Paul

He arrived at their room, Gorou echoing his footsteps. Cassie, unconscious and feverish, lay on Tarō the futon. Rana sat at her side. The frog girl didn’t seem to notice he’d entered the room. Akachochin stood by, and the twelve bobbing sisters restrained Kenta’s wild mane. Kenta, however, did see him. “Hey, Paul. Everything alright?”

Paul had no idea where to begin. He tried several detailed answers, and the results were uncomfortable. Kenta appeared to be under a vast amount of stress Paul didn’t understand judging from the angry or sensitive responses. He Actualized a soothing half-truth, “Stood watch with the lantern core; they’re good people. What’s going on?”

He thought their room would be empty of Tsukumogami after Biwa chased them out the night before. Instead, he found dozens in various forms staring at nothing. “What are they doing?”

:Reading!: Tarō sent. Looking closer, Paul saw their eyes trace invisible lines of text and the occasional flick of a finger to turn a page. :Shami released a collection of books this morning, mostly boring stuff, but people can’t get enough! I guess, after hearing the fusumas’ stories a thousand times, anything new is exciting. Rumors say Shami is trading the really good books for favors. Biwa is furious, and everyone’s been acting weird.:

Rehashing the news stirred Kenta’s anger. “That wretched man got his hands on our library! One of us is a traitor!” He slammed his fist into his palm. “—That information belonged to all of us!”

Paul assured Kenta, “It wasn’t me, and Rana’s been here all night, right Tarō?” The Tsukumogami boy agreed though Rana made no comment.

“Well, let’s just say the suspect list isn’t long! Dan wanted to vote. Wendi doesn’t have a subtle bone in her body. Cassie is unconscious, and Lea has no motive because no one can refuse her when she asks nicely.” Kenta glared at Rana, “I have a sneaking suspicion, later on, I’m going to discover you’re the one responsible, and by then, everyone will be whining at me to go easy on you.”

The frog girl didn’t bother acknowledging the comment. Rana was spared further prodding by Daniel and Wendi’s entrance, Hanmā close behind. Both kids looked tired. “Neither of you sold our library to Shami, right?” Kenta asked.

“Wait, what? No. What?” Daniel sent, totally blindsided.

Paul explained the situation, then asked, “What did the two of you do today?”

“Suck at training,” Daniel shrugged. “I want to get a better grasp of my abilities, but everything I try goes haywire. Nothing works. I’m ready to give up.” Paul doubted that. He knew the look in Daniel’s eye—frustrated, yes, but he expected the young angel to redouble his efforts tomorrow.

With the room’s tension eased, Paul recounted an unabridged version of his day.

“The same thing happened to me!” Wendi said, and the boys stared at her, confused. She explained, “I was juggling some Tsukumogami who can’t fly—they really like that—when Biwa started screaming that she’d kill me if I dropped one.” Incredulous, she turned to Daniel, whom she held, “As if I’d ever drop somebody!”

It seemed that part had most offended her.

“In the lady’s defense,” Daniel said, “You do throw very high.”

“I always catch you!” she insisted, and Paul agreed that was so.

Lea and Momen arrived last, and no amount of Kenta’s interrogation could uncover which of the seven of them sold their collective property without permission. Lea said she’d been talking to the locals and listening to fusuma tableaus.

“While this is unfortunate,” Daniel said, “It’s not a complete loss. We have our Cintamani.”

All eyes landed on Rana. The frog girl regurgitated a glowing orb to confirm his statement. “The problem,” she said after swallowing it, “Is the Tsukumogami don’t need them. I wouldn’t say they’re worthless here, but I’ve confirmed we don’t have Cintamani of a size or quantity they’d consider valuable.”

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“Oh, did you, now?” Kenta raised an eyebrow.

“What about the yellow brittlegills?” Daniel said. “The Tsukumogami are vegetarian; maybe they have a use for magical ingredients.”

“Our stew mushrooms are magic?” Paul looked to Lea, who shrugged.

Rana pondered. “A good thought, Daniel. But consider: Everything here is made of wood and straw, even the people. That’s what Fungi eats. Although I have a tight grip on its magic, showing them the brittlegill might be the same as waving a flaming torch under their noses. Maybe you can navigate that conversation, but there’s a risk they’ll consider it an act of aggression.”

“Well, we certainly can’t have that,” Kenta nodded, though his tone suggested annoyance.

Daniel sighed. “I’d rather not take the gamble. Too bad; I wanted to trade for information on our enemies and try to get an edge if fighting them becomes necessary.”

“Well,” Rana interrupted, “I doubt we’d have gotten anything to tip the balance. The time of day and state of the moon when we’re forced to leave is out of our hands. Other than Tesem, the mages’ magic is more straightforward than most. We know their Elements, I can explain the six colors of Mosaic Weapons, and we’ve fought beasts before.”

“Golly, it’s like you’ve already rationalized the consequences of not being able to trade for the most likely thing we’d have voted for.” Kenta soaked his voice in sarcasm.

“That doesn’t prove culpability,” Daniel commented.

Frowning, Kenta addressed the young angel. “How do you stay calm? Aren’t you mad?”

“How will an argument help us? Or knowing who did it? The stakes are high, and our disciplinary options are at rock bottom. Whatever we got for the information better be worth it, but I guess we’ll find out later.” Daniel scanned their faces to find most of the group siding with him over Kenta.

“We need to hold a war council,” Daniel changed topics, and the others nodded. “Planning our escape will be challenging without Cassie’s Auditions. Paul, you’ll have to take over prognostication duties until she awakes. You choose the time.”

Not wanting to face that music, Paul procrastinated. “Tomorrow night.” To his relief, the others respected his decision.

Dinner was somber. Paul’s friends ate cold rations, not wanting to impose on hosts who didn’t eat with regularity. Kenta felt ill at ease spending time in the kitchens away from Cassie, and they agreed not to start a fire in the quarry to cook food. No telling how that would offend the Tsukumogami.

At lights out, the reading Tsukumogami shifted into futons, blankets, and pillows.

:Paul,: Kenta sent as the others settled in for the night.

:What’s up?:

:Something happened today.:

Paul frowned inside his helmet. :Something you don’t want the others to know?:

:Nothing like that. It’s not important.: He paused, shifting in his hair recliner, twelve bobbing sister dolls already sleeping on his arms and head. :I just needed to tell someone.:

:Okay.:

With a sigh, Kenta continued, :The House spoke to me.:

:The house?:

:It’s alive. I think they’re a child of Hestia.: Paul recognized the name from stories about the household spirits. :I must’ve gotten their attention while admiring the architecture. We talked for a while… Then they said they were happy here and wouldn’t come with us even if I was a ‘cutie.’:

Paul laughed aloud, turning several heads before Kenta threw a Tsukumogami pillow to silence him with a thwap. Thankfully, pillow fights didn’t count as violence.

Unlike last night, it seemed no amount of Biwa’s disapproval would keep the curious from seeking to enter the Wildlings’ dreams. Though he couldn’t appreciate the softness of the beds in his suit of armor, Paul accepted the accommodations. If anything, he was as curious about the Nightwalkers as they were of him.

Falling asleep with these odd beings in his mind easily broke into his top ten strangest experiences. He introduced himself and gave his consent. Where typically he’d lose consciousness and not recall any dreams on waking, Paul found himself utterly lucid in sleep while hand in hand with the Tsukumogami.

He awoke in Radio World on his bed in their abandoned hotel dwelling, staring at a flatscreen television. During the day, the screen stayed black as night but now showed a scene somewhere between memory and fantasy. Paul recognized it as their day at the beach early in their travels after Eastwood, with the ocean transmuted to lime-green gelatin. Staring at the screen, Paul wanted to lean in and lose himself to the dream, but something held him back.

A pillow person took their hand off his shoulder, having successfully awoken Paul’s dream self. Looking down, inner Paul wore his old candle form, wax flesh and all. He rose from the bed to see the Lantern on his nightstand and mark the candlestick’s absence.

A sandal-footed scarecrow boy hopped through the screen as if an open window. The boy jumped and ran along the stretch of beach, bouncing on the gelatinous waves, happy and free in Paul’s dream.

Instead of following the boy, the pillow person and the futon girl with fuzzy pink slippers from the rock garden took Paul’s hands and led him outside. What had been the sky during the day were now worlds instead of stars—hundreds of dreams and thousands of dreamers flying between them.

Not flying, but swimming. At night, the Tsukumogami swam through dreams, and tonight, Paul swam with them.