“Our guide seems to have lost us,” Iolanthe said. “We should wait here for him. I never know where I am in this horrid place.”
Raistlin was looking around at his surroundings.
“You were concentrating on something very deeply back there on the stairs. I spoke, but you didn’t hear me.”
“I am sorry,” said Raistlin. “I was counting.”
“Counting?” Iolanthe repeated, astonished. “Counting what?”
“The stairs.” “Whatever for?”
“I have a habit of observation. Twenty stairs led down to the guardroom from the abbey where I found myself. My sudden appearance out of thin air caused quite a stir,” he added with a sudden flash of humor in the strange eyes.
“I can imagine,” she said.
“Leaving the courtroom, we climbed forty-five stairs on the last staircase.”
“All very interesting, I suppose,” said Iolanthe, “but I fail to see any practical use for such knowledge. Especially in this weird place.”
“You refer, of course, to the interplanal shifting between the physical world and the Abyss,” said Raistlin.
“How did you know about that?” she asked, again astonished.
“I had read about the phenomenon prior to coming to Neraka. I was curious to see what it was like, which is one reason I made it a point to visit the temple. In truth, the corridors do not shift. They only appear to do so because the eye is fooled by the distortion between one plane and another. Rather like looking through a prism,” he explained. “The building is not really jumping about or changing shape. I noted, however, that the visual distortion effects are mitigated when it comes to the stairs. That is only logical, otherwise the dark clerics would be forever tumbling down the staircases and breaking their necks. But I am stating the obvious. You are a frequent visitor here. You must have noticed this yourself.”
Once she thought of it, Iolanthe realized that she never did have any problem going up and down the stairs, though she had not considered such information important.
“The distortion makes walking about the temple very disorienting, which is precisely the reason for it,” Raistlin continued. “The casual visitor is immediately lost, which makes him feel afraid and vulnerable, and thus his mind is opened to the power and influence of the Dark Queen. Did you never wonder how the dark clerics come to find their way about?”
As if on cue, their guide appeared at the end of the hall, an annoyed expression on his face. Spying them, he came marching grimly down the corridor.
“Not really,” said Iolanthe. “I avoid the place when I can. What does the number of stairs have to do with anything?”
“The fact that the stairs are not subject to such distortions makes them useful tools for keeping track of one’s whereabouts,” said Raistlin. “I noted that the dark cleric who escorted me to the dungeon level was keeping count of the stairs. I saw him strike the numbers off with the fingers of his hand. I presume, though I do not know for certain, that every staircase has a different number of stairs and that is how they find their way around.”
“I begin to understand,” said Iolanthe, enlightened. “If I want to get to the Nightlord’s courtroom, I look for the staircase with forty-five stairs.”
Raistlin nodded and Iolanthe regarded him in wonder. She considered Kitiara a remarkable woman, and she now felt the same about her brother. Brains must run in the family.
The dark pilgrim took them once more in tow, with a stern admonition to keep up with him. He stalked down the hall ahead of them, moving at a rapid pace toward the nearest exit, obviously eager to be rid of them.
Iolanthe gave a relieved sigh when they passed through the main gate. She was always happy to escape the temple. She slipped her arm companionably inside Raistlin’s.
She was startled to feel him flinch and stiffen. He drew back from her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said coldly, dropping her hand.
“No, please,” he said in confusion. “I am the one who should beg pardon. It’s just … I don’t like being touched.”
“Not even by a pretty woman?” she asked with an arch smile.
“That is not something to which I’m accustomed,” he said wryly.
“No time like the present,” she said, and she twined her arm through his. “The streets are not safe,” she added more somberly. “It will be better if we stick close together.”
The streets were deserted for the most part. They passed one man lying in the gutter. He was either dead drunk or just plain dead; Iolanthe never looked too closely. She steered Raistlin to the other side of the street.
“Do you have a place to stay in Neraka?” she asked.
Raistlin shook his head. “I am newly arrived in this city. I came to the temple first. I was hoping to find rooms at the Tower. I trust there are some available? A small cell, such as they might give a novice, would suit me. The only possessions I own I carry with me. Or rather, I used to carry them.”
“I am sorry about the loss of your staff,” said Iolanthe. “I fear you will never see it again. The Nightlord knows magic, and he was quick to recognize its value—”
“There was no help for it,” said Raistlin with a shrug of his thin shoulders.
“You do not appear to be overly concerned about its loss,” Iolanthe said, giving him a sharp look.
“I can buy another staff at any mageware shop,” Raistlin said with a rueful smile. “I cannot buy another life.”
“I suppose that is true,” Iolanthe conceded. “Still, the loss must be devastating.”
Raistlin shrugged again.
He is taking it far too well, Iolanthe thought. Something else is going on here. What a marvelous mystery this young man is proving! She was growing quite fascinated by him.
“You can stay with me tonight,” she said. “Though you will have to sleep on the floor. Tomorrow we will find you a room.”
“I am an old campaigner. I can sleep anywhere,” said Raistlin. He seemed disappointed. “You appear to be telling me there is no room for me in the Tower.”
“You keep mentioning this tower? What tower are you talking about?” Iolanthe asked.
“The Tower of High Sorcery, of course,” said Raistlin.
Iolanthe regarded him with amusement. “Ah, that Tower. I will take you there on the morrow. The hour is late—or early, depending on how you look at it.”
Raistlin glanced up and down the street. No one was around, but he lowered his voice anyway. “What the Nightlord said about Ladonna and Nuitari. Is that true?”
“I was hoping you would know,” said Iolanthe.
He started to reply, but she shook her head. “Such dangerous matters should be discussed behind closed doors.”
Raistlin nodded in understanding.
“We will talk about it when we reach my home,” Iolanthe said, adding demurely, “over a game of marbles.”
3
A Cup Of Tea. Memories. A Dangerous Woman.
It was well after Dark Watch. Raistlin hoped they did not have far to go, for his strength was almost gone. They turned into a street outside the temple walls known as Wizard’s Row, and he was relieved to hear Iolanthe say that this was the street on which she lived. The street was narrow and out of the way, little more than a glorified alley. The name came from the various shops that sold goods related to magic. Most of the shops, Raistlin noted, appeared to be empty. Several had To Let signs posted in broken windows.
Iolanthe’s small apartment was located above one of the few mageware shops still in business. They climbed a long, narrow staircase, and he waited while she removed the wizard lock on her door. Once inside, she provided her guest with a pillow and a blanket and rearranged the furniture in the small room she termed her “library,” so he could make up his bed on the floor. She bade him good night and went to her room, telling him as she left that she was a late riser and did not take kindly to being awakened before noon.