by Garon Whited
Firebrand turned it into a blackened spot and smoke. I went upstairs.
“You don’t stink anymore?” Mary asked.
“I have spells for that.”
“Oh. Right. Can I have one? Or do I get a bath?”
I worked a cleaning spell for her and she shuddered as it rolled her transformation byproducts off. She stepped away immediately and shivered, looking at the glop on the floor.
“That,” she shuddered, “was extremely weird.”
“Get used to it,” I advised. “It’s the fastest way I know to get clean.”
“I think I prefer a bath.”
“I’m a shower man, myself, but I agree.”
Firebrand torched the puddle and we went back to the Palace. I had to repeat my introduction to the bouncer, but it had the same result. We found nothing new. The Imperial quarters seemed up for grabs, so we grabbed them.
On next trip to the Palace, this time bringing our stuff, I paused to examine the lesser statues in more detail. They were dusty, even the intact ones, but the broken ones seemed to be missing pieces. The larger parts were still there, but dust and chips that should have been on the floor were gone. The janitors didn’t clean the statues or clear away the larger parts, but maybe they cleaned up anything small enough to be vacuumed up? I’m assuming they don’t actually vacuum, of course, but maybe they clean the floor of tiny bits?
Still, the surviving smaller statues were detailed and wonderfully done. They were also dressed oddly. They wore clothing of various sorts, not the fashions of Zirafel. They seemed out of place, even out of time. They simply had no business being there.
We finished moving into the top floor and tried out the tubs. Hot tub, cold plunge, and warm soak, all three of the pools were extra-large. We could cozily fit a dozen people in each. That might have been the point, though; a high-level meeting might involve a fancy meal and social bathing. The Empire didn’t have the same nudity taboos as some cultures. Mary liked the hot tub; I preferred the warm soaking pool. I even identified and activated a water-moving spell to make it swirl and bubble. It was delightfully relaxing.
Someone screamed. It echoed through the Palace. It was a good scream.
I didn’t feel any alarm from Bronze, so it wasn’t a squad of holy hitmen come to fry me—I didn’t expect any, either; I was still wearing my predecessor’s amulet and one of my own cloaking spells. They shouldn’t even know I was in the world. Bronze seemed interested in a group of men, but not concerned.
I relayed this to Mary as we climbed out of the tub, dried off, and dressed for trouble.
We went downstairs cautiously and did a slow advance on the sounds. Outside, on the portico, half a dozen men argued about what to do. They were all dressed for cold weather and armed. Their breath plumed in the morning air. They didn’t speak Rethven; it sounded more like Iynerian.
Crap.
“Hang on a second,” I whispered to Mary.
“What’s going on?” she whispered back.
“I have to find out what I know about the Iyner.”
“You’re going to have to explain that.”
“The ghosts I ate, along with the living people, leave impressions behind, right?”
“Right.”
“I recognize the language as Iynerian. I don’t know anything about Iyner. So I’m going into my headspace and looking up Iyner. I thought I had it worked out so this sort of thing would be automatic, but apparently having a hatchway into the basement and a bout of demon-possession does bad things to my mental automation.”
“Uh, okay. I’ll… stand here. And keep an eye on things.”
“Thank you.” I went into my headspace and sat down at the desk.
Half an hour later—internal time—I knew what I knew about the Province of Iyner. Iyner was one of the cities on the coast of this continent—the Land of the West—and was located much farther east of Zirafel and slightly south. Overall, it was largely unremarkable. It raised good horses in the hills surrounding it, had a pretty fair wine industry, and raised a number of spices for export. I didn’t know much about it in the modern era, of course, but I assumed it was still there. These people spoke a dialect descended from the Imperial tongue, but not the same as the Rethven tongue. They were similar enough to be recognizable as related languages, though.
I didn’t know Iynerian, not really; I was merely familiar with it from traders, merchants, and suchlike that I’d eaten. Between that and my knowledge of Rethven and Imperial… At a guess, I could understand it with some trouble, but I wouldn’t be able to talk coherently.
I came out of my headspace; only a few minutes had gone by. Mary was still eyeballing the strangers at the door.
“Any luck?” she asked, softly.
“Yes and no. I can’t speak their language, but I have a spell for that. Anything new?”
“Yes. I noticed something about the small statues.”
“What?” I peeked around the corner at them. They didn’t seem to have moved.
“There’s a new one. The one on the far right. See? He looks scared and is dressed like the men outside.”
“You’re right.”
“Could he have been turned to stone?” she asked. “I remember something in mythology that turned people to stone. Medusa? Gorgon? Harpy? Something like that, from the vids. Do they have things like that here?”
“That’s… a good question.” I pondered it for a moment. There were spells which could cause transformations. They were generally fatal, though. Of course, if the objective was to kill an intruder, turning him to stone had its good points. You might find out who he was—someone might recognize him—and there wasn’t much of a mess, provided he didn’t fall over and shatter. Plus, if that was your aesthetic taste, you got a garden ornament out of it.
“Yes,” I agreed, finally. “They do. And I think he was.”
“How? And don’t say ‘Magic!’”
“Okay. My guess is failing to answer the doorman’s challenge causes bad things to happen. I doubt these people speak a dead language, so when it asked the latest bit of pre-statuary who he was, he couldn’t answer. It might have activated another magical function to inflict a transformation on him.”
“See, that’s what I need to know. The doorman-statue did it.” She nodded. “Good. I’ll bear it in mind. And I want language lessons as soon as possible.”
“Agreed.”
“Thanks. So, do we ignore the new guys? Or do we say hello? I mean, is it worth it?”
“We won’t know until we meet them,” I pointed out.
“I suppose. Want me to cover you? You’re the one with the translation spell.”
“No, let’s go say hello together. I think they’ll be less likely to start anything if there are two of us. Besides, I doubt they’ll come in when one of their guys got stoned to death.”
We strolled around the corner, Mary holding on to my left arm. She could drop her hands to draw guns or knives and it kept my right hand free to draw Firebrand. And, of course, Bronze was outside, somewhere behind them, pretending to be another statue.
The men saw us and stopped talking. They didn’t say anything until we halted just inside the door.
“Good morning,” one of them offered, or near enough. He was a tall, lantern-jawed fellow and reminded me of Abraham Lincoln without the beard. Much more swarthy, though, or maybe well-tanned.
“Good morning,” I replied. “Do any of you speak Rethven?” One of them did. “Oh, good. I recognize Iynerian, but I don’t speak it. Would any of you mind a translation spell?”
It turns out one of them was a wizard. We both worked our spells under the watchful eye of the other. Straight-up translators, nothing more.
“That’s better. Everyone understand everyone, now?” There was general agreement.
“We’re from Ynar, not this Iynerian place,” the lantern-jawed fellow told me.
“My apologies. I don’t speak Ynarian, but it sounds a lot like Iynerian, which I spe
ak badly. My own fault for confusing them. Ynar is a kingdom?”
“Yes. It’s east of here, on the coast.”
Figures. Iyner became Ynar.
“Are you two living here?” the lantern-jawed fellow wanted to know.
“For the moment, yes. I’m sorry; I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m called Halar; this is Mary.”
“I’m Bellons,” he introduced himself, accenting the second syllable. “This is Tryne, his brother Krone, and Maragus, Pelter, and Vort.” Each nodded as his name came up.
“Pleased to meet you all.”
“We’d like our friend back, if you don’t mind.” He gestured at the latest statue.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know how that happened. We only recently found the place, ourselves.”
“But you didn’t get turned to stone.”
“No, obviously not. I’m not entirely sure why he did. Did he do something to aggravate the house guardians?”
“You mean the statues?” Maragus asked. He was a big man, broad-shouldered, and leaned on a large, two-handed hammer. I doubted it was for hammering tent stakes. It gave the impression of something for driving breastplates into ribcages.
“The big ones, yes. They seem to be harmless as long as you don’t make them angry. You wouldn’t like them when they’re angry.”
“He didn’t do nothing. One of ’em came up and talked to him in a weird language, then poof, he was a rock.”
“That’s odd,” I admitted. “I don’t know how to undo a transformation like that, but I can probably haul him out for you, if you like.”
“That would be a big help,” Bellons agreed. So I picked up the statue and carried it to the threshold. This impressed everybody; it was life-sized and solid stone. I held it in place while they carefully tilted him over, out the door, and shuffled away to lay him down.
“You seem to have this place pretty much figured out,” Bellons reflected, when the statue was safely arranged. “I don’t suppose you’d care to let us in on the secret?”
“There isn’t a secret,” I told him. “I don’t upset the house guardians, that’s all.”
“And why is that?”
“I speak the language.”
“Imperial?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes. I can answer their questions.”
“Ohhhh!” interjected Vort, their wizard. “They challenge whoever enters. When Frosh didn’t answer, they stoned him.”
“That explains that,” Bellons agreed, nodding thoughtfully, “but how are we going to get in?”
“Excuse me,” I asked. “Why, exactly, would you want to get in?”
“You’ve seen the place. It’s loaded with valuables.”
“Ah. Now that Zirafel isn’t cursed anymore, people are after the loot.” I nodded. “That makes perfect sense.”
“I’m so glad you approve. I don’t suppose you’d give us the passwords?”
“How about I make you a counter-offer?”
“I’m listening.”
“The Palace doesn’t have much in the way of portable wealth,” I told him. “Sure, there’s fancy old furniture and a couple of magical cleaning constructs, but not much you can stuff in a sack and take home. Cups are bulky; knives and such cut the sack open—it’s trouble. On the other hand, Zirafel also had a treasury.”
Ding, ding, ding! I had their undivided attention.
“I don’t care if you loot the ruins,” I told them. “I don’t want trouble with anyone, and you’re welcome to carry off whatever you can lift, carry, or just plain drag away. All we really want is to be able to come and go and live here in the Palace without anyone trying to bother us. If I tell you where the treasury is, will you play nice? Leave the Palace alone and be civilized, polite people to me and my lady?”
“You want to swap the treasury for the Palace?”
“Kind of, I guess. Yes. I’ll claim the Palace and you can claim the treasury. Does that sound fair?”
“If we can find the treasury,” Bellons mused, “we should have more money than we can carry.”
“Probably. I don’t know, but it seems likely. Even if the treasury is too much trouble, you have a whole city to loot.”
“If we have more money than we can carry, we don’t need to take anything from you, and we don’t need this building. I’m not seeing how this works in your favor.”
“I’m a wizard. I want to study the place. I’m not here for the money. If I was, I’d be at the treasury.”
“Huh.” Bellons pulled at his lower lip for a moment, thinking. “All right.”
“So, you agree?”
Vort tugged on Bellons’ sleeve and whispered to him for a minute. I heard his cautions about making promises to wizards, especially strange wizards with impressively-magical swords living in ancient ruins who speak dead languages and know their way around suspiciously well. I got the impression Bellons was the leader, but Vort might be the brains.
“All right,” Bellons said, finally. “I agree to your terms.”
I gave them directions to the treasury.
“But,” I cautioned, “remember: Zirafel built the Great Arch and wasn’t afraid to put magical safeguards on things. Their magicians were impressively skilled. So take your time, check everything thoroughly, and take no chances, okay? I doubt any mechanical traps or locks are still in any shape to function after all this time, but that’s not a guarantee. You’re going after a big treasure; it’s sure to be protected with something that hasn’t yet fallen apart.”
“We’ll be on our guard,” Bellons promised. “Good morning to you, sir. And to you, dame.” He made a quick gesture, a hand over his face, swung aside suddenly as though opening a visor. He and his friends headed off to find the treasury of Zirafel. They left Frosh’s statue behind, but I suppose that was pure practicality. They could come back for it. It’s not like he was going to suffer in the meantime.
“You know,” Mary mentioned, watching them go, “I think the brothers, Tryne and Krone, haven’t seen a woman in a while.”
“I noticed them staring at you, too. It’s possible they’ve never seen a woman in a tight outfit like that. They’re probably more used to women in skirts and blouses and robes.”
“Really? You think I should change?”
“No. When and if we get to some sort of civilization, we can see if we need to blend in. You’re going to be outstanding no matter where we go, though.”
Mary smiled at me for that and took my arm again.
“You think they’ll be okay?”
“No idea. They’ve traveled a long way to even get here; that says good things about their competence, if not their wisdom. They also have brains enough to send someone in first to see if things try to eat him. They stand a decent chance of dealing with whatever troubles the treasury might give them.”
“And if they don’t, we’ll hear the screaming.”
“Possibly. Speaking of hearing things, I need to call T’yl directly and see what’s going on. Want to come along?”
“Sure. I’d love to learn how to use a smartmirror. Do we get good signal in an ancient, ruined city at the edge of the world?”
“I’ve got a fantastic carrier.”
Mary helped me work with the mirror on the third floor. It was surprisingly large and mounted on the wall of a bedroom. I wasn’t sure it if was meant to be an accessory to the bed or a full-length dressing mirror. Either way, it served quite well as a scrying and communications mirror. It was like having a big-screen television for a video call.
Finding T’yl was something of a challenge. The last time I was in Karvalen, I put up a pretty good series of anti-scrying defenses. They were still there and as brutally unpleasant as ever. Mary didn’t recognize the false image of a huge, flaming eye, but she agreed it was a wonderful special effect. I mourned her lack of classic fantasy education.
Eventually, I rummaged around in my headspace and squeezed out the information I needed. The trick to communicating wit
h anyone in Karvalen—at least, from the outside—was to know the exact, specific details of a mirror on the inside. That’s why there’s a room devoted to that, so princes and other nobility can call the capitol directly. The information I needed was the set of particulars that defined mirrors we set up in the capitol.
It was hard to remember the phone numbers of the various mirrors. I’ve had a bad decade, okay?
I took aim at a specific mirror, charged the spell, and let fly.
Okay, that one wasn’t available. Maybe it was broken, or had an active connection going. I picked another mirror at random from my memory and tried again—same result. I worked my way through the list, grumbling about inventing call waiting signals, until we got a connection. Finally, the image in the mirror rippled and swam, altering to a view of a young lady. She was dark-haired and wore it in a wraparound braid high on her head. She wore a dark blue tunic and had cross-body ribbon over left shoulder with an embroidered badge on it. I couldn’t see anyone else; she seemed to be sitting at a table or desk in a niche while she faced the mirror.
“May I help—” she began, then screamed piercingly and severed the connection.
“That was odd,” I noted.
“I’d say. Your face is prettier than that,” Mary offered. “At night, I’d understand her reaction, but during the day, you look pretty good. You do need a shave, though.”
I rubbed my hand along my jaw and chin, using a spell along with the movement.
“Better?”
“Much. But have you considered growing a beard?”
“Too messy.”
“Blood soaks in on you, remember?”
“Huh. Good point. Would you like me to grow a beard?”
“Let’s try it out and I’ll let you know. I think it might look good on you.”
“You should have said so before I shaved, but I’ll start now. My hair-growing spell is still running; give it a couple of days. Meanwhile, do you think I should call her back?”
“She seemed pretty agitated,” Mary mused. “Let’s give her a few minutes.”