Tenthé ran the last few steps into the square fronting the Mission. No luck. The slam as the doors closed put to rest any hopes of him making it for breakfast. Sure, the food was bad, but at least it was free and edible… ish.

The workers latching the door watched him with absolutely no sympathy. It was their job to care for the downtrodden, not to care about them. In any case, they weren’t intimidated by the scrawny, tangle haired street kid facing them, garbed as he was in a worn one-piece robe and a liberal coating of grime.

As Tenthé turned and aimed for some shade, his stomach growled its dissatisfaction. Sure, he could have torn the doors off the Mission and ransacked the place, but it was his own fault he was late. If he hadn’t stopped to help the Fifth Street Regulars kick the HellCats back to their own territory, he would have made it in time.

His motives were entirely selfish: he traded the stuff he found with the local gang and he didn’t want to break in a new partner. Plus, he still felt bad about breaking it off with Crazy Soo. Sure, it wasn’t her fault she’d gotten big while he stayed stuck as a kid, but she had tried to set him on fire. Twice.

That reminded him, he should have a few coins left from his last trade, or at least, he thought he did. He could never keep track of money. It might have been part of whatever made it so he couldn’t read or count, but it was a pain.

He started searching his robe. It took a while, but finally he turned up a few coppers. Even he could tell it wasn’t a lot. But hopefully, it would be enough to buy something at the bakery.

Crap! It was getting late. If he wanted to get everything done, he’d have to take a shortcut. Stuffing his coins back into a pocket, he dashed out of the square.

He dodged through the crowds, skipped down a set of stairs, and landed in front of a massive basement door. Spinning around, Tenthé tugged on a rusted grate embedded in the wall, making a horrendous screech as it swung open. He climbed in, pulled the grate closed, then turned to face a tunnel leading under the street. Faint lines of glowing glyphs etched on the walls led off ahead of him, into the distance.

Good! It was still here.

The ceiling was high enough that Tenthé could stand, although he knew from experience that he would hit his head if he weren’t careful. As he began walking, the light from the grate faded. Soon, all that was visible were the lines of glyphs.

It was eerily quiet, except for a faint rhythmic rumbling that pulsed like a heartbeat. As the sound grew louder, the glyphs began swirling, losing definition and becoming fields of tumbling stars. Tenthé had found they were more of a distraction than anything else, so he closed his eyes and continued on. In his mind, the path was clear, so he moved ahead, keeping both his pace and breathing slow and steady.

Unfortunately, the stars and heartbeat weren’t the only things here. Around him, the voices grew louder, subtle whispers and heartfelt cries. What they said seemed important, but it was best not to listen. He let everything flow past and continued on.

Because of the beating, he called this place the Heart of the World. The first time he’d stumbled in, he’d gotten stuck, and it had taken him forever to figure out how things worked. Now, it made a handy shortcut, even though he was pretty sure that wasn’t what it was supposed to be used for.

It took a while, but at some point, the concept of an exit grew larger in his mind. He ignored the voices urging him to go deeper, and kept on toward his goal. Around him, the street noises faded in. He felt the sun on his face and cobblestones under his bare feet. When it was appropriate, Tenthé opened his eyes.

He stood across from the bakery. People walked past, but, as usual, no one had noticed his arrival. He looked up at the sky and estimated it to be close to the same time as when he had entered the Heart. Of course, there was a small chance it was a different day, but honestly, so what? It wasn’t like he really had to be somewhere.

He crossed the street. The smell of fresh baking surrounded him, making his stomach knot in anticipation. Since the morning rush was over, he hurried in and threw himself at the counter. The baker stared down at him, wearing a slight smile.

“A wee bit peckish, are we?” he asked as the grumbling from Tenthé’s belly resonated through the room.

Tenthé wasn’t sure what that meant, but it was something the baker always said and didn’t seem too insulting. He dumped his coins on the counter.

“What’ll this get me?”

The baker frowned, like he did every time they had this conversation.

“The prices are clearly posted. Figure it out yourself.”

“Sorry. I can’t count. Or read.”

“Huh! You’re, what, ten, or so? You’ve got clothes from the Mission. They should have taught you your numbers, even if your family didn’t.”

“Yeah… I’m cursed or something. That stuff won’t stick. Lots of people’ve tried.”

And, like every other time they had this talk, the baker replied with disbelief, “Really?”

When Tenthé remained silent, he used a different approach. “Don’t recall seeing you around before. Thought I’d met all you kids.”

That wasn’t such a strange question. The Cities were quite isolated. Crossing the Wildlands was hazardous, so new people were rare. Mostly everyone knew everyone else, at least in their own district.

“Yeah, it seems to be part of the curse. No one remembers me. Well, a few do; the Fae and some humans, but only the crazy ones.”

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“Uh-huh. Sure.” The baker obviously thought he was making things up.

Tenthé was very familiar with Master Baker Dumas. Over the years, he’d learned everything about his family, business, likes, and dislikes. He could have said something, but it wasn’t worth the effort. Tomorrow or the next day, it would all be gone again.

Fortunately, before they repeated yet another conversation they’d had many times, his stomach made an extra loud complaint, groaning like a beast in pain.

Master Dumas took pity on him. He swept up the coins, grabbed two big buns from the shelf behind him, and put them on the counter.

“Here. These are from this morning, I’ll give them to you at a discount, but you have to tell me your name.”

He was a soft touch; it was why the kids came in here. “Okay. I’m Tenthé,” he said as he scooped up the buns.

“Well, nice to meet you, Tenthé. Pretty sure I’ll see you around. You’d better work on your numbers!”

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied over his shoulder as he left the shop, almost drooling down his front. Once outside, he stepped to the side and inhaled a bun, causing various passers-by to snicker at his unabashed enjoyment.

Tenthé didn’t care. It was good! Showing a bit of restraint, he tucked the other one into his cloak to save for lunch. Maybe he’d take time to savor it. Most likely not.

It was a nice day. As he continued on, the streets filled with shoppers, wagons carrying goods, and a few wizard carriages zooming past the slower traffic. Tenthé liked the crowds. Almost everyone seemed happy. Or at least busy.

He walked on, and after a while, approached the City Center. It was peaceful, with parks open to the public and people dressed in fancy clothes. In his poor clothing he stood out, but, except for a few looks, people like him were usually tolerated.

To be truthful, the others might have had some reason for their wariness. Tenthé wasn’t above “finding” money or a wallet lying about in someone's purse or pocket. In the Mission District he felt bad taking things from others who didn’t have much, but here he didn’t have to worry about anyone going hungry or being thrown out of their lodgings.

Unfortunately, though, he’d discovered that the rich folk liked to yell and scream. Which meant having to deal with the Guardians.

Today, it wasn’t worth the grief. He had plans.

As he continued past the enormous buildings, Tenthé had to admit that he didn’t know what anyone did who worked in them. There were signs. But, of course, for him they were no help.

A kid about his age stood on the edge of the walkway, selling broadsheets. At one time, he’d tried that, but because of his counting disability, it hadn’t worked out. He always came out short. It turns out that you can’t trust people.

The boy was yelling the headlines: “Horde Still Overdue! Fire in the Merchant District! Dreamer Found in Remote Village! Orangefruit in Season!”

The Horde was the big bad enemy. Once every generation or so, they would swoop in from the Wildlands and try to get into the City. If they won, they’d convert everyone inside to more Horde, steal everything, then move on, leaving a few survivors to rebuild.

And, if things were normal, the Dreamer would make the City strong enough to hold off the Horde, but this time, there was a bit of a problem. People at the Mission were always talking about it. The Dreamer was some type of super wizard Magister who kept the Wildlands away and everything working how it should, but the last one died before the next had been found. A new candidate showed up every few weeks, but so far, none of them had turned out to be the real one.

And, to make it all more complicated, the Horde hadn’t shown up on time. Which was good, but everyone said it was unnatural. Nobody really knew what was going on, but there wasn’t a lack of opinions.

Still, even he figured out that people were scared.

Typically, Tenthé didn’t care. For the most part, life was okay. If things changed… well, he’d deal with it. But, if he were the Dreamer, then each day he’d eat breakfast from the bakery and have supper at the Lady’s house.

While he walked along, one of his pockets began coughing. When everybody near him cranked their heads around to look, Tenthé scurried away.

Once he was out of earshot, he whisper-yelled, “Shut up! Shut up! People can hear you!”

The coughing continued for another few hacks, then a high-pitched voice whined, “Oh my head! Why are we moving? Stop, stop! I’m going to barf!” followed by retching noises.

“You don’t have a brain or lungs, or even a stomach! There’s not enough of you left to get sick!”

“That’s terrible! I’m not the man I used to be.”

“You’re not a man. Just a toy. And, keep it down. People will notice!”

“I feel horrible!”

“Well, all you are is a head with one eye, two arms and stuffing hanging out that looks like a backbone. The rest is gone. Go back to sleep!”

“My Gods! How am I even alive?”

“You aren’t! Go to sleep. We’ll talk later.”

Tenthé waited for a moment, but his cloak stayed silent. They had this same conversation every day. Not because Bear forgot the way everyone else did, but because there was so little of him left.

As long as he remembered, Bear had been with him. In the early days he’d helped figure things out, but now he just complained and slept. To be honest, that’s pretty much what he did normally, but now, it wasn’t the same. Once in a while Bear was able to be of some help, but more often than not, he would fall asleep and leave Tenthé on his own. Which didn’t always work out for the best.

He kept putting off any kind of repair. His friend was so different that any wizard or healer he took him to might try to keep him. Until he came up with something, it was his turn to be in charge and make sure nothing got worse.

But, if he were the Dreamer, he’d fix Bear so he was okay.

***

Tomas sat on a lounge chair on the front patio of the Education and Employment building. Being the head of the Magister’s College, he cultivated the look of an aesthete, with his dark suit, tall thin physique, and neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard and hair. He often came out here to see and to be seen.

Oddly enough, this time, all he was looking for was a respite from the endless meetings concerning the Dreamer. Purposefully not thinking, he gazed at the people meandering through the gardens and paths during their very late lunch break. Mostly, these were the ones taking care of the day-to-day business of the city. He nodded to a few senior bureaucrats as they wandered by.

Among them were the common folk. He watched as a boy walked past, on his way somewhere, all the while arguing with himself. Something Tomas was quite familiar with. Being the head of the Magister’s College, he idly cast a spell to find if there was any glimmer of arcane power in the boy’s body. It returned a blank. Too bad, he was simply a commoner of the sort the Magisters worked to keep happy and safe from harm.

The current meeting had been convened to discuss the most recent Dreamer sighting, but it was yet another false trail. Unfortunately, the girl was nothing more than a strong mage. Untrained, but with good potential.

All of a sudden, his temper flared. Gods damn it! That idiot Dreamer had to be somewhere! Everything ran too smoothly for any other explanation. No demon breakouts, no magic plagues, and the City was chugging along acceptably. Hell, the sewer services were even working, and that didn’t always happen when they had a well-trained Dreamer!

In the current get-together, the City elite were painstakingly reviewing all the information, but, shockingly, no new insights had suddenly manifested themselves.

He jumped slightly as his timepiece buzzed. Break over. Time to return and look at the same data, yet again.

Sighing, he reluctantly made his way back inside.