//------------------------------// // 8. Orientation // Story: We Are Such Stuff... // by Lucius Appaloosius //------------------------------// 8. Orientation Alone again in his room, Ben pulled the newspaper out from his saddlebags and began to read. Might as well occupy the hours before bed, and perhaps learn more about this town - and this world. The Mule London Weekly Gazette was a single folded sheet, densely packed with columns of type. No illustrations, save a few crude stock cuts, much like two centuries before his own time. Much of the content was commercial: the arrival of vessels from other ports, with lists of their cargo; announcements of new goods for sale; and current market prices. Interspersed were little truisms and jokes that would have been internet memes in his own day. A column of “Telegraphic Messages”, from as far afield as Boston and New York, intrigued him. So we have some form of telecommunication, then. A small advertisement caught his eye as well: “Tail Wind offers a Flying Academy for Young & Arrived Pegasi, Griffins, Etc. Five coppers per week: inquire at the sign of the Golden Quill.” Ben took note of this for future reference. What captured his attention most, however, were a few personals searching for lost colts and fillies. He did not see Fallow Field’s name among them. Perhaps Harvest and his family had made their plea some years ago: after it had gone unanswered, they must have regretfully stopped spending precious money upon a hopeless cause. It was only when I arrived that they started to hope again. He read and reread the paper, while the summer evening lengthened outside; turning the same questions over and over as before, and coming up with no new answers. Outside, a pony carried a long pole with a flaming wick from lamp to lamp, and lit them. It was hard for Ben to read now, although the room seemed as bright as ever. He dimly remembered something about rod (or were they cone?) cells in the retina: one type was responsible for night vision, and the other for sharp focus and color perception. Batponies must have dark-adapted eyes, then. There were a tinderbox and fire-striker in the chimney corner; but he’d read all there was to read right now, and there was no use wasting a candle. He lay down upon the bed, then, and composed himself for sleep . It was a large, public space: a mall, a convention center, and hotel, rolled into one. An antique and curiosity shop tempted his fancy: rare records; an ornate and exotic sword; strange musical instruments. No one was there: why not claim them for his own? He’d leave some compensation, of course - “There you are!” A voice interrupted his covetous thoughts. “What took you so long, Bat Boy?” He turned to face the mocking voice. Another pony stood before him: a batpony like himself, pale blue, with a mane and tail like glacier ice, and piercing orange eyes. “W-who are you?” he managed to stammer out. She grinned, and a drill sergeant’s hat appeared on her head. “Your worst nightmare, maggot. Drop and give me twenty!” “Twenty?” “Wingups, you clodhopper! NOW!” In a daze, Ben spread his wings, tucked in his forelegs, and complied. It didn’t seem to involve any physical strain; but the shock and humiliation was discomfort enough. When he finished, he heard the other pony giggling hysterically. “Okay, that’s enough,” she gasped: the hat had vanished. “Welcome to the Dreamworld, kid. My name’s Jackie - just Jackie, far as you’re concerned. I’ve been around here for a while, and I like to meet the newbies and show them the ropes. “You’re going to need a lot of help, kid: barely one day here, and you’ve managed to get roped into a quest. What were you thinking? No, don’t answer that,” she continued as Ben opened his mouth; “You’re new, and confused; somepony helps you out, then tells you a sob story; you don’t want to be ungrateful, yada yada yada…” She gestured dismissively with one hoof. “Old news. My job is to get you in shape for all that: show you the basics of dreamwalking; how to find out what’s bugging a dreamer; how to steer them the right way; how to defend yourself against the Darkness -“ “The Darkness? What’s that?” “You’ll have to face it sometime or other: it’s like the mother of nightmares, and pretty nasty. You might want to check with Alex about that - if she hasn’t got herself killed again.” Jackie rolled her eyes and grimaced. “Anyway, you ought to have a home base: somewhere in the Dreamland you can call your own. Makes it easier to navigate. You might as well start here.” She gestured to an open elevator nearby. Let’s go up and see what there is.” There were no floor buttons within: just UP and DOWN. Ben pushed the first one, and the door slid closed. A few moments later, a chime sounded, and it opened upon a carpeted hallway. Out of many doors, one stood ajar. “This must be yours, then.” Jackie gestured for Ben to enter. It was not your typical hotel room. Hotel rooms didn’t usually have twenty foot ceilings, chandeliers, or stained glass windows, or enough bookshelves to house a small library. Added to that were a window seat and an overstuffed sofa, plus a number of antiques out of his memories. “Nice taste you got, kid,” was all she commented. “Now, first thing you’ve got to learn is how to get here without all that falling asleep business. Look at that door,” she pointed back at the entrance. “Take it all in: the wood, the paneling, the doorknob, everything.” Ben stared and concentrated. “Read it like a book: fix it in your memory. When you need to enter the Dreamland, close your eyes and envision that door: keep concentrating until it becomes real. That’s your way in.” Ben stared harder: he noticed how the grain made peculiar patterns in the wood; the odd little moldings; the baroque trim on the knob and plate. He closed his eyes and imagined it before him, just as it was. Remember this: do not forget it. After repeating this exercise several times, he announced, “Okay: I think I’ve got it.” “Great. Meet me here tomorrow night, midnight sharp: we’ll get down to business then.” Ben remembered suddenly. “Um, I’ve got work tomorrow night. It’s not much, but -“ Jackie snorted. “No problem. Time doesn’t mean much here anyway: You can get your training, and get your chores done before morning. Midnight sharp, remember.” She waved a hoof and was gone. Alone again, in these magical surroundings, he examined the room again. A flash of yellow among the books caught his eye: a sticky note on one of the spines. READ ME. Pulling it carefully from the shelf, Ben carried it over to the window seat and opened it: another piece of paper fluttered to the floor. He picked it up and read: My dear little pony: We have taken the precaution of providing this copy, lest the physical book should fail to cross over to thy world. Read and learn: we wish thee success in thy endeavors. - L. Ben turned to the title page: PRINCIPIA SOMNIUM Being, a Thestral’s Guide To Dreams and Their Mastery by Prof. Ebony Flight, R.E.A.* Respectfully dedicated to Her Royal Highness PRINCESS LUNA Luna? The name seemed familiar. This ought to be interesting, though. Ben sat back and began to read. *Royal Equestrian Academy