"Hey, Galley."

"Hm?"

"You r'member your parents?"

"Nah, not really."

"Sure?"

"Yeah. Didn't have any."

"Huh?"

"Well, guess I did. Wouldn't it be neat not to, though?"

"Can y'do that?"

"Doubt it."

"Oh."

"Marlo?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember yours?"

"Kinda."

"Tell me."

-

Galley couldn't remember what Marlo had told him, all those years ago. Had it been important? Not likely. Tiny snippets from a child's brain contain very little credibility. Facts are twisted and changed over time, malformed into something that never was; a farce, a fancy. Yet Galley still envied Marlo his farce, wherever he was now. It was, at least, a thing to hold on to.

-

Galley planned for weeks. His ideas grew into fruition and blossomed, horrible and twisted, yet clear, concise. He knew what had to be done. Yet, before performing the deed, he required an interview. Sitting alone in his den, surrounded by rusted cages and faded beadwork, the dim candlelight his only companion, Galley desired to have a talk with Jelice Voirel.

He'd watched the family every night since then, noting every coming and going that transpired. Jelice was tucked in, quite promptly, at 8:30; his snobbish, whiney sister at 9; and the parents followed shortly thereafter, save if they were entertaining. Many guests entered the house at fairly random intervals, some warmly welcomed, and others greeted only with a surface cheer. Only Samson King ever desired to hold court with Jelice. The rest feared his malady too much.

The elder Voirel's seldom turned in before 9:30, usually reading in their library for a short time. Their collection of literature was quite impressive, lining no less than three walls and stretching up to the roof: Galley had never seen so many books in his life. Many reams of paper in the Hall of Records, yes, but unbound sheets hold nothing to neatly placed tomes in grandeur. Once reading time was up, the pair would retire to their bedchamber, arm in arm, a picture-perfect husband and wife set. Galley would often hear a subdued ruckus emerge from the walls of their personal dwelling, but left what was occurring within its confines strictly to his imagination, without further prying.

Needless to say, on an ordinary day, the house slept like the dead by 10:30, and it was this time that Galley judged safe for a brief chat with sickly Jelice.

And so it came to pass, on one cold Fall night, that Galley slipped into Jelice's room via his balcony, and dropped a tiny pebble down upon the pale teen's face.

Possessed of extremely sensitive skin, Jelice reacted immediately. A tiny yelp bounded out of his mouth, and was sucked back in by waves of weakness. His eyes, wide and alert, gazed around the room in surprise. Galley was no less taken aback than his virtual duplicate down below: he'd expected it would take a few more pebbles. The rest slid out of his hand, neglected.

"Hey. Kid."

Jelice located the source of the voice quickly. Fear bubbled inside his chest. Were those eyes peering out of the gloom on the mezzanine? "Who's there?" he whispered, a stab of pain in his side cutting the last word a bit short.

Galley paused a moment. What now? "Um. . . I'm a dream. You're asleep. Got that?"

Jelice blinked. It seemed a far more realistic dream than he was used to. Galley's somewhat ghostly figure leapt up upon the handrail, legs dangling. He peered down at Jelice like a condor eying his food. Yet there was no maliciousness in the gaze, but more a reserved curiosity, and Jelice knew it. This bird of prey wanted to play.

"O-kay, then." Cough. "What is this dream about, then?"

Galley cocked his head sideways at that. What, indeed? "Since when'd dreams need a point? They're just random bits of stuff."

"I have read otherwise, actually." The original fear was beginning to subside. And why shouldn't it? Jelice knew little of danger. Moreover, he'd never been able to consciously speak in a dream before – if this was a dream, that is. He couldn't be sure.

"Oh?"

"Indeed; according to some scholars, sleeping simply dredges up old memories that you have repressed. Hence, dreams."

Galley was confused. This one used too many big words. It was like talking to Mama again. "Oh yeah? Well, nothin' repressed, or whatever, here. Just a dream that wants to talk."

"Oh, okay. What would you like to talk about?"

Another pause. Despite his anticipation of the event, Galley really hadn't done his homework. What should he talk about? What common ground did they have between them? "Um. Why aren't you scared?"

Jelice smiled, a wide, beaming smile. "Oh, well, if this is indeed a dream, then I can't be hurt. Right? So why be afraid?"

Did this boy hold no suspicion? Was he truly this naïve? Galley had known, coming into this conversation, that Jelice had not been exposed to the inequities of life outside of these four walls – and yet, the extent of his innocence was never quite been known before. A soul untouched by sin.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess. But maybe I'm a monster that's gonna eat your brains. Couldn't I be? Aren't I threatenin'?"

Jelice's brow furrowed in thought. "But you look to be no older than I. I think, anyway; my eyes are not very good in the dark. Could you come down into the light, please?"

The light? Heaven forbid. "No, I'm gonna stay up here. I don't like light." Which was true, nowadays. Galley's skin had become just as pale as Jelice's. The days of training and vegetating in the sewers had sucked any semblance of tan out of Galley, and he was even paler than the average Valuan. His pupils did not react well to sudden bursts of powerful hues.

Jelice took no offence. He sought only to accommodate his unexpected guest. "Very well, then. Is there anything else you wish to talk about? I must say, for a dream, this is certainly quite ordinary. My room looks no different than normal."

"Whaddya normally dream 'bout?"

Jelice was carried off by wistfulness. "Just what I read about, usually. . . princes and princesses, far off lands, treasure, adventure. . . pirates, too. . . it all sounds so grand, doesn't it? I wish I could go on an adventure." Cough.

"Adventures can be dangerous, though, right?"

Jelice rose up in his bed, clutched his chest in sudden discomfort, and sunk back down again. "Yes, but, how marvellous! I would love to see some of the fantastic sights I've read about! To carry a sword, and sweep out into the world. . . Uncle Samson has told me that it is very bright outside Valua, and there are leagues of pirates that need righting. . . and I could make friends! Grand!" Cough, cough.

Did this sheltered lad no nothing of the reality of the world? Of its dinginess, the constant smell of decay, the reaper stalking constantly through the streets? Galley knew better to ask these questions, and yet he could not help it, for contemplating this situation was too much for him. How could the dirt not have made its way into this room? Was the shielding effect of Jelice's parents really so strong as this?

"What if you died?"

There was silence. Galley could see Jelice crack, just a little, in that moment. But through that crack lay a conviction unexpected.

"If I died. . . then at least I would have lived first."

And the plan fell apart.