#17

You wakes up the next day of Your own accord. As such, You has a few moments with nothing but Your thoughts. You spend some time thinking about all that has happened, with the knowledge that You has to get back on the road right away. You heads out through the door, through the main salon room and into the kitchen, where You sees that Klaus is cooking breakfast.

“He's quite the chef,” Madame Levingt intones. “He also had some money in his pockets, I guess. He went down to the market and bought some sausage and cabbage and started turning out some sauerkraut and, well...sausage.”

You looks at the food. Not quite a breakfast, not the way You knows it, but good enough. And it looks masterfully prepared. You sits down and starts eating, with Klaus, between glances at the stove, watching expectantly but unhappily. You gives him a thumbs-up, which he shoots right back at You. You hasn't eaten since You started out, and suddenly that stabs out at You. Soon all the food is gone.

“We should head out right away,” You says.

“I planned on that. I packed some trail rations for the three of us, and put up a notice saying I'll be out of business for a few days. I'm sure the guards will be glad to see me gone. Everything important is secured—we can leave now if You wants.”

“Let's do that.”

Then You remembers to go down to the docks; the others accompany You. Levingt pays for a storage area for Your airboat, in case You'll ever need it again. With that, you head towards the New Cenabum West Gate, and set out.

The area around town has had its forests cleared, but there's still a huge perimeter of woods all about. Madame Levingt informs You that these forests were artificially put up to assist in the division of land between farms, but refuses to elaborate past that. You gets the impression she's censoring information for now so that You'll continue to trust her—which doesn't exactly bode well, but she's all You's got. What she says could mean pretty much anything. If the farms were separated by forests thanks to the government, what goal would that serve? A division of communication? And it doesn't make sense for them to have all that free land anyway. You always assumed that there were so many people in the world that there was little land to go around. Susie told you overpopulation began to become a problem in the 1950s, almost a hundred years ago, and perhaps earlier. So how could the Empire plant acres of forests to split up farm arbitrarily? Wouldn't there be whole cities in the way?

You realizes that despite her hospitality, perhaps Levingt can't really be trusted. The government took care of Susie and her dad for years, and despite his abrasiveness, her dad did know what he was doing. Okay, so You knows magic exists now—at least, that's the only way You can explain a fat old German man appearing out of thin air. (Maybe You's always believed in it. You knows now that You's always had such a small view of the world, and so honestly Your reaction is somewhat mild. Though of course You is always considering the possibilities.) But what if it is a bad thing? If magic-users—sorcerers, as it were—were able to generate power beyond that of the fuel, what's stopping them? Morality? A lack of gain? It doesn't match up, but You may be thinking too far in absolutes. You doesn't have all the puzzle pieces quite yet.

Levingt talks about life around town, knowing that You will fascinated by it; and of course, You is, and You shows no shame in doing so. Klaus says nothing and doesn't even appear to be listening. At random intervals, Levingt will begin to describe a food You's never heard of, much less eaten, only to produce it from the rations and give it to You. That's magic to You. Everything is delicious, even the simple things like cashews. It makes the journey a quicker one, which is good, given its relative length.

Levingt also tells stories. Some of them are just fairy tales, but You's never heard some of them before, and so they're rather interesting to You. She tells You stories of wolves and young women (while explicitly telling You it's all a metaphor), of lumberjacks, and of clever coyotes and spiders. The stories that make her light up the most are the ones about gods—she talks a lot about “Athena” and “Chick Ay Nuh”. Her happiness somehow brings joy to You, too.

Eventually, however, as the trip goes on, Your paranoia comes back up. You begins to question the motivation behind telling these stories. The way that they are being told does seem to indicate that she just likes telling the stories, but You knows You has Your suspicions. So, with an aside glance that You thinks is somewhat clever, You asks, “How about a story about yourself?”

She pauses. “Well, I was going to tell the story of Ananke's husband, but...why not?”

She looks up through the overhead canopy and her eyes almost seem to glaze over. You can't tell if it's from nostalgia—or from regret.

“I suppose there are plenty of reasons why not, really. Just as I suppose there are plenty of stories from when I was attempting to compile the All-Encompassing Sourcebook...”

“The what?”

“Handbook to the Multiverse.”

“I'm not sure what that is.”

“Hm, no, I suppose You wouldn't...does You know about how big the universe is?”

“Evidently not.”

“It's pretty massive. Now the thing is, there's a sort of half-scientific, half-mystical Kabbalistic superstructure to all of it, which is relatively unmapped. The A.E. Sourcebook was the project of a friend of mine, named the Old Man, was brought back to life by a man called the Administrator—not one of my friends, but a powerful man in himself, because at some point he captured a necromantic entity known as a...”

You cuts her off. “You like talking about things no one else understands, don't you?”

She smiles. “I thought the fairy tales were easy to digest. I even explained those for You!”

You feels impatient. “Is this story going to be understandable? Or are you going to insist on making yourself really complicated?”

“Probably the latter.”

“That makes you seem full of yourself.”

“I hope You's joking!”

“I'm not sure.” And You isn't, really.

She doesn't even look at You as she continues, though she is still smiling. “Does You at least want to know what sort of mystical spirit-thing he managed to capture?”

“Um. Sure.”

“Well, unfortunately, I don't seem to remember. I don't remember its precise True Name, that is, and if I don't remember that, there's no point in naming it at all. Though, as You probably learned during one of the stories back there, it's sometimes risky to remember True Names, and frankly, if there are more beasties like what my friend—or, wait, no, the Administrator—caught, I don't want them to show up. So somehow, the Old Man ended up stealing the beasty's armor...”

“Is this story linear?”

“What? The best stories aren't, darling! This is a true story, and as such, it's going to jump around quite a bit. We could always go back to fantasies, though, if You wants. But I told you, there were plenty of reasons why not to do this.”

“How much of this is an act? Like, seriously. Are you...trying to impress me?”

“How much of it is an act? Most of it. I am a witch. Did you expect me not to act?” She pauses, but then the smile drops. “Listen, You, I've been reading Your thoughts for the last several miles, and I know that You's suspicious of me, and You's right about many things—but I have to urge You to trust me on all this.”

You jumps back a bit, and then stops. She and Klaus also pause, and she turns back to face You.

“I'm sorry to have to do that, but You has an important trope on You—probably several. The important one is...”

“Hold on. I'm sorry, but...you were reading my goddamn thoughts?”

“Well, one of Your tropes is that You's...a character. In another story, and I'm not sure what story that is yet, but I'm sure it has to do with The Cascade. You's being written down, much more so than anyone else in this world. And I can read that. You can too, if You hones the APPLE. And the APPLE's super important. It's the source of Your trope, You. You's the 'Little Train Who Couldn't' who ends being able to get to Could. You's the disabled, somehow-crippled child who saves...”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a crack of lightning sounds, and a burn mark appears on a nearby trees.

“Soldiers!” Levingt cries out. “You, get out of here! Take Klaus with You, and don't let him out of Your sight! I'll hold...”

You has a brief internal conflict over her orders; You realizes that some sort of strange mystic truth is upon You, and despite Your theories about Levingt You feels the sudden urge to fight with her, or for her.

Another bolt flies out, as three of the armored soldiers from town arrive. “You're under arrest!” one shouts. Then he grins. “Ha! Now that you're out of city bounds, witch, we've got you right where we...”

A fireball flies out of Levingt's hand, and the guard instantly crumbles to screaming ashes.

“Go!” she insists. And You and Klaus start running. Behind You, You hears sounds of a struggle, but also strange bursts of what must be energy—either from the guns of the men, or of a magical nature. And as You runs, not stopping until You nearly trips over the border of the road, You hear something catch up with You, breathing down Your neck. But it's not a soldier. It's confusion, and it's fear, and it's a lack of knowing, more than You's ever, ever known.