“So much wandering, James. Don’t you deserve some happiness already? Step through that door, and life will be like it used to be. You’d be so happy here, and this town sure could use your engineering skills.”
Matilda witnesses what just moments previously she would have thought impossible. James’ eyes brim and spill, sending tears running down his face. The sight shocks to Matilda to her core. Can James possibly be battling the same thoughts she had when they entered Neverland?
As if sensing her thoughts, the old man turns his attention to the Scry.
“And you, Matilda – which of course, we both know isn’t your real name – this whole mess started with you wanting to get your memories back, but now you’ve become Donovan’s assassin? Is that really what you want? We can get your life restored. It just takes some unlocking. Something you’ve already started.”
He gestures to the other unclaimed house.
“It might not be as luxurious as the life you had back in the real world, but that shouldn’t matter if you’re with your parents. “
With his words, the lights turn on within the house, and the silhouettes of a man and woman appear in the upstairs window.
Matilda scowls, “No, this is bullshit. All of it. Everything you’re talking about – his family, my past. This is all just an illusion. None of it’s real.” She turns to James but finds no help in his lost expression.
The warden is shocked at her accusations. “Of course it’s an illusion. I never said it wasn’t. But if it’s the fantasy you want, does it matter? If you prefer the illusion to reality, doesn’t that make it more real? Like I said, you both deserve this.”
The old man shrugs his narrow shoulders, “It’s seems like a good deal to me, but like I said, it’s your call. I hope you take it. You both seem like a couple of reasonable young folks, and that doesn’t often come our way nowadays.”
In the brilliant sunshine, a pair of squirrels dash across the road between them. Just another minute, perfect detail that contributes to the pleasant, peaceful, saccharine environment.
James finally speaks.
Still staring at the house, his voice is quiet. “A deal suggests conditions.”
The warden takes a pipe out of his pocket and starts fingering tobacco into it.
“There’s a permanent tenant agreement, of course. It’s pretty standard, but there are a couple of clauses that you need to know about. No more scaling, that’s rule number one. You can’t go farther up the Spire – but it also means you can’t go back down.”
Matilda makes no attempt to mask the anger in her voice.
“So that’s it. This is how Hank eliminates competition. Feels like a bribe to me.”
Keenly focused on his pipe, the warden doesn’t look up.
“Well, just because it’s a bribe, darling, doesn’t mean it’s not a generous one.”
He lights his pipe, puffing on it with satisfaction.
“I’d say offering you a decent life sounds pretty generous to me. Unless you prefer all the hardships you two keep enduring? Sleeping on the ground, watching your back, pissing off people left and right. Not to mention the body trail you’ve been leaving behind.”
Matilda steps closer to James. She can smell the savory dinner being served inside the nearby house. From within, the boy’s voice pipes up, “When will Daddy be home?”
The look on James’ face almost crushes her resolve. Slowly, Matilda approaches him and puts her hand in his. Startled and disoriented, James looks around at his surroundings, at the warden with his grandfatherly pipe, and finally focuses on Matilda.
Desperately she scans his face, trying to work out what the Taciturn is thinking. After a few seconds, James releases her hand, fumbles around in his pocket and eventually pulls out a cigarette.
The warden asks, “Well?”
James turns to face the old man. “There’s no denying that Hank makes a generous offer.” The warden takes another peaceful puff, nodding. “But I don’t think we can accept.”
The old man seems to miss his mouth with the pipe stem on his next attempt. He finds the mark on his second.
“May I ask why?”
Matilda notices James’ right hand open and close.
“It’s not that I don’t want this…”
The warden raises an eyebrow. “But?”
James continues, “You keep saying this is what we deserve. What we’ve earned.”
The sound of laughter draws James’ gaze back at the house.
“But you’re wrong. I don’t deserve that, in there. Not after…”
He pauses, and Matilda can all but see the lump forming in his throat.
“Maybe I would come to enjoy it. But every day… would be a reminder that they’re not really here.”
A new stillness settles over the neighborhood, and Matilda is unsure what to do. The old man had promised to take them out of here, but he doesn’t seem inclined to move an inch. The Scry fights the urge to reach for one of her blades.
Finally, the warden chuckles and cleans his pipe.
“So if you’re not staying, why are you here? I don’t know about you two, but I don’t have any more time to spend just chatting. You two still have a ways to go.”
Matilda is the first to see it. The potential homes have been replaced with a gate similar to that which they saw near the warden’s small kiosk. Matilda nods to the old man, grabs James’ hand, and leads the Taciturn to the gate.
Every instinct within Matilda tells her not to look back. The irrational fear creeps in that even entertaining the thought of lingering will somehow drag both of them back there, maybe for good. She pushes forward, still clutching James’ hand, but against her better judgment she does finally glance back, for just a moment. The gates begin closing, and she can see the warden walking back to his booth. From this distance, it’s hard to make out anything with clarity, but it almost looks as if the man’s feet have turned into hooves, as if he has also gained an unseen tail – giving him the appearance of Greek faun.
Matilda blinks and tries to focus, but the gates are closed behind them.
The unsettling experience in the Niche Gardens continues to plague James’ mind. His time there already seems foggy and disjointed even to his own recollection, as if he is recounting a dream he cannot quite remember, and did not quite enjoy. And yet… what he saw, with his own eyes. What he heard. All of it felt so real. He could almost reach out and touch his family again.
No, he reminds himself. They’re gone. Because of you.
By the time they reach the next section of the Spire, evening has fallen on the mountain. In the growing darkness, he can see Hank’s Castle looming above – another aspect of his past, taunting him.
The castle sits high atop the summit overlooking green grassland. Immediately surrounding the king’s estate are large, verdant fields and small huddled clusters of villages. All seem to be decorated as if for a festival – and most likely, all are vying for Hank’s regal attentions.
Matilda points to a pavilion near them. “Looks like they’re set up for some kind of celebration.”
They come upon a big festival sign that proclaims Cargo Cult Carnival. The streets are filled with people wearing masks and costumes. Even from a distance, it looks like there is a grand masquerade in town.
Matilda inspects her blades, nested in the sheaths sewn to the inner linings of her clothing. “I guess we’re crashing the party.”