I realized I was asking a lot of questions to myself, so I put aside questions and went directly into statements, which always got things moving much quicker.
All right, I told myself. Go on.
I opened the door to the storage closet. The man sitting inside instantly reprimanded me for it.
“Close the door, already!” he said. “You're letting out the heat!”
“Uh...yeah...sorry.” I felt behind me for the door and closed it.
And there we were together inside the storage closet. When I say closet, I mean it was really more of a room. And when I say room, I mean it was really more like a dining room. Long, stately, brimming with chandeliers. A long dining table made from...exquisite...yeah, that's what a man of breeding would call it...made from exquisite marble and oak.
The man was sitting at the table, a tall glass of purple wine in one hand, an uncorked bottle in the other.
“Come sit down,” he said. With those words he very sloppily began pouring the wine from the glass into the tip of the bottle. “I'm sorry,” he said at one point. “I've lost my manners. One second.” He reached under the table and produced a second empty bottle. He then emptied the glass into both bottles, smiled, and slid one down the table to wear I was standing.
“It's okay,” he said warmly. “Sit down.” I walked over and sat across from the gentleman as he began enthusiastically slurping from the wine bottle.
“So...” I said, swirling my own bottle cautiously in my hand, “how long have you been living in the tea lady's storage?”
“Been shelved for seventy-two years.”
“You look good for your age.”
He laughed. “Funny you should say that.”
“How so?”
“Take a good look, Mister Pocket.”
I did, and with a fright, it suddenly dawned on me that this dining stranger was in nearly every way a complete duplicate of myself. He wore my appearance to the tee, matching skin and eye and protrusion of the nose. The only difference I could discern was that he was wearing his spoon in the wrong side of his hat.
“Oh!” I said. “Uh...yeah....I see.”
“Don't be so spooked. Drink some more.”
“I'm not sure I should, Mister...uh...”
“Mister Tekcop,” he said with a grin.
“Teacup?”
“Tekcop,” he corrected. “With a KC, not a CK. Stop staring around. People will think that you're strange. There's nothing worse than to be thought strange.”
“I'm sorry. I'm just a little...what is all of this, anyway?”
“Oh relax, Pocket. It's just the tea dream.”
“Tea dream, you say, Tekcop?”
“Exactly. You inhaled a lot of vapors. Put you right out.”
“So we're not really here?”
“Of course we are! I just poured you a drink!”
“Are you sure I'm not just snoring on the floor back there?”
“It's possible. Go check in on yourself and see.”
“No thanks. Not in the mood.”
“Fantastic, then,” Tekcop said, stepping up onto the table. “Walk with me.”
“On the table?”
“You know another way to get there?”
“I don't know.”
“Then hurry up!”
I climbed up on the very long table and followed Tekcop. The table lasted for miles, extending far past the dining room into what looked like a grand porcelain museum.
“What is this?” I asked.
“The hall of reflections. They're kept pretty fresh in here.”
“Like mine?”
“Hmmm? I'm sorry, what?”
“I mean, like you. You're my reflection.”
“I'm one of yours, sure.”
“One? How many does a person have?”
“Depends, doesn't it? How many sides, how many outlooks, how many perceptions—“
“But I've been looking into mirrors all of my life, and you're the only reflection I've seen.”
“Not necessarily. Some of us look alike.”
“I see. So you are more of a, eh, perception of myself than an all-around duplicate.”
“Wordy, aren't you? You shouldn't be so wordy, Pocket. You'll bore people.”
“You're pretty critical, Tekcop.”
“Only to you. And to me, I guess, by extension. Strive for the ideal and all of that. Perfect or flawed, those are the only options.”
“That doesn't seem like a healthy philosophy.”
“Well, it's your bloody image of yourself, you deal with it. Say, you want to see someone else's?”
“I can see another person's reflection?”
“Yes!”
“In my own dream? How does that work?”
“Who knows? Maybe Alexia really can boil magic out of leaves. But I don't think so, which means you don't think so, which means we should probably stop questioning the mechanics of everything and just get on with it.”
“If you say so. What do I have to do?”
“Over here.” Tekcop jumped off of the table, landed on his legs, and led me down a row of arches. Between each pillar was a large mirror in a warped frame.
“Go on,” Tekcop said. “Try one out.”
“You mean...step into the—”
“No, you can't step into a mirror, Pocket! What are you, an idiot? It's glass! Solid! You'll bang your head.”
“Huh. You know, as I child, I sort of thought that the reason I could never pass through a mirror was because my reflection was there on the other side, blocking me move for move. If I put a finger to the glass, he'd put one up against mine to stop—“
“Yes, I was there. And it doesn't work like that.”
“I know. Like I said, I was a child—“
“Just walk in front of a mirror, Pocket.”
“Fine.”
I walked to the nearest looking glass and planted my feet before it. Sure enough, a reflection matched my every move, but it wasn't mine. It was an image of Kitt Sunner.
“Kitt?” I said, waving my hand and watching Kitt's reflection wave it back.
“Yeah,” said Tekcop. “This is one of his. One of his more optimistic perceptions of himself. Notice the beaming sunlight shining from within?”
“Is that what that is? It's nearly blinding me.”
“Try another one,” Tekcop said.
I hopped to the mirror next to me. This time I was met with Gren's image. Perfectly normal, mimicked every one of my movements. Only difference was that his back was facing my front. There also seemed to be something...else...behind him, something that his body was blocking.
“What's he hiding there, Tekcop?” I asked.
“You've got me. But whatever it is, this image seems to be rather focused on it.”
“Very much so.”
Tekcop scratched his mimicked neck and yanked me over to the next. “Try this one, it's also him,” he said. And he was right. Another Gren matched my pose.
Only this Gren was covered completely from head to toe in riveted metal. Even his hairs were little metal strands, miniature tubing that ran over his boiler-plated skull.
“Huh,” I said, observing it like a modern painting. “Looks like he's a bit insecure about his various surgeries.”
“A heavy shell,” Tekcop said.
I noticed a mirror that was propped against the corner, not framed and not standing on its own. The naked glass leaned against a wall in which four letters had been carved above.
LLOD
“Where are you going?” Tekcop said as I moved towards it.
“Where do you think?”
“Pocket, I don't think you're going to want to see that one.”
“Tekcop, you coward. Don't you represent any of my positive qualities?”
“I'm just being cautious.”
“To a fault,” I mocked, coming upon the Doll's mirror.
“I warned you!” he shouted after me.
Come now, I though
t. I've already met the Doll once behind glass, what could I possibly hope to find behind another?
I straightened the unframed glass and wiped away a line of dust with my sleeve. I peered directly into the mirror to find...
...nothing.
Nothing. No reflection.
“What's the joke, Tekcop?” I demanded. “What is this?”
“You know what it is,” he calmly said, walking with his arms folded behind him. “The Doll's mirror.”
“Then where's her reflection?”
“Don't you get it, Pocket? She has none.”
I spun my head around at him and he was gone. As was the room and the museum of glass and the tunneling dining area. Or perhaps I was the one who had disappeared, as I recognized nothing around me apart from my own body. I looked down to find my knees dipping into tall, green grass.
I was outside.
I looked and the sky came into its rightful place, blue and vibrant. Clouds slid above my head at speeds quite quicker than I had ever seen. It began to make me dizzy, so I found a stump and sat down.
“Tea dream,” I mumbled to myself.
I sat for awhile and waited for something interesting to happen. It never did, so I started tracing the horizon line, which stretched into a fuzzy blur in all directions. There was nothing in the distance. No standing tree, no rock, no house or sign of human life. Just an endless stretch of tall grass, this single stump, and myself.
“And me, of course,” came a voice from below.
“What?” I said.
“Down.”
My shadow was pulling out before me, extending its legs over the grass.
“Hello Pocket,” he said.
“Hello Shadow,” I replied. “Have you come to keep me company?”
“I don't have a choice, now do I? I'm just an imprint, a mimic you leave behind. A you-shaped bit of the world blocked from the sun.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, I wasn't complaining, but I can see how you would think so.”
“Is there no one else here, Shadow?”
“Doesn't appear to be.”
I sighed. “I was half-hoping to get directions back to the tea house. Lousy luck, then.”
“Lousy?!? You should be happy to have me around!”
“And why's that?”
“With no other human being or means of reflection, you'll soon lose your memory of appearance. Of personal form.”
“So?”
“So, I'm a reminder. A thin blotty shape to remind you that you, Mister Pocket, have two arms and two legs and one head upon you.”
“I can look at my own arms and I can feel my own legs, Shadow. What I'll lose first is detail. And as you have none upon your blurry form, you're of no help.”
I picked myself off of the stump and begin walking in a random direction.
“Where are we going?” Shadow asked.
“I have to get back to the tea house, somehow.”
“Fear you won't wake up unless?”
“I don't know. But I hate sitting still for so long.”
I walked foot over foot across the grass. Before long, I came back upon the stump, having circled this small, green globe.
“Now what?” Shadow asked.
“We keep walking.”
“Isn't it pointless?”
“Maybe.”
I walked and passed the stump four times more. Then, on my fifth turn around the globe, a woman's voice whispered softly into my ear.
“Right.”
I moved right.
“Left.”
I moved left.
“Left.”
I continued left.
“Righ—no, left! No!”
I took a misstep right and fell into a sinkhole. It was deep and my body rolled down the hardened dirt for a long time.
“No!” spoke the voice. “I'm sorry, I don't know. Why would you listen to me?”
And with that, the voice left me. I continued to tumble until I at last got a grip on a turnip root and hung on, draped against the nasty slope.
“Shadow?” I asked. “You still there?”
But it was too dark to see him. It was too dark to see anything. My arms, my legs. Anything. Shadow was right. I was forgetting my very form. And I missed it.
The clank of footsteps echoed in the distance. A familiar voice snapped at me.
“For God's sake, Pocket, what are you doing back here?”
Mister Tekcop lit a gas lantern and held it to my face. I was back in the storage closet and my arms were wrapped around shelving. I was in a cabinet, clutching an old turnip that was rotting with some other collected groceries, and I was stepping on a fallen cluster of tea leaves. Slowly, I let go and climbed down the cabinet.
“Seriously…” Tekcop said, shaking his head at me. “I can't leave you alone at all.”
“What happened?”
“Don't ask people to spell things out for you, Pocket. It makes you look unintelligent.”
“I'm leaving.”
“By all means, go.”
I shook the reflection's hand and went on my way. This room of shelves and rotting produce led back to the museum. I stopped for a moment at the Doll's empty mirror.
“No reflection of yourself at all, huh?” I had a bit of rotted, mushy turnip on my thumb and I smeared it across the glass into the shape of a smiley face with pigtails. The image slid off of the glass and plopped onto the floor. “Sorry,” I said, continuing on my way. “I tried.”
I found the long dining table and followed it back to the exit. As I turned the knob and opened the door, a great cloud of light and bubbling steam flooded into me. My fingertips dissolved in the mist. I exhaled and knocked my head against something hard.
It was the floor. I lifted my head and was again surrounded by pillows. I was back in the fortune reading room. The others sat silently around me, slumped over and breathing softly. I sat up, got comfortable, and waited for the others to wake up.
“You know you're still out, right?” said Tekcop, suddenly sitting across from me.
“Damn it! No!” I bristled. “I didn’t.”
Tekcop just laughed.
“Shut up,” I muttered.
“Well, aren't you touchy?”
“Ugh...” I stood up and rubbed my head. “Look, if you're going to hang around, can you at least help me wake up?”
“I can try,” Tekcop said. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don't know. Maybe some sort of—hey! Don't touch her!”
“What?” my very forward reflection said, holding and stroking the gloved arm of the Watchmaker's Doll. “She's soft. Pretty cute too, don't you think?”
“Just stop.”
“Fine, but—“
“Look, why don't you just get out of here, Tekcop? You're only hindering me.”
“I'm a part of you. Are you suggesting that you're hindering yourse—“
“If you aren't going to leave, then I will.”
“Ha! And where to?”
“Who cares? Anywhere I see...” And with those words, I was suddenly standing under a black sky upon a cracked, snaking staircase. “...fit.” Damn tea steam.
With nothing else to do, I stuffed my hands into my pajama pockets...this is my dream, can't I put myself in some more decent clothes...hands in my pockets and began climbing the steps.
“Hi,” said a voice behind me.
It was the Doll.
“Oh. Hi.” I chewed on my lip as she followed up the stairs and met me face to face. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”
“I'm not sure,” she said. “What about you?”
“I'm not sure about anything,” I replied. “But I'd like the company.”
We walked for an eternity, step upon step upon step.
“So,” I said at last. “What are you doing in my dream?”
“Your dream?” she said. “I thought this was my dream.”
“What would I be doing in your dream?”
; “I don't know. What would you?”
I shrugged and we kept walking. A large shape rose at the top of the staircase. As we got closer, the shape became a building. A very beaten building that was not only losing bricks, but positively spitting them.
“Well, look at that,” I said.
The Doll hurried ahead and went inside. And once again, I had no choice but to follow.
“Mister Pocket!” I heard as I slipped into what now appeared to be some sort of massive library built out of wood, coated by dust, and eaten out by worms and termites. It was as decadent as it was decrepit, if such a feat is possible.
“Mister Pocket!” I heard again. The others appeared out of the dust-formed lines of sunlight that came down from the cracked ceiling. They didn't walk or stroll or magically appear into the space. They just...were there...at once.
“Well,” Alexia said, sitting beneath a giant, stained-glass portrait of herself as a cat. “Here we all are.”
“So it would seem,” I replied, poking a dusty, bound book that promptly grew wings and fluttered away.
“So what shall we do first?” she added, bright-eyed.
“Hold on,” Gren said, sitting down on a thick tree stump that was growing out from the tiled floor. “What exactly is this?”
“We dream,” Alexia stated.
“All of us?”
“Of course.”
“Then we're all sharing a common dream?”
“Must be.”
“But that's impossible.”
“Must not be.”
“How?”
She shrugged. “Rather potent batch of tea, I suppose.”
“Potent tea?!?” Gren growled. “That's your explanation? What'd you do, lace it with some...chemical?!?”
“Never!” She crossed her arms and scoffed at him.
“Might it be possible…” I interjected. “Might it be possible that only one of us is actually dreaming? That the rest are just figments appearing in the imagined scene?”
“Ah!” Kitt said, sitting on the floor with ankles together. “That makes sense!”
The Watchmaker's Doll observed a patch of colorful wallpaper running across one wall of the library. She touched an illustration of hard candy that was printed into a repeating pattern on the paper, broke the piece off, and popped the suddenly edible sweet into her mouth.
“But if that's so, then which of us is the dreamer, and who are just part of the dream?” she asked, sucking on her candy.
Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) Page 26