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Noodle did not jolt awake like the people in her books did. She returned to the land of wakefulness slowly, harsh yells still echoing around the inside of her skull, the acidic smell of gin wafting under her nose.
She returned to awareness fighting, because if she knew if she did not, her nightmares would reel her back in kicking and screaming.
Nightmares were not an unusual occurrence for her, but most of the time they were filled with nonsensical things, like her teeth rotting out of her head or forgetting to buy cat food, only to find that every shop in the city has stopped selling it. (They don’t even have a cat, for Pete’s sake!) Weird ideas brought on by stress and exacerbated by lack of proper food and sleep, that make her terrified in the moment as they happen but leave her feeling a bit silly when she wakes up. If she’s lucky, she doesn’t even remember them at all, just this vague sensation of having been scared but not knowing why.
Other nights, like tonight, they were terribly, frighteningly vivid.
Noodle forced her aching arms to push her upright into a sitting position. Mrs. Scrubbit had worked her to the bone that afternoon, scrubbing the floorboards for a transgression that may or may not have occurred. She got into trouble often, that was true, because she couldn’t just stand by and pretend to be the meek servant girl they so desperately wanted. She had a mind and a mouth and she was going to use them, thank you very much. Sometimes, though, she thinks Mrs. Scrubbit just makes up things so she has a reason to punish her. Or she’s just too drunk half the time to remember things right and proper.
Despite her exhaustion, the girl made herself sit up, bracing a hand against the wall her bed was pushed against until the dark room stopped spinning. Sleep, which had been a great welcome relief a few hours ago, was now the last place she wanted to be.
Phantom pains still shot up her arms like electricity, or like she’d been dunked in ice water. But even when those faded, she was still left shivering, and not just because of the drafty window that didn’t quite close right.
Noodle wanted nothing more than to pull her scraps of thread-bare blankets tightly around her, curled up like a tightly wound cocoon, but she pushed them away. The cold was welcome tonight, because it’d keep her from drifting back off into the realm of nightmares.
Quietly, she stood up and tip-toed over to the window. Her hands wrapped loosely around the bars. It looked to be a short autumn this year as the beginnings of a winter chill rode in on the wind.
She hated winter, because the cold seeped into her bones and made her feel like she’d never be warm again. She hated summer, because the sweltering heat made it difficult to breathe and the sweat made her feel gross and Scrubbit and Bleacher never allowed them a break. There was only this short time period between the two extremes that she felt alright.
The other employees’ windows were dark. That was good, at least they were able to catch some shut-eye. Still, she wished at least one of them were awake to keep her company. Not that she’d ever bother any of them with this. She was far too old for such nonsense. But sometimes, when her eyes were too tired or it was too dark to read her books, she imagined that she’d go to the window and find somebody else was awake too, similarly unable to sleep, and they’d just… talk. And by sun-up, maybe she’d find that she’d made a friend.
But that had never happened before, and it wasn’t going to start happening now.
Noodle sighed. She turned her back to the window, examining the shadows the moonlight and metal bars cast on the floor. She’d never been afraid of the dark like other kids. There were far too many other things to be afraid of.
She wondered what the other residents did when they had nightmares. Or did adults not have nightmares? Perhaps when you get old enough, you just matured out of it. But did that mean adults stopped having dreams, too?
Well. Maybe that was for the best. Can’t be disappointed if you don’t have hopes or dreams, after all. And she’d certainly suffered enough disappointment for the rest of a lifetime.
She could just… leave. They hardly ever locked the door to her room anymore since they found out she hid books in there, much preferring to lock her in the coop instead, where they could keep her away from her precious books and any way to pass the long, boring hours. She could pack her few meager possessions and leave and never come back.
Would they even call the police? They did when the workers tried to leave, but unlike her, they were actually valuable. Noodle was far too small to lug around soaked laundry, she couldn’t even turn the handle on the giant mangle. She made the deliveries after the laundry had been cleaned and picked up more sacks of dirty stuff, but any of the others could do that just as well. The throbbing in her arms reminded her they would still need someone to scrub the floors, but again, anyone could do that. Or they could just buy a mop like normal people.
Ships came and left the docks every single day. She could sneak aboard one in the cargo hold. By the time they noticed she was there –if they noticed; she was very good at hiding, you see– they would already be out in the middle of the ocean. Of course, that might land her in the drink, but slimy, smelly fish for company were much preferable to Scrubbit and Bleacher any day.
Noodle sighed. Escaping was a nice thought, but at the end of the day, that’s all it ever was – a thought. She was never leaving and her mother was never coming and she was stuck here, delivering laundry and getting yelled at and being locked in the coop until she could cough up thirty-thousand silver sovereigns, which she would never get because nobody would hire a kid and they wouldn’t let her get a job anyway even if she could and–
One thing was for certain. Nobody would miss her if she left, unless it was to miss somebody to yell at.
Noodle did not come to wakefulness slowly. It hit her all at once, like a plunge into the icy depths of the ocean in the dead of winter.
It took her a good few seconds to remember she needed to breathe, but when she did, her lungs refused to cooperate. She felt like she was being strangled but there was nothing wrapped around her throat constricting her from breathing except her own brain.
Tears were streaming down her face. When she finally managed to suck air in, she choked on a sob.
She was awake, but half of her had been left back in Dreamland. She wasn’t a hundred percent certain what was real and what wasn’t. Had that scary scene been real after all?
She needed to get out of here, she needed to–
She stumbled as she climbed out of bed. Her steps were wobbly, and she almost tripped over her own feet more than once. She wrenched open the door, and almost cried in relief when she found it was not locked.
But where to go from here?
Willy was probably awake.
Yes, he was usually awake, up all hours of the night crafting chocolate confections or setting up traps for tiny orange men. She swore he ran solely on sugar and a prayer. He might’ve mentioned making a stew that one time, but she’d never actually seen him eat anything other than chocolate.
So, it was with this reasoning that he’d be fully awake that she rather noisily yanked open the door to his room.
Willy, however, had not been awake.
He sprung up from his desk, nearly tipping his chair over backward with the force he used to sit up. There was a pencil stuck to the side of his face, and his eyes were barely open. “I’m up, I’m up,” he mumbled.
His travelling case was spread out in front of him, a jar of drizzled chocolate truffles beside him. He’d obviously fallen asleep while baking. The pencil fell from his face comically, hitting the floor and rolling away. Willy looked around, apparently trying to figure out what had woken him. Eventually he spied her in the doorway. “Oh, hello Noodle,” he said, voice thick with sleep as he stretched his back. “Did I miss roll call?”
The last of the sleep-fog faded from her mind immediately, leaving her standing alone in the doorway, feeling rather embarrassed.
“Nope,” she said. “Just checking in. Goodnight now.”
Noodle turned and was about to dash back to her room and die of embarrassment when he called out, stopping her. “Hey, no, come back.”
She had half a mind to ignore him and keep going. But she’d woken him up and she didn’t want to be rude. Or more rude than she’d already been.
Head down, she trudged back inside.
He was slightly more awake now. Any other day she probably would’ve laughed at the perfect shape of a pencil indented in his face, but as it was, nothing was very funny at the moment. “What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”
Noodle’s eyes widened and she quickly wiped her face with her sleeve. It came away wet, of course. Was she not allowed to have any dignity? “No.”
“Right,” Willy said, clearly not believing her. Well, she wasn’t about to fess up and admit she’d woken him up because she had a nightmare, of all things. This was so stupid. What was she even doing here? “Is there another leak in the roof, then? Because your face looks pretty wet to have not been crying.”
“It’s none of your business,” she snapped.
He blinked, stunned by the outburst. Immediately she felt like crying again.
“I’m sorry,” Noodle blurted. “I just– I don’t–” She had too many feelings to remember words right now, and she kinda wanted to just crawl under her bed and never come back out again. It’s not like anybody would notice.
“Hey,” Willy said softly. “It’s alright. Nightmare?”
Swallowing past the rock in her throat, she nodded.
“Those are terrible, aren’t they?” he asked empathically. She didn’t respond, and he didn’t press. “Want to help me make some chocolate?”
Noodle didn’t feel like eating right now… but she also didn’t feel like being alone either.
It wasn’t raining tonight, so Willy dumped one of the buckets of water in the sink and turned it over, effectively turning it into a stool. He tapped it, gesturing for her to sit down. She did.
“This is ridiculous,” she said as Willy began pulling out vials and jars. “You’re tired.”
“Sure,” Willy didn’t deny, glancing up at her. “But you had a nightmare. I want to help.”
She should’ve protested. But… she’d never have anyone want to help her before.
Maybe she could be selfish, just this once.
Willy picked up his hat and pulled out, in order: a little yellow teapot, two chipped mugs (not from the same set), a tiny bowl, and a Dover eggbeater.
Noodle watched, amused. “How do you fit all that inside your hat? Why doesn’t it fall out when you put it on?”
Willy looked at her over his hat. “Now, now,” he chided and wagged a finger at her. “A magician never reveals their secrets.”
“But you’re a chocolate maker, not a magician!”
“That’s true, but chocolate is a bit like magic, don’t you think?”
Well, she couldn’t argue with that.
After returning his hat to its hook, Willy began adding ingredients. “A little bit of nutmeg, dried under the Indonesian sun for no longer than twenty-nine weeks and one day…” he murmured, shaving something into the teapot. “A stick of cinnamon – pulled myself from the bark of cinnamon trees in Sri Lanka,” he explained, breaking the stick in half and dropping it in.
Those both seemed like pretty normal ingredients. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at a jar of what looked to be a flickering orange flame.
“Ah, the fire breath of a fire-breathing dragon,” he said, picking it up and pouring a couple flames in. “Warms you up from the inside like a nice, big hug.” To demonstrate, he wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed in the imitation of said hug.
Obviously to her inner freak out, he casually recapped the vial before any more flames could escape. He handed her a long spoon. “Want to stir it all up?”
Noodle nodded, and began stirring.
“What are we making?” she asked, curious. They usually poured the ingredients into the miniature chocolate factory in his suitcase. They’d never made anything inside a teapot before.
Willy pulled the kettle of giraffe milk they’d collected the other day from his hat and poured a small amount into the bowl. “Hot chocolate,” he answered, adding a dash of sugar. “Always makes me feel better after a nightmare.”
“You have nightmares?” Noodle asked, surprised.
Willy picked up the eggbeater and began to churn. “Doesn’t everybody?”
“I… don’t know. I thought grown-ups didn’t get nightmares.”
“Oh, we do,” Willy replied easily. “We just get better at managing them.”
Noodle nodded slowly.
After a moment of debate, in which the smell of delicious melted chocolate began wafting up from the teapot, she asked carefully, “So… what do you have nightmares about?”
Willy’s churning slowed down. She was afraid she overstepped, and was about to tell him to forget it, when he spoke rather somberly. “My momma dying.”
He set down the eggbeater and wiped his hands off on a towel. “It all happened so fast, I couldn’t really believe it,” he explained quietly. “I get them less now, but… still happens.”
Noodle felt bad for asking. “I’m sorry,” she said, not sure what else there was to say.
Willy offered her a sad smile. “It’s not your fault,” he said. Then, “What about you? Do you want to talk about your nightmare? You might feel better afterwards.”
Noodle bit her lip, hesitant. She’d never told anyone about her nightmares before. What if she sounded crazy? But he told her about his…
“I dreamed I got locked up in the coop again,” she admitted, avoiding his gaze. “But… this time, Mrs. Scrubbit lost the key.”
Noodle picked at the splintering tabletop. “She just left me there. I yelled for help, but nobody even noticed I was gone so nobody came looking for me.” She can’t bring herself to voice the rest of it, the dreadful fear that she was going to rot in that cramped space. It felt so real, so vivid. She felt the soft pigeon feathers under her fingertips, felt the hard wood hit her fists as she pounded for help until her knuckles bled. Even now, she could not tell if the reason her throat hurt was because she was holding back tears recounting the terrifying experience, or from screaming for someone –anyone– to come rescue her.
“Oh, Noodle…” Noodle could not decipher the emotion in Willy’s voice, and she did not look up to try and gauge it by his face. “Those people are awful. I’m so sorry you have to deal with them.”
Noodle shrugged. “Not your fault,” she repeated his words back at him. “You have to deal with them too, remember?”
“It’s different,” said Willy. “You’re smaller. You’ve had to deal with them longer.”
Thirty-thousand sovereigns, accruing interest by the year.
“You know that’s not true, right?” When Noodle shot him a confused look, Willy elaborated. “People would notice if you went missing. Abacus, Piper, all the others in the washhouse.”
“Would they though?” Noodle questioned. “We really don’t see each other all that much except for when I pick up the laundry and deliver their meals. They’re used to me disappearing for days when I get locked up in the coop. Who’s to say they wouldn’t notice if I just never came back?”
The self-deprecating statement was said as uncaringly as she could manage, hoping that if she sounded like the thought didn’t tear her apart, then it would become true.
Willy simply would not stand for that. “Well then, I would notice you’re missing,” he said resolutely. “And I would come looking for you, and I would break you out of that stupid coop. You’re a Noodle, not a pigeon. Who’s ever heard of a Noodle coop? That’s just ridiculous.”
Noodle snorted at the lame attempt to cheer her up. She looked at him warily. “Promise?”
“I’ll do you one better,” Willy grinned, holding up his hand. “I’ll pinky promise.”
“The most solemn vow there is,” Noodle quoted with a small smile.
They linked pinkies and shook once. Noodle felt better already.
Willy smiled and picked up a mug. “Now, how about we try some of that hot chocolate, hm?”
Noodle picked up the other mug and held it out. Willy made a big show of it, raising the pot high up in the air as he poured before lowering it back down to her cup. Miraculously, he didn’t spill a single drop.
Noodle held the mug under her nose and breathed in the delicious scent. She began to blow on it to cool it off. She wondered how it could be so hot when they didn’t even have a burner to cook it on, but figured it must be the dragon’s breath. How does one even collect that, anyway?
Before she could take a sip, Willy stopped her. “Ah ah ah, we haven’t added the finishing touch yet!”
“Finishing touch?”
“Of course!” he exclaimed. “Hot chocolate just isn’t hot chocolate without whipped cream.”
He picked up the bowl and added a generous dollop of the stuff. “Now go on, try it. Tell me what you think.”
Noodle waited until he was finished adding whipped cream to his own mug, then held hers out insistently. Willy obliged and clinked his mug against hers. “Cheers,” they said together, and then she took a tiny, tentative sip.
She immediately brightened. “Mmm!” She said between drinks. “It’s delicious!”
“Told ya,” Willy grinned, licking the whipped cream off the rim of his own. “It’s the dragon’s breath. You just can’t replicate the flavour with anything else. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
As it went down from her throat to her stomach, it did indeed feel like a great big hug from the inside.
They drank their hot chocolate in companionable silence. By the time Willy had washed his utensils in the sink and returned everything to their respective places –mostly inside his hat– her eyelids were drooping.
“Think you can get back to sleep now?” Willy asked, eyeing her sleepy expression knowingly.
The thought of returning back to her empty, quiet room jolted a bit more energy into her. “Don’t you need more chocolate for tomorrow?” she asked. “I can help you make some.”
Willy scooped up a jar full of truffles from the floor, tossing it in the air and catching it with the other hand. Honestly, he should really be more careful with his supply. People would not pay extra for a glassy crunch. “All done.”
Noodle bit the inside of her cheek, wracking her brain for any excuse to stay a little bit longer. Unfortunately, her body betrayed her with a huge yawn.
Willy chuckled and opened the door. “C’mon, back to bed. Growing Noodles need their sleep, you know.”
Later, Noodle would blame it on delirium born of exhaustion. Maybe the dragon’s breath carried a hint of bravery with it, or maybe it was just the fact she was slowly, finally beginning to trust and rely on somebody. She’s still not quite sure what exactly compelled her to whisper the words, “Can I sleep in here with you tonight?”
It was such a childish thing to ask. Something way below her maturity level. She’d never asked it to anybody before, not Scrubbit or Bleacher or any of the staff members she’s ever known.
Willy’s eyes softened. “Of course you can, Noodle Doodle.”
The beds they were given were not very big. She’d expected him to make her sleep on the floor –she wouldn’t have minded; it wouldn’t be the first time, after all– but instead he rested a hand on her shoulder, guiding her toward the bed. “You go ahead and get cozy. I’ve gotta set my trap.”
Noodle, though still surprised he agreed, gave him a pointed look. “Still haven’t caught that orange man, huh?”
“Nope, but I’ve got a good feeling about tonight.” Then he crouched down and began doing… something to the floorboards. Also, was that a tuba in the corner?
“... You know what, I don’t want to know.” Plausible deniability was the best route here in case he did something irreversible to the floorboards. With that thought in mind, she crawled under the covers and pulled them up to her chin. God, she hoped he didn’t snore. Larry snored. Sometimes she could hear it at night through the walls. Piper called it ‘sawing logs.’ Abacus called it downright irritating. Lottie… didn’t call it anything at all, but she did giggle when Larry denied it all and accused the others of trying to ruin his good name.
A few minutes later and Willy was finished setting his trap. He stuck his boots under the bed, flicked off the light, and climbed under the blankets.
He gave her a serious look. “You don’t snore, do you?”
Noodle did not dignify that with an answer. “Is there anything I need to avoid stepping on when I get up? I don’t want to end up thrown through a window.”
“First board in front of the chocolate jar,” he responded, eyes already shut. “And nobody’s getting thrown through a window. They’re getting thrown into a glass jar and sealed. There is a difference!”
“... Alright,” she said dubiously. “But if I see you eating chocolates in your sleep, I’m going to mock you. Relentlessly.”
Willy laughed. It tickled her hair. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Noodle-bug.”
“I am not a bug.”
“Shhhhh. Sleep.”
And for the first time in a long time, she found it came easily.