By the end of Rowan’s lesson it was dinnertime, and wafts of something savory drifted from the main atrium. Nora was already approaching from the main hall when Beck exited the cramped lecture room, and merely motioned for him to follow back the way she came.
The promenade was lit up dramatically, the table at the balcony overlooking a mostly dark entryway. Flickering pockets of candlelight were spaced around the great hall, giving the impression that they were dining over a sea of stars.
The grand atmosphere seemed wasted, though. Despite the abundant array of foods set out, the only other people at the table besides Beck were Amelia and Nora. When asked where everyone else was, Amelia explained that people tended to be busy and not have time to sit down for their meals. She then promptly went back to the newspaper she was reading.
Nora similarly ate in silence, perusing a sheaf of notes between bites. The roast and confections Beck had on his plate were treats that were reserved for holidays back home, but the others made it seem like this menu was an ordinary affair.
With his stomach full, Beck excused himself and made his way directly to his suite. Even though it was still early in the evening he was ready to turn in, the traveling and culture shock having caught up to him. He briefly paused outside his door to glance at the East Wing. The faint sound of activity was still heard behind the doors, but it was impossible to tell what work the noises belonged to.
Once inside, Beck went over to the desk and turned the lamp on. He jumped in surprise when the doll emerged from the darkness.
“Cripes! Don’t do that to me,” Beck whispered. The bear stared back silently with its glass eyes.
He bent down next to the chair to give it a closer examination. Although it was the size of a stuffed animal, this doll certainly wasn’t meant to be a child’s toy. Even to his untrained eye Beck could tell this was crafted with deliberate artistic intention. He gripped one of the limbs, feeling something solid beneath the surface. Definitely not conducive to hugging.
A strange pattern on the bear’s chest caught his attention. He moved his hand over to a raised diamond-like protrusion, which looked like it was made from something metallic. Tapping on it made a slight ring, like it was hollow. Beck had no idea what purpose it could serve.
His luggage had made its way to his room, and as he rifled through it for his pajamas he noticed something else had arrived as well. A shallow bowl was now sitting on the bedside table, filled with what looked to be tokens.
He picked one up. It was cold to the touch, made from a lightweight metal. He immediately noticed his own name engraved into the center of the disk, which made their intent even more confusing to him. Around the edges were lines curving in random directions similar to the patterns on the key his uncle briefly showed. How the two were related he couldn’t guess; He’d figure it out when he wasn’t exhausted.
Putting everything back in its place, he quickly changed outfits and went back to the lamp. He drew the curtains, extinguished the light and crawled into bed.
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Beck was surprised that despite his earlier tiredness he was alert and staring up through the darkness, his uncle’s lecture capturing his thoughts. He still wasn’t sure what to think of what he experienced, whether it was a cleverly crafted trick or it really was a natural phenomenon he had yet to experience in his life.
He didn’t even know if the scene was in the realm of psychology at all, or some sort of magic. He’d heard a phrase once that magic was just ascribed to things humanity had yet to understand the logic for, but wasn’t sure that cleared up the day’s occurrences.
Anxiousness for the next day kept the other part of his mind busy. It wasn't one borne from stress, but from the excitement of what was to come. He'd felt similar butterflies in his chest when he’d first started at university. It was an eager anticipation that one carried with them into the rush of something new. In spite of his uncle’s quirks and not knowing the how behind Rowan’s knowledge, he’d been hooked in. It wasn’t a want; that one glimpse behind the veil had set the stone rolling, and he could do little about the nature of the slope he was on.
Somewhere in the corner of the room he heard a knock.
He broke out of his thoughts and looked down past his bed. Beck felt a surge of adrenaline pulse through the vein of his neck. The only illumination was from beyond the curtains, revealing only indistinct shapes in the darkness and nothing more. He strained his ears, but for a while he heard nothing else. His pulse began to slow as Beck thought it could have been a random bump in the night.
Then he heard the sound again. And again. Beck held his breath as it became a rhythmic thump, matching his heartbeat for a few moments until his blood started pumping faster. The sound had the cadence of footsteps, but he put off the idea of an animal lurking inside the walls. It was too slow and deliberate.
It started close to the bathroom, but with dread Beck realized the noises were getting closer. He became rooted to the spot as whatever creature was creeping passed the foot of his bed. It made its way past the floral painting on the wall, then to the near corner of the room. Then it traveled along the wall parallel to the headboard, settling to a stop behind Beck’s head. He became as still as he possibly could, certain that the plaster was the only thing separating himself from it.
There were a few seconds where the noise stopped. Then he heard the rapping of a knock next to his ear. When Beck continued to remain frozen, another knock sounded against the other side of the wall.
He pulled the bedsheets over his head like he did as a child when he was scared of the dark, as though the thin layer of cloth would protect him. Beck’s breathing became amplified in the pocket he created. As he struggled to rein in his panic, he realized the knocking had stopped.
He began to count the pulses ringing in his ears. He made it to sixty before he heard the creature crawl towards the opposite corner it had come from. Beck had to strain his ears again to even hear its departure, everything else drowned out by his heartbeat. The presence seemed to recede into the wall on his right, creeping to the limit of where the bedroom merged with the entryway and then coming to a stop.
After a minute of inactivity Beck began to breathe again. Another minute passed and he slowly pulled the sheets down from his face.
He looked down at the spot where he last heard the noises. He couldn’t make anything out except for the faint edge of the wall. He kept staring, but the dark refused to abate. It seemed like his eyes were glued to the spot, his vision caught like water above a drain. His pulse quickened again as he became aware of the fact he couldn’t shift his gaze. He couldn’t help but wait until something inevitably jumped out at him and –
Beck awoke with a start. Breathing hard, he scanned his surroundings. He was still in the guest room, the one that the dream had so vividly recreated.
He knew for a fact he was awake this time. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly how he knew, but the best way he could describe it was a sense of awareness that only seemed to be imitated in his dream. He wasn’t pushing back against some unseen hand that orchestrated his actions.
He glanced in each corner of the room, but nothing jumped out and attacked him. It was more than a little relieving to know that he’d left the monster behind in the sleeping world. That was the case, right? His mind reluctantly examined the dream. The accurate depiction of his room in the vision startled him. And if that much was duplicated from the real world, would that mean that the creature existed there too?
It was an unwelcome thought. Even though it was an irrational idea, no matter how hard he tried he could not shake it from his head. He turned to the miniature chair in the corner. He could only make out its silhouette, but couldn’t tell if the doll was still sitting there, lost somewhere in the folds of shadow.
Beck sank back down into the bed, stealing glances at the walls around him. He decided that he would stick to the safety of the mattress, an island in the night. It was rather unlikely the bear was lurking somewhere below, but he didn’t feel like taking any chances.
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While the evening saw the promenade wrapped in a warm darkness, the morning filled the hall with an almost blinding light. The sun cut across the cavernous room in wide swaths from the tall windows. Night had made the building seem infinite, but the day drew everything inward and somehow made sitting at the table feel intimate.
Nora and Amelia were as conversational as they were at dinner. Beck wasn’t sure what to make of the quiet before, but with a fresh mind he realized it wasn’t necessarily because of some sort of tension. Those silences were thick and heavy, but the one before him was empty, like the air could pass right through them. A form of lethargy, perhaps?
His uncle was there for breakfast, the only addition since the previous meal. While Beck ate a feast of eggs and french toast, he noticed Rowan was only occupied with a mug. The smell of coffee flowed from the cup, but his eyes still looked distant.
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After blinking, his uncle’s eyes met Beck’s and he gave him a practiced smile. “I trust your accommodations have been sufficient?” Rowan asked, breaking the quiet.
“They have been more than enough, thank you.” He dipped another piece of toast in the syrup and stuffed it in his mouth.
“Sleep well?”
Beck gave what he thought was a convincing nod. “Mmhmm,” he hummed. He didn’t think a creature in his dream was enough of an excuse for why he was tired. Swallowing quickly he added, “I’m looking forward to the next lecture.”
The shine returned to Rowan’s eyes. “That’s good, so am I.” He went back to staring at his coffee.
From the corner of his eye Beck saw Amelia shift as though she was going to make a response, but none came. He looked over at Nora, but she was still lost in her papers.
“Should I prepare for the same time as yesterday?” he asked.
Although the question was directed at Rowan, Amelia was the one who answered. “It will be in a couple of hours, ten o’clock today. You’ll have to forgive the changing timetables, they vary on a day-to-day basis.”
He balked at her. “How does everyone here function without fixed schedules?”
“A ruddy good question, that,” Nora mumbled.
Amelia just shrugged. “We have outside help, administrators with a great deal of experience with Rowan’s way of running things. You will meet them eventually if you stay long enough.”
Beck was dumbfounded. He thought that Rowan’s erratic behavior was something only his uncle possessed, but the longer he stayed at the manor the more he realized that the whole place was subtly infused with the same energy. It was unclear if it was all his uncle’s influence, or if each person brought a portion of strangeness with them. It would take a while for him to acclimate to days without agendas and courses without normal work.
He gripped the table after remembering the assignment his uncle had given him. “I haven’t gotten to that key problem from the last lecture, is that due for the upcoming one?”
Rowan swirled the contents of his mug around, sloshing the liquid like he was panning for gold.
“Uncle?”
“Oh, that was directed to me?” Rowan said, breaking from his stupor. “There isn’t a set deadline, but I encourage you to find it as quickly as possible. That said, we’re willing to wait as long as it takes.”
Beck hesitated before asking his next question. “And, you want me to find a key? A literal one? You’re not expecting a paper on cognitive psychology?”
His uncle gave him a peculiar look. “Of course. I never speak in the figurative. Well, I suppose except for when I am. Speaking in the figurative sense, that is.”
Yes, it would take a while to get used to this.
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With the time of the lecture approaching Beck made his way to the classroom and was surprised to find he wasn’t the first one there. A man with bronze skin and dark hair tied down into braids was leaning against the wall, his coat loosely draped over one shoulder. The man’s stature was befitting of a bodyguard, not someone Beck expected to see wandering the manor. He wasn’t sure what to make of the newcomer until the man noticed him and gave a bright smile.
“Hello, you must be Beckham?” The man stretched out a hand in greeting.
“Yes,” Beck said, reluctantly shaking it. His hand became engulfed by the man’s palm.
“I’m Fielding, head of research for Rowan. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”
“Likewise.” He looked the man up and down, trying to figure out their role. ”Will you be helping my uncle teach today?”
Fielding’s expression melted into a more sheepish grin. “I’ll be in charge of your schooling for the time being.”
At first Beck was surprised a teacher could have the kind of build the man had. Then his irritation grew, which he tried to keep from his expression. “If my uncle is busy, he could have told me during breakfast.”
“I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that; I believe Rowan mentioned the key you should be looking for?”
“Yes, I am aware. I haven’t had a chance to look for it yet. My uncle essentially said there was no set date it was due.”
“I see,” Fielding said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He neglected to mention that he wouldn’t personally continue with you until you’ve found it.”
Beck stared at him, uncomprehending. “Why on earth is that the case?”
“Finding it is critical to the next phase of your education. You’ll have to forgive your uncle, he doesn’t always make things clear when he explains something. One of the smartest men I know, but his way with words has much to be desired.”
“That doesn’t make any sense! I was able to follow his lecture fine, I don’t see how finding where he leaves his personal effects will help me learn anything!” Beck paced the few steps between the sides of the room, before letting out a sigh and unclenching his fists. “Sorry, I’m not angry at you, Fielding. Amelia already informed me of my uncle’s disinterest in teaching me, I just figured that after yesterday that was an exaggeration.”
“Don’t worry, it isn’t lack of interest keeping your uncle tied. Every person Rowan tutors goes through the same initiation. He can only afford to spend his time on the most integral parts of your journey here.” Fielding leaned in with a coy expression. “And believe it or not, that key is crucial to your understanding of our field of study.”
Beck looked at him skeptically. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Regardless, my job is to help prepare you for when that time comes. Consider these supplemental lessons that will come in handy for the future. Now come, take a seat.”
Begrudgingly, Beck took the one chair at the table. A rucksack lay on the tabletop that he presumed Fielding had brought. Despite his annoyance, he tried to give the man his full attention.
“Now, how familiar are you with Jung’s collective unconscious?” Fielding started.
“I’ve heard about it in passing. One of my professors called it ‘fantastical nonsense.’”
The man chuckled. “An expected response from those fully enveloped in academia. To their point many ideas central to this hypothesis stem from the various mythologies of the world, which many perceive as fantasy. Whether you believe in a certain pantheon isn’t the premise though, but rather what can be gathered from the cultures who held those beliefs.”
He dug into the pack on the table and pulled out a rugged portfolio. Opening it, he revealed a myriad of photographs and tracings. All of them showed pictograms carved into rough stone faces.
“Are these from the Nile?” Beck asked.
“Indeed. These are the writings of our ancient ancestors, thousands of years ago. All of the steles here depict the dreams of the author. In ancient Egypt they believed that what they saw in their sleep could be revelatory, that something was reaching out through the veil to contact them. The important point is that they saw the dream realm as a place that directly influenced reality. To them it was an intersection of the past, present and future; A crossroads between worlds, if you will.”
“Okay, so is the collective unconscious about dreaming?”
“Not specifically, but it’s an apt example. While Egypt formed their culture around these beliefs, other civilizations around the world developed similar customs. Rome and Greece had its oracles to divine the nature of dreams. The Celts slept at the burial grounds of their ancestors to receive prophetic knowledge. Even the English in the Middle Ages wrote of visionary dreams in its literature.
“The point being that all of these groups from across the globe had the same inclination that there was something special about dreams, that there was some sort of beyond that couldn’t be interacted with in the waking world. And as far as historians have discovered, each civilization came to this same conclusion in isolation from each other. But how could that have happened?”
Fielding tapped the side of his head. “That’s where the collective unconscious comes in. Jung theorizes that in every human mind there are symbols and ideas buried deep inside that manifest themselves in our behavior without us realizing it. If you’re willing to accept that, then the idea of dreams as a gateway could be part of this collective, remaining dormant until its existence is brought to our attention.”
Beck gave his instructor an incredulous look. “Surely there are more simple explanations for the phenomenon? It could be that dreams elicit a primal fear of the unknown, the same feeling often brought about by forces of nature that past societies attributed to deities, and thus the two concepts became linked. Or the elements of peoples’ real lives that appear in their dreams allowed their minds to work problems in different ways, which they attributed to spirits upon absence of an alternative explanation. What’s with the smile?”
The man shook his head, still grinning. “Your response is similar to how Rowan would respond, had he not already believed in this. He never entertains an idea unless he can touch the evidence.”
“And you’re saying that’s a bad thing?”
“No, of course not! It is important to approach things from a logical angle. Since psychology exists almost entirely in conjecture, my job is to either prove or refute these theories without a shadow of a doubt. If neither is achievable, then it remains a hypothetical.”
“So which of those categories does the collective unconscious fall into?” Beck asked.
“That’s what I’d like to spend our time discovering.” Fielding reached back into his satchel and pulled out more folders of documents. "Each of these contains background on different cultures from around the world. We'll be examining what their traditions and beliefs reveal about their psyche, and how they connect to each other."
The next couple hours were spent doing research Beck was accustomed to from university, and what he had expected to be doing when he first arrived at the manor. To him it seemed the work was more akin to anthropology than his own field, but he didn't want to bother Fielding over something so trivial. But that wasn't the main reason why he began to feel anxious as the minutes ticked by.
"How is this meant to assist with the hide-and-seek game uncle Rowan has set up for me?" He asked.
Fielding looked up from his stack of papers. "Don't worry about that right now. While this will help expand your horizon and hopefully open it up to the answer Rowan is after, that's not the main goal of my lessons."
"I understand, it's just –" Beck frowned.
"Frustrating? It's okay to feel that way. When I was first introduced to Rowan's work I had similar grievances." Fielding closed the folder in front of him. "That's enough for today, it's best not to do this sort of reading when your mind is elsewhere."
He couldn't bring himself to get up from the desk. "You wouldn't happen to have any hints about that key?"
The man thought for a moment. "Sleep on it. It helps to internalize what you've learned from the day, and waking up will give you a fresh perspective."
“And how long does this initiation process usually last anyways?”
Fielding paused for longer this time. “As long as it takes.”