“Hazelnuts, if possible,” piped Flip earnestly. “Nothing like hazelnuts to drive out the cold, I always say.”
“Hazelnuts it shall be, sir,” said the girl, her face dimpling prettily in a smile.
She really is rather attractive, thought Sagandran. He glanced at Perima again, and saw that she was watching him gravely. But not nearly as attractive as Perima, he added quickly, as if Perima could hear his thoughts.
Not long after, the food arrived. Sagandran didn’t have enough energy left to decide what he was eating, but it was warm and substantial and tasted good. The terrifying beauty of the Shadow Knight began to fade from his mind’s eye. As he stared at his plate, now empty except for a few gravy drips, he wondered if he was going to have nightmares about the fair face of evil they’d seen today and evil’s glib, alluring voice.
Sir Tombin rapped his hand on the table in front of him, rousing all of them except Flip, who’d fallen asleep in front of the oil lamp with a corkscrew of chewed hazelnut dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Time for bed,” said the Frogly Knight firmly.
They made it upstairs somehow, the rotund innkeeper bustling ahead of them and describing the establishment’s various amenities. Sagandran’s ears pricked up when the man announced the location of the bathrooms; it was the solitary amenity in which he had any interest at the moment, but aside from that he let the babble pass over his head.
The room they were shown into contained three broad beds. Without any debate, Sir Tombin and Samzing fell onto one of them, and the two old friends started snoring almost before their heads hit the pillows. Sagandran pulled Flip out of his pocket, lowered him gently onto one of the other beds and sat down beside him. Perima, who’d detoured via a bathroom on her way here, came in shortly afterward, looking as if she’d swallowed some vinegar.
“Like that, hm?” said Sagandran. He could hear the weariness in his own voice.
“Like that,” she confirmed. “This mattress is lumpy,” she added a few moments later, after she’d kicked off her shoes and curled up on her own bed, “but the blissful thing is, Sagandran, that I don’t …”
Sagandran assumed her final word would have been “care,” but sleep had stolen it.
He crept off to find the bathroom.
Within minutes, Flip snuggling comfortably against his stomach, Sagandran, too, was slumbering.
“It looks like a rainbow.”
Perima was standing by the window, the curtains drawn back to reveal bright sparkly sunshine.
Sir Tombin joined her. “Yes, now you can see Spectram as it should be seen. By darkness, it’s just like any other city, scruffier than many, but by the light of the morning sun, it’s, well, Spectram.”
Sagandran’s eyes popped open. He’d been awake a little while and had been luxuriating in the sensation of utter restfulness. His sleep had been mercifully dreamless – with not so much as a glimmer of the nightmares he’d dreaded he might have – and he would gladly have continued it a while longer. But Perima had spurred his interest with her comment. Being careful not to dislodge Flip, he swung his legs off the bed.
Standing beside Perima, he looked out over the cityscape of Spectram. The inn was on a slight hill, so the view was over the rooftops of most of the city’s low-slung houses; only a few rose higher than a single story. The rooftops were every conceivable color – far more than could ever be packed into a single rainbow. The colors seemed to be changing constantly, flowing from one hue to the next with a randomness that appeared, at the same time, to be an elaborately choreographed dance. The effect was, Sagandran thought, as if the whole city were a single vast diamond cut to show a million different facets to the sun. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and for long moments he stood there drinking in the sight, his hand resting on the shoulder of an equally motionless Perima.
There was so much about Sagaria that was not dissimilar from parts of the Earthworld. To be sure, the Earthworld did not feature man-sized talking frogs and so on, but a tree was a tree and a horse was a horse. Sometimes, Sagandran had to pinch himself to remember that this was a world alien to his own. He was so far from home, from everything he’d ever known, that the distance couldn’t be measured. He really was a stranger in a strange land – the only one of his kind in this particular strange land.
Yet, surely Perima, her dark eyes alight with the glitter of more colors than could be counted, was of his own kind as well? Her lips, parted in wonder, were surely human lips. The warmth of her shoulder through its thin covering against his palm was surely human warmth. It was impossible to reconcile these two knowledges he had: that she was someone born of an entirely separate world, and that she was his very human friend.
He shrugged, dropping the hand to his side. I guess I’d should just accept both things at once, and not worry that, if one of them’s true, the other can’t be. Maybe the way I’m looking at them is wrong.
“I’m hungry,” said a familiar voice behind him. Flip had finally woken.
“Yes,” said Sir Tombin, “we must eat. Then it will be time to go to the castle.”
The flickering colors of Spectram’s roofs were stilling as the sun rose higher in the sky, but even so, it was with great difficulty that Sagandran pulled away from the window. He and Perima followed the others down the creaking stairs to the inn’s main room, where the tables were now, as if by magic, polished, shining and laden with dishes of meats, breads and fruits. Helping themselves to platefuls of muffins, they sat down to either side of Sir Tombin, who was tucking into tea and richly, drippingly buttered toast.
“How long are we going to stay in Spectram?” asked Sagandran through a mouthful of raspberry muffin – at least, it tasted like raspberry. Who knew what fruit it might actually be, here in Sagaria?
“Well,” said the Frogly Knight, putting down his empty teacup and looking around for the pot, “that depends to a large extent on what Queen Mirabella tells us to do; but I should think an hour or so spent exploring the place on our way to the castle wouldn’t jeopardize our mission.”
Again Sagandran was filled with that same two-ness. Everything in him was clamoring to press ahead (Grandpa Melwin’s very life might depend on their haste) and yet he could hardly ignore the clamor of his desire to see a little more of this magical city before they left it.
His thoughts were interrupted by Samzing, who produced his pipe from somewhere within the many folds of his robe. Ignoring the glowers directed toward him by the others, the wizard snapped his fingers to kindle the foul-smelling weed in the pipe’s bowl. In a moment, there was a pall of pungent black smoke around their table.
Sagandran’s muffin suddenly stopped tasting as good as it had.
“I think it’s time for that stroll,” he said, pushing back his chair as he stood.
Sagandran looked up at Sir Tombin. “How come all the rooftops are different colors?”
They were walking among the higgledy-piggledy streets of Spectram. Stores and stalls were opening, and it was hard to take his eyes off the wares that were being spread out to tempt passers-by, but still, Sagandran had the feeling that the best place to see Spectram was from above, as he’d seen it from the tavern window. Somehow, at street level, the city seemed just like any other city, no matter how fascinating and curious it might be.
Sir Tombin drew a long, contemplative breath before answering. “Those who founded Spectram in ancient times,” he said at last, “believed in the principle that the city should treat all creatures with reverence and respect, whatever their kind. That principle survives undimmed to this day. They saw a dignity in diversity, and so they designed the city such that it would reflect and preserve this principle. They built it to be a haven where all the creatures of Sagaria could come and live alongside each other in harmony.” He drew another of those deep breaths. “That’s what the constantly shifting colors of the roofs symbolize. When you see them in the early morning light, it’s as if you were looking into the soul of a rainbow. No one color can mak
e a rainbow, not even a group of your favorite colors. To make a rainbow, you have to have all the colors. In the same way you have to embrace all living creatures, ignoring their outward form, or really you’re not embracing anyone at all.”
They ambled on for a few moments in silence as Sagandran and Perima absorbed this.
“That’s wonderful,” whispered Perima after a moment. “If only my father could understand it.”
Her hand reached out for Sagandran’s and took it.
They turned onto a street where the cobblestones were the pink of roses. Dazzlingly dyed awnings leaned out from the crooked house fronts on both sides. In their shade, the pink of the stones was muted to a rich velvet. Most of the people on the street were human, but not all.
A stocky creature who made Sagandran think of a rhinoceros in a frock lifted her flowered hat to them as she passed. “A very good morning to you all, big noses.”
They stared after her as she swept on her way.
“Not so polite,” muttered Perima primly.
“Very polite, but in her own fashion,” corrected Sir Tombin. “In the customs of her people, to call someone a ‘big nose’ is a compliment, or a friendly endearment.”
Sagandran grinned. A mischievous part of him had just realized that he could address these people with the most frightful personal insults and they’d merely assume his customs were different from theirs.
Sir Tombin had seen the glint in Sagandran’s eye. “Don’t,” he warned.
Samzing was musing. “The street we are on is called Marzipan Road, and it’s been a main thoroughfare for well over a thousand years. To the east, our left, lies Dream Alley, which leads toward the grand building of the Spectran Guild of Magery. Magicians of all different kinds live and work in that part of town. I studied there for a while myself before going on to Qarnapheeran, and I regard it as one of the brightest times of my life, I can tell you. Oh, the things we wizards got up to. There was one dainty young sorceress who … oh. Harrumph. No, I’d better not tell you that particular story.”
His voice trailed off into fond nostalgic murmuring.
The street opened into a large market square teeming with people and noise. Sagandran and Perima were eager to rush into its midst to examine all the curios and oddities on sale at the brightly festooned stalls, but Sir Tombin held up a webbed hand to restrain them.
“We cannot dally too long. Already, my youthful companions, we have delayed as much as we should. We did not come to Spectram purely for pleasure, let me remind you.”
Perima’s face crumpled in disappointment, but, her fingers interlocked with Sagandran’s, she obediently followed Sir Tombin as he cut a path through the crowds.
On the far side of the market square, they entered another street, this one much quieter than any so far. Its cobblestones were a tranquil purple, but Sagandran had no eyes for them. There was a clear view ahead of the castle. Gazing from the inn window this morning, he’d been so dazzled by the rooftops that he’d barely noticed the castle. Now he was struck wordless by its magnificence.
“Queen Mirabella’s castle,” Sir Tombin was saying, “is at the heart of Spectram. I call it Queen Mirabella’s, but in reality the castle belongs to all of Spectram. She dwells there because her people wish her to. They place their trust in her to remain forever their true, wise and honorable leader. If she once betrayed that trust, which, of course, she never would, then she would no longer be permitted by the people to use the castle as her home. She would be ousted from it, and another would take her place.”
Sagandran, still lost in admiration for the great structure, wistfully wished that the brokers of power back in the Earthworld could have the same attitude.
“Come along,” said Sir Tombin crisply. “Queen Mirabella will know we are here to see her, and we should not keep her waiting.”
His webbed feet slapping on the purple cobblestones, he began walking briskly toward the castle, and the rest, even Samzing, hurried to follow him. Even so, by the time Sir Tombin reached the main gate, where he at once entered into discussion with the guards, his companions were a hundred yards behind him.
“It almost looks like you could eat it,” chirped Flip, peering out from the hood of Sagandran’s jacket.
“You have a one-track mind, my friend,” murmured Sagandran amiably.
Perima was paying them no attention. “When I become a queen, I want to live in a castle like this.”
“I thought you’d given up being a princess,” observed Flip.
She grimaced at him. “Oh, all right then. If I ever did become a queen, I’d want to …”
They were still giggling when Sir Tombin rejoined them.
“Queen Mirabella will see us immediately,” he said, panting a little. His face was more somber than usual. “She has been wondering why we have not reached her sooner.”
“How could she know we were coming?” said Flip in a querulous tone.
“We women have our ways,” answered Perima enigmatically, tugging at Sagandran’s hand.
“You mean you don’t know either?” he said.
“Something like that,” she agreed.
The guards smiled as the group passed through the deep gateway, but there was something uncertain in the men’s gaze, almost as if they were nervous. Sagandran wondered what he saw in their eyes was fear, but then he realised that it wasn’t fear at all. The men were worried, concerned. They must be fully aware of the danger threatening Sagaria, and perhaps also of the role this motley little party might play in countering it.
Once inside the thick outer walls, the travelers were led through courtyard gardens filled with flowers and grasses of impossible hues and morphologies, and past a white marble fountain where stone mermaids frolicked among stone birds which were watched by the stone eyes of fabulous stone beasts. Perima’s eyes were wide as she gaped at all the flamboyant ornamentation. Sagandran grinned inwardly as he recognized the symptoms his mom displayed sometimes when she’d been watching too many home-improvement programs on the television.
Perima’s eager expression didn’t ease as they followed the guard through the inner corridors of the castle all the way to the doors of the throne room. Two great gold rings punctuated the mother-of-pearl panels on the doors. The guard smiled over his shoulder as he pulled one of the rings. The door slid easily open and the man took a pace forward to face the interior of the room.
“They are here, Your Royal Majesty,” he said with a deep formal bow.
“Yes, of course we’re here,” said Samzing brusquely, pushing past in a flurry of robes. “Where else in the world would we be?”
Sir Tombin looked appalled but the guard didn’t seem in the slightest bit disconcerted by the wizard’s lack of ceremony. He stood to one side and beckoned the rest of the party in.
“Her Royal Majesty of Spectram, Queen Mirabella, ruler and defender of us all,” he said formally.
Sir Tombin put his rounded chin on his chest for a split second and, his face becoming ever more serious, clutched the pommel of his sword and marched into the throne room, with Sagandran and Perima trailing behind him.
Sagandran recognized the room from the description Grandpa Melwin had given of it, from what seemed like a century or more ago when they’d both been back in the Earthworld. The morning sun shone through the large stained-glass window and made the tiles of the mosaic floor appear to be covered in crawling colors, mimicking the rooftops of Spectram.
As Grandpa had said, Queen Mirabella looked young. Today, she was wearing a long, loose-sleeved cream dress, and the crown on her head was woven from flowers. Her eyes were the green-blue that Sagandran always associated with the forest and the sky, though, in truth, they were the color of neither. Even from the far end of the throne room, he was conscious of the gaze of those eyes. As Queen Mirabella rose from her throne and walked silently toward the newcomers, he felt as if he were being bathed in their ageless light, as if they were looking straight into his heart with understand
ing and forgiveness and cleansing him of all his worries.
“Welcome to Spectram,” said Mirabella. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Sir Tombin scraped the tiles of the floor with his hat’s feather as he bowed toward her, and the others bowed in imitation. Perima made as if to curtsy, then vexedly checked herself and bowed beside Sagandran.
“We are honored that Your Royal Majesty would find us worthy of an audience,” said Sir Tombin in a voice so ceremonial that, in other circumstances, Sagandran would have chuckled.
“Of course you’re worthy to be here,” said the queen, as if fondly chiding a small child. “Everyone and everything is worthy. It is I who must try to be worthy of my subjects. Now rise, all of you, and come sit with me.”
Smiling, she led them to a group of chairs surrounding the throne. Once they were settled, with Flip perched on Sagandran’s thigh, she reassumed the throne and scrutinized their faces one by one.
“Sir Tombin I know of old,” she murmured. “And you too, Samzing, from the time when you dwelled in Spectram, many years ago. Your companions I have not encountered before, and yet I recognize two of them from the description given to me by my good friend, Melwin, and my not-so-good friend, Fungfari. Only the smallest of you is completely unknown to me.”
“Flip,” said Flip, puffing out his chest. “The famed Adventurer Extraordinaire. Your Majesty may perchance have heard of my exploits.”
“Not … quite,” said the queen, a small frown of puzzlement creasing her perfect brow. “But you can tell me about them later. Now you, Sagandran, let’s start with you.”
“Y–Yes, Your Majesty,” stammered Sagandran, looking into her cool gaze.
“I know that you are searching for your grandfather. He has told me many good things about you. I can only wish that you and I had met under happier circumstances.” She sighed and rested her cheek in her hand. “What can I tell you about what has happened to him? I know he has been abducted. As soon as messengers brought me this news, I despatched my agents to try and catch his abductors. The trail led all the way to the Goram Mountains, and there my people lost it. We can only assume that the perpetrators of this crime dragged your grandfather there because they wanted to—”
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