"Where are we going?"
Grimm turned to see Guy's head protruding from under the wagon's cover, his twisted lip showing his distaste at his surroundings.
"Did I hear something about a mansion?" the older man demanded. "I hope so."
Grimm smiled. "Yes, Guy; a highly reliable source informs me it's a 'right posh old place to stay', so it should suit you well. Then again, the definition of the word 'luxury' around here may differ a little from yours."
With a snort, the foppish mage ducked back under the canvas cover.
****
The old market square lived up to the Yorenian's description. It appeared to Grimm almost as if some skeletal entity was arising from a sea of mud, as he heard the horses' crisp hoof-beats turn into a series of dull splashes. He saw rotted sticks and spars standing at odd angles, and ragged scraps of grey cloth twitching in the desultory breeze. It was as if night had come early, as the tall buildings surrounding the half-sunken plaza blotted out the afternoon light.
Grimm heard the high-pitched, mewling bark of an angry fox in the distance; an eerie, banshee-like sound. After that, all he heard was wet, squishing sloshes as the horses pulled the wagon through the mud that swamped the old flagstones; sounds that echoed dully from the grey walls surrounding the square.
His eyes cast around, looking for the glue shop of which Guller had told them, but all the dull, grimy-windowed buildings around the square looked the same. It was the mage's nose that first informed him of the shop's proximity; a disgusting, cloyingly-sweet, pungent smell began to pervade his nostrils, and he felt his eyes watering in sympathy. On the far side of the square, he saw a black cloud, and heard a growing drone; these must be the ever-present insect attendants of the glue shop. Grimm slapped at his arms, his face and his scalp as the wagon passed through the eager, buzzing horde.
Quelgrum wrinkled his nose and flapped at the black mass of winged assailants. "Can you imagine what it's like to work in there, Lord Baron?"
"I don't want to, General." Grimm shivered as the soldier steered the vehicle past a crooked, hand-painted sign reading 'Bottle Pass'. "I just want to get out of this dead place."
In the narrow, crumbling thoroughfare, Grimm saw the first signs of life since the wagon had left the new market square. Rats scampered through open sewers, ignored by a few, scattered drabs, who regarded the wagon with suspicious, envious eyes. It seemed to the mage as if he had descended into the nethermost pit of Hell, as he looked into the pale, dull, resentful faces of a score of damned souls.
Quelgrum needed to take care at the junction of Bottle Pass and Flobb's Lane, since the road seemed barely wider than the wagon. The horses reared and whinnied, but the General comforted them with a soft, clucking noise, keeping a firm hand on the reins.
Grimm approved; having grown up in a smithy, he recognised the worth of a man who treated troubled animals with kindness and understanding, rather than unthinking brutality.
The mage heard a growing, raucous sound as the conveyance trundled along Flobb's Lane. He noticed a battered, faded picture of a stick-like representation of a goat outside a slumped, hovel-like structure, outside which five men scrambled and rolled in a sea of red-streaked mud. The occasional bright flashes of blades and knuckle-dusters reinforced the message that this was no minor dispute over a spilled drink.
And I thought the Broken Bottle in Drute was tough, he thought, shaking his head as Quelgrum turned the vehicle left, barely missing the oblivious combatants.
Blessed, sweet sunlight!
It seemed to Grimm as if someone had lit a great candle in the sky as the wagon began to roll up an incline.
From perdition to paradise in the space of a few short yards!
The Questor's heart sang as he regarded a golden building sitting on a sward of purest green. A beige, tree-lined path marked the route to what must be the Mansion House, seeming as if it were some indication of ineluctable destiny. To Grimm, it felt as if a leaden weight had been removed from his chest as the grey, depressing drabness of Yoren was left behind and the wagon began to wind up the blessed, clean, even road.
Why doesn't everyone in Yoren come here? he wondered, savouring the fragrant, clean air that flooded into his lungs. Why would anyone want to live in that place?
It was not long before his rhetorical question was answered, as two men leapt into the road from behind the cover of the trees lining the avenue. Unlike the shabbily-attired attackers who had welcomed the adventurers on their first arrival in Yoren, these warriors wore heavy, padded jackets, and the blued-steel tubes they levelled at Grimm and Quelgrum looked familiar.
"They've got Technological weapons and armour," the General muttered, confirming the Questor's suspicions as he reined in the horses. "No wonder they can keep the locals in check."
"What's your business here?" one of the ambushers demanded as he stepped forward. His speech was cultured, educated, and free of the heavy Yorenian accent.
"We need a place to stay, well away from that rat-hole," Quelgrum said, maintaining a cool, unflustered face as Grimm laid his right hand on Redeemer, ready for trouble.
"Don't we all? Show me what you've got to offer; all of it," the cloth-armoured man replied. "Don't worry; we're paid well enough. If you can pay, you should be allowed in. If not, I'd advise you to turn back." His eyes were narrowed, suspicious.
Grimm held up his bulging money-purse, opening it just enough to show the gleaming coins within. "I think this should be sufficient for even the Mansion House," he said. "If not, I have plenty more to spare; I am the Baron of Crar."
As the Questor held out his purse, he saw that the guard's eyes widened as they locked onto the blue-gold Guild ring on his marriage finger.
"Your servant, Lord Mage!" The man dropped onto his right knee at once, as did his companion. "I trust you realise that only people of quality are accepted here. Please forgive us the intrusion on your contemplation; you and your companions are more than welcome."
The two men disappeared into the undergrowth as quickly as they had appeared.
"What do you think was that all about, Lord Baron?"
"I suppose my full purse swayed them," Grimm said, unsure that this was the truth. "Perhaps they just like mages at the Mansion House."
"I heard they despised Guild Mages in Yoren," the General replied. "This just seems a little too cosy for me. In my army, we talk about 'honey traps'. They're ambushes too sweet or tempting to resist."
After the depressing spectacle of the centre of Yoren, Grimm felt in no mood to argue as the increasingly imposing spectacle of the Mansion House hove into view. "Relax, General. He saw my money and my ring; that's all. I'd rather be here than down in the town, any day. We'll be all right, as long as we keep our wits about us."
"Hear, hear," Guy cried, from inside the wagon.
Harvel called, "Are you going to pay for all this, Questor Grimm?"
Grimm smiled. "Of course, fellows! We don't have to slum it just because we're on a Quest. Keep alert, and we should be all right."
"You're in charge, Lord Baron," Quelgrum said, as the magnificent building loomed before them, "and I'll do as you say. I just hope you're right. These chaps could be in league with Lizaveta, for all we know."
Grimm laughed. "Sometimes I think you worry just a little too much, General. I'm not going into this with my eyes shut, I assure you. Don't worry; I'll be on my guard, as will all of us."
As the wagon rumbled under an imposing stone arch, Grimm thought he heard a muttered prayer or imprecation from the old soldier, although he could not be sure.
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Chapter 26: A Cheerful Reception
The wagon rolled up the smooth, tree-lined track towards the Mansion House. Although the Questor's party suffered no further incursions, Grimm's sensitive ears picked up the occasional muttered voice and rustling sound from the undergrowth. He suspected that he and his companions had been under constant surveillance since they started up th
e winding path.
As the party neared the House, the young mage felt a shiver of awe running through him. He could not believe the contrast between the grand opulence of this building and the dingy squalor at the centre of Yoren; it almost made the fabulous, luxurious High Lodge look like a rather pedestrian town house. Instead of dull, grey stone, the House seemed to be constructed of lustrous, iridescent marble, with complex, tasteful details picked out in gold. At the front of the building, he saw a long, pillared portico or cloister whose purpose, Grimm imagined, was to enable visitors to remain dry while exiting their vehicles in the rain.
And all these windows! There must have been over a hundred on the front of the building alone, and Grimm knew that glass, especially glass of this sparkling, flawless quality, was an expensive commodity.
Quelgrum's eyes bulged. "Where on earth did they get all the money to make this, let alone to be able to run it?"
Despite knowing the General's question was rhetorical, Grimm answered him.
"All I know is that my stipend as Baron of Crar would barely begin to cover it, General," he breathed.
Up ahead, he saw a small, windowed kiosk, beside which was a red-and-white striped pole, barring further progress. As soon as Quelgrum reined in the horses in front of the barrier, a tall, slender man stepped out from the kiosk, offering a crisp, faultless salute that, Grimm imagined, would not have been out of place in the General's army. The old soldier's formal, precise answering salute seemed to confirm this; the General placed a high premium on tidiness, order and discipline, and this man seemed to possess great quantities of each.
As the gatekeeper approached, Grimm took note of the man's immaculate, dark-blue uniform, similar to that worn by Quelgrum's cadre, with a tightly knotted strip of cloth around his neck and razor-sharp creases in his straight trousers. Mirror-polished black shoes, gleaming buttons and a peaked cap added to the dazzling effect. The Questor also saw that the watchman wore a Technological weapon in a leather holster at his waist.
"I see you are a military man, Sir," the gatekeeper said, his pose ramrod-straight as he held the salute. "Staff Sergeant Hamar, at your service, Sir. Welcome to the Mansion House."
"Stand easy, Staff," replied Quelgrum, slipping back into his martial role with ease. "I am General Sleafel Quelgrum, and my companion is Baron Grimm Afelnor of Crar."
As with the guards who had accosted the party earlier, the young mage thought that Hamar's gaze rested perhaps just a little too long on his Guild ring. Ah, you're just getting paranoid. You've got an over-active imagination, Afelnor, he chided himself.
"Your fame precedes you, General," the Staff Sergeant said. "At your service, Lord Baron." Hamar's face wrinkled, and reddened a little. "I'm sorry, sir; I'll have to ask you to leave your hardware here. We don't allow offensive weapons in the House. The same goes for your companions in the back. Staves and small blades of less than three inches' length are all right, but whips, swords, daggers, cudgels or other offensive weapons are not permitted. I'll have to search you and the wagon, I'm afraid."
Quelgrum's eyes narrowed.
"Sorry, General, that's not my rule, but a standing order." Hamar's tone remained deferent and apologetic. "I'm sure you understand. Please step down from the vehicle."
Quelgrum sighed and turned his head around. "You heard the man," he called. "Hand 'em over."
The three warriors and two mages clambered out of the wagon, as Grimm and the General climbed down.
Hamar carried out an efficient, dispassionate search of each member of the party and began to deprive them of their weapons. Tordun, in particular, looked particularly pained as he handed over his broadsword.
As the Staff Sergeant moved to the back of the wagon, Grimm felt the unmistakable tingle of magical power being unleashed; a large amount of it, if the young mage was any judge. The syllables that came from Guy's lips were, of course, unintelligible to anyone but him, being in his personal Questor spell-language, but Grimm guessed that the older thaumaturge had released a potent spell of Compulsion.
"There's nothing in the wagon, sentry," Guy said in an easy, reasonable voice. "It's clean."
Grimm gaped as the Staff Sergeant turned to face Guy, wearing a tolerant smile. "I'm sure you're right, sir, but I have to search it anyway," he said with a cool voice as he climbed into the conveyance.
At any other time, Grimm would have felt some pleasure at the sight of the Great Flame's slack jaw and stunned, bulging eyes, but not now; Hamar had withstood a full Compulsion spell from a Questor of the Seventh Rank without showing the least sign of discomfort, or even of having noticed the spell. To add to Grimm's unease, his Mage Sight showed him that this was no Technology-controlled slave like those he had met at the mountain fortress of Haven. Neither saw he the least sign of magic in the man's aura: not even the blank white aura of a witch.
"I gave him a full-strength Compulsion," Guy whispered, his eyes wide with disbelief. "He should be a drooling puppet by now. The spell was good."
"I know, Guy. He must be wearing some weird sort of ward."
"I could take him out, easily," Tordun rumbled. "Just say the word."
"We've still got our staves, Grimm," Guy said, his face determined. "He wouldn't stand a chance."
Grimm shook his head. "I don't think we're alone here, Tordun. I'm pretty sure there are armed men with Technological weapons, hiding in the undergrowth."
"Well, well well," Hamar called, his voice dulled by the wagon's canvas cover. "Quite an armoury you have here; good quality hardware, too. Don't worry, Sirs, we'll take good care of it."
The Staff Sergeant emitted a shrill whistle and five armed men emerged from the bushes, firearms at the ready. Grimm gathered his power, ready to strike, but no direct assault appeared to be in progress.
Hamar hopped down from the wagon. "Juran, you and Mardel take inventory, and make out a receipt for the weapons," he said, his orders crisp and precise. "Gyor; double over to the House and ask them to make ready for our guests. Bort; I want you and Fasar to take these gentlemen's luggage to their rooms when it's been checked."
The five men saluted, and replied as if with one voice: "Understood, Staff!"
The soldiers rushed to carry out their senior's orders, efficient and economical in their movements.
Hamar turned to Grimm. "If you and your companions would be so kind as to follow me, gentlemen, we'll make our way over to Reception." The Staff Sergeant gave another of his sharp salutes.
Grimm's stomach roiled with misgiving. It seemed to him as if all initiative had been stripped from him, as an unaccustomed sense of indecision dulled his thoughts. This situation seemed somehow false; as if the Mansion House staff had been expecting him and his companions since their first arrival in Yoren. He felt his mind and his heartbeat racing to no end. What to do? He had never felt so helpless in his life.
So he's got a powerful spell-ward I can't detect, he thought, trying to marshal his mental processes. That's no reason to suspect him of evil intent. There are magical skills outside the Guild's control, I imagine. I'd have one myself, if I knew where to get hold of one, or how to make one. I don't like this place, anyway, and I'll recommend we get out of here as soon as we've got the information we need.
The gatekeeper's actions so far had been irreproachable, but Grimm did not feel comfortable that his hard-won powers might be so easily nullified. He felt not so much threatened as naked, and he was unsure of how to respond.
Quelgrum broke the silence. "Thank you, Staff," he said in a cool voice. "We're in your capable hands."
****
If anything, the interior of the House was even more magnificent than its glorious exterior. Grimm regarded the plush, crimson carpets, rich mahogany panelling and lustrous brass fittings with appreciative eyes. If this was some kind of prison, at least it was a luxurious one.
Soft lights cast a warm, orange glow on the scene, and the mage heard soft, unobtrusive music, enhancing the cool, calm, soothing atmosphere.
Despite his earlier misgivings, the mage began to feel a lot happier about this strange place. Surely there could be no harm in staying in such a cheerful, comfortable establishment.
A gentle fragrance permeated the air, and a wide, sweeping marble staircase dominated the entrance hall, seeming to run up to dizzying heights. As Grimm and his friends regarded the opulence of the decor, a young woman stepped out of a back room to stand behind a large, polished counter that ran the length of the far wall. Golden hair fell over her shoulders in flowing waves, and her pale, delicately-painted face wore a beaming smile.
"Welcome to Mansion House," she said, her cheeks dimpling. "May I ask how long will you be staying, gentlemen?" Her voice was soft and sweet, and Grimm felt himself almost lost in the depths of those large, lambent, blue eyes.
"Er, I'm not sure." The young mage felt lumpen and clumsy in the presence of this vision of feminine pulchritude, and tried not to notice the expanse of flesh revealed by her low-cut, white blouse. "One day, maybe two."
He sensed his face growing warm, and he coughed in an attempt to hide his unaccustomed bashfulness. As he stole a glance at his companions, he realised that he was not alone in his feelings. Even the cynical Guy seemed dumbstruck by this lovely girl's beauty, and Tordun's normally white face had turned a shade of puce.
It went beyond physical attraction; Grimm felt his heart pounding and his blood surging. He had only ever experienced such confusing feelings before when in Drexelica's amorous embrace. Even the girl's delicate perfume seemed to befuddle him.
"We usually ask our guests to register," she said, sweeping an errant lock of hair away from her eyes with a slender, long-fingered hand. The casual gesture only seemed to enhance her attractiveness. "However, I can tell you've had a long journey; I'm sure you'll want to bathe and relax for a while first. Your bags have been sent to your rooms, and I have a full receipt for your weapons."
"All in good time, Miss," the General said. He seemed to be the only member of the party not nonplussed to the point of idiocy by the lovely girl.
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