More guards were posted resolutely at various entranceways or else attempting to marshal some order amongst those waiting around.
Through the throng of people, the three of them head and shoulders above the crowd, Adâ led them towards a door at the opposite end of the chamber.
This was a smaller, more refined corridor, devoid of the crowds. Meticulously woven vermillion carpet ran to the very end, flanked by more pillars. At the other end of the chamber were double doors made of more grey stone and carved with the same axe and star pattern. In between each pillar was a plinth, on which rested a bust of a solemn-looking male, staring, pupil-less, into the distance.
They reached the end and stopped. Two guards in green tunics stood before them, their axes lolling lazily in their grasp. One looked ancient, with a white beard reaching down to his boots. The other was younger, his hair bright ginger, but no less intimidating.
“Adâ Sharif here to see the king,” Adâ repeated.
The ancient-looking guard nodded slowly and held out a gloved hand.
Adâ passed over the letter, and he glanced over it.
“Very well,” he croaked shakily, indicating the closed stone door behind him.
All three stepped forward, but as Jack was about to pass the other guard, an axe shot out at lightning speed, narrowly missing his chest. He could have sworn it sheared threads off his shirt.
“What are you doing?” the ginger guard said angrily. His voice was much higher than they had expected, so much so that all three stared for a moment before answering.
“We’re going to see the king,” Jack volunteered hopefully.
“The king is in council with his advisers. No youths”—the guard put a lot of negative emphasis on the word—”may pass here without his permission.”
“Oh, shut up,” the old guard said dismissively. “They’re with Lady Sharif.” He beamed toothlessly at Adâ, who returned it with an incline of her head.
The ginger guard looked scandalized but removed his axe.
Jack and Lucy passed. As Adâ opened the double doors, Lucy whispered so the guards couldn’t hear, “I think he has a thing for you.”
Adâ ignored her and walked in.
This room was much smaller but also well lit; another crack above them threw a twisted amber shape downwards. A tall throne of dyed oak, engraved with a multitude of symbols, rose near the back of the chamber. Sitting on it was the king. An undecorated circlet of bronze was his crown. He looked fairly young, although there were flecks of grey in his blond beard and his face held the hint of wrinkles to come. His eyes were dark and his brow strong—they seemed to emanate not only his penetrating sight but that of all his royal ancestors in busts in the corridor outside.
Despite the fact that they seemed to be looking at a member of a historical re-creation society, Jack, and he knew Lucy felt the same, was overcome with an impulse to bow, but Adâ wasn’t bothering with such traditions, so they just stood awkwardly behind her. Their glance confirmed that they were both feeling just as ridiculous in their strange mixture of clothing.
Others sat around an octagonal stone table on hide-coated chairs. These people were also clothed in medieval garb but each in a different kind—one in thick overalls holding huge gloves, several with more ruddy complexions and finer woollen cloaks, and one in a more decorated version of the guards’ armor. There were also three empty seats. One person, with an extremely long beard in a green and red tunic, was standing up, and a scribe in the corner scribbled on a roll of parchment.
The table was completely covered in what appeared to be an archaic bird’s-eye view map on parchment, filled with mountains, dotted and dashed pathways, several twisting rivers. Small wooden figu-rines, dyed alternately in crimson and grey, were grouped around the landscape. The person in the red and green tunic was indicating areas on the map with a short cane. He seemed to be presenting a report.
The king glanced at them and motioned them to wait.
Adâ hung back, Jack and Lucy at her elbows like naughty children.
“… therefore, given the predictions of our scouts, an attack is most likely to be launched from the north.”
“Thank you, Ràth,” the king said solemnly in a Scandinavian accent as thick as his guards’. “We will hold another progress report tomorrow. Until then.”
One by one, the advisers stood up, bowed, and left.
The king’s brow furrowed. “Most worrying.” He appeared to consider the matter a moment longer, then shook his head and got down off his throne. “Nevertheless, we shouldn’t concern ourselves with that now.” He exchanged a cordial nod with Adâ. Closer up, he looked exhausted, his eyes sunken and a pallid complexion that suggested he’d lost his natural glow to weeks of sleepless nights. “So these are the ones we’re looking after for the time being, then.”
“Yes.” Adâ pursed her lips and glanced at Jack and Lucy.
“That’s no great hardship,” the king said, giving them a smile in strong contrast to Adâ’s coolness. “As you may have surmised, I am King Thengel Thorin. This is the land of my forefathers. I would give you a proper welcome tour to Thorin Salr, though I am afraid your timing isn’t the best. You will have seen we’re not in an entirely secure position at the moment.”
Lucy looked like she was about to elaborate loudly and sarcastically about being very sorry they couldn’t have chosen a better time to get involved in an occult ritual and that they’d come back at a more convenient date. Jack put his hand on her arm warningly. She shrugged it off but said nothing.
“What is all this?” Adâ asked, gesturing backwards at the way they had come. “I was gone for only one week.”
Through the open door, the thick crowd was still visible in the next chamber.
“The next set of precautions, I’m afraid. Things have got considerably worse since you left. We have scouting parties out all over the mountains, and regiments of soldiers have been dispatched to evacuate the villages. We’re having enough problems as it is housing our people without having to bring the entire kingdom into one valley. Still, war is war.” He sighed. “Did you have any problems with greenskins on your way up?”
Adâ quickly related their encounter with the reptilian creatures, though she left out the part about one sprouting wings. Jack would have pointed this out, but a few painstaking hours in Adâ’s company had already taught him that keeping his mouth shut was good for him in most situations.
“That is worrying,” Thorin said, stroking his beard absentmindedly.
“Any word from Sardâr?” Adâ ventured after a moment.
“None, I’m afraid,” the king replied. He looked genuinely worried but checked his expression almost immediately. “But let us concern ourselves with that tomorrow. It grows late. I shall get someone to show you to your rooms.” He snapped his fingers. Out of nowhere came a woman in a green tunic, clothed far more brightly than most of the people in the hall outside.
“Please escort our guests to their chambers.”
The woman nodded, smiling, and beckoned the three of them to the door.
“So why are we here again?” Lucy asked indignantly. “Have we really just been moved into a war zone?”
There was a pause, in which the king glanced from Adâ to Lucy awkwardly. “Um … well … that is to say … the situation was not fully anticipated … The plan was originally …” He stared at Adâ pleadingly.
Jack couldn’t quite suppress a smile that this evidently powerful monarch was being ordered around by a teenage girl who currently looked slightly like a kissogram.
“It’s alright, Thengel,” Adâ said darkly. “I’ll deal with them.”
Lucy glared at the king as they were led out of the room.
Jack followed, not feeling entirely confident that they would live to hear an explanation tomorrow.
Chapter III
inari
Within a few minutes, they were in Lucy’s room. The medieval theme of this place had clearly been hammered dow
n to perfection; a series of old-fashioned candles had been placed around the chamber, sending flickering, angular patterns across the concave ceiling. The floor, like outside, was set with large, cold flagons, covered in thick rugs and furs. A chair, also covered in some kind of animal skin, sat between the wooden bed and a delicately engraved clothes chest, and an alcove led to a small bathroom. One wall was entirely occupied by a tall window, set into the surrounding rock. The view across the valley was deep grey, the mountains only just visible against a slightly brighter shade of indigo. The whole room and its three occupants were reflected in a tall mirror next to the chair, looking like the set of a period drama.
They had been here for ten minutes, during which time Lucy, seated on the bed, had endured a lecture from Adâ about how to properly address a monarch. There was so far no evidence that any of it had been absorbed.
“Right then,” Adâ finished, adjusting how she was sitting, “there are a few things you should know before you really screw things up. It won’t have escaped your notice that you haven’t only come across humans in the last few days. I myself”—she scratched one of her pointed ears surreptitiously—”am an example of this. It probably hasn’t escaped your notice, either, that the people here are a little … different than what you’re used to.”
“Different how?” Lucy asked, being deliberately difficult.
Adâ made a “short” gesture.
Lucy raised her eyebrows.
Adâ sighed. “Shorter,” she said quietly.
“Sorry?” Lucy replied loudly.
Adâ clipped her around the head. “These people are dwarves. Ruth said Vincent explained this to you already!”
Jack muttered something about the patchiness of the explanation.
Adâ fixed him with a look that would have frozen open flames. “They are dwarves—an entirely different race to you. And, quite obviously, this is not your home world, and there are no humans here. It would not be wise to draw attention to any differences between them and yourselves. If you do, the king may be brought under pressure to answer some difficult questions about where you’re from, and we will be out of here more quickly than an egg poacher from a cockatrice nest, which,” she said as Jack opened his mouth, “is extremely fast.”
“What about you, then?” Jack asked.
Adâ sniffed. “I am an elf,” she said curtly but offered no further comment.
“So we’re not back in time?” Jack asked after a moment.
Adâ looked at him as if he had just asked whether the Pope was a Christian. “No, we’re not back in time. That’s impossible.”
“So this really is a different world,” Lucy murmured to no one in particular.
“Yes, and that’s something else. Up until now, you have only had the company of more knowledgeable people. The vast majority of this world’s people are as ignorant as you were only days ago about lands beyond their own boundaries. King Thorin is an Apollonian, as are, obviously, the crew of The Golden Turtle. There are precious few others who are aware of worlds beyond their own. It is of paramount importance that you keep what you know secret.”
“Why?”
“Has anyone mentioned Isaac to you?”
Both shook their heads.
“He was originally from your world. He founded the Apollonians about a quarter of a century ago; he was the first of us to travel between worlds. Incidentally, he was also the brother of Ruth’s adoptive father, Ishmael. He built an almanac of laws, observations he made about the nature of interworld travel. One major point is that each world is self-contained within its own time frame. This world is at a different stage of development to yours, and many more will be different still. This one happens to be in the equivalent of your past. Isaac placed it at roughly the ninth or tenth century. A crossover of time periods could have cataclysmic consequences beyond our understanding. For example, if we allowed guns from your time into this world, things would escalate out of our control. This means you must guard your origins vigilantly. For now, you will be Jack and Lucy Sharif, my nephew and niece.”
“But we look nothing like you,” Lucy exclaimed, half-indignant, half-relieved.
Jack looked again at Adâ. She was human shaped, remarkably so, he supposed, considering life could have evolved completely differently on her world. She was, however, at least six inches taller than Lucy, very slender—almost pinched looking—with pointed ears, darker skin, and a different shape to her face and features. It was quite a big difference.
“That’s why we need this,” Adâ said, producing from her cloak something that looked like a metal egg. It was dusty brown, held in the same bronzy clasps as their rings. She held it out to Jack and Lucy, who leaned back instinctively, unsure of what it was going to do.
Adâ whispered a single syllable, which neither Jack nor Lucy could make any sense of. The egg glowed bright luminous green and floated out of her hand. It hung in the air for a second, then spun around the room like a high-tech toy, humming slightly. When it had made two full circuits of both Lucy and Jack, it dropped into Adâ’s hand and dulled again.
Jack looked at Lucy and got a slight shock. The girl in front of him was still recognizably Lucy: she was still hazel eyed and reddish-brown haired, but she was different. Her ears were elongated and pointed at the end, just like Adâ’s. She was taller and slightly slimmer, and her face seemed to have become thinner. Her skin was a lot darker, and her head was more circularly shaped. She now definitely resembled an elf, if not a blood relative of Adâ’s.
He stood up and studied himself in the mirror. Exactly the same change had happened to him, but whereas Lucy’s slightly curvier figure looked squashed, he thought the look rather suited him. He stepped in front of the mirror, blocking Lucy’s view to it. Her shock, he reasoned, wouldn’t do any of them any good.
“How the fu—”
“Bedtime,” Adâ said loudly over him. “There are new clothes in your rooms. Good night.” She left the room, leaving the door open behind her.
“Night,” Jack called as she turned the corner. He waited for the slam of her door and then began talking. “So what do you think of this place?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, standing up to lean on the windowsill. “It’s just all so … alien. We’re on a different planet … Does that mean these are aliens? It’s not how I imagined them at all …” She stared out at the darkened sky.
Jack waited for her to say something more. This was the first chance that they’d had to talk since The Golden Turtle. Realistically, the first time they would have talked since before all this started, and now she didn’t seem to want to. “And the king?”
“Bastard. He’s just the same as Adâ. We’re nothing more than packages to them.”
“I thought he seemed nice. He did say we’d talk about it tomorrow …”
“Are you siding with them?” She looked at him sharply.
“No, of course not. It’s just … it could have been a lot worse, couldn’t it? The Cult could have got you …” Immediately he regretted saying it.
Lucy stared blankly out the window, not replying.
With a sudden, internal jolt, the full magnitude of what had happened to Alex hit him again. He could be being tortured. He could be dead, for all they knew, standing here in relative comfort in a warm, dry room … He felt slightly sick at the thought.
“I’m sure Alex is okay,” he said, though it didn’t sound convincing, even to him.
She didn’t reply but continued to stare out the window.
Jack decided to give her some space. On his way out he thought he heard a muffled sob, but he didn’t go back in. He got the impression he would be co-opted as the nearest and easiest target for blame.
Jack went to his room. It was exactly the same as Lucy’s but flipped so that the bathroom was on the right side. On the bed were a pile of sandy gold and blue tunics; wide, Arabian-like trousers; a pair of rough leather boots; and a belt. Looking down at his pirate gear, he realized that he had
n’t changed his clothes in four days. Shocked and slightly disgusted, he stripped off his top layer and headed into the bathroom.
The room was just as rocky as the previous one, but the entire floor was a basin-like bath full of steaming water. A pummelled crack in the center of the bath spurted the water upwards like a Jacuzzi or a hot spring, and chutes around the edge filtered some out again when it got too full.
Jack removed the last of his clothes and sunk into the water. It was luxuriously warm and a strong contrast to freezing seawater. Salt and dirt dislodged from his skin and hair and were sucked away down the chutes. He didn’t feel any taller, but he definitely was, and his new body, however it had come about, was quite a bit more muscular than his last.
He stepped out of the bathroom, scratching his wet hair, and froze.
There were several people Jack could think of whom he would gladly be discovered half-naked by, particularly with this body, but a glowing, vocally enabled fox wasn’t one of them. It took a minute for his brain to kick into gear.
“Don’t move,” he said through gritted teeth, holding his towel up whilst bending down to grab his new clothes. “You’ve got a lot of questions to answer.”
The fox said nothing, just inclined his head.
A moment later, Jack reemerged from the bathroom to find the creature still on his bed. Keeping his distance, he sat on the chair slowly. The new clothes were far more comfortable than Quentin’s nautical amalgamation had been.
“So what do you want to know?” The creature sounded strangely like a well-spoken Englishman, with an impeccable BBC accent.
“Everything! What are you? Are you even a fox? How can you talk? Why is the Cult of Dionysus after us? Where’s Alex?” After the minimalist explanations from Vince and Adâ, he was keeping his expectations low for any answer to these.
“I’ll try my best.” The fox stretched out, and Jack thought he saw him smile slightly. “Firstly, I am—” He sounded as if he wanted to carry on but looked as if he were choking on something. “Damn this restricting form. As much as I would like to tell you who I am, I can’t say. I can tell you what I am, though. I think so, anyway.”
The White Fox Page 12
