Ideworld Chronicles: The Art Mage

Act 3, Chapter 49: Everything is certainly fine

Day in the story: 15th January (Thursday)Gertrude MonkeyThere was something seriously fucked up about this place. Quite a lot of bloody things, actually. The feeling of dread had reached me as soon as we were done with the accommodation formalities and stopped to assess and formulate a plan. I felt as if something was just around the corner, ready to chase me until either my lungs or my legs gave out and I fell, only to be taken. And judging by the way everyone in our small circle kept shifting from one leg to the other and glancing over their shoulders, I wasn’t the only one.

“We have rooms on the same floor,” Penrose said, handing out the cards and the banknotes he prepared. Each instead of usual “In god we trust” had “I need Penrose’s help” written on it. I chuckled to myself—of all the places on the note he had chosen this one to change; fucking typical. “And I don’t see anything wrong with checking them out first. My people have to be somewhere, even if those are just bodies we’ll find. We might as well check the suites, the halls, the bathrooms. Just keep your assigned partner in sight and the note at hand. If anything goes wrong tear it down and I will know.” Very pragmatic of him, not to care about deaths. “It’s one thirty-two p.m. Let’s meet again in front of my door at two thirty, ready for action and reconnaissance in the rest of the hotel. Do not get fooled by how normal everything looks in here. This place is most likely nightmare incarnate, so stay on high alert at all times.”

It was good advice, but I was pretty sure most of them wouldn’t follow it. Being offered a chance to rest when the mind begged for a break and the body for release did not bode well for this operation.

“I say we fuck the rest, sir,” Thomas said, smashing a fist into his open palm. “There is something wrong about this and about staying here. I can feel it creeping at the back of my mind.”

“What do you propose?” Penrose asked, taking stock of everyone present. While Torque was restless, others looked ready to give up altogether. I wondered if he noticed the same.

“Rei came here to secure this place for us, but it looks like he might’ve rested instead. Business as usual. I say we get rid of these people, force them out, and take over. What are they going to do—call the cops?”

“You’re applying Earth logic to a place that runs on a completely different set of rules,” I countered, drawing the attention of every man in our circle. “As you pointed out, we don’t know what they can do if we turn hostile. Mr Penrose just mentioned it as well, asking us to not get fooled by how it looks like. They could turn into fucking dragons, tanks or the walls themselves might start attacking us, from what my limited experience with Ideworld suggests. Especially since this is a splinter.” I still wasn’t sure whether to mention that there was no way out. Asking people to leave might be… complicated. I wasn’t about to single myself out like that.

“We’ll have to try sooner or later,” Thomas pressed. It felt unlike him—he was usually the level-headed one.

“Gertrude is right here, Thomas. As much as I’d like to be done with this, it isn’t something we should rush. Not until we know more. Right now, we’re working with assumptions. One of them is that Rei did exactly as you suggested, which is why he called for help. My original plan still stands. Let’s go.”

We moved as one unit toward the stairs at the end of the hall. My sp-eye-ders observed everything around me, giving me perfect vision. Nothing would hide around me, not even through veils of illusion, courtesy of the power borrowed from the Shattered. No such thing appeared, however, so I slowed slightly to get closer to Thomas, who had decided to be at the end of a file.

“What’s going on, man? You’re acting strange,” I whispered.

“I don’t know. I feel like the moment we stop moving, the fucking firmament itself will fall on our heads. I hate all of this. It irks me and to top it off, it’s fucking cold in here. Not freezing, but definitely a degree lower than what you’d expect in a place like this.”

“Mildly uncomfortable, like the slight breaks in symmetry.”

“Nothing serious on its own, yes, but when you stack all those small things together, it gets fucking infuriating. I feel like I could smash my way through those walls—especially in the armor you painted on me.”

“I can remove the magic from it.”

“No!” he snapped, loud enough to make others turn. He raised an open palm to calm them, then looked back at me. “I want it on, for as long as we’re here. Okay?”

“Sure.”

We moved quietly for a while—quiet in the sense of not speaking. True silence was impossible in a group of armed men. Some grunted, heavy boots thudded against the stairs, armor clattered, weapons knocked against bodies. And yet, the absence of voices made it eerily unsettling. So I broke it.

“You can take a shower in that armor. The paint won’t wash off.”

“What?” he asked, raising his arm to smell himself. “Do I stink?”

“Yes. Everyone here does. I’m just letting you know so you don’t avoid it out of fear of losing the magic. As long as the armor believes itself to be something other than body paint, it’ll keep the properties of that thing.”

“I get it. Thanks. That’s the nicest way anyone’s told me I stink so far.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Just making sure,” I added, as we reached the third floor and stepped out into the hallway.

There were quite a few people moving in and out of their apartments while carrying sports equipment, books, electronics, all the usual things people used to pass time in a place like this. They smiled, chatted, and lived their small, contained lives.

None of them, however, were even remotely connected to the group Penrose had sent here on a mission.

A long, modern hotel hallway stretched forward in imperfect symmetry. Most of the doors breaking the impossibly long, paneled, reality-damned beige wall stood opposite one another at even intervals, but a few were misaligned. Muted gray carpet softened our steps, and recessed ceiling lights cast a warm, even glow, leaving no shadows and no corners for anything to hide. There was no end to the corridor in sight in either direction.

“Fuck,” Ramirez muttered under his breath as he pressed the card to the reader. Thomas did the same with our door, and the rest of the men followed suit with theirs.

The room before us was nothing short of majestic. In all our shared lives, we had never encountered such extravagant, almost absurd grandeur, and Alexa had visited plenty of high-end places in her time as a thief. The main living area alone was the size of her entire apartment—bathroom, kitchen, and the three bedrooms she shared with Sophie and Peter—and still had space to spare.

Beyond it, separated by sliding doors crafted from what looked like mahogany or something equally luxurious, was another section. Behind them lay a bedroom dominated by a king-sized bed, crowned with a canopy of richly draped fabric that suited its scale.

A shallow step divided the main room, with the lower level hosting most of the furniture. An assortment of couches filled the space, facing a home cinema setup with an enormous TV and speakers installed around the room. Tables, desks, wardrobes, and a chest of drawers were scattered throughout, along with a kitchen counter that housed a minibar.

Curious, I stepped into the bathroom. It was just as excessive: a glass-enclosed shower, a full bathtub, even a jacuzzi—alongside an array of pristine fixtures whose purposes were obvious, even if their abundance felt ridiculous.

Everything was clean—too clean. Washed, polished, unnatural in its presentation.

There was a window looking outside, and I approached it, drawn by what I saw beyond. “Are you seeing the same thing I am?” I asked Thomas, who had dropped his bag on one of the couches and was examining the walls for some reason. I was fairly certain he’d only seen one version of what I did.

Alexa had made a choice when designing my body. She could have given me the eyes of the Shattered, but decided against it so I’d blend in better with normal people. Instead, she gave me the tattoos—the sp-eye-ders—and each of them carried those illusion-piercing ocular things.

So when I looked at the window through both my own eyes and theirs, my perception split.

Part of me saw the Mirrored City’s New York street.

The other—through my natural eyes—saw an ocean, a beach, and palm trees.

“What do you mean?” Thomas finally asked, acknowledging me.

“The window. The beach. The sun.” I gave him a few hints.

“Yes? And? We’re at the hotel, right?”

“Whatever.” I stepped closer to the glass, but quickly realized there were no handles to open it.

**********

“There is nothing in here,” Thomas said as he checked under the large bed. He smelled much better after the shower. To be honest, I did too. I had made sure to check the water first—whether it was safe—but nothing suggested otherwise, so I went in.

Now our brief moment to unwind was coming to an end. We were supposed to meet Penrose soon.

“You think they’d hide in these rooms?” I asked.

“I’m trying not to assume anything, after both you and Penrose corrected me.” He emphasized the last words, like he took it personally.

“It was meant to remind you that the rules are different here and the threats are higher.”

“You remember I was there when that eye-bug made everyone blind and the handy-rat nearly tore us apart, right?”

“How are you, really?” I cut in, changing the subject. I dropped onto the couch and looked outside. It didn’t feel right to stop searching, but we’d have plenty of time for that—and I needed a breather.

“Me? I’m restless. I feel like the moment I stop moving, Phillip will remember I’m just a human on a payroll.” He walked back into the main room, crossed it, and stopped by the window, staring at the waves. “Even now—just standing still—I feel like dead weight. I found nothing. We’re not any closer to figuring out what happened to Rei.”

“We might never know,” I said as he began pacing in front of me. “And you’re not useless.”

“You sure? What have I actually done during this entire gig?”

“You punched that merc who stepped out of line. Hell if I know! I don’t keep track of everything.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You see everything around you, all the time.”

“But I don’t have perfect memory.”

And something else was wrong. Ever since we crossed into this hotel, my connection to Alexa and Elle had been unstable. I struggled when they tried to focus on me, and they had trouble reaching me in the first place.

“Yet. You don’t have it yet. But knowing how fucking ridiculous your magic is, you’ll get it by next Tuesday.” He took a deep breath. “Please, let’s get out of this room. There’s nothing worthwhile here.” He added, cocking his weapon. He checked the iron sight against the wall, then holstered it and slung the bag over his shoulder. “I need to start doing something productive, or I’ll go crazy.”

“Fine.” I stood up and immediately felt warmer. My body was readying for action. Thomas’s restlessness was rubbing off on me. “Ladies first,” I told him, grabbing my own bag and gesturing toward the door with a small curtsy. “Does Penrose know you’re gay?” I asked as soon as the thought crossed my mind after a bad joke.

“Probably. I never told him, though. Why?” he asked, grabbing the key card and opening the door.

“I just thought about him agreeing so easily to put me in the same room as you.”

“I think he doesn’t care about any of us on that level,” he replied as we stepped back into the same endless corridor, heading toward Penrose’s suite. “As long as we work well together, he wouldn’t fucking care if I fucked with you or not.”

“Would you?”

“No—but that’s not the point I was making. For fuck’s sake, Al—Gertrude. That’s not the point,” he repeated as we reached the right door.

“303, right?” I asked.

“Yes.” He knocked. “Half past two. Only we’re here.”

We waited a moment before the door finally opened.

“Yes, mister?” a little boy said, pulling it toward himself. Behind him was a suite similar to ours. “Ma’s taking a shower. Should I tell her something?”

Thomas knelt down in front of him. The kid couldn’t have been older than six or seven.

“Are there two men staying with you in this room?” he asked.

“Nope. Me and Ma. Pa went to get me a snack, but he didn’t come back yet.”

Thomas glanced at me. His face mirrored my own confusion and something close to dread.

“Okay. Thanks,” he said, waiting for the boy to close the door. Then he straightened slowly. “Yeah… everything’s certainly fine, right?”