As his uncle strode down the hallway Beck started to follow after him, before hearing a grunt from Patch.

“Ah, sorry.” Beck stooped down so that the velour could climb up onto his back. “I still need to get used to that.”

Patch grumbled as they made their way to the foyer. The room was fully lit with electric lamps, unlike the sea of candlelight Beck was used to at nighttime in the waking world. Maude was already there, polishing the banisters of the grand staircases to a shiny finish. On the first floor Beck noticed a table against the wall he could have sworn hadn’t been there before; it was difficult to imagine he had somehow brought it into existence.

As they passed by the maid to the front entrance, she gave them another weird look. ”You’re taking the kitties outside?”

He stopped in place. “Uh, they are mousers. We’re just taking them to the greenhouse,” he explained.

“Alright.” She only sounded half-convinced, but went back to her work.

The two went out the door into the night air. Beck realized it was the first time it had been mild out, the Summer sun and confined city infrastructure making the days sweltering. He hadn’t gone outside at all in the evening since he’d arrived, but he figured the Reverie must be acting on his preconceptions of how the climate was as darkness settled over Boston. He wasn’t sure if the garden lights along the winding driveway were an addition by the Reverie too, but he appreciated their guiding glow along the path.

He looked up and out past the hill the Barclay estate was built on. The night was alive with the glare of city lights, indistinct stretches of illumination painting the horizon. Beck couldn’t make out the individual buildings, but even so, he wondered if it was possible his dream extended that far. That wasn’t what he wanted to ask his uncle about, though.

“What’s up with Maude’s perception of Patch?” he said as they walked down the path..

“People see what makes the most sense to them, if they aren’t awakened. Even for those living in your dream, it’s more believable that the velours are common pets than living dolls, I imagine.” The man raised a finger. “Those people that populate your dreams, they are the ones that you need to convince.”

Beck turned to him “What are you talking about?”

“If you can’t convince them of this world’s realness, it will slip away.”

It took a moment for him to follow where his uncle was going with his line of thought. “You mean if I try to subvert the dream’s expectations too much, there will be consequences? Fielding said as much in his lesson today.”

Rowan nodded. “The Reverie gauges your performance based on the human reaction. And while it may not seem like it, you are performing. Not in a stage play, but in the small idiosyncrasies life has drawn out from you that convinces the other actors that, ‘Yes, everything is as it should be.’ The actors themselves aren’t even aware of the part they play, and they must not be allowed to see behind the scenes, or else the dream’s illusion will break.”

His uncle’s flowery language, while getting across the gravitas of the concepts, continued to lack the clarity Beck desired. “So you’re saying if one of these ‘actors’ realizes they are a part of a dream it will jolt us back awake, or something of the sort?”

“Not necessarily a single actor, but the majority. If the consensus is that this isn’t real, that’s when you’re in trouble. If you have one actor in the entire dream and they read past the illusion, you’re finished. For a dream that consists of a village’s worth of them though, if a few find out, then the foundational belief in reality of the rest is enough to keep it stable.

“As for what happens in the event that the veil is lifted, when I say the dream will break I do mean that. If you think of this world as a bubble, then realization is when it bursts. If you are caught in it, you’ll be ejected out into the space between dreams.”

“Isn’t that where we are going now?” Beck asked with a hint of concern.

“Indeed. If you walk there and are prepared with velours like we are then we’re not in any immediate danger. The issue is that the direction in which you are thrown from a collapsing dream is arbitrary. Remember the pitfall you have in the East Wing? The in-between is much more full of holes than our dream worlds are. You are just as likely to be launched into one of them as you are to land somewhere safe.”

The fortress-like structure of the estate felt a lot less reassuring to him now. “Something else to avoid then. So, what, we need to keep up the lie that this is really happening?”

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His uncle gave a shrug. “They’re figments of your imagination, if morality is what is tripping you up. Dreams are deceptive by nature, just in the Reverie you are the one deceiving the dream. Otherwise it might realize the house you’ve built on thin air is meant to collapse.”

“And do I even want to hear how you know of these repercussions of ‘raising the veil?’”

Rowan raised his shoulders again, but stopped part way as though realizing a shrug wasn’t the most appropriate response to that question. “That has an easier and more definitive answer; in one of Fielding’s scouting missions he came across a similar party from Midwich and was able to make off with some of their materials. Contained were papers documenting their findings of the Reverie, including the phenomena they had experienced.”

Beck looked at his uncle blankly. “I’ve never heard of Midwich.”

Rowan returned his stare. “Has Fielding been teaching you anything? He was meant to cover that today.”

A part of him was screaming inwardly in frustration while the other part filed through the avalanche of information his teachers had given over the past 24 hours. The latter was able to formulate a guess before the former made its way outward. “Is it the supposed parallel world that the Stranger is from?”

“The very same,” his uncle said.

“Well, we never got that far in the lesson. Fielding refused to elaborate on why he was certain of its existence; Do you have an explanation?” he asked.

“No, can’t say I do.”

Beck’s eyebrows snapped up in surprise. His uncle was brazenly shameless in his admission, donning the same placid look he often wore.

“All we really have are written accounts and Fielding’s word,” Rowan continued. “ The man has never given me a reason to question him, so I trust the veracity of his account even for something so outlandish. But even in the absence of such a place, the Stranger and his cohorts are still very much an immediate threat.”

“Wait,” Beck held up his hand. “There are people working for him?”

“Of course,” his uncle replied in his infuriatingly matter-of-fact tone. “The Stranger wouldn’t be as much of a problem otherwise.”

“Not so much work for him, but work with him,” Patch growled from his back. “They have an unnatural aura about them, no one would want to be the lapdog of that thing.”

“If you see any in the Reverie they’re easy to recognize. They always wear impractically long coats, for some reason,” his uncle said.

“Okay, so let’s see if I’m understanding this correctly. There’s a team of people out there who are dedicated to breaking into our reality, backed by a figure who is the living embodiment of a nightmare. We are currently headed deeper into the Reverie, the place where said evil organization is residing. Does that sound right?” Beck couldn’t hide the exasperation in his voice.

“That’s the long and short of it, yes,” his uncle said.

“Does it not concern you we are walking towards danger without any protection?”

Rowan smiled. “That’s what the velours are for.” Beck shot him a skeptical look, so he pointed at Patch. “If you wouldn’t mind, it seems my nephew needs a demonstration to put his mind at ease.”

With a grunt the creature dropped from Beck’s back onto the cobbled road. Even in the dim light of the garden lamps the diminutive bear looked far from intimidating. At first it didn’t seem like the velour was doing anything until he heard the tearing of fabric. He stared in alarm as the stitching across the bear’s form snapped, but instead of stuffing falling through the gaps, more cloth was revealed underneath. The additional material expanded outward, continuing to contort and rip apart into grotesque shapes.

Terrified, Beck stumbled backward. His foot caught on the edge of the path, and with a curse he fell to the grass. Patch now towered over him, his form still ursine but no longer soft and doddering. They now much more closely resembled their animal counterparts in stature, possibly even bigger. Fabric and threads hung off their pelt in matted clumps, and their limbs belied a musculature that could crush an automobile. The copper claws that had been blunt nubs before were now wicked sabres that dug into the stone.

The monster looked down at him, letting out a huff through its nostrils that trailed into a low, bassy growl. Under its intense gaze, Beck was trying his hardest not to wet himself.

“This is what will be protecting us out in the wilds of the Reverie,” his uncle said. He stood closer to the beast than what had to have been safe, but appeared unperturbed despite the fact that the bear now stood a head taller. “Do you think this will suffice?”

Unable to find his voice, Beck vigorously nodded.

“You should turn back before you scare him off,” Rowan said, laying a hand on the bear’s shoulder.

Another rumble emerged from the creature’s throat, before they acquiesced and began to fold back into themselves. Cloth tugged back into its body in a way that shouldn’t have been physically possible until all of the seams closed and reknit themselves. Patch was back to resembling the doll Beck was used to. They turned to him sheepishly, its ears pulled back. “Sorry for the scare.”

Beck tried to speak but only a croak came out. Swallowing, he tried again. “Do – Do they all do that?”

“Depends on the velour, we each have different specialties,” Patch grunted.

“Patch is definitely one of the more impressive ones we have. Spool here has yet to do anything exciting,” Rowan said.

The fox twisted its head around to him and let out a sad cry.

“Well, we both know it’s true,” Rowan said, looking into the creature’s beady eyes.

Beck shakily picked himself up from the lawn on shaking legs, brushing grass from the seat of his pants. “Well now, are we quite done with the theatrics?”

His uncle still wore an amused smile. “Very well. Now that you’re assured, let’s continue.”