Dreamer's Throne

There was a rumor creeping around the city, spoken of in hushed whispers and hidden glances, of a new inn. It was unlike the regular places people gathered, and to hear it told, one could get a sip of ambrosia at its bar. The problem was, no one seemed to know where it was. It wasn’t a place one could search for and find but could be found only by wandering into it. According to those who claimed to have been there, the door seemed to drift about in the hazy space between waking and sleeping, appearing at random.

Dreamer’s Rest.

Cobble didn’t believe any of it. Then again, he only dealt in the hard facts. That, and the tanned leather he used to make shoes. Putting down his hammer, he examined the rivet he’d formed and nodded. This would be a good pair. Placing them to the side, he rubbed his forehead, trying to ignore the loud whispers of his apprentices. The two young men were talking in what they clearly assumed was a covert way, but their excitement had destroyed any secrecy they had started with.

“I’m telling you, it was a doorway, with words written on it!”

“Oh, come on, as if.”

“Seriously, my big brother saw it.”

“How would you know? Were you there?”

Unable to handle it anymore, Cobble slammed his hand on the table and spun around.

“Oi! Get back to work! You can talk about your dreams and aspirations on your own time! Shoes don’t make themselves!”

Ducking their heads, the two young men hurried to wield their hammers, filling the shop with the rapid tink tink tink of rivets being flattened. More exasperated than angry, Cobble resigned himself to watching over them for the rest of the day, if only to make sure they stopped filling each other’s heads with nonsense about dreams. Snorting, he shook his head. Next they’d start claiming fairies existed.

It was close to seven when it finally got too dark to see what they were doing, and since Cobble was too cheap to let them light candles, his apprentices cleaned up and said goodbye, heading back to their homes. Closing the shutter on his small shop, Cobble saw two heavily built men wearing coats with a five-petaled flower on the lapel walking up the street and lifted his hand nervously. Stopping, they greeted him cheerfully.

“Cobble, right? How is business going?

At the question, Cobble’s face stiffened slightly. Business had been going well, and normally he would have liked to boast, but when a gang member asked that question, it normally had a different meaning. He used to pay the Swamp Sharks for protection, but recently a new gang had moved in after the Swamp Sharks vanished to the man. He wasn’t familiar with these two men, but the symbol they carried was the same as the group that had stopped by to tell him they were now in charge.

“Uh, you know. Business is, uh, good.”

“Glad to hear that,” one of the men said.

“Yeah, it’s great that things have stabilized,” the other agreed.

“If you need anything, just stop us. We’ll be patrolling morning and evening most days, so don’t be shy about flagging us down.”

“Though you might want to be careful, as Horace here likes to chat, so if you do, get ready to have your ear talked off.”

Rolling his eyes, Horace patted Cobble on the shoulder.

“Don’t listen to him. Anyway, we’ll leave you to it. Have a good night.”

Saying goodbye, Cobble watched in confusion as the two men continued down the road, saying hello to the shopkeepers who were closing up. They had been friendly but not pushy, and wonder of wonders, his coin was still in his pocket after talking to them. If they’d been members of the Swamp Shark gang, they would have asked for an extra payment without fail. Shaking his head, Cobble didn’t know what to think.

He lived alone in a small apartment behind his shop, and after everything was closed up, he ate a small meal and went to bed. It took him a while to get to sleep, and even when he did finally drift off, it was into a restless sleep full of tossing and turning. Sighing, he sat up and reached for the water on his nightstand, only to freeze. His room had a single window that overlooked the back alley that ran behind his shop, and a single door that led into his kitchen.

Yet at some point another door had appeared in between them. A faint light filtered out from underneath it, and the muffled sounds of clinking glass and happy voices could be heard beyond it. A strange upbeat music with sounds Cobble had never heard before seemed to fill his room, causing him to fall into a trance. Convinced he was seeing things, he pinched his arm, wincing when pain shot through his skin.

Standing up, he slowly walked to the door, his hand going to the doorknob as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Slowly, the door opened and he found himself standing in a dimly lit room, surrounded by indistinct people mingling between the tables and the long bar. At one side of the room was a small band playing the catchy music he had heard. Yet none of that entered his eyes as he stared at the bartender who was standing before him. Dressed in a crisp white shirt with a bowtie and a vest cut in a strange style, the bartender seemed to be the very picture of professionalism, but the blank white mask with a rainbow-colored flower splashed against the side gave the scene a strangeness that sent a chill down his spine.

A moment ago Cobble had been holding onto the door handle, but now he was standing against the bar, his hand resting on the bar top. With practiced ease, the bartender put a napkin and a small dish of seeds in front of him.

“Wow, word must really be getting out. You’re the fourth new patron we’ve had tonight. What’s your name?”

Unable to help himself, Cobble spoke in a halting voice, his throat suddenly dry.

“C… Cobble.”

“Welcome to Dreamer’s Rest, Cobble. You can call me Geller. Why don’t I get you something to drink?”