The only positive was what it had been from the first, that Pfnaravin would protect Ellen as long as she was useful to him. Easing John's despair. Giving him time to make plans.
But first things first: concocting a lie about Ellen's value for the defense of Stil-de-grain. After that, to devise some means for escaping the blockade so he could pursue Pfnaravin.
When to start?
Given the acute slant of light through the window, it would have to be tomorrow, sleep vital if he was to think, to plan, to execute.
* * * * *
Chapter 16
Platinia had to make her little feet go fast to keep up with the others. Being small was not a good thing to be sometimes. Other times, it was helpful. Like a little while ago when she was able to slip out of the palace to follow the woman and the soldiers. The gate guards had not looked so low down as Platinia, to see her as she went out. (She was careful to stretch her legs very wide to step in the footprints of others, so that her feet did not show in the dust, that others might see.)
As she ... trotted ... down the hill, the morning was warm. The dome above glowed with gold. Though she was born in Malachite, she had lived long in Stil-de-grain. Even when in Malachite, she had liked the golden light of Stil-de-grain more than the green light of Malachite. Gold light made everything look alive. Green light made everything look dead. That was the reason.
When they all reached the city -- Platinia following behind the rest -- the woman with the strange name of Ellen went into stores. This store. That store. Many stores. Buying many things. After she got these things, the soldiers -- who were not dressed like soldiers -- carried her many packages.
Everywhere, the store-men were glad to see the woman. They smiled at her very much. What Platinia thought, was that they did not care for the woman but were glad because they could sell so many things to her. That was what Platinia thought.
Platinia did not like the woman, Ellen. Did not like her because she was always in the Mage's thoughts.
Feeling for the thoughts in John-Lyon's mind, she saw only Ellen there. Never did she find Platinia. Not entirely true. For the Mage did think of other things, Platinia one of these other things. Also Zwicia. Also the sailor, Coluth. Also Golden -- though Platinia could not read Golden's thoughts so very well. The Mage could not either. She could see that in the Mage's mind.
Mostly, the Mage was thinking about the war. The war more in his mind that even the woman. This was true about the last war, as well. The Mage was trying to find a way to win the war. As he had done before. Would there always be a war to win? Or the same war to win again? Platinia did not know these kinds of things.
Would the young Mage build another ... machine, that he called a cannon? Would he make light-magic in the sky, the Mage calling this fireworks? Platinia did not know. Knew only that he did not think of her ... like she wished him to.
In and out of stores went the Ellen woman, Platinia staying behind, being tiny making it easy for her to stay out of sight.
The woman was happy. Platinia could tell that. Happy to be going into stores, buying things like cloth, pots, jewelry, lace, (many other things that were wrapped in cloth so that Platinia could not see.) What was strange, was that the things from the stores were not what made the woman, Ellen, happy. It was going into stores and seeing ... everything. She was most happy to talk to people. To ask questions, like the Mage, John-Lyon often asked questions. Questions, sometimes, with no answers. In the long ago, John-Lyon had asked about the sun, and stars, and moon. Why did the world not have those things? And why was it that there were no tides, and what made the great, moving circles in the sea, and about the colors shining down from the sky-dome, and why there was no wind? Why was there fog every up-light and every down-light? Why was the rain so ... gentle? What about storms?? Did it snow? Snow?? Who had made this world? Was the world an ... what were those words the Mage always said? Was it an ... artificial construct??? So many questions. Many that no one could answer. This was when the Mage was here before, more than now. Perhaps he had already learned the answers. Platinia did not know.
The woman and the soldiers, who were not dressed like soldiers, would stop to buy things to eat. And drink. Platinia was hungry. Platinia was even more thirsty. But to eat and drink, she would have to show herself and she did not want to do that.
As they passed stores and more stores, Platinia could smell bread baking. And the making of what men called beer, though Platinia did not drink that.
In one shop there was a miller who ground wheat and barley grain into flour for baking bread. The flour did not smell very much.
Sometimes carts came rumbling over the round stones set into the street. The pony drivers could not see such a small person as Platinia, so she had to look out for them.
There were too many people walking back and fourth. And a very great noise, one man crying: "Fresh Fish," the man selling them from a basket. Another who was yelling "Hot sheep's feet." There was hammering and clanging. Men were yelling at each other. Men were fighting, rolling into the pig-ditch! Platinia saw the kicking of big balls by younger men. Was almost hit by the ball as she hurried past! Swans and geese hissed and pecked! Rich and poor women winked and joked. Bells on the tops of buildings made a great ringing sound. Men with animal heads on their own heads danced for small coins thrown to them. It was a very great confusion!
It did not help Platinia's hunger to pass a shop that sold cheese, sliced in small wedges from a great round wheel of cheese. Another shop had big and little fish, cooked, ready for eating. There were shops for selling wool, wine, gloves, saddles, barrels, wheels, fur, leather boxes, rabbits, pigeons .... Too many shops to learn what they sold.
There were pigs in the street, people shouting at them to get out of the way! And dogs, dodging people's legs. Friendly dogs that wagged their tails and grinned. Bad dogs that barked and bit. Platinia was afraid of dogs.
She looked for cats, but could not find any. Maybe the dogs ate the cats. She did not like to think that, but maybe it was true.
So many things were in the town that Platinia's head began to hurt.
Then it happened. Following the women and the soldiers -- for that is what they were -- Platinia had felt ... a great hatred!
Where was it coming from?
From the mind of someone in the street.
But who?
Thinking hard, thinking only about the hatred, she found it coming from a man. A man in a black cloak. A man with no ... face!! .... No. It was that the man had cloth covering his face. Cloth. A cloth hat. Pulled low in front to cover his face.
Now that Platinia knew who had the hatred, like a great force!, she could pick through that man's mind. A little. First, seeing in his mind that he was hiding. Like she was hiding, but more so.
There was something about the man. Had Platinia met him before? She could not tell by his look, his hat so low over his face. He was all covered up by a too-big robe -- his arms and hands, his neck, his legs -- so that she could not see any part of him.
Something said to her this was important.
To find out more, she must get closer to the man, a thing she was able to do, in time, the man walking along the street in the same direction as the woman and the soldiers.
So much hatred and for so many things, coming from the man. He hated ... everything he saw.
Then, what a shock! In a place where the light was brighter, between two buildings, the man looked up at the sky-dome. And in that moment, Platinia saw enough of his face to know who he was!
He was the old Mage, Pfnaravin!
She was sure. It was Pfnaravin. Full of hate for everyone. And that would mean that he would hate the woman, Ellen. And the soldiers, too.
Platinia had a plan. First, to strengthen the Mage's hatred by picking through his mind, Platinia doing that, making the Mage hate even more!
When she had done that, though she was very much afraid, she crossed the street, dodging pigs who were eating garbage in t
he center ditch.
Forcing herself, she said the man's name. So softly only he could hear her do that.
At that, he turned. Saw her. Knew who she was, Platinia sensing that about the way his mind worked.
He was ... afraid. Afraid she would tell who he was.
If he was not so frightful, that would be funny. The mighty Mage, Pfnaravin, afraid of little Platinia.
She said, she would not tell.
She could see it now! That he had planned to kill her with his Mage-Magic to keep her from telling. She had said she would not tell just in time!
She asked if she could help him.
He said he needed to know ... things ... about the Palace. That if she found out these things for him, he would do things for her that she would like.
That was what she had hoped he would say.
Knowing he was an enemy of the young Mage, John-Lyon, she told him of the woman -- the woman who was too much in the mind of John-Lyon. Platinia even pointed to the woman and to her soldiers.
The Mage was pleased. Had asked if Platinia liked the woman, Ellen.
She said she did not.
He said not to worry about the woman, that he would take her away.
That was all Platinia had done, point her finger at the women. But it was enough. For the Mage had said he would take her away, his hatred still strong. This meant the Mage would kill the woman. Which was what Platinia wanted.
The Mage, Pfnaravin, then told Platinia to go back to the Palace, Platinia having to do as he commanded. Who could withstand the will of a Mage?
That was all Platinia had seen of the city. She had to go back.
It was later. Much later that night that the young Mage, John-Lyon, had come to her, saying that, as before, she was to be with him all the time. To sit in the Mage's room, in a chair at the back when he was talking to the other men of the Palace. That she was to be with him when he ate. And be with him in his room when he slept. He had ordered those things before. He now ordered those things again.
And so, Platinia was glad. While she could still see the women, Ellen, in the Mage's mind, Platinia was sure that being ordered to stay with him at all times meant she was again important in the Mage's thoughts. Now that Ellen was gone, Platinia would win from John-Lyon what she, herself, felt for the young Mage with the frightening green eyes.
Love.
* * * * *
Chapter 17
John was trying to remain calm. But it was difficult. My God! He'd brought Ellen to this world only to have one of its most powerful and hateful figures spirit her away. And at least so far, there was nothing he could do about it. The only thing keeping him sane was the knowledge that Ellen, herself, had wanted to come here. Why? Because, though she hadn't said it in so many words, she was convinced she was dying, Ellen using her failing strength to keep Paul from discovering how much she was slipping.
Viewed that way, she saw the magic of Bandworld as her best, perhaps her only chance to save her life. So, she'd come to John to ask him to bring her here.
None of that absolving him for his role in her kidnapping. What was he thinking, to let her wander about the city when Stil-de-grain was at war? Yes, he'd insisted she be in disguise. Had ordered soldiers to guard her. It's just that he couldn't escape the fact that the best way to protect her was to have kept her behind the Palace's walls.
In spite of regret that threatened to paralyze him, it was vital that he keep a cool head, John the only real hope Ellen had.
Taking deep breaths to settle himself, making himself straighten his silk Mage-robe, he willed his rational mind to conquer despair.
At least he was where he should be, in the top floor laboratory he'd made for himself on his last trip to this benighted world, floor to ceiling shelves holding pots of as many chemicals as he could find in this place -- his heavy lab table dominating the center of the room.
Here was where he'd made gunpowder -- adding the chemicals needed to turn his sky-experiment to colorful blasts of light and smoke.
In a corner were hunks of iron left over from the metal smiths' work in building a primitive cannon.
All in the past, nothing here to help him break the Malachite blockade as a first step toward rescuing Ellen.
And his dilemma was worse than that. Even if he found a way to run the blockade, it wasn't in him to desert the young king's people -- who, somehow, had become John's people. At the very least, he had to devise a cosmetic weapon they could use against the blockading cruisers, John needing to give hope to the people of the capital until he could figure a way to win the war.
Thinking of the weapons of the previous war, it wasn't forging the cannon that had given him trouble, but "inventing" a way to shoot it, doing that by remembering something even history majors in college knew, that black powder was a combination of sulfur, potassium nitrate, and powdered charcoal. Consulting Tschu, the local alchemist, the man had brought these "rare" ingredients to John's lab.
And the cannon, even the exploding cannon balls, had worked ... after a fashion.
So it was no surprise that John's first thought was for Xanthin's Head blacksmith to make another cannon, Tschu to produce exploding cannon balls powerful enough to scare the be-jabbers out of the Malachite sailors on those ships just beyond the harbor's mouth. (A couple of lucky hits might even terrorize them into giving up the blockade.)
But that scheme had quickly gone off track with Tschu's revelation that the island's supply of potassium nitrate was exhausted. With only a small quantity to start with, John's earlier cannon, plus his fireworks display had used up Tschu's supply, the chemical to be found on the mainland -- certainly in Malachite -- but not on Xanthin island.
The exploding bomb option no longer possible, John would have to think of some other way to fight the Malachites. But what?
* * * * *
Golden had sometimes doubted the power of the Mage. But no longer, John-Lyon possessing other-worldly magic in addition to that of his golden Mage-Disk!
Once more, the Mage was in what he called his laboratory, the old crippled-arm soldier, Leet, guarding the door, John-Lyon fearful that sentries he didn't know might be Malachite spies.
Allowed to accompany the Mage to his place of marvelous inventions, Golden had been told to wait in a small room across the hall, Golden speculating that the Mage was attempting to find a way to rescue the woman, Ellen, John-Lyon bringing that woman with him from the other world.
Golden hoped, like in the last war, the Mage would devise weapons to defeat evil. First Pfnaravin. After that, the usurper, Lithoid of Malachite.
It was in the war against the evil Auro -- curse his name! -- that the Mage had fashioned wire armor to deflect Auro's Mage-bolts.
John-Lyon had then caused to be built a craft called a catamaran, a ship rowed by the movement of the evil wind blowing from Azare, the ship equipped with what the Mage called sails, that worked wind-magic.
With the help of Xanthin's alchemist, Tschu (who supplied secret powders), pops and bangs had soon come from behind the door of the invention-room. Also strange smells. Also hammerings of metal workers.
The result was what the Mage called a cannon, an iron tube that, with a loud bang, threw out metal balls that, with another bang at a distance, blew apart anything in the way, just as a bolt of Mage-Magic would explode whatever it hit.
Now that another war was starting, the first thing the Mage called for was that same Alchemist. Except that, instead of knowing joy, the Mage had been disappointed, saying to Golden that Tachu no longer had potassium nitrate??, one of the powders essential to the Mage's plans.
After the failure of the Alchemist, John-Lyon summoned Golden into that room-of-smells, the Mage beginning again to ask many questions. Odd questions, as was his custom.
"I need to know something about fire stones, Golden," the Mage said.
"Something, Lord?"
"Let me be more specific. Where do they come from?"
"I have never tho
ught about that."
"But you could find out?"
"Someone must know. They are everywhere, Sir."
"See if you can learn where."
Following that command, Golden had bowed himself out and gone on a fire stone search. Not that fire stones were difficult to find, fire stones in every torch, to be thought alight before down-light. For it was the magic in the light that was essential in the lighting of torches.
Fire stones were also used for cooking, drudges thinking a pile of them into heat in preparation for cooks to warm food for morning, mid-day, and evening meals.
If you thought one way, fire stones yielded heat. Thinking a different way, fire stones flamed up to produce light. Everyone in every band knew this.
Fire stones were so common that Golden had never thought about their origin. As few would think of where trees had come from: probably, like vegetables, from seeds? Or where the sea water went when it poured down that dangerous stretch of holes called the Leech -- near Beak Island. Water also spewed out from the tops of mountains, first as hot water, to settle from peaks, cooling as it descended, to become rills, then creeks, streams, and finally rivers that ran, most of them, into the sea. Why all this should be was of no great concern. That was just the way things had always been.
Golden had been ordered to discover the origin of fire stones, however, Golden's duty to find the answer.
So, asking this palace dignitary and that courtier, Golden discovered the answer John-Lyon was seeking. That there were places in every Band where fire stones were mined, little mining underway for the simple reason that fire stones never wore out, so that few additional stones were needed.
The Mage's next question -- there would always be a next question -- was about the size of the stones. "Could you find out for me if fire stones can be broken into smaller stones, and still work?"
Ellen Under The Stairs Page 12