I know I keep saying this, but I adore this chapter. I adore all my readers, too, for bearing with me as I release yet another chapter. This one is the longest chapter of Dragon's Destiny so far, clocking in at 8,067 words as this site counts them. Also, thank you to all of this story's 30 followers - you know who you are.
This chapter starts in a similar fashion to how the last one started. You'll see why in a moment. Enjoy.
Current music: Gazpacho Police (Klezmer song) - Michael Winograd
BARRETT'S POV
I opened my eyes to find that I was somewhere else. Lights were right in my field of vision, though they weren't nearly as bright as the sun. What was more, the chandeliers containing Sawsbuck antlers were now absent.
I moaned. It occurred to me that the VR sunglasses I'd been given earlier had been removed from my face, though that hardly seemed relevant at the time.
"Can someone help me up, please?" I asked the room at large.
A paw was offered to me, and I gratefully accepted it, pulling myself shakily to my feet.
"What…happened?" I wondered aloud, glancing at the room around me. It contained two benches, a tiled floor, and a pair of mirrors. There were also private changing rooms, presumably where you'd try on an article of clothing.
"What do you think happened?" a chiding voice announced. The tone was like poisoned honey, and it got on my nerves quickly.
"I passed out and woke up in a clothing store," I muttered.
"Well, you're only half correct!" the voice replied. "You did in fact faint, after which we dragged you here. But this isn't a clothing store, exactly."
From behind the mirror stepped a majestic feline Pokémon with a set of nine tails. It was perhaps only fitting that I recognized the species immediately - a Ninetales. What a clever name, huh?
"So why am I here?" I asked the Ninetales through gritted teeth. "I mean, not to be rude or anything - sorry if I sounded rude."
The Ninetales smiled. "You're here so that we can fit you with a nice suit to wear to dinner and the meeting!"
I rolled my eyes. "A suit? Really?"
"When in Emperor's Garden," the Ninetales told me in a singsong tone, "you do as the Emperor does. And Emperor Cambridge never fails to adorn himself in the finest garments, so you shouldn't either!"
"But I'm not the Emperor," I stated.
"Yet you're in his Garden" she pointed out, evidently peeved that she needed to repeat herself. "So you might as well deal with it - think of all the growing pains Emperor Cambridge had to go through in order to keep looking professional! Oh, but he never complained one bit!"
"Fine," I sighed. "Go on. Make me a suit."
During my previous life, I'd never dressed in anything fancier than LuLuLemon pants. I didn't even wear a belt. Simply put, when you never left the Sacred Heart Institute, you didn't need to dress to impress. You just needed to dress not to flash your fellow residents.
The reason I bring this up is to illustrate that I did not know what went into getting a suit tailored. I would learn this lesson the hard way within seconds.
"Well, stand up!" the Ninetales stated.
I frowned. "Why do I need to stand up to get a suit made for me?"
"Why, so I can measure you!" she exclaimed with a beaming smile.
"Can't you just…I dunno, scan me, and it'll tell you everything you need to know? And then you can make the suit while I go up to my room?"
"I'm afraid not, Barrett! You are going to be a good Charmander and hold still so that I can make sure everything fits! All the best for our visitors; nothing less will suffice!"
So I bit the bullet and stood there as I was poked and prodded with a tape measure. I swear, this city made no sense. They had virtual-reality headsets that revealed a whole world laid over the physical realm, but they still couldn't take measurements without such an invasive process. And really, it shouldn't have felt so invasive, but there was something about this action that made me believe the Ninetales was intruding upon my personal space without realizing it.
I don't know if it was the fact that her tails were so close to me, or that she put the tape measure in her mouth for the height and waist circumference measurements, but either way it wasn't ideal for someone like me. My face itched before long from all the times the Ninetales' snout came close to my own.
Oh, and there was the little matter of holding still, something I struggled with even at the best of times.
"If you don't fidget," the Ninetales informed me, speaking more severely this time, "this process will be over sooner. Then you can go up to your room before dinner."
"I'm trying not to fidget" I stated. "It's just…I stim sometimes. And sometimes I don't realize it."
"Uh-huh" the tailor muttered, suggesting that she didn't believe me for an instant.
Once she'd taken all my measurements (height, waist circumference, neck circumference, wingspan), at least several (seven) times over, the Ninetales smiled. "Okay. I have all the numbers I need to make the perfect fit for you!"
"So I get to leave, right?" I asked.
The tailor gave me a look that was half glare, half smile.
"Oh, no no no. I'll still need to hold up the pieces of fabric to your body to make sure I've got just the right sizes. I can make them smaller, but I can't make them bigger, so I need to make sure I always have enough material. That takes time!"
I sighed. "Right."
So I sat on the bench as the Ninetales began cutting the fabric. This took seemingly a very long time, so I had plenty of time to think about Skipper's accusation.
He'd asserted that I was probably attracted to Lucy. In other words, I liked her. And I'd rebutted that I didn't. But it was his word against mine, and I'd done a piss-poor job of defending my own position, literally keeling over from the self-consciousness. Needless to say, that would only strengthen Skipper's conviction.
And the scary thing was? I could tell where he was coming from, even if I hadn't been awake to witness it. I'd gotten that visceral satisfaction from defending Lucy the day I'd grown my wings. The way she'd gone to the ER to wait for me after I'd broken my wing. If I'd indeed held my hand out toward her, maybe there was something more to what Skipper believed.
But right now…priorities. The Ninetales seemed to think getting me into that suit was a priority.
"Okay…let's make sure this cut of fabric is just right. Hold up your arm…now your other one…please stand still. Okay, this is going to be the right sleeve."
The process went on for what must have been a couple of hours. My arms grew tired from holding them in the air intermittently, and my ankles began to ache from having to take care not to touch the tailor's tails by accident. (If you touched a Ninetales' tale, you risked being cursed for life unless you were able to absolve yourself of that curse somehow.)
"Arceus, Barrett!" the Ninetales exclaimed after a while, which was far from the first time she'd done so with me. "Please, just stay still."
"I can't," I stated. "I just can't."
The tailor might have carried a playful attitude before, but she didn't anymore. She merely glared at me as I squirmed side to side, trying to make as little movement as possible while working out my restlessness.
"The more you cooperate, Barrett, the faster this process will go" the Ninetales told me sharply. "You know the drill."
I know what needs to be done, I thought bitterly. I just can't do it.
After an eternity, the suit was finally complete. By this time my stomach was growling like a wild animal - I was ready to eat like such an animal. But, to my chagrin, that wasn't even the end of the process.
"Okay, I've got the suit here for you. It's a tuxedo, and it's built so that it'll accommodate your wings. Why don't you try it on?"
The Ninetales carefully helped me into the suit, and then invited me to see my reflection in the mirror. All in all, I liked to think I looked snazzy, but the snazziness had come at a high price.
"Sounds great," I said blankly. "Now can I go to my room?"
"Nope" the Ninetales responded, and my heart sank for a few seconds. As it turned out, though, she'd been faking me out, because she then said the following:
"It's dinnertime, and you're strictly prohibited from eating outside the dining room. So you'd be wise to make your way there."
It wasn't too difficult to locate the room in question - a number of servers were standing right outside it. I could tell they were servers because of the clothes they wore and platters they carried. The dining room itself was impressive, what with the black and gold table so long you'd need to shout to have your voice heard. Of course, there was another Sawsbuck antler chandelier above the table's center, along with chairs that resembled thrones. I took my seat between Skipper and Amaterasu.
In the middle of the table sat a Blaziken wearing a bracer on his right arm. He stared pointedly at his guests, radiating an uneasy sort of authority. Like he was King of this castle, yet wasn't terribly thrilled about that.
On either side of the Blaziken sat two Cinderace guards. I couldn't tell if they were the same guards who'd escorted us to the castle or not. And across from the Blaziken was an Arcanine whom I recognized as Commander Maisie.
This probably meant only one thing: The Blaziken was the Emperor of Gardenia.
The Emperor licked his lips, then looked up at Commander Maisie with a slight frown. "You have the menu for today's dinner, right?"
"Your Highness," the Arcanine replied, "I do not have access to the menu. That's between you and the kitchen staff, not you and your security guard."
The Blaziken grimaced. "Well, I was told to expect three courses. Those courses were creamed spinach and baked potato for appetizers, peach-tree filet mignon for the main course, and mixed berry crisp for dessert. That's still the case, right?"
"Again, Your Highness, I am not privy to that information."
At the Institute, they'd tell us things like "you get what you get, and you don't get upset." Something that rhymes, a nice little ditty that's easy to remember.
I frowned. "Peach-tree steak?" I blurted out.
The Emperor and his servants, not to mention Skipper and Ammy, gave me weird looks. My stomach dropped as I realized how dumb I probably sounded. How stupid I probably was for not knowing that.
"It's steak that's grown in a lab" Emperor Cambridge (I thought that was his name?) explained. "You see, most of us Pokémon don't like to eat beef - it's bad for the environment and inhumane, even if we're not human - ".
I am. Or at least, I used to be. But go on.
"- so it's called peach-tree steak, from a corruption of the term Petri dish. Do you understand now?"
I nodded, trying not to laugh. It sounded so much like something a kooky member of Congress might say.
In any case, the first course was swiftly brought out. This course comprised a cup of spinach swimming in some white sauce, as well as a golden baked potato that had been cut into paper-thin slices. My mouth watered at the sight, especially given that I hadn't eaten since breakfast.
I expected that I'd be able to fall onto the food immediately, that I'd embarrass myself by eating like a beast. However, that was not to be.
Emperor Cambridge sighed. "Now, it is time for our prayer. Everyone, clasp our paws together as we say grace."
Although the Sacred Heart Institute was a devout Catholic organization, we had only said grace prior to meals on holidays like Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. During those times, I only closed my eyes out of necessity, not because I really believed God was blessing our meal.
But the Emperor and his entourage were true believers, or at least seemed to be. We formed a ring of arms, and the Blaziken led us in prayer.
"Oh Arceus in heaven, thank You for this meal. You have given us this day our daily bread, and forgiven us for our errors, as we forgive those who err against us. We are eternally grateful that we have been given another day in Your glorious kingdom - the Garden of the Second Sun. Amen."
I had my eyes open the entire time. This wasn't out of disrespect, mind you - I just wanted to see if the others closed their eyes for the prayer. And, as far as I could tell, they all did.
"Now that we have blessed the meal, we may dig in," Emperor Cambridge said.
And then, just as I'd predicted, I was unable to restrain myself from scooping the creamed greens into my mouth. I ate ravenously, like someone who's never seen food before. The succulent sauce from whence the greens had come soon stained my facial fur (not that it was likely noticeable to others, considering the color of said fur).
Mayor Ammy gave me a disapproving glare, and even Skipper sighed a bit. Emperor Cambridge, thankfully, didn't seem to notice or care about my lack of table manners. If I ended up banished from his city and told never to return, it wouldn't be because of this.
"So, Your Highness," one of the Cinderace guards asked his boss, "how many dignitaries will be attending the meeting tomorrow?"
"Uh…several hundred, from what I remember," the Emperor replied. I noticed that the Blaziken barely made eye contact with the guard who'd asked the question, instead staring off into space.
After downing a slice of that golden potato, I went for the last of my greens cup. Arceus, it was so tasty!
Unfortunately, I swiftly paid the price for this rapid pace of eating, because a bit of white sauce landed on me again. This time, it hit part of my tuxedo - the black part. Now my suit was visibly stained!
Normally, I wouldn't have been one to care about such a thing, but I was all too aware of my surroundings now. Maybe nobody would notice.
But Mayor Ammy, seated right next to me, did. She nudged me and whispered loudly, "Use your napkin to wipe off the sauce."
My face turned bright pink as I heeded Amaterasu's advice. She hadn't been terribly loud in an absolute sense, but it was definitely loud enough for Skipper to hear, and probably sufficiently audible for Commander Maisie.
Once I'd cleaned up that part of my tuxedo, I was able to finish my first course. True to its title, it had appetized me - I was thoroughly excited for the next dish presented before me, even if the meat wasn't real.
When the "peach tree" steak was set at my place, my mouth started watering, practically foaming as though I were a rabies victim. It looked just like a real filet mignon, the likes of which they would never have served at the Institute. And I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into that delicious cut of meat!
In order to eat steak, of course, one had to cut it first. It's very difficult, not to mention dangerous, to consume it without a fork and knife. So I looked from side to side, watching how the other diners sliced their meat without resting their elbows on the table (a big no-no to anyone who knew anything about table manners).
Well, I was less than coordinated in this activity, and the rest of the table seemed to know it. All eyes were on me as I tried using my knife to saw through the tough cut of meat.
Fuck! They're all going to realize that I'm not used to this! And now they're all staring at my ineptitude! Like, what the hell is wrong with me?
I let out a small, involuntary whimper as I kept sawing at the steak in an effort to cut it. I even stabbed it with my fork to pull apart some of the meat's juicy innards, but that only got me so far.
"Ammy, can you help him?"
"I -" I stammered, meaning to say I've got this.
But Ammy smiled warmly. "There is no need to worry. Let me help you cut your steak, Barrett."
My face was the color of a Cheri berry by the time the filet mignon was cut into cube-shaped pieces of artificial meat. There it was, all laid out for me, like a little kid's meal that I hadn't needed to work for at all. It was all I could do not to bawl from embarrassment, and the only thing keeping me from that was the knowledge that bawling would increase my embarrassment.
The steak was delicious, but the sour, shameful feeling in my stomach drastically impacted my enjoyment of it, and not in a good way. I barely looked up from my plate as I ate the filet mignon, but I also didn't want to look at the tame meat chunks, for they were a reminder of my inability to slice it myself.
Emperor Cambridge, for what it's worth, got some steak sauce on his fiery red arm at one point. Unlike me, however, he wiped it off without being told to, and didn't seem embarrassed by it. Then again, he was Emperor - in the eyes of his constituents, he could probably do no wrong.
Additionally, I noticed that in between bites, Cambridge would occasionally shake out his arm, flapping it like a butterfly's wing. It was almost as though he needed to get that energy out somewhere, yet didn't know what the proper outlet was.
The smallest inkling showed up in my head that maybe the Emperor had his own secret similar to my own. Obviously, it might not be a secret anyway, because when you were the leader of a nation, there was only so much you could hide, and only for so long.
Anyway, the steak was soon cleared away, to be replaced by a sumptuous berry crisp dessert. The berries were a mixture of the types I recalled from Skipper's mother's salads, which combined together to create a brilliantly colorful dish. (You're not going to like this, Angela, but they're vastly superior to your cooking. Sorry not sorry.)
After dinner was over, Emperor Cambridge announced that the meeting would be held at 4 PM the following day in the chamber of the Emperor's Garden Senate building. (If the head of government was an Emperor, what was the point of having a Senate, anyway?) The guests were welcome to return to our rooms.
"Uh…" I mouthed. "I don't know where my room is."
Right away, I realized that admitting this had been a mistake of the highest order. At least, it was the sort of thing that I'd blow out of proportion and endlessly beat myself up for, when most people wouldn't have thought it that big a deal.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Ammy asked.
Maybe she doesn't know what happened between me and Skipper. In that case…I'm going to have to explain!
Commander Maisie smiled understandingly. "What is there to wonder about? Remember that there's only one guest room left on the fourth floor of the castle - that one is yours, Barrett."
"Oh yeah" I muttered, recalling that I'd been told this immediately prior to my row with Skipper. "Thanks."
"No problem," the Arcanine replied.
"Well, in that case," I replied, still a bit red-faced, "I think I'll head to my room and get comfortable before the meeting tomorrow."
I staggered up the stairs to the fourth floor, where there was indeed a single guest bedroom with my name on it. (Okay, it didn't literally have my name on it, but you know what I mean.) My VR glasses had been placed on top of the dresser, which provided further evidence that the room had been consciously chosen for me.
Speaking of the room, it was nothing like the dusty dorm I shared with Danny Sham at the Institute. Nor did I have to share it with anyone else, which, as much as I usually respected Skipper, I counted myself grateful for.
The central rug was crimson and gold, which seemed like the Emperor's official colors at this point. A king-sized bed with sheets in the same colors sat in one corner of the room, with a painting of what looked like the city of Emperor's Garden hung against the wall in place of a window.
After such an eventful day, what I needed most was sleep. First, however, I remembered that the VR glasses were right there, and wouldn't it be so amazing to see what numbers were in this room?
Well, besides the plant on the floor stating that I'd get ten XP for watering it, there were no opportunities to grind for experience here. As such, I figured I might as well turn in for the night.
That's exactly what I did, but sleep did not come as easily as I'd hoped. For the first half hour after climbing into bed, I couldn't help but remember those gestures. Namely, the bizarre, awkward mannerisms with which Emperor Cambridge had conducted himself during our dinner.
Perhaps it was nothing. In fact, it was probably nothing, and I was more than likely insane for even considering it. But maybe, just maybe, there was a reason Cambridge's mannerisms reminded me so much of my own.
Even a few weeks after he'd heard the very difficult news his supervisor had alluded to, Mark did not want to believe it. It was, true to the way it had been advertised, hard to accept.
That did not, of course, mean that Mark didn't need to contend with it anyway. He did. The sooner he accepted it, the sooner he could move on.
Now Mark sat at his computer, monitoring intelligence signals from the CIA as he sipped a can of sparkling water. Although the signals only came in once or twice an hour, they had to be acted on almost immediately - this job was the epitome of "hurry up and wait". For that reason, he was strictly prohibited from jumping down the rabbit hole also known as the Internet. He could not miss something important.
With every minute that passed without a signal, Mark felt increasingly tempted to rip his thinning hair out of his middle-aged scalp. He must have looked as though he were about to suffer an aneurysm.
It was no secret to his colleagues that something had happened to Mark. Why else would he seem so on edge about everything? What the colleagues couldn't know, of course, was what, precisely, Mark had been told.
So Mark kept that secret. In all probability, he would take it to the grave, and it would never see the light of day again. For that, he figured the world should be grateful.
Footsteps came down the hallway floor, but Mark was not concerned about his own safety. Even in a country awash with weapons, he felt just as secure here as anywhere else; even more so, in fact, since the compound was guarded by an arsenal of metal detectors.
It was not some random gunman, however, whom Mark had to fear that night. Rather, it was his own colleague Tommy.
"What are you doing here, Tommy?" Mark snarled at his colleague. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"
Tommy held his arms upward like someone facing arrest. "I'm not…I didn't mean to scare you."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't mean you have a right to be here. In fact, you should be in bed. We've got a big day tomorrow."
In reality, there was little reason to think tomorrow would be any crazier than today had been. Then again, now that Mark had been told the very difficult news, every day was an adventure, and not in a good way.
"So tell me, Mark," Tommy said while wearing a smirk on his face, "did you hear the rumors about Pokémon being real?"
"They're not just rumors, Tommy," Mark snapped. "They're actually backed up by considerable evidence."
After that, the conversation took a notable swerve into some very rough waters. No longer was Tommy the annoyingly friendly colleague who didn't know how to set boundaries and so ended up breaking them without realizing it. Now, he didn't even pretend to be nice.
"Maybe they are, but the mere fact you're saying it doesn't make it so. You know what they say - extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence."
"Yeah," Mark retorted, "and I have extraordinary evidence."
"If you're not willing to present it, then I have no reason to agree with you that Pokémon are real. It's just like they say on that site Reddit these days - no pics, no proof!"
Mark rolled his eyes. "You should know better than to trust Reddit of all places."
"Maybe. But my point still stands. If you're going to say that Pokémon are real, you'd better be ready to back it up with facts."
"That's between me and Cargile, not me and you!" Mark barked.
Tommy narrowed his eyes. "Well, if you've got secret cyber evidence as that pillow salesman claimed, you'd better come forward. You might as well win a Nobel Prize for that!"
"I know what a Nobel Prize is, Tommy!"
"And wouldn't you like one? It's immediate fame and fortune."
That was enough to sit Mark off. He tried to be professional at work, but some things were just too much. It only took a spark of sufficient strength to light the fuse, and within seconds, boom went the dynamite.
"No, Tommy! I don't want fame and fortune! I just want to live my life and serve my country. In fact, before Cargile dropped that bombshell on me, I didn't want to believe that Pokémon were a thing! But Cargile provided evidence, which I would do the same if you weren't so annoying!"
"Jesus Christ, Mark," Tommy muttered. "I bet you haven't screamed that hard since your divorce!"
"I do not wish to talk about my ex-wife!" Mark snapped. "I haven't paid her alimony in years, and for good reason!"
"I bet you're a deadbeat dad, Mark. Which I suppose is only fitting when you're a believer in conspiracy theories like the existence of Pokémon!"
Mark glared at his co-worker. "This conversation is over."
"Spoken like somebody who's lost an argument and doesn't want to take the L."
"Seriously, Tommy. You need to touch some grass. When have I lied to you about anything? Why would I, a CIA employee, lie to you about anything?"
"The CIA's got a checkered history," Tommy said. "Sometimes it's done pretty shady things, and…".
"If that's a problem for you, then you might as well find a new career" Mark muttered. "Because if you hate your country, why would you want to serve it?"
"Fine" Tommy muttered. "I might submit my resignation right now."
"Good riddance."
Tommy smirked. "You'd be wise not to say that out loud here. They're going to know if you disrespect your colleagues, and you'd be out of a job too before you know it."
"You wouldn't," Mark replied caustically. "You're too much of a coward, Tommy, and you know it."
Tommy winked. "I'm not going to quit today. But mark my words," he continued, chuckling at his little pun. "If I go down, I'm taking you with me."
BARRETT'S POV
I slept surprisingly well that night - no dreams forced their way into my mind, and I woke up the following morning feeling better-rested than I had at any point since I'd arrived in the inner world.
Once I donned the VR glasses, I saw bright yellow text right in front of me: WELCOME TO THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE - 16 XP.
I snorted. Every day fits that description, after all. But then again, they said that each day was a gift, and that's why they called it the present. Of course, that was neither here nor there as I headed downstairs.
Skipper and Lucy already stood at the foot of the staircase, neither of them wearing the fancy suits from last night's dinner. Both of them did, however, have their VR glasses perched atop their appeared to have been talking with one another, and for a moment I wondered if they were excluding me on purpose. It might not have been the first time, either.
"Hey, guys" I said awkwardly as I stepped in between them. "Sorry if I'm crashing your party."
"Oh, there's no reason to be sorry," Lucy insisted. "And we weren't talking about anything important. Right, Skipper?"
The cerulean Charmander nodded. "Right."
"Noted" I replied blankly. For what it's worth, I felt they were trying too hard to convince me that they had nothing to hide. If it had truly been a simple, innocent conversation consisting of small talk, they wouldn't have been so forceful.
"Why don't we go out into the town a bit?" Skipper suggested. "Wouldn't that be fun?"
I frowned. "Aren't we supposed to stay here until the meeting starts?"
"Maybe we are," my roommate acknowledged, "but that's strictly optional. And if we're back by 4 PM, it's basically a victimless crime anyway. Doesn't hurt anyone else."
"I might need a little more time than that," I said. "Getting into that suit is gonna be tedious."
"Still," Lucy responded, "you might need one hour for that. You don't need nine. So let's get a move on, boys!"
We didn't waste any time departing the castle and making our way toward the main business district of Emperor's Garden. My mouth still hung agape at the palatial estates of Gardenia, and it was all I could do not to gasp every once in a while.
"Wow, Barrett," Skipper remarked eventually, "you look like you just landed on the moon."
A month ago, that might well have been me. Just look at all I've explored in the last month…it's like, "Mama, look at me now!" She'd be pretty amazed.
For obvious reasons, I did not say any of this out loud. I wasn't ready to tell my secret until circumstances forced my hand. And I prayed to Arceus above that it wouldn't happen for as long as possible.
Although it was morning (though, for the umpteenth time, the time of day hardly affected the sun's angle), the city was still lively in a way American cities rarely are. The streets were amazingly clean, as though the whole metropolis existed to serve Emperor Cambridge (which, to be fair, it probably did.)
Much of that morning was a blur. As it turns out, when there are so many words and numbers floating over everyone's head, as well as over every building and every plant, there's only so much you can take in. There are, however, some snapshots that stick with me.
We went inside a coffee shop (labeled BOOSTERBUCKS - FOR THE BOOST YOU NEED!) for a brief respite from the heat. The fans worked wonders on my sweaty fur, and a Flareon stood behind the counter handing out cups of what seemed to be very strong coffee. (Not that I was an expert - I didn't drink coffee.) I did however scarf down a slice of cranberry apple coffee cake, which was just as scrumptious as it looked; that served as my breakfast.
"Are you sure you don't want any coffee, Barrett?" Skipper asked me. "There's a reason Flareon are sometimes called Booster."
I vaguely recalled Booster being that species' Japanese name, but any reference to a country on the surface was unlikely to go over well with my companions. Instead, I simply nodded to answer the original question.
"I only like coffee shops for the pastries" I stated. "Caffeine isn't for me."
At one point, we visited a building that was adorned in numerous flashing lights in red, black, and green. The ethereal text above it also alternated between those three colors, labeling it as CAMBRIDGE'S CASINO - SO MUCH WINNING!
"Wow" I mouthed. I'd said that a lot lately, but it struck me that casinos existed in a city devoted to the Emperor specifically.
"Why are you so shocked, Barrett?" Lucy inquired.
Arceus, they're really steering me into rough waters, aren't they?
"I guess…I guess I'm just surprised the Emperor approves of gambling."
"You'd be surprised" a nearby Infernape muttered. "Emperor Cambridge is allowed to have hobbies too, you know?"
I frowned. Having always been taught that gambling was a sin (not that I took this as gospel), I guess it took me aback that Cambridge would succumb to that vise.
"Of course," the Infernape, whose chyron identified him as DOUGLAS INFERNAPE - LEVEL 22 - 36,496 XP, replied, "he's always playing with house money. As the Emperor, he's guaranteed Level 100 for life."
"Is that the maximum?" I asked, my curiosity in terms of numbers having gotten the better of me.
"No, the max is 99" Douglas Infernape answered. "Or rather," he clarified, "the rest of us can't get above Level 99. But Cambridge doesn't even have to work for it. It's just handed to him on a silver platter, much like everything else in life."
"Well, he's the Emperor," Lucy pointed out. "I guess he has to set a strong example for everyone else. Maybe being Level 100 places him under pressure to do just that."
"Maybe" Douglas conceded. "But it doesn't seem that way to me. In any case, because he's always guaranteed the super-max level, he doesn't have to worry about losing points in the casino. And yes, you can gamble with XP instead of money."
"Huh" I mouthed.
"And get this," the Infernape continued. "Cambridge also has plenty of extra time to write music - that's another hobby of his. He's even got a song called 'Big Red Card', which has a line about how he'll bet, bet, bet until the thrill is gone!"
Skipper narrowed his eyes. "Where's the thrill in gambling if there's no risk to it? Hell, is it even gambling if you don't stand to lose anything?"
"You're preaching to the choir, bud" Douglas muttered. "That's why the Emperor is such a hypocrite! Why won't he just put his money where his mouth is?"
We soon bade Douglas goodbye, and for the moment, I expected to never see the Infernape again.
Later, we ate lunch at the Rainforest Café location I'd noticed yesterday. The food was positively delightful, fit for an Emperor to be sure. While I do recall just how wonderful it tasted, I couldn't have told you anything else about the meal, for it was overshadowed by what happened next.
The time had come for us to head back to the castle. We were at least an hour's walk from there by now, and I'd estimated it'd take roughly that long for me to put the tuxedo back on for the meeting. That being said, I still wanted to appreciate Emperor's Garden as much as I could, knowing I might never be able to explore it again.
The multicolored storefronts and virtual words must have been even more of an overload than I'd realized, because I was soon trailing a good five meters behind Lucy and Skipper. I must have been walking around in a bewildered sort of excitement, like a little boy in a candy store wondering what he should sample first.
I was excited at first, but I soon realized that I could no longer see my companions. And that was a big problem, because without them, I didn't know my way back to the castle grounds!
My gut felt as though it were being twisted like a pretzel. The most heartbreaking feeling in the world was to stand there and realize that I would miss the meeting. Worse, I might not see my friends again.
Fuck, I thought, selecting a very articulate word indeed to process my emotions.
It wasn't hopeless. Supposedly they said that if you ever became separated from your parents in a grocery store, you should stay where you were and wait for them to find you. Of course, I hadn't shopped for groceries with my mother since I was young enough to sit in the cart. Still, I figured I'd just stand there and wait for my friends to locate me again.
When this didn't happen after five minutes, I elected to take matters into my own hands. I strode forward, trying to project as much confidence as I could. I was not a lost little puppy derg - I was old enough to handle myself in the city.
Well, after several turns (several possibly meaning seven), I ended up in an area of the city that looked a bit…seedier. Of course, given the overall opulence of Emperor's Garden, it was all relative, but there was graffiti on the walls, and the area was shaded from the sun by tents.
Why the hell are there tents here?
And then I noticed the meat racks hanging from the tents, the X-rated magazines piled atop tables, the anti-Emperor posters pasted against the walls. That's what led me to realize something else:
This is a black market. The stuff being sold here is against the law.
Still, that didn't answer all of my questions. It seemed incredible that such a place could exist in such a clean, wealthy city, especially without the authorities noticing. Because if Cambridge knew about some of the slogans on those posters, he would have the market shut down faster than you could say "Arceus, save us from the King!"
"I don't get it," I muttered.
One of the merchants, an Incineroar who looked as though he hit the gym on a greater than daily basis, snarled "What is there to understand? This is the black market!"
"I know," I said tepidly. "It's just…how do you hide it from the authorities?"
As soon as I asked that question, I had my doubts as to whether I wanted to know the answer. The Incineroar, who seemed to be selling adult magazines featuring every fantasy you could possibly think of (the sort of thing that the Sacred Heart Institute would have put a blanket ban on), grinned in an angry fashion.
"Are you gonna be a good little Charmander," the Incineroar snarled, "or are you gonna be a snitch?"
My heart skipped a beat. From the little media I'd consumed, I knew what happened to prison snitches once their fellow inmates became wise to their behavior. I figured the fate of a black-market snitch wasn't much better.
"I'm not snitching" I insisted as strongly as I could.
"Good" a Houndoom selling cuts of what looked like authentic Miltank meat said sweetly. "We don't need any more problems in life, you know?"
"Right," I mumbled.
Although I'd assured the merchants that I wouldn't be tattling to the authorities about their illegal conduct, I saw no need to stay in that section of the market any longer than I needed to. So I forged onward.
The market went on for quite some distance, maybe even half a mile. Before long I was totally lost, with no clue where I'd come from or where I needed to go. Along the way, I passed even more merchants selling illicit goods, many of whom wanted to entice me with phrases like Buy somethin', will ya?
I had just happened upon a stand selling Braviary furs when I saw him again.
"Douglas Infernape?" I wondered aloud.
The chimp glared at me, then spoke in a mocking tone. "Who are you, my dad? Are you about to punish me, Daddy?"
"Not funny."
"Look, Barrett, I would recognize you from a mile away. You're the only white Charmander in the inner world as far as I know, pal."
I didn't ask how Douglas knew my name. Even if I hadn't told him before (which maybe I had - my memory for what I'd already told others was spotty at best), he could no doubt learn that information through a cursory glance above my head. (On a side note, come to think of it, there was no virtual text above anything, or anyone, in the black market.)
"Look, Douglas…I didn't know you frequented the black market."
The Infernape grimaced. "Well, here's the million-Poké question, bud: Why do you even care? It's a victimless crime - we're not hurting anybody by selling this shit!"
Had I possessed more courage, I might have pointed out that Pokémon were harmed physically in the process of procuring meat and fur coats. Besides, why were fur coats even necessary in a tropical climate?
But if it came to a fight between myself and Douglas, I knew who would prevail. And it wouldn't be the 16-year-old Charmander with an injured wing.
"I'm just curious: How do I get out of here?" I asked Douglas. "And how do the people in charge not know about the market?"
The Infernape pursed his lips. Somehow, even I, a socially awkward teenager, could tell that I'd struck a nerve there, and that I needed to tread more carefully in the near future.
"You only get one question answered, pal," Douglas snarled. "If you go down the aisle and to the left, you'll get out of the market. You'll return to your friends - I assume you got separated from them somehow?"
"Yeah" I muttered. "We're staying in the castle where the Emperor lives."
At that moment, I knew I'd messed up. I just didn't know how badly.
Douglas' eyes turned into slits, then dilated. "Why the fuck would you say that out loud?"
"Arceus," I mumbled. "You're going to rile up the whole market at this rate."
"I would argue that's rather deserved, though" Douglas replied, panting as though he were barely resisting the urge to burst out again. "You should know that we don't have the highest opinion of Emperor Cambridge here in the black market. He gets the gold mine, and we get the shaft!"
"Sorry" I said.
"Don't be sorry, just don't make that mistake again" Douglas snapped. "I recommend you don't let anyone know you're in cahoots with the Emperor…".
"I'm not in cahoots with him. I'm just on an official visit with the mayor of Wildebush…".
"I don't want to hear it," Douglas clarified. "Not at all. But there is something you need to hear."
Is this a trap of some sort? What if he's just gonna give me a swift slap in the face, or worse?
"I'm all ears" I said, taking the leap of faith before I could talk myself out of jumping off that ledge. And by "jumping off that ledge", I mean listening to whatever Douglas had to say.
"Okay, so one of the commodities traded here in the black market is information. That's what our hackers are up to. And we've found something that I think you ought to know…".
"Is it classified?" I wondered aloud.
"Why do you care?"
"Because in most countries, like America, leaking classified documents is a serious crime. So is stashing them next to the toilet at your estate."
I wanted to clamp my paw over my mouth, for I'd mentioned a country on the surface. My own country. And Douglas could probably tell I'd spoken as though I were in fact American.
Luckily, the Infernape did not press me any further, at least not right away. He sighed, then admitted the following:
"Yes, it is classified. But that doesn't mean it ought to be. Just because something is illegal doesn't mean it's wrong, bud."
"Perhaps."
Douglas turned his nose up at me as though I smelled awful, then dropped a proverbial bomb. "You're from the United States, on the surface?"
"Uh…".
You didn't outright deny it right away, so you might as well spit it out. He's going to force it out of you anyway, so it's better to tell the truth first.
"Yes," I admitted.
To my utter disbelief, Douglas did not scream that information to the market at large. Instead, he gave me a naughty smile like a child who's plotting to steal from the cookie jar.
"I've got something to tell you. But maybe you'll want your friends with you."
Information was power, but to acquire it would necessitate admitting to Lucy and Skipper that I'd kept something from them for a month. Something big.
My friends. They don't know I'm from the surface. Telling them scares the hell out of me. But then again, this seedy Infernape already knows, and the world hasn't ended for me.
Not yet.
"Tomorrow at noon, we can meet here again. I'll lead you to my apartment, where we won't be heard by anyone who…anyone whom we'd rather not hear us."
"I don't understand, though," I said. "Why can't you just tell me now, even without my friends?"
Douglas didn't even sound angry as he replied.
"Because it doesn't just concern you and your friends," he said. "It concerns the whole world, pal. All worlds."
As a personal anecdote related to this chapter: As a kid, much like Barrett, I had a difficult time with fine motor skills such as cutting French toast. Yes, in my world it's called French toast, not Kalos toast. One of the therapists who worked with me, who would come to my house every week when I was maybe 10, once taught me how to do it properly. In the vanishingly unlikely event this man ever reads this author's note: Thank you.
Anyway, I'll see you all next time. And for readers of "Hallucinate", I might come out with another chapter of that one this afternoon.
