by James Walley
Arriving at his side, Kate placed a hand on his shoulder. "So, what do you think?" she asked, her tone as doubtful as his train of thought.
"I honestly have no idea," he replied shakily, staring at his hands. "I don't even know where to begin."
Kate's tone seemed to brighten, as though she sensed he needed the positivity. "It's a case of deduction. It can't be that hard to figure out, we just have to look at the facts we have."
Marty looked up, pondering this approach. Her logic was sound, and they really didn't have anything else to go on. "All right, so what do we have?" he mused. "This guy's obviously some kind of big deal. He's got a nice place here, away from all the panic and chasing and peril and such. And he's being sent a lot of information via the waterfall thingy." Raising a hand to grab Kate's on his shoulder, he gave it a squeeze and crowed triumphantly. "I think I've got it!"
He took a step closer to the pool, the smile returning to his face. It all made sense, when he looked at things on their own like that. It was so obvious, he almost laughed out loud at not having the foresight to see it sooner. Positioning himself prominently upon a raised knoll, and standing proudly, hands on hips and chest puffed out, Marty shouted his guess with a new found assuredness. "I think that, you sir, are the boss here. You run the show. You're like a director. A conductor. A supervisor. It may come from my head, but it plays out according to your rules."
Taking a step back, Marty squinted upwards into the jaggedly intruding sunlight, smiling contentedly as he awaited the response.
"That's a very well-reasoned and concisely worded answer," the voice rang out encouragingly from above. "It's also completely wrong, but still, very impressive. One guess left."
Sinking to his knees, Marty stared in disbelief out over the papery waters of the pool, and upwards through the swirling sheets into the sparkling sunlight overhead. How could he have been wrong? It seemed to all fit. It seemed a dead certainty. He felt as though all of his deductive reasoning had been ploughed into that answer and he had nothing more to contribute. With one more guess to go, Marty scarcely had the wherewithal to even come up with a random possibility. The giant inflatable beaver was starting to seem like a viable, and indeed, his only other option, which was a shame because he really wasn't convinced that answer was entirely feasible.
Obviously, the paper would be easier to dam, and should the big fella run out of wood, he could always use…paper, but there were also splinters to consider, the natural enemy of the inflatable. No, it just didn't add up, but then again, guess number two had added up perfectly and had been a resounding 'Close, but no cigar.’
As these and a thousand more rabid unfettered thoughts threatened to derail Marty's train of thought, a stray sheet of the paper fall swept downwards, dancing through the air and departing from its rustling brethren. It swooped and twirled, end over end before coming to rest squarely across Marty's face. Reaching up to remove it, he glanced at the writing, which formed yet another list across the page.
—The Aztecs were the first people to serve chocolate as a drink.
—‘Almost' is the longest word in the English language with all the letters in alphabetical order.
—There is a town in North Carolina called Boogertown.
Marty stared at the paper, his brow furrowed and his eyes fixed on one line. "I've heard this somewhere before." he muttered, almost to himself. "I remember hearing this. I remember laughing about it with everyone in the pub." An eyebrow rose as he got to his feet, pacing closer to the pool as he did so. "It was one of the questions in the pub quiz. It was a question none of us knew the answer to. We laughed about it all night, but I'd completely forgotten about it until now."
Leaning towards the crashing paper fall, he swiped at the flowing pages, snagging another and scanning the list upon it.
—Chewing gum leads to flatulence as you swallow more air as you chew.
"I know this as well!" Marty exclaimed, becoming visibly more excited. "I read this at school and ended up eating ten packs in one go." He glanced over at Kate, flushing slightly. "I wanted to see if I could set a world record."
Returning his attention back to the page, he continued to read. "All this, everything written here, they're all things I've heard or read at some point. It's like a list of my memories."
Marty looked up, meeting Kate's gaze as he did. The same thing that had suddenly dawned on him was clearly etched on her face, and she nodded an excited recognition of the fact as he faced the mighty bookshelves once more.
"Excuse me," he began, almost afraid to start down this road, but at the same time more confident than ever of its destination. "I think I'm ready to give you my final guess."
The voice within the soaring shelves sounded almost as excited as Marty himself felt. Clearly it was as eager to hear this final, make or break answer as Marty was to deliver it. "Oh, yes? Excellent. The best of luck to you," it boomed with an air of almost palpable sincerity.
"Okay, I'm not going to beat about the bush. You clearly have a lot of information coming through here." Marty pointed at the plummeting pages. "And you keep it all stored here, in this outrageously huge library of books."
Whipstaff, who had finished his game of leapfrog with Oaf, leaned in towards Timbers. "I thought he said he wasn't going to beat about the bush? He's going on a bit," the little first mate whispered.
Timbers responded with an abrupt, "Shh!" as Marty continued.
"The fact that all these snippets of information are so random and yet still things that I have heard of points to only one thing." Pausing for dramatic effect, he glanced at his friends, who were clearly not giving points for presentation. Timbers peered at a pocket watch while Oaf delved in his pockets in search of some mystery item. Sensing he was losing the crowd, Marty got to the point.
"You, my friend, are my subconscious."
The silence that descended went on for some moments, as though the owner of the voice was checking a manual or rulebook, and Marty shifted uncertainly where he stood, beginning to feel the second guesses slithering up in his mind. Presently, though, the silence was broken by what sounded like thunder. Several violent thunderclaps shook the sky, and the group shrank down onto their haunches away from the deafening reports. As it continued, however, Marty realized it wasn't thunder they were hearing. It was applause. Mighty applause from the heavens, or more accurately, from the imposing bookshelves, which shook and dropped more of their contents into the field below.
"Very good! You are correct, sir!" The voice enthused happily between amidst the thunderous applause. "As you rightly pointed out, everything you come into contact with, facts, information, songs, quotes—all of it—gets flung down into your subconscious. You remember everything. You just don't remember you remember."
Almost before Marty could exhale the sigh of relief that was clamoring to escape, his friends were upon him. Timbers landed on his back, laughing and crowing as Oaf and Whipstaff joined the celebratory assault. Marty buckled as the pirates landed, falling forward into the grass and allowing the relief to giggle out of him.
Watching from where she stood, Kate smiled broadly, coughing slightly to catch Marty's attention. "So, how did you guess that?"
Marty smiled back at her and sat up, two pirates in a headlock and one on his shoulders. "It was just like you said. I just looked at everything for what it is." He gestured towards the paper fall before them. "All this information comes into my subconscious like a torrent, like a waterfall, and then it all gets stored up there in dusty old bookshelves, out of sight and out of mind."
Kate shook her head, still smiling and added her own, much less earth shaking applause. "I am impressed." She beamed, sharing as much of a moment as one can with someone wrestling tiny pirates.
As the revelry subsided, Marty got to his feet and made his way back over to Kate. "So, now what?" she enquired, gazing back up towards the shelves.
"Yes," Marty echoed, once more addressing the v
oice from above. "What now?"
"Now?" his subconscious replied softly, clearly pleased that they had passed its test. "Now, you're going to have to catch a train."
#
"Perhaps I should elaborate," the subconscious added, after enough time and silence had passed to suggest that some elaboration was required. More words spilled forth, rustling the undergrowth and sending a breeze through the clearing. The tone seemed lighter and less imposing now. "You seem to have a handle on how things work here, so what I am about to tell you won’t be too hard to understand."
Marty felt a twinge of pride creep up inside him. His own subconscious had given him a compliment, and although this would take some time to get his head around, it was nice to know he appreciated himself.
Unabated, the voice from above continued. "As you are no doubt aware, this place and everything in it is a construct of your own dream space. A very…interesting place I think you'll agree."
"Interesting? Yes, but altogether too clowny for my liking," Marty interjected. "It's not exactly a vacation spot," he added, angling a, "No offense," at Timbers out of the corner of his mouth."
"Hey, it's your mind, matey. I only work here," Timbers retorted, sticking out his tongue and giggling gruffly.
If the voice of Marty's subconscious had a throat, he cleared it now, sending rumblings around the clearing and retrieving the attention of everyone present. "Anyway, it's clear you wish to leave, and there is a way."
Timbers tugged at Marty's leg. "Ooh, there you go. I bet this is where we have to catch a train," he chirped excitedly.
Oaf, who was stood next to Whipstaff behind them, kicked a stone and muttered something about how he got sick on trains.
"If I could just have your attention for one moment," the voice boomed, clearly frustrated by the interruptions. Timbers held up his hands in apology, and Oaf covered his eyes, prompting the subconscious to continue with its explanation.
"As I was saying," it began again after a lengthy sigh. "There is a way for you to leave this place. It lies at the edge of the city. You see, the further you journey from the center of this place, the closer you get to lucidity."
Snapping her fingers, Kate now spoke up. "Ahh! I've heard of this. When you lucid dream, you are aware that you are dreaming. You can shape what you do within the dream, so that makes sense."
"Your friend is correct," the subconscious chipped in, having seemingly given up on challenging the interruptions. "Lucid dreaming is the thinnest point between here and there. Luckily for you, lucid dream space is an actual place here, or to be more precise, a train station."
Attempting to maintain the handle on this that he apparently had, Marty joined in the interruption theme. "Why a train station?"
The subconscious seemed to anticipate Marty's question, which, given their relationship to each other, wasn't overly impressive. "Well, people who lucid dream go wherever they want to in the dream space, and they need a point from which they can journey to whichever place they desire."
Marty raised a finger, clearly in need of further clarification, before remembering the sheer volume of things that had made just as little sense to him today. "So, how do we get there then?" he asked, lowering his now redundant digit.
"Just head north from here," his subconscious answered. "You won’t be able to miss Lucidity Junction, mostly because there are trains there."
Marty stepped forward, seeking some sort of confirmation of what was, it had to be said, something of a cryptic string of instructions. "So let me make sure I have this straight. We need to head to this train station, get on a train, and that'll get me out of here?" Cringing, he glanced back at his comrades. That had sounded almost too ridiculous to be true.
"I know, it sounds almost too ridiculous to be true," his subconscious confirmed. "But as I said, it's the weakest point between where you are and where you want to be. The fact that you want to be there will be enough to see you on your way."
Marty pondered on the idea, trying not to let good sense or logic fight their way back in where they were obviously not wanted or of any use.
Luckily, Timbers was on hand to lend a dose of reckless abandon to his thought process. "Sounds good to me. I mean, what else are we going to do? I say we do what the shelf says." With that, he sprang up onto the path upon which they had arrived, gesturing for his crew to follow.
Kate placed a hand on Marty's shoulder. "We'd better get going," she suggested, heading over to the pathway.
Marty squinted once more up towards the sunlit bookshelves and waved a hand in appreciative recognition. "Thanks for all your help."
"Don't mention it," came the whooshing reply from above as Marty joined Kate on the ascending pathway. "You would have done the same for me. Oh wait, you did do the same for me!"
Blustering laughter followed them as the group made their way back up the winding track which circled upwards into the sunlight. Pages whipped by them, caught in the chuckling breeze and flew in looping arcs down into the plunging depths of the paper fall, itself growing quieter and more obscure as they climbed. Even the laughter subsided while they trekked closer to the surface of the fissure. As they marched, Marty caught up with Timbers who was striding purposefully out in front.
"How do we find north once we get to the top do you think?" he asked, attempting to match the short pace of the miniature captain.
Timbers chuckled, retrieving a small brass compass from his coat pocket. "What kind of a ship's captain would I be if I didn't know how to use one of these?"
Marty nodded as they approached the surface of the fissure. "All right then, but how do we get to this station?"
Winking up at his companion, Timbers reached into his coat once more, producing a familiar looking tin whistle. "I refer your question to my first answer," he chirped with a twinkle in his one good eye. They arrived at the surface of the fissure just as the late afternoon sun set about bathing the paper torrent in its labored, deep orange glow. The river flowed like a huge, burnished bronze ribbon, emptying into the fissure behind them and twirling into the depths below, now dimmed by the retreating sun.
Hopping up onto a group of rocks, Timbers put the tin whistle to his lips and delivered three sharp blasts which cut into the fluttering silence like the protests of a model steam train. Vaulting up to join him, Oaf and Whipstaff sat and gazed up into the heavens.
Regarding the gradually sinking sun, Marty checked the watch that was not currently on his wrist.
Beside him, Kate gave voice to his concerns. "How long do you think it will take for them to get here? Assuming, of course, the Bobs managed to fix it."
As though in answer to her question, a sharp mechanical screech shot out of the sky and all heads craned in the direction it had sounded. Blotting out the waning afternoon sun as it approached, the Flying Fathom coasted silently towards the rocky outcrop. She was altogether more ramshackle than Marty remembered from earlier, but nevertheless, sailed towards them majestically through the low hanging clouds framing the sunset.
Atop his mighty perch, Zephyr angled his huge metallic wings, course correcting the galleon beneath him, and as they watched, he brought the Fathom to a hovering stop overhead. Heavy gusts of wind buffeted the group as Zephyr held the ship in place. From above, ropes dropped from the deck, coming to rest at just the right height for tiny cheering pirates and thankful people to clamber up.
The last to make the ascent, Marty hauled himself on deck to the sight of much backslapping and merriment. Standing proudly on the reconstructed deck were the Bobs, delivering and receiving high fives as they reunited with the rest of the crew.
"Look at her! She looks as good as new," Timbers crowed excitedly, hopping from one leg to the other and applauding. Marty surveyed the renovated Fathom. The deck had been nailed back together using additional wooden planks, and looked sturdy enough, but the masts appeared to have been fastened in place using palm branches and old rope. They creaked ominously as
the great ship floated in the ether beneath Zephyr, but remained thankfully in place; for now, at least. All in all, she did not look at all as good as new, but she was airborne, which was all that mattered.
While Oaf and Whipstaff set about preparations to set sail, Timbers strode across the deck with the Bobs behind him. "And how's our old bird holding up?" he enquired, shielding his eyes from the setting sun and peering up at the avian automaton holding them aloft.
"Oh, Zeph is fine now," Bob chirped, nodding encouragingly.
"Yes, we just dumped him in the sea for an hour, quick oil change, and a couple of bags of bolts down his gullet; good as new," Also Bob continued, falling in alongside his twin and nodding in stereo.
Timbers turned towards his matching shipmates and grabbed each by the shoulder, beaming proudly. "Fine work, lads. Fine work!" He turned away just as quickly and trotted up to the bow of the ship. "Now get up to those nests, we set sail at once. North!" he called over his shoulder.
The Bobs complied instantly, and scurried up to their respective perches either side of Zephyr.
As before, a complex chain of events was set into motion as Bob, Also Bob, and Zephyr performed their elaborate ballet of nod, sweep, and move, carrying the lurching vessel over to the right. Slowly the mighty bird steadied the Fathom, and more nodding and sweeping motions prompted him to lunge sharply forward, sending Marty and Kate teetering across the deck. With a shrill screech, Zephyr flung his wings in a downward arc, and the ship sped smoothly forward, much to the delight of Timbers, who oversaw the proceedings from the bow.
"And we're off!" he sang theatrically, swinging from the large mooring post beside him. "Next stop, Lucidity Junction."
#
The Fathom maintained a steady course, swooping and soaring through the sepia-tinged clouds through which the heavy evening sun filtered. They seemed to be making good progress, the land whipping by beneath them almost unnoticeable in the fading daylight.
With no immediate need to run, hide or leap recklessly from anything precarious, Marty ambled along the deck to where Timbers sat, gazing out at the horizon from his perch on the ship's bow. Sitting next to each other, hands on the rail of the deck, and eyes on the rolling hills up ahead, neither spoke a word as the minutes ticked by. Both knew this would normally be the time for platitudes, gratitude given, and quickly waved away because it was something the other would have done in their place. Neither had written a speech and neither had to, anyway, since they had known each other for far longer than just the one day when they had finally gotten around to talking.