The Mortal And The Wicked-- ONC 2023

Chapter 14; Of keys and minor arguments

The finding of the first key proved to be far more of a challenge than Lucy had hoped.

Not due to the vagueness of the riddle, perhaps, yet with problems arising when she and the Baron made some attempt to act like a pair of lovers might.

At first, they had made some attempt to walk through the crowds masquerading as a couple; hands interlocked with one another, at times offering each other a tight smile that they hoped looked far more convincing than it felt.

Once, the Baron had made some attempt to call Lucy 'his darling' to which she had said that there would be none of that nonsense and he had turned quite red, mumbling an apology.

Yet such things did not distract them from the task at hand, and whenever they spoke to one another it was generally upon the topic of the keys. For the power of such objects had been explained only briefly and in a vague manner, and thus the two found themselves speculating upon their nature.

"I suppose, uh, well I suppose if one were to think of it critically the key of Death shall release death's hold upon the soul, the key of Life returns life back into the body itself--" The Baron began.

"And Time brings the soul back to the moment before it had died." Lucy finished, "Though I wonder why this must be done. Would it not be enough to simply open the gates with Life and Death?"

"Perhaps it avoids any awkwardness of the dead returning into a world in which everyone around them has already thought of them as being dead."

"Then it would take us back to the days before your funeral?"

"Why yes, I-- You had a funeral for me?"

At this, Lucy could not help but scoff. "Of course. People generally have funerals when they die."

"Did they say all sorts of nice things about me?"

This was something particular that Lucy could not recall, as at the time of the eulogy she had been lifting items from the purse of the esteemed Lady Gertrude and pocketing them discreetly. Thus, she hadn't really paid all that much attention.

Yet the look within the Baron's eyes was a hopeful one. And even someone such as herself, who had been rather abrasive with the man all this time, could not bear to see such hope leave. "Of course they said things." she began, searching desperately for something to say, "Why, they talked of all of your achievements--"

"Such as?"

"Such as... Your extensive study on common earthworms?"

The Baron's face grew suddenly alight at this, his lips pulling into an open and beaming smile.

Indeed, such a smile remained upon his face for quite awhile afterwards, and Lucy could not help but glance at it, at him, from time to time. For there was a quiet and gentle sort of handsomeness to him when he was at ease, especially now that through their journey he had grown slightly disheveled.

His hair, once combed dreadfully down and back, flattened beyond all hope of saving, had become far messier-- framing his face in golden curls. And an endearing face it was; his owlish eyes peering out from his wire spectacles, his lips bow-like, and a nose that was petite in nature by which his spectacles perched atop.

There was a softness to him, all rounded edges and gentle curves, void of any of the sharp and cold features of...

Of the carnival master.

The very thought of his taunting grin brought her back to the task at hand-- the finding of the keys-- if only to see such a smile dissipate when he would realize that she had won. And thus, turning her attention away from the Baron she thought once more of the riddle and what it might mean.

The heart of Life is in the dead's dreams

That was the first line that stood out to her in a particular way; a beat of the poem that no doubt stood out as some manner of clue.

Yet the words made hardly any sense to her, and when at last she broke the pause of silence between herself and the Baron, he could scarcely give her an answer either.

"Perhaps it's a metaphorical dream?" he mused, "A dream can often mean a hope or a wish of some kind."

"Yes, although..."

"Although what?"

"Perhaps it's meant far more literally than that. Tell me, have you dreamt at all since--" she stopped herself before she could say 'since dying', quickly amending. "--Since you've arrived?"

Much to her dismay, the Baron shook his head. "I, um, I haven't had the need to sleep."

"Then have you seen anything at all that might make reference to dreams or dreaming?"

"It's a carnival of the night, I imagine there's that sort of thing everywhere."

"Yes, but was there anything specific?"

"I-- I don't remember."

Lucy huffed a sigh of frustration then. "You're making this terribly difficult."

"In what way is this my fault?" the Baron demanded in turn, "I've only been here a little longer than you. And what's more I knew nothing of the keys or riddles until you informed me."

For a moment it seemed as though the two might become lost in some argument or another-- yet Lucy knew better than to waste the hours of the night upon such things. "Look, it will do us no good to argue now. We simply need to think."

"I have been thinking."

"Then think harder."

And thus think they did, voicing such thoughts aloud every now and again as they wandered aimlessly past the tents around them.

Indeed, Lucy thought back to everything her grandmother had told her of the carnival that could be of use; not the evil or dreadful things, but rather the few shards of the potential wonders that lay within-- the likes of which most would never see within their lifetime. The things her grandmother had told her only hesitantly for fear it might draw her closer to the tents and what lay within.

Shards of magic, pieces sold within tents that defied all natural law, and of these her grandmother had warned her of their dangers. Yet in hushed tones she had spoken to her of tiny animals made from colorful paper folded into such shapes that came alive every full moon. Charms that would call forth faeries from the depths of the woods. Bottles of dreams and nightmares alike. Books that spilled forth a new story every time it was opened...

Lucy's thoughts seemed to pause then. Bottles of dreams...

She had heard of it only briefly from both her grandmother and the whispers that had flooded the streets at the nearing of the carnival's presence-- the talk of such dreams seeming to be of the more popular topics.

Many spoke of their wonders; small bottles that could grant a sleeper any journey of the night they desired, from the kind that boded in a restful slumber to the thrill-seeking sort that downed a vial of nightmares if only to see how dreadful they could get.

Yet what interested Lucy now was their potential tie to the clue that still burned brightly within her mind as though it had been branded there. For perhaps a place of dreams within the carnival of the dead was a good a place to start as any...

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