Chapter 44

Witticker and Edward shuffled awkwardly down the cramped hallway of the train car towards their room. The faint glow of the sunset peered into the walkway, pouring in through every window like water through an unsound dam. The hallway was cluttered with several mild obstructions; luggage too small or too valuable to be stored by the train porters, passengers opening and closing their doors in a ritualized preparation of settling for the trip, and train staff moving from car to car in a drone-like manner. These single-minded officers, dressed all in blue save for their shiny black shoes, rushed quickly through the tiny hall. Their frantic footsteps clicked against the wooden floor of the train like a hundred typewriters operated with hammers.
The two travelers kept their heads low to the ground as they wandered down the busy corridor. Witticker pressed close to the wall as several children rushed around his feet followed quickly by their herding parents with stern voices and even sterner threats. Witticker looked back to follow the race only to run full-on into Edward’s back who had suddenly stopped in the middle of the corridor. They had arrived at room thirteen.
Edward shot Witticker a ‘look’, presumably to remind him of the seriousness of their unique circumstances. Through a combination of overly expressive mouthing and emphatic gesture he repeated his message from earlier, “Stay quiet and agree with whatever I say.” Witticker nodded and bowed his head back to the floor, his black hood covering the length of his head. Edward opened the door of room thirteen and swiftly slid inside. Witticker, with his sight significantly impeded by the hood, shuffled in behind and closed the door.
As Witticker carefully groped for his seat in the room Edward began to engage their new traveling companions. Due to his newly-hooded solitude, Witticker resigned himself to a very static role in the conversation. Edward introduced both he and Witticker as he had previously with the ticket-taker in the train yard; courteously and ambiguously. The two men accompanying them in their train car also happened to be traveling together, but under much less suspicious or false pretenses.
The first of the two men, who spoke with a warm and bright tone, identified himself as Oliver Tuckchipple. The second man, speaking with a much more nasal and narrow inflection, was introduced as Marcus Barley. Oliver and Marcus were salesman of general goods; traveling across the country on the bill of their supplier who they ‘could not name’, but who they would say was ‘a reliable and economically efficient friend to the everyday man’.
“You want fifty hammers by next Wednesday,” queried Oliver, “you just give me the word and I’ll have you fifty-one by Tuesday.”
“Thas raight,” squawked Marcus, “we cun git almos’ enythang yuh wunt, legul or’llegul.”
“Quiet, Marcus,” hissed Oliver before continuing his pitch. “Is there anything two upstanding gentlemen such as yourselves are in need of?”
“Well,” began Edward whose voice hinted only slightly of sincerity, “Do you market men deal in the abstract?”
“Of course we do,” spit out Oliver, the clear-cut response of a well-rehearsed professional, “Anything is available for a price. What notions of the abstract are you looking to possess?”
Witticker heard a slight chortle from Edward who obviously saw through the veiled response of a thief not only capable of talking his way into the vault of a bank, but also of convincing the tellers that they were the thieves.
“You may not think it by our appearance,” began Oliver, “but my companion and I are much more than we look to be. At first glance we are but plain salesman, but upon digging deeper you will find the essence of traveling philosophers, vagabonds of knowledge. We have collected the dimpled trinkets of the mind and, in our many hours of solitude and travel; have polished these jagged stones into the clearest of gems. We not only sell the physical manifestations of this world, No! We, sir, deal also in the governing dynamics and hypotheses of this, the human mind!”
“Yeh!” chimed Marcus, unashamed to stand on the shoulder of his personal giant.
Edward tapped Witticker on the shoulder.
“Brother,” said Edward, feigning reverence, “remove your hood and gaze upon these, the peddlers of greater understanding. It may be your only chance, in this lifetime, to be in the presence of true wisdom.”
Witticker slowly pulled the hood from his head, revealing a room lit dimly by the collected light of the setting sun and a lamp dangling loosely to the ceiling. Witticker understood immediately why Edward had felt the need to share the vision of the two salesmen. Both were caricatures; over-exaggerated images the likes of which Witticker could never have conjured from their voices alone.

*~~*

Oliver, sitting on the right, was a stout and jolly looking man with finely sculpted black hair that curved as smooth as an ocean wave. His cheeks were a bright red tinged with the dust of travel and were flanked by majestic mutton chops that extended down the length of a massive jaw. His attire reflected that of a proper gentleman who had been denied a proper butler. A large gray overcoat covered a black vest and a once-white shirt done up in full with a silver bowtie fringing at the ends. His sleeves lay undone, missing their cufflinks, and his pants, black, fit snuggly around his midsection. His socks hung loosely near his ankles, their elasticity waning, and his black shoes showed signs of recent polish and subsequent defeat against the travel through the train yard. Oliver rested his left hand on a black and ivory-topped cane, an accessory more for show than assistance. A gold chain hung from his vest attached to something tucked deeply away in the pocket below, presumably an item of higher quality and lesser utility.
Marcus accentuated, or was rather accentuated by, Oliver’s appearance. It was hard to tell which as the two stood in such great contrast to each another. Marcus was a skinny and stringy counterpart with just the faintest hint of color in his cheeks; a shade just light enough to worry a passerby about the man’s health. Tufts of brown hair sprung from the top of his head and his ears emerged boldly from the sides as two saucers might flank a teapot. A faint mustache rested on his upper lip, looking as if it might blow away at the slightest gust of wind. His skinny constitution supported a brown vest over a simple white shirt with the top button undone, the collar hanging loosely around his neck. A set of suspenders hung rigid over the vest and a black belt had been pulled taught to keep a set of dark brown pants from slipping off the slender frame. A set of overly-abused loafers covered his feet, wanting of socks. A crumpled wad of papers stuck prominently out of his shirt’s breast pocket and a worn pencil rested behind his ear, sharpened to a fine point.
The two men embodied their work and were truly a sight to behold.

*~~*

Witticker turned to Edward who simultaneously leaned forward to continue his prodding into the minds of the lackadaisical scholars.
“What do you know of dreams?” shot Edward, his eyes boring into the two men as if the words were meant to seize them by their roots.
Witticker felt his every muscle tense and his breath draw quick. He felt sure his face alone would give away their secret to the traveling salesmen. Oliver and Marcus, however, were already overly entertained with Edward’s query and couldn’t be seen to notice Witticker’s physical discomfort. Oliver opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly stopped, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He turned toward Marcus and looked contemplatively above his companion’s head as if searching the air for the appropriate response.
“Listen,” said Edward, a victor’s grin upon his face, “and let me tell you what I know of dreams, free of charge.”

*~~*

“So,” began Oliver as he dabbed a cigarette ash into a round and dented metal tray resting on Marcus’s lap, “you’re just lying in bed and you suddenly see events of a supernatural variety.”
At this moment a removed observer studying Witticker would not immediately be led to believe that he was suffering from any form of high-level stress. He sat back in his seat, not quite slouched or entirely upright. His hands lay, one over the other, in his lap and his head sat cocked just slightly to the side. This tranquil image betrayed the fiery cauldron of horrors brewing just behind his eyes.
In the past hour Witticker had listened as Edward described, in detail, the concept of dreaming, as he knew it, to Oliver and Marcus; relaying not only the experience, but also that both he and Witticker were active participants in the mental exercise.
“No,” replied Edward quickly, “you’re not just lying there. You’re asleep. Asleep when you start to engage in the dream.”
“But how’re ya supposed’tuh stay uhsleep if yer seein’ stuff?” advanced Marcus, his mouth hanging open candidly.
“That’s an excellent question,” replied Edward, a cigarette poking neatly out of the side of his mouth. “It seems to me that there might be a level of the subconscious that protects your mind from realizing there is any activity at all. Like a brick wall around a garden party.”
“Sownds lahke magic tuh me,” whispered Marcus, his voice as serious and engaged as a child's.
“Shut up, you simpleton.” grumbled Oliver, grinding his spent cigarette in the tray, “So, Sir, you spin a nice yarn. You even managed to keep Marcus entertained for a few minutes, which is no small feat, but I, on the other hand, turned from fairy tales a long time ago.”
At this point Oliver rose to his feet and turned to Marcus who, in an obviously rehearsed manner, stood up and held his arms out like a table.
“I believe my man and I will retire for the evening,” continued Oliver, shedding clothing and, layer by layer, placing it on Marcus’ outstretched arms. “I appreciate your company and I bid you a good evening.”
“Me too,” said Marcus attempting a slight half-bow underneath the heap of clothing in his arms.
After a time, Oliver, having shed enough to be comfortable and not enough to be rude, stretched his bulk across the full seat and began to settle in. Marcus procured a wad of rags from one of their many bags and, with few other options, laid down on the floor at his master’s feet. He bound the rags together and laid his head against them, a light protection from the wooden floor of the train car.
Edward looked to Witticker whose face was grim and hallowed. Witticker wanted to shout at his companion for needlessly divulging so personal an experience, but instead continued to stare coldly at nothing in particular. Edward shrugged his shoulders, pulled his hood over his head, and leaned into the corner of the seat, obviously not concerned by his companion’s telling visage.
As the minutes passed into hours Witticker felt his eyelids begin to succumb to the gravity of his tired mind. He nestled into his own corner and looked out the window at the passing landscape. The sun had set since their departure and the terrain whipped by in shadowy clouds. As he sat propped squarely in the corner his mind began to leisurely drift to sleep. Not all at once, but slow and stumbling like a dog spent by the running hours of the day.

Chapter 43

It was not long after exiting the woods that they spotted him moving towards them. He was not easy to miss.

*~~*

Night had fallen and the commercial activity of the center had deteriorated with falling of the sun. A single light hung outside of the central cabin under which several shabby-looking guards stood waiting. These night watches waited for no one in particular, but rather for the unexpected. A job requiring very little thought coupled with unquestionable courage. These particular men excelled in both categories making them the dumbest heroes ever chosen to guard a vacant plot of land.

*~~*

The guards aimed their guns at the shadowy behemoth that had risen from the forest.
“Halt!” shouted one of the guards, a resolute firmness in his tone.
The shadow stopped and stood motionless.
“What’s your business?”
A deep voice echoed from the shadow, amplified by the amphitheater of trees in which he stood.
“Just a few questions.”
The men, startled by the register of the voice and the peculiar shape of the shadow, experienced a collective chill down their spines.
“I heard from a very reliable source that there was trouble in this distrip today. Is that true?”
One of the guards somewhat new to the position and fresh to life on the whole responded first.
“If your source is so reliable why do you need to ask us for confirmation?”
With no visible movement from the shadow a knife whistled through the air and into the left thigh of the quick witted guard. The man let out a cry, immediately dropping his gun, and fell to one knee, nursing his newly-impaled limb.
“I don’t respond well to sarcasm.”
Another guard, slightly senior to the others, took charge of the dialogue.
“Put your arms in the air, Stretch. Now.”
“I don’t respond well to orders either.”
Without a movement another knife sailed into the senior guard’s right arm. His gun fell to the side as his body rocked back from the impact.
“I will tell you now, gentlemen, that I have enough knives. Compliance is in your best interest.”
“Yes,” shouted a guard, his voice wavering, “there was a bit of a scrap in the market today. Is that all?”
The air hung in silence for a moment.
“No,” growled Jehovah, “where did the two men who were assaulted escape to?”
The guards looked to one another for an answer, each spitting out his best guess in time with the others.
“…they disappeared right after…”
“…the last time I saw them they were in an alleyway licking their wounds…”
“…I didn’t ever get a good look at either of ‘em...”
“…I’m pretty sure I saw them in the train yard…maybe…”
A shot fired in the air and the guards fell silent again.
“Where was that train headed?” echoed the shadow.
“Everywhere from here to Maine, but the primary stops are in Philadelphia and New York.”
The shadow began to back away from the guards, returning to the woods. The figure had not been moving for even a few seconds before he disappeared into the cover of the forest, as if falling into natural camouflage. The guards huddled close to one another under the dim light; now more afraid of the darkness they had been hired to watch.