by S. J. Ryan
The
Wizard
from
Tian
by S.J. Ryan
(REV 2016-10-07c)
To Eldon
1.
A couple days after Carrot's battle with the Roman spies, John and Bob returned to the inn. They had escorted Trak and Sten back to the Land of the Humans, and came with empty collars for Carrot's companions. Norian's expression was blank as he affixed his collar to his neck, while Mirian freely registered growls and scowls.
During her sojourn at the inn, Carrot had all but forgotten that she was wearing her own collar, and had come to think of it as a simple article of clothing, even fashion. The leash, however, had not been attached to the collar for a while, and as it swung from her neck to Paul's hand, she understood Mirian's attitude.
As they started their trek northward along the Kaden Road, she noticed that every time she glanced back at Paul, he would look away. When they stopped for a mid-day rest, she asked in private, “Paul, have I done something to offend you?”
“Quite the opposite, Arcadia.” He indicated the leash. “The more I hold this thing, the more I feel that it is a denial of Henogalian ideals. We proclaim to visitors that we are a free people, and then we have them wear this.” He looked at his boots and muttered, “It does not make me feel better that the sight of you reminds me of her.”
Carrot recalled how Susan had burst into tears that morning. It had nearly been contagious.
Their travels were greeted with sidelong glances from the other Henogalians, along with alarmed stares and shared whispers. The reactions lessened, however, as the roadside klicksticks counted to zero and the travelers came to a bridge that branched east. At the base of a squat mountain, the road brought them to a town of several hundred one-and-two story structures, mostly houses and mostly wooden, arranged in square blocks and wide streets.
“Behold Aurora Town,” John said. “Capital of Henogal. That's Mount Free in the background. There's a trail that goes up to the peak, but alas, our people aren't built for climbing. Pity, as the vista is said to be stunning. Perhaps you three may take in the sight.”
“I doubt we'll have time,” Carrot said. They were expected back at the rendezvous point in another three days. What would Matt and the others aboard the airship think if they didn't show?
Population-wise, Aurora wasn't large as towns went, but as it was troll-scaled, it was hard to think of it as small. The tree-lined main street was stables and smiths, shops and inns, all with doors whose lintels were separated by four meters from their sills and whose handles came up to Carrot's chin. Yet perhaps more impressive was that every window had glass, and every corner had street signs. In a way, Aurora presented itself as more civilized than Rome's haphazard avenues and ramshackle tenements. It was certainly tidier.
John pointed ahead to a block bereft of buildings, where the grass dimpled into a bowl-shaped depression ringed with benches. “That's the civic amphitheater. The Assembly of Villages meets there each year in late autumn to pass resolutions and elect the council and king. We have concerts and plays the rest of the time.”
Mirian's nose wrinkled. “I know what a concert is. What's a 'play?'”
“You do not have them in Human Britan?”
“In Londa there is a theater,” Carrot said. “In Rome, of course, there were many.”
“Will someone explain what a play is?” Mirian demanded.
“It's like storytelling,” Carrot replied. “Yet instead of merely one person reciting the words of the story, people called 'actors' do actions and say words to pretend they are living the story at that moment, for the entertainment of the audience.”
“So it is like what we are about to do before the king,” Mirian said.
Carrot and Norian glared at her while the Henogalians exchanged glances.
“What do you mean?” asked John. “What are you about to do before the king?”
Carrot weighed how much to tell. She had come to think of John and Paul and Bob (well, maybe not so much Bob) as friends, and didn't want to drag them down if things went sour. The less they knew, perhaps the better for them.
“We intend to represent ourselves as travelers from Rome,” Carrot said. “It might be more persuasive than to admit that all three of us are ordinary Britanians.”
John shrugged. “Do as you please. However, I caution that the few times I've met him, Good King Richard has struck me as a man skilled at perceiving ruses.”
Carrot was inwardly foundering for something reassuring to say, but just then Bob blurted, “After we dump them off, can we get some beer?”
John sighed. “Yes, Bob. Later.”
“I could do with a beer myself,” Mirian said. “A few in fact.”
Bob smiled at her for the first time since being assigned to carry her leash.
As they navigated the streets, Carrot opened her pouch and removed Governor-General Bivera's letter of introduction. The sight helped her to concentrate on what lay ahead, and how everything depended on whether they could manage the deception. As she admired the professional penmanship of the official document, she wondered once more whether obtaining it from the dead body of the Roman spy was good fortune or not.
They left the street for a path on the other side of the amphitheater, which led through a grove of trees into a garden with a towering bronze statue. Despite being troll-sized, the figure was clearly human. Carrot started with recognition.
“If you take away the beard – “ Norian said.
“Yes,” Carrot replied. “It must be his brother.”
John had overheard. “What do you mean? That's the Wizard.”
He gestured to the plaque on the base, which read in large capitals: THE WIZARD.
“We know of someone who resembles him,” Carrot said hastily. Asserting that she was the girlfriend of the Star Child would only invite skepticism. “That's all I meant.”
“Huh. Well, perhaps the Wizard fathered children in Human Britan before he came here, and perhaps the person you know is a descendant.”
“That must be so.”
“She didn't say 'descendant,'” Bob protested. “She said 'brother.'”
“We'll get your beer, Bob,” John said.
On the other side of the grove they came to a high brick wall, and through the gate Carrot saw what appeared at first to be nothing more than a pile of loose rocks. Roughly, the misshapen edges followed the general outline of a one-troll-story building.
John watched Carrot's puzzlement and explained, “That's the Old Castle. Started out as the most impressive building in Henogal, then the Wizard taught us Aereothian construction techniques, and by irony now it's the crudest. We keep it for ceremonies and receptions. The King's home is on the other side. Much nicer, you'll see.”
Arriving at the gate into the castle compound, he prodded the snoring sentry awake. “Rich in today?”
The sentry yawned. “Just back from fishing.”
“Let him know John Pine is here with three visitors from Human Britan.”
The sentry warily surveyed the humans. “What's your business?”
Carrot presented Bivera's letter. “This should explain.”
The sentry plucked the letter and held it by the corner with two fingers, as if it might carry the plague. He waddled into the courtyard, out of sight around the Old Castle.
“See how sedately he moves,” John murmured. “Our tax monies at work. And a public employee fishing on a week day! As the poet says, 'What joy it is to be the King!'”
Soon the sentry returned, letterless. His expression was grim and Carrot thought that their
request was refused.
Instead, the sentry said to John, “The humans will come.” He looked up at the Henogalians. “You three are to go.”
“What do you mean?” John said. “Go where?”
“Home, or wherever you wish.”
“We are their sponsors. They will require escort in order to be returned to Human Britan.”
“The King says he will have them escorted henceforth by public guard. You are released from sponsorship, and are to leave.”
“If you don't mind,” Paul said. “We'd like to – “
“He was insistent,” the sentry said.
“Norian,” Mirian said, “I don't like this.”
“Neither do I,” Paul said. “Now see here – “
“The King,” the sentry replied, “has other affairs to which he may attend.”
Paul snorted. “Like cleaning fish?”
The sentry shrugged. “It's all the same to me whether you wish to treat the King's hospitality with suspicion and insult.”
That line, Carrot thought, sounded rehearsed. She said, “Paul, I do not wish to damage the professional relationship between John and the King. Let us go on our own. I'm sure there will be no problem.” That, of course, did not reflect her suspicions at all.
With the matter resolved, the sentry returned to the courtyard to acquire escorts. Paul took off his hat and kneaded the brim, and avoided eye contact with Carrot.
“Susan will miss you,” he mumbled. After a lengthy pause. “I will miss you too.”
“I will return to visit,” Carrot replied. “Thank you for the dress – and the one that I lost, too. I still can't remember where I placed it.”
How easy it is to lie, she thought. No wonder fools do it so much.
She remembered exactly – that the torn and bloodied dress was buried deep in the woods behind the inn with the corpses of the three Roman spies whose blades has caused the damage.
Paul responded with a soft smile and slight nod, and Carrot had an inkling that he might have known more about the fight that evening than he was saying; though the conflict had been out of sight of the inn, it had certainly not been noiseless. Neither Paul nor Susan had reacted any differently toward her next morning, but Henogalians, Carrot had learned, were just as adept as hiding deep feeling as any normal human could be.
As they waited, it occurred to Carrot that the sentry had left his post at the gate twice. The government of Henogal appeared to be less concerned about the dangers of human invasion than were many of its citizens.
The sentry returned, accompanied by three more lumbering male trolls. They were all dressed the same, in uniforms of sloppily-tucked white shirts and breeches, which Carrot had assumed with the lone sentry was simply casual dress. The swords, jangling sheathless from their belts, were as long as Carrot's kedana and certainly looked professional.
“We will take them now,” the sentry said.
Their leashes were yielded to the guards. Paul laid a hand on Carrot's shoulder and gave a sorrowful look. Carrot returned the gaze, clasped his arm tightly, nodded and tried not to cry.
As the group started across the courtyard, John called to Carrot, “Keep our services in mind, if ever you're in need of escort again!”
“There's an optimist,” Norian murmured.
“I wish we hadn't stashed our weapons,” Mirian whispered. “We may as well be naked.”
Not quite, Carrot thought. Though heavy weapons were stashed with their backpacks in the bushes at the crossroads, they each still carried a concealed blade.
The guards loped across the courtyard, forcing the humans to walk rapidly. Between flopping bellies and firm biceps, Carrot caught glimpses of an oversized cottage behind the Old Castle. Then the sentries entered the megalithic structure by way of a massive opening made of one long stone poised horizontally upon a pair.
Inside, dampness struck Carrot's face as they entered a long room. She caught scent of moss and age. Coolness radiated from tapestry-covered walls of loosely-fitted rock as dim light poured through high windows beneath cedar rafters.
The sentry gestured to the slab of a wooden table that covered most of the dirt floor. “The king will be with you shortly. Don't take the big chair at the end. That's his. ”
Alone in the chamber, the humans climbed the considerately-placed stepping stools onto the chairs. Mirian watched their feet dangling high off the floor and laughed. “We look like little children!”
Norian scowled. “I find this adventure to be one humiliation after another.”
“You're not used to being short.”
“I'd like to think I'm still not short.”
“Well, this adventure is teaching you what every day is like for me.”
“When were you made to wear collar and leash?”
“Admittedly, not before this. It might be fun, though, if henceforth we took turns.”
Before Norian could recover, Mirian abruptly faced the doorway opposite the one they had entered. An instant later, Carrot too heard the soft pad of large feet.
A troll as tall as any they had met thus far gracefully loped out of the passage and into the room. If there was such a thing as a 'thin troll,' he would be the example. If one discounted for his size, his appearance was disarming. He was middle-aged, balding, and wore spectacles, sandals, and what seemed to be rumpled, striped pajamas. He was examining the letter with the imperial seal that Carrot had given to the sentry. He spared only a glance at his guests as he groped into the big chair at the head of the table.
“I bid you on behalf of the authority of Rome to extend hospitality to my agents,” he read Roman Governor-General Bivera's words aloud. His voice was light and high-pitched for a troll. “They are granted with the protection of the Emperor, as enforced by the legions of Rome. Your cooperation and assistance in their investigation will be appreciated at this time and our gratitude reciprocated many-fold by the Imperium . . . .”
The troll rubbed his clean-shaven chin, glanced over the rim of his spectacles at the three.
“Well now,” he said. “This is all quite new to me. We barely have started relations with Human Britan, and now Rome comes to visit. Whatever, I suppose, as it shall be.” He set the letter down, placed his hands flat on the table, briefly closed his eyes and bowed.
Carrot returned the gesture, Mirian and Norian caught on and did likewise.
Eyes wide and sparkling, the troll said, “I am Richard Lake, King of Henogal. And you three have names?”
“I am Gwinol of Rome,” Carrot replied. “These are my companions, Norian and Mirian of Britan, who act as my guides.”
“Mind taking off those ridiculous collars? Not my idea and frankly they disgust me.”
The humans did as requested.
The king's glance lingered on Mirian. “Your scent differs from any human I've met.” He tilted his head at Carrot. “Your scent also differs slightly from those of other humans.” He shrugged. “I suppose that is to be expected, if you come from far off Rome.” He clapped and rubbed his hands. “So, it's almost supper time. You three hungry?” At their nods, he called to the next room: “Doris! Three for dinner!”
A female troll shuffled in, wearing a simple dress and apron. She might have been the older sister of Susan. “How do you expect me to cook for three more on such short notice?” She inspected the visitors. “Oh, more humans. Seems like we're having them every week now.”
“Which means my open-door policy is proving a success. And avoid using the word 'short' in their presence, dear.””
Carrot suppressed a smile. At the inn, she'd learned the expression, 'To be trolled.'
“So what do you think?” asked Doris. “One extra serving enough for them all?”
“Yes dear.”
“We'll have your trout then. And Rich, the trash barrel in the kitchen. When?”
“Don't bring that up now, dear. I'm engaged in Affairs of Kingdom.”
“A portion of the Kingdom is filled to overflowin
g.”
“Yes, dear.” The king watched her depart, faced the humans and smiled. “I suppose we're rather casual compared to what goes in Rome.”
“Yes,” said Carrot. The servant staff at the imperial palace was so extensive, she had heard, that the servants who spoke to the Emperor had servants to speak to the servants who attended to the actual work. “But casual and informal are good qualities. I like how things are run here in Henogal.”
“Good to hear. Now – Gwinol, was it?”
“Yes.”
“That is a Roman name?”
“Yes.” As opposed to 'Carrot' and 'Arcadia,' which was why Carrot had adopted it.
“Pardon me if I have this wrong, as I've never seen a female human before. You seem rather young, in your early twenties at most. How is it that you've come as a representative from a great kingdom, and so far from your homeland?”
“Women are given greater scope in their activities in Rome than Britan.” Which was the opposite of the truth. “As for myself, there are special circumstances. I am not here as an emissary of Rome. Instead, my mission and role are apolitical.”
“Apolitical?”
“Yes, I am the daughter of the director of the Museum of Rome. A museum is a place – “
“No need to explain. We have museums here in Aurora. In that respect we're as cultured as Rome.”
More so, Carrot thought, for in reality Archimedes had often griped that there were no counterparts in Rome to the public museums of Kresidala.
“Yes, well, as I said, I am the daughter of the director of the Museum of Rome. As my father, he has a desire for me to follow in his career, and so he has given me a special assignment, to investigate a certain local legend here in Britan, having to do with – well, you might laugh. It is about the so-called Box That Everything Came In.”
“The Box, you say.” The king didn't laugh. Instead, he furrowed his eyebrows, frowned, and rocked in his chair. “The Box.” Doris arrived with a platter bearing cups and a pitcher. “Ah, how about we dine first? I always think better with food and drink in my belly.”
Without further ado, he poured frothing liquid into their cups. Carrot tasted, and found it more potent than the beer at the inn. It certainly wasn't going to be an aid to her thinking.