Red Queen

by Jolie Jaquinta

  Chapter 23

  Course Material

  “You look good in 12th dynasty”, said the granddaughter to the grandmother. “You should wear it more often.” The grandmother sat in a corner of the curiosity shop, in a dress elaborately braided from small strips of leather in a riot of earth tones. It clung to her frail figure, but was stiff enough to give it the support and bearing of some generation and species' concept of an ideal body type. From most of the intersections of the braids sparkled a crudely cut crystal, giving the entire outfit a shimmering appearance.

  “Late 12th dynasty, Penelope”, corrected the grandmother, her coarse Orcish features looking stern at the mistake. “These varieties of dyes were not available until the conquest of the later satraps. Whereupon, of course, the new imports became all the rage.” The shop was not small, but it gave the appearance of being so as it was so full of clutter. Shelves and tables and racks and chests lined every wall and surface. They appeared to be stacked at random with beads, baubles, ornaments, and highly decorated objects of unclear material and function. Like many such places in the Underground, the boundaries of its rooms were not architecturally fixed, but dictated by the stone. Side chambers and alcoves and diggings from different eras gave an ambiguity to the actual shape of the shop. Overall it gave the impression that if you wandered long enough through the maze of items you could find anything.

  “My apologies”, said Penelope. “I should not have missed that.” She looked at it more closely. “From the quality of the accents I would say it is from one of the reigns of the final two satraps? As the empire was pressured they had to rely on lower quality local mines.”

  “An insightful supposition”, said the grandmother, looking more approving. “In fact, this is a replica, and the quality of the gems has more to do with what the merchant whom I commissioned it from had available for a reasonable price.”

  There was a loud hiss, followed by three squawks from the doorway. The two looked up to the patron who had just walked in. A short, squat troglodyte stared wide eyed and startled at the feathered totem dangling in front of him that his entrance had disturbed. He recovered after a few moments, and moved into the shop. Only a few moments after that he started again when he discerned that the grandmother and granddaughter were actual people, and not shop fixtures. The grandmother nodded somberly towards him and looked around the shop indicating he was free to browse. Nervously, he did so.

  “And what of your attire?” continued the grandmother, in a dialect that had not been in common usage for several centuries. “Is it representative of what they are wearing on the surface?”

  Penelope looked to her dress, considering her answer, and refreshing her memory of the language. “As an instructor in an institute of learning aimed at the upper classes, I have chosen something in what they consider a conservative style and cut. However, to make them feel that I am providing a service of a quality they can respect, the material of this is of what they consider an expensive luxury. As in the hay day late 12th dynasty, that would be exotic imports from new trading partners. Namely, Underground goods.”

  “No doubt commissioned from the same tailor who made this”, said her grandmother, nodding approvingly. “Good deduction. Economic execution. You look good in it. Do your suitors agree?”

  Penelope snorted and rolled her eyes. “I do not desire suitors. The garment is specifically appropriate to my frame. I have not tried to alter it to emphasize or hide the differences in my body features from what is currently fashionable. Given the difference in species, those who would court my favors through romantic overtures are hardly likely to be swayed by the trappings I wear or the silhouette I present. It does give me passing amusement, though, to see what elements of my dress or body they choose to compliment, since most of them find it awkward to highlight any particular feature of my visage with praise.”

  “Well I'm glad”, said the grandmother, “that this opportunity on the surface is furthering your education, as well as theirs.”

  “I'd rather be working the shop, with you”, said Penelope. They both watched as the lone customer stared, fascinated, at an improbable piece of taxidermy.

  “I'm quite capable”, said the grandmother. “Despite my advanced years.”

  “I know our surface friends have given you magical aid. Some of them aim to live forever. I do not like that they experiment on you.”

  The grandmother smiled. “I have no doubt that I will die someday. Given the short life-span of our people, it would likely have been some time ago. I did not expect to survive my retirement tour, but here I am.”

  Roxanne, as she called herself in the predominant surface tongue, had made an early impression on an early expedition sent by Scioni into the Underground. They had been looking to establish a new trade route to bolster their faction and her eclectic wares were the sort of high-value, low bulk items perfect for starting it off. She also provided a fairly objective consultant to which other Underground traders were bilking them for how much. In return for her services she only asked that her only granddaughter be enrolled at their elite academy.

  Having secured Penelope's future, she settled her affairs and prepared for one final grand tour. There were so many places in the Underground she knew only by reputation and history. There were shops like hers in many of the other cities, the patrons of which she had corresponded with all her life. It seemed fitting, as she felt herself growing frailer, to journey out into the history she knew so well. And if her time overcame her while on the road, then disappearing into a mysterious obscurity seemed all too fitting an end.

  But she had endeared herself to Scioni and his people. They considered her histories and insights invaluable. The regenerative magics they had given her appeared effective and, somewhat anticlimactically, she had survived her last jaunt. But she did not regret it. She had learned a lot, and brought back many interesting reference works. Actually meeting many of the other shopkeepers face to face, for those who had faces, cemented her own shop in their memory and would do Penelope well in her turn.

  The troglodyte had made a selection. He approached Roxanne tentatively showing a small, flat medallion, with crude marks in an archaic language. The grandmother nodded once, and he looked relieved. She held out her hand and he put a few coins into it. She raised her eyebrow questioningly and he began to look nervous. He put another coin in it, considered, and then added a further one. She lowered her eyebrow and he fled the shop.

  “It is just as well”, said Penelope, switching back to a more recent dialect. “I think it will take me some years to perfect the intimidation you master.”

  The grandmother shrugged. “Most buy trinkets to drop into the great well to supplicate or appease one of the Ancient Ones. The value of it is not what they purchase, but how much they pay. And, a small rumor to the effect that the petitioner who fell in a few years ago did so because he did not pay a fair price for his offering... tends to keep them honest.” She smiled.

  “I hope you live at least a decade more”, said Penelope.

  “Who knows”, said the grandmother, “as long as they find me useful I may in fact live forever. Speaking of which...” she got gingerly to her feet and began to walk to the back of the shop slowly and carefully. The leather of her dress creaked with her movements. Penelope hovered close to her, a look of concern on her dark features. They reached a shelf in the back and Roxanne pulled the cloth covering from it. “You're covering the Ramp-Builder period at the moment?” she asked.

  “A general overview”, sighed Penelope. “I only have eight weeks to cover 200,000 years of Underground history.”

  “Seems hardly fair”, said the Grandmother. She started handing her some books. “You might want to start from some original reference material. This is a book of collected sketches of Ramp-Builder inscriptions”. Penelope briefly opened it to look at drawings that looked like chicken scratches. “Shaganapua grammar, of course.”

  “In Nibelungian, of course”, said Pen
elope, smiling.

  “Not my fault if the classical languages aren't on your curriculum”, said the grandmother, distractedly. “Here is a translation of 'The Three Crocotta Princes' into the Ramp-Builder script. That should confuse them terribly”, she chuckled. “And, lastly, in case you need to frighten any of the more dismissive students, I have one original piece.” She indicated the last, heavily bound book on the shelf. Penelope hefted it carefully. “There are Hydragyranium traces in the ink. So the covers have Plubonium in them to shield them.” The ink was known as fixated mercury, and could give hallucinations by proximity. While the 'true lead' of the cover had excellent magical shielding powers, it was terribly heavy. “It will build up strength in your back and probably give them nightmares.”

  “Thank you grandmother”, said Penelope with emotion. “I shall do my best to terrify them.”

  The grandmother smiled and hugged her fondly farewell.