Nightlord: Orb (71 page)

That’s a long way for a scream.  But, to be fair, Zirafel is otherwise a silent, empty place.  It echoes pretty well and we both have extremely sharp ears.

The vault door was some sort of ceramic or glass, milky-opaque, still closed.  The floor in front of it was ankle-deep in dust.  There was no sign of anyone.  We searched the room—a matter of a few seconds; it was a small room, unadorned, with one way in and the vault door—and found nothing.

“Maybe they went through there and it closed behind them?” Mary asked, pointing at the vault door.

“No tracks in the dust,” I noted.  “I’m actually kind of concerned about the dust.”

“What about it?”

“We didn’t see it when we checked in on them, remember?  And they went through three other major doors to get to this point.”

“So how did all this dust get in here?” she finished.  “Maybe the vault door disintegrated them?”

“Up,” I snapped, and moved to the stairs.  “Now,” I emphasized.  Mary followed me, surprised.

“What is it?” she asked, once we were in the next chamber up.

“If there’s a disintegration spell capable of reducing a half-dozen guys and their gear to dust in the space of a scream, I don’t want to be near it.”

“But the wizard guy—Vort.  He was looking for things like that, right?”

“And looking at it too hard might have set it off.”

“That seems a little harsh.  Although,” she considered, cocking her head, “only authorized personnel would make it down here, and they should know what sets it off.”

“Very true.  My big worry is it might be on a timer.  You have one minute to give the password, for example, before it assumes you’re a thief and reacts appropriately.”

“Ah.  Took their security brutally seriously, did they?”

“They still do,” I pointed out.  “Even in Rethven, killing a thief is considered a good way to stop one.  Lethal traps or spells are perfectly acceptable in a private home.”

“I’ll bear
that
in mind.  So, are we breaking into the vault?”

“I don’t see why.”

“Money?” she suggested.

“Not currently a problem.”

“They might be trapped inside?”

“Hmm.  I’m not sure how that’s my problem, but you have a point.  If they’re trapped, they can wait a couple of hours.  We can revisit this tonight.  I’d much rather tendril this at a distance.”

“I like the way you think.  I’m all for adventure and excitement, but not when it’s this lethal.”

“You’re into stealing, not bomb disposal?”

“That’s a fair assessment.”

“I can respect that.”

We went back to the Palace, greeted the doorman, and went upstairs.  I checked the spell on the mirror; it hadn’t activated while we were out.  We took a bath and soaked for a while; Mary joined me in the warm soak.

“Got a question,” Mary started, her toes playing with my toes underwater.

“Shoot.”

“Is there anything to eat around here?  I haven’t had anything all day.”

I arched an eyebrow.  She grinned.

“I haven’t had anything substantial,” she corrected.

I arched the eyebrow more.

“I mean,” she added, exasperated, “I haven’t had any material amount of
food
.  Pervert.”

“Freak.”

“Hungry freak.”

“Well, we have a couple of those ready-to-eat things and some cans of whatever-was-in-the-pantry.  I’m not sure Zirafel has any edible wildlife.  All I’ve seen is grass, weeds, vines, and a few small trees.”

“We really need more food.”

“The struggle is real,” I told her.  She splashed me.  “But we’ll see what we can hunt down tonight and save for tomorrow.  Trust me.  I know this drill. I’ve done it before.”

“Okay.”

The afternoon warmed up considerably; the sun was much closer to this end of the world in the latter half of the day.  On the other hand, it didn’t feel as though the sun was at arm’s length, either.  Does it travel in a circle, or in an oval?  In the morning and evening, it has to be farther away or the edges of the world would melt… wouldn’t they?

I suppose it depends on whether or not the sun is inside or outside the anti-demon shield around the world.  If it’s outside, does the shield affect it at the ends more than the middle?  Or, if it’s inside, is the sun something like a variable star?  Does it actually get dimmer at dawn and dusk so as not to fry the portion of the world nearest?

I haven’t actually seen a sunrise or sunset, here.  Do they still look reddish, like on Earth?  On a flat world, I wouldn’t think the variation in atmospheric thickness would cause that effect, but a variable star might.

Which got me to wondering again at the way weather worked around here.  Or, rather, wondered
how
weather worked around here.  I want a meteorologist who can keep his sanity long enough to analyze it.  And a professional astronomer.  And a bunch of other scientists.  This place gives me a headache when I try to put it into a rational framework.

Well, a familiar framework.  It may be perfectly reasonable and consistent by its own internal logic.  The trouble is, I don’t understand the so-called logic any more than I approve of the so-called gods.

Suitably cleaned, pressed, and dressed, we returned to the treasury.  Between Mary’s hypersensitive touch and my arcane knowledge, we figured out, yes, the vault door was the centerpiece for a collection of enchantments.  Disintegration was, in fact, one of the effects it could generate, but only one of them.  There were spells to prevent teleportation, interpenetration, and outright digging, too.  It also had a number of alerts and alarms, along with a few things I couldn’t identify.  All in all, the vault was still unbreached and likely to stay that way until someone with more time and motivation came after it.

Since the vault was intact, the dust was probably the mortal remains of the amateur archaeologists.  I checked for ghosts and other wandering spirits, thinking the wizard might have hung around.  Nothing.  Either the complex of spells around the vault also did something to prevent ghosts, or they simply moved along on their own.  Since we’re at the edge, it should be easy for a spirit to slip around and down… if that’s how things work around here.

Could we have cracked the vault?  I don’t know.  Mary was certainly all for trying, but I distracted her with the idea of biting our dinner.  She was hungrier than she was curious.  So was I, only on a lesser scale.

We found a number of prey animals in the area outside the city—deer, foxes, rabbits, even wild chickens and
dazhu
.  That provided blood and vital essence for the evening, as well as meat for tomorrow.

In our further sightseeing around the ruins, we also found the building the amateur archaeologists used for a campsite; their horses and cart were parked outside.  I moved the horses indoors; the night chill was showing their breath.  Mary helped me get them settled in before we went through the leftover stuff.  We salvaged some clothes, tools, water jugs, and all the food.

I went through their money and noted a lot of strange coins.  A few might even have my face on them, if I were handsome and heroic-looking.  Most of the money came in geometric shapes—triangles, squares, pentagons, and so on.  I wondered whatever became of my decimal currency idea.  Or was this more of a random sampling of money from several kingdoms?

“Eat the horses?” Mary suggested.

“Not unless we have to.  Bronze doesn’t mind, but
I
think it’s impolite.”

“That’s fair.”

I checked the mirror again; still no call from T’yl.  If he didn’t call before morning, I might have to light a fire under him.  Or, better yet, build one to call Amber so she could light a less metaphorical one under him.  We were pretty well stuck here until we had someplace to go, and we couldn’t plan where to go until we knew what was likely to get us killed.  Well, likely to get me killed.  Mary wasn’t a target, yet.

Mary and I spent some of the night sitting in my headspace.  She perused apprentice memories garnered from my time with Jon, as well as the collated memory-impressions from a few hundred thousand meals.  I did research into how the magicians of Zirafel built magical enchantments into things without making them blatantly obvious.  Plus, I reviewed what I might have on the doorman, the vault, and the throne.  Then there were our language lessons, building her basic Rethven vocabulary.  Rethvenese?  The local dialect of the old kingdom of Rethven.

I felt I learned a lot.  So did Mary.

Firebrand warned me of an incoming call.  We bailed out of my headspace and watched the mirror form an image.

T’yl’s semi-elvish countenance smiled at me from the mirror.  The background resembled an underground chamber in Karvalen.  Most structures have walls made up of individual blocks; those walls were smooth.

“Well, you seem to be none the worse for wear,” he noted, “and your quarters have improved.”

“You’d be amazed what you can find by looking,” I told him.  He glanced at Mary.

“So I see.  You’re back in the world?”

“I am.  How are things at your end of the mirror?”

“Fair.  Things have calmed down quite a bit in your absence.  The Church of Light still thinks you need to be hunted down and destroyed, but I think the nobility of Karvalen are mostly settling in under the Queen.”

“They seemed uppity the last I heard.”

“They were.  I’m not sure how she’s calmed them.  I’m hardly a privy counselor.”

“Her loss.  On that, how is Lissette?”

“She is doing well.  She gave birth to her latest child with no complications shortly after you escaped.”

“How many does that make?”

“Five children, counting your heir.  Five children in nine years has been difficult for her, not counting the three miscarriages.  Thomen has become her personal physician; he has seen to it personally that healers from the Wizards’ Guild guard the health of the Queen.”  T’yl licked his lips and looked away.  “She’s a hard worker, that one.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I trust women to be greedy, short-sighted, and manipulative.”

“Oh.  Well, we each judge on our own experience.  By the way, this is Mary.  She doesn’t speak the local language, yet.  Please bear in mind I like her.”

“Noted,” he agreed.  I switched to English to introduce T’yl.  Mary smiled and sketched a small curtsy.  T’yl smiled at her and nodded.  I had T’yl hold for a moment while I ran through a translation spell for her.

“There we go.  T’yl, Mary.  Mary, T’yl.  That’s better.”

“Pleased to meet you, T’yl.”

“And I, you, madam.”  He turned his attention to me.  “There are many more things we need to discuss.”

“Go ahead,” I told him.  He glanced at Mary again.  “Think of her as my apprentice,” I added.

“Oh.  As you will.  You’re still not welcome in Rethven.  No one appreciated the casual way your other self regarded the lives of subjects.  He was unpleasant, reactionary, and something of a sadist.”

“Don’t hold back,” I advised.  “Tell me what you really think.”

“Sarcasm,” T’yl noted.  “Yes, you seem to be yourself again.”

“I am.  But go on about the other me.”

“The Demon King crushed all opposition to his conquest and unhesitatingly burned whole towns.  While that, by itself, might have merely earned him a reputation as a ruthless conqueror, he had other habits.”

“Such as?”

“Once established in Carrillon, he sent out for women.  He used them as amusements, which seems to be somewhat offensive to people in your kingdom.”  He shrugged.  “I do not see the problem, myself.  He seldom killed them.  Besides, there were any number of other things he could have been up to that would have been far worse.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.  Did he use them for dining or other things?”

“Both. You may find a number of dark-haired children in the capitol that bear you more than a passing resemblance.”

“Great,” I groaned, wincing.  “I’m going to have a tough time with the whole image thing.  Have you explained what happened?”

“I have.  Tyma does not care.  Ever since you—well, the other you.  The Demon King.”

“Yeah.”

“Ever since you eviscerated her father and silenced her magical instruments, she has been most bitter.”

“I
what?
”

“You took offense to the way Minaren referenced your habits—”

“No, back up.  Minaren’s dead?  And has been for…?”

“Six years.”

“If Minaren’s dead, I can’t do anything about it.  Okay.  Unpleasant, but a fact.  The instruments I might be able to do something about.  What happened to them?”

“I am uncertain as to the exact mechanism, but they have not sounded a single note since Minaren’s performance of
The Thirsty King
.”

“I want to see them,” I decided.  “There was a lot of effort involved in making those and Linnaeus gave up a piece of himself to make them sing.  They’re important to me.”