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“The people grew wise in the ways of their land, in the ways of artifice. Their ambition grew, as did their knowledge; and they yearned to move among the stars with the wings of dragons.” Here the simulation showed, for the first time, the inhabitants of the other world: brown-skinned, lithe, sturdy people, swift to laugh and swifter to smile, draped in robes of bright color, moving among their low, earth-colored houses — and Fiona’s heart lurched, seeing these carefully selected, carefully edited scenes of home. A sudden, overwhelming yearning filled her as she viewed this world she had so carelessly left behind, her world, the world she could never expect to see again, except in these dreams created for the enlightenment of these savages, for if she ever returned to her homeland centuries would have passed, and everything she knew would be gone... She fell silent for a moment, swaying on the stage, her prepared speech gone from her mind; but she steeled herself, breathed carefully in and out, and then spoke, her words coming swiftly as she tried to recover lost ground.

“Wise they grew in the ways of alchemy, and of handling metals. They harnessed the fires of the dragons. Their priests were granted to knowledge about other worlds the dragons had created, and the planets where the dragons had made humanity. Their alchemists wished to know these other humans, to visit them, and to this end they built a ship powered by dragonfire. A ship such as the universe had not known, capable of moving between the stars.”

Here the display showed the great ship a-building on a barren plain of the brown world — an outright lie, since the ship had actually been built in orbit and could never taste atmosphere, but Fiona could not expect her audience to understand that. “The ship,” she said, “was built of metal, smelted in the fire of the dragons, and was crewed by hundreds.

“But there was one problem,” Fiona said. “The spaces between the stars were such that the ship would take years to complete its journey — not years only, but lifetimes. So the artificers of this world contrived to put the crew to sleep for the duration of the journey, and so built the ship that it might pilot itself, all with machinery.” The simulation showed the crew in their glass-fronted coffins, moving down the rows of sleeping to a porthole that showed the stars. “And the ship rose at last, and moved among the stars with its sleeping crew,” Fiona narrated, and the view showed the stars moving past, faster this time. “Years passed, and the crew slept, and the ship moved straight and true on its course, until another star approached.”

The star appeared, and its blue-white planet; the viewpoint rushed downward, down through the cloud to the city of Arrandal and the palace of Necias — there were gasps from the audience as they recognized the endpoint of this journey — and then the perspective tilted up again, showing the night sky: the same night sky the simulation had shown first of all, different but in one detail.

“The ship, flying high over the land, appeared as a fixed, gleaming star,” Fiona said, and there was a murmur among the crowd as the fixed star winked in the revolving heavens. “The crew of the ship rose from their beds and for two years studied the land below, before sending their people down to greet the humans, so like themselves, who lived in this strange world. But at long last the ambassadors came down from their ship, and traveled the long miles to greet you.”

The vision faded, the white fog suddenly only fog, dissipating slowly in the drafts of the upper hall. And suddenly there was only Fiona, standing alone in the brightness of her scarlet gown, her hand at her throat. She raised the hand.

“From my world to yours, greetings,” she said.

And the world changed.

CHAPTER 8

In the mad pandemonium that followed, half the audience applauding, half near-riot, purses flying through the air, dozens breaking from their places to cluster up about the foreign conjuror as if she were a goddess come to earth, Necias thought quickly. He leaned toward Tegestu and bellowed: “Get her out of here! Someplace safe, and quiet!” Tegestu made a gesture and suddenly there was a wedge of Brodaini slicing through the crowd, its ardis aimed at Fiona. Necias felt the grip of Brito’s hand on his arm.

“Get Campas!” she said, her eyes glittering with urgency. “Tell Campas to go with her!”

Necias nodded and roared the poet’s name. There was another hand on his shoulder, a hand that glittered with rings, and Necias turned to give Campas his instructions. Campas listened with a strange, knowing, half-cynical smile, nodded, and then followed in the wake of the Brodaini. The woman was reached, cordoned off, snatched from the crowd. Classani swept through the crowd to pick up her table, her equipment, her trunk, her litter of purses. Necias saw the bewildered, white-haired figure of his steward Ahastinas in the melee. He tried to signal Ahastinas to continue the program, but it was no use — Ahastinas was already banging his staff and shouting to no avail; the poor man was almost weeping with frustration.

Enough.

Necias lurched to his feet, climbed onto his stoutly-built settee, and cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Silence!” he roared. “Silence, all of you! Silence!”

That did the trick. The milling crowd grew less noisy and then stilled, staring up at him in surprise, the upturned faces demanding an explanation Necias could not provide.

“We will investigate this matter,” Necias said, his voice sounding hollow in the stillness. “I’ll have the heralds announce the results tomorrow. In the meantime,” he said, gesturing brusquely, “the program will continue, after you return to your seats. Ahastinas, what’s next on the program?”

“A new concerto by Naralidas Pastas, sir,” Ahastinas quavered, and Necias clapped his hands.

“Excellent!” he bellowed. “The man’s good!” He looked out at the crowd, then scowled. “Back to your seats, then, so the show can continue.”

They moved, grudgingly, and Necias clambered carefully down from his perch and sat himself. Brito leaned over to whisper into his ear.

“Very well done, Necias.”

“Thanks,” Necias said, tugging at his ear and frowning. Ai, gods, he thought. What in the name of the dragons and demons did all this mean? If that girl was a charlatan he’d have the hide off her. But if she wasn’t... no, it had to be trickery, or witchcraft. Had to be. The alternative was too dizzying.

As dizzying as the stars burning in the void, as dizzying as flying high above his palace on the wings of a mallanto... He shook his head, clenched his fists. He’d get to the bottom of it, just wait.

There was the touch of a hand on his shoulder: Campas. “She’s in the small conference room,” he said. “Guards are keeping her safe. She said she’d be pleased to speak with you.”

Necias tilted his head back, looking into his secretary’s businesslike face. “Good,” he said. “Has she said anything?’’

There was an amused, smug gleam in Campas’ eye. “She complimented me,” he said, “on my verse.” And then he frowned. “We didn’t get all her gear out. Some of those people were after souvenirs.”

Necias shook his head. “Couldn’t be helped,” he said. “Go stay with her. Don’t ask any questions yet, but if she volunteers anything, write it down.” He looked at the crowd, dispersing now, murmuring among themselves, still casting him looks ranging from bafflement to suspicion. “Make her comfortable, hey?” he said. “Give her anything she wants: food, drink, anything.”

“Except her freedom, as I take it?” Campas asked, his tone light. Necias looked at him sharply, seeing the quick, cynical mockery in his eyes, and then gave his secretary a grin.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “She didn’t cause a sensation like that just to disappear into the night, hey?” He jabbed a blunt finger into Necias’ chest. “She’s after something, my boy, and we’ll just have to find out what it is. Cut along now.”