There was a tiny crack, at that time. A sliver of light gazed through. It revealed a woman's face.
-
Never had a well-laid plan been so quickly and efficiently dismembered. All ideas, contingencies, and outcomes shattered; what lay underneath, instead, was simple curiosity.
Galley had once been a part of a ragged family. The Sewer Rats. But he'd never fully identified with any of them. Indeed, it was a sort of disassociated fraternity, with goodwill lying at the centre but great distances separating each member. They'd been siblings, but not in the most intimate sense of the word.
Jelice was different. Galley could sense no gap, despite their desperately varying backgrounds and upbringings. He was a kindred spirit, down to the core. They could relate on a level beyond mere words. The term 'soul mate' would best describe their relationship.
His ideas of replacing the boy suddenly scattered to the wind, Galley instead spent his time visiting Jelice (but always after dark). Convincing Jelice of his dream-vision status was relatively simple: he would simply display some of his moonstone bequeathed powers for the boy to wonder over. Jelice knew all about the moons, not to mention their mystical properties, but had never once beheld their effects with his own eyes. The wonderment contained therein every time Galley performed even the slightest of tricks
(Why did that word sound so familiar to him?)
filled Galley with a pride in his accomplishments he'd never before felt. So this is what it was to be appreciated, unconditionally and fully.
The days spent in his hole were no longer filled with despair. Instead, it was a joyous time of anticipation, of longing for the night. Galley developed a keen sense of how long it would be before he could spend more time with Jelice. He didn't even bother to question why he'd become so deeply enamoured with pleasing and being pleased by Jelice in so short a time. It was just that natural, and right.
He made more trips to the surface. His egregious temperament was replaced by something lighter, more playful. Though still possessed of a bad attitude, it was no longer malicious. Burger could not help but notice this on Galley's frequent trips to the marketplace, though in his opinion the surly Galley had been easier to handle. Playful Galley had a habit of juggling Burger's trinkets about as they haggled, playing with all the doodads he could get his hands on. The thought of any of his wares breaking annoyed Burger greatly. Moreover, the whole experience turned Galley into a better negotiator, and items that would've gone for a mid-range price in the previous weeks now found their way into Burger's hands for inflated prices.
He'd never been appreciated before. Ever.
Hadn't he?
Galley wasn't sure anymore. Perhaps one of the Sewer Rats. . . well, it didn't much matter. They were all gone now. Only Jelice remained. A true friend. A brother.
"What is your name, exactly?" Jelice inquired politely, on one of Galley's first visits. As would be his custom, Galley sat perched on the railing of the stairs, legs dangling.
"Hmm. . . can't tell ya."
"Aww, why not? I should like to know the identity of my most persisting dream."
"Persistin'? I've only been showin' up for a week now."
Jelice paused at that. It seemed longer. "Yes, well. . . if you are intending to appear every night, then I would prefer to be aware of your nom de plume."
"My wha? That a fruit?"
Jelice laughed, but was cut short by a sputtering cough. Galley forced himself to remain in place, fighting off the instinct to help his sickly charge. The fit would pass quickly.
"Ahem, my apologies. . . 'nom de plume' is another way of saying 'name'. Or so I have heard, anyways."
"Ya don't say."
Silence.
"Why do you keep coming back, exactly?"
Galley anticipated the question far in advance. Who wouldn't? It was perfectly valid. Recurring dreams came pinned with express purpose. Yet Galley had no answer. He couldn't even explain it to himself.
"You look like ya need some company. S'all."
He could see Jelice smile.
"Ahh. Well. I will not fault you on that, as I could use another voice every now and then. Despite mother and father, and uncle Samson, it does get rather lonely in here." His countenance was tinged with tragedy, yet he did not force any of it upon Galley. It was his alone to bear. In this, Jelice Voirel was remarkably mature. "I fully appreciate your presence, good sir. Thank you for our conversations."
And they had many, over the weeks and months that followed. Every night, Galley would sneak his way into Jelice's room, sit atop the railing like some benevolent eagle
(Hawk?)
and discuss all manner of things with Jelice. The subjects ranged far and wide, from planned adventures to wistful, poignant desires on both sides. It was a give and take relationship, with no greed from either party. Each boy craved company, and that alone.
Galley began to read more. His brain absorbed information like a sponge. All was regurgitated to Jelice, who knew some tidbits, was astounded at others, and spoke upon subjects foreign to Galley. They existed in a state of dual schooling.
With increasing boldness, Galley snuck in several times during the day on a few occasions, watching Jelice from between the balustrade. He'd been forced to improve his covert skills, for Jelice looked up upon the balcony often now, perhaps searching for his dreamtime guardian. Galley noted the comings and goings of Jelice's parents, not to mention Samson King, a man he'd come to thoroughly dislike.
It was a purely instinctual loathing, for Samson seldom did anything to upset Jelice. Indeed, he acted even more kindly than the parents themselves, showering Jelice with toys, reading him stories, even going so far as to help the emaciated lad shift about (so as to prevent bed sores) in times of pain. He'd even gotten Jelice up on to his shoulders at one point and paraded him around the room like some prize mount, though he'd made his jockey promise not to inform his parents as to the spectacle's nature.
Yet, despite all the kindness, Galley could sense greed. That integral component to self-serving relationships. Jelice had something that Samson craved. That Samson wanted an heir was not apparent to Galley, yet his guesses on the subject weren't far off that mark. He said nothing of Samson, however, to Jelice himself.
For his part, Jelice said nothing of his 'dreams'. A slight paranoia existed within him, a fear that exposing the source of his recent joys would cause it to disperse forever. Galley was all too happy to keep their rendezvous a secret.
Their bond was so complete, so concrete, that Galley never even realised it had come to define his life. Entire portions of his brain seemed wholly dedicated to maintaining it.
"Do you have any family?"
"Nah."
"I thought that was somewhat compulsory."
"Not when yer a dream, dummy."
Laughter.
"Well, would you like to have one? Perhaps I could dream some up for you."
"Eh? Nah, s'okay."
"Are you sure? According to my reading, this sort of thing is what researchers call a 'lucid' dream. I should have control over it. As such, I should think it very possible to make one."
"That so? Well, if yer so all-powerful, turn my head into. . . ahh. . . a loqua bottle."
"What is loqua?"
"What, you've never heard 'o loqua before?"
"I do not think so."
"You read all those stories 'bout pirates and knights and that junk, and you ain't never heard of loqua? Wow. The spirits, you know. Booze."
"Ohh, liquor. Understood."
"Well?"
"It doesn't appear to be working. Hm."
"Guess this ain't no lucid dream, then, eh?"
"How disappointing."
Silence.
"Have you ever had any friends? Aside from me, that is."
Shrug. "I guess. I'm a dream, though. Y'know. You made me up."
"True, but I'm surprised I did not also give you some compatriots."
"Maybe it's 'cuz you don't have any of yer own?"
The sadness evoked by this comment was almost palpable.
"Er, but, that don't matter none. Friends ain't all they're cracked up ta be."
(twisted his way through the back streets of the city, away from the site of his first betrayal)
"Well, I don't know about that. But they seem nice to me. Adventures can be had without friends, no? I wouldn't think one could survive very long, out amongst the skies, without a hearty band of chums to fall back on. It is. . . what is the matter?"
But Galley was already gone, his shoes disappearing over the side of the railing.
-
Fragments. Pieces. That's all it was, floating about, flotsam and jetsam. Considering it all as he ran, those same tears fleeing down his cheeks, Galley wondered when, exactly, his past had almost wholly abandoned him in favour of a joyous present.
