Secret Places and Hidden Things

Chapter Thirteen

Something about Jack was changing. It was probably the pace of his new reality, seeping into his mind, but he began to feel slow and patient, often doing nothing at all. He was content to just walk or sit, his mind completely empty of thought. There was a security to the helm. Life moved at such a slow rhythm sometimes it was hard to see anything changing, even in spite of the helm's constant shifting.

Some days, he would spend his time sitting in the dining room with Daerk, as the fox slept by the fireplace. He liked the dining room on snowy days. It was always warm, and the fire made it cozy. It made itself smaller on these days, as well, as if to hold them safe from the wild lands beyond the windows. The book of drawing paper Wynne had given him never seemed to run out, and every now and then he would draw something. Daerk would look at the pictures but made little comment. Jack never felt like he made any mistakes. It was less like drawing and more like thinking. The images would appear without effort and they seemed to lead him down roads he didn't know existed in his mind.

Other days he might wander the helm, seeking out new rooms. There were a few that appeared to him fairly regularly, like the aquarium and the ante-chamber off the entrance hall where Daerk had greeted him that first night. Some would appear whenever he really wanted them, like the library and the dining room. If he ever felt tired, his bedroom would appear—and that always stayed the same—but many rooms he'd seen only once, like the room with the maple tree. These rooms always felt old and nostalgic.

There was one room he'd lingered in, empty save for a single grand piano. At first it seemed unremarkable, but with each key he pressed, his emotions would change, and memories he was sure didn't belong to him would fill his mind—old dance halls and theaters, painters and poets of high esteem, drunken brothels filled with the smell of gin. He had no idea how to play a piano, but the chords he made inspired others without his thinking, and the songs would morph the air in front of him. He would see great operas filled with crowds in fancy dress, small rooms full of dauntless onlookers—each sustain was a simple fleeting desire for the next great achievement. He couldn't say how long he sat there, chasing each memory, but it might have been forever if he hadn't fallen asleep to a kaleidoscope of dreams and awoken later in his bed.

Another room that held him for a long time had an intricate floor made of inlaid marble—just like the room with the maple tree—and all throughout it were levels. Bridges, and tunnels, and bridges over bridges formed a single winding path through the room. The roof was made of glass, and a single winding ivy was growing on almost every vertical surface. There were statues everywhere. Some of them looked like people, but their features were strange and animalistic. Others were smaller and looked like plants, but their posing suggested movement and intelligence. As he walked through, stopping at each of the benches carved into the walls, he could sense a narrative—though he wasn't sure what it meant. There was writing on plaques, but he couldn't understand it. He wasn't sure if this was because he didn't know the language or because it just wasn't allowing him to read it. After he left, he realized many of the statues had been similar to his drawings, but he was never able to find his way back to compare.

The aquarium, though it appeared frequently, was often his favorite place to spend time. He never could have imagined the different varieties of fish that would appear. Often the room would take the form of a single winding tube and snake its way slowly across an ocean floor, or even become suspended in deep water with great whales and nameless gargantuan beasts drifting by serenely. Through some trick of the glass, it often felt like he was walking through a formless blue void, and suddenly a school of tiny fish or dolphins would come from the mists and surprise him. Of course, other times it would take on completely different forms, like a small river he'd have to wade through as ferns brushed his knees, or a collection of fountains full of goldfish. He might have wondered if it wasn't different rooms, but he began to get a sense of the room itself—like it had a personality of its own.

Indeed, the helm itself was quite alive. Not like a thinking, breathing creature, but rather like a old and giant tree. It had an intelligence, but it wasn't full of reasonable considerations—rather it was an irrational dreamer, constantly changing its own definitions. The hallways changed their minds and doubled back, or opened into grand promenades and echoing foyers. Windows might be frequent or non existent. Light always seemed to be coming from somewhere, but when the windows were gone it was usually pale and thin, like starlight. In some places the ceiling might disappear, or be glass, or it might just be so far away it would fade into an endless darkness. One memorable hallway was so tall, it seemed to form a peak overhead. The windows stretched on into infinity with the walls, and Jack spent some time laying on a couch trying to let his eyes make sense of the sight. There was no line connecting the walls, no sign of a roof, yet the walls converged nonetheless. While he was laying there, Daerk had passed by.

"Oh, hello Jack," He said.

"Daerk, have you seen this?" Jack asked, pointing. "What do you make of it?"

Daerk looked up. "Well, it looks like there's no roof on this hallway," he said.

"I don't know," Jack responded. "If there was no roof, wouldn't we get wet?"

It was raining outside the windows.

Elliot walked up. "What are we looking at?" he asked.

"Is there a roof on this hallway or no?"

Elliot stood looking for a while, then laid down next to Jack, moving his head side to side and squinting. "I want to say no, but I can't be sure."

Then Wynne showed up. "I know what you're going to ask," she said. "Daerk and I have been debating this forever."

"Elliot agrees with Daerk."

"What? Nonsense. If there was no roof, we'd be getting wet."

"That's what I was thinking!" Jack said.

"Well," Elliot said after a moment, "It might just be so tall that the rain hits the walls as it comes down."

"What are you all doing?" It was Marelle.

"We're trying to figure out if this hall has a roof," Elliot said.

Marelle looked up for a moment, then looked around at them. "Hmmm," she said, and walked off.

"I guess we're tied for now," Daerk said to Wynne, and walked the other direction. She followed him after a minute.

Jack and Elliot continued to stare at the ceiling. As the rain hit the windows it would drip down in erratic patterns. After looking at it for a while, Jack wasn't entirely sure what direction he was facing. There was no gravity, no friction, no forms, just the endless snaking water and the black triangles of wall spaced between.

"Jack."

"Mmm?"

"I think I just felt a drop of water on my face."

Jack sat up and promptly fell off the couch from dizziness.

"Don't tell Wynne," Elliot said.

Later, after Elliot had left, the fox came trotting up and sat with its head in Jack's lap. They stayed like that for a long time, Jack occasionally scratching the fox behind its ears. After yawning massively (and somewhat alarmingly, considering the teeth) the fox curled up and went to sleep. For the first time, Jack noticed an odd scent coming off the fox. It was musky, like one might expect, but there was also the smell of spices and baking bread. He could feel a memory tickling the back of his mind. It was so familiar, and personal, but try as he might, nothing came to him. Lost in thought, Jack stood up to walk away. Startled, the fox sprang up from his lap and landed in front of him before trotting off quickly, its tail held high in indignation. For a moment, Jack felt a great sense of loss, but it passed as quickly as it came.