FicWad

Chapter 4 - Towers

“Not far from here my foot,” Sarah irritatedly muttered to herself, slogging through muddy dirt country roads, stepping around the frequent animal doo; the tread of her sneakers was just caked with wet earth to the point that they were getting a little heavy. She chewed her jerky-like ‘flesh’ rations with deliberate spite: of course this trudge was quick for one of equine build! It was like comparing speed distances by car to how fast a human can walk! Upon gaining the top of the hill without bothering any of the cows (aside of the one that followed her for a short while, which had more bothered her; if she knew little about horses, she knew nothing of bovine psychology and how to act around one without dangerously upsetting it), Sarah had thought Eregnor proper must lie right on the other side…

She was wrong – or, rather, only partially correct. More farmland greeted her eyes – for miles, the sparse houses widely spaced, mostly off in the distance. Digging out the book again, rechecking the pertinent maps now that she might actually be on one of them, she almost sank to her knees as she finally registered the scale…

To put it rather bluntly, the region of Kashfa and its adjoining environs were huge, more along the lines of a small European country on Shadow Earth, not a compact city-state such as Amber! Quickly flipping to the Amber map, comparing the two places, it would not have been unreasonable to postulate that the True World was like a rock thrown into a pond – no, an epicenter, like an earthquake – and the farther out one got, the ripples of cosmic consequence spread wider and wider…

Until you came up with a country a hundred miles across, most of which would have to be crossed just to get to the capitol!

Giving a muffled scream of aggravation, she stuffed the book back into her carryall and took another sip of water. The prospect of still being so far from any bastion of humanity with her rapidly dwindling food supplies was genuinely scary. She could probably drop dead out here and not be found for days, weeks even, depending on how infrequently these backcountry roads were traveled.

Forcing herself to calm down, Sarah took a deep breath and mentally assessed the situation, what she could technically the theoretically do on her own, what resources she still had at her disposal… and almost smacked herself in the forehead: she’d forgotten, traveling manually as she had been! It was too obvious! To wit, this world – convincing Order-place that it was – was just as much a shadow as any of the bizarre alien environments she’d been forced to trek through in Lord Suhuy’s wake, to camp out in. To rough it in.

All she had to do was put out her order to the multiverse and it would appear exactly as she willed – anything. She just had to believe it strongly enough. Of course, she had never tried doing this with the Pattern before…

Don’t pull for it; arrive at it, she thought, considering the ‘regular’ modus operandi of the other power source, squaring her shoulders, setting out again with purpose in her stride. Alright… I want good hiking boots, she began, comfortable, sturdy, won’t give me blisters, made for walkin’… right past that post up there, she thought, trying to visualize the world about her as if it were a mere dream that could be lucidly altered in this fashion, hypnotic as the idea was…

But there they were as she approached the stile, in a heap as if tossed there carelessly by someone, nearly hidden in the long grass growing there! They didn’t look new – she hadn’t thought about that possibility – but they did appear to be in decent serviceable condition and in a reasonable approximation of her size, if perhaps just a bit too large. They would do, though. In minutes she had exchanged footwear, hiding her own mud-caked sneakers where the other shoes had been; she looked suspicious enough traveling as she was alone without sporting foreign technological articles of clothing to give her away. It would be even more difficult for someone to follow her tracks now, too, if it were being attempted…

The willing process was repeated two more times: first to procure further rations (fresh bread, fresh cheese, fresh fruit, which tasted like heaven after all that dried stuff!) and then a small purse of silver coins in Kashfan currency, which she quickly secreted upon her person, securing the small leather pouchlet inside the skirt by the ties, leaving a few coins in her bag where she could reach them more easily. She was hoping that it wouldn’t take another day or two (or even three) to reach Jidrash, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared, especially if she came upon the opportunity and means to buy transportation into the city.

A briskly cool wind blew in from the south, a sudden reminder of her current altitude, which was several thousand feet above sea-level, as well as the distance of that sea in regard to the weather-patterns; even at this time of year Kashfa was considerably less temperate than its closest neighbors. Away from the temperature-stabilizing effect of the forest, it doubtless got rather chilly at night. Wrapping her woolen cloak about her more tightly, Sarah strode on with renewed determination and urgency but no longer panic; the sun nearly stood at zenith yet the houses were becoming more frequent, the land parcels closer and closer together with smaller acreage, so that by and by there were more people as well, working, resting, some even on the rough road. By the time she was working her way through what appeared to be a small ancient-Saxon-style village, a horse-drawn wagon overtook her on the road and she seized her chance, flagging down the driver. The rustic, muscular peasant she beheld regarded her with a healthy level of suspicion from beneath his wide-brimmed straw hat, the sunbaked skin about his brown eyes wrinkled as he scrutinized what he saw as a dubious fare.

“I can pay,” Sarah offered uneasily herself, “I just want to go as far as you’re going. I lost my horse,” she added in all honesty.

The tanned field worker only took a couple seconds longer to decide, head-signaling her to join him up on the bench.

“Thank you so much!” she gushed in relief, climbing up the rig, digging a couple drachms out of her carryall – but the man refused her.

“No, keep your money; I go only to Chota, just five miles distant. Where’re ye bound, stranger?”

“Jidrash.”

The peasant whistled – then lightly whipped his horse to get it moving again. “That’s quite a fair distance from here. Ye must have a reason ta be traveling so far alone?”

“I go to meet with someone,” Sarah sidled the overt query obliquely. “I do need to get there quickly; it’s sort of urgent.”

The man spared her a cautious glance before returning his eyes to the road. “Personal business of some kind, is it then?”

Sarah nodded.

The bulky peasant shrugged. “Such a journey would be easier for a woman to undertake spaced over two or three days to not be so tiring, but if you’re in as much of a hurry as all that, ye may well be able to make it by nightfall if the god Luck be with you – if not, then surely by the following morning if you travel on without rest.”

The unusual steel behind Sarah’s eyes, in her slight nod of acknowledgement, was far more telling than anything she would’ve said and the man knew it, flicking his horse again to make it go a bit faster.

Seeing the whip being used so casually on that sole beast, who was carrying not only the cart, the cargo of vegetables and the weight of his driver, but her own additional poundage, Sarah couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty: ‘slave-animals’, indeed – they passed a much heavier dairy cart being pulled by a pair of oxen. But at the same time, she understood that this world was likely founded upon labor, of both men and beasts. These people were only using what they had at hand, likely some better than others, but still. It was doubtless uncommon knowledge that their mounts, their beasts of burden, were genuinely intelligent, possessing not only a sense of self but of community and purpose. They were mostly just the ‘engines’ upon which this society ran. As were these lower-class ‘people of the land.’

At the necessarily slow speed of the wagon – in spite of the driver’s best efforts – their journey to the next township over took the better part of an hour. Sarah thanked him again, staying only long enough to buy some better travel garments and to ask around to locate a merchant on his way to the big city to sell his wares – being directed to a tinker, loaded down with pots, pans, kettles, and any number of housewares forged from steel, tin and copper… and he was obviously prosperous enough to own a proper-sized draft-horse for his vehicle: that sold it for her. The somewhat overweight, middle-aged, dark-visaged medieval businessman was definitely less tender-hearted than the poor farm hand (who probably could’ve used the money more, even though he refused it again in the end), demanding what seemed to Sarah to be a king’s ransom in advance for the mere bother of her company; once the stated amount was carefully handed over, however, his demeanor instantly switched into something far more amicable, and he told her to get in the back of his closed rig with a conspiratory glint in his hard, grey eyes, allowing that she could consume some of the food and wine in there so long as she left him a decent amount.

Sarah was certainly a little nervous as she entered the vardo-like trade wagon, piled to almost overflowing with its owner’s merchandise, but at least there were small wooden window-shutters on either side, and if she was careful not to get conked in the head by the pans swinging from the ceiling and walls she could actually see a bit of where they were going.

If Amber had superficially borne a certain idealized resemblance to some of the nicer parts of renaissance Europe on Shadow Earth, then it might’ve been fair to state that Kashfa and its surrounding region more closely resembled Europe’s Dark Age, complete with the colder weather. Turreted greystone fortresses stood here and there about the landscape as they wove in and out of the mountains along the valley floor, with serf villages squatting about their bases. Kashfa’s baronies and earldoms had been the root of several civil wars in their past history, long before the coming of the mysterious red-headed sorceress named Jasra who took old King Menillian – and subsequently his kingdom – by guile… and then held it by force, both manpower and magic. And after that were the military coups; politically, the place had been nowhere that anyone sane would’ve wanted to be traveling at all, between the unrest and the rebel forces of yet another bastard son of Amber named Dalt who were abroad pillaging the countryside, but with Rinaldo Barimen safely on the throne things had basically calmed down again over the last few years. The older power hierarchies were all still there, though, and far more numerous than any king of Amber ever had to put up with. These people still had an honest-to-god feudal system going! And none of this even began to touch the long-standing feud between Kashfa and Begma over Eregnor, the land rich both in soil and mineral deposits, the former envied by Kashfa, the latter coveted by both.

The wagon jolted on the road, forcing Sarah to crouch again as the pots and pans swung freely. Dark clouds had been steadily gathering and by mid-afternoon they let loose their contents in a real skin-drencher, the dewpoint having felt uncomfortably humid for a good half-hour prior, heavy drops pummeling the wooden roof and sides of the vehicle, sneaking through the cracks of the shutters as the wind blew it almost sideways at one point. After a while the wagon gradually came to a halt and the back door opened.

“There’s no going forward in this cursed weather!” the merchant addressed her, quickly grabbing a large folded-up tarp for his horse and ducking back out with it before getting inside himself a minute later, water sopping from the relatively nice fabrics of his garments, his elaborate felted trade-hat a sagging, sorry-looking thing; he wrung both it and his long cloak out on the ground before closing the door, setting light to a small oil lantern. “The road’s all water. Hopefully it will not last long; these kinds of storms blow in and out fairly quickly this time of year.” He took an unopened wineskin and placed it to his chapped lips thirstily for a few seconds, sighing in relief afterwards. Then turned to Sarah with a little smile. “Holding up back here all right? Safe and snug and dry in this movable little burrow, my home away from home?”

“Yes, quite. Thank you,” she carefully replied.

He watched her a moment. “I wouldn’t have dared say a word at first when you propositioned this of me, but there is no disguising that you are truly a stranger to our land, possibly even to our world – no, don’t be alarmed, such possibilities are widely acknowledged in Jidrash, if not all of Kashfa. No woman here travels alone as you do, much less willingly with a complete stranger. I took you on as much out of curiosity as for the profit. I am right? Your accent also gives you away.”

Sarah turned away self-consciously. “I didn’t realize I had an accent,” she admitted embarrassedly. She suddenly looked back to him. “Is that a bad thing here?” she asked seriously, suddenly not sure just whose he was hearing!

“Perhaps not,” he grinned a bit more widely, exposing a bit of dental gold in his mouth, “although I confess I have only heard similar to yours once, in a public address from our previous queen, herself a foreigner from gods-know-where. Kashfan Thari was obviously not her first language, either,” he helped himself to the food stores.

Sarah couldn’t let this man know at all where she was from – or anywhere she’d been, for that matter – but she could well understand his questions, especially since he hadn’t even asked for her name.

“Thari is not my first language,” she confirmed, “and the version I know I learned very far from here.” She thought for a moment; her current companion seemed cosmopolitanly broad-minded enough to handle this much. “As long as you don’t tell anyone, my home world is one of the technological ones,” she tried experimentally, seeing if she could steer the conversation into what would amount to relatively harmless (and potentially distracting) generalities.

“Oh, indeed!” he exclaimed between bites. “I have heard whisper of such places on my long trade circuit. Lots of manmade power and machines but no magic?”

“It seems that way mostly.”

He nodded. “Your secret’s safe with me. Although, knowing this, I can’t help but wonder what brings you all the way out here? This world must seem so backward to you! Is there something special about Jidrash that the rest of us don’t know?” he pressed only half-teasingly.

Sarah looked down at her lap unconsciously. At the carryall. And caught herself. Looking back up, she saw that the merchant’s shrewd, bright eyes had followed hers. She smirked. “Oh, fine, it’s a small piece of business, I guess you could say. With the king, hopefully.”

His eyes quickly met her own again, suddenly wary, serious. “There is more to you than meets the eye. Your ‘business’ means nothing deleterious for Kashfa, I sincerely hope?”

“No,” she answered affirmatively. “If anything, it might stand Kashfa better…” She let the sentence die, abruptly self-censoring, afraid she’d already said too much!

But the clever businessman could guess. “With another world, perhaps?” he plied foxily. “Better than our neighbors, Amber or no Amber? Ah well, I shouldn’t pry; you mean us well,” he demurred – and suddenly furrowed his great salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “You don’t have any identifying papers on you, do you; they aren’t needed where you’re from probably, but they are in Jidrash,” he bluntly put to her. It wasn’t a question.

Sarah sighed, wincing her eyes closed; she had forgotten. “No,” she said through gritted teeth – then looked right at him. “Think I should forge some quick before we get there? What do they need to look like?”

The great eyebrows rose high. “While I think I would pay good money to see how you would do this, if your intended business is with the king it would be better for you to plead ignorance of the law in this case. It does mean that I am going to have to bribe the guards at the city gate to let you pass as my niece from Eregnor, but I had planned on that contingency anyway; I had to make sure you could afford it before taking you on,” he eyed her slyly. “And it isn’t every day I smuggle foreign invaders into the capitol, even one as attractive and harmless-seeming as you, and I wanted to see what you were really up to before doing so.”

“Understandable,” she laughed, “but I’m not here to start anything nasty, honest.”

“Don’t say ‘honest’ like that – it makes people suspect that you aren’t,” he lectured sternly. “And once we’re there, you never saw me in your life. Understand that?”

She nodded earnestly.

“Good,” he cracked a smile. “From the sounds of it outside, we should be moving again in about a quarter-of-an-hour. May it not fall upon my head to be holding up progress! And even if you think me backward, I am not so dense as to have missed that conversational hook you threw out a few minutes ago. Entertain me with tales of your favorite inventions already and I’ll split dessert,” he offered, unearthing a hidden paperboard parcel from one of the side compartments, containing a thick slab of honeyed flake pastry, producing a knife from his belt to divide it cleanly in two.

As Sarah did her best to relate being on a passenger aircraft and being able to be entertained however one wished at practically any time electronically with music, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the man was quietly enjoying the companionship of a young woman at the moment, that he had had private reasons for taking this risk himself. But even though he was definitely looking, at least he was keeping his hands to himself, she mused – possibly even out of fear, of what she might be capable of doing to him if he went too far! And neither was she about to do or say anything to undeceive him on that particular point; it was a neat and clean little insurance policy against her person. Once the rain audibly lessened to a sporadic patter, he reluctantly exited the wagon, extinguishing the lamp before he went.

“Too great a fire hazard while we’re moving,” he explained. Sarah could not see his face in the brief darkness that followed in the second before he opened the door, but she certainly felt the fire in his eyes…

A moment later she was alone again, and a little while after that the wagon jolted into forward motion.

Well, it could be worse, she reflected, licking the sticky sweetness off her fingers – something she wasn’t about to do in front of him! She couldn’t have dreamed of pulling this hitchhiking stunt on her home-shadow and walking away totally unscathed. It had been a really desperate move, but it did seem that Luck was with her after all; she hadn’t even thought of the possibility of getting all the way to the city just to be turned away! The concept of the guarded, walled metropolis was still foreign enough to her that she didn’t automatically register the implications of dealing with them. She considered herself lucky that the country had universal currency, and not one that changed from region to region, as did a few shadow-worlds beyond this one, according to the book, with differently stamped coins for every noble! Looking down at herself, she conceded that she did stand out a bit if for no other reason than she was wearing a blouse and riding trousers in a world where women of all stations wore long dresses and head-coverings, even devices comparable to a wimple! She had chosen the articles for utility, not camouflage; perhaps she should’ve given the latter a little more thought, but it was too late now.

At least it didn’t appear to be too late in the day outside: it might’ve been late afternoon/early evening, with them still rolling and jostling through town after hamlet after town, such as they were (some of the communities here might’ve been at subsistence-level, and as such, of no interest to the businessman, for they hadn’t the coin for his wares), small farms and thatched roofs and houses on small stilts to keep out both rain and vermin. Modest clothing, mostly undyed wool and leathers it looked like, but a few tradesmen abroad were better off – like the tinker she was traveling with.

The disc of the sun had just begun to skirt the mountainous horizon when a couple of raps on the front of the wagon startled her… but it was just the tinker.

“Look out of the left window if you aren’t already as we turn!” he yelled back at her.

Holding the swinging cookware still above her, Sarah cautiously did so – and gasped: there, almost to the far mountains, was an immense turreted city, divided into three concentric walled areas one would have to pass on the way up to the top! The whole structure completely engulfed a very high hill; perhaps it had once been a lower mountain peak! Perched up at the pinnacle were several tall stone buildings, but the complex was difficult to distinguish visually from this distance…

Jidrash! She thought excitedly. It has to be! Founded eons ago upon a faint echo of Kolvir…

The wagon turned again and the vista disappeared from view, replaced with more sheep pasture. At this rate it would definitely be night by the time they reached the place. Sarah yawned, sitting back down on the wagon-bed. There were a couple of pillows in one corner, along with a rolled-up pallet, and it only took her a second or two longer to decide to use them: she couldn’t afford to be tired no matter what befell her in the city, and the bed of the wooden wagon was simply too hard to lie down on. It did take her about a minute to realize just how the pillows needed to be situated in the moving, rocking, shockless vehicle, however: one to the left of her head, one to the right, propped against boxes so that she wouldn’t get an accidental concussion while she was asleep! In spite of the fact that she knew she had to try, Sarah was rather doubtful whether she could actually nod off this way, even with the shutters closed, but the relatively consistent, repetitive motions of the old-fashioned wagon prevailed upon her stubborn consciousness in the end. It probably wasn’t all that unlike being at sea, with the boat rocking back and forth…

She awoke much later with a start from the feeling of being stared at! The back door of the wagon stood open, the sky outside perfectly plastered with brilliant stars. The tinker was crouched to her right…

“I usually take umbrage at my possessions being used without my permission,” he began, lighting the lamp, “but the occasion of finding a strange, pretty woman in my bed is sadly rarer than it once was,” he gave her a foxy smile as she quickly scrambled to sit back up, her face flushed! “This is our last stop before we come to the city gates; do what you need to,” he advised her, giving her room, then a hand up to stand, her legs a bit unsteady at first. “You have given me a good idea for how to get you in, however. Can you pretend to be ill?”

As she disembarked, Sarah took in the drastic change in scenery: they seemed to be parked in the midst of a wooded brake with tall mountains towering over their heads, the outline of the range to the west just barely discernable in the deep blue afterglow of the tail-end of dusk, all below them shades of blackness and thrown shadow. But across a short valley lay the high, manned, ivy-covered outer fortifications of Jidrash, though she could not see the gate from where they were…

“I think I could,” she called back from where he’d pointed out to her, before turning back to the wagon; the man’s Clydesdale had his bit out and was currently munching from a feedbag. Upon re-entering the vehicle, she saw that the tinker had produced a deck of tarot cards and was in the middle of telling a fortune, but whether it was his or hers she didn’t know. She knew enough of the art to read them, however: she briefly saw what might’ve been The Fool, The Tower, and The World in the dim light, covering several others… was that Death’s sickle sticking out beneath the pile of drawn cards?

Upon hearing her enter, the merchant looked up at her almost with regret, but all he said was, “The life of a messenger, eh?” before recasing his deck with care.

So it had been hers. “I’m afraid so.”

“You should be,” he uttered direly. “Watch your front as much as your back,” he warned, passing her a wineskin as she sat down.

Their quick, shared evening meal was silent.

Once it was finished, he unrolled the pallet again and had her lie down upon it with one of the pillows wedged under her head, draping her in a couple of heavy woolen blankets; that, coupled with her cloak and warm garments, almost instantly made her far too hot. She moved to lower them, but he insistently covered her, up to the chin.

“You must feign a bad fever – we must make it convincing. When the guard opens up the back, you cannot show the slightest alarm or even awareness, but pretend delirium. You can do this?”

She nodded. He extinguished the lamp.

“Think on those things that I have seen make you blush,” he openly flirted in a deep register, “and you’ll be inside the city before you know it.”

The door closed, making it unbearably stifling in the wagon in spite of the night chill just outside, as the vehicle slowly nosed back out onto the road at a more careful pace. In the space of the quarter-of-an-hour it took them to reach the gates, Sarah was simply drenched in sweat, her face red without having to think on a single embarrassing or compromising incident! She did, however, reflect that the tinker’s rather cavalier attitude toward her did reinforce Gilva Hendrake’s old warning: that for much of the spectrum of existence away from the center-shadows, it was still a man’s world out here.

When the wagon came to a halt, Sarah was excited for a moment, then forced herself to breathe shallowly as if from the flu or pneumonia as she heard the sounds of argument commence just outside, forcing her eyes to unfocus, her thoughts to drift…

“Then you tell me what I should have done!” the tinker’s voice was raised in a decent mimic of righteous outrage, as he opened the back door. “Take a look for yourselves, but don’t get too close! These country doctors aren’t worth a damn coin when it’s something that actually matters – careful of the pans!” he exclaimed as the torchlight swung a bit too high. Sarah weakly coughed once for effect and commenced quietly mumbling nonsense about her mother; the door closed and she kept the performance up until the footsteps went away and the wagon started to move again. The vehicle almost instantly started to jostle harder, making the metal accoutrements surrounding her rattle and jingle loudly: they were rolling over cobblestone streets! Up and up and up they went; Sarah kicked off the blankets in a puddle of sweat! She could only assume that the streets were mostly deserted. It was rather quiet outside for a city; perhaps only one or two establishments with raucous voices emanating therein… taverns, of course. What else would be open this late in a medieval metropolis? And still they climbed, gradually turning in the same direction, spiraling slowly upwards in a generous corkscrew.

Sarah was caught offguard when the wagon suddenly turned around, then backed up to the right, coming to a halt. Rapidly grabbing at the blankets again, she recommenced her previous act – but the merchant was alone as he opened the back door. And quietly chuckled, seeing her.

“I would’ve believed you were on your deathbed myself,” he whispered, folding the blankets off of her. “Wherever did you ever learn to do that? Not from experience, I hope?”

Sarah grinned at the compliment, sitting up. “I’m training to be an actress – when I’m back home.”

“I’d believe that, too; it serves you well already.”

She fumbled for her carryall, having trouble locating where it had gotten shoved off to in the dark… but the man handed it to her, helping her up and out. They appeared to be in a thin service alley of sorts, just off the wide main drag, not unlike Amber.

“Now,” he whispered in her ear, walking her out to the street, “all you have to do is follow this way straight up through the third gate – which isn’t manned in peacetime. In the plaza are the king’s castle, the Cathedral of the Unicorn, the jail, and a secondary government building, among other things that don’t concern you. If the king refuses to see you at this hour, spend the night in the Cathedral – they never turn away the weary with nowhere to go – but do not sleep there; a few thefts have occurred this way, even with the presence of the priestesses,” he glanced down at her bag. “Request audience, then, in the morning, should it come to that. Beyond this I cannot help you – in fact, I will have to feign that you died when I leave the city again, most likely. Unless you would care to arrange a rendezvous…”

Sarah took one careful step away from him, but smiled politely, shaking her head no. “I have to do this on my own. But thanks anyway.”

The tinker brought the back of her hand to his lips – then darted in, kissing her cheek!

“Good luck, machine-lady,” he whispered with a smile, letting her go. “Keep your hood up; I don’t think you realize it, but you’re dressed like a man.”

“Women wear trousers also where I’m from,” she shot back at him… but nevertheless did as he suggested, quickly heading away from him up the cobblestone road. Glancing back, she saw the outline of the shop symbol where the tinker’s wagon was parked: an apothecary. She grinned at the ruse, shoving down her remaining discomfort from the situation she had just exited, and hiked on, grateful for the bit of real rest she’d gotten earlier. The moon here wasn’t as large and clear as it was in Amber, and yet it was still moreso than on Shadow Earth, steadily climbing into the heavens. The outer barrier wall was at least fifty feet high, completely obstructing any view of what might’ve been below, the one above obstructing the summit…

It felt like she’d been trudging for years by the time she reached the third gate. Just as described, four gigantic structures dominated the plaza, with a handful of smaller buildings spread out around the periphery. Steadying her nerves, she strode across the open flagstone courtyard bold as brass, straight up to the armored castle guards at the door.

“Visiting hours are over until tomorrow at noon!” the one to the left announced at her approach. “His Majesty’s schedule is booked solid! Go home or to an inn!” he tried to shoo her away.

But Sarah would not be shooed. “I have extremely important business with His Majesty; I fear it cannot wait,” she insisted.

At the sound of her voice one of them peered closer… then seemed rather surprised that she was a woman! “Look, if it’s this important, you want a favorable pronouncement, right?” he offered a little patronizingly. “If I were to beg him to come out here right this minute, you wouldn’t get one! If it’s a husband or other relative you’re running from, the Church will grant you sanctuary until whatever necessary separation it is be settled,” he gestured widely toward the Cathedral. Sarah could just make out the stone-engraved sign in the moonlight – First Unicornian Church of Kashfa – and it was all she could do to keep from spontaneously doubling over with laughter! But this was deadly serious. Maybe she should wait… no, she couldn’t. She’d lost too much time already!

“Are you sure there isn’t any way I could convince you otherwise? Tomorrow may be too late!”

Swords were loosened in the scabbards. “Look, lady, I don’t doubt you’ve got a bone to pick with somebody to be bothering us this badly at this hour, but it’s unseemly to have to be rough with a woman, so I’ll warn you we have our orders. Whatever it is, it can’t be worth this! Come back in the afternoon! That’s your final-”

Sarah tore into the carryall and withdrew the sack with the Dreamstone in it; it was a risky move, but if this was what it would take-

Her arms were instantly pinned behind her as they jumped her, pressing her face-first against the iron-reinforced doors, wrenching the item out of her hands!

“For the love of all that’s holy, don’t break it!” she screamed in terror!

There was the sound of gently clinking metal, followed by a long dead silence. The strong hands that held her arms behind her back began to physically shake…

The heavy doors opened before her, leading into an immense greystone hall as she was bodily hauled along by her upper arms, guards on each side of her, the one to her right gripping the sack with the Stone in his iron-clad fist! She was force-marched past a veritable parade of heraldic banners to her right, a dozen or so mounted marked shields to her left, the dim room lit only by sporadic torches and a monstrous fireplace that took up the entire back wall… behind the thrones, of course. A third armored soldier, who must’ve been behind them, walked quickly over to a liveried servant Sarah hadn’t seen standing in the shadows, who in turn tore off out of the room like his tabard was on fire!

“You’re having your audience, lady,” the guard to her left informed her, “and if you’re a spy as I think you are, you’ll wish you’d cleared out when you had the chance!”

But Sarah held her tongue: this was what she had wanted… well, not quite like this, but she would know sooner rather than later just how much trouble she was really in, whether she was barking up the wrong tree at a resting demon, as it were…

In minutes the servant came back, all but running across the hall – and in his train was King Rinaldo, in a green smoking jacket! Sarah’s heart leapt at the sight of his familiar face unbidden – then had to quickly remind herself that this man didn’t know her from Eve, even if she was on speaking terms with one of his Pattern-ghosts! Currently he looked none too pleased at being disturbed, as she’d been warned!

“Forgive this untimely intrusion, your Majesty,” the guard to Sarah’s right bowed low, “but an object without price is delivered unlooked-for into your exalted hands this night,” he reverently passed off the small parcel. The king opened it, took one look inside, and instantly wrapped it back up, his green eyes blazing as he took in the curious sight of his captive, who had wisely decided to study the paving stones under her feet.

“She stays – the rest of you withdraw. Now!” the eerily familiar voice pronounced with authority. The guard to her left offered his liege his blade and it was accepted with the slightest nod of acknowledgement. In less than thirty seconds the two of them were alone. The king huffed quietly, definitely irritated.

“I’m going to start out with a painfully obvious question: do you, by any chance, have any blood relation to the noble house of Barimen?”

“No.”

“Thank the gods, this can be easy,” he raised the weapon to behead her!

“But my original does!” she cried out in alarm!

Rinaldo gave an exhausted sounding groan, lowering the sword, closing his eyes for a moment. “Alright, spy… whoever-you-are… it is way too late to be having this conversation, but somehow I can’t imagine it improving with age. I’m going to need a drink, though… no, wait – what I need is coffee. Do you drink coffee wherever-the-hell-it-is you’re from? Do you know what it is?”

“Yes,” Sarah clearly answered, nodding, still a bit shaken.

“Then you’re having one, too,” he motioned her nearer the fireplace with the tip of his blade, carefully following; the thrones had neatly hidden a small circular wooden table and two stuffed leather chairs from the angle of approach. Seating herself in the one she was gestured toward – to the right – the king took her carryall from her, perusing its contents with his free hand whilst keeping her covered, flipping through the geography tome in clear disbelief. He finally put down the rapier behind his chair, raising his hands toward her. “I’m checking for hidden weapons, spells, etcetera – also obvious,” he clarified; Sarah shivered, feeling the strange power probing both her person and her energy field! But he abruptly withdrew it – somehow she sensed that the action had been aborted! He was really staring now, looking a little embarrassedly cowed!

“…I suddenly feel I should be making your acquaintance instead,” he started again guardedly, lowering his arms. “Cream or sugar?”

“Both, please.”

Sarah watched as he formed a Logrus hole and came up with two large steaming mugs in seconds, sliding hers across the table, the king even more bemused by the sudden expression of bittersweet reminiscence that had just come over her features.

“Is Thari your native language?”

“No – American English. And… I had come here to ask a boon of you, your Majesty, concerning that artifact. You see-”

But he put up a hand to stop her, taking a sip. “I can already tell this is gonna be way too convoluted a problem,” he answered her in American English, “so, as the man said, start at the beginning, and when you get to the end, stop. And let me get some caffeine into my system while you do so.”

This was getting to be a rather uncomfortably usual course of events for Sarah, but she really was doing her best to learn from previous ‘interviews’ of a similar nature, getting the feel for certain details that she could gloss over without undue attention; she had a lot to cover this time!

Of course, she also couldn’t help feeling that this might well be her most dangerous audience to date, and in more ways than the first! Even without his old man’s psychological problems, it was obvious that Rinaldo Barimen (who actually looked somewhat younger still than his cousin Merlin, living out here on the ‘slower’ side of things timewise) had inherited his father’s intellectual acumen and mental powers of absorption, casually taking in everything that came out of Sarah’s mouth as he sat there, stopping her periodically to ask for a little more information on one point or another, incongruently acting for all the world like an old friend she had just ran into at a street café rather than someone who would’ve killed her without a second thought fifteen minutes ago… that would be the ‘salesman’ she had heard tell of.

There were a few instances where the act didn’t hold up, however, most notably when she mentioned the ‘borrowing’ of a horse from the Arden encampment…

“I realize you come from a society where the automobile is king – or prince, at least – when it comes to personal transportation, but you have to understand that horse-stealing out on this side of the spectrum is basically analogous to Grand Theft Auto, if said auto had a personality and a spirit along with its locomotive power,” he lectured her roundly. “I can almost understand your ignorance on this point, but your original knows this! It baffles me that she even thought it was necessary when you could’ve literally just walked here… unless she doubted your shadow-walking capabilities. Or you did.”

Sarah couldn’t meet his judgmental gaze, glancing off to the fire, uncomfortably guilty.

“If I actually agree to help you, you are returning that horse personally, and explaining to Prince Julian what you did and why,” he uttered sternly.

“I… can’t do that,” she mumbled, fidgeting with the arm of her chair.

“Why?”

“I… lost him in the woods,” she offered lamely.

Rinaldo leaned back into his high-backed chair, cradling his mug in his hands. “By ‘lost’, do you really mean lost, or do you mean ‘liberated’ by the centaurs who don’t live in the forest northeast of Eregnor, just on the other side of the shadow-border?” he flatly asked her.

Sarah’s eyes involuntarily widened as she turned back to stare in dumb shock. The king pursed his lips in disgust, nodding.

“I hate having to go after native magical creatures on a number of levels, but those horse-people are getting to be a damn nuisance; they’ve begun doing more than collecting strays – luring animals off private land, even breaking into some outlying stables in the middle of the night. I won’t be able to keep denying their existence much longer if they keep it up, especially with eyewitness reports coming in. If only somebody could talk some sense into them, but they don’t even speak!”

“They do,” Sarah quietly corrected him; it was his turn to look shocked! “But I don’t think you’d get very far with any of them. They really are sort of like animal-liberation guerillas, come to think of it – it’s almost funny; I would’ve never thought of something like that being here. It must feel really personal to them, for them to keep taking those sorts of risks.”

The small wadded-up sack with the Dreamstone in it lay between them on the table; from the look in the king’s fern-green eyes, she knew he knew, or at least guessed at how she had successfully communicated with them. Continuing to watch her reactions, he leaned forward, setting his mug down on the table, opening the sack, gently sliding its contents out onto the polished darkwood surface; the Stone gleamed and glinted with ghostly pallor even in the warmth of the firelight. When he went to pick it up, his fingers passed straight through the chain!

“Shit! Just as advertised!” he exclaimed, laughing. “Hold it up for me then, so I can get a better look.”

Warily, Sarah complied, feeling the electrical tingles arcing up her arms again as she lifted the heavy silver chain so that the Stone would fall straight…

But Rinaldo hadn’t meant looking with his eyes: Sarah felt his powers sweep about her form, her mind, the Stone – it was over nearly as soon as it had begun! She caught her breath, startled!

“Fascinating,” was all he said though, taking a large swallow of his coffee. “Alright, you can put it back.”

Sarah was sorely tempted to put it on, vanish, and get the hell out of here! But if the king of Kashfa had that kind of power at his disposal, on top of Pattern-based shadow-tracking abilities and the stamina of the Barimen clan, she wouldn’t so much as make it out of this room under her own power! She did rewrap it, but tried to hold it in her lap afterwards, still fiddling with the cloth.

“On the table if you would be so kind; this has to be a matter of mutual trust between us, or at least mutual understanding,” he commented coolly with a muted glance of reproval, watching as she sullenly replaced the sack where it had been. He was silent for a beat or two, thinking. “Well… I’m willing to treat this matter as a simple, political transaction on your part – provided that you’re not planning to double-cross me,” his eyes were suddenly quietly dangerous.

Sarah vigorously shook her head no; he visibly relaxed.

“Alright then; no more funny business. I guess I don’t blame you for not wanting to blindly trust me, what with the continuing Barimen family reputation for screwing over innocent people whenever it suits us, but even from that angle I stand to gain little by hurting you now – you’re safe on that count. And I’d be a fool to turn down an opportunity like this. That crazy, rarified trinket you’ve been hauling all over the countryside is a very valuable bargaining chip as far as Amber and her king are concerned; I can’t even remember our being in such a good position to potentially gain better standing in our alliance with them on all counts.”

“So… forgive this if it’s impertinent, your Majesty,” Sarah guardedly cut in, “but you do actually mean to return the Stone, right?”

“Oh, sure,” Rinaldo easily replied, setting down his emptied mug beside it. “I’ve no desire to see Order horribly disrupted somehow – I live too close, for one thing, and I have a friend or two in the True City for another. But at the same time I wouldn’t dream of handing such a valuable piece off to King Random for free, especially if getting it back where it came from is going to be as potentially dangerous as you imply. With Aunt Fiona out of the area, he’s simply no match for a trained sorceress from Chaos, and a Logrus initiate at that,” he stood up, and Sarah did likewise, putting down her own mug (it had been too much for her to drink in one sitting, not to mention at this time of night.)

“You’d be willing to risk the actual return yourself?!” she asked, amazed.

“There isn’t exactly a line of suitable candidates for the job trying to break down my uncle’s door,” he answered wryly. “I’m not going to be rushed into making rash spur-of-the-moment decisions about something this serious, though. Let me sleep on it. I’ll pull my connections and get the ball rolling. Normally I’d send a messenger on ahead, but this is just the type of message that gets servants killed, or could even start a war if handled improperly. You and I will be journeying to Amber together – I’ll need you for a witness at least. And once I’ve whittled the charges against you down to banishment for life, I’ll see that you get home alright. Now, how’s that sound? Fair?”

“Fine, I guess,” Sarah nodded. “It’s a lot better than I would’ve done on my own! When would you be planning on leaving, then?”

“Possibly tomorrow afternoon at the very earliest – like I told you, there are things that need to happen first on my end. I’ll have to coach you along the way, on what to say and do once we’re in the king of Amber’s presence; you’ll have to lean heavily on the ‘crazy idealistic kid’ angle in spite of your age, I think; that one’s gotten some mileage out of him in the past. It’s been centuries since Uncle Random saw eighteen years, more-or-less, and the older one gets the younger everyone else starts to seem. Practically everyone in Amber – at least the majority of the mature populace – is so long-lived that he isn’t as used to this subjective phenomenon as most adults from your home-shadow get to be. I wouldn’t plan on getting off scot-free, though; I hope you can pull together the necessary finances to continue your own higher education, should it come to that. And for the future you need to have an emergency hotline fixed up with one of us, should you get into trouble again and need help getting out of it in a hurry. In fact…” He rummaged around in the lower-left pocket of the lounging jacket for a moment. “Here.”

Sarah looked down with a very high level of suspicion at the small, methane-blue crystalline chunk of stone in his hand.

“You need one of us on your side,” he continued, “by my logic it doesn’t really matter which one. As far as I’m concerned, you’re in good standing with me and my kingdom at present; I’m not so sure you could claim that of either Amber or Chaos and their respective monarchs at the moment.”

Sarah only considered the prospect for a half-second before shaking her head no. “With all due respect, your Majesty, I’ve grown downright paranoid about carrying or wearing objects like that; the ‘help’ usually comes with a hefty, hidden price tag.”

Rinaldo had to smile at that. “That’s probably true most of the time,” he conceded, “and it’s actually healthy to be leery like that, but the way I’d look at it you’ve already paid for this service on my end; there’s no reason for me to charge you any further. You’re just collecting on it; a finder’s fee if you like. And this particular item – which is called a tragolith, for your information – can be utilized without any intermediary: all you have to do is shadow-walk hanging onto it, concentrating on it, and you will reach a safe and accessible place that can withstand just about any kind of trouble in the known multiverse. Sure you won’t reconsider?”

Sarah was sorely tempted… then had to sternly remind herself that Rinaldo Barimen had been a computer salesman on Shadow Earth after college. Being able to convince people they wanted what he was pushing had been his job for many years. And she felt fairly certain that there was a lot more to be explained here that he was carefully keeping his mouth shut about. She firmly shook her head no before she could change her mind.

The king shrugged. “I had to try,” he pocketed it again. “You’re on your own for that one, then, and I still think it’s really inadvisable, but it’s your life. Do keep the possibility in mind, though, as long as you’re with me, just in case you change it. Did you have any objections to me putting you up here for the night, or do you already have other arrangements?”

“Somewhere to sleep would be greatly appreciated,” Sarah picked up her carryall – and the sack.

It did not go without notice. Rinaldo thought a moment. “How would you feel if I locked up the goods until we ship out, but let you hang onto the key? That way there’s no way it can disappear or get misplaced – or used, by either of us. Just as an all-around general safety and insurance precaution? I’ll even let you put it in yourself.”

Sarah could’ve easily argued that a man of his obvious powers was likely a match for any standard safe, but there was probably no point to doing so; the objection would go nowhere constructive and she desperately needed the help in spite of any personal misgivings she might have about his methods. At least he seemed proficient in what he was about.

“I guess that’s fine,” she answered noncommittally.

The king of Kashfa seemed to choose to deliberately overlook her milquetoast lack of enthusiasm over the prospect by continuing on as if she had given positive assent.

“You look like you’re too worn down for the grand tour, but you’ll get to see a little of this old pile on our way down to the in-house extension of the Treasury,” he announced, sounding rather like a proverbial tour-guide as he belted the borrowed sword on his right side – Sarah suddenly realized that he must be left-handed! – before leading her down one of the branching side corridors to their left, grabbing a torch from the wall in passing.

The ceilings were high, the floors could’ve been more even in places, the halls were definitely cold in spite of the tapestries, most of which were faded from extreme age; she wrapped her wool cloak about herself more tightly. And had to laugh a little.

“What is it?”

“Oh… reality, I guess. I used to love medieval fantasy stuff when I was little – all the cool castles and fortresses and knights in armor to go with the princesses and princes, fairies, dragons, and all the rest of it.”

“And don’t forget wizards – that’s the best part; we still have those,” Rinaldo couldn’t resist chiming in. “But nobody ever told you about what a pain in the ass it is to try to get a stone fortress properly heated and insulated if you don’t have practically limitless power at your disposal, electrical or otherwise,” he nodded, “that those picturesque-looking, heavy velvet-and-ermine cloaks and robes aren’t just for effect. Believe me, I get it; I grew up here. The first time I saw a thermostat on Shadow Earth as an adult, I thought I was dreaming!”

Turning a corner, they passed down a long, broad flight of stairs, interrupted by an ornamental landing about halfway. More old shields and pieces of armor and weaponry were bolt-mounted to the sloped ceiling above them, more tantalizing pieces of history in a place that reached back a few thousand years at least. She must’ve looked curious because the king instantly fell into explanatory curator mode, giving her abbreviated stories and epochs associated with certain artifacts as they went along, filling her impressionable mind with rich culture and wondrous tales of yore that had had a kernel of truth to them at one point in time. It was so engrossing that in a short while she was paying more attention to what he was pointing out, what he was saying, than where they were actually going; she was more than a little surprised to realize they were suddenly at their destination… and that she couldn’t have retraced her steps very easily after a certain point!

“Here we go,” he announced casually, removing a large ring of keys from his left-hand pocket, rifling through them for a moment. Locating several, he proceeded to unlock a vertical row of deadbolts before opening the heavy door, gesturing her inside with the universal, sweeping ‘after you.’

The medium-sized room was simply a series of safes and vaults, mostlly built into the walls, but there were a handful of metal doors and keyholes in the flooring, also. Rinaldo led her over to a rather unassuming-looking small safe in the far right wall and opened it: the thing was empty. With great trepidation, Sarah carefully placed her precious bundle inside it and he shut and locked the door, working the key off the ring, handing it to her before they left the room, with him locking up behind.

Up the stairs, across a hall, then up again, up, up, up; Sarah could feel her calves burning, but the king’s ongoing dialogue was almost enough of a distraction to take her mind off it for the time being. At last they were on the third floor – was it the third floor? She’d actually lost track! A door near the landing was opened-

And she found herself facing a small bedroom apartment not unlike the ones she had seen elsewhere, like Merlin’s in Castle Amber! Only this one had a small fireplace. The king stacked fresh wood and kindling in the grate, then used the torch he was still carrying to set it alight, pointing out where the rushlights were stashed, should she need to light a candle or two during the night.

“Still no indoor plumbing here, I’m afraid,” he advised her, “we just don’t have the groundwater for it. But the maid service is excellent,” he suddenly smiled. “I’ll have someone bring up breakfast and washing up supplies in the morning and swear them to secrecy about it; few things in life travel faster than castle gossip, and I want as few people to know of your presence here as possible. I’ll retroactively gag-order those you’ve already come into contact with. Did you need anything else before I return to my own chambers for the night? We’ve both got a busy day ahead of us.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“Okay. Well, get some sleep. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, your Majesty,” she curtsied as he turned and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

She more than half-expected to hear it lock, but to her profound relief (and frank surprise) she only heard Rinaldo’s footsteps retreating back down the corridor. Exhaling in relief, she went and collapsed on the soft mattress; the room was still chilly, but the new fire was taking the edge off fast – it would be comfortably warm in here in no time. The bed felt incredible on her stiff back, and she was sufficiently tired that she felt she really could go straight to sleep. Kicking off her boots and removing her cloak, she crawled under the thickly-stuffed quilt and warm blankets, luxuriating in her soft little cocoon, not wanting to think of anything else for a while. Even the near future seemed a comfortable ways off at present…

But there was something scratching at the back of her mind, something that wasn’t quite right here – what was it? It was more of a gut-feeling than anything else; she had no points of reference that could possibly come to bear on the situation. Was it something out-of-place, then?

Sarah was tired of pondering, so tired… She curled up with one of the down pillows, welcoming the encroaching sweet black oblivion of sleep…

Her eyes suddenly shot open: that was it! The king’s free use of Logrus power! True, he might’ve been born half-Chaosian, but that didn’t automatically confer the controlled use of the energy of Disorder on anyone! But how?!

Merlin. It had to have been Merlin’s doing – the current king of Chaos pulling strings to allow his fellow-halfie cousin the full use of his dual heritage, carte blanche!

Which could only mean that he was covertly collecting assistance from Kashfa – and vice-versa – somehow. But for what? To what end?

And would the king of Kashfa realize that she had the means to put this together, to suspect them? None of these people did things for free, out of the goodness of their hearts! Everything was business. Rinaldo Barimen wasn’t just in his home-world here: he was in his native element!

Sarah groaned, rolling over onto her face. Why could nothing ever be easy and straightforward, even when she nominally made the right decisions? Was that an indicator of a right decision, she wondered driftingly – that the wrong decisions of others became more apparent in the choosing? The conundrum gently swirled around about her mind as she drifted off, her last conscious thought curiously koan-like: that perhaps the question itself was an answer of sorts…
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Somewhere, a Chaosian ‘raven’, chanting deep in meditation, was startled alert in mid-syllable: what she had been desperately trying to do had just worked…