Snek is a Good Boy Pt 7 (Patreon)

Part Seven: Noelle

[A/N: This chapter commissioned by @Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Elsewhere

Noelle opened her eyes with a gasp and sat up. The dream she'd been having was so vivid, her heart was still racing. She'd been in Coil's base, and something had been happening outside, and nobody was answering the comm panel … and then something had invaded her space.

The beast with which she was merged had attacked immediately, of course. The intruder was long and sinuous and insanely strong, and had wrapped her monstrous body up until she was immobilised. Then, in a weird hissing voice, like a cartoon snake, it had apologised to her and asked its master for help.

After that … the dream had gotten even weirder, if that was possible. She had flashes of a huge room made only from stone, and a bearded man chanting in a language that made her head hurt. It hurt the beast even more but there was no fighting back, as the impossible … snake? … permitted no escape from its coils.

One tiny detail that stuck in her memory: the snake had been wearing a normal-sized hat, one that refused to fall off even when the massive head was upside down. If nothing else had convinced her this was a dream, that would have.

The dream ended there, which left her obscurely disappointed. She kind of wondered where it had been going with the snake imagery, and the wizard in the castle; she'd played enough Ransack to be fairly certain of that particular fact. A high-level mage, she mused, pulling back the covers and swinging her legs over the side of the four-poster bed. Casting a ritual spell. That would definitely be something to see.

Then she froze and slammed her eyes shut. Holding absolutely still, she breathed in and out, in and out. Carefully, actually taking in details for the first time, she ran her hands over the sheets she was sitting on. She was no expert, but they felt very high-quality; something like Egyptian cotton.

She hadn't been able to sleep in a real bed, with or without sheets, for longer than she wanted to think about.

Next, she moved her feet over what they were resting on, curling her toes (that she surely no longer had) to capture the strands of what felt like a fluffy rug. Scrubbing her soles back and forth, she enjoyed the sensation of the softness against her bare feet.

Finally, she plucked at the winter-weight pyjamas that someone had dressed her in. Pinching at the thick, comfortable cloth, she felt her thigh beneath … and her thigh registered the pressure of her fingers.

Then she opened her eyes and looked to see if her sense of touch had been deceiving her. If this was the case, then her eyes were being similarly hoodwinked. Her legs, clad in flannel pyjama pants adorned with images of a red and gold dragon in flight, did indeed protrude over the side of the bed—definitely a four-poster—and her bare toes were absolutely entwined in some kind of fluffy rug.

I have to be still dreaming, she decided. It's the only explanation.

With that in mind, she stood up, wondering at the sensation of pressure against the soles of her feet in … how long had it been since she'd last walked normally as a human? Months? A year? Far too long, anyway. It seemed both too easy and too hard. She felt she should be either falling flat on her face or walking without effort, but her progress was somewhere in between; a little difficult, but manageable all the same.

There was a window on the far side of the room, letting out into the open air. She made the trek without more than a stumble or two, though the bare flagstones were chilly under her feet. Leaning on the sill, she looked out … and gasped with wonder.

Before her stretched a panorama of sublime beauty. The building she was in, almost certainly a castle from its all-stone construction, was perched atop a large hill or small mountain, clad in green pine trees and sloping away to the plains that stretched far out to the horizon. She could pick out what she suspected were villages here and there, within the intricate patchwork of cultivated fields.

Overhead, the dome of the sky was a brilliant, almost eye-hurting blue, with sunlight slanting in from the left, though the solar orb was just out of her sight. The moon was also in the sky, though her awareness of this being a dream returned as she was easily able to pick out an impossible ring around it, like Saturn in miniature.

And then a flock of dragons flew past. Not large ones, as she'd always imagined them to be, but about eighteen inches to two feet long and brilliantly coloured, no two the same. A couple turned their heads and chirped agreeably, then they were gone again.

"Whoa," she murmured, leaning on the sill, her knees suddenly weak. That encounter had been far too real; she'd been able to pick out the sunlight glinting off the tiny, perfect scales, the multiple needle-sharp teeth in their jaws, even the fact that they were technically wyverns instead of true dragons.

Turning away from the window, she leaned back on the wall beside the frame, breathing deeply. For something purporting to be a dream, it was feeling more and more real by the second. Dreams were primarily visual and audible in nature; smells led to visuals of food, and dream-touch was unreliable at best. Yet she could still feel the texture of the stone floor under her feet, and the grain in the wood of the window frame. Likewise, even though she wasn't facing the window anymore, she could smell the pure, crisp mountain air.

Is this a dream or isn't it? The evidence of her eyes told her it was; everything else she could sense had another opinion on the matter. Maybe I'm hallucinating. She'd never done any drugs stronger than weed or alcohol, and those only in moderation, so she only had the vaguest idea what a trip was like.

She leaned out the window again to have another look at the ringed moon—that shouldn't be possible, at all—then turned to survey the room for anything else out of the ordinary. All she found was a dresser with a serviceable-looking chair in front of it, and a wardrobe; all on the far side of the bed that she'd gotten up from. Beside the dresser was a heavy-looking wooden door, currently closed.

You are in a maze of winding passages, all alike … She shook her head, dispelling the memory. There was something on the chair; from where she was, it looked almost like folded clothing. She'd never seriously attended a Renfaire, though she and Krouse had talked about it a few times. What sort of clothing would whoever had left her in a four-poster bed expect her to wear?

The fact that they'd also left her in extremely comfortable flannel pyjamas was another data point that she couldn't quite mesh with the rest.

Heading over to the chair, she found herself stepping onto another soft, warm rug, twice as welcome now that she'd spent a little time standing on the cold stone floor. On the chair were … well, a T-shirt and jeans, along with modern-looking underwear, including socks. Under the chair, she found a very ordinary pair of sneakers. Ordinary for Earth Aleph, that is, back before this whole horrific odyssey had begun. Not so ordinary for wherever and whenever this place was.

She was just about to start changing into the new clothing when she spotted the note resting on the dresser. It appeared to be inscribed on actual, real parchment with (if she wasn't much mistaken) a genuine quill pen. While the clothing was anachronistic, the note was right on point for the bedroom and (for that matter) the entire castle. Carefully, she picked it up and read it. Although inscribed with slightly archaic lettering, it was in perfectly calligraphed—and readable—English.

My dear Miss Meinhardt,

I hope this missive finds you well. Clothing has been left out for you that I believe suits the style for your local version of civilisation. However, should you wish to dress in a more (or less) formal manner, other options may be found within the wardrobe.

Once you are ready to leave the room, merely open the door and my loyal Snek will attend to your needs. I await your arrival, as you will surely have questions.

Yours,

The Master of the Castle

PS: I would not advise using the wardrobe to seek a different fantastical world. I have taken care to block all such realms from intruding upon my Castle.

PPS: When you meet Snek, try not to overburden him with questions. He possesses a simple soul and a large heart.

PPPS: Yes, this is indeed real. I await your company.

Noelle read the note through twice more before putting it down again. About to reach for the clothing on the chair, she paused. "Other options?" she asked herself out loud. "Okay, this I have to see."

The heavy door to the wardrobe looked as though it should creak menacingly as she opened it, but it made not a sound. Suspended on a mannequin dangling from an overhead track was a silken kimono, the pattern showing a great serpent winding around large hills and through small villages. It looked very cool indeed, but Noelle wanted to see what else there was, so she gave the mannequin a sideways push.

It rumbled sideways on the track, and another one came into view. This one sported a classic little black dress of the type worn by women determined to get out on the town and have fun, dammit!

Noelle snorted and shook her head. Whoever this guy was, showing off her brand-new legs wasn't likely to change his opinion of her. She pushed the dress aside; the mannequin rumbled on the track, and a full-on floofy princess dress came into view, complete with diamonds and seed pearls sewn into the fabric. Two things occurred to her at this point; first, the wardrobe, which appeared to be a free-standing structure, was in no way capable of containing everything she'd seen in it so far, and second, whoever had commissioned that dress in her size (because it damn well looked like it) either had more money than God, or didn't need money at all.

While she absolutely wanted to be wearing that dress when she saw Krouse next, just to watch his jaw bounce off the floor a few times, it wasn't in her plans to put it on right now. So she shoved the mannequin aside, then kept them moving, almost as though she were flipping through a catalogue.

Business suit … cocktail dress … bikini … chainmail bikini, complete with shortsword and light helmet … flamenco dress … ballerina outfit … pirate outfit, smelling faintly of the ocean … classic ninja outfit (okay, now she knew the guy had to be messing with her) … full articulated plate armour, complete with heavy sword … an odd outfit, made of sturdy leathers, with a pair of brass-framed goggles hanging around the neck …

Sitting back on the bed, she shook her head. The choices seemed endless, and she'd been absolutely correct; there was no way that wardrobe was a simple wooden box on legs. While the letter had removed the possibility of a Narnia-style effect, it was probably still a lot bigger on the inside.

She wondered if her gaming background was the reason that she wasn't losing her mind right about now. Her time playing Ransack, and other games before that, had accustomed her to the weird and wonderful. She could accept the idea of a wizard casting a spell, or tiny dragons flying past the window of a castle, without immediately jumping straight to "that's impossible and I refuse to believe it". An improbably large closet didn't even need that; anyone who'd watched Doctor Who before it went off the air was familiar with that concept.

The plate armour beckoned to her, as did the chainmail bikini, for entirely different reasons (Krouse's expression would be amazing if she showed up in that) but in the end she made another choice altogether.

There was room under the leathers for the jeans and T-shirt, so she donned those first, but she left the socks and shoes behind. The leather outfit had knee-length thick socks which clung to her legs like a second skin; tiny brass clips at the top made sure they'd stay up. After the rest of the outfit went on—she had to figure it out as she went along, but the snaps, clips and clasps were relatively easy to figure out—she pulled the boots on, admiring the textured leather and the subtle dyes that had been worked into it. They had a moderate heel to them, with a thick base; she approved.

Pulling the goggles on, but leaving them up on her forehead, she admired herself in the mirror over the dresser. "Damn," she muttered. "I look badass." The person she saw in the mirror looked like she was preparing to jump feet-first into an epic adventure.

Her self-esteem boosted considerably, she headed for the door. Pulling on the handle, she heard the lock-tongue sliding out of its slot, then the door opened. Again, it entirely failed to creak either menacingly or eerily; it simply opened, as smoothly as silk.

The corridor beyond was well-lit, by torches in sconces along the walls. They burned steadily with a purple flame, but Noelle chose to ignore that. She'd seen far weirder things in the last five minutes. However, the corridor was also empty, for dozens of yards in both directions.

"Hello?" she called out, looking to the left and then to the right. "Huh," she mused, rubbing her chin. "So much for—"

"Hello, not-monsster No-Elle." The voice—hissing and very familiar—came from right behind her. "Ssnek iss here to help you."

Noelle froze. There'd been nothing behind her, just seconds before. Slowly, she turned, and came face to (extremely large) snout with the biggest damn snake she'd ever seen. While it didn't fill the corridor completely, it certainly went a long way toward doing so. It regarded her in return with what she could only read as a polite and curious expression.

Also, it was wearing a normal-sized fedora in the middle of its head.

"S-Snek?" she asked, wanting to facepalm. The Master of the Castle said its name was Snek. What else would it be other than a damn great snake?

"Yess, not-monsster No-Elle," the snake said, its hissing accent more apparent on the sibilants. "Ssnek iss Ssnek. Masster hass ssent Ssnek to help you. Iss not-monsster No-Elle hungry?"

"Oh. Right." She was still getting around its odd name for her. 'Not-monster Noelle', indeed. At the word 'hungry', her stomach woke up and rumbled. "Uh, maybe? A little?" Maybe it could show her where the kitchens were.

"Ssnek hass food." The capacious mouth opened, showing a truly impressive display of fangs, ranging from the length of her little finger to as long as her arm, and all needle-pointed. From out of the back of the throat extended a weird tongue-like affair, multibranched and clearly used as a grasping appendage. It was holding a wooden bowl of fruit; an apple, a neatly-quartered orange, a banana and a bunch of grapes.

"Uhh, thank you … Snek." She accepted the bowl, noting that it was entirely dry, not slimy with saliva as she would've expected it to be.

"Not-monster No-Elle iss welcome." Releasing the bowl, the tongue retreated into the snake's enormous mouth, which in turn closed. "Ssnek keep many thingss in not-eat placce."

Okay, so the giant talking snake has a bag of holding in its throat. Good to know.

Balancing the bowl on one arm, she took the banana and peeled it, then ate it. The apple went next, each bite assuaging the rumbling in the pit of her stomach. She finished off the orange and grapes a little more slowly, enjoying every bite. She wasn't sure how long it had been since she'd last had something so good, but it certainly wasn't recently.

"Okay, wow. That was amazing," she said, dropping the empty grape stalks back in the bowl. "Thanks again, Snek. You do a very nice breakfast."

"Ssnek iss happy not-monsster No-Elle iss happy," Snek replied, sticking his tongue out to take the bowl. "Ssnek take not-monsster No-Elle to Masster now?"

Noelle handed it over. "Uh, sure. Oh, and you can just call me Noelle, you know. If you want."

"Ssnek ussess what Masster callss desscriptor for new friendss. Funny hat man ssaid No-Elle wass not monsster, so not-monsster No-Elle." The snake poised itself, then made a fast diving swoop with its head that left Noelle sitting astride its neck before she really knew it. "Not-monsster No-Elle hold on."

Instinctively, Noelle tightened her grip with her legs as the snake started down the corridor, but her attention was elsewhere. "Funny hat? You mean Krouse? Uh, Trickster? What happened to him, and the others?"

One enormous eye rolled up to look at her. "Ssnek not know. Left all alive. Not-monsster No-Elle need help, sso brought to Masster."

Wait, holy shit. That means it wasn't—

Snek poised himself, then a portal formed in front of his head. He lunged through in a blur of motion, carrying Noelle with him, and came out in another corridor, with a large, imposing door in front of them.

—a dream after all. This is real.

Carefully, Snek bumped the door three times with his snout. He seemed to be counting under his breath as he did so; Noelle wasn't sure why.

"Come in, Snek," a masculine voice called. "And Miss Meinhardt, welcome to my Castle."

Noelle watched as Snek reached out with his tongue and opened the door, then they slithered through. Snek came to a halt, allowing her to climb off his neck and look around.

Standing before her was the man she'd glimpsed in what she'd thought were dreams. Though his beard was long and gray, he was tall and imposing. If nothing else, he looked like her own personal mental image of Gandalf. Aiding and abetting this impression was the gnarled wooden staff free-standing beside him. But if he was a mage, what he was standing in was most definitely a mage's workshop. In all directions were workbenches with any number of strange contraptions ticking (or bubbling) away. Overhead, hanging from the ceiling, was a taxidermied dragon, if she'd ever seen one.

But she was being rude, and that was the very last impression she wanted to give right now. "Uh … thank you for … everything?" she managed. "Did I … am I … did you … is this really real?"

"Yes." He inclined his head briefly. "You were in a rather poor state when I brought you and Snek across from that unfortunate world which you occupy. It took me almost an hour to determine how to free you from the creature that was sharing your body without killing you in the process. However, I learned several useful things along the way, so it was a fruitful endeavour on both sides. How are you feeling in the aftermath?"

She smiled automatically, though her mind was whirling from the implications of his matter-of-fact speech. He figured out how to cure me in less than an hour. Who is this guy? "Uh … I'm feeling great. Having legs again is amazing. So … I'm free free? It won't happen again?"

His smile was kindly, if a little acerbic. "Just so long as you can restrain yourself from imbibing potions of unknown veracity, I believe that is the case, yes. You are entirely cured of the powers with which you were cursed. The question is: what do you wish to do with yourself now?"

"Uh …" She tried to nail down her racing thoughts. "Before I make any decisions, what's happened to Krouse? I mean, my boyfriend, Francis. He and his friends … my friends … I don't know where they are."

He nodded to acknowledge the question. "Your paramour and other companions are alive and well, albeit in the custody of the Parahuman Response Teams. Mr. Krouse is worried about you."

"Can you put me in contact with him?" She was pleased Krouse was thinking of her, but less happy about the whole situation. "I want to let him know I'm okay."

"That can be achieved with a simple sending, if you wish." He raised a shaggy eyebrow. "Your options are as follows: first, I can bring them all here, remove their powers, and allow you to make your way in my world. You will find it to be not unlike the game you once played together. I notice you have already found the dragon-riding leathers."

That derailed Noelle's train of thought altogether. She stared down at the leathers, the possibilities exploding in her mind. Dragon-riding? I can ride dragons?

"Second," he continued. "I can send you back into that world, unpowered, to do as you wish. Third, I can remove them from their imprisonment and move you all to your original world. Once more, to do as you wish. The choice is yours."

Well, damn. If she'd been asked that question a day ago, the answer would've been simple: go back home to Aleph.

Now … it was anything but.

What do I do?

Part 8