The man by the hearth sprang erect and hurried toward the latest arrivals. “Good eventide, good sirs. Be very welcome,” he greeted. His voice was deep and rich, bearing a trace of West country accent.
Rupert looked hard at him. “You’re the… proprietor… of this Old Phoenix?” he asked.
The man nodded. “What may your wishes be?” He raised a palm, smiling. “Nay, let me guess. Ye’ve fared through rain, in striving and distress. A bath, dry garb, hot food, a cup of cheer, a bed, then breakfast, ere you go from here.”
Still Rupert considered him. While more quick on his feet than most, he was stocky beneath an overlay of plumpness. His face was round, rosy, snub-nosed, brown eyes a-twinkle, chin clean-shaven; only his complete baldness made it memorable. His garb was equally nondescript, though of superior material. Yet something about him breathed an air at least of Puck.
“Our purse is lean,” Rupert warned.
The landlord made a dismissing wave. “We take no money here.” At their astonishment, he laughed. “If Faerie gold turns into autumn leaves in mortal wallets, what’s your gold to us?”
Rupert stiffened. “This is a kittle place we’ve blundered into,” he told Will under his breath.
“But friendly,” replied the dragoon, now standing almost at ease.
“Aye, to those who seek us out,” the landlord said. “Fear never paying such unholy price as might be taken in the Venusberg. My sole reward for hospitality is meeting folk like you, within whom burn the stars of many worlds and destinies. I love to watch them meet and hear them yarn.” Seriously: “Indeed, I may not really touch their lives. Methinks, for instance, ye’ve escaped some peril. Well, ye could not have come upon this house had there not been another refuge for you.”
“A brook an’ treetop,” Will nodded. “Me, I’ll choose your bed.” To Rupert: “Fear not. It war her toaken led us heare.”
The prince shook himself. “Aye.” With a stiff grin: “Maybe I’ll grow used to trollery.” To the landlord: “I thank you much, and offer you our names. I am Prince Rupert, exile from the Rhine, and this my comrade is Will Fairweather.”
The other bowed. “I’ve many names,” he answered. “Let you say Taverner. Now follow me upstairs. Hot water waits, soap, towels, grooming gear, and change of clothes. Ye must return them when ye leave tomorrow; yours will be ready, clean and dry and mended. We’ve eaten here, but you’ll be brought roast beef and what pertains to it, to dine at ease while settling privately what your desires are. A room is fitted for each one of you. I hope your wish will not be’Straight to bed.’ ”
“Nay, we’ll return”—Rupert gave a salute of courtesy to the rest who were present—“and make acquaintances.”
As Taverner led them out, past the bar, Will half choked and Rupert himself broke stride. That was not due to the woman behind the counter; chubby, cheerful, gray hair in a bun, she was like a female version of the landlord, and might well be his wife since she wore a wedding band. But from here, one got a direct view of the hearth.
“Thic wench in yonder armchair,” Will whispered. “Hoo, hoo, hoo!”
“Whoe’er she is, she’s not for likes of thee,” Rupert cautioned.
Taverner might have heard, since he remarked over his shoulder: “Ye’ll find your fellow guests tonight forthcoming. We get some surly ones; but mostly not. Here all alike are far beyond their worlds, and none may leave by any other door than that wherethrough he entered, nor bear off much more than rest and cheer and memories. Thus, in a way, whatever happens here has not quite fully happened. That’s a freedom whereof no few avail themselves. Pray, come.”
The three departed from the chamber.
The man at the table, who had sat clutching a tankard while he observed, brought it to his lips for a mighty draught. “Aah!” he said. “Det gaar godt.” He addressed the young woman opposite him with a slight lilt.
“Who might those fellows be?”
“I don’t know.” Like him, she spoke an English never native to England, though with a different accent.
“They look kind of—Renaissance? Except I didn’t think people grew that big in those days. The dark one’s just about your size and build.”
Her companion was in truth huge. His face was good-looking if not extraordinary, save for a slightly dented nose; his yellow hair was cut short and he went beardless. He wore trousers and open-necked shirt of stout brown cloth, boots cobbled for rough use. “Well,” he said, “things may not be the same in their world.
Though, uh, actually, in my own time-line—I mean the one I started out from, this trip—giants did exist now and then,’way back in the Middle Ages. Like King Harald Haardraade of Norway, who died in 1066 trying to conquer England one jump ahead of the Normans. He stood seven feet high.”
“Then no doubt the same was true in my history,” she answered. “They’re so similar, yours and mine, maybe identical till, m-m, didn’t we decide about 1900?”
“I tell you, I don’t belong where I came from.”
She patted his hand. “I know. Take it easy, Holger. I am trying to help you.” She was a win-some lass, tall, slender, features pert, eyes blue as the man’s. Ruddy-brown locks fell past her ears. Her garb was a feminine, green version of his. On the left breast shone a silver pin in the form of an owl.
“If we had more time!” he said. “What can I learn in a night?”
“Well, we don’t. I’ll simply have to cram what I can into that square head of yours, before Mister Boniface politely but firmly sends us on our separate ways.”
“Why can one only spend a night per visit?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Anything more, and there might be too decisive an interaction. This is neutral ground.” The girl drew breath. “Suppose, oh, suppose I happened to meet Abe Lincoln here—I’m sure he’s eligible, whether or not he ever actually did find his way to a door—well, given a lot of time together, I probably couldn’t resist warning him against Ford’s Theater. Lord knows what that might do to his world. Make a new continuum? I’m not sure if that’s possible. However, I am sure that nobody less than God has the wisdom for it. I suspect we’re bending the rules already, you and I.”
“You’re very kind,” he said.
“Nuts! I’m having fun.” She sipped from her glass of wine. “But look, when those two guys come back, I’ll want to talk with them. After all, I am on an exploratory project. So let’s get as much done as we can until then.” She stood up. He made to. do the same. She gestured him off. “Stay put. I’m going to see if anything helpful is on the bookshelf over there.”
She crossed the room with a limber stride. Holger settled down to his beer. The woman in the armchair leaned forward. His glance crossed hers, and locked.
With sheer material, trim, jewelry and other accessories, she had turned what was supposed to be a decorous stola into something spectacular. The sumptuousness beneath her clothing made this irrelevant to any normal male. She ran fingers through midnight tresses and gave him a smoldering smile.
“Damn,” he lamented, “I wish I could talk to you.”
She crooned, to be heard only by him: “Da mi basia mille.”
“Det var som Fanden! I’ve forgotten practically all the Latin I ever had, except for church.” Slowly: “However, is language required?”
He half rose. His erstwhile partner saw, and called: “Hey, take it easy, lover boy. Sex and mathematics don’t mix. Or hadn’t you heard?”
“Oh, well, look here, Valeria, I’m simply trying to be polite—”
“Yah, I know that kind of politeness. And you told me you’re seeking your own true sweetheart.