Section F: Fairy Tales & Physicists

Chapter 23

Of course. It was so obvious. So plausible. It made such perfect sense. Really, it was the only reasonable explanation. Fields couldn't quite believe it hadn't occurred to him before now. How could he have been so obtuse?

No matter. Better late than never. Feeling enormously relieved, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to soak in the welcome warmth of the waning sun, pleasantly tempered by a benevolent breeze. To enjoy the calming peacefulness of his surroundings. To relish the sudden relaxation of responsibility, the freedom from care. Breathing deep and even, heart-rate steadying, he felt a slow smile begin to form on his—

"Ow! What the hell?"

"Sorry, partner." Despite her words, Peregrine's expression managed to display a complete and utter lack of contrition. "You had that look about you. I've seen it before."

"Look?" queried Fields, blinking vacantly as he rubbed his arm. "What look?"

"The holy-crap-I've-just-realised-the-only-logical-explanation-for-all-the-crazy-shit-going-down-is-that-it-must-be-a-dream look. The kind of look that requires a good pinch. Some of my former partners got pretty good at it. At least it took you longer than most."

"So"—Fields swallowed—"you mean it's not? You know, like—a dream?"

"Nope. All one hundred percent, bona fide, genuine, dyed-in-the-wool, real-arse reality. Any realer, it'd rust."

His eyes narrowed. "Wait. How do I know you aren't just some dream-Peregrine, yanking my chain? How do I know—ow!"

"That's how you know, sweetheart. First the pinch, then the slap. Keep crapping on about being in a dream, and the knuckles come next."

"Fine, fine," muttered Fields, now rubbing his smarting cheek. "So I really am about to climb down onto that ledge and poke a man-eating dragon—"

"Sorry, what kind of dragon, now?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry—a person-eating dragon."

"Thank you."

Fields took a deep breath. "Okay. Right. So, I'm going to climb down there and poke the dragon, and then when it wakes up, I'm going to hope that instead of roasting me, or eating me, or roasting me and then eating me, it instead finds itself possessed by the disembodied consciousness of the trans-dimensional photo-copier repairman who formerly occupied the body of the fairy-tale prince currently digesting in its stomach, while in what I have to say is a fairly questionable attempt to render the whole exercise fractionally less suicidally insane, or possibly less insanely suicidal, you're going to cover me with your presumably illegally obtained and almost certainly unlicensed grenade-launcher, which I can't help but notice has significantly more rust than any self-respecting grenade-launcher should really have, and then, on the minuscule off-chance I might have somehow managed to remain uneaten and/or unblown-up, I'm going to climb aboard the aforementioned dragon, in the hope I will be able to ride it in pursuit of the rapidly-receding Radovic, while also attempting to find an area with phone coverage, so that I can call in a medevac for Embers and Featherstone. Is that about it? Does that tick all the boxes? Is that the reality?"

"Reality?" replied Peregrine, hefting the grenade-launcher into a more comfortable position. "Nope."

Fields blinked at her. "Nope? Wait, do you mean this is a dream? 'Cause that would seriously make a lot more sense."

"Nope."

"Huh? Nope, it's not a dream, or nope, it is?" Now that it had occurred to him, Fields was finding the whole dream idea dangerously seductive. And a little hard to let go of. "You know, maybe just punch me now. I think it might save time."