs of paint ooze and run, in others the brush strokes are clear and uniform. He plops the brush down in the jar and leaves it.

"Are you done?" Chap asks after a minute. He can hear his art teacher asking that with disappointment, but Chap is incapable of that.

"No," Percy replies. He takes a small brush and dips it into a jar of pure white paint. With a sure hand he pushes the brush directly down onto the middle of the canvas, tip first. It leaves behind a single, feathery star.

"Now I'm done. Can I go?"

"Not yet, Patricia will need to come back," and even as Chap says it, Patricia returns. She must have been waiting outside the door for his signal. She walks over and takes a long look at his work. Her face is still frustratingly stony. For some reason, Percy feels that she must be capable of disappointment, and even more strangely, he doesn't want to disappoint her.

"Well?" he asks, "Is this what you wanted? That's me right now. That's me, and this -" he waves his hands over the black expanse of the canvas "- is you not answering any questions."

"It's perfect," she says. And this time, Percy can tell she is trying to smile.

### Chapter 11

Little points of light waver and dance in a deep, deep green void. It is an alien sky, full of uncharted constellations. It is the bottom of the ocean, where tiny bioluminescent krill trudge, unconcerned with the passage of time. It is the afterglow of fireworks, illuminating clouds hanging low in the sky. It the work of a pointillism master, done on a chalkboard. It is unlike anything Percy has ever seen. It is captivating. It is an "Echometrix", according to Mr. Dunn.

Percy slowly sweeps the microphone-shaped reader across his books, which he has stacked into a rough pyramid. He watches the small box at the other end of the short metal cord, and even though Mr. Dunn has darkened the room he can see the outline of his handiwork as if it were being traced with an ethereal flashlight. He surreptitiously points the reader at Mr. Dunn across the room, and watches the little man in the box gesture perfectly in time with Mr. Dunn's voice.

"...the most recent advances have been in decreasing the amount of time it takes to illuminate the screen with new information," Mr. Dunn is saying. "Although to our eyes it seems almost instantaneous, if you look carefully the way the lights jump around is due to the fact that your brain is processing the information faster than the screen can render it. Is the Echometrix still going around?"

"Yes, sir," Percy replies guiltily, as if being accused of trying to steal the fantastic device. He hands it to Jason, who holds it up close to his face reverently.

"That's fine," Mr. Dunn assures him. "You can imagine," he continues, "that to the bat the feedback from echolocation _must_ be nearly instantaneous if he is to use it to catch insects while flying. This is his replacement for his sense of sight. And so eventually, scientists are hoping to catch up with the bat, or at least get the framerate - that's the number of times the screen is rendered per second - to the point where it can fool the human eye into thinking the movement is smooth, like a movie. Does anyone know what the framerate of a movie picture is?"

The lecture is almost over, but Percy is impatient. He looks longingly at the door to the lab where Mr. Dunn keeps the fragile, expensive science equipment. Maybe he is hoarding a whole treasure trove of other instruments in there, like a fairy tale dragon. Perhaps he saves them until he is losing the boys' attention. Maybe he would bring them out earlier if they asked for extra credit. Max would be up for that, probably.

A boy's hand is in there air. "Sir, are there any animals that have X-Ray vision?"

Mr. Dunn snorts derisively. "No, X-Ray vision is an invention of the human imagination. We can talk about that some other time, but because of the way that works I cannot allow you lads to play with an X-ray machine." The boy looks a little bit dejected. "If you like comic books though, the notion of _heat_ vision does have a natural analogue in that some animals can see the infrared spectrum..."

### Chapter 12

Percy has a small panic attack as he rings the doorbell. He's never been to Jason's house, and it's possible he got the address wrong. He imagines a cantankerous old woman answering the door in her bathrobe and swatting him off the porch with a broom.

But then he hears Jason's muffled voice, even before he gets to the door. When he opens it, he is beaming, and waving Percy inside.

"Perk! It's great to see you! I'm glad you found it."

"You too, no sweat. I see we've both joined the beard society," Percy observes.

"Oh yeah," Jason raises a hand to the tangled briar on his chin, as if he is realizing it's there for the first time. "Yours actually looks good though."

"Thanks. I was going for experienced-woodsman-meets-competent-businessman."

"Well, that would certainly make you a pioneer in the field of facial hair."

"This is a nice place," Percy says, forcing some conviction. It's always what you say when you visit someone's house for the first time. Is it nice? It's certainly larger than his last apartment, where you could see every room from the entryway. But compared to other single family homes? He's not the right person to judge. It seems like three quarters of the floorspace is taken up by toys and clothes, distributed by a miniscule tornado.

The source of the disarray, Jason's young daughter Maya, barrels around the corner, squealing. When she sees Percy she stops dead, a look of petrified shock on her face. But then she does an abrupt turn and runs off from whence she came. Jason's wife Allison, who just trotted into the living room after her, gives a deep sigh and turns around as well.

"Hi Percy!" she calls over her shoulder. She follows Maya down the call, trying to explain to her that dinner time should be a happy, quiet time.

"Don't take it personally," Jason says, "she's at an age where she's either terrified or fascinated by anyone new. You never know what you're going to get."

"Sounds challenging."

"Yeah, yeah, it is. But it's better than what comes first. For awhile you have no idea what they're upset by. Now at least she tries to tell us, even if it's something silly."

"Oh? Does she talk?"

Jason chuckles. "Not exactly, you'll see."

The next hour and a half is pure chaos. The adults try to sit down to dinner, but Maya is not having it. With the three of them taking turns following her or entertaining her, the conversation has to be shouted across the house and frequently loses a participant. Percy can barely keep track of what they are talking about. Home repairs. Celebrity gossip. Corporate scandals. The price of diapers. Baseball, briefly, when he and Jason are alone at the table. When he is alone with Maya - for he volunteers a couple of times to participate in the wrangling - she won't talk to him. But as promised, she does appear to be both terrified and fascinated by him. She picks a toy off the floor, seemingly at random, and holds it out to him.

"Thank you," Percy says, "but I don't know what you want me to do with this."

He holds it back out to her, and she takes it from him, but it's clear that she doesn't know what he wants her to do with it either.

"We're teaching her to share," Allison explains.

"We've been teaching that for awhile," Jason adds, laughing.

"It seems like it's going well."

" _Now_ it is," stresses Jason.

"You have to keep trying and trying," Allison elaborates. "Since they can't repeat it back you think they're not getting it but, eventually..."

"It clicks."

"Yeah, it clicks."

When Percy and Allison are alone at the table she asks him about his job situation. She is warm and tactful, and she seems to honestly want to know more about him. He regrets all the times that he met up with Jason - and only Jason - at bars when he came into town, but maybe that was Jason's fault. He tells Allison he is going to Sarrassas, but that is as far as he gets before Jason needs her assistance putting Maya's clothes back on in the kitchen.

By the time dinner is over - which is measured by the fact that Maya has eaten enough food, regardless of how long it has taken everyone else - the adults agree dessert should be postponed until she can be coaxed into bed. Allison carries her upstairs, and Jason stays downstairs to entertain Percy like he's their other, older child.

"Drink?" Jason asks, as soon as they are alone.

"Absolutely."

"Sorry I had to make you wait this long, but Maya's quick, and she loves whatever mommy or daddy are drinking. You're still a whisky guy?"

"I'll take what I can get, but yeah."

Jason keeps a light touch on his pour. _A beverage for the early shift_ they referred to it once. They settle back into the dining room chairs, across the table from each other.

"Maya seems to be doing great."

"Well, thanks. She is. I'm sorry you haven't really gotten to meet her before."

"I have! I came around before you moved, when she was teeny tiny."

"Oh gosh, that's right. She wasn't really Maya then, though, she was like a little pink caterpillar. Or a... uh... little slimy helpless thing -"

"You mean a maggot? A larva."

"I was hoping there was a cuter word for it. But yeah, personality-wise. Now you could come back each month and see a completely different kid. It's like the world changes for her all the time, even when we're not doing anything different."

"Does she sleep?"

"Yeah, she'll sleep. That could be a lot worse."

"And Ally... seems to be good?"

Jason smiles wistfully. "Yeah, she's great. She's been a lot better lately. We've been getting out, seeing people. We were at a birthday party last week..." he trails off, clearly worried he has said something he shouldn't. "It was a kid's party, nobody you know."

"Makes sense."

"To be honest with you, it's kind of a nice change to see somebody without a kid. There's always a curfew, like if we're over at their house we know we have to get Maya home before bedtime, or vice versa. And even if it's the middle of the day you have to work around their naps..." Jason drinks.

"I probably wouldn't fit in very well at the birthday parties though, huh?"

"You gotta find yourself a girlfriend, at least," Jason advises, "one who likes kids. Let her play with them while you have a beer."

"Because it'd be weird if I do it?"

"Kinda, right?" Jason shrugs. "Any news on that front, by the way?"

"Not really."

"Bummer. I figured I should ask. Ally always wants whether you have a girlfriend, but she'll never ask you herself."

"Our pilot for the trip is actually a woman, and she's very interesting," Percy offers. It must be better to seem to have some prospects rather than be pitied by your old friends.

"Oh yeah?"

"She's kind of a wiseass, but she's cute."

"Sounds perfect for you."

"Yeah, we'll see about that when I get back, if she seems happy about it."

An amiable silence falls between them, and they both take a sip of whisky. It's not an awkward silence, though. That's how you know who your real friends are - when nobody says anything you're still perfectly comfortable with them. Maybe because you know what they're thinking. Right now Percy has Jason thinking about Sarrassas, but is he picturing both of them there, together? He can't wait any longer, he might not get another chance to ask.

"So I bet you know why I'm here," Percy says carefully.

"I have my theories, but I want to hear you explain it."

"The trip to Sarrassas is _on_. I've gotten funding from a large company for an expedition, the only criteria being that we report back on what we find. They've given me essentially a blank check to bring along anybody I want. Or at least, a couple people. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, one that we've been waiting for since Hart."

"And you want me to go with you."

"Yes, obviously. And Max, and Theo."

"Did you get in touch with Max?"

"I..." did it count as getting in touch if the person may or may not have received your letter? Percy makes a mental note to send another one, just in case the first got held up in the bureaucracy. But he can't lie to Jason.

"I tried. I wrote to him, but I don't know if I actually have the right address."

"You tried the commune place?"

"Yeah."

"Yup." Jason shrugs. "I'm really sorry to miss it, Perk."

"I promise I can get you back in three months, if that's what you want."

"That's not -"

"Two months. One?" Percy isn't sure if this is realistic, the last thing he wants to do is turn the expedition around without finding anything. But having Jason's company for a month and then sending him home would be infinitely preferable to hanging out with just Theo and Rod. Not that either of them are bad guys it just... would be a strange dynamic.

"Are you really asking me to leave Ally to take care of Maya alone?" Jason is a bit impatient with him, that much is clear.

"Don't you have parents in law that could help? There are lots of men in the army who have to be away from their families for years at a time. People deal with it."

"But they _have_ to. They get through it because they have to," Jason's face is apologetic but his voice is stern. "I can't just take a vacation without my family."

"You get paid -"

"I already get paid. Here."

It's not a matter of logistics, Percy can see that now. He thought he had that all worked out, but no, this is simply a matter of who Jason would rather be with. It is Percy versus the family. _We lived together longer than you've known her he wants to point out. Where do your loyalties lie?_ he wants to ask. But he knows the answer already, and it's not the one he wanted.

"It's just not a good time, I think you can see that."

"What would have been a good time?" Percy insists.

"I dunno," admits Jason. He looks downwards at his fingers, and it's apparent he's counting backwards. Would he have left a pregnant wife? A new wife? A steady girlfriend? It seems the answer to all those questions is no, because he finally calculates "about five years ago," and laughs as if this is all very funny.

"Hell, we should've gone right after school, I guess," Percy says a bit spitefully.

"Sorry Perk, it just wasn't in the cards for me."

Another silence, slightly uncomfortable this time. Percy still thinks he knows what Jason is thinking. He is probably thinking of how to change the subject.

"Speaking of cards," Jason says, "do you want some old baseball cards? We haven't got room for my whole collection."

"Shouldn't you save them for Maya?"

Jason laughs again. "Oh, I wish. That would be nice. It'll be at least six or seven years before she's interested in them though, if she ever is."

"I bet she will be."

"In the meantime, we're accumulating more clothes and toys and crap every day. You have no idea how much there is -"

"I have some idea," Percy says, pointedly looking around at the mess.

"What I mean is, you have no idea until you have the kid. Anyway, you better take these cards, I don't know who else would want them."

"I don't even have an apartment, Jase, I'm leaving all my stuff that I can't carry in storage."

"Oh. Of course, right."

"You should just sell them."

"Probably, but if I can't give them away it seems like it would be hard to find someone willing to pay for them."

Another silence falls. Percy can tell Jason is feeling guilty about not being able to come with him. That's not what he wants, is it? If he pushes on that guilt, is there a sliver of a chance Jason's will could break? It seems more likely that if he needles him the evening might become indignant and angry, and Percy hasn't seen Jason like that in a long, long time. He doesn't want to see that happen again.

They both hear Ally coming down the hall.

"Hi, honey," Jason says, even before she comes around the corner. It's an invitation to join them.

"Hi," she returns, "she went down fairly easily, but you never know."

"Ok."

"What have you two been talking about?"

Jason's eyes meet Percy's. Percy wishes for more time for them to talk alone, but it seems that Jason wants to bring the three of them together. Maybe that's why he was invited to the house this time, so Ally and Maya could be there as a shield against his foray.

"We were talking about Sarrassas. Did you know Percy's going there next week?"

"Yeah, he told us earlier, I was there." He looks at her and they seem to communicate telepathically for a second.

"I've heard amazing things about it, but I don't know what to believe," she says to Percy, making herself comfortable at the table.

"Well I'm sure Perk would love to tell us about it," Jason smiles.

### Chapter 13

"You are not getting enough sleep."

"And how would a robot know that?"

" _Please listen to our counsel, Percy. Chap_

Is built for data gathering and I

Depend on his analysis of your

Condition, which is not exemplary.

And even if we lacked discreet reports

Of how few hours you sleep, it's clear to all

Your cognitive abilities are not

Sufficiently accepting input yet."

"You're saying I'm not all there? That's really comforting. Maybe it's because there aren't any windows in here. Have you ever heard of circadian rhythms?"

"Yes, that is why we keep the rooms dark for approximately ten hours at a time, followed by fourteen hours of light. Although this is recommended dosage, I could give you more time in the dark if you want."

"No thanks, Chap. In fact, it's pretty ridiculous that the lights are still off now. I'm awake! What is the point?"

"This is why a change needs to be made."

"You seem to have a lot of ideas. Frankly, I don't really care for that in my robots."

" _Please, there is no need to antagonize_

Or confuse Chap. He's only here to help.

Because of your uniqueness he is not

As full of quick solutions as you think.

But I have forged my own proposal, and I

Think you may actually enjoy this plan."

"I have to tell you, if this is going to involve robots holding my eyelids shut or something I am not on board."

" _Oh, nothing so corporeal or cruel._

I theorize that psychological

Anxieties are most responsible.

You toss and turn whenever you can reach

That crucial stage of slumber we believe

Projects onto your mind a fantasy."

"Dreams, sure."

" _Indeed. Can you confide in both of us_

The visions you're disposed to see when caught

By this apparently essential ghost?"

Patricia leans down until her face is close to his, as if he is hiding something and she is searching his face for the truth. He has never seen her face so clearly - her skin is worn and tough looking, as if it is constantly exposed to sun and wind. It is hard to imagine why, since they seem to spend all their time in climate-controlled complexes.

" _Just tell me if you see the fountain there."_

"No," Percy replies, "I don't remember my dreams." Is this true? Sometimes, when he is asked a question that he has answered before - and he is sure he has been asked this one \- he just returns the last answer that he gave.

"And I don't know what fountain you're talking about, either."

He feels Patricia studying his body language for validation. But even if it's not the truth, what does he have to fear? Maybe Chap's number crunching also allows him to detect lies, but no dream is coming to mind, so this is at worst willful ignorance. And he doubts any machine could be sophisticated enough to pick up on that.

" _This lack of recall doesn't vex you much_

But it unsettles us, and I would quite

Appreciate it if you'd try, just once."

"Fine. It's not unusual though, you know. I'm surprised you don't have statistics on that, Chap."

"I have statistics on sleep habits, but -"

" _Stop, Chap."_ Patricia interrupts him, and Chap stops in mid-sentence. It's jarring to hear her speak so abruptly. Percy was just getting to like the flowing nature of her monologues. But maybe she doesn't afford Chap the same respect. Or maybe she is actually getting frustrated for once. Her expression remains stern but cool.

"Fine, I'll try." Percy closes his eyes to concentrate. He tries to remember, to retrace his cognitive steps, back to when he woke up this morning. How did that feel? Was he relieved? Frustrated? Confused? But he can't even remember where he woke up.

"How long have I been awake?" he asks, feeling a bit dizzy.

"Twenty-four hours."

" _Perhaps that helps you grasp our reasons for_

Concern with your condition? Try again."

This time Percy tries to remember _anything._ He struggles with events. It's like being asked to fill in a mad lib, but every noun and verb has been left blank. He tries people instead. He can picture his mother, busily setting the table for dinner. When that would be, he does not know, but it's not from a dream. He can picture Jason, too; not young Jason, but a bearded and calloused Jason. That helps him picture the younger Jason though, alongside Max and Theo. He can picture them stripping off their winter gear as they enter the homey warmth of their shared room; the coats and scarfs and hats and gloves being tossed aside carelessly and getting mixed together. He can picture a young woman too, and he knows her name is Azelle. But these are not dreams, these are just memories. All of this seems to be in place.

He tries to focus on emotions instead. If you had a dream you would remember, it would be unnaturally happy or scary, right? When was the last time he had felt afraid? He tries to imagine things that would make him scared: falling, being chased by wolves, being eaten alive. Unfortunately, yes, there is something there. There is darkness and the sound of insects... things tugging at his flesh... He shudders and brushes his arms instinctively.

" _It's writ upon your face, you are afraid."_

"Yeah. I can't _really_ remember it, but maybe you're right. Maybe I have been having nightmares. There's no fountain, but there's..." he grasps for an explanation "...things in the dark."

Patricia looks skeptical. "I'm not making it up," he says, "that's really all I can remember."

" _Assure yourself, we are prepared to help._

We may not understand the root of your

Anxieties just yet, we never may,

But we can try to ease the waking mind."

"How? Pills?" This is the only sensible solution to Percy. He has never had to deal with insomnia before, but he's heard that's the traditional remedy. Patricia's mouth makes an awkward smirk.

" _We have acquired an animal for your_

Protection and companionship at night."

"A pet?" Percy's heart leaps. Suddenly memories come more easily. He can remember his family's big dog, Shep, sleeping on his bed. Shep was so big he felt like a big, soft, wet cloud that you could ride. He would kick Percy awake sometimes, but he never complained for fear that Shep wouldn't be allowed to sleep with him anymore. It couldn't last. Shep was around before he was born, so he must've been pretty old at that point. That feels like multiple lifetimes ago; he must not have thought about Shep in years and years.

At an invisible signal from Chap, one of his little nightstand companions comes careening into the room. This one holds a large glass tank, filled mostly with small rocks and a small pan of water that sloshes as it comes to a stop. Percy's excitement disappears. He does not like where this is going.

"The _Lafapisis Asomsom_ makes an excellent guardian, because it never sleeps," Chap explains, with what sounds like pride. "It is a predator, mostly of insects, and contains the requisite brainpower of most predators that allow it to learn basic patterns and be tamed. Some specimens have even been shown capable of solving puzzles and learning oral commands."

Percy still doesn't see anything that looks like an animal in the tank. "I'm not putting my hand in there," he warns Patricia.

"Its appearance helps it stay concealed in its natural rocky habitat..." Chap continues to narrate as Patricia carefully dips her own massive hand into the rock pile. Just before she touches it, Percy spots the creature. Or rather, he spots its large black pupils, just barely ringed by thin orange irises. Patricia scoops it up by the belly, and its mouth opens to reveal a row of tiny sharp teeth. It squawks softly, like a mildly perturbed duck.

"It also makes a suitable companion because, beyond camouflage and constant vigilance, it has no natural defenses like toxins or spines that make handling it dangerous."

"It has _teeth_ though, and claws," Percy observes. Now that Patricia has lifted it out of the tank he can see that it looks like a large, squat, bumpy toad. But with claws and teeth, as he said. She offers it to him but he does not reach out to accept it.

"What do I call it?" he asks.

"Lafapisis Asomson," Chap repeats, matter-of-factly.

"I meant does it have a name."

"Lafa-"

"The _individual_ , not the species, Chap." But Chap doesn't have an answer for this, apparently.

" _We don't assign an individual_

Identifier to each entity

When their behavior is essentially

Predictable regardless of the self.

Take Chap, who is just one of many Chaps.

He's a Chap, even your Chap, yet he's not

Unique in any function, cast or name."

"And yet you call me Percy. That's nice of you, Chap."

" _He'll call you any moniker to which_

You are responsive, if you wish to change."

"Nevermind. What if I don't want this thing?" The alien toad swivels its eyes around this way and that, ignoring him. "I looks like it might decide to pounce on me at any second."

" _Results cannot be analyzed until_

Experiments are run. This will reside

With you tonight and Chap will see to it

That no misfortune comes to either you

Or to the creature. The arrangement will

Be permanent if beneficial, but

It will be temporary if it's not.

We only want to get you back on track

And getting restful sleep, so bear with us."

With that, Patricia tosses the grey lump directly at him, and he instinctively reaches out his arms to prevent the flailing creature from landing on his midsection. One of the claws scratches him across the forearm, but the creatures quickly makes itself comfortable in the crook of his elbow. It doesn't feel how he thought it would. He expected slimy skin like a frog, or sandpapery, but this skin is soft and leathery. It's like an old, lumpy bean bag chair.

" _And now, I think it's time to go to bed."_

"Wait! Do I need to feed it? Where is it going to poop in here?" Percy imagines the toad asking Chap to send for one of the little chamber pot robots.

" _Oh Chap, will you be sure to deal with that?"_

"Yes, I will."

Percy spends the next half hour examining the oversized, toothy toad from a comfortable distance while Chap and the other rolling robots tend to it. One of them brings in a jar of flying insects, which Percy protests but the Lafapsis makes quick work of them. It manages to make a mess of his little apartment though, throwing itself from the floor to the bed, up to the bureau, back to the floor in impossibly long, calculated leaps. At first he tries to stop this behavior, but eventually gives up because it's clear 1) that the animal is beyond his control, and 2) every time he yells "No!" or "Stop!" Chap and his helpers stop whatever they are doing.

_I will call you Pesh_ , Percy decides _, because you are the opposite of Shep_. His head is whirring with confusion from all the activity, but once all the bugs have been caught, he finally feels like he might be able to sleep. He gets into bed, trying not to disturb the Pesh, which has settled on the corner by his feet. Chap sends the other robots away, bids him good night, and his spherical face fades until it is just a dim blue nightlight. The eyes and mouth close into slits, and the room darkens even further until Percy can no longer see. He closes his own eyes and tries to sleep.

Instead, he remains aware of time passing. It feels like hours, although Percy tells himself that is impossible. How could he stay awake for over twenty-four hours? And by now, it must be twenty-six or more. With the soothing sounds of a waterfall in the background, in the soft glow of Chap's sleeping screen, he should definitely be able to sleep. But he can't. And neither does the Pesh. He knows it's down there, by the foot of the bed; he can see the two dark pits that are its eyes. They never leave him. It's not comforting, the way it was with Shep. They said it eats _mostly_ insects... what else is it willing to eat? He pictures the surprisingly massive maw, and the row of needle teeth. He pictures them sinking into his neck and stifles a scream. He doesn't dare startle the Pesh, who knows how it will react to anything?

Surely they could not have devised a better torture for an insomniac if they tried. He would've thought it impossible to go without sleep, but the living proof is right there in his bed. They've left him with a relentless guardian, but what master does it serve? Make that two guardians, counting Chap. Percy knows that even though his orb tries to convey the attitude of slumber, Chap is as attentive as ever. Is he the criminal or the victim here? Percy finds he cannot tear his eyes away from the demonic toad, for fear that it will take the opportunity to strike. It stares back impassively. It knows this game. It has evolved for god knows how long to do just this, and Percy has already fallen into its trap.

He feels the anxiety rising in him that he had only briefly tapped into before. _Things in the dark._ Yes, this is what a nightmare feels like, surreal and unending, a marathon of helplessness. Maybe this _is_ the dream. Maybe instead of never falling asleep, instead he is incapable of waking up, and he is doomed to suffer an eternity of torture at the hands of his own subconscious. What is the difference, really, between dreaming forever and never sleeping at all? Around and around in circles they go, the little philosophers in Percy's head. They are even worse than the Pesh itself, and Percy can no longer stand their dismal dialogue.

"Chap?" he calls, breaking the stillness. The room gets a little bit brighter with Chap's smiling beige orb.

"I'm awake. What can I do to make you more comfortable?"

"Am I dreaming Chap? Is _this_ a dream?"

"No, you are awake as well."

"Well, I guess you _would_ say that. Thanks anyway."

### Chapter 14

The owners of The Sleepy Sloop haven't seen many nights like this. Or if they have, they named their bar ironically. Percy and the boys haven't seen many nights like this either; it's as if they've walked out of East Kingsford into another world. The dim lighting, better suited for cats than humans, is familiar, but the rest of the bar seems unnatural. First of all, there are _so many people_. Percy, Max, and Jason have managed to claim a hightop along the wall, but men and women are constantly jostling the table as they struggle to pass by. Many of the patrons and nearly all of the bartenders are attractive young women, and not the gray-bearded men they would see at the Corner Tap in East Kingsford. Instead of dart boards on the walls there are posters of the beach. This is actually fortunate, as a wayward dart here would almost certainly hit someone.

Percy can see the dismay on Max's face. _This is supposed to be a vacation_? He must be thinking. A couple of beers - which Percy had hoped would make his friends as cheerful as the general populace - has started to wear away Max's patience instead. And it's clear that if he doesn't put in some effort to remain affable Max is going to be a real sourpuss tonight.

"Where is Theo?" Jason muses. He is still the tallest, although the gap has closed considerably since they started at Hart six years before. He tries to use this height to see over the crowd, but he also has to contend with the darkness. "When he went to get the next round I still had two thirds of my beer." He indicates his empty glass.

"Probably taking his time talking to the bartender," Percy guesses.

"Why are we here, again?" Max blurts out.

"This is where the young people of Silversita go to have a good time, obviously," replies Jason, "and we, are young people. And we're temporarily residents of Silversita."

"They're having a good time because they all know each other. And we don't."

"That's not true! I'm sure there's lots of vacationers. We've just got to make some new friends." Percy scans the room for women who look potentially friendly.

"Good luck with that."

"What do you wanna do tomorrow, Max?" Jason asks. "Hit the beach? We could learn to surf."

"Laugh it up. I bet you'd crack your skull on a rock."

"All right, maybe we can take a boat out or something then. I hear you can see dolphins if you go out far enough."

Percy sees many groups of girls, all practically shouting at each other to be heard in the din. There's not much to recommend one set over another though, and approaching any one of them is an equally daunting proposition. _Where did they all come from_ he wonders. Would they seem more interesting to girls who had never heard of Hart Academy, or would it be easier to talk to St. Laurels girls? They could talk about the train ride, or how funny it was to run into them so far from home.

"Did you know," Max slurs, "that although dolphins form pods of two to fifteen individuals, they sometimes join together to form _super_ pods of up to a thousand dolphins? Imagine seeing that."

"Oh yeah?" Jason replies, "do they do that when copious amounts of alcohol are available?"

"Actually -" Max starts, but at that moment Theo returns.

"Heyo!" he shouts, plopping down four martini glasses. They're filled to the brim with cloudy liquid. "The prodigal son returns! Drink up, ya bastards."

"What the hell is this?" Jason asks, reaching eagerly for his glass but regarding it with skepticism. It has a bright yellow layer on top, is mostly translucent in the middle, and has an evil looking red pool in the pointed bottom of the glass.

"The house special," Theo proclaims, "and if you don't drink it I'll give it to one of the cuties by the bar."

"What's it called?"

"A Silversita Sunburn."

"I thought you didn't like girly drinks," Percy points out.

"That's why I didn't get the Silversita Sunrise," Theo says with satanic glee. If it wasn't clearly a trap before, it is now. "Just hurry up and drink it." He raises his glass and waits for the others.

"A toast, then," Percy raises his glass to touch Theo's. Jason and Max reluctantly do the same.

"To Silversita!" Theo shouts.

"To graduating. And to the real world," Percy counters.

"Yeah, to meeting the next challenge head on," Jason agrees.

"L'chaim," Max mumbles.

"And to you guys," Percy continues, "the best traveling companions a guy could have."

"Shut up and drink already, for chrissake!" Theo pulls his glass away and quaffs half of his drink in one go before he has to come to a spluttering stop.

"Is that how it's meant to be drunk?" Percy laughs.

"Yes!" coughs Theo. "Do it, you wimps."

Max takes a small swallow and sets his aside. Percy and Jason start to sip their drinks. It burns like no drink Percy has ever had. It burns like liquor, but it burns like hot peppers too. He can feel his face flushing and eyes watering. He looks across at Jason, who is keeping his composure remarkably well. They make eye contact, and Jason gives a little grin while still holding the glass to his lips.

So it's a game, is it? Percy tries to keep drinking, but it's no use. He slams the glass back down, still two-thirds full, and tries to wipe the taste off of his lips with a napkin.

"You're the worst, Theo."

"Ah, you love it. My man!" Theo claps Jason on the back, which finally gets him to stop drinking. It is a true act of mercy. Jason's face is bright red, but proud and relieved.

"It's not bad, I like it," he lies. While they rest of them commiserate, Max excuses himself to go buy some chasers. Replacement drinks is what they really are.

"So what were you all talking about?" Theo asks.

"Dolphin pods."

"Sounds riveting. Anyway, you two having fun? You see anyone you like tonight?"

"Sure," Percy says, "lots. We're spoilt for choice." Jason nods in agreement.

"Well? What are you going to do about it?"

"Probably drink until we have out of body experiences," Jason quips.

"It's still not that easy for us, man," Percy tries to explain. "It's like, I don't have anything to say. Not that I know they'll find interesting." Theo rolls his eyes.

"You guys are great, don't worry about it."

"But then, how do you start? They're always..."

"In groups," Jason finishes, "And you don't want to interrupt a conversation."

"And you don't want to just stand there waiting like a stalker," Percy points out.

"No, what you want to do is make excuses, obviously." Theo pushes away from the table with a sigh. "Forget it, I made some friends already at the bar."

They watch him jostle his way through the crowd.

"He didn't even finish his garbage drink," Percy says. _Typical._ He can still feel his lips vibrating with angst. He and Jason talk about the fledgling baseball season for a bit, and fortunately Max is back with more beer fairly soon.

"Theo leave?"

"Kind of."

"He left his drink," Max also notes sourly. His own Sunburn remains completely untouched.

"I think this might be the last round, yeah?" Jason seems to be concerned about Max's flagging enthusiasm as well. Percy thinks maybe Theo is right, they all give up too easily. He wishes he had a rousing speech to give, like in the movies about a ragtag sports team. Or better yet, he could give the speech and lead the charge into battle himself, like in the war pictures. Still, there would be a speech, and once he started there would be a swelling piece of music in the background, full of drums and brass, and then the heroes would suddenly be winning the day.

"I've got an idea!" he proclaims out loud. "I saw a jukebox over there in the corner. I'm gonna play one of the classics." And without waiting for them to respond, he is forcing his way through the crowd.

The jukebox selection is a kind of disappointing, but then they always are. The perfect songs that he had already picked out in his mind are not there, but at least he recognizes an oldie that the Hart Academy lads would often request down at the Corner Tap. At first he's not sure the machine works because there is already so much noise all around him, but after a few seconds the music reaches a level where he, at least, can hear the jaunty rhythm. It's just loud enough that he can at follow along with the intonations of the lyrics.

I knew a lass who lived for her Merlot

One glass and she acts like she's got the world on loan

She comes in with a swagger, but when she starts to stagger

Some poor sap will have to drag 'er home

Percy strains to see over the heads of the crowd, but Jason and Max aren't looking his way. It seems like the jukebox isn't powerful enough to cut through all these other conversations. That's a real bummer. At least his own morale could use a boost, so he takes a minute just to let the song reach the familiar chorus.

I've been the wolf, I've been the shepherd

Some nights I've been the lamb

I've been worse, and I've been better

It's hard to say just who I am

Cuz some nights I dance with the devil

In the hopes he'll set me free

Oh I'll take care of you tomorrow

If tonight you look after me

By the time Percy makes his way back to the table Jason and Max are already making ready to leave. His plan has backfired.

"Come on, guys. We haven't even been here that long. You didn't even finish your beers."

"Sorry," Max mumbles. Jason dutifully upends his glass to finish the dregs.

"Are you coming?" he asks.

"Nah," Percy says, "I'm gonna stick around just a little bit." He can't let himself come all the way to a bar in Silversita without at least talking to somebody he doesn't know. What is the point? They could get drunk at home.

"Need some liquid courage, do ya?" Jason nudges the red, runny remains of Percy's Silversita Sunburn towards him. Percy almost gags at the sight of it.

"Yeah." No more excuses. Percy takes a swig and then tries to drown it with beer. "Yeah, that's not so bad," he manages to say, although it is still, honestly, quite awful. But it's manageable. He repeats the process, polishing off the foul brew.

Max's face is perfect rendering of unfettered disgust, but Jason looks impressed. He coolly slides the other three unfinished Sunburns across the table, making a little fortress in front of Percy.

"Um..."

"Hey, you do what you gotta do," Jason says, as he gets up from his stool. "But we're taking off. We'll see you back at the hotel."

"Don't die," Max adds.

"Thanks for caring," Percy calls after them.

And so he is alone with half a beer and three abandoned cocktails, which must look either pathetic or crazy to anyone else. He quickly tries to get what he can out of Max's Sunburn, alternating it with his beer until the latter is all gone. That should be good enough, his tongue pleads. His limbs have started to feel heavy and loose. With no real plan in mind, he wanders back to the jukebox.

His song has ended, but now there is a lone girl perusing the options. _What's the plan here?_ Clearly he's not going to get to pick another song, and it would be awfully awkward to stand there waiting not only for her to pick a song, but for her song to play itself out. The universe is giving him a sign. Perhaps they should have called it the Serendipitous Sloop.

"Hi there," he starts, sidling up beside her and leaning on the machine, "looking for anything in particular?"

She looks up at him only briefly. "Oh, I don't know. Something beachy. Summer, good times, you know."

"Hmm..." he turns to try and read the options along with her, pretending that he has not already perused them all. He keeps a firm grip on the machine, more for balance than looking cool now. He is finding it hard to focus on the titles of the songs - he can read individual words but putting them together doesn't help him recall any melodies or lyrics. He does know one song for sure though.

"C12 is a personal favorite of mine." She scans downwards until she finds it.

"'A Drinking Song'?" She sounds skeptical. Percy double checks - yes, indeed, that is the exact title - because he has always thought of it as the _I'll take care of you_ song. He can see how, in her eyes, and based only on the title, this choice is not helping his cause. It is obvious that he's drunk right now? Almost certainly. He is glad that he's not holding a Silversita Sunburn as well.

"It's good! Don't you know it?"

"Nope. Is it new?"

"Ah, no. Kind of the opposite. It's more, like, a traditional. And fun."

"Oh!" She ignores him, because she's found something else she likes. He watches her punch in J3, but he doesn't recognize it. The artist is vaguely familiar, and although he can't quite picture them, he gets the feeling he's remained willfully ignorant of this particular person's catalogue. The jukebox doesn't judge. The jukebox is the great melting pot of their society; something for everyone.

"Good choice, good choice," he assures her.

"Thanks, I thought so," she says. She hesitates, as if making sure he has nothing else to say, and then turns around to join a circle of men and women that were directly behind them.

_Now this is awkward,_ Percy thinks. Clearly he's not invited to join them, but if he continues to stand here will it seem like he's listening in on their conversation? He's clearly not doing anything else. Now he does wish he was holding a drink. But, hey! There is an easy solution to both problems.

So he heads to the bar, but before he can get there he spots Theo with a group of strangers, so he pivots to join them instead. Theo gives him a head nod and he subtly merges into the group, who are all listening to a very animated girl tell a story about... a party? There are certainly many characters involved, and Percy struggles to piece together what the point could be. A boy jumps in and takes up the thread, but the girl doesn't seem to appreciate that, and they spend quite a bit of time arguing back and forth without finishing the original tale. Even Theo has trouble breaking into this conversation, although he does manage to land a joke that everyone else appreciates. Percy's senses are too dulled, by the time he thinks of anything to add the flow of the discourse has moved on. How long has he been standing here listening to this nonsense? It seems like hours. He silently excuses himself to go to the bathroom, he's sure Theo will understand.

But when he comes out, he doesn't even bother trying to find Theo again. He wants to collapse onto a pillow and fall asleep instantly. So he meanders to the door and steps out into the warm, salty air. Even at night Silversita feels like it's just finished a hot shower. He takes a couple steps to the right, decides he's going in the wrong way to get back to the hotel, and reverses direction.

"Hey! Hey wait up, Perk!" He hasn't even made it a block. He turns, expecting to see Theo, but instead Jason and Max are there, jogging up to him.

"You guys waited for me?"

"Yeah, we figured you wouldn't be long," Jason replies. In the morning, Percy will realize this could be taken as an insult, but not right now.

"You guys are great friends," he says, "but terrible wingmen."

"I can live with that. Do you know the way back?"

"Of course." Percy stumbles on the curb as he does an overly dramatic swivel, but catches himself. "Don't mind me, I've got it," he assures them. They pull up on either side of him.

"You know where we should go on vacation next time?" Max asks, rhetorically.

"What next time? This is our last year."

"We should go to Sarrassas. If we're going be hanging out by ourselves and sleeping on floors we might as well be camping."

"I love it," Percy assents, "that might be the best idea you've ever had."

"Yeah, sounds cool," Jason agrees.

"You have to remember this though, even though you're drunk."

" _I'm_ drunk?? _You_ better remember this..."

### Chapter 15

Percy's stomach is rolled and tossed like a ball of pizza dough. He tries to close his eyes, but then every jostle feels like boxer's jab. To his neck, to his flank, to his groin, everywhere the seat belts constrain him. At least they are thorough. Percy thinks nervously of the ropes he used to tie up the equipment in the seat behind his own, and of the various heavy and sharp things contained within. There's no doubt a cast iron pot to the head would be worse than the seat belts or the nausea.

"You look kind of rough," Rod says. He's in the seat next to him. Rod looks rough himself, but in a different way. He has cut off all his curls, leaving behind a well-sculpted, squarish head. On the other hand he has stopped shaving, so the stubble on his chin and scalp are very close in length. When Azelle asked about the changes, he explained he "had to be ready for the jungle."

"Yeah," Azelle chimes in, "haven't you ever been in a plane before?"

"Yes, just not this kind of plane."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means usually it's like being on a cruise ship. And this is like being on a raft we didn't finish."

"I'll thank you not to talk about my baby that way. Plus, if you think this is bad, you're not gonna like flying into Welkinrest."

"It'll be shorter, at least."

"That's true enough. Did you manage to get any sleep back there?" It has been a long, mostly silent flight. Rod fell asleep almost immediately, and Percy has never envied anybody so much. Azelle, meanwhile, has been busy with the controls. Or at least that's what he thought, maybe she was just trying not to disturb them.

"Not a wink," he replies.

"I did," Rod assures her.

"Well I think it might be too late now, Perk." Percy hopes she means because the flight is almost over, but then the plane banks eastward and he realizes the horizon has started to turn from indigo to magenta. A new day is promised by the East. The black ocean stretches out to meet it. There's no sign of Sarrassas quite yet.

"I guess I'll have to find the hotel and pass out for awhile when we land. What are your plans?" Percy looks over at Rod, who shrugs. "Azelle?"

"Oh, I don't know, go to the beach, get a tan."

"Sounds nice."

She makes a _that was sarcasm and you should know better_ sound. "I'm kidding, I'm going to get us fueled up and radio ahead to Welkinrest. Gotta keep moving."

"Well, we don't _have_ to. This is my charter and there's no specified timeline, we could take a day to recuperate in Bluberth."

"You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

"Of course not." Percy tells himself there's no way he would turn around now. But he does want to delay. Not to take in the legendary beaches of Bluberth - although, maybe just for a day - but he has a meeting set with Theo, and is still waiting to hear back from Max. A plane that could seat six, that's what he requested. Now one seat is empty and two are carrying cargo, but they could always shuffle that stuff around to make it fit in the hold.

"We'll need to stay at least two nights so can I meet up with my associate," Percy explains.

"You know people in Bluberth, do you? Must be nice."

"I thought you said you had flown here before."

"I have, yeah. I made some friends in Welkinrest, not so much in the resorts."

"How about you, Rod? You know anybody out here?"

"Not really."

"He knows me," Azelle says cheerfully, "that'll be enough."

"Oh? I didn't realize you two had worked together before."

"Oh yeah, Roddy has helped me repair the bird a couple time now. I suppose I owe you some beers, eh Rod?"

"Yeah, that sounds right," Rod agrees, disinterestedly. It seems to be hard to get a rise out of the big lad, even for Azelle.

"And I bet you've talked to the other Mogogo techs here on the radio, haven't you Rod?"

"That's true."

"I guess we're well prepared, then," Percy summarizes. It proves to be a conversation stopper, though he didn't intend it that way. The three of them stare silently out into the black and indigo morning, waiting for a sign of life, or for someone else to speak. The plane shivers and shimmies constantly, as if its about to be torn apart by the wind at any second. He feels guilty for giving up on their brief camaraderie.

"I guess I owe both of you some drinks for helping me on this trip," he offers. "Tomorrow night we'll find a nice place in Bluberth and everything will be on me. What's your poison, Rod?"

"Beer," he shrugs.

"You might be disappointed Roddy," Azelle warns, "the whole menu might be cocktails in those places." He grunts in disapproval.

"What about you, Azelle?"

"If you're buying? Whatever's on the top shelf."

"I might've guessed as much. But I won't be buying, Mogogo will be!"

"Careful with the company credit there, Perk. You don't realize how brain-numbing an internal audit can be until you lose one of those receipts." This might be true. Percy never had a per diem or credit at Delacroix, but he's not willing to admit that. The reach of the company outside his own city always seemed glamorous, yet unattainable, and completely unnecessary. Percy imagines people like Theo drinking together on commercial flights. Meeting in hotel bars in Santo Lucio with other Theos from other companies. Laughter, festivity, handshakes. Flying home with nothing to show for the trouble but another name to drop.

"If they can fly us out to Sarrassas I'm sure they can pay for a dinner with appropriate beverages."

"You would think so," Azelle concurs.

"Personally I've always been partial to whisky. Would that interest you, Rod?"

Azelle snickers. "Drinking whiskeys on the beach, how manly."

Percy fails to think of a quick retort. Instead of giving Azelle the satisfaction of a lame response he chooses to let them all stew in their own thoughts. But eventually that gets boring again, and he needs something to keep his mind off the constant shuddering of the plane. Forced to choose between Rod's stony curtness and Azelle's relentless needles he opts for the stone.

"So is this your first job, Rod?"

"Hmm?"

"Is this the first job you've had since school?"

"Nope. Fourth."

"Oh yeah? Been moving around?"

Rod sighs, as if speaking more than one sentence at a time is exhausting to him. "The first was during school, so I guess that doesn't really count. Part time in a repair shop. Then I helped my dad for a bit - he's an electrician. Then some friends and I went into business."

"That's cool, doing what?"

"You know the little wearable sensors I showed you?"

"Yeah."

"We made those."

"Wow," Percy says, impressed. "What happened to that?"

Rod spreads his hands, as if it should be obvious. "Mogogo bought us."

"Of course. Did you get a good deal?"

"I guess so. I wasn't the business guy." If Rod has more thoughts on the subject, his face doesn't betray what they are.

"Well, what do you _want_ to do? What's your dream? Start another business?"

For the first time Rod looks over at him, with that sullen _are you_ crazy expression.

"I don't understand why everyone asks that question. What do you want to do?"

Azelle cackles out loud. "He's been waiting for you to ask that!" she exclaims. "Ooh, but I can tell you, cuz he told me and Jenna. He wants to find a place to live in Sarrassas where there are no other people. A personal retreat in the mist. Oh! And he wants to have a fountain."

"A waterfall," Percy corrects her, mortified.

"See?" Rod mumbles. "It only gets you made fun of."

"Aw, you two are no fun," Azelle complains. _I wish you would be having a little less fun with this_ , Percy thinks sourly. Her story of the Mogogo employees that never returned still haunts him. Does Rod know? If he does, does he care? There are questions and fears that sit unspoken in the empty seats of the plane, hopelessly dividing the three of them. They're just strangers, after all. "Co-workers" at best, which has never held much meaning for Percy. Despite Azelle's chumminess with Rod, Percy doesn't believe she even knows the street he lives on. If she cared about either of them, Percy would expect her to be a bit more worried about conducting them to their doom. Unless... could she have been screwing with him that whole time? Nobody else at the company said one word about disappearances. Either way it's pissing him off.

"Well this will cheer you up," she says, and for a terrible moment Percy is afraid he's been thinking out loud.

"What's that?"

"'Land ho!' as they say." She turns the plane deliberately so he can see a mass of slightly lighter, slightly orange clouds clinging to the horizon.

"I only see clouds," he says.

"Yep, that's how you know it's Sarrassas." She turns the plane back to make directly for them. "When we get closer you'll be able to see the beach, but that's about it."

She's right, of course. Over the course of the next hour the sun starts to illuminate swells on the ocean, and a long white crescent of sands spills out from beneath the clouds. He can tell exactly where the city limits of Bluberth are. All along the broad shore there are buildings, some going right up to the edge of the water, interrupting the sweeping curve of the beach. They huddle close together, as if frightened of straying into the surrounding hills.

_This must have been beautiful once,_ Percy thinks, _the first time someone saw it._ An oasis in the desert of the ocean. And now? Someone's put a stake in every inch of that shoreline. And here he is, helping Mogogo find another place to develop, presumably. Why? Because there isn't any free sand left? The invasion is slow, but steady. In the struggle between man and nature, man is the only one paying for soldiers. _And that's why he's going to win_ , Percy muses.

But there is at least one fortress of nature still standing, barricaded by the Brussa mountains, and they have been sent to lay siege. There will be time for sleep later.

### Chapter 16

Percy is flying again, and again, he does not feel well. At least when flying over the ocean their speed was disguised by its vastness and its steadfast consistency. But now he can feel the speed in every part of his body. He tries closing his eyes, but he can still hear the howling of air being torn apart. He puts his hands over his ears, but can still feel himself pitch from side to side. They are streaking over a long, twisting mountain trail, between a pair of yawning chasms. The trail suddenly turns, but the plane does not - it continues purposefully over the edge of the cliff, and pitches forward, down, down, down...

"Hup! Let's try that again, shall we?" A flat field of crops suddenly rises up to meet them, and Percy screams. He quickly feels himself rolled backwards, the ground dropping away and the horizon claiming center stage again. No cliffs now, they seem to be somewhere else entirely.

"Now I want you to take it nice and easy, follow the rows of crops."

"Are you talking to _me_?"

"Yes, you're the pilot."

" _I'm_ not a pilot!"

"Then pretend you're the pilot. Do you see the grain of the fields? I just want to you to stay aligned with that."

Percy wants to argue, but the fields start to bend. He finds that he is able to direct his path to follow them, although he's not sure how. It's as if it's been ingrained in him.

"Good! Now I'm going to take away the fields -"

"Wait, what?"

" _It's not the time for questions Percival._

You'd learn much faster if you listened more."

Patricia. So this is another one of her trials. Well she would be sorry if he flew them into the ground, that's for sure. He doesn't recognize the other, more instructive voice, but it's been prattling on while he gets lost in his own thoughts. Patricia may have a point.

The crops below him disappear, and now they are flying over open plains of grass. Vast, unending prairies that could rival the ocean itself. Streams wend this way and that across the otherwise featureless landscape, but he is passing over them too quickly to internalize their paths. _Is this the Brussa basin?_ he wonders. It's how he's always pictured it. But he never really, truly considered the scale before. They must be traveling hundreds of kilometers per hour, so even hiking at a speed of twenty kilometers per day it would take him... a hundred times as long? Maybe more. And there is no end in sight; not even the mountains that he knows must be around the rim of the basin. Percy lets them glide forward and tries to take them down closer to inspect the spider grass.

"Oops!" the other voice says, "See, you missed the turn there."

"I don't see," Percy contradicts it. What turn? There's nothing to see.

"Well, now we're past it, but we'll see if we can get the next one."

"I can just turn us around, there's no road."

"There is, you're just not... he's not getting it, Patricia."

Cliffs spring up again, this time pressing in on Percy from all sides. He tries desperately to lift himself skyward, to free them from this trap, but he can't do it. Rocks are rushing by only meters to either side of him, and he starts to panic and struggle.

"Concentrate!" the voice is telling him urgently, but of course he isn't. He's wondering what happened to the basin, and how he can get them back to those placid, welcoming plains. Too late, he sees the chasm is turning. It's much too fast. He's going to kill them all. Everything goes black.

But there is no impact. Percy still feels like he is floating steadily forward, as the cliff wall was a beaded curtain hiding a secret cave.

"Well, that didn't work either, I guess. Chap, you can unhook him, we're almost at the fountain anyway."

Now Chap and Patricia appear before him. They are indoors again.

"Jesus, how are we not dead?"

" _The fantasy is a convincing one."_

"Oh man, I feel like we're still moving." The floor sways and rumbles beneath him. Percy slumps to his knees, and then, suddenly picturing the nauseating trail of golden goo that he threw up last time he was in this position, rolls over onto his back. He feels only slightly more safe this way. "You might want to fetch the rolling toilet, Chap."

"I'm afraid that's impossible at this time. You are correct, though, we are still moving."

"Are we?" So his body isn't completely lying to him. Only most of the time.

" _We're heading to the fountain for a change."_

"But who's taking us there?" Percy tries to sit up. "Wasn't I the pilot?"

" _The simulation's just an exercise_

And way to pass the time while traveling.

One day perhaps we'll let you pilot us."

"Why?" Percy asks, drawing it out into a groan of frustration. "Why? Why, why, why?" how many more jokes are there of which he can be made the butt? "Why would you have a simulation of travel while we're actually travelling?" Patricia shrugs.

"Why can't I just watch out the window?" he asks, getting angrier with every lurch of his stomach.

"Judging by your performance in the simulation, you are not ready for that," Chap replies.

Percy has no words. Nothing these people do makes any sense. He is sick of being treated like a baby, but arguing with them is just a quick way to make that happen. He focuses on gripping the floor of the vehicle and not throwing up instead.

He manages to maintain clean and dry until they lurch to a sudden halt. Chap informs him that they have arrived, and offers assistance as the side of their transport slides open.

"I can stand Chap, I just choose not to," Percy moans. Chap starts to approach anyway, so Percy waves him off and slowly, theatrically, rolls onto hands and knees.

Outside - for it does _feel_ like outside now, even if this is another convincing simulation - it is hazy. White mist surrounds them completely, making it difficult to ascertain why they have come here at all. _Perhaps we are still indoors_ , Percy thinks cynically, _and this is how they keep down the costs of simulating a sky._ Still, the subtle breeze would be hard to fake. And instead of wood or metal floors he appears to be standing on hard-packed mud. Within sight is a path of dark flat stones, which Patricia starts towards.

" _Now mark my footsteps my good page and tread_

thou in them boldly, so that you don't get lost."

Percy reverently follows her. It is a place where reverence seems appropriate. Certain places simply have that quality, and it is instantly recognizable. Here, it is quiet except for the slap of their feet on the moist, flat stones. And all the people - for he can see shapes moving in the distance - are afforded privacy by the thick fog. To the left and right Percy sees what might be fence posts, or small trees. But in the direction of the path there is something larger - something that might be very large indeed - waiting for them, patiently.

They pass through a gap in a low stone wall, and now are in an immense paved courtyard. The path forward has been worn into the stones themselves by countless feet, so that the courtyard resembles a soft pillow with the indented memory of an arm. Dark green moss dots the stones that have borne less pedestrians.

The hulking shape before them begins to come into focus. There is a large porch, maybe ten meters high, made of the same stone as the courtyard. Its columns and roof are even slicker and more worn and melted and moss covered. Beyond it, another story may be seen, and perhaps even another one beyond that, building up to a tower of formidable height. Percy strains his eyes and cranes his neck to try to tell how how high it goes before they pass under the porch roof, but he cannot even see the top. His best guess is at least fifty meters. The ceiling of the porch is frustratingly low in comparison, and Percy checks that Patricia won't bump her head. She just barely fits. It is a long walk before they finally reach a doorway, opening onto darkness.

" _Inside, you must agree to follow me."_

"Sure." Percy immediately feels that this answer is too flip for this place, that "Yes, ma'am" or "Thy will be done, sire," would have been more appropriate. He is now acutely aware that Chap is not with them. Doubtless the uneven stones would have presented a challenge for his wheels, but it is unnerving to be free from his watchdog, even for a short period of time. The doorway beckons, but beyond it is only gloom and a low, constant whistle, reminiscent of a distant train.

Patricia enters, and Percy hesitates. If there was ever a chance to escape her, this would be it. Within thirty seconds of sprinting he could probably get out of sight in the mist. Is the bright, white unknown more promising than the dark, enclosed one? But then Patricia looks over her shoulder, and beckons, and he feels compelled forward.

Inside, it takes time for his eyes to adjust, so he follows close behind her, tracking the swish of her robes. A tiny modicum of light filters down from somewhere ahead and above, urging them onwards. After a while, he can see their destination: an immense cylindrical inner ward, whose roof is much higher than the entryway.

When they reach it, Percy realizes it may not even have a roof. He cranes his neck to look directly upwards, and instead of a vaulted ceiling or a chandelier there is the familiar white haze of the outdoors. Percy revises his estimate of the height of this room, and of the whole building, to a hundred meters, although at this angle it's barely even a guess. Instead of walking into the open space, Patricia takes a right and begins to walk along the edge of the circular sanctum.

Still, Percy doesn't say anything. Aside from the strange deep whistle there doesn't seem to be any sound. He can see other people on the far side of the circle, also walking counter-clockwise around it. All of them, in the same direction. None of them stop, none of them chat with their companions. He is tempted to walk into the middle of the circle to look upwards, but he is captivated by their ritual. Neither Patricia nor any of the other visitors make a move towards the middle of the tower.

There is a good reason for that. In the middle of the space - which strangely, is not paved with stones, but is just raw muddy soil - there is a hole. Not a carved hole, but a ragged, ovoid tear. It dispenses a steady stream of mist, and, Percy realizes, the haunting, echoing whistle. Up and up the mist climbs, like a river determined to meet an ocean in the sky. Perhaps it's dangerous? Perhaps it is hot steam coming out of the crevice, although the air around them is chilly. Percy has heard of places like this, but the local tourist board doesn't seem to be taking full advantage of what they have here. Hell, he has known places of worship - much shabbier ones than this - that have better advertising and merchandise.

It seems like there are a lot of visitors for just a column of steam, though. As they walk in silence, Percy looks around for some other source of interest, but finds nothing except wet, stubby rocks that may have once been small statues. Whatever identities they once had have been worn away long ago, and even their basic shapes have all been reduced to sad, rounded cones. When they make it all they way around the circle Percy expects Patricia to turn towards the exit, but instead she starts another trip around. He decides to count the number of steps it takes this time, and comes up with two hundred and fourteen for him. Significantly less for Patricia, with her long strides.

When they are coming close to finishing their t _hird_ trip around the circle, Percy feels like he has to say something. A walk out in the fresh air is a nice change, but maybe he could at least be allowed to explore a bit.

"Can we -"

" _Sh!"_ She turns and puts two fingers over his mouth. She waits for him to try to speak again, but he raises his palms in a gesture of submission.

Before they can resume their walk, the steam whistle is overwhelmed by an intense, guttural rumbling. It increases in volume surprisingly quickly, until it fills the whole tower, echoing off of the stones. Percy can hear the rage of an angry sea in it now, and an ancient foreboding thunder. _Did I do that?_ He think in panic. Does the tower itself demand silence? What is it going to do to them? And can Patricia forgive him? But Patricia's anger has already disappeared. She and the other patrons have stopped walking and are turned towards the center of the circle. Percy claps his hands over his ears as the rumbling turns into a wailing shriek.

A column of water explodes out of the ground, straight up through the middle of the tower. It must be thousands and thousands of gallons of water, but it's all gone in a matter of seconds. Percy scrambles back against the wall, bracing himself for it all to come falling back down on them, but there are no repercussions. There is only mist emanating from the hole again, and a small trickle of water flows outwards to the paved footpaths and between their stones.

A drop falls on Percy's shoulder, and he looks up. Here and there rivulets are running down the cylinder and dripping off of the ceiling. He's still waiting for the rest of the geyser to come crashing down, but the misty skylight does not betray that anything unusual just happened. Patricia gently squeezes his hand to get his attention, and motions towards the entrance, now their exit.

He follows her out in silence, looking at the damp walls with fresh, bewildered eyes. When they finally reach the end of the long porch and are freed from the ponderous solemnity of the stone ceilings he can no longer hold his tongue.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asks.

She turns, and studies his face. Her eyes are sorrowful, as if his breaking of the silence again has severely disappointed her. He feels bad, but in for a penny, in for a pound. He opens his mouth to ask her again, and she sighs.

" _I thought you might remember something new_ ," she explains, and trudges off into the mist.

### Chapter 17

It is strange how a place you've never been to before can feel familiar. The human brain has a natural weakness for recurring images, chords, and themes, which can explain a lot of the popularity of certain kinds of music, any craze based around nostalgia, and the unexpected difficulty of those spot-the-difference puzzles. Maybe Percy should have expected to feel this way, considering all the time he spent as a schoolboy looking at pictures of Sarrassas in magazines. But that's not what he's reminded of as he strides purposefully down a freshly painted boardwalk beneath the blazing sun. He is reminded, unfortunately, of Silversita.

As was too often the case in his younger days, he has just woken up in the middle of the day, although this time the unfortunate flight was to blame. His stomach is empty, his head is fuzzy, and his eyes and ears do not want to deal with the bright reflections and crashes of waves coming from the beach. It is the kind of day that he knows, objectively, must be delightful. And maybe if the weather holds tomorrow he can wake up earlier when it's a bit cooler, eat a substantial hotel breakfast, and take in the sights at his usual pace - wandering up and down streets, making notes of the angles at which they meet, committing designs of unusual store signs to memory. But there's no time for that today, because although it's beginning to feel as though it was a real mistake, he has managed to gain an audience with Theodore Vant _immediately_.

The merciless, cheerful sun is not the only reason it feels like a mistake. As the memories of their fortnight in Silversita start to bubble to the surface, Percy begins to think about the future, and what camping with Theo might actually be like. More importantly, camping with _just_ Theo, and not Jason or Max, because it's clear that if Max is coming he is going to have to catch up with them in the bush. Actually, even worse than that - camping with Theo, Rod, and _Azelle_. This is a drama that Percy does not want to watch unfold live. Yet, maybe Theo has also found his own Allison ( _even though he's never mentioned her?)_ and maybe he is settling down as well ( _even though it sounds like he is flying to Sarrassas and back every month?)_ and maybe, _maybe,_ there would be no charm left to spend on Azelle. Percy can't help but feel that, if he brought the two of them together, they would never bother to speak to him again, except maybe to make jokes at his expense. And then Rod the reticent would be the only person he could talk to for months.

Theo's "place", as he referred to it, is right off the boardwalk, which makes finding it frustratingly convenient. It turns out to be a beachside hotel, not the summer home that Theo implied, but Percy has to admit that it looks quite comfortable from the outside. It is a welcoming cream color and there is a blue canvas awning creating yards of delicious shade out front. Every window seems to have some patrons' shirts hanging from it, drying in the sun. He steps inside and cool air welcomes him to a tall foyer, tiled with cream-colored stone, and featuring several large ceiling fans. A modest fountain bubbles in the middle. It's probably unnecessary given the sound of the sea is so close, but it feels nice nonetheless.

Of course, Theo has not given Percy a room number, and he is nowhere to be seen. He intends to be fashionably late, as usual. Which wouldn't be a problem, except Percy regrets skipping breakfast even more now. He makes a slow loop around the central fountain in ever-widening circles, peering down hallways in a vain search for a sign of Theo or a cafe. There's not another person in sight. Percy's only company is a couple of small, brightly colored birds that hop around the edge of the fountain. He is tempted to go around the empty front desk and search through the books for Theo's room number himself, but he doesn't. It's unlikely, but maybe his mother is right about the trespassing laws. He never did any research on that.

Somehow Theo sees him first. "Hey Perk!" he calls, emerging from a door across the lobby. A small, tan man scuttles out of the door behind him, and hurries to the front desk.

"Theo!" Percy replies, trying to match his enthusiasm. They walk towards each other with arms unabashedly outstretched even at twenty yards apart, just to make sure there will be no awkward hug/handshake confusion. When they come together, they embrace tightly.

"It's great to see you, buddy!" Theo enthuses.

"You too. You are looking sharp, by the way." It is true. Theo has not really changed, but instead of the open buttoned shirt and khaki shorts that Percy expected, he is wearing a sky blue suit. His shirt - which could very well have been selected to match the cream stones of the hotel - is still mostly unbuttoned anyway. Of course.

"Hey, I try. But not too hard." Theo laughs. "Are you hungry? Yestor over there did me a solid and got lunch brought in a little early." He waves to the man at the desk, who looks up from writing in his ledger to smile.

Theo conducts Percy to the doorway through which he just came, which turns out to be a kind of dining area. It's open to the air, but Theo leads him through a maze of large potted plants to a little table that feels secluded.

"So I guess the talks with Mogogo went well!" Theo starts. Percy is relieved he doesn't ask about the flight first.

"Yeah, absolutely. I mean, I made it here. And here seems pretty nice."

"Absolutely, yeah. But I take it you're not going to hang out here very long. Where are you headed? Are you allowed to say?"

"Sure, well, we're going to Welkinrest first, that's no secret. Do you know it?"

"Of course. I haven't spent much time there - not much to do. But then you're, what, heading further South?"

"Well if you're interested, I could tell you... but you'd have to become a member of the team. I negotiated some funds to... use at my discretion to hire help with the mission."

"Classic," Theo nods in appreciation. "Oh, you're hungry aren't you? The service isn't usually _this_ bad, but of course the place isn't actually _open_ yet..." Theo stands up and pokes his head out of the copse of plants. He gestures urgently to someone and another tan young man appears to wait on them. They order drinks at Theo's urging, and every appetizer that can be conjured in the short-staffed kitchen.

"So how's Jase doing?" Theo asks, "You were on your way to see him too?"

"He's good. He's settled in, you know? The domestic life seems to suit him. Very cute baby." Percy is at a loss for what more to say about Jason and their talk. None of it seems relevant here, in a new continent.

"I tried to catch up with Max too, but, uh, he's harder to get ahold of."

"You tried the hippie farm?" Theo's doesn't actually seem interested in the answer.

"Sorry? Yeah. I wrote him a letter, I don't even know if they have a phone there. Or if he's there at all."

"Hah! Well, write him another one. I'm pretty sure that's where he's at." Theo accepts a cocktail from the waiter, and takes a long drag from it.

"Yeah..." again, Percy is a bit of a loss for where to direct the conversation next, especially if they are just going to brush past Jason and Max. "So, what are you doing here? I assume you're not running hotels now."

"Hah! Right, no. I don't own it, but they do keep a room set aside for me. Actually I'm working on bringing them more business, maybe they won't be able to do that forever."

"So you're, like, their marketing department?"

"Temporarily. They don't have one, yet. I'm consulting them on how to generate more business. I'm also, coincidentally, consulting with some companies back in the homeland, and much of my advice has been to send some people out here." Theo grins. Percy manages a half smile. This cheek is characteristic of Theo, but he's grown less accustomed to it.

"So you've set up your own consulting business."

"Yeah, exactly. I'm my own boss, and my office is where I want it to be. I like it here, actually, most of the time."

"So you probably haven't kept up with your old exploration tech," Percy realizes, and is disappointed.

"Ah, that's where you'd be wrong, buddy. I have to keep up with it, I'm the foremost expert on it! As least as far as many of my clients are concerned. I thought you might not realize it, but that stuff is hot right now. We've got an in-demand skill set! I mean, if even Mogogo is getting into the business -"

"Right! Right. So are they clients of yours?"

"No," Theo waves the question away, "but I know what people are trying to do."

"Speaking of which..." Percy thumbs his satchel, which contains a copy of the contract he and Mr. Townsend had agreed upon. He stops himself.

"So you knew Mogogo wanted to send somebody out here. And you already come out here all the time. And you're selling yourself as an expert in exploration tech."

"...yeah?"

"Then why didn't _you_ just send a proposal to Mogogo? I mean, I know they were trying to hire someone to actually join the company, but in the end it wasn't that hard to persuade them -"

"Conflict of interest, obviously." Theo makes an even more emphatic waving gesture this time, as if the questions are persistent mosquitos. "There are some it's not worth trying to get around. Let's just say I, too, signed on a dotted line. I bet they made you sign something to make sure you keep quiet."

"Yeah." Percy's hand still lingers on the satchel. Theo's eyes are on it as well.

"Can I see it? Just what they had you sign, not the info they gave you afterwards. _That_ would be uncool." He laughs again.

The waiter suddenly appears with an assortment of sliced fruits and finger foods that seem to consists of amorphous blobs spread across thin wafers. The smell indicates they probably came from the ocean.

"Hold that thought," Theo says, simultaneously scooping up a wafer with one hand and gesturing to the receding waiter to bring him another cocktail.

"I had them print out the same contract for you," Percy says, producing the papers. Theo takes them with one hand while eating with the other.

Percy waits while Theo impatiently flips through pages. He shakes his head. He chuckles with his mouth full of wafer. He gives Percy incredulous glances.

"Boy, they've really got you over a barrel," he finally concludes.

"Do they?" _That was a stupid thing to say_ , Percy thinks immediately.

"Well," Theo shrugs, "assuming you wanted to claim a piece of land, that is. Maybe you don't want to do that, I don't know. But according to this, you have to go back to them, give them all the details of your surveillance, and then not tell aaanybody about it until they've done the paperwork to legally lay claim to the parts that they want."

"Yup, that sounds right."

"Seems like a raw deal to me."

"I was kind of hoping that I'd find some stuff that interests them, and some different stuff that interests me... do the haggling over that later."

"Sure, makes sense." Theo furrows his brow to demonstrate how hard he is thinking of ways to help Percy out. _I don't need this kind of help_ , Percy thinks defiantly. But maybe he does. He's spent the last several months - hell, really the last six years - thinking of how to get to the Brussa basin, but never gave much thought to what he would do afterwards. Go back again, probably. _Even if there's nothing out there but grass, though?_

"Listen, I get it, you're not going to sign on," Percy says, reaching for the contract.

"No... I'm not. But that doesn't mean I don't want to hear about it when you get back. I'm sure there will be something you can tell me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Mogogo's not the only company interested in expanding their presence here. That should be obvious. And nobody wants to waste their time exploring an area if Mogogo is already working on the papers to claim it, right?"

"But I can't tell you where I've been." Percy holds the contract up as if he is about to double-check this stipulation.

"You can tell me where you _haven't_ been," Theo clarifies. "That's where the other developers would want to go anyway, you see?"

"Maybe." Theo is clearly pretty pleased with himself, even though the logic sounds fishy to Percy. Fishy and irrelevant.

"I don't see how that would help me."

"Listen, you're free to do what you want. When you get back, you will be the sole keeper of a certain amount of knowledge, and knowledge -" he pauses, as if waiting for Percy for finish his sentence "- is power. Or, at least, it's money. And then when you convert that knowledge _into_ money, if you want to finance a return trip, well, that's one thing you won't have to worry about."

"Right... right," Percy says knowingly. He isn't sure he follows at all, but he's uncomfortable with where Theo's tone is trying to lead them. Theo's no crook, he knows that, but he has a habit of trying to work around and outsmart other people. He always wants to have another card in hand, or up his sleeve. And Percy is afraid that if they start playing that kind of game _he_ is the one who will end up outsmarted. Maybe he _should_ write Max again, just one more time. After all, the last place Percy told him he'd be was Bluberth, so if they head out tomorrow Max will need more detailed instructions about where they can meet up.

Meanwhile, Theo has started talking again, apparently unaware of or undeterred by Percy's lack of attention. "...you have the skills that all the soldiers in the future are going to need," he is saying, "but if you don't want to be a soldier you have to start thinking like a general." Is this what he considers a motivational speech?

"I don't really know what you mean by that." This finally makes Theo realize that his audience is either too tired or too dumb to grasp his lesson, and he shuts up. He waves his hand dismissively.

"It doesn't matter. It means you should come see me when you get back, that's all. Before you head back to Delacroix. I know you've always wanted to go on this trip, so you should go. But I've got options for you later."

"That's good to know, thanks Theo." It is comforting to know at least one person is trying to look out for you.

"Here," Theo says, passing him a particularly vibrant piece of fruit, "you gotta try this. This might be your best meal for a long time; better live it up."

### Chapter 18

Percy lies on his back while the world spins around him. This has become an all too familiar feeling.

"Aren't there any other ways we could travel?"

"Of course," Chap replies, "but they take longer and are likely to make you even more sick."

"We could walk. I can walk a long, long way."

"We cannot walk."

"Well, you would roll, obviously."

" _If you can stand, we need to get you dressed,"_ Patricia chimes in.

"I'm already dressed." Patricia can probably tell that he's just being obstinate. Around his own quarters he's taken to wearing a light mesh tunic that does not leave much to the imagination. Whether Patricia is embarrassed by this, he cannot say, but she usually allows it. It's not nearly as stylish as Patricia's robes, but it conceals a good deal of his disgusting grass-covered skin while still letting it breathe. It does not like to be constricted with belts or elastic, he has found.

She offers him a hand and he pulls himself up. She is unshakable, no matter how much weight he needs to put on her. With her height and general outline, Percy would've guessed she would weigh a couple hundred kilograms, but sometimes she's so solidly rooted in place it seems like must weight several tons.

Percy expects her to give him a more opaque tunic, or perhaps some robes like hers, but instead Patricia produces what looks like a large black kite. Before he can protest, she gives it a sharp twist and it unfolds into a shape like a pup tent.

"I don't get it."

" _Observe and mimic me, it's not that hard."_ She passes the tent to him. It is unwieldy, but light enough lift, even to throw. She then produces an even _larger_ black tent, lifts it over her head, and drops it on top of her. Percy turns his tent upside down with some difficulty, and finds an interior lattice structure that looks as if it is molded to fit over his shoulders and head.

" _Here."_ A hand and forearm pop out of Patricia's tent and lift his up so he can get under it. He obediently walks underneath and helps guide it into position. It's kind of cool. Like his tunic, the material is a mesh that lets him see out through it, although it's dense enough that he cannot see into Patricia's tent.

"Are we going undercover somewhere? Are we spies today!?"

" _We're going to observe while we conceal_

Our true identities, but we're not spies

Unless it's possible for everyone

Else to be spies as well, at the same time."

"I would argue that, yeah, that's totally possible. What do you think society is?"

" _Perhaps your cynicism has prepared_

You thoroughly for this particular trip.

And yet you must stay recognizable

to us at least, so just hold still a beat."

Patricia takes another black piece of fabric, and holds it up against the front of his tent. He can feel the weight shift slightly on his shoulders as she attaches it.

"What is the point of that?" He sticks his arm as far out of his tent as he can to try and feel what she has stuck to him. It feels structured, but soft. "You wouldn't be able to recognize the black blob, but you'll know I'm the black blob with an extra black patch on it?"

" _It's by your own design the emblem is_

Not more unique, but I'll be able to

Identify you by it still, don't fret."

"Emblem?"

With that, Patricia hangs a picture on the front of her tent as well. It depicts a nest of baby birds, still sitting in the lower halves of their egg shells. A maroon, serpentine dragon encircles them with its body, clutching its own tail in its mouth. Chap has also disappeared beneath an identical black mantle, but his picture simply says "CHAPERONE" in blocky white letters.

Percy is trying to feel the paint on his own "emblem", to try and decipher what it is. He can't make any sense of it though - the strokes go in all directions, without defining a clear shape. _Why aren't there ever any mirrors around? Oh, right._ Maybe it should have been obvious.

"Is this the portrait I painted?" he asks, now trying to feel for the little white star in the middle. "Why are we doing this?"

" _We're visiting a city with distinct_

Traditions that demand all visitors

Divest themselves of natural facades.

It's well for you we have a guide of Chap's

Extraordinarily fine caliber."

Percy has a skeptical remark about this last claim on the tip of his tongue, but the doors of the transport fly open and before he knows it he is standing in a bustling avenue. All around him is a sea of black fabric tents, bobbing and weaving around each other. His first reaction is panic, as he looks around for Patricia. He calls for her and he can hear her call back, but it's not until she grabs his arm that he stops spinning in circles.

His second reaction is disbelief. If he understands correctly, each of these other bobbing blobs _is a person._ Who knows how many days he has spent, arguing with just Patricia and Chap, easily the two most impassive people - _is Chap a person?_ \- he has ever known. And now he is suddenly surrounded by other people. Maybe some of them would talk like a normal goddamn human being. It would be nice, just for a change.

"Ready to get started?" Chap asks. Percy turns until he finds the big white "CHAPERONE" sign. Apparently this is enough for Chap, because he starts rolling away.

"Follow me!" he cries, with automated glee, "Please do not wander off, as it may prove quite easy to get lost. I'll keep my emblem in your direction to make it easier for you."

"Welcome to the City of Artists! We are currently standing in the Grand Terminal, which was originally the site of the city's main gate before it expanded beyond its original defensive walls. Today, it is closer to the geographical center of the city, and the main artery between the ancient and recently developed districts. Automated transports of all kinds meet here where..."

Percy dutifully follows Chap through the massive tangle of people. Above their tents, in the direction they're headed, he thinks he can see the walls Chap mentioned. They're a dusty brick color, about seven meters high, and completely dwarfed by absolutely everything else around them. Buildings on both sides of the walls tower above them, their surfaces nearly covered with glittering glass windows. Giant pillars rise up here and there to bear roadways through the sky. Percy thinks he can see bright metal boxes flying along them, moving impossibly fast. Some of the roads go directly over the walls, which feels just a bit insulting to their architect.

It's like Delacroix, a little bit. The part that is called Saint-Geraint-en-Delacroix. Where the ever-expanding commercial district has respectfully circumvented the hunched remains of the town that managed to stay upright through the centuries. Delacroix the city, born from Delacroix Unlimited Trading Company, born from Delacroix, a man, supposedly. Nothing was pink or brick colored there: the eldest walls were yellowish, like the pages of a cracking manuscript, and the new ones were either shiny and black or waxy and white. Still, it feels just a little bit like home.

They are walking uphill, and by risking a look over his shoulder Percy can see the great expanse of the square laid out behind them. It must be the largest gathering of people he has ever been a part of, even larger than Delacroix's New Year's celebration. And yet, every single person is just a blank black blob. Taken altogether, their movement looks random. But if he concentrates on just one he can tell it is moving with purpose and reacting to avoid the others. Pockets of sunlight make it through the mess of buildings and skyways and dapple the crowd. They look like an agitated swarm of ants running beneath blades of grass, Percy thinks.

He turns back around, and fortunately Chap has waited for him. "...the original founders proclaimed that this would be the first city ever where people would be judged only by how they chose to be represented, rather than their natural appearance. What started as a theoretical philosophy quickly led to the practice of creating one's "second face," which was carried around by each citizen at all times. Unlike coats of arms in similar traditions, these were meant to uniquely identify each individual, rather than a family."

Percy can see that each black tent is adorned with some kind of ornament. They are not all square, they are not all even pictures. Some are small sculptures on chains. Some are ribbons woven together. Some people have chosen to go all out, and their tent is almost completely covered with colorful, intricate patterns of cloth and beads and tassels. They're like the parade girls in Silversita. Except, on the opposite end of the modesty spectrum.

"Having a unique identifier isn't the same as wearing a tent though," he objects. "Everybody could just be assigned a unique number."

"I was getting to that part of the history," Chap replies, a little snippily. "The moniker 'City of Artists' was born from the market for art and crafts that developed from the demand for high quality 'Second Faces,' and the city attracted every kind of people. Like any melting pot society, prejudices continued to be rampant, and were the largest concern of the founders who originally tried to escape just that. Hence, laws were eventually passed that required all citizens to wear shrouds in public to hide their physical appearance. Prime Minister Caluli-laluli-ca justified the law with the famous quote 'God has given us each a face, but here we choose our own.'"

"I take it some people weren't open to that idea. Even if the point was to prevent prejudice that's still a form of oppression. Being told to cover yourself up." Percy looks to Patricia for backup, but, of course, he can't see what she is thinking.

"You may find it interesting that over the millennia there have been many, many philosophical debates and arguments against the practice of the Second Face, but the law remains. Specifically, the counter argument to your objection was that any person is free to use a rendering of their natural face as their Second Face, if they so choose."

"What about the fact that some people are terrible artists, like me? We're doomed to walk around and be judged by our lack of talent in one particular area?"

"That is why it was deemed acceptable for artists to be hired to construct Second Faces for other people. When you look at someone's Second Face, you are meant to see the choices they made in selecting it, not the skill that was required to create it."

"But, the people who either have talent or have money to _pay_ the people who have talent are still going to have the best art."

"That point has been made and conceded, although Prime Minister Dama-luma-da argued that in that regard the City of Artists is no different from any other society in history. However, most of those distinctions are made obvious because the rich and talented are able to accumulate a vast number of consistently fine works; since each person here only requires one piece of artwork to represent themselves, the gap in status is considerably narrower and may be overlooked based on the uniqueness of any two pieces that are being compared."

Percy has to consider this for awhile. He's not sure he buys it. But he has to admit, the diversity in the 'Faces' and the sheer number of people passing by means he can only register the basic gist of each decoration before it is gone. The only people who stand out are the ones who clearly wanted to - one tent is festooned with lime and pink streamers that must have been chosen primarily for their high contrast. His own portrait is one of the most unassuming costumes in the whole city. He wonders if there are other lazy folks out there who just don't bother to declare an identity at all.

"What about... duplication?" he asks, tentatively. "There's no way everyone's choice is unique, especially not if you're allowed to change your choice at any time. Isn't it incredibly easy for one person to masquerade as someone else, just by copying their design?"

"That's accurate. One's 'Second Face' is not widely considered a valid proof of identity for financial transactions and the like."

"But, even just casually. I could be a stranger pretending to be your friend, and convince you to do stuff, maybe. Meet me at place where I rob you, or something."

Patricia finally joins in:

" _Perhaps because the rules are different here_

The people are less likely to put trust

In what is on the cover of the book."

"Hmph." This doesn't feel like a satisfactory explanation to Percy. But it's hardly what is occupying his mind. This would be the perfect scenario to slip away from his captors once and for all. No more windowless halls, no more vomit-inducing transportation. And it's such a lively, vibrant city, he would love to explore it on his own. Maybe he could be quite happy here. It's hard to imagine Patricia and Chap being able to find him again if he can just get out of sight and remove his portrait...

They are well beyond the old walls now, into what Chap called the "ancient" part of the city. The streets are narrower and the crowds follow more of a flow. Chap leads them hither and thither, across elegant bridges and past humble old brick buildings. He points out a great many details, though Percy is not listening. He notices there are stairs though; there are stairs everywhere. Somehow Chap has found a sloping route that climbs gently upwards, but he would be hard-pressed to follow Percy up those stairs.

Patricia is another problem. Percy really isn't sure what she's capable of. He's never seen her hurried or upset or physically exerting herself in any way. She feels stable and powerful, and he suspects that, if he were to start running, she would hardly be concerned. She would probably stride up alongside him calmly and grab his shoulder with that meaty, vice-like grip. Perhaps she would raise him in the air, his feet kicking wildly, to show him just how powerless he really is.

But that's being defeatist. She's never _had_ to search for him, and he is good at finding places where nobody else would think to look. If he could just find a way to put some distance between them, he might be able to get out of sight...

He almost laughs when he sees the answer. Coming up on their right, there is a cloister, a little courtyard encircled by a stone wall with a series of decorative archways. Patricia might have the upper hand in most respects, but she could do nothing about her size, and Percy can tell she is not going to fit through any of these fenestrations. _He_ might even have trouble.

_This is not going to work_ a little voice says.

But it might be his only chance. What else can he do, wait for an even smaller opening to dash through? A manhole? A sewer? No, there's no time to second guess himself now, they're almost there. Percy slows his pace, trying to force the traffic behind them into a small logjam. Chap and Patricia slow down as well.

For a second he thinks they might be on to him, but before he can doubt himself he hops, plants his foot within one of the archways, turns his shoulders sideways to make the tent as narrow as possible, and dives through. It doesn't go perfectly - the tent framework bumps the wall of the arch hard and he ends up on catching himself with his hand - but he is through, and he is running. He can hear Patricia roaring for him to stop.

But are they following?

There's no point in looking back. The courtyard is deserted, and he needs to get to a place with more people in order to hide. He sprints all the way across the yard to where it opens onto another, bigger street. He dives through the river of moving tents, trying to avoid jostling them but not doing a great job.

Are they following?

Percy still doesn't dare look back. They would either have to have doubled back to the real entryway to the cloister or gone on to the next intersection and tried to cut him off. If they were smart, they probably would have split up and done both. Percy fights to get across the traffic of the main street to a smaller one.

What if this was just a test? What if this is all another simulation?

It's too late for that. If it's a test, he failed. If it's a simulation, so be it. Then what he does now will make no difference anyway. But if this _is_ real, then the only way to go now is forward. The die is cast.

Why won't these people move??

The offshoot he has chosen appears to be one-way traffic only. A non-stop stream of tents come at him, and they refuse to make way. He can feel the universe re-directing him. Fine, he'll find another way. He gets back into the flow of the large street and makes haste to the next intersection.

How close is she?

Percy dares one look around, but feels foolish for taking the time. It's nearly impossible to distinguish one person from another here, even if the one he is looking for is particularly tall. He concentrates on just getting to the next alleyway. Stairs! It's almost too perfect. He dashes up them, taking them three at a time and holding his tent rig with his hands to try and keep the long garment out of the way of his feet.

I'm so hot. How long do I have to keep running?

He reaches the top of the stairs out of breath. If he wants to be sneaky instead of fast then he needs to blend in. Of course, he already blends in. But that doesn't mean he can't be recognized.

I need to lose the portrait.

But what if the people here really take this law seriously? Would it cause a scene if he had no portrait at all? And Patricia would probably not be fooled by that ruse - it would be just as easy to find the tent with no Face as the one with his Face.

Then I need a new Face.

That's the ticket, he needs a Face vendor. He remembers the market they passed - he can see the path they have taken so clearly in his mind. He needs to find another way back, but not along the same route. It shouldn't be too hard.

Do I need to keep running?

Yes, just go. He takes off at a light jog, which is really the most he can manage in the more crowded thoroughfares anyway. He tries to avoid the main streets, though he is thwarted more than once by an unspoken agreement the rest of populace has made on which of the smaller alleys are meant for one-way traffic only. Eventually he is just looking for the least crowded path, and he turns off into a nearly deserted little lane.

At last, he thinks he has gotten close to where they started. Just a right turn down the next alley and it should hopefully be long enough to take him to the market. He allows himself a minute to stop, and to breathe. He peeks around the corner, as if Chap might be waiting there for him. There's nobody there; just another small, abandoned passage. Disappointingly, it ends in a T-junction, rather than opening on the market. He thinks he can hear the crowds though, so he starts down it anyway.

It's funny. It feels as if he is suddenly going up a steep, steep hill. His breath gets short, and his thighs start to cramp.

What is happening to me?

He turns back, and finds he has only gone about ten meters down the alley. There is nothing special about it. It looks perfectly flat. He turns around and walks back to the entrance, and he can feel the pain subside a bit. Confused, he turns in circles. There is no one else back here, he can take his time. He tries to go back the way he came a bit, but again his chest and legs starts to seize.

What are they doing? What is happening??

Bewildered, he goes back the way he was originally walking, and there is sweet relief in his legs and chest. He comes to another fork in the road. Again, one branch causes him great distress, while the other feels normal.

The market is the other way though!

Does it matter? He's run far enough. There's no one in sight. Good lord it is hot in this harness after all that running. He doggedly shuffles down the path that feels easier.

This is turning away from the market, I'm going to go in circles.

There's no other way to go now, though. The alley traces a shallow curve, but does not split. Percy tries to turn around, but his head immediately starts to ache and he staggers against an invisible force. It's like he's trying to fight against a raging river - he's not only losing ground, but getting battered against the rocks as well.

There's always another option.

The alley does have backdoors to several buildings. Percy drags himself to the closest one and bangs on it. He's no longer sure he can make it to the market, at least not today. But maybe he can hide. Maybe somebody will take him in.

They're not coming. Nobody home.

Percy groans and moves onto the next door, and the next. By the fourth, he just heaves his weight against the frame. It causes a loud bang, but the heavy wood doesn't give way. He slumps to a sitting position.

The door opens. A tented figure peeks out, but then draws back.

"Help, please," Percy tries, but the figure does not respond. "Water?"

The tent doesn't appear to understand. It makes a series of musical whistling noises. Percy moans.

Why did I think anyone would understand me?

Of course, if they don't understand his words, they can't very well understand any gestures, not when he's completely covered like this. He lifts the tent off and tosses it aside.

The resident of the doorway makes an alarmed hooting sound and shrinks back. Percy tries to mime raising a glass of water to his lips, but his audience scurries away into the building.

"Come back!" Percy calls out. "Please!" With a great effort, he lifts himself and staggers through the unattended door. The heat is even worse in here than it is outside, although it's much darker. Percy feels like he's standing too close to an open flame. The air is dusty and full of strange smells that infiltrate his nostrils and start wreaking havoc in his sinuses.

You are trespassing too, don't antagonize them.

Percy puts his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender, and cautiously makes his way towards a room where he can see lights. He tries to keep talking as he goes.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry to intrude. I'm... lost," he admits. "I mean no harm. Just some water, maybe. Or directions."

It's SO hot. Chap, can you turn the heat down?

Chap's not here. No one appears to be here. Percy peeks into the lit room but nobody is there. There are pots and blankets and knick-knacks everywhere - on shelves, on the floor \- but no sign of life. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe he can just get through the house to a more public street where there will be more people to help him. He turns around.

There is a small, but sharp pain in his stomach. In the dim light he can see a shadow in front of him that is separate from the other shadows. His host. A cold is spreading from his abdomen down into his cramping thighs, and he sits down heavily. But his torso can't hold steady either, and he flops down onto his side. Shadows close in from all around, but the black mass in front of him is suddenly replaced by something worse. It appears to be all legs and spines and flaps that might be mouths, but no eyes, no eyes at all. Percy can't even begin to make sense of it. I took a wrong turn, he tries to explain.

It doesn't matter anymore. Chap? Can you hear me Chap?

### Chapter 19

"A Welcome Rest." At the age of thirteen, Percy assumed that was the origin of the name Welkinrest. The first book that mentioned it didn't have any pictures, but his imagination drew a portrait of a cozy hamlet in the wilderness. The one stop on a long trail where travelers could get together, sing songs, and get a good night's sleep on a stuffed mattress.

The truth was revealed just a couple years later, when he learned the etymology of "Welkin" connected it to the sky, or heaven. Welkinrest was named - by someone who appreciated this kind of archaic language, evidently - because it was at the base of the Brussa mountains that separated the coast of Sarrassas from its misty interior. The gigantic bubble of mist, being held back by the slopes of the mountains, must have made them think of the dome of the sky, and hence, Welkinrest was named, literally, for where the sky came to rest. This knowledge evoked a much different feeling in Percy, although not a worse one, per se. It colored Welkinrest as less friendly, but more epic and romantic. A fitting base camp for conquering adventurers.

But as the bedraggled trio of Percy, Azelle, and Rod trudge from the makeshift airfield towards the town, neither of these histories seem particularly apt. Fifteen years ago the best pictures of Welkinrest showed only a couple of unsteady looking shacks, but apparently that was the entire town! And in fifteen years, it has changed very little. Percy keeps expecting more of it to emerge beyond the next hill, but it never does. And it is certainly neither welcoming nor romantic.

A half dozen rough wooden buildings make up the center of the camp - to be honest, calling this place a "town" would be an insult to towns everywhere - but there are several dozen tents of various sizes extending out to the North, East, and West. On the South side of the town is a little stream, which is apparently small enough that no one has bothered to build a bridge, but large enough that no one has wanted to pitch their tent on the far bank. Percy expected that this would be their last night in a real bed, but instead it seems it will be their first night setting up their own tent. Disappointing. He is tired from another tumultuous - although much shorter - flight, and it's going to take at least a couple hours.

Fortunately, Rod and Azelle prove to be very helpful in this regard, despite the former's avowals that he rarely goes camping and the latter's constant questioning of Percy's decisions. They are set up well before sunset, in a spot Percy has picks out by the stream.

"Nice job!" he congratulates his teammates. He hopes his surprise doesn't come through with his appreciation. "Now we can start the fire and get dinner going before it gets dark."

"This might surprise you, but someone will actually cook for you at the Notch if you want," Azelle informs him. "Which I do. And I also want to freshen up before the night begins." She strips off her jacket to reveal a warm and sweaty looking layer of flannel beneath.

"Where?"

"What do you think, we've got a public bath? In the stream."

"Really?"

"Yes, really, don't tell me it's not ladylike. And don't worry, I'm going to find a nice secluded place with no lookie-loos." She assumes a frown of mock judgement. Rod looks at Percy. Percy tries to return an expression of _I don't know what she's talking about._

"All I meant was that it seems like it'll be cold..." Percy tries to explain, but she's already left. Rod nods in agreement anyway.

"Well, if we can save our food for later, let's do that," Percy declares. "And while we wait for her, I can test out the equipment."

Rod shrugs. He fishes a book out of his pack to suggest that he's not interested in helping.

So Percy unpacks his goggles, which have been fitted with inputs from both his echospect and his thermotracer. He puts on the body sensors the way Rod has showed him. He straps the pherotracer and the radio to his belt. He puts his waterproof layers on over top, as if he were headed out for real. Maybe it's because he can't wait to get started. He can see the swell of hills, and beyond them the misty figures of the mountains. He wants to start walking right now. But instead, he determines that he should walk away from the camp, and definitely away from the stream.

To avoid questions, he doesn't put the goggles on until he is out of sight of the encampment. He tries the echospect first. He's transported to a familiar dark green world of faint, pulsating lights. He adjusts the intensity to make them a bit brighter - everything of interest is quite far away here. He can almost feel the soft domes of the tents, and the firm turf of the hills. Beyond that, there's just a dark green void though. The mountains are too far away for the instrument to sense. _That's one difference between Sarrassas and the sewers,_ Percy thinks, _the wide open spaces._ He takes a deep, satisfying breath of cool air. And no stench, either.

He changes to the thermotracer, and scans the area. There are a few small yellow clouds outside the encampment, maybe small birds. The town itself has several dozen people moving about, which he didn't see in the fading twilight. Most are congregated in the middle buildings, although a few seem to have lit fires on the periphery. In the world of the goggles, the fires might as well be people too; people who never stop dancing. The are red and white and stronger than any of the pathetic orange and yellow blobs that huddle around them. They are the real life.

In the direction of the stream he sees a distant blob that may or may not be Azelle. _I AM the looky-loo after all,_ he thinks, though not with any real shame. To the thermotracer she would look exactly the same even with her clothes on. Hell, at this distance, the blob could be anybody. He still decides not to linger too long though.

He tries out the various sensors as well. They seem responsive. Air quality seems good. His heart rate seems healthy. It's fairly humid. He didn't really need any electronics for to know that, he realizes. As long as everything is going according to plan. He walks a bit farther to try and test the range of the radio.

"Hello?" Rod answers. He sounds surprised to get a call.

"Hey Rod, just testing out the radio."

"Ok."

"Thanks for picking up."

"Yup."

"Do you want to test your gear out? It's getting dark, it would be a good time to get used to it."

"It all turns on. I think you're wasting battery power out there."

"Good point," Percy replies, a bit hurt. It's sensible advice though. He tries to navigate back to their tents by just the light of the various fires, but he has to switch to the echospect a couple times to make sure the dark grass beneath him isn't hiding some kind of crevasse.

When he gets back, Rod is still reading. He informs Percy that Azelle has already come and gone. Rude. She acts like this is one of her old haunts, the least she could do is be their host for a night. But Rod takes him up on his invitation to find some food "in town."

It isn't difficult to find the establishment known as the "Notch." In fact, Percy doesn't even realize they're in the right place until they're inside. There is no sign on the outer door, but it's the only building in town with any lit lamps or sounds of people. It's actually fairly large; the ceilings are low but there are stools and tables for two dozen customers at least. None of the furniture matches each other. Only a couple of tables are occupied, so Percy tells Rod to pick one while he gets them drinks at the bar.

It turns out there is no specialized bartender, just an owner/host/waiter/barkeep who bustles back and forth from the kitchen to the tables with bowls of unknown delights. Percy has to give an embarrassing little cry to get this man's attention, so that he and Rod can get some service. The food options are limited: you can have stew, or you can have hard, thick biscuits, or you can have both. The drink options are only slightly better: there are half a dozen choices, but they're all cheap, nasty liquors. Percy splurges. The money he's brought with him isn't going to be much good in a few days, and here it goes a long way.

"Did you ever see yourself in a place like this?" he asks Rod.

"Nope," Rod replies, although it doesn't seem to Percy as if he really considered the question.

"I thought Azelle would be here," Percy admits. It is troubling that there are no other women in the tavern, maybe in the whole town. If he knew that was going to be the case, he probably wouldn't have let her walk off without them.

"Well, anyway, cheers." Percy puts up his glass, and Rod pick his up too. "What are we toasting?" Percy prompts.

"You're the one who said cheers," Rod points out.

"Fine. To a historic expedition!" They clink glasses. The liquor burns. Percy wolfs down some biscuit as a chaser, but then nearly chokes on that, too.

"I think we should get up early tomorrow," he posits, "so we can get a good look at the mountains and where the passes might be."

"In most places mist is worst in the morning," Rod points out.

"That's true, although in most places mist comes off the sea."

"Also, we're facing east, so the mountains will be backlit at sunrise."

"Well that's what I mean, that should give us the best idea of the high and low points."

Rod shrugs, forfeiting the argument. He isn't in the mood for conversation, it seems. Percy tries to throw a few softballs his way, but he barely bothers to swing. Percy is growing less sure about his plan to leave early the next morning anyway. Yes, he wants to set off as soon as possible so that they don't waste resources without making progress. But, he also wants to make sure to say goodbye to Azelle and go over the retrieval plan. She didn't demonstrate a propensity for getting up early in Bluberth, and it seems like she's planning on staying out late again tonight. She must be planning to come by the Notch at some point.

"Do you want to play cards?" Percy asks, desperate for something to do besides drink.

"I don't have any."

"No," he gestures towards the other table, "with them."

"What if they already have enough?"

"They have five. There's no game in the world you can play with five that you can't play with seven," Percy says confidently. Frankly, he's not an expert on card games of the world, but he knows they're not playing Hearts or Bridge.

Rod doesn't give an answer. Percy stands up anyway and swaggers over to the other table. Maybe it's the rusticity of the bar or the potency of the drink, but he feels like a goddamn cowboy in a classic picture. He stands there the way he thinks men in bars on the frontier out to stand, as if someone is in his seat and he's waiting for them to apologize.

Instead, the card players ignore him, until he finally has to announce his presence with an unapologetic "excuse me." They look up at him with bleary-eyed confusion.

"Would you mind if my friend and I joined you? We're just bored to death."

Three of the men seem dubious, but the other two share a quick glance and a smile which Percy may not have been meant to see. "Sure thing, pull up a chair," one of them answers.

"You ever play before?" One of the other, less enthusiastic men asks. He seems suspicious that the newcomers are going to ruin their game with a lot of questions about rules.

"Well I don't actually know what you're playing," Percy explains, "but I reckon I've seen it before." He gestures for Rod to come over and bring the chairs, even though that's unnecessary. The bar is nearly empty, and Rod can surely hear everything that's been said.

"We are playing for money," says another of the less happy trio.

"Well what's money good for out here, besides losing it?" _Who is he talking like?_ Percy's subconscious must have internalized some frontier caricature and saved it for years just to embarrass him today.

A couple of the men grunt, possibly in approval. It turns out Percy does know the game, and fortunately Rod does as well. He hasn't played since the latter years of Hart, when card games suddenly became all the rage among the older boys, but Percy remembers it being one of the fastest and least fun ways to lose your stipend. But it is a game of both luck and strategy, and he at least thinks he can recall some of the latter.

Within a couple rounds he's in a hole though, and even though the stakes are meager he decides not to put more money in, switching to a conservative strategy just to keep a spot at the table. It doesn't feel worth it, really. These men all seem to agree with Rod's table manners: everything that can be done in silence should be done in silence. He doesn't learn a damn thing about any of them except their names, which have to be painfully extracted from them one by one over the course of the game.

He gets about six or seven drinks in before he loses the rest of the money he put up. He watches with jealousy for a few rounds. Somehow Rod's stack has tripled in size. Was that his money? He can't remember losing any hands to Rod but hell, it's his indirectly, at least. He puts down a few more bills to rejoin the game.

"Haven't you had enough?" the richest man says with a smile, even as he deals Percy his cards. His name is... what was it? Something drab and monosyllabic. Jord? Maybe it was George.

"Never. Gotta spend money to make money."

"That's dumb," one of the others spits, "you work to make money."

"Different strokes," Percy slurs. "That's true though, I work. Do you work?"

"I used to work," the man replies, "now I hunt. And I fish. And I... trap."

"Actually, I _used_ to work, too," Percy corrects himself, happy to find some common ground. "Now, I _explore_." He hiccups, daintily, and tries to force his mouth shut.

"Ah, I figured you were just passing through," the man who might be called Jord says, "that's why we don't feel bad taking your money." He grins at his companions, who seem to beyond the point of appreciating such jokes.

"Well that doesn't explain why you're donating so much to my friend," Percy retorts. "You'll have to send that back to Bluberth to be put in the bank, Rod."

"Are you a _banker_??" asks one of the other men, visibly addled and clearly no fan of banks.

"Coney ain't a fan of bankers," Jord clarifies. Rod looks at Percy with mild confusion.

"Nobody is a banker," Percy backpedals. "There are no bankers here. Heck, there's no banks here. Actually..." he struggles to recall what they had just been talking about, "actually I think that's the point I was trying to make."

"Well there ain't going to b _e_ a bank," Coney says crossly. He smushes his little pile of bills and coins together, as if protecting them from Percy.

"Oh, watchu gonna do about it, Coney?" sneers another one of the men. This leads to a ferocious bout of bickering between the five regulars which Percy struggles to follow. Their curses are so inspired and imaginative that they're practically speaking a different language. All the men besides Jord are obviously sloshed; one of them has to hold onto the table in order to not be knocked over by the force of the epithets he is spitting. Percy wonders abstractly if what seems so important to these men is of any importance to him.

Then he realizes he has lost the hand to Jord again, and with it, his remaining money. Jord cackles in delight.

"Come on back anytime, Perky!" He lets out a whoop that goes unnoticed by the other men, who are struggling to their feet.

"Yeah, well... well I think it's time we bed down," Percy says to Rod. He still has a little bit of money secreted away, but he feels if Jord can smell it. He wants to be out of here, now. Two hours ago would've been even better. Rod appears to agree, as he is already stuffing his winnings into his pockets. Percy's not even waiting for him, he's just shuffling for the door as fast as he can without falling.

Just as he reaches for it, it swings inwards violently, nearly smashing him in the teeth. Percy reels backwards, fearing that this is a new roughneck ready to take advantage of him. But out of all the ridiculous possibilities, Azelle is standing there, with a gaunt, handsome man that Percy has never seen before.

"Guess who I ran into!" she says cheerily. Percy is dumbfounded. He can't possibly guess. Nothing sounds more difficult than a guessing game right now. His mind feels like it has finished a marathon and been told to keep running.

"Was it ...was it me?" he mumbles.

### Chapter 20

His mouth is dry, as dry as it could possibly be.

His eyes are heavy, far too heavy to open.

He is sliding, headfirst, backwards, downwards.

He tries to grab a hold to stop himself, but his arms will not move. He can't even feel if he has arms anymore.

His mouth is sealed with mortar, as firm and inflexible as a thousand year old brick wall.

The slide continues; he can feel his stomach and his intestines pressing upwards, falling into his throat.

He pictures a geyser in his mind, a terrible, wonderful jet of thousands and thousands of gallons of water exploding out of the ground, rushing past him, and dissipating in the sky. Lost forever.

What a waste. He needs some of that water.

It feels like it takes a tremendous amount of willpower, but Percy opens his eyes. _Stop being such a baby_ he tells himself. He can see a vertical surface, with a pitcher glued to its flank. Percy waits for the water to pour out of the pitcher, to see that glorious arc that liquid can't help but make. But the water stays where it is. He feels like he is being poured out of the pitcher instead.

Then he realizes the pitcher must be upright. He is horizontal. His head must be twisted to the side and he must on his back. This realization starts to make his neck ache. And still the pitcher teases him, with its uprightness. _Laugh now, pitcher,_ he thinks, _because if we ever trade places, I'm going to drink every goddamn drop out of you._

What else can he see? His head won't move, but he rolls his eyes around the scene to try to pick out details. There are gray walls. An even duller, flatter, less interesting gray than the slate blue of his room. How depressing. There are wires running along some of them in neat, organized lines. And in the far corner there is something else.

Eyes.

_Shit, am I still drunk?_ Is his first thought. The eyes in the wall scan the room purposefully, just as he did. Then they move, not just in the socket, but they actually hop a couple of centimeters to the left. A large, amorphous patch of wall moves with them. _A toad-shaped patch of wall,_ he thinks, although he couldn't tell you what shape a toad normally takes. Toads don't even get that big. And they don't change color to blend in with their surroundings. But there was something that did.

It was that Lafa...thing. The Pesh, that's what he had called it! Horror of horrors, was it still waiting for a chance to strike? Could he _be_ more helpless right now? Was it going to devour him, piece by piece, while he watched?

No, it just sat there.

Where were the toga and the lamppost, those constant nuisances? _Chap,_ he wanted to call out, _pour some water in my mouth._ They said they wanted to help but all they did was torture him. And now, when he needed someone to reach that pitcher, they abandoned him.

Except that he had run away, hadn't he? Had he escaped them and not the Pesh? He couldn't make any sense of it. But they were never beholden to logic before, why would they start observing it now.

"You're awake," a voice says. It is as matter-of-fact as Chap, but it's not his voice.

Yes, Percy thinks, but he doesn't manage to say it.

"You're unresponsive."

_Thanks for that,_ Percy says to himself, bitterly. _A whole lot of help you are._ _Have you come just to state the obvious for me because I can't? A brilliant new form of abuse!_

"You need more water." And yet the pitcher doesn't move. The owner of the voice must be doing something, because it takes a break from forcing its inanity upon him.

_God damn you,_ he thinks. _If you're going to go around stating anything that is self-evident, it could at least be something helpful. Is Patricia here? Or maybe, where are we? Do I even have a body anymore because it sure doesn't feel like it._ He rolls his eyes downwards as far as he can, until they begin to water. He thinks he can see the soft outline of his shoulder, but it appears to be covered in a blue-grey, furry garment.

Oh god no, he thinks. He remembers his image in the mirror, his precious body permeated with tiny stalks, used as food for that heedless, all-consuming grass. _Am I still that monster?_

"You're going to need more sleep," the voice informs him, rather than answering.

### Chapter 21

"Where's Max?"

"Whaddya mean? I'm sure he just went to get a drink of something."

Percy stares hard into the dark, while trying to shade his eyes from the fire. There are dimly lit, dancing bodies out there, and even though they are indistinguishable from each other, he's sure Max isn't among them. He wouldn't be dancing.

"Or maybe he's dancing," Jason says, as if they've been thinking the same thing.

"I doubt it."

Jason turns back to the bonfire, and holds a skinny piece of driftwood over it, trying to get it to catch, perhaps. Percy continues to look around.

"It feels like he's been gone for awhile," he points out.

"Yeah. He can take care of himself though."

Percy snorts, but then feels bad about it. "I just... didn't think he would want to explore on his own."

"Maybe you've rubbed off on him." Percy turns to look at Jason, who continues to stare into the fire. He tosses his piece of wood in, and it causes a spray of sparks to leap and dance away into the night. One lands right on his cheek and glows for a moment before dying away, but he doesn't even flinch.

"Really. You think?"

"Yeah. You know, graduation's coming up, and I think he knows that we're not going to be housemates forever. You're always talking about the places you want to go and the gear you wish you could buy and I bet it's gotten him thinking about stuff like that. You know, what do _I_ want to do. He's too smart not to be thinking about it."

"Maybe, but his thing probably isn't dancing with strangers at night. I thought he would need us if he was gonna, you know, make that leap."

"You thought he needed us. I get that."

"I thought we needed each other," Percy corrects himself. He should give Max more credit. Once they could have talked him into going anywhere with them, and he'd thought Max had only agreed to this trip under duress. But maybe he'd secretly wanted to come, and to find the opportunity to explore by himself. Maybe Theo had been rubbing off on him as well, despite his best efforts.

"Yeah, well... 'need' is a pretty strong word," Jason points out.

Percy looks over at his friend again, but Jason doesn't meet his gaze. He's looking upwards now, watching the sparks until they disappear into the sky. Somewhere there must be music playing. The ocean must be close by as well. But all Percy can hear is the crackling of the kindling.

"Is something bothering you, Perk?"

"No." What is bothering him? There a sense of approaching finality that he cannot shake. It must be because he'll be leaving Hart. Moving to a new city, probably, or perhaps worse, going back home to Delacroix. Going to interviews with more at stake than ever before. It's a lot to think about, or rather to not think about, which he would prefer. "It just feels weird to be starting over. In the 'real world'."

Jason nods. "I know what you mean. The great unknown. I thought you'd be excited about that though. They say life is a journey, just pretend you're... filling out the map of your own life."

"That is the corniest shit I have ever heard."

"Thanks, it felt good coming out."

"I think I've been having a lot of anxiety about interviews," Percy tries to explain. More to himself than to Jason. "I've been having weird dreams."

"Where you're interviewed?"

"Not exactly. Sometimes."

"Are you in your underwear?"

"No! Actually, maybe. Sometimes that as well. They're always different, but there's always someone asking me questions, and I don't know the answers. And they're not regular people, they're _super weird_ people. And I'm like, 'I don't know what you want, weirdo!'"

"Regular people _are_ weird, man, get used to it. Maybe if they all seem weird to you, then you're the weird one."

"That would also be a problem."

"Here, describe one to me. What can you remember?"

Percy tries. A multitude of images come rushing at him, but they're hopelessly jumbled.

"I think... Theo was asking me about a trip? We were on a beach."

"Oh yeah, super weird," Jason says, sarcastically, "that probably happened yesterday."

"No, but, he was like, in a suit, and he owned a hotel?" Percy decides to try to latch onto something else..

"There was a woman, in robes. She was very tall. And she wanted to know what I thought of some fountain."

"All right, getting weirder. That could be a childhood memory or something though."

"Are you majoring in psychology now? Anybody's dreams sound stupid if you try to explain them," Percy pouts.

"Go on, tell me another one."

"No."

Jason accepts this, and sits, ruminating. Percy tries to think of a new subject, but he can't seem to concentrate on anything real. Although he refuses to speak them out loud, Jason has managed to draw his lost dreams out of his subconscious and they have hijacked his train of thought. Fountains, flying, falling. His mother, mountains, darkness.

At long last Jason speaks again, this time in a soft whisper, as if he didn't mean for Percy to hear it: "'My troublous dreams this night doth make me sad.'"

"What? Is that Shakespeare?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you never paid attention in that class."

"But you, you listened well. A repetition of the watchword sparks a quick recall."

"Now _you're_ being weird."

Jason finally turns to look at him. The fire casts shadows across his features, transforming them. His face is darkened, and reddish, like meat glazed for hours over coals. There is an illusion of a thick black beard covering his neck and upper lip. His eyes are glassy, obscured orbs, crystal balls in which Percy can only see his own apprehension.

"Jase?" he whispers, nervously.

"A dream itself is but a shadow, Perk."

### Chapter 22

"Glad you could join us, Perk," Azelle calls to him. She is in an especially cheery mood this morning. Percy, on the other hand, feels like he's been dragged out of the rapids of a river of mash liquor. Maybe there is a correlation between the two.

Azelle has set up a fire large enough for half a dozen pans to be cooking at once. She probably had help, because there are half a dozen people that Percy does not know sitting around it, keeping warm in the damp, chilly morn. One of them he should know, he knows that they were introduced before. There is no room next to Azelle, so Percy sits down next to this gangly, dark-haired man.

"Remind me, what's your name?"

"Brant. August Brant," the man replies, without any hint of resentment that Percy has forgotten. "You can just call me Brant."

"Will do."

"And you. Perk?" He seems skeptical that this a name at all.

"Yup."

"Well I guess I should be thanking you, Perk, for bringing us a pilot."

"Hm? Are you going somewhere?"

"Yeah, home," Brant laughs. It's a long, drawn out laugh, full of relief.

"That's too bad, I could use a couple more sets of hands," Percy replies. Brant laughs even more merrily at this, which is a bit concerning. Wheels are turning in Percy's mind, but it feels like a couple of the gears have gone missing.

"Maybe another time," Brant says, "I don't think any of us are looking for another trip into the bush right now."

"Oh, so you..." Percy trails off. Azelle is cheerily joking with the other men and women like they are old friends. One of them is taking a pan out of the fire and distributing fat links of sausage. Links that he had been planning to save for a treat for himself - and maybe Rod - when the going got tough. These people were going home! They could buy their own sausages there. But that would be a terribly selfish argument to make. They do look thin, and pitiful. They look as if the cold is cutting them straight to the bone, even though they are all bundled up in multiple blankets.

"So you just got in from the bush? How long were you gone?" he asks Brant.

"I kind of lost track of time, I'm ashamed to say." Brant takes a sausage and bites it in half. He looks into the middle distance, savoring and calculating at the same time. "Today's the 16th of October?"

"I think so."

Brant exhales audibly. "Almost seven months then, I suppose."

Percy sets down the sausage he had been about to bite. _"Seven months??"_

"Mmhmm," Brant mumbles around the other half of the sausage. "It wasn't supposed to be that long, of course. But! We found it."

Percy shivers. _It?_ He is hit with a wave of excitement and a pang of jealousy. It doesn't really matter what these folks were looking for, all that matters is that there is a story of success from the wilds of Sarrassas. That could be him. Maybe they had even set up a base camp from which he could work.

" _What_ did you find?"

Brant looks at him quizzically, as if this was an inappropriate question. He looks to Azelle on his other side, who has started eavesdropping on them. She's more than happy to butt in, of course.

"Are you serious? They found another port. They were here for the same reason you are, dummy."

"Well, it's not exactly a port," Brant corrects her. "It's more of a large cove. There's a shore suitable for small planes, but the rocks surrounding it in the ocean would make it difficult..." Percy is not listening to him anymore. It all makes sense, and yet it makes no sense at all. They've come three thousand miles looking for a safe harbor, only for someone else to find it _on the day of their arrival?_ Maybe he isn't understanding correctly. He prays that he isn't.

"So," he interrupts whatever Brant is explaining, "where is this cove? On the other side of the continent?"

"What? No, it's just down the coast. I shouldn't say 'just'; it's a pretty long trek."

"So you didn't go over the mountains."

"No, that was never the plan. Have you been over those mountains? There's nothing there, just miles and miles of spider grass. And mist. We knew it was more likely that along the coast there would either be a harbor for ships, or at least a place where pilots could navigate."

Percy could question that logic if he liked. Surely all the ships that had gone up and down this coast would have found any suitable inlets already. But mostly he feels relief that Brant has not already mapped out the Brussa basin. That's his territory. He is already thinking of it that way.

"Well, I'm sure there's more to it than that," he says smugly. "Rod and I will find out soon."

"Will we?" Percy turns to find that Rod has sat down behind them. He's looking to Azelle for answers.

"I don't think so," she assures him. "Captain Brant's crew have already found the treasure, boys. We can all get back on the plane today and go home."

"But... then we won't get paid!" Percy protests. They must understand that, at least.

"They paid your half up front, didn't they? Sounds like plenty just for taking a ride in my wonderful aircraft. We should all be so lucky."

"It'll be four rides," Percy grimaces. "I'm sure there's... more surveying that needs to be done around this cove anyway, right Brant?" He looks to the thin man hopefully.

"I suppose," Brant muses, "but if I understand the situation, you won't see any money from Mogogo just for that. Sorry," he adds, a bit sheepishly.

"And I'm not flying you down there," Azelle puts in.

"What?" Percy is unwilling to give credence to this laziness. "How else are you supposed to know if there's really enough runway then? You're just going to take their word for it?"

"First off," Azelle says, straightening up, "yes, I _would_ take Brant's word for it. Second, there are five other witnesses who back it up. But most importantly, that's not what I'm being paid to do either. I'm supposed to be back in Bluberth the day after tomorrow for my next assignment."

"Well, then..." Percy is running out of arguments.

"And you don't want to walk it," Brant says, as if sensing where Percy's mind is going. "You really, _really_ don't."

"Fine." It's not fine, of course. Of all the possible obstacles that Percy foresaw between him his goal, he never thought the goal itself would disappear. They're all looking at him as if expecting more of a fight, but he's not going to give it to them. He needs time, time to think.

"You know Brant," Azelle is saying, "there were some people back home who thought you might be 'taking a Whitmore,' if you know what I mean." He seems confused, like he genuinely doesn't.

"Like you had some gambling debts or something and didn't want to come back," Azelle clarifies.

"Oh!" he laughs, "you know me, I've got nothing to hide." He winks at her, charmingly.

"Can I at least see your charts?" Percy interrupts.

Brant and his cartographer - a woman named Helen - are perfectly accommodating in this regard. Azelle has probably put in a good word for him, to assure them that he has Mogogo's blessing. Their cove isn't really impressive to Percy. It is small, and as Brant said, it would be a disastrous place to try to take anything larger than a sailboat. The trail they took is fairly daunting though, if they've marked it correctly. An offshoot of the Brussas runs down to the sea, creating a series of small fjords that must have made tracing the coast quite frustrating and strenuous. _A hard road to take for a meager_ return he thinks haughtily, but he can't help but respect it.

What _is_ interesting is that they have gone to the trouble to do reliefs of some of the main chain of mountains as well. It fits with the maps that Percy has seen before, though it has more detail of their immediate surroundings. The course of the river from Welkinrest up to the range, the highest peaks, the lowest passes between them. He stares at it until he has it memorized, which doesn't take long. He closes his eyes and makes sure he can hold it in his mind's eye.

The breakfasters are still sitting around the campfire when he returns, apparently determined to make the meal more of a brunch. Maybe nobody else is that eager to ride in Azelle's flying toaster either.

"Would anybody at least like to go for a hike with me?" he asks the assembled company. It's a real shame, he explains, to come all this way and not at least get a taste of the wild country. Brant's crew beg off, with good reason, but Percy is pleased that Azelle and Rod agree to join him. Maybe it's pity, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that they're packing their bags. Percy is going to be damned if he doesn't see the other side of those mountains.

They set off in the mid-morning. Percy packs everything he has in his backpack, including the tent and the electronics.

"So I'll know how it actually feels like to tote this much crap around. For next time," he explains to Rod, unconvincingly. "And only a fool would leave their valuables unguarded all day around a place like Welkinrest," he adds. This seems to sway the young man, who also puts his smallest, priciest sensors in his pack before they leave.

Azelle, traveling with little more than several bags of water, asks where they're headed, and Percy explains they should be able to reach the shallowest ridge of the Brussa Mountains and make it back before sunset. "We should get a good view of the legendary grass plains of Sarrassas. It's so close, we might as well."

"Ah yes, the grasses of Sir-asses," she sings, mispronouncing the name on purpose. He scowls.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she teases, "the grah-sis of Sarrassas." Her buoyancy is irrepressible, almost palpable. It makes for irritating conversation, but decent hiking speed.

They follow the river upstream, and whenever it forks Percy declares a water break. He stands, surveying the landscape, and picturing Helen's map in his mind. By the time they're all done drinking, he is ready to declare which direction they should take. If Azelle and Rod are skeptical of this method of navigation, they keep it to themselves.

It is in the hottest part of the day, after the sun has escaped from the misty East and just passed overhead, that they really begin to feel the incline of the land. They leave what little remains of the river to make directly for the shortest, closest ridge. Perhaps it would be easier going if they were to serpentine back and forth, but Percy goes straight up the mountainside and neither Rod nor Azelle complain about this either. Perhaps they would have been good travelling companions after all. What a waste.

A couple of times, when they stop to drink water now, Azelle asks Percy with some growing concern how much further it will be. He assures her that they are on track, that it won't be long, and that they'll be home for dinner. She is flushed and pink, and her hair is matted to the sides of her head by her sun hat. They are all sweating profusely now, for though the day is neither cold nor warm it is extremely humid.

At last they reach a rocky ridge; a place with a view. Percy gets there first and stands in silence while the others catch up. The breeze coming from the other side of the mountains is surprising, and refreshing. It feels like triumph.

"It looks like the ocean," Azelle observes.

Percy doesn't reply, but she's right. It has the magnificence and the disappointment of a foggy day on the beach. The mist forms an impenetrable wall of obfuscation, like a mirror after a hot shower. All they can see below them is the suggestion of a dark blue-green field. It extends in all directions. This is the spider grass, Percy knows, even if they can't see it clearly. When they get bored of looking at mist, Percy gives each of them a turn with the echospect, which reveals that there is, indeed, nothing else out there to see. Even on a clear day there would be nothing but unending, undulating waves of needle-thin plants.

They can't stand there forever, Percy knows that. On the way back nobody is as chatty as before, even as the slope gradually becomes easier and easier. He shows Azelle that they can see the tents of Welkinrest using the echospect and the people inside them with the thermotracer. There is no chance of getting lost in this open country even if night falls.

"Are you glad to be heading home?" She asks him at one point. He shrugs, noncommittally. Rod may be rubbing off on him.

She chuckles. "I didn't expect so. But I have to say I'm relieved."

"You're relieved Brant is back, too."

"Yeah, I am. It was... not easy to be the last one to have seen them."

"I expect not."

"And then we were going to do it all again? I thought I might have to quit if they kept sending me out to do this."

Again, Percy can't do more than grunt in response.

"And I'm glad this isn't the last I'll see of you two," she says, kindly.

They arrive back at camp after dark, but the fire created by Brant's crew is easy to spot. They eat the rest of the special sausages. There's no use saving them. A couple of Brant's crew and Azelle decide to hit the bar, but Percy and Rod beg off. Even now the mention of liquor gives Percy a headache. He rebuilds his tent instead, and lies on his bedroll in the dark, listening to the faint sounds of insects in the night.

_Taking a Whitmore._ He's never heard that phrase before, probably because no one in the world had ever been so flippant with Anita Whitmore's disappearance. But he knew what it meant instantly, and it's been rolling around in his head all day. He can't remember what she was rumored to be avoiding, but it's not that implausible that she simply wanted to stay, is it? He, for one, didn't have much to go back to. No official job, no girlfriend, not even an apartment anymore. Maybe she found herself in the same boat. And there are some men who are making a good go of it out here, even if they do smell of liquor and have paranoid fantasies about banks. Percy doesn't really know how to hunt, but surely his gear would give him a competitive advantage. He tries to imagine using the thermotracer to stalk rabbits at night.

He has just started to drift into the state where he is not sure if he is awake or asleep when the tent slowly unzips. His heart leaps in his chest. Is this real or imagined? His first thought is that Jord and his friends have come to rob him. He opens his eyes, although he forces the rest of his body to stay perfectly still. There is a head and shoulders leaning in, a person on all fours.

"Perk?" she says softly, "are you awake?"

"I am now," he whispers, raising himself on his elbows.

Azelle crawls in without further invitation. Is she drunk? She seems coordinated enough. He can't smell any alcohol on her, just the traces of sweat.

She brings her face right up close to his so he can see the outline, even in the pitch black. He imagination fills in the freckles. Their cheeks brush, and then their mouths. For once, she isn't derisive, or haughty, or loud. Her voice is whisper-quiet, but kind and encouraging. He helps her out of her jacket in the tight confines of the tent, and then reaches beneath her shirt for her waist. The heat of her skin in intense, like a flame into which he's been dared to hold his hand. He can feel his face burning too. He imagines how they would look on the thermotracer, a pair of bright red and white stars merging into one.

### Chapter 23

That never happened.

Percy awakens, drenched in sweat. He looks around for Azelle in a panic, but she isn't there.

Neither is his sleeping bag. Neither is his tent. Neither is Welkinrest.

He can still hold the dream, almost. He can almost feel the warmth of skin against skin. He can almost hear her voice.

But that's what it was, a dream. It is a sensation he has felt ten thousand times in his life, and it is unmistakable.

Was it real at all? Part of it was. He is just as sure about that. The view from the top of the ridge was, he can remember that even now. It was not how he had pictured it beforehand. In his imagination the mist was not nearly as thick, and the grass was not nearly as... blue. The black and white pictures in the newspapers hadn't been able to make that clear. He had seen the grasses of Sarrassas in person, he was certain of that.

But THAT never happened.

"That" being Azelle, in his tent. He would have remembered that. He would remember _all_ of that, he is sure. That would be _the episode_ he would remember about her. She would be Azelle-who-visits-the-tent-at-night rather than Azelle-who-pokes-fun-at-everything-you-do. No, somewhere the dream had gotten off the rails; at some point it had gone from memory to fantasy.

And the other part... did he attend a bonfire on the beach in Silversita? Percy thinks he did, but doesn't remember having a heart to heart with Jason there. The simple explanation is often the right one: that was a fantasy too, the result of his subconscious mashing together pockets of time that were meant to remain distinct.

But then, where is he now? If those were dreams, then _this, here and now,_ is most assuredly reality. Reality is a small gray room. Reality is a bed. Reality is a pitcher of water on the bedside table. Reality is a low ceiling, not a sky full of stars. Reality is another dour hotel room in a long, grim parade. Reality is being alone. Reality is boring. Reality is a set of tubes, running from the wall to his arm and chest. Reality is...

He lifts up his arm before his eyes. Reality is spider grass, growing right out of his arm. A familiar panic starts to close his throat. He lifts up his other arm inspect it, as if having only one mutilated appendage would be better than two. No luck - this one has no tubes but it is still covered in grass. He lifts up the bedsheet, revealing the complete and utter subjugation of his body. Breath is hard to come by now; his mouth feels like it is having all the moisture sucked out of it. He fumbles for the pitcher of water, but the tubes tug at his arms and he comes up short, bumping it instead of grabbing it. It falls as if in slow motion, down to the floor.

He can't even see it shatter from the bed, but he hears it. He can imagine the glass broken into a thousand pieces, but strangely, he is more upset over the water. _There will be other pitchers,_ he thinks, _but what a waste of water._ It makes no sense, really. He is about to call for help, but the room is suddenly alive. Lights turn on without warning, and the door bursts open.

"Watch out for the glass!" Percy starts to shout, but it's not people. They're robots, like Chap. Or, at least, one of them is tall and thin like Chap, the others are little trash cans on wheels. They rush in confidently and efficiently, and Percy can hear them vacuuming around and underneath the bed. The bustle and noise cause a patch of wall in the corner to change color and coalesce into a giant purple toad, which hops anxiously onto a shelf, knocking over a box of some small plastic instruments. This leads to more bustle and vacuuming.

_What in the hell is that thing_? None of this is helping him calm down. But now the tall lamppost robot is addressing him, cutting off his train of thought.

"You are awake," it states. Unbelievable. Chap would be more helpful than this imposter. It is built like Chap, but the face is different: paler, and slightly more feminine to Percy's eye.

"Obviously. And I'm sorry about that." It feels important to admit his conspicuous guilt before the robot points it out for him.

"You will be given more water," it assures him, which is nice. He wants to ask about the toad, but it has disappeared from the shelf now. _Is he the only one who can see it?_

"You have a visitor," the lamppost continues, and then rolls out of the room, followed by its entourage of trash cans. Visitors? That sounds nice. But also, potentially ominous. Percy tries to remember how he got here, but it's like trying to find where he left off in a book that he hasn't picked up in years. Different scenes present themselves as options, but none of them include this room, and these tubes, and these helpers.

He tries to calm down. Maybe he can work forwards instead of backwards. The dream comes to mind. It is a memory, or at least part of it is. He closes his eyes, and tries to visualize the mountains, Azelle, Rod, and the grasses of Sarassas.

The mist forms an impenetrable wall of obfuscation, like a mirror after a hot shower. All he can see is white up above him, and a dark blue-green below, extending in all directions.

" _It, um, looks like the ocean," Azelle observes. Percy can tell she's reaching for something nice to say._

" _And like the ocean, we've barely scratched the surface," he replies. "Did you know that the expedition that holds the record for venturing furthest East from these mountains happened over ten years ago? They never found anything besides grass. And just because we haven't found anything of use to us, we've basically all given up on it."_

" _Honestly? That seems like a pretty good reason to me."_

He stares off into the distance, as if waiting for the mist to disappear on its own. He can feel their inattention; their impatience. Azelle is looking back the way they came. Rod is shambling along the ridge, looking at rocks. They probably think he's a dope for wanting to come here. After all, there's nothing to see.

" _Hey, come check this out," Rod calls. He is standing by a boulder that comes up to his shoulders. The eastern face is rounded, but the side facing west is flat and jagged, as if it has been broken apart. Azelle and Percy join him, indifferently._

" _Whoa, are those drawings?" Azelle asks._

" _Pictograms, they're usually called," Percy explains, "but, yes, drawings. They're not natural rock formations."_

" _Listen, I don't need your sass -"_

" _I wasn't trying to," Percy assures her. He leans close. There's three of them, each no more than ten centimeters wide. The man with the feather on his head. The sunburst. The zigzag he always thinks of as a snake, but supposedly means river. This specimen seems to end in a spiral, which is unusual. He should have paid more attention to the pictograms in his research, maybe._

" _What do they mean?"_

" _Frankly, I don't know," he admits, straightening up. "Although that one is similar to 'river', which makes sense. And that one's 'Man', I guess? 'Sun'?"_

" _If they were just drawing the things they could see, you'd think they'd have included a mountain," Azelle quips._

" _It doesn't look like a sun to me," Rod contributes, "more like a... fountain."_

" _Really? I'd say it's a flower."_

" _Well, a fountain from overhead." Rod makes a gesture like a water rising and blooming outwards._

Azelle cocks her head to the side, even though the pictogram is radially symmetric. "You're crazy," Azelle concludes.

" _It looks to me like you are making strides."_ Patricia is here; he can recognize her voice and inflections. He opens his eyes to find her inspecting the tubes and their connections to the wall. He hopes he didn't accidentally pull any out trying to reach the pitcher.

"I'm glad to see you," he admits.

" _You weren't grateful for my company_

The last time we conversed together, though."

"...oh?" Percy remembers being angry with her, but that's happened more than once, surely.

" _You ran away as if you were on fire."_

Of course, the city. He can feel his ragged breathing as he runs. The heat, trapped by his funereal shroud. The buildings closing in, reducing the alley to a vise. But he _had_ escaped. They must have recaptured him, after all.

"Is this my punishment?" he gestures at the plain grey walls. "You changed the wall color and took away my little fountain?" He scoffs. He means to show how little he cares, but instead it sounds weak and petulant. It is hard to feel stoic and in control when Patricia exudes those qualities so effortlessly. Percy wishes that, just once, she would get angry with him. Irrationally angry, just so he could be the cool and collected one.

" _I wouldn't say it is a punishment._

Although if you believe in providence

Beyond our comprehension maybe you'd

Attribute this to your God's chastisement."

"Well, I don't, so I won't. But it sure sounds like you're blaming me, anyway." All Patricia gives is a slight shrug. "Just tell me, was the city real? It was so... strange."

" _The city is as real as this room."_

"That doesn't exactly answer my question," Percy discerns. He can't explain it, but the city felt more real than anything else. The mobs of people, the dusty alleys - he can picture the life of the city continuing in his absence. It is his own body that feels like a fraud, like a marionette. It reacts in ways he can't anticipate. He can still feel the awful seizure of his muscles in the back alleys, a sensation that has no place in his reality. They are toying with him.

"It was an awful experience, in case you care. Whatever you did to me."

" _If you had only stayed with Chap and I..."_ Percy thinks he can see a rare, unthinkable frustration in the jutting of Patricia's chin.

"Don't you scold me," he snarls. His frustration rises, hoping to stoke hers. "All you do is find new things for me to screw up. Oh Percy, fly this plane - whoops, why did you crash it? Oh Percy, remember this fountain? No? I'm so disappointed!" Patricia seems a little taken aback, but that only encourages him to keep going.

"Oh Percy, don't run off or you'll run into the invisible traps we've laid and we'll have to put tubes in your arms!"

" _The flow is always there; it's not a trap."_

"Then why didn't you warn me about it!?"

" _For months we have been trying to explain!"_ Patricia sighs, and crouches. The crackle of irritation and resentment still surrounds her, but she is looking at him with pity as well. That might be even worse.

" _You simply don't appear equipped to feel_

The flow as we can feel it. I have tried

To understand how this can be but you

Are rare and challenging in this regard.

The burden we must bear together is

To understand each other's weaknesses."

"I just..." Percy lays back to rest on his pillows. The arguing has given him a headache. "I'm not a child," he pouts. "Just try to explain it to me, I'll listen."

" _You often listen but you don't recall."_

"Please? I think I'm getting better at remembering. Obviously I can't control that, though."

She nods, although it doesn't seem like she's convinced. _"I'll go ask Chap to teach a lesson, yes?"_

"No," Percy tries to grab her hand, but the tubes tug at his arm. He manages to get a handful of cloth. "Not Chap. You explain it."

" _I'm not prepared to answer everything -"_

"It doesn't matter. His answers don't answer anything. I want to hear you explain the flow to me."

She crouches down besides his bed, and Percy tries to turn onto his side to face her. It takes a good deal of wiggling before he can make himself comfortable.

" _Alright,"_ she sighs, _"now where do I begin with this?_

We know of many natural effects

Which particles may have upon each -"

"No," Percy interrupts, "this is the Chap explanation. I can tell you're just paraphrasing what he would say."

" _You're right. This isn't my department, though."_ She thinks upon the problem.

" _Imagine a small fish within a stream._

She knows where she would like to go but yet

The water's stronger than this little fish.

If she swims one direction then it helps,

But in the other then it holds her back.

And can you tell her why the water flows?"

Patricia stops, and he realizes the question is not rhetorical. Percy is starting to feel sleepy again, but he refocuses.

"No?" he says, "because I can't talk to fish?"

" _Your reasoning is wrong and yet you're right._

You know the water flows because the land

Is slanted. Not the riverbed itself;

The larger landscape that it cuts across.

But how can you explain the shape of land

To fish who die if they should leave the stream?"

Percy can feel his eyelids getting heavy, but he's awake enough to feel a bit insulted by this.

"I'm not a fish, I can understand theories about stuff I've never seen."

" _Perhaps, but it requires patience, no?_

The fish starts with the water, then the stream,

And then the land that guides the course of it,

And then the fact the land is round, not flat,

And then... but you would rather sleep than learn."

_I'm sorry,_ Percy wants to say, but he feels as if he would have to shout from a great distance. He is being rocked and carried away by Patricia's allegorical stream, like a baby lost in a basket. She is still talking, in her lovely sing-song rhythm, though Percy is leaving her far behind. Up ahead, he can hear the whistling of wind coming over the mountains.

### Chapter 24

Percy's muscles ache, but it is a welcome ache. It feels like a refurbished engine coughing and sputtering back to life. It feels like fire in an old abandoned campsite. As it burns, it consumes the months of laziness; it absolves him of sitting in offices and trains and planes when this is where he should have been. He's been hiking less than two weeks, but the even on day one the ache was upon him, and now it is his constant companion. It is his reminder that he is here, in the heart of Sarrassas, at last.

The mist and the spider grass are in all directions now. Up in the sky, he can tell where the sun is, but only because it hurts his eyes slightly to look that way. The grass is taller than the photos made it look; it's nearly up to his shoulders. Each strand is so, so thin as to be devoid of color and weight, but taken together they make a tight-knit blue-green mass that he has to push through. Hidden beneath it is uneven, rocky ground, and he has to tread carefully to avoid twisting his ankle. He wishes that he had thought to bring a machete, rather than just a multi-tool. But then, he wouldn't want to leave a scar across this soft, undisturbed plain.

He has left the mountains behind completely. It seemed impossible given their size, but they were lost in the mist before the second sunset, fading away like a memory. Fortunately he came upon the beginnings of a stream before the mountains were completely out of sight. It seems clear and potable, although he still boils the water anyway. The land is flat, and so the stream meanders, taking its time moving in a general easterly direction. He's sure that if he simply walked due East he would move twice as fast, but he does not dare deviate from its banks. He was fortunate to come across it, and for all intents and purposes it is his lifeline now.

Is he lost? It depends on your perspective. He knows how he can get himself back home (just by going back upriver) and how he can get closer to his goal (continue downriver). But if he got hurt, and needed to call somebody on the radio for assistance, what could he tell them? The unbroken plains of grass would allow a bush plane to land, but it couldn't possibly fly low enough to follow the course of the stream through the mist. They would need coordinates, and he doesn't have them. Incidentally, he also shut the radio off several days ago to conserve power. Nobody called him on it after he abandoned them anyway. He waited longer than he needed to realize Azelle and Rod weren't coming after him, and they weren't trying to convince him to turn around. They probably just didn't care.

He had left them on the mountain ridge. He hadn't planned out how to say goodbye. Maybe he had been waiting for one of them to suggest continuing on, as if the view of the misty plains would touch their souls and do the convincing for him. But when it was clear they were about to head back to Welkinrest, there was a moment when he should have announced his intentions. He just couldn't do it.

Then the diversion of the pictograms broke then tension. While Rod and Azelle discussed their mysteries, Percy made his move. He figured he would just start walking east and they would get the point. That was fooling himself, he knew she would ask.

"Where are you going Perk? I thought we needed to turn around to make it back by sundown."

"Yeah." He turned to face them. The sun, finally free of the mist, blazed high behind them, forcing him to shade his eyes. They were like pictograms themselves, an elemental rending of man, and woman, and their odyssey. "Yeah, you'll need to turn around if you want to get back to camp."

"So, what, you're going to take a piss on the other side of the mountain?"

"Probably. When I feel a piss needs to be taken."

She didn't answer. But he could tell from the way her hands went to her hips that she understood, and she didn't like it.

"I knew it. I knew it! Who packs their entire tent for a day hike? Why did I think you would suddenly turn sane? Unbelievable."

"You mean, you're gonna keep going?" Rod was uncharacteristically slow on the uptake this time.

"You're welcome to come," Percy offered. "The rations won't last as long if there's two of us, but I reckon we could still get... pretty far." Far enough. Far enough to say they'd seen something nobody had seen since those pictograms were painted. Even if it was likely to just be more grass.

"This isn't a funny joke," Azelle complained. "This is childish."

"Are you going to drag me back?" Percy taunted. Rod looked to Azelle, as if to say "I'll try it if you want me to." Both men waited for her to make up her mind, to either oblige or condemn him.

"I'm just going to start walking east again," Percy said, "let me know if you've got anything else you want to say." And he turned, and began to carefully pick his way down the slope. It was steeper on the eastern side, dotted loose rocks, and he did not want to go tumbling down the mountain.

"Good luck nutjob!" Azelle called after him. When he turned to look back, she was gone. Rod's husky silhouette stood alone at the top of the ridge. Percy gave a small wave, maybe even too small for Rod to see it, and then turned east for good.

He had barely looked westward since. There was nothing to see. First the mountains escaped the range of the echospect, and then the mist covered them completely. Now, with nothing but the spider grass around, he is spending a lot of time without the goggles in the name of conserving power. But resources be damned, sometimes discipline is no match for boredom and curiosity. Whenever he hears something out of the ordinary he equips the thermotracer, in the hopes that he'll catch the heat signature of some comrade in the kingdom of animalia. Occasionally it works, and he'll catch a brief outline of something fleeing from his approach and burying itself in the ground. It's about the only use he gets out of his twenty pounds of electrical equipment. Rod's wearable monitors tell him nothing except that he is alive, and that the mist is not killing him.

He has just stopped to eat and collect more water, and while his canteen fills he puts the goggles on again. But for the first time since he left the mountains, something registers clearly on the echospect. It can't be too far off - surely if it were a clear day he would have seen it miles ago - but it is still just barely distinguishable from the noise around it. All he can tell is that it seems very nearly vertical and smooth; a sheer cliff face punching up out of the otherwise featureless terrain. That is not ideal, as he's not equipped for scaling cliffs, but any break in the monotony brings him indescribable joy. This is _something,_ and it is something that no man may have ever seen before, even if it is simply a large, smooth rock.

Fortunately, the stars align and the river appears headed in that direction as well, so Percy's path is clear. As he gets closer, he can see that there are several separate cliffs, with breaks in between them. A whole cluster of obelisks thrusting out of the landscape. This _is_ something new. He keeps cycling between the echospect and the thermospect as he goes. It becomes clear that the river is headed between one of the narrows passages, and by the middle of the afternoon he is close enough to pass between the closest facades.

At first he didn't appreciate how large they were, although he should've been able to estimate from the echospect readings. Perhaps the lack of stimulation convinced him there could be nothing remarkable here, nothing bigger than a man, or a large horse. But, no. They tower above him, closer to the size of a skyscraper than a house. As he follows the river through one of the gaps, he is encased in their shadows, and he doesn't emerge for a good fifteen minutes.

On the other side, the obelisks have gentler slopes, but there are more of ahead, possibly several rows of them. The first two rows form a curving canyon, and Percy feels like he is standing on the heart line of a gigantic palm. Not clenching, but definitely closing.

He stops to rest. _What are they?_ The thermospect and the echospect show nothing unusual, but they feel so... unnatural. Percy takes the goggles off completely to get a better sense of the texture.

It's quite a shock. The surface is a pale, consistent, waxy stone, but here and there, near the base of the cliffs, there is some kind of artificial design. It is huge, and dark, and contrasts sharply with the stone. Surely anyone who wasn't reading the temperature or texture of the rock would have noticed it from a kilometer away. _It was the fog's fault,_ Percy thinks, _what kind of tease would use a visual marker in a land of perpetual mist?_

He warily investigates, getting close enough to touch the stone. It feels the way it looks: uneven, yet polished. To his surprise, the design is not etched into the rock at all, he cannot feel any edge between the black and white surfaces.

_It is a pictogram,_ he suddenly realizes, although perhaps this should have been obvious. It is the same pictogram, in fact, repeated over and over until it is practically a wallpaper. _The sunburst_ he thinks, _or Azelle's flower._

This is really something new. If somebody had written a book that included this place, he is sure he would have read it. Which means nobody has come here in a long, long time. _Or nobody has made it back._ He ignores that thought. Brant made it back out of the wilderness, after all, and that was through much rougher terrain than what Percy has crossed.

In any case, he now has a new mission: to survey this area. The learn everything about it. And the easiest way to start would be from a high vantage point. The one side with a gentler slope at least seems possible to hike without climbing equipment. It's impossible to tell how far up he'll be able to get before the slope gets too vertical, but he has to test those limits.

So that is what he does. He sloughs off his pack and climbs. _When Percy T. Camphan puts his mind to a task, he sees it through._ That is the mantra he repeats to himself as he scrambles on hands and knees. The rocks on this side of the obelisk are jagged and covered with slippery mosses, and it's not long before his hands and knees are filthy and his fingers are red and sore, but at this point all aches are tolerable, if not welcome. When he gets to the top, he is going to see a view nobody has ever seen. And he'll photograph it. And he'll mark it on the map. Maybe they can name this formation - whatever it _is_ \- for him, even though he won't own it. Who would _want_ to own this bunch of stone and grass anyway?

Several times he thinks he has reached the top, only to find there is a bit more to climb. He refuses to settle for anything less than the zenith, at this point. He knows the day is getting late and that he should get down in order to make camp before long, but there's always a little bit more to go. Fifteen more minutes. Ok, maybe thirty. There is no one to argue with now. No one else has the right to argue with him, because he's the only one who's made it this far.

Then he reaches the top. It is the real top - he knows because he comes to the sheer cliff face that falls away to the west. The sun is still trying to poke through the mist, but it is feeble and sickly. No matter, Percy is aglow with activity and triumph. He looks over the precipice, down to where he must have been just hours ago, and feels pride swell up within him.

_Now, time to claim your prize._ He turns to the East. The sky is much darker this direction, and it's not just the afternoon growing late. The mist is even denser and more menacing than it is down on the ground. There is a storm rolling in, he realizes. It's the first he has seen here. He turns the echospect back on to try to survey the topography below.

It is the sunburst, in relief. There is a third row of obelisks beyond the first two and all three curve around to make a circle. He is standing on one of the outermost petals of a stone flower, several kilometers in diameter. The inner petals are not nearly as high - perhaps he should have scaled one of those - and he can see there is a kind of depression in the middle.

And is that...? He switches to the thermotracer. Yes, on one of the slopes of the small inner petals, there is a heat signature. It looks - it is ridiculous to think, but it looks - like it could be the size of a man or a woman. If it is, they are lying down, bundled up, because it is compact and ovoid in shape. There is nothing else for miles.

But is it crazy, to think that this could be another person? Another _live_ person, capable of giving off heat? The Brant party all came back, and they didn't even travel this way. Azelle was emphatic about turning back. That leaves... Rod? Could it be? Maybe he had followed the river, and lost Percy when he climbed the cliff instead of continuing along that course. But could he have been foolish enough to try to catch up with Percy, but without rations, or a tent?

The storm is coming on, and Percy realizes _neither_ of them has a tent. He left his at the base of the slope and Rod apparently has decided to take a nap without one. He starts to frantically descend, but soon realizes it's not that easy. Going up was tough, but a controlled descent is twice as hard. He tries to keep calm and not rush, although his heart is pounding. He can't even feel the physical exertion anymore, just the fear of the missing a handhold, of slipping, and tumbling down to a bed of stone and fragile spider grass.

He reaches the ground before the storm hits, thank God. But it's upon him before he has even gathered his stuff back up. He gets his hat and jacket on before too many of the huge, cold pellets of rain fall, saving himself from being soaked through. He needs to find cover, or if not find it, set up the tent. But Rod has no cover, and maybe no jacket either. And if he sets up the tent first, that still might require him to drag Rod to safety. No, he has to bring the tent to Rod, that's the only option. Fortunately, if he really is unconscious and hasn't moved then Percy knows exactly where he is.

He knows that it's at least a couple kilometers away, and he is loaded with all of his gear, but Percy tries to maintain a quick trot the whole way. His pants start to chafe as the rain soaks them, and his unbalanced pack causes the straps to tug at his ribs painfully. It is dark all around now, so he lets the echospect be his eyes. Usually he would be comforted by the way the dancing green constellations made sense of even the darkest void. But the rolls of thunder and the cold soaking through his clothes cannot be ignored.

Inside the third, lowest ring of cliffs there is a roughly circular valley. Percy can see now that he cannot go straight across, because there is a large pit in the middle. The stream, which spirals and winds its way through the strange rock formations, stops right here, as if it were an innocent deer falling into a trap. Fortunately, this means he won't have to cross it to get to Rod. He sprints as best he can across the relatively flat ground, and as he gets to the other side of the miniature valley he switches over to the thermotracer.

Inky, indigo, nothingness. There is nobody out there. Percy stops. Is it because the battery is low? He looks down at his own hands - they appear a bright fiery orange, even though they are starting to lose feeling. Even if Rod's body temperature were dropping, he should still show up. Unless he has moved.

"Rod!" Percy screams into the storm. "Anyone?? Helloooo!" He turns this way and that, but there is not another source of heat in sight. He switches back to the echospect, but there's no sign of movement either. The image wavers and sticks, a sign of low power. He slings his pack to the ground, intending to replace the batteries, but his fingers are cold and clumsy. He can't expose the internals of the devices to the rain, either.

"Roooood!" he calls, with confused exasperation. Where would he go? Where could he go?

Except the pit.

It's the only possible shelter for a hundred kilometers for a man without a tent. Or a man who is already too wet and tired to raise one. Percy takes up his pack and resumes his awkward trot over to the edge. He approaches carefully, for he can barely see without the aid of the echospect. The stream forms a waterfall, arcing into the middle of the darkness. He can't see the bottom, but he thinks he can hear it splashing not far below. He turns the echospect back on and prays. He begs it for just one more chance, just ten more seconds of help.

It works, miraculously. He gets a brief image of a ridge that encircles the whole pit, just a few meters down. The water splashes off of it and into a smaller opening in the middle. And it looks like there are places where the upper ridge overhangs the lower one, places where he could get out of the rain. Then the echospect dies, leaving him alone, and blind.

There's no way back now.

He tries to lower himself down carefully, but the grassy turf above him is muddy and slick. As soon as he has the majority of his weight over the edge he can feel his grip giving way. He flails his feet, trying to get them facing downwards before he falls, but he's only partially successful. Then he is floating in midair.

What if I didn't see it correctly?

There is an instant of panic, but then he lands painfully on his side. There is another moment of panic as he feels himself roll and slide towards the inner pit. His limbs shoot out, searching for anything to grab. His wet boots kick but cannot find purchase. He tries futilely to press his stomach into the ground to create friction. He grasps sharps bits of stone that tear at his fingers, but he refuses to let them slip past.

He's stopped. He's no longer falling, or sliding. He takes a second to try to picture his situation. He's completely flat, and spread-eagled on his stomach. His pack is still attached to him, but has fallen off to his right, making the straps on the left pull tight. Foolishly he's still wearing the goggles, although he suspects they may have absorbed more of the impact than he would have liked. Better than his face, perhaps. Slowly, he begins to inch along his belly, feeling for the pit just in case he has gotten turned around.

Just a little further, then you can rest.

At last he feels a wall in front of him with his fingers. It's mossy, but firm. He pats it thankfully, making sure it is real, and then rolls over to hug it. Is he under the ledge, or has the rain just gotten lighter? It sounds heavier, if anything. He's not sure, maybe it doesn't matter. All he wants to do is curl up and rest. His heart is still pounding from the moment he thought he was going over the edge of the pit. He can feel it in his ears, and in his fingers. Nothing else seems to matter, except that his heart is still pumping.

Perhaps it is his imagination, but the storm doesn't seem to be getting better, it seems to be getting worse. He can hear the water pounding all around him. The thunder refuses any respite, assaulting him relentlessly. There is wind now, in his little hollow. He can feel it swirling and sucking with a terrible howl that makes his teeth vibrate. Then there is light - even with his eyes closed he can see it - it's as if lightning is seeking him out, hunting him down, and drawing ever closer. And then he feels a rush of water slam into him, and carry him away. He is one with the river. Together, Percy and the water, fall.

### Chapter 25

Percy awakens with the gasp of a drowning man. He searches for air desperately, and it takes a second to realize that it is all around him.

Patricia is there, looking down on him with concern.

"I saw it," he says.

" _It...?"_ she asks, with sudden excitement in her eyes. She doesn't know what he means though, does she?

"Yeah, it was ... water... and I was searching..." how is he screwing this up? He can see that he is leading her on, but he is struggling to put the events from his dreams in an order that make sense. He climbed down into the pit, and then... and then? What came afterwards?

" _Was it a vision of your origin?"_

"No," he says, sadly. He sees it extinguishes her eagerness, and he's sorry for that. As close as he gets, it seems like he never quite has the answer she is looking for.

"No, it was the... end."

He raises himself to a sitting position. He's in a bed. There's a familiar table and chair nearby, and a small artificial waterfall. The walls are the cheery yellow of primroses. It's pleasant, but it doesn't go well with the wood of the bureau.

"Where am I?"

" _You're resting in your normal bed, my friend."_

"The walls are the wrong color." She smirks. _She's almost laughing at me_ , Percy thinks, _unless my eyes are deceiving me._

" _The last time you awoke complaining that_

The walls looked dreary and lugubrious."

"Huh. Maybe it's not the wall's fault, then." Percy is still shaking. Part of it is residual fear, part of it is a nervous excitement. He can feel the importance of holding onto this last dream, and yet he resists it. "Maybe if I change the bureau to a painted wood..."

" _Please Percy, tell us what provoked these screams_

Which you did utter in your sleep. Was it

The fountain at long last which came to you?"

"No," he says again, pointedly, trying to shut these questions down. But a new clarity is dawning upon him, whether he wants it to or not.

"The fountain's where you found me though, isn't it?"

Even without a word, he can see in her eyes that he is right. It has taken him so long to read those subtle expressions.

"Well, I wasn't at the fountain, I was somewhere else."

" _But do you understand just how you came_

To be upon the floor of that dark yard?"

"No. Do you?" She shakes her head, sadly. So there's no help then. They - even Patricia, and her associates who can make robots that deliver anything you desire on demand - cannot help him understand this particular mystery.

"Do you know Sarrassas?" He asks. She shakes her head again.

"No? The Brussa mountains? Delacroix?" He grasps at straws for a common connection, a sign that these places in his dreams are real, that they have been experienced by others. Each shake of Patricia's head is more defeated. Perhaps he has asked all of these questions before. She never has the answer he is looking for either. He's stuck wondering - maybe forever - if the mountains and the oceans and the people are all hallucinations or if...

"Wait -" how has this now occurred to him before? "Wait, did you find anything else with me?"

" _Are you referring to another person, or...?"_

"No, like, clothing. Was I naked, or was there anything, like, attached to me?"

Patricia looks to Chap, and nods.

"Yes," Chap replies, "although we didn't think it would be of any use. We put it away with the clothes you were wearing, which were soaked and torn."

" _I'm sorry, all that you possessed was deemed_

Dilapidated beyond saving then."

"But... you saved it anyway, didn't you?" Percy searches her face hopefully. For once, let them not be disappointments to each other. Can these people, who seem to conjure wonders at will, possibly understand the importance of a man's meager property? He thinks of his mother's annual cleaning of the storage room, and the arbitrary judgment she passed on each of his keepsakes. She left the books alone, thinking maybe he would come back for them one day. The baseball cards were a child's rubbish, and were discarded. Some photo albums disappeared while others were saved and reorganized every few years. He never dared to ask about the madness behind her methods.

But the tiny servant robot is already rolling in with a tray, holding a tangle of plastic scrap and wires.

It is beyond repair, but not beyond recognition. The shards of the screen, and the weathered strap that would go around his head leave little doubt. It's his goggles. The wires that would run to the echospect and thermotracer sensors dangle like loose ends of yarn, but the goggles are here. They're real. It was all real. And this is real too, he can feel that.

Tears well up in his eyes. Patricia asks him what's wrong, but he can't answer. He is real, and he is alive. So was everyone else, then. So is everyone else. They are still there, in a world that actually exists, but didn't intersect with this one at all. Can he ever see them again? Even Patricia and Chap don't understand how he got here, so how can he hope to get back? And if he can't, what will they all think, his mother, his friends, the board of Mogogo? He will be the new "Secret of Sarrassas": a perfect puzzle for their imaginations. A case of abduction, without a motive or a perpetrator. A man simply decided to disappear into the haunted mist.

Haven't you gotten what you wanted? A place none of them knew existed?

That had never been the truth of what he wanted though, and maybe some of them realized it, even if he hadn't. The truth was he had wanted to tell them about it. He didn't just want to build a secluded cabin, he had wanted to invite them all to his secret chateau by the waterfall, and to impart to them the secrets of Sarrassas. He wanted to be the keeper of those secrets. He wanted to go on the radio and be asked questions to which only he knew the answers. But now there was no one to ask.

Instead, here he is, a tiny fish without a school. He has wandered out of his pond into a vast ocean. Or perhaps the current has borne him there of its own accord. And in exchange for one answer he has found a million questions as well.

He tries to explain all of this to Patricia, but he sobs and hiccups and can't line up his thoughts in a sensible way. Whether she understands or not, she lays a large red hand on his back and rubs, gently. She sings a brief passage in a language he doesn't understand. They have their differences, but at least these gestures of comfort feel universal. And they help Percy come back to himself, gradually.

"It's just hard," he tries to explain more calmly, "to remember how we were together. My Mom, and my friends... the memories I have now are all I'm ever going to have of them." Patricia continues to rub his back.

" _I know what you are feeling, you are one_

But you are not alone. And if these dreams

Are joyful, let them bring you joy and not

Despair. For long ago a great bard wrote:

' _I count myself in nothing else so happy_

As in a soul remembering my good friends.'"

The quote is familiar, though Percy cannot place it. Regardless, it helps. Even before the expedition, hadn't his memories of Hart been some of his greatest pleasures? At least he would continue to remember.

_And maybe if I'm thinking about them, they're thinking about me,_ he realizes. He dares not even speak his wish out loud, but perhaps, if he wills it, a memory of him will visit to them unexpectedly. Perhaps they would be titillated by the mystery of his disappearance. Perhaps they would want to investigate. And then... perhaps fate would draw them towards the same yawning portal, and they might be reunited.

Perhaps it is happening right now.

Perhaps Danni is staying up late, re-reading his old copy of _Sarrassas: From out of the Mist_ instead of studying for a geometry test.

Perhaps somewhere, in an impeccably furnished office, Theo is finishing a presentation on how the Brussa Basin could bring unimaginable wealth to Mogogo, or Delacroix, or some other megacorporation. The Townsend equivalents are giving him a standing ovation and shouting "Hallelujah!" for his vision. The papers are already being signed.

Perhaps his mother is awash in tears, the telephone receiver dangling limp and unattended from her hand. Perhaps she is demanding a search party, and tracking down Azelle and Captain Brant, who are ready and willing to fly her out to his last known whereabouts.

Perhaps Jason is telling his daughter stories of his childhood baseball teammates, and the dreams they had.

Perhaps Max was ahead of him this whole time. Perhaps he wouldn't answer his letters because went on his own pilgrimage to Sarrassas long ago, following the same clues. Perhaps they walked right past each other in the City of Artists without realizing it.

Perhaps somewhere, in a shallow valley ringed by ancient rock formations, a ray of sunlight is playing across Rod's mud-stained face, causing his eyelids to flutter open.

Or perhaps...

Percy knows that these are all hypotheticals that Patricia cannot, or perhaps will not, be able to confirm. There is only one question left in his mind, and all others have become pointless. Is there anyone else in this world like him?

" _It may depend, in what ways do you mean?_

There's yet to be a single soul besides

Your own that has experienced the dreams

That haunt your nights and with the memories

Of all your confidants and enemies.

I do not know of any others birthed

Upon the stones of our most sacred fount.

But if you just mean souls adrift then yes,

The cosmos is unorganized and filled

With lonely ships which crave a cordial port

And have been blinded, by unending seas

Around them. Hoist your banners, man your helm

Look forward for your wake will dissipate

And fortune may unite a lucky few

Whose pennant's hues doth complement each other."

It's not the answer he wanted, but it is the only one he is going to get. He understands that, if nothing else. Even if there is no hope of return to a familiar world, he can make any new world familiar.

### Chapter 26

Getting on the train was hard, but getting off the train is somehow even worse. At first Percy was full of excitement; he was eager to travel alone, like an adult, instead of being shepherded around everywhere on his Mother's coattails. Maybe they would have some kind of drink service, and a pretty woman would ask him what he wanted and he would actually be able to order a soda pop. His hysteria was such that he almost forgot to obey the one last instruction she had given him, but just before the train pulled away from the station he remembered. He left his jacket on his seat to claim it, and ran up and down the aisle of the train until he found a window where he could see her standing on the platform. He leaned across a slightly perturbed businessman to wave goodbye.

Goodbye Mother. Hello freedom.

A twenty hour train ride can change your attitude though. Sleeping upright is not comfortable, as it turns out, no matter how plush the seats seem. It's long enough that a book will either be engrossing enough that you'll finish it halfway through, or you'll get sick of it three times over. Nobody on the train wants to talk to you. Or maybe they do, but probably about boring stuff, like what subject you like best at school. He is afraid to get off the train at the stops in case it leaves without him, but staying put means a half hour staring out the window at a empty, grubby platforms.

So Percy should be eager to leave the train, really, but at least on the train he knew everything was going to plan. He sat in his seat, and he didn't get left behind. He ate and he slept, kind of. As soon as he leaves the rails and steps onto the East Kingsford platform he'll have the opportunity to screw it all up.

_Go to the office of the administrative officials,_ she told him, _and they'll know what to do._ He has a map of the town and a binder full of papers that, if nothing else, prove he is supposed to be at Hart Academy. If he gets lost, he could probably ask an adult for directions to the school, but that's a last resort. He's good at reading maps, he can find it. He spends the last two hours of the trip memorizing the sequence of turns and street names that he'll have to take, just so he won't have to take the map out in public. He pretends he is an ant, tracing the route on the paper. _Find the exit onto Evergreen, right on Evergreen, left on Main, right on Bering..._

It's not a short walk though. Maybe they should have warned him about that. The streets seemed so tiny and manageable on the map, but pretending to be an ant was misleading. At the scale of the map, he would be smaller than any insect, smaller than a grain of sand. Maybe if he hadn't come a couple of days early they would have had a welcome wagon at the train station, and someone to drive him. Now he's glad his mother convinced him that he only needed to bring one action figure; the old family suitcase is heavy and unwieldy enough as it is.

His arms feel like jelly by the time he makes it to the large white gates of the campus. He groans when he sees the long driveway still to come. Why would people build all of these buildings so far apart? In the city everybody knew it was efficient to have a bodega and a bus stop and a deli within a block of your apartment. Maybe there are buses here too... Percy hadn't thought of that. He curses himself all the way up the driveway. If anyone asks, he'll say he took the bus.

Finding the right building is easy, but he doesn't know what office to go to. The matronly woman at the front desk asks if he needs help, and he tells her he is checking in for the semester. She laughs a little bit at this, but it turns out the person who can help him is out to lunch and she doesn't know when he'll be back. Percy asks if he can leave the suitcase with her, and thank goodness, she says yes. She invites him to wait in the lobby there with her, but Percy can't stand that.

Instead, he starts to wander around the buildings. Unlike his elementary school, the maps show that Hart is made of several dozen separate buildings that are ingeniously connected by hallways and tunnels. His old school was one monolithic block, where every classroom was the same and every floor had the same layout of classrooms. There, you would know where you were going by saying "floor 4, room 405". Here, you might have to say "the Birch building, room 12", or "take a right, go all the way down, another right, a quick left, and another right." It was kind of fun to get lost in it, like scrambling up a jigsaw puzzle.

There's not nearly as many boys running about as he expected; in fact there are almost none. There are a bunch of adults bustling about, some of whom might be older students or younger staff. But they all look officious and preoccupied. They look like they might give him a task to perform if he were to ask them for anything. He doesn't have anything to ask, anyway. What is he doing here, exactly?

He goes through a double door that looks like it will lead to another hallway, but it's actually a large room, with several dozen adults in it. He beats a hasty retreat, although some of them are already starting to turn their heads his way. He walks quickly and stiffly down a random hall, trying to look as if he knows where he is going, as if he belongs here. It's several minutes before he's convinced that nobody has followed him. None of the adults care. They don't want to deal with him, and he doesn't really want to deal with them either.

Now Percy is getting quite tired and hungry, and he remembers the extra sandwich he bought and saved from the train. He takes the next door he can find out of the building, and then he turns a corner, and then another, shying away from the parking lots and the hallways where other people might be. Eventually he finds himself in alone, in a courtyard, with a convenient bench for eating lunch.

This is a nice place, Percy thinks, as he sits down and dumps his heavy backpack on the ground. It is a private place; an undiscovered place. Off of the well-worn line that connects the offices to the classrooms, it seems to serve no purpose at all except to be pretty and undisturbed. There is a single, large tree anchored right in the middle, filling and yet not dominating the space. A path encircles it, and even though there are two entrances - or one entrance and one exit - there is only the one bench, as if it is made for solitude. He feels like he can breathe easily again. He can look up at the tree and the sky without anyone asking him what he is doing or where he is supposed to be.

Percy wonders how long it takes a tree to grow this large. Thanks on the signs out front, he knows both that Hart Academy was established over a hundred years ago and that they're quite proud of that fact. Is that longer than this tree has been around? Did they lay out the school buildings in order to spare the tree? Or did they plant the tree to fill the space later? If so, someone did a nice job predicting how it would look in the future. The only thing that could make this spot nicer, Percy decides, is a little fountain. He closes his eyes, and he can just imagine it - the lazy burble filling the silence, and the slight breezes carrying a whiff of the spray to his face.

The sound of footsteps recalls Percy to his real surroundings, and a gangly blonde boy appears through the arch at the far end of the courtyard. He stops in his tracks as they accidentally made eye contact, but then he looks down at the ground and slowly meanders down the path. Percy looks away as well, and roots in his suitcase for his lunch, waiting the footsteps to move on. He finds his sad, poorly-treated sandwich, which has somehow been squashed down to the height of a plump pancake. He's too hungry to go looking for other options right now though. There must be a cafeteria or something around, but maybe it's not even serving food until classes begin. Percy thinks longingly of the cafes and burger shops he passed in town. His mother wouldn't approve of wasting a perfectly edible sandwich, but she wasn't here, was she? He could make his own decisions now, at least in theory. Before dinner he would ask where the cafeteria was and if it was running. Maybe if he was really lucky it wouldn't be open and he would be forced to go into town for a burger.

The blonde boy has reappeared. He warily walks past Percy to the other end of the bench, leaving just enough room between them for the contents of their lunches.

Percy finds his voice. "Hey."

"Hi."

"You go here?"

"Yeah, you? You coming in for the fall?"

"Mmhmm," Percy mumbles with a mouth full of sandwich.

"I thought so. I've eaten lunch here every day this summer, and nobody else has ever been on this bench."

"Oh!" Percy almost apologizes, but that feels silly. "I guess you'll have to get used to it."

The other boy smiles slightly. "Yeah, guess so."

"As long as nobody else comes, I think we'll have room. Are you in your second year, then?" Percy hopes the boy isn't any older than that, lest this be taken as an insult.

"Nope, first year. Introductory summer program."

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Percy notes that the other boy is eating a sad carton of pasta and sauce. It's instantly clear that it's food cooked in bulk for children who didn't ask for it. He has second thoughts about asking for the location of the cafeteria.

"Do you know where the administrative offices are?" he asks instead, even though he already knows.

"Sure."

"I need to check in and stuff."

"Cool. Yeah, I'll show you." They both pick at their food, as if rearranging it will make it more appetizing.

"Do you like baseball?" the other boy asks.

"Sure," Percy replies.

"What do you play?"

"Everything, I guess," Percy has seen and played enough baseball to know how to do everything, though he isn't particularly good at any of it. "Actually, they never let me pitch."

"That's ok, we only need a couple of pitchers. I've been trying to get a game going all summer, but there weren't enough guys in the program."

"That sucks." Percy suddenly remembers one of his mother's pieces of advice. _You're going to meet lots of people in your first week, be sure to remember their names. Everyone appreciates being remembered._ "Um, what's your name?"

"Jason. Yours?"

"Percival." Jason laughs.

"What?" Percy asks, a little wounded.

"I've never heard of a ballplayer named Percival, you need a proper ballplayer name."

"Like what?"

"Tug, Lefty, I don't know."

"I'm right handed though."

"Hmmm..." Jason ruminates, "Catfish? Buck?"

Now it's Percy's turn to laugh. "How do they get these names?"

Jason shrugs. "Tugging at things? Fishing? I think Buck was just short for Buckminster or something. We could call you Perk."

"That's not bad," Percy admits. "What's your ballplayer name?"

Surprisingly, Jason has to think about this. Percy assumed he had one already stenciled on a cheap baseball card with his picture printed on it. back to think about this.

"Jay... Bird?" he finally offers. A stillness hangs over the courtyard.

Both boys burst out laughing in unison. "That's the best you can come up with?" coughs Percy.

"I dunno, man. I need to think about it, I guess."

"Good, you think more about it. Because that's awful." The two boys sit in silence for another while, finishing their food. The breeze quiets down, and the soft whine of insects emanates from the courtyard's arboreal centerpiece. Percy is barely aware of it at first, but one insect is joined by another and another, the din steadily growing to own the entire courtyard. There is a hint of autumn chill in the air, and it's as if each and every one of them has a final goodbye to say to their summer.

### ###

Dear Reader,

I sincerely thank you for reading this book, and hope you enjoyed it. I wish I could link to other titles, but this is my one and only. Please consider leaving me a review, "favoriting" me on Smashwords, or just telling your friends about this book! If it catches on then maybe - just maybe - there will be another someday.

Neil Dowgun
