Page 16 of Search for the Lost

“All right, let’s figure this out.” Leo stepped between them, gently pushing Cypher’s hand away. “What do we know about this place?”

Crispin grinned. Jealous take-charge Leo was kind of sexy.

“We know it sucks hellhound piss.” Aspin sank down onto the tiles, crossed his arms, and stared out at the indistinct/very sharp horizon.

Leo glared at Crispin’s brother. Crispin snorted. “He’s not wrong.” What kind of world was this, that he was defending his asshole of a brother to his beloved?

Cypher flipped the page of his notebook. “We know that the Oracle sent us here so you two could complete your quest.”

Crispin raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that? You weren’t even in the room then.”

Cypher snorted. “I asked Aspin. A good assistant needs to know everything.”

“Point taken.” Cypher really was a great assistant, unwanted flirtations aside. “Continue.”

“Two, everything here is contradictory. Up is down, black is white, and ice cream is volcanic ash.” He scanned his notes again. “Three, when we say something hyperbolic, it seems to short circuit the system, maybe? Or reveal the path out of here?”

They all looked down at the yellow brick road. It seemed solid, and it hadn’t turned back into the whatsit Thing stuff that the rest of the world seemed to be made of. But outside of that narrow path, it was yes/no black/white hot/cold as far as the eye could see.

“Agreed.” Crispin sank down next to Aspin. “But where does that get us?” Minkis, snug inside his sweatshirt pocket, grumbled at the interruption. Crispin reached in to pet him, and soon he calmed down again.

Cypher held up his pencil like a director leading his band, seeming to enjoy his moment in the limelight. “Stay with me. This world is like Chaos personified.” He glanced at Leo/Crispin. “No offense.”

Leo grinned. “None taken.”

Crispin sighed. Seeing his own face smiling back at him would always be rather disconcerting.

“So…,” Cypher continued, “what if you could find a bit of Thing stuff that was something you wanted and something you didn’t, and I don’t know how it works, but… order it into being the half you want?” The young faun looked at Crispin hopefully.

Crispin scrunched his forehead, buying his addled brain some time. “That… could work. But I don’t have my ordering abilities. Just… this.” He glared at the field of Thing stuff, which sat frozen and immobile as it bubbled and boiled like a cauldron, throwing off a mess of contradictory smells and sounds while being completely quiet and odorless. Staying here too long might drive us insane.

“Wait… that means I’m all ordery now?” Leo grinned again.

Leo was adorable when he was happy. He was pretty much adorable in all of his emotional states. “You have to stop smiling so much. You’re going to stretch my face out so much that it will be droopy when I finally get it back.” Crispin wasn’t sure that was actually a thing, but it felt like it could be.

“Sorry.” Leo sat down next to them and reached out to scoop up a bit of the Thing stuff. He sniffed it. “Could be… chocolate ice cream, or… cigarette ashes!” He knitted his brow.

“I told you so.” Cypher sat down between the two of them, folding his legs under him and resting a hand on Crispin’s knee. “See if you can order it into being ice cream.”

Crispin gently and discreetly removed the faun’s furry hand-hoof, hoping Leo hadn’t noticed.

He needn’t have worried. Leo was engrossed in the amorphous mass in his right hand. “Order!” He stared at it, but nothing changed.

He tried waving a hand over it, as if trying to evoke some magical power. “Order thineself.” Still nothing.

His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know how to be you, Crispy. I wish we could switch back.”

For just a second Crispin was convinced that he felt a stirring—like maybe Leo had stumbled upon the magic phrase to reverse their positions—but it turned out to be just gas from the exotic crumpets he’d eaten earlier in the morning. Or maybe hunger. He sighed. “Leo, close your eyes. See if you can feel the Thing stuff without seeing it.”

Leo did as he was told. “Okay, nothing there. Nope, not there. Still nothing and… oooh.”

“Can you feel it?” Crispin stared at him intently.

“Oh yes. It’s… It’s confused. It needs to be one thing, but it also wants to be something else….” He petted it like a cat and cooed at it. “There, there. You can just be this one thing. It’s all right. Nothing will hurt you.”

Crispin’s eyes went wide. “Leo, you did it!”

In Leopold’s palm was a gooey melting mass of chocolate ice cream. He licked his thumb experimentally. “Oh my god, this is so good, you guys. It’s like Swiss chocolate and Ghirardelli and Nestle Quik and Swiss Miss and that melty lava cake they sell at fancy restaurants all at once—wait, is chocolate a universal thing?”