A careful visual search revealed no signs of habitation beyond the fields. Given the imagery, he thought it likely that any datastores or other useful computer nodes would appear as man-made structures. Given the girdling forest and the lack of buildings, he felt sure that he was on the fringes of the system. He would need to get deeper to find out anything.
Obstructed somehow by the interface, his standard programs failed to move him through the architecture at a reasonable pace. He tapped keys, improvising variations in a search for a compatible set of parameters. Frustrating minutes later, he finally realized that many of his tricks were inappropriate. Passwords and subroutines here would be strongly influenced by the imagery. Symbolically, not literally, for nothing was literal in the Matrix. He suspected that many programs in this system would have strategic orientations that could only be expressed in such a way as to manifest an appropriate construct imagery. A clever, if convoluted protection system. Any decker unwilling to accept the parameters of the imposed imagery would be paralyzed. But, as he had told uncounted admirers, he was not just any decker.
His fingers flew across the keyboard, searching out the avenues of correspondence with self-contained routines. Having grasped one of the master program's constraining strategies, he was able to formulate more appropriate responses and begin to manipulate the system. Successes began to accumulate, culminating in a soft whicker. He turned to pat the destrier that stood by his side. The horse nuzzled his hand and bumped his shoulder with its snout. Like a proper steed, it was eager for adventure. He mounted the milk-white stallion and settled into the high-can tied saddle. Then they were off, the horse's alabaster mane and tail streaming back in the wind.
The destrier's stride was steady and strong. The countryside rolled past. Despite deviations into likely valleys and detours to check out farmed land, Dodger found nothing more elaborate than thatch-roofed sod huts. Such were certainly nodes, but unlikely to hold anything of import. This system's imagery pattern demanded that what was important look important. He rode on until at last he glimpsed golden spires on the distant horizon. Turning the horse's head toward the structure, he spurred the beast forward.
The destrier climbed the last rise between them and their destination as swiftly as it had climbed the first. The road they had followed for the last several apparent miles led down the gentle slope to a bridge that spanned the valley's wide river. Beyond the water, the road climbed a well-grassed knoll and disappeared through the gates of the structure Dodger sought. The magnificent castle spread over the crown of the hill and its nacreous walls shown in the sunlight. Bright pennons fluttered on the conical peaks of dozens of subsidiary towers, but the spire of the great central tower flew a single flag. There a red banner with the three golden leopards of Britain flapped boldly in the breeze.
Was this the computer system of the English crown? There was one way to find out. Dodger urged the horse forward.
The destrier's hooves thundered on the wood of the bridge, the noise of them jangling Dodger's nerves. Stealth and the roundabout way were his preferred approach. The bridge seemed to go on and on, its span stretching far further than it had appeared to do. Dodger's suspicions were only beginning to rise when the black knight appeared at the far end. The knight's midnight steed reared slightly as it began its charge.
Clattering steel and the ringing of iron-shod hooves filled Dodger's ears. Ah, a countermeasure at last. The need for action released his tension. Dodger's fingers flew across the keys of his cyberdeck, priming his attack and defensive programs and tweaking them to suit the imposed imagery. The ebon boy in the mirror-polished armor held out his gauntleted hand and a crystal lance appeared in it. A shield as reflective as his armor came into being on his left arm. He lowered his weapon into the slot on the shield, using the resting point to steady his grip as he spurred forward.
"Have at thee, Sir Ice."
The two charging chevaliers met in a crash. The black knight's weapon was longer and he struck first. Dodger felt the lance point slam into his shield. For a terrifying instant it hung, pressing him back against his saddle's cantle and threatening to unhorse him. But then the point slid free and slithered along the curve of the shield and away.
His own point slipped past the knight's shield, catching him full on the helm. The shock ran straight through the lance into Dodger's arm and threw him back into the cantle again. His point had struck cleanly and he had braced well for the shock. The knight's helm lifted from his shoulders and flew backwards to strike the bridge surface with a clarion ring.
Unmasked, the knight was revealed as an empty suit of armor. He and his destrier faded and vanished even before Dodger came abreast of them. Unimpeded, the milky stallion raced on.
On a whim, Dodger dipped his lance and speared the fallen helm. He lifted it high, allowing the lance point to pass through the eyeslit so that the helm could slide the length of the weapon. Since he had no further need for the shield, it vanished, allowing him to use his freed hand to remove the red and yellow plume from his vanquished foe's headgear. Dodger retired the attack program as well. When the lance misted to nothingness, the knight's helm volatilized into smoke and blew away.
Feeling exhilarated by his victory, Dodger affixed the plume to his own helm. A suitable token of prowess, he thought.
He slowed his destrier as he approached the gate to the castle. No sense rushing in before gauging the opposition. He expected another black knight at the very least. The castle was moated; might he face a monster?
To his surprise, nothing moved to bar his path as he started forward. The drawbridge even remained down. The inhabitants of the castle continued about their business. The gate guards even greeted him pleasantly when he drew near. He was puzzled at his acceptance until he noted the predominant color scheme of the castle's denizens. Everyone wore a favor or plume of red and yellow, if not full livery of the two colors. The plume he had snatched from the black knight's helm was red and yellow. No doubt, it was a passcode. Grinning, he guided his horse across the drawbridge and into the courtyard.
He dismounted, his horse vanishing now that it was no longer needed, but he kept a copy of its program in storage. He might need it for a getaway. The courtyard was bustling with activity, servants and craftspeople attending the multitude of tasks necessary for the running of a castle. How much was analog for computer activity and how much was simply local color he didn't know. He wandered about, looking for a way into the keep.
Long minutes of searching proved useless. Either he was missing something, or he hadn't understood the parameters. If this were a real castle, and he a real knight, all he would have to do was stop a servant and ask directions.
That, he realized, was the answer. Interrupting a working functionary would be too obvious a disruption of routine. Dodger waited until one of the many liveried folk who appeared to be messengers of some sort passed near him. He stepped into the servant's path, blocking him only long enough to learn his destination. He heard his own voice asking directions. The imposed imagery again, converting his realworld decking into apparent actions that suited the milieu.
He got into playing the game. From servant to servant he passed, each one dressed in fancier clothes than the last. He passed through the ranks of the castle's hierarchy until he faced the seneschal. Dodger was pleased. The seneschal was the keeper of the castle, the repository of all having to do with its function. He suspected that he had reached the main databank. Unlike the other constructs, this one, a beefy red-haired man wearing a furred cloak over his rich garments, spoke to him before he had said a word.