Chapter Three: The Palace Test
I close my eyes. I feel my body float away like those moments just before sleep. When I open them I'm standing in a dingy, damp room with dark grey brick walls and stacks of rotten straw lining the corners. I whirl around to see Eames, who's dressed in fine gleaming armor crafted from what looks like emerald. In his hand he carries a large broadsword. Looking down at myself I realize I'm in an elaborate ornate gown, beneath which is a simple tunic and greaves and sturdy boots. We must be in a dungeon. I make my way around the room and determine that the only exit is barred. I run my hand through my hair.
"I didn't think the dream could change us," I say. Eames starts to scout the room, rapping the hilt against different bricks.
"An adult dream can't, but in a child's dream you become a part of the world. Like right now, what do you suppose is happening?" he replies.
"Well, we're obviously in a dungeon. You're a knight, and I'm in a dress from an upper class but I've got peasant gear on underneath. We're in a dungeon, so we must have committed a crime. My guess is that we've been caught dressing up as courtiers and got tossed down here," I reply. There's a small window at the top of the room, the scant light illuminating the dingy corners. How the hell are we going to get out?
"Probably close. So your first task is to get us out of here, but remember that the more things you change, the more hostile the environment is going to become, and there are no guns here, so death is slow and painful," he says. I scan the room again. The window is barred, but I could probably get through it if the bars were gone. I close my eyes and wait until the thick weight of an old pitchfork appears in my hands. I place the tongs along the bars, then change the speed of the metal molecules until the fork is red-hot. Like I guessed, the bars heat up, glow and become malleable. I swing the fork until the bars have completely disintegrated, then I turn to Eames, who's grinning proudly.
"Well done. Now let's get out of here while we can," he says. We move toward the window and he holds out his hands to boost me up. I curl my knee and place it in his hands. A quick count to three and he boosts me up. I grab hold of the edges of the window and pull myself out, eyes burned by the light of the sun. In my time we've only been in the dungeon for a few minutes, but in the dream we must have been down there for days or more.
I turn back to the tiny window, noticing that we're on the exterior walls of a large medieval castle. I brace my feet against the overgrown grass and reach my hands in. Eames takes hold and I use my leverage to help pull him out of there. My heart beats, one, two, three, at the touch of our skin. As he emerges from the window his weight overpowers me and I fall backward, pulling him on top of me. He catches himself just in time but remains planted, his body hovered over mine for an instant. His breath mingles with mine, his eyes searching my face. I can't help but wonder what he's thinking. Can he feel the electricity surging through my body right now?
"So what's our next step?" I whisper. He shakes his head quickly and rolls to his back beside me. We stare at the sky, watching as the clouds slowly roll by. The rhythmic beat of drums and trilling of flutes waves over to us. I sit up and see an energetic market just outside the castle walls. There are bright balloons and men on impossibly high stilts and fire breathers. I tap Eames and point over to it.
"Looks like fun," he says. I pull off my dress, leaving me only in plain leather greaves and my tunic. My boots are sturdy, if scuffed and dirty. I look pointedly at Eames. He raises his eyebrows in question.
"You need to take off your armor," I say.
"I really don't think this is the right place-" he starts.
"-So that we blend in, Eames. What are you going to do if a robber starts beating somebody? People are going to expect knightly behavior from you, and I really don't think you're the gallant type," I say. He pouts his lips as if he's deeply offended, but awkwardly pulls off his armor until he's in dark brown breeches and a loose tunic similar to mine.
"Alright, brave leader. You've got me in my skivvies, where to next?"
The castle's market is teeming by the time we reach it, but we seem to blend in just fine with the rest of the peasants and the occasional courtier surrounded by tough looking guards. I take the time to examine the goods available at every stall. Ornate jewelry hand crafted in tin and silver, fine linens expertly sewn and chops of meat all mingle together. I have to admit, the details of the dream are perfect. I glance sideways at Eames.
"So you made this?" I ask. He nods, then inhales with the vacant look in his eyes that I've come to know means there's more.
"I designed most of it, yes, but the main puzzle was created by Florence," he says. He doesn't look at me when he says her name. It's like a shimmer of smoke floating from his lips, not meant to escape and yet lingering. Florence.
"Who is she?" I ask. I run my fingers along a row of chimes, the tinkling sound echoing through the market stall. The fat owner glares at me as if annoyed.
"She's someone from the past, that's all. At one time I thought we could be lovers, but she's complicated. Insane. Partly her madness makes her a brilliant architect, but the worlds she creates are too enticing, too intricate and detailed. One begins to get lost," he replies. My inner photograph of her becomes more detailed and more confusing at the same time. I examine the dream again, note the indigo glow of the sky and the patterns of stars much different than those of the real world. There needs to be a clue somewhere. There's always a clue.
We navigate through fire breathers and side show attractions like miniature dragons and bearded women. Eames managed to lift a few coins from an unexpecting courtier and tosses it down on two mugs of ale. He hands me the carafe and when I take a sip, I'm surprised to find it tastes like sweet rose water. A nice touch. Then I see it. I tug on Eame's arm and gesture toward a small dark tent with a wooden sign carved with the image of a glass ball and two hands. A fortune teller. I quickly sip back my drink as we make our way over, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste of high quantity alcohol.
"Don't you know all of this already?" I ask before we enter. Eames shakes his head no as he finishes his own drink. I don't know if his body is as fuzzy as mine already, but he offers the same disgusted look as he downs the bottom.
"I know only the basics. The test is for you to figure out, not me. Much of this is your own subconscious, remember. It might be a child's dream in essence, but it's your mind, love," he replies.
"If it's my test, how come you're with me?" I ask. He glances sideways at me with the smallest of smiles.
"I won't have you getting lost down here. Now we should keep moving. Our bodies upstairs aren't going to stay unconscious forever," he says. I nod and decide to let my instinct take over for the rest of the test. I push myself through the beaded curtains of the little tent, coming face to face with a middle-aged gypsy woman seated at the opposite side of a round table. There are odd curios around the room, shrunken heads, paintings of the occult, and the smoke of incense slithering through the air. She gestures for me to take a seat, and for the first time in the test, I'm alone.
"You wish to have your fortune read, child?" she asks with a thick Romanian accent. I take the chair across from her, cursing my mind for being so stereotypical. The woman takes a deep breath and her eyes become heavy, fluttering slightly.
"You were right in coming to Madame, child. Your path is not yet set, and if it doesn't become so, you will be lost," she says. She pulls out a deck of long cards similar to the tarot cards my hippie friends used to lug around in high school, only the names and drawings on these are different. They're hand-made with names like The Lost Boys and The Ship at Dawn. She lays them face-down on the table after shuffling through them and gestures for me to choose one. I close my eyes and let my fingers choose the first card that feels right. She flips it and hums softly to herself. On the card is a drawing of a tea cup, the tea inside twirling and the leftover leaves meeting in the middle. At the top is says Centrifuge.
"Interesting. Child, you are lost, no?" she asks.
"I guess so," I reply, "I couldn't say that I know exactly what I'm doing." She nods briefly before running her hands along the card, eyes closed and humming.
"I see so much in you, my dear. You're very bright, but sometimes you take everything too seriously. You need to relax from time to time. You cannot find a way because you do not know where you're going, but you don't look around you. You must look for the signs. If not, you will be lost forever. What I see for you are choices, some big, some small. The choice between wisdom and wealth, the choice between reality and the dreams we so wish were real, and your biggest choice in the long run: Whether to listen to your head or your heart. The last one will be your toughest choice. I will guide you to where you need to go, but first I must ask you, is there a man?" she says. I sigh deeply before replying, hoping to hell that Eames can't hear.
"There might be, but I'm not sure if it's anything or just nothing," I say vaguely. The fortune teller smiles as if she already knows all of my secrets. Maybe she does.
"Your final choice, then. I see it clearly. It will not be easy, but you will know when it's right. You chose the card of Centrifuge, that opposites attract, that those who belong together will be pushed together even if the outside world is trying to tear them apart. Now, what you seek lies in the meadows to the west of the castle. You will see a sign," she finishes. She lifts her eyelids back open and comes out of her trance, then she points to her tip bucket for my fare. I reach into my pocket to find one lowly coin. Embarrassed, I flick it into the jar. I don't know why I care so much, being that I know she's just a projection.
On my way out of the tent I think about what she sad. Not just about the signs to come but about myself as well. Mal's voice creeps into my head. "Have you ever been a lover? One half of a whole?" I leave the tent to find Eames at a table across the way placing forged coins on a game of roulette. I study him, the way his wry grin spreads across his lips as he places his bet, the brief view of one of his tattoos under his thin tunic. Mostly I think of how passionate he is about everything he does, and that passion excites me, makes me want to spend more time with him, go on adventures and live the high torque lifestyle I've always dreamed of. Head vs. Heart. But I know we're running out of time so I drag him from the table, nearly giggling as he struggles to pocket the coins he'll never be able to use again.
"I was on a roll, you know," he complains. I pat him on the back gently.
"Save your skills for upstairs," I say, "I've got a lead for our next location."