by Layton Green
The entire area west of the Mississippi River (called the Great River), including northern Mexico and most of Canada, was designated the Ninth Protectorate, then divided into large territories bearing such appellations as “Desert Tribes,” “Hill Troll Territory,” “Totem Lands,” and “Great Northern Forest.” The Pacific coast, from Canada to the Baja, was labeled Barrier Coast.
New Orleans was labeled New Victoria, and lay within the Fifth Protectorate. Will repeated the name a few times. New Victoria was the only city with a circled star, which according to the map’s legend, meant it was the capital of both the Fifth Protectorate and all of New Albion.
Miami was Port Nelson and capital of the Southern Protectorate, New York was Georgetown, and Chicago was a pinprick on the map labeled, unoriginally, Laketown. Will was intrigued to see that Roanoke was the capital of the First Protectorate, an area roughly equivalent to Virginia.
“I guess the Brits won a few more wars over here,” Val said. “That would explain the accents.”
Lance hovered over the map, his face pale and hands gripping the table. “What the hell.”
Caleb’s fingers drummed a nervous beat on his coffee cup as Will stared at the map in fascination. Was hill trolls a euphemism? Were those giant sea serpents and two dragons at the top merely illustrative, like antique globes back home? The map was akin to a nightmare where the framework of reality was still in place, yet with differences vast and terrifying.
Dotted lines labeled Protectorate Byways criss-crossed the map east of the Great River. Val traced his finger along one of the Byways from New Victoria to Savannah, the capital of the Eastern Protectorate. Below Savannah, roughly in the place of Jacksonville, was Limerick Junction, the supply stop Mala had mentioned.
“Anyone know how long it takes to ride a horse to Jacksonville?” Val asked.
“My grandfather kept horses,” Lance said, his voice remote. “Depends on conditions, but I’d guess two or three weeks. Though who knows,” he pointed out an area in northern Florida that fell within the Southern Protectorate but which had no byways, “how long that will take.”
Will remembered Mala’s ominous warning about an unmapped section of the Southern Protectorate, and he joined the others in silent contemplation.
What did the rest of the Americas look like, he wondered? Europe, Africa, Asia?
How could this be? What did it all mean?
Caleb pushed off his elbows. “You were right,” he said to Val.
“Hmm?”
“About last night,” Caleb said. “I’m sorry I put everyone in danger.”
Will knew Caleb’s apology was sincere, but he also knew from experience that it would happen again.
“Don’t sweat it,” Val said. “I think we all know better than to let our guard down again.”
“Look at it this way,” Will said. “We wouldn’t have met Mala if it hadn’t been for the bar fight.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said slowly. “About Mala and this insane journey. It seems a bit beyond our . . . capabilities. Shouldn’t we be focusing our efforts on getting back?”
“Getting back won’t do Charlie any good if we can’t deal with Zedock,” Will said.
“Getting killed won’t do him any good either. Or us.”
Lance pointed his coffee cup at him. “True dat.”
“Then we stay alive,” Val said. “We let Mala do the fighting, and turn back if needed.”
Lance snorted. “Kind of hard to turn back in the middle of a fight. Caleb’s right, I think we should work on figuring out a way back. When we get home, I’ll take care of our new neighbor with some twenty-first century firepower.”
“You haven’t seen Zedock in action,” Will muttered.
“We’ll see how he handles a couple of grenades shoved down his throat.”
“You’re impressive, but you don’t raise skeleton monsters or fly or toss dumpsters around like they’re soda cans. Not to mention that . . . shadow thing. We need something from this world to fight him. Something big.”
“Will’s right,” Val said quietly. “I shot him at point-blank range and the bullets fell at his feet. I still don’t know what I think about all of this, but I can’t deny the reality of it. As much as it scares the hell out of me, I think we should take advantage of this opportunity, go on this journey, and find something that can help us.”
“Besides,” Will said, “we’re overlooking a very important detail. We don’t know how to get back. I think I’d feel safer on a journey with Mala than walking around this city asking questions. Maybe we’ll even learn something about how to get home.”
“All good points,” Val said.
“Well, I disagree,” Lance said, “and I think we should vote.” He raised his hand. “Here’s one vote for not going on a cross-country journey to an abandoned wizard’s keep with a bunch of mercenaries.” He turned to Caleb. “You’re with me, right?”
“As much as this journey sounds like a bad idea,” Caleb said slowly, “I go where my brothers go.”
Lance looked away in disgust.
“Lance?” Will said. “We need you, man.”
The big man looked down and shook his head. “It’s not like I’m gonna leave you to the wolves.”
“Thanks,” Will said in relief.
“Thank me if we make it back.”
“Zedock got to our world,” Will added, “so we know there’s a way back. We just have to find it.”
Val rose for more coffee. “It was a good call not to tell Mala about the sword. If Zedock wants it that badly, there must be a reason. And we need to figure out what that is before we reveal our hand.”
“I think she’s trustworthy,” Will said. “And she knows about magical items.”
Caleb smirked. “You think she’s hot.”
“I think she’ll keep her word.”
“This is based on the five minutes you’ve known her,” Caleb said, “or the five people she killed in that time?”
“Just a feeling,” Will mumbled.
“Watch yourself with her, Will,” Val called out as he refilled his cup. “Don’t forget what she does for a living. She’s this world’s equivalent of an arms dealer.”
Lance tapped one of Caleb’s bracers. “Since I’ll be on the front lines, maybe I should take these off your hands. They shattered that knife like a cheap plate.”
“They’re Caleb’s,” Val said, with an edge to his voice.
Lance put his hands up. “Just sayin.’”
Caleb ran a hand over his bracers. His face was blank, but Will knew what he was thinking. Their father’s involvement and the lost journal was the elephant in the room no was willing to discuss—especially since it meant they had been lied to their entire lives.
Will took a final look at the map of New Victoria and blew out a breath. “So what do we do today?”
“Take Mala’s advice and stay alive,” Val said. He pulled a piece of paper and a blue pamphlet out of his pocket, and laid them on the table.
Will looked down. The pamphlet was a visitor’s brochure for the Museum of History of the Protectorate of New Albion. The piece of paper was an advertisement for the “One and Only New Victoria City Tour.”
“But that doesn’t mean it isn’t time for some answers,” Val finished.
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They opted for the city tour first, to get a sense of their surroundings. Judging from the brochure, they could hire a sightseeing carriage at the corner of Trafalgar and St. Charles, a short walk from their lodging on Magazine.
Sweat from the humid mid-morning air trickled down Will’s arms by the time they passed The Minotaur’s Den. Though hot and bulky, the leather jerkin gave him a measure of protection. He had his sword and Caleb had his bracers, but they had left Val’s staff at their lodging, reasoning it was safer locked up.
Trafalgar was a wide cobblestone street lined with contiguous homes and shops. Will saw blacksmiths and butchers and jewelers, a soap and candle maker, an herb shop, foo
d vendors, a potter, and an apothecary.
When they reached St. Charles, Caleb gripped Will’s arm. Still lost in his thoughts, Will looked up and found himself gazing upon a streetscape of ethereal beauty.
A handful of stone mansions dotted St. Charles back home, but in this alternate reality, every residence on St. Charles was a mansion, and each one seemed built of the same atmospheric, hoary gray stone. In fact, calling those behemoth residences, some of which comprised half a city block, mansions was a gross understatement. Miniature castles, he thought, was more appropriate. The gargantuan dwellings squatted behind a canopy of live oaks, turrets and gargoyles and statues floating in the morning fog, masses of crimson bougainvillea draping wrought iron balconies.
The tunnel of oaks lining the street was even more cavernous than back home, the Spanish moss more ghostly, the manicured grounds more pristine. In Will’s mind, St. Charles Avenue was already the most magnificent street in the world, but this version was something else, something out of a fairy tale.
“Step right up, gents, step right up and hire the Realm’s first and only city tour right ’ere. Six groats apiece or a drake for the lot o’ you, one silver drake.”
To Will’s left, he spied a bearded man in a top hat sitting atop a carriage, chewing on a pipe and waving a placard. The four of them piled into the open-top carriage, an air of hushed excitement overcoming them as the driver clicked the two horses into action. They clopped down the magnificent street in the direction of the French Quarter.
The people in the other carriages sharing the wide, smooth-stoned road reminded Will of Zedock in dress and comportment, and he wondered if any of them—or all of them—were wizards.
“This place puts the up in uptown,” Caleb said.
The driver spewed information in a thick English accent. As they left the Garden District and passed into what Will knew as the Central Business District, approaching those glorious colored spires, New Victoria’s status as a prominent metropolis became apparent. It was busy. People of all types and races hustled to and fro, including a party of heavily armed albino dwarves at which they all gawked.
A dizzying array of shops lined the cobblestoned streets, along with a slew of taverns and markets. Will saw stores that sent chills of excitement down his spine, such as Gareck’s Alchemical Supplies, the sprawling Adventurer’s Emporium, and a rare books and map store with an enticing Old World Creature Atlas in the window. There was also the Museum of Curios and Oddities, a shop staffed by someone called a phrenomancer, and, yes, the New Victoria Magick Shop, at which he could not stop staring.
Next came the Guild Quarter, a mixture of prosperous commercial guilds and edgier, adventurer-oriented associations. A collection of leather-garbed rogues hovering outside the Thieves and Beggars Guild eyed Will and his companions like prey.
“Look at that,” Caleb said in an awed whisper, nudging his head towards someone in a black cloak walking down the street. Will wondered what had caught Caleb’s eye, then caught a glimpse inside the hood and realized it wasn’t a person at all, but a humanoid with the head of a lizard.
Will saw Val grip the railing as he watched the lizard man walk by.
“Blackwood’s in heaven,” Lance muttered, his face pale.
They entered an austere section housing the government buildings, brick and marble monoliths that reminded Will of back home until one of the huge stone sphinxes flanking the Fifth Protectorate Capital Building turned its head as the carriage passed.
The ride only got richer and stranger. In place of the Superdome stood a silver-domed coliseum the driver pointed out as the “Spectacle Dome” and mentioned the popular live theater, gladiator fights, and wizardry shows that took place there. Ten blocks after that, the street dead-ended at a walled enclosure stretching as far as Will could see. A sign above the gate read New Victoria Bestiary, and a line of people waited to enter.
“The largest Bestiary this side o’ Londyn,” the driver called out. “Got yer typical selection of exotic beasts, plus a pair of ’ippogriffs, a black unicorn from the Dark Continent, an owlbear from Aussie Land, and the only sea dragon ever captured.”
Will strained to see over the wall for a glimpse of one of the legendary monsters. “Are there any manticores?”
The driver gave Will a funny look. “Where’d ye lads say yer from? Ye can’t keep an intelligent creature in a bestiary.”
“Intelligent?” Will asked weakly, despite Val’s look of warning.
“Ye’ve never seen an intelligent creature? Ye are country blokes! Some o’ them come from Mother Nature, some from the time before they regulated the Menagerists. Dark days, those.”
“The dragon’s not intelligent?”
“Right, then,” he said, looking embarrassed. “The wizards bring one in now and then to satisfy the public. They keep ’em locked up with magic, o’ course. I suspect the dragon’s none too pleased about it.”
They bypassed a higher-end shopping district, wandered through a bohemian neighborhood full of street side cafes, and then swung onto Canal Street, lined with a phalanx of restaurants with well-heeled patrons passing through velvet-draped entrances.
A golden bridge arced over the river at the end of Canal Street. Green parks and cafes stretched in a pleasing line along the banks of the river, and a collection of barges and pleasure boats lounged offshore. As Will watched, a woman flew high above the bridge from downriver, long hair streaming and arms outstretched, towards the colored spires.
The flying wizard made Will think of Zedock and then Charlie. A chill passed through him, as well as a stab of guilt at forgetting, even for one second, why they were there.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Caleb said, clutching his knees as the wizard passed overhead. “This is unbelievable.”
“It’s better if we see,” Val said grimly.
“I’m more of an ignorance is bliss kind of guy.”
Will studied the list of sites on the brochure. “According to this, we just have the French Quarter and the Wizard’s District left. And this is only the City Center Tour.”
They entered the French Quarter proper. Creaking wooden buildings leaned over the street, an unbroken line of balconies blocking the sunlight. Roiling with a smorgasbord of revelers and ne’er-do-wells, the Dickensian street scene felt like a grimmer, bolder version of Mardi Gras. Vice lurked at every turn: hanging lewdly off balconies, beckoning from doorways, disappearing down an alley, slithering around a corner. The stench of filth and unwashed bodies almost knocked Will off his feet.
In a span of seconds, Will saw a group of pirates swagger into a tavern, two whores drag each other to the ground by the hair, and a dwarf throw a lizard man through a window. Their guide bullied his way down Bourbon Street, waving and shouting obscenities as the horses kicked up mud and filth. A few blocks in, they passed a large bordello where women in low bodices leaned off the balconies, working the crowd.
Caleb climbed to his feet and waved at the women. They waved back. “This is more like it,” he said.
The driver turned and grinned, his teeth chipped and blackened. “There’s a good laddie.”
On the river side of the French Quarter, behind a spiked iron fence, a teeming bazaar stretched three blocks to the levee wall, extending to the sides as far as Will could see. He got whiffs of incense, animal dung, roasting meats, and a host of exotic odors.
The driver waved his arms in a flourish. “The Goblin Market. They say anythin’ your black hearts desire can be found within. And I do mean anythin.’”
They skirted the market and headed up Esplanade, alongside a stone wall looming at least twenty feet high. After a spell, the driver reined in the horses. “Tis’ our last stop of the day, and you won’t see a grander sight in all the Realm.”
Will didn’t need to ask where they were, because the final stop on the brochure’s itinerary had lodged itself ominously in his mind.
The Wizards’ District.
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An ornate iron gate, two stories high, granted access to the Wizards’ District. A huge line of people stretched in the opposite direction, and Will realized they were tourists waiting to pass through the entrance.
Two lithe and intense men with shaved heads, dressed in black robes cinched at the waist with silver belts, allowed people to enter with a curt nod.
“Majitsu,” the driver said in a low voice as they approached the black-robed men. “Wizard guards. Not that they need ’em, but the wizards hire ’em to handle their affairs an’ such.”
“Are they some type of martial artists?” Will said, though he had never seen a silver belt in the martial arts.
Then again, he had never seen a Goblin Market or an owlbear.
“Aye, though not like any ye’ve ever seen. Majitsu are people born with magic, but not enough to be a wizard. They learn to fight at the Academy, aye, but they be usin’ magic as well. I saw one of ’em put ’is fist right through a wooden shield, another climb a wall like a jungle cat. Nothin’ to worry about, though,” he said in an even lower voice, “unless ye cross one o’ their wizards.”
As they passed through the gate, Will had to pinch himself. The Wizard’s District was indeed the most wondrous sight in a day full of wonder. Each of the spired buildings he had seen from afar stood alone, separated by fifty yards or more, their manicured grounds surrounded by decorative walls and hedgerows. Pathways of inlaid mosaic tile led between and among the buildings, and pristine green spaces filled in the rest, giving the district a park-like feel.
Live oaks lined the pathways, vivid semi-tropical flowers draped the walls and hedges, groves of palm and banana trees shaded fountains and gathering spaces. And above it all, topping every single building, rose the magnificent spires, each one a different hue, hundreds of colored minarets as tall as the Empire State Building piercing the sky.
The driver cackled through tobacco-stained teeth. “Impressive, ain’t it?”