The sudden, violent storm had ended by the time Pryce Covington reached the end of the long line of people waiting outside the Lallor Gate. He stood on the opposite side of the road, surveying the setup.
The line outside the gate was actually two lines: one very short, along a beautifully paved rock roadway; and one very long, in a muddy pathway that looked more like a narrow ditch, created by decades of hopeful immigrants desperate for an opportunity to prove their worth to the founding fathers of this bay-side retreat.
The two roads ran parallel, nestled between a cunningly constructed landscape, obviously designed for both beauty and security. Although greenery and foliage were much in evidence, the plants were trimmed low, so no lines of sight were obscured. Only narrow blooms and shrubbery were planted, so there were no real hiding places for any thief or attacker to use as cover.
Standing amid the carefully tended plants and flowers, Pryce considered the two roads that led to the Lallor Gate. He saw that the paved road was similar to the wall that surrounded the city, in that it seemed to be constructed of interlocking stones, only these were a good deal smaller and more jewel-like than those used in the wall. Perhaps Gamor hadn’t been exaggerating when he called Lallor the jewel of Halruaa!
No, Pryce thought, it couldn’t be. These couldn’t be dull, uncut gemstones! If they were, the magic protecting them must have been prodigious. Besides, why tempt every thief from the seaport of Githim in the south to the Bandit Wastes hundreds of miles to the north? Even if they weren’t actual jewels, it was an impressive entry path for those wealthy or powerful enough to use it.
Pryce’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at the wall, then down the divided road to the Lallor Gate. Even from this distance, the gate was obviously a magnificent construction. The woodworking was exquisite and seemed to shine in places, as if the logs were mortared with silver and gold. Pryce’s eyes narrowed even more as he tried to make out a subtle design amongst the interweaving vines and bark.
Suddenly, incredibly, a large eye opened at the very top of the gate. It had to be twenty feet across, stretching from one side of the gate opening to the other. The pupil was as black as darkest night, the white as milky as the stars in the sky. But between the two was an oval that changed color from brown to blue to green in rapid succession.
At first Pryce Covington thought the giant eye was looking straight through him, but soon he realized that it was following the progress of a newcomer who had been granted entry to the city. It watched carefully as the man slowly hurried… that is, the man was clearly in a hurry to make his way inside Lallor, but careful not to show the witnessing eye any disrespect. He was actually hurrying slowly.
Pryce made a face like a frog, his lips stretching as far down as they could go on either side. Then his mouth bounced back to its natural mildly pleasant expression, and he made his way nonchalantly across the gemstone road to the line of refugees. He trudged to take up his position behind the last person in line, careful not to jostle or disturb him.
After all, suspicion of outsiders was commonplace in Halruaa. It was a rich nation and quite exclusive. Having faced invasions on a regular basis from jealous outsiders, Halruans had become cautious by nature. Pryce appreciated this and tried to be as considerate as his ego would let him. Cautiously avoiding puddles, he waited at the very end of the long line, deciding that the wait was probably a good thing. It would give him time to figure out what he was going to do.
More of his father’s words reached him through the murk of his memory. “Every day is another play,” he recalled with remarkable clarity. “Think of your life as a comedy-drama with you as the hero. Prepare yourself for every eventuality as if your god were a master playwright. Then comport yourself as you would want your hero to behave. Be the star of your own life!” For an abandoning scoundrel who had left him next to nothing, Pryce’s father had managed to tell his only son a lot of useful things.
Pryce shrugged off the memory. He had two dead bodies to worry about, which had complicated his life more than anything he had previously experienced. Even so, he decided that he had come too far to stop now. After all, he had already torn up his Merrickartian roots to travel hundreds of miles down the Nath, past Lake Maeru, over the River Maeru, to the dangerous Lallor Pass. It was a tiny strip of serviceable land wedged between the undead-riddled ruins of the Zalasuu-Assundath Swamp, the monster-infested mountains of the Zhal Strip, and the bandit-filled desert of the Lower Swagdar outlaw wastes.
Even if he had wanted to return after experiencing the rendezvous-gone-wrong, he wasn’t going to tempt fate twice by trying his luck in the pass again. No, better to wait and take his chances in Lallor. The question now was to tell or not to tell? The odds favored the fact that Gamor was already well established within these walls. How else could he have acquired the magic necessary to contact Pryce with a talking face of dust? Why else would he have promised Pryce a cushy job for life? Besides, the owner of the cloak Pryce now wore was probably a quite successful individual, if his subtle yet impressive garments were any evidence.
Maybe Pryce wouldn’t have to risk revealing the fates of his former partner and his unknown companion. Maybe someone inside the city would report them missing. That made good sense, given what he knew about Lallor. The Lallor inquisitrixes prided themselves on their security. Only the finest law-enforcing inquisitrixes could work in Lallor, and that was only after many years of service and extensive biyearly tests. Naturally they would want to secure their jobs by being as efficient as humanly possible. That meant letting no missing person remain missing for long.
A search would eventually have to turn up the bodies, and then Covington could take his chances with any clues he might have left at the Mark of the Question. He would have hidden the cloak long before then… or at least have changed the impressive clasp!
Pryce noticed that the man waiting in line in front of him had turned in Covington’s direction. Pryce suddenly realized that he must have been grunting, whispering aloud, and making faces as he considered his options. He opened his mouth to apologize, then shut it again. The man wasn’t looking at him as if he were a gibbering idiot or even an annoyance. In fact, he wasn’t actually looking into his eyes at all. He was looking at Pryce’s chin, averting his gaze as if he were facing some sort of deity.
The man’s mouth was moving as if he were trying to say something. His hands started fluttering like a bird with its wings clipped. Then the arms started making little sweeping motions in front of him. “P-P-P-Please,” he said to Pryce. “I beg your pardon, good sir?”
“No, no, I beg your pardon. Please… I would take it as an honor if you would… take my place in line.” “Really?”
“Please. You would honor me.”
Pryce contemplated this odd but pleasant turn of events. He tried to come up with various reasons for it, but nothing believable was forthcoming. He couldn’t very well turn down the kind offer… that would be unforgivably rude. There was nothing to do but accept the man’s place in line and thank him properly later.
Covington stepped forward, drawing the interest of the next man in line. That man glanced back, started to turn forward again, then whipped his head back toward Pryce as if it had been yanked by a steel cable. He blinked up at Pryce, his mouth dropped open, and he backed up into the person in front of him. That individual whirled around and started to complain, but he saw that the man wasn’t looking at him. He followed the first man’s gaze to Pryce’s visage.
“Byby all the magic in Talath!” the latter man breathed, then took the former man’s arm and pulled them both out of Covington’s way. “Please, sir… if you would…”
“I would be delighted,” Pryce said with feeling. “Thank you very much.” He took position in front of them, standing his tallest, then shook his head with a disbelieving smile. Everyone in Merrickarta had told him that the Lallorians were tighter than an Akhluarian sinkhole, but he was receiving nothing but the utmost courtesy. Well, he was taller than everyone else in line, and from what he could tell, younger as well. And if he were pressed, well, then, sure, better-looking, too.
Pryce cocked his head and smiled with pleasure. That’s when the old woman in front of him noticed him. She looked all the way up his thin figure, then stopped at his face. Her head came out from under her hood like a turtle peering out of its shell. “Itit’s you!”
Pryce looked at her kindly. What could he say, really? “None other,” he replied pleasantly.
She rapidly gathered up her skirts and started to shuffle farther back into the line.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Pryce said earnestly, trying to direct her back to her position in front of him.
“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” the woman muttered, still trying to get around him. “I insist… you must…” She feinted to the right, and when Pryce moved in that direction, she slipped by and stood triumphantly beside the others behind him.
Pryce looked at the satisfied little band, who were looking back at him like proud parents, then shrugged and turned toward the gate. He stood there for a few moments with his fists on his hips, then politely tapped the shoulder of the next person in line.
“Hello,” he said.
The person whose shoulder he had tapped only gaped, his jaw dropping, then rising again, like a fish out of water. Finally he stepped aside.
Pryce took an exaggerated step forward. He slowly leaned down, placing his head just over the shoulder of the next person in line. “Excuse me?” he said affably. The man grunted in reply. “How long have you been waiting?” Pryce asked, undeterred. The man grunted again. “Pardon me?” Pryce continued. “I didn’t hear what you said. What was that again?”
“I said” the man began angrily, but by then he had turned to look at the intrusive questioner. “IIII said, uh, I said I shouldn’t be standing in the way of a man of your reputation! Sir, I beg you…”
‘Tour place in line?” Covington suggested, already moving forward. “You’re too kind.” It seemed that youth, vitality, and pleasant looks were at a premium at the Lallor Gate. Pryce rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Cushy job for life indeed! If the respect and kindnesses of these people were any evidence, he was going to like it here… a lot!
He wasn’t even daunted by the grave gate guard who got closer and closer as each successive person saw Pryce, did a double take, and then offered him his or her place in line. The only thing that gave him pause was what looked like a difficult test that awaited him when he reached the one person between him and the big-eyed gate itself.
The first man in linea skinny, nervous sort with an Adam’s apple that skipped up and down like a bouncing ballcouldn’t give up his place because he was already in the midst of the entry examination. It soon became abundantly clear that access to Lallor came only after a thorough explanation of who you were and a complete examination of what you could be.
An admissions clerk in a thick, elegant hooded vestment sat behind a floating slab of marble, upon which rested a pile of parchment. The man’s face was living proof of the law of gravity. Everything was sinking on his wizened visage, from the bags under his watery blue eyes to the jowls that hung like a hairless beard on either side of a mouth that looked like an upside-down horseshoe.
Standing slightly behind this clearly disapproving character was a stone golem, a more classic example of which Pryce could hardly imagine. Nine and a half feet tall, at least two thousand pounds, and chiseled to look like a cross between a gigantic headstone and a huge tree trunk, it loomed menacingly between the clerk and the gate.
Its rock eyes were closed, its nose flat and wide, and its long lips gave an impression of being slightly irked. Its body had only the merest suggestion of legs, giving Pryce the distinct feeling that it could not be tipped or knocked over. The most impressive and noticeable aspect of the thing, however, was its hands. They were huge and flat, seemingly made to create thunder if the creature ever applauded. Covington could imagine a Lallor invader getting his head turned to flatbread by a single resounding clap. The monstrous golem had the effect it was no doubt created for: to discourage anyone except the most foolhardy or suicidal from making a run for the freedom and prosperity that Lallor promised.
Pryce’s previous bravado disappeared like a popping soap bubble. He gritted his teeth in concern and drew in a long breath. Then he became aware of the admissions clerk’s questions to the only person who remained between Pryce and the head of the line.
“Race?” The gatekeeper’s voice was similar to his face: heavy, thick, and deep.
“Human,” the small, bent, thin person in front of Pryce said quickly and quietly, manhandling his hat nervously.
The clerk suddenly went on quickly, as if the nervous man hadn’t spoken. “A, dwarf; B, elf; C, gnome; D, half-elf; E, halfling; F, human; G, other.”
“Uh, that would be F, sir. Yes, definitely F.”
The clerk ignored the dithering. He seemed only to hear the letter “F” and duly marked it down with a quill pen. Then he continued the interrogation, his voice again somber and slow. “Class?”
The man waited for the clerk to continue, but when he didn’t, the befuddled person felt compelled to say, “Some schooling, sir…”
“A, bard; B, priest; C, vagabond; D, warrior; E, wizard; F, other.”
“Oh! Uh… C, I suppose… No, A! Yes, that’s right, A” The clerk stopped dead, then looked up slowly, ominously. “Well, which is it? A or C?”
The skinny man’s eyes flicked nervously to the expressionless, motionless golem. “I have traveled many miles, sir,” he said with a wan smile. “I wish to be an entertainer for the good people within the city.”
The clerk stared at him silently. Pryce found himself holding his breath, but suddenly the silence was broken as the clerk sonorously said “C,” marked it down, then continued quickly. “Are you, or have you ever known, a thief?”
The nervous man chirped, “No, sir!”
“Do you possess skills in pickpocketing, lock opening, trap removal, camouflage, wall climbing, shadow hiding, or silent movement?” Pryce inwardly winced at mention of the second item, plus the last three. He began to work his mouth nervously, stretching his lips across his teeth, in preparation for the coming interview. This was not going to be easy… not with that big eye above them, watching for any sign of discomfort, and the golem below, waiting to act as official bouncer.
“No, sir, I assure you,” said the little man earnestly. “I only want to entertain, and I hope to find favor with the good people of Lallor.”
“How long do you intend to audition?” the clerk intoned, looking up from his parchment.
At this question, the man started to relax. “I think I would need only a fortnight permit, sir. By then I’m sure I could show my worth.”
“Fine,” said the clerk brusquely, seemingly no longer concerned with the man. He was now paying attention only to his parchment, where he was rapidly writing something, the quill pen jiggling busily. But just as the little man finally felt comfortable enough to breathe a sigh of relief and release a broad smile, the clerk looked up again suddenly and said, ‘Two men play five games of chance. Each man wins the same number of games, and there are no ties. How can this be?”
“Whawhat?” the surprised little man stammered.
‘Two men. Five games. Each wins. No ties. How?”
“I… but… how does this
“Come, come, sir,” the gatekeeper burbled reasonably. “Surely you didn’t think that desire was enough to secure entry to Lallor.
We are an exclusive community, sir. We must know that those who seek to entertainespecially those who seek to entertain have their wits about them. Now, come along, please hurry. How can two men play five games with no ties and both win?”
“I’m sorry.” The little man was first confused, then desperate, then crestfallen. “II”
Pryce put a hand on his shoulder. “They weren’t playing each other,” he whispered.
“What?”
“The two men weren’t playing each other,” he repeated. “That’s the only way they could both win an equal number of games.”
Comprehension spread across the little man’s face. The reaction of the clerk, however, was not so beneficent. He struggled to his feet, both fists shaking on the floating marble slab. “I beg your pardon, sir!” he said angrily. “How dare you?”
Pryce knew he had to think and talk even faster now. If that golem was psychically attuned to the clerk’s emotions, his head was applesauce. There was only one thing to do: Distract attention from himself.
“I apologize, but it is imperative I speak to someone in authority. It is about my friend. Gamor Turkal____________________ ” To his amazement,
Pryce watched the clerk’s wrathful expression melt, then, even more incredibly, rise like a basset hound being offered prime steak. The clerk then repeated his previous admonition, but the tone this time was one of apology.
“Sir… I beg your pardon!”
“Yes, yes,” Pryce said humbly. “But my friend Gamor…” He started to point back down the road.
“Of course, sir!” the clerk interrupted, hurrying around the floating marble slab. “Gamor Turkal told us of your coming. We have been waiting for you!”
‘You have?”
“Of course,” the clerk said enthusiastically, raising an arm to put over Pryce’s shoulders, then thinking better of it. “We’ve been awaiting your arrival for some time.”
Pryce blinked. His mind had been ready for a lot of things, but not this. “Really? Well, the storm slowed me down a bit, and then there were the dangers of the pass____________________ ”
“Oh, we knew you would make quick work of them,” the clerk said dismissively. “But come, come. You must be hungry and thirsty after your journey.” Only then did the clerk feel secure enough to take Pryce by the shoulders and lead him toward the open gate.
“Butbut,” Pryce stammered, pointing back at the line of staring pilgrims, “shouldn’t I take the test?”
“Oh, pshaw,” the clerk said. “This test isn’t for you! Only you would think of having the humility to stand in line and take the entrance exam. Your kindness and consideration have not been exaggerated!” He drew Pryce under the gate’s eye, which followed his every move. Covington stared back at the thing, concerned that it might be looking down into his very soul.
“What a beautiful shade of blue,” he said with a toothy but mirthless grin, watching it. “No, green. Now brown!”
The clerk actually chuckled, his many sagging facial parts jiggling like coin sacks. “The Eye of the Inquisitrix,” he said cheerily. “No one enters, of course, without being recorded. Not even you!”
“Sound thinking,” Pryce said, managing to wrest his own eyes away from the ominous cyclopic orb above him. “Very wise.” Then he was inside the gate.
“Sir,” the clerk said demurely, “I can’t begin to tell you what an honor it is that I should be the one to welcome you to our humble city. And that I, Matthaunin Witterstaet, should be allowed to… well, sir, I don’t want to embarrass you, but I shall be telling my nieces and nephews that these hands actually touched…!” The old fellow couldn’t go on, which was just as well, because Pryce wasn’t listening to him. Instead, he was marveling at the exclusive “Jewel of Halruaa.” Whatever might happen to him from that moment on, he would never forget his first look at Lallor.
Both the city and the wall had been built very cunningly and very well. The wall encircled three quarters of the municipality and nestled on the highest elevation of the city. Beyond the wall, the city sloped lazily down to the shoreline of Lallor Bay. As Pryce had discovered earlier, only the very tops of the city’s highest castles could be seen from outside the wall. The slope also kept everyone who waited in line to take the entrance examination from seeing too much of the glory that was Lallor.
One glance told Covington that only Halruaa’s best and brightest would dare live amidst such splendor. He resisted the temptation to rub his eyes and tried to act as if he weren’t overwhelmed. The buildings were of various widths and sizes, but they all seemed to grow out from the lush green vegetation that surrounded them, interspersed with refreshing splashes of riotous color from rare pollandry plants.
Some buildings were classic mansions of tan and dark brown plaster, while others were extensive cottages of precious stone. All were veritable palaces of the most amazing design and construction. Others appeared like huge bulbs of both organic material and opaque glass. The bulbs were not only of many dusky colors but also of many shapes, some more pointed and some more round, but all large enough to comfortably house extended families.
Pryce’s head craned forward to look closer at the landscape. He thought he could see movement within these amazing walls, but it might have been a reflection from the clouds and the sparkling bay. Shaking his head in wonder, he looked over his shoulder to see the more familiar castles that befit the great wizards of any Halruan city. These low, wide constructions almost formed an inner wall of their own, which stretched from one end of the city wall to the other.
“I hope our unassuming little community doesn’t disappoint a man of your travels and experiences,” the admission clerk intoned modestly.
Pryce turned on him with smiling insight. “Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think… what did you say your name was again, my good man?”
The admission clerk’s jowls shook as he moved his head back in surprise, then widened as his smile of appreciation grew. “Matthaunin Witterstaet, at your service! And, if I may say so, sir, you are as perceptive as everyone has alleged.”
“Everyone?” But before Pryce could pursue the point further, an impressive woman marched purposefully up to stand before them. Her sudden appearance made Pryce aware that the splendid architecture had distracted him from the well-mannered, well-dressed people who went about their everyday business on the wide, well-maintained streets.
The woman stood about five feet, three inches tallthe top of her sandy-colored hair came to his sternumand she must have weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. When Pryce finished examining the small feet wedged into skintight boots, bandy but well-shaped legs in dark hide pants, small but powerful torso within the U-necked, blood-red tunic with the white-and-gold-dotted black epaulets, he concentrated on the face above the deep-purple cowled cape that swept off her shoulders and brushed the cobblestoned road at her feet.
Big, dark blue eyes, a snout of a nose, high, prominent cheekbones, and thin, thin, thin lips. Make that lip, singular, he thought. The top one was merely a straight gash a few centimeters above her sharp chin. Not to the least of Covington’s surprise, her sandy hair was pulled back in a tight, short pigtail.
“A hale and hearty morning to you, Greeter,” she said to the clerk in a not entirely pleasant reedy voice.
“And a hale and hearty morning to you, Inquisitrix,” he replied. He moved both arms toward Pryce, as if presenting him as a long-sought prize. “And this is”
“You don’t have to tell me who this is!” she interrupted, smiling up at Pryce. He noticed that her incisors were a bit sharper than normal. “One look told me. I would not, could not, make a mistake about him!” She shot out a hand. “Berridge Lymwich, Mystran Inquisitrix of the first rank, at your service, sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you after all I’ve heard.”
He took her hand. It was cold and hard, her grip like a vise. Pryce winced and quickly pulled his hand free. “If your pleasure is as great as your strength,” he said, “then you must be delirious with joy.”
Lymwich’s chin went down, her mouth opened, and she blinked. Then she brayed a loud laugh. The clerk leaned toward her, a twinkle in his eye. “Is he not everything we’ve heard?”
She looked Pryce up and down appraisingly. “And more!” She put one foot behind the other and half-bowed, half-curtsied. ‘Truly, sir, a pleasure to meet you.”
‘Thank you,” Pryce replied, fluttering his own hand to make sure all the bones and knuckles were still in place. Then he shook a finger at her. “You Lallorians keep surprising me with your friendliness. I was told that I would be lucky to receive much more than an occasional glance, certainly nothing as familiar as a handshake.”
Lymwich allowed another laugh to escape with a bray, marveling at his amiable forthrightness. “Now, who told you that?” she asked with a certain familiarity. “Has Geerling been telling you tales?”
Pryce’s eyebrows raised. Geerling? Geerling who? Or what? But before he could inquire, the clerk leaned forward. “More likely Gamor Turkal,” he said with a smile that crinkled the flesh around his beady eyes and a nod that shook his several chins.
‘Turkal,” Lymwich sniffed with a certain distaste. “Hmph.” His former partner’s name certainly had changed the mood, but Pryce wasn’t surprised. Gamor often had that effect on people. He could kill a conversation at five yards. “But enough small talk,
Greeter,” the inquisitrix said briskly. “I believe you have more interlopers to test…?”
“But, Mistress Lymwich,” Matthaunin protested, “it isn’t every day that”
“Enough, Greeter,” the inquisitrix said curtly, making it plain that his personal time with Pryce was at an end. “Our illustrious visitor is here now, after much anticipation. We of the Mystran Inquisitorium can take it from here. There is no need to delay him, or yourself, any longer.”
The gatekeeper was visibly disappointed. “Yes, Inquisitrix. I understand.” Dejectedly he turned to go.
“How far can a canine run into a forest?” Pryce asked him in lieu of a good-bye.
“Wha-what?” Matthaunin stuttered, then brightened. “Oh… oh, I see. A riddle! A dog… the woods? Let’s see… Oh, dear, I should know this…. Curses! All right, how far?”
“Halfway,” Pryce informed him with a grin.
“Half…? Oh, of course! For the other half, it’s running out of the forest! Yes, yes, that’s good. I’ll use that… ” And then, shaking his head and smiling, Matthaunin Witterstaet disappeared back out the gate to his parchment, golem, and refugees.
Pryce turned back to the inquisitrix, who was watching him with a strange expression on her face. “What is it?” he asked her directly.
‘You didn’t have to…” she began, then tried again. “Why did you…?” And when that didn’t work either, she settled on a new observation. “You’re nothing like I expected, but somehow everything I expected.”
Pryce thought about chastising her for holding any preconceptions at all, but then he let the saner half of his head prevail. ‘What exactly did you expect?” he asked with a bemused smile.
His informality had the opposite effect of what he had intended. The inquisitrix cleared her throat and stood straight, her shoulders back. “Why, you, naturally, sir. I hope you will forgive me. I’m forgetting my responsibility. Of course we saw you through the Eye of the Inquisitor, and I was sent to make sure you are settled in comfortably. Will you follow me, sir?”
She led him down the road into Lallor proper, and soon Pryce was torn between trying to figure out ways to elicit information from Lymwich about her relationship to Gamor and what, exactly, the late rascal had told everyone about him, and trying not to be overwhelmed by the seemingly endless delights of this small, luxurious city by the sea.
Things were not simply built here, but tastefully designed, from street curbs to seemingly insignificant window displays. Incredibly most of the items offered for sale were hardly ostentatious. Rather, they were artful, even elegant, in their simplicity. Everything was clean, but hardly sterile. Individual character shone from each dwelling or shop they passed. Colorful decorations caught his eye everywhere he looked.
The people they passed were far from effusive, but certainly not unfriendly. In their soft, tastefully flamboyant clothes and cloaks that swept the street, they looked discerningly from him to the inquisitrix, then nodded with something approaching approval. For all the tales he had heard of Lallorian paranoia about strangers, the only evidence he had seen so far was the stringent entrance exam. Perhaps that was all the wealthy, civilized residents needed to maintain control… that and the all-seeing eye at the main gate.
An all-seeing eye that must have seen Gamor Turkal leave the city… and should know that he didn’t come back!
The rest of their walk was mostly a blur to Covington. As much as he wanted to enjoy the glorious architecture and landscaping, it was becoming increasingly important for him to find out what everyone else seemed to know about him. So intent was he on figuring out some way to get this information from the tiny, tightly wound inquisitrix that he didn’t notice how full the vegetation had become around them and how dense the tall, thick-barked trees were in this part of the city. “Here you are, sir.”
Covington looked up. “Excuse me?” They stood in a dark, cool cul-de-sac between the rest of Lallor and the inner wall of castles. They stood on rectangular stones of dark red. The dead-end road was shaped vaguely like a bulb, the walls of which circled Pryce on three sides and were totally covered by clinging, flowering vines. As he inspected the vines, he noticed that they grew wilder the higher they went, creating a partial ceiling of foliage above him.
Lymwich motioned to his left. “Here.” Pryce turned to stare at the huge trunk of an impressive stevlyman tree. The botanical wizard Usherwood Stevlyman had developed this particular species of tree many years ago, along with the much-beloved, multicolored flowering pollandry plant. The tree was cherished for its rich brown color and its elegant shape.
The inquisitrix again motioned Pryce toward the wide trunk of the stevlyman tree. On closer inspection, it appeared to have a gaping man-sized hole in it.
“Yes?” Pryce said slowly.
Berridge released another laugh. “You don’t understand. This is yours, sir. Your dwelling.” “My dwelling? A tree?”
She nodded and Pryce finally looked up. He noticed exquisite little round windows divided into even smaller square window panels, peeking out from the interwoven vines that covered everything. He then took a closer look at the tree trunk. The opening was cunningly concealed among the bumps and bends of the tree trunk itself, and it was so dark inside the opening that its very existence was difficult to detect from even a few feet away.
Pryce poked his head into the opening. Inside a small recessed area was a door, also designed to blend into the tree. Once again Pryce was reminded that everything about this city seemed to be designed like a living work of art.
Covington suddenly remembered his guide waiting outside. “Ha!” he said from inside the tree. “I am fully prepared to find suitable lodgings on my own. There’s no need to put anyone else out”
“Oh, no,” said Lymwich. “We wouldn’t hear of it. Gamor made Geerling’s wishes perfectly clear. You are to stay here.”
Pryce looked back over his shoulder from the entryway.
“Well,” he said with a shrug, “if I must, I must… ”He backed out of the entryway and motioned for the inquisitrix to precede him. “After you.”
Lymwich shook her head. “Oh, no,” she said. “You’re not tricking me so easily. I’d be mad to risk the protective magic of Geerling Ambersong!”
Aha, Pryce thought. One small step forward for Pryce Covington. Now, at least, he had a surname to go with the mysterious Geerling. He also had some sort of protective magic he had to figure out some way to get by. Instinctively he did what he had done before when he faced a thorny problem. “Inquisitrix Lymwich,” he said somberly, “do you know Gamor Turkal?”
“Humph,” she said, “that rake? Please, no more mention of him, if you don’t mind. It was disgusting the way he crowed about you, his friendship with you, and how important your arrival was to Grand Mage Ambersong.”
Pryce was distracted by a pleasant sensation of flattery. “Really? He talked about me?”
“Incessantly. He and you this, you and the Grand Mage that, he and Geerling Ambersong…”
Covington hoped she didn’t see him twitch. Geerling Ambersongcould he have been the other dead man at the tree? Pryce quickly turned around and faced the door again. Given the worsening odds, it was better to get this over with sooner rather than later. At least if Ambersong’s magic scrambled his body, his brains, or both, the suspense would be over, and he would be put out of his growing misery. He closed his eyes and took a final step toward the door.
He perceived a dim light from the other side of his eyelids and heard a click. Somehow the noise was welcoming rather than frightening. He opened his eyes just in time to catch the tail end of a glow coming from someplace below his chin, but before he could react to this turn of events, the door swung slowly inward.
The cloak clasp, Pryce thought. It must be a magic key… Suddenly his eyes were filled with a vision of homecoming the likes of which he had never experienced. The inside of the tree stretched back and up farther than the outside gave any hint of. It tapered to a vaguely pyramidal shape, complete with branches hollowed out from the inside to be used as storage space.
The interior had been decorated with comfortable-looking wooden furniture, thick rugs, tasteful lamps, and the biggest stone fireplace Covington had ever seen. Accessories and household items were stored in the lowest branch holes.
Much to Pryce’s surprise, there wasn’t a single magical item he could recognize in the comfortable home. There was, however, stacked on natural shelves running from branch to branch along the inner tree wall, a large collection of the one thing Pryce Covington truly held dear.
“Books,” he breathed. “So many books.” He looked back at Lymwich, who remained purposefully, and stiffly, outside the door. “This is mine?”
“The Grand Mage made his wishes clear,” she replied, a trifle enviously. “It’s yours.”
He looked at the dwelling again, noticing large recessed areas that held the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. Silently he took back every bad thing he had ever said or thought about Gamor Turkal. This place had been created with Pryce Covington in mind.
It was all too much. Covington felt giddy, almost faint. He realized that the ever-changing series of events was finally getting the better of him. But he didn’t feel like resting. Sleep was the last thing he wanted.
“Very nice,” he finally understated. “This will do just fine. Tell me, my good inquisitrix, is there a local Gulp and Gasp about? Can I secure you a brew at the nearest Chew and Spew in the area?”
“You think I didn’t notice?” Berridge Lymwich asked him, illustrating her point in the air with a tankard of ale. “I’m a first-ranked, top-class Instran Myquisitrix! I meanwell, you know what I mean. I notice everything!”
They were on their third tankard of mead. She had led him outside his new home, then turned to the left where the wall of the cul-de-sac nestled against the stevlyman tree trunk. There, behind some flowering vines, was an almost hidden circular stairway made of iron.
Pryce marveled at how the stairway was entirely concealed by the vines, so no one could see in and they couldn’t see out. He could hear the water of Lallor Bay lapping in the distance, however, and could see the light which bathed this stairway interior in a yellow-green glow. As they descended, Covington counted the steps. At the twenty-fifth step, they emerged from the vines onto a level between the inner wall of wizards’ castles and the bay. There Pryce looked out onto the most rustic area of the waterfront.
“It’s the oldest section of the city,” Lymwich told him curtly. “Made by our first residents as an unprepossessing retreat.” She sniffed at its ancient stone and wood dwellings. “The whole thing should be torn down, I say.”
Pryce disagreed. He admired the cunning way the original Lallor vacationers had made the dwellings seem simple, while still imbuing great character and charm to the houses. It reminded him of quaint rural villages back home, which practically exuded the sight, smell, and sound of family togetherness. Even now he thought he could hear the welcome sound of families singing and laughing with one another.
“Come on,” Berridge grunted. “I didn’t bring you here for a picnic.” She motioned behind her with her thumb. Pryce looked where she was pointing and saw an establishment built directly into the rock wall. The window frames were wooden beams, the glass panes clear and thick. The big gray steel-enforced door bore a simple sign: Schreders. At Your Service.
Inside, it seemed to be a comfortable combination of the most luxurious sea captain’s quarters and an imperial wizard’s cave. The walls and ceiling were not a consistent width or height throughout. Instead, upright wooden beams and crossbeams vied willy-nilly with stone and rocks to create many heights and widths. Between them were some of the finest wood chairs and sculpted stone tables Pryce had ever laid eyes on.
Pryce was studying some lamps made to look like bottles, tankards, and casks of liquor when he was distracted by a booming voice. “You don’t have to tell me who this is!” Azzoparde Schreders, the proprietor of the establishment, had made himself known.
Who else could he be? Pryce wondered with amusement as a full-bearded, ruddy-faced man in a white shirt, black pants, and brown apron stood before him, arms spread wide. His head was as round as the moon, and his thick black hair came down from an equally round bald spot. His arms, torso, and legs were round, thick, and sturdy, and his expression, like his restaurant and bar, was open and inviting.
“It took you long enough to get here, eh? Eh?” he jibed in a voice that sounded like a sack of gravel dragged behind a cart. ‘You expected us to wait for you forever? Fall Festival time is almost upon us!”
Pryce smiled pleasantly. “I had far to come.”
“I’ll say,” his host said conspiratorially, moving his elbow like a bird’s flapping wing. “I should say you did! Eh? Eh?”
Rather than deal with this increasingly confusing conversation, Pryce continued to admire the rough-hewn beauty of the extensive place. An inviting series of alcoves featured both transparent and darkly colored window panes. To his added pleasure, magical illumination made everything clearly visible to the eye without unnecessary brightness.
“Welcome to the most exclusive epicurean drinkery in an already very exclusive city,” Schreders boasted. “Just smooth enough for the gastronome” he elbowed Lymwich and gave a knowing wink”and just rough enough for the earth-salters!”
“Nice place you have here,” Pryce told him, then leaned toward the inquisitrix. “Cliches for every occasion.” Lymwich barked out a polite bray.
“Perhaps you are as great as they say!” Schreders marveled. “Getting the great inquisi-witch to laugh is no mean feat! Eh? Eh?” Berridge hit Azzo on the arm as he rocked back and forth, clutching his solid belly.
Lymwich could only sigh with resignation. “Anyone who’s anyone will eventually show up here,” she reluctantly admitted. “The comfort and privacy are topnotch.”
“So’s the security.” Azzo winked at the inquisitrix again before rising to his full height to study Covington’s face. “What’ll you imbibe, my good sir? If we don’t have it, you can’t drink it.”
‘Truer words have I rarely heard,” Pryce said appreciatively, rising to the challenge. “I know a town by its brew. It rarely fails. As goes the local liquid, so goes the locality. Rough, coarse ale? A fight is no doubt brewing. Smooth, full-bodied grog? There’s love in the air.”
Schreders started to slap Pryce on the back, then thought better of it. Instead, he stepped back and pounded the bar. That sound, like almost all his other noises of bravado, was quickly swallowed up by the various nooks and crannies in the large, sprawling room. “And truer words have rarely heard, sir,” Azzo replied. The bar was in the very back of the establishment. It wasp› constructed in a horseshoe shape, so those seated there could either maintain their privacy by keeping their backs to the windows and the restaurant, or face toward the front door.
Azzo slipped between the back wall at the left end of the bar and took his position behind a row of taps. “I like you, sir,” he told Pryce. “I truly do. The first round, at the very least, is on me!”
Pryce Covington had seldom heard words any sweeter. And if the first brew he soon quaffed was any indication, Lallor was full of promise. It remained so for the second round, personally served by Azzo at a recessed table, where Pryce parried Berridge Lymwich’s questions with the always reliable “Please-Iet’s-not-talk-about-me-I’d-rather-hear-more-about-you” gambit.
He learned that the inquisitrix was pretty much what she appeared to be: fiercely loyal, dedicated, and ambitious, but with a streak of insecurity. Her slight inferiority complex manifested itself in expressions of sullen disapproval whenever Azzo’s beautiful blonde serving wench got too close. But then Lymwich suddenly changed the subject to inquiries about the books in his new dwelling.
“I told you,” she admonished with the careful enunciation of the slightly inebriated. “I notice everything. What is it with Geerling and you and all those books?”
Covington grew still. It was getting late, and apparently she couldn’t handle her drinks. One more, he was convinced, and her minking and words would become too mushy to be useful. If he was going to learn anything, it was time to draw her out. “I can’t speak for Geerling, but I’m fond of books because they don’t change.”
“What does that mean, Blade?”
Covington leaned back. What had she called him? He shook his head. He decided that it must have been the drink slurring her words. He shrugged casually and leaned forward again. “You know. People change, places change, but books don’t.”
“What are you talking about? Books get older… the pages yellow…”
“I’m not talking about age,” he said, surprised at how the words flowed from him. Maybe the deceptively powerful mead had gotten to him as well. “I’m talking about where it countsfor books and people. Inside. People who once told the truth can start to lie. Books don’t. If they start with the truth, they will always tell you the truth.”
Suddenly Berridge Lymwich leaned over the table, placing her face not more than two inches from his. To Pryce’s amazement, he could tell that she wasn’t intoxicated in the slightest It was she who had been testing him. “Oh, you and your flowery words,” she said evenly, her face a knowing mask. “Gamor Turkal and Geerling Ambersong may have impressed everyone else with the tales of your spectacular adventures, but I want you to know one thing. You’re going to have to prove yourself to me, Darlington Blade!”