“I found them in the countryside,” Stave replied. “They are strangers, so I signaled them to follow me, and they did. I thought the despots would want to see them.”
The guard faced Darius. “Who are you?” he snapped. Again, the message was from Stave’s mind.
Darius looked blank. “Are you speaking to me?” he inquired in his own language, which Colene could not understand; this time it was Darius’ thought Seqiro relayed.
The guard seemed taken aback at the unintelligible speech. Satisfied that these were indeed strangers, he pointed to the gate.
“Go there?” Darius asked. He took a step, hesitantly.
The guard turned and walked ahead, leading them in. Stave stood where he was, ignored. Go with them, he thought, his face impassive. They have no interest in me, and that is best. I will tell Ana, whom you know as Nona, that you are here. I will come if you call me, if you can mind-talk from a distance.
We can, Colene thought. She wished Stave had come in with them, however, because then they would have had a far easier time understanding what was going on. As it was, she was nervous, despite Provos’ assurance that they would get through satisfactorily. How accurate was the woman’s memory of future events? It couldn’t be perfect, because sometimes their actions changed their future.
The gate did not lead straight in. Instead they had to mount a long, steep ramp which seemed to go to the top of the wall. But it didn’t; perhaps three quarters of the way up it turned away from the wall and deposited them on a slightly sloping platform, an interior glacis. Apparently the wall surrounded a steep mountain ridge, and the castle proper was at the top of that. This would be some redoubt to storm!
Inside, it looked even more like a city. The outer wall did not connect to the interior structures; there was a wide space between them. That way the inhabitants could defend against an enemy who breached the outer ramparts; he would have to expose himself to further fire before reaching the inner compound.
They were led to a chamber just inside the wall. The head guard barked a command, but this time they really did not understand it.
Then an old man appeared, also in black. He did not walk in, he appeared in the chamber. He smiled. He spoke in more gibberish, addressing Darius.
“I do not understand what you are saying,” Darius replied in his own language.
The man lifted his hand, and a doll appeared in it. The doll looked much like Darius. The doll reached out, and in its hand appeared a cloak similar to the one the old man wore, but green. Then the cloak was on the doll.
“An icon!” Darius exclaimed. “My kind of magic!”
“Not necessarily,” Colene said. “Guess something else, just in case.” Because Nona had not mentioned that type of magic.
“You want us to change clothing?” Darius asked.
The doll was suddenly wearing the cloak. The implication was clear enough. Colene’s caution had been justified. Darius might have given away his magic, if it worked here.
“But we need a private place to change,” Darius protested.
“Oh, forget it,” Colene said. “They don’t care about our bodies.” She extended her hand toward the man in white, and immediately a green cloak landed on it. She stepped out of her clothing, except for her bra and panties, and dropped the cloak over her head. It was light and silken, pleasant enough to wear, and had a green sash she tied around her waist. Green slippers appeared before her, and she donned them too. The cloak seemed designed for a larger person, as it reached right down to her ankles, but she was satisfied.
Darius had averted his gaze as she changed; it was one of the little ways he had about him, both frustrating and endearing. That was more than could be said for the black-clad old man; he had stared at Colene’s body. She wasn’t sure whether to be angry or flattered.
Now Darius changed too. On him the cloak reached to the knees. The man stared at him too, so at least it wasn’t sexual.
Provos was in between, the tunic falling to her mid-calves. The man stared at her body too, or as much of it as showed around her long, loose green corset. What was it about their bodies the man found so odd?
For Seqiro there was a double collar, yellow and green. Colene put it on him. They’ll probably separate us, she thought. But we’ll be in touch anywhere in the castle. For his telepathy could reach her anywhere on a planet; they were attuned to each other. That gave her great comfort, especially in a strange situation like this.
Appropriately garbed, they were conducted across the open section to the inner gate. Here another black-cloaked man came to lead Seqiro away, surely to a stable. They had been through this before; it didn’t bother the horse to be considered an animal, though it irritated Colene.
The three were admitted to an interior court. Here several men and women sat in comfortable thronelike chairs. All the men were in black tunics, and the women in white tunics. Color coding, Colene realized. Stave had worn blue, and Nona red, which could be the colors for the theows. The green was probably reserved for visitors of either sex. It made sense, for a highly regimented society: nobody had to think about status.
The old man came to stand between them and the seated despots. He gestured. A picture appeared in the air over his head: himself. “Hobard,” he said, and the figure glowed momentarily. He touched himself. “Hobard.”
That was clear enough. It was his name. Seqiro was making progress on getting into the man’s mind. Colene depended on that; she would have been suicidally tense without the assurance of the horse’s ability and support.
A picture of Darius appeared. “Darius,” Darius said.
Then pictures of Provos and Colene, both of whom gave their names. This was an efficient introduction! But there was no picture of Seqiro. Evidently they didn’t think the horse was important. How little they knew!
A picture of the man on the largest throne appeared. “King Lombard,” Hobard said. The word for king was foreign, but Seqiro translated it. Maybe it was dictator or monarch or muck-a-muck or chicken-manure; it didn’t matter. This was the head despot.
Lombard? Colene stifled a giggle. There was a special lexicon of colloquial acronyms, back in her subculture on Earth, and one of these was LOMBARD: Lots of Money but a Real Dickhead. Well, maybe that was the case here. Lombard was also a Germanic tribe that invaded Italy after the fall of the Roman Empire. That, too, might fit.
Then the chief woman: “Queen Glomerula.” Colene kept a straight face; this was the one who was going to try to seduce Darius! Was it her imagination, or was the woman a nymphomaniac? She enjoys playing with unfamiliar men, Seqiro clarified. This is the impression Hobard has. She seduced him some time ago, then lost interest. The king is tolerant, since his own interest is in helpless theow girls. The king and queen consider it bad form to be stuck with each other for entertainment. The horse was merely reporting Hobard’s private assessment, but Colene found it hilarious, except that the queen’s next target was Colene’s man. She also found it funny that the queen’s name in translation sounded something like an aspect of a kidney. She’d love to give the queen a kidney disease!
Finally “Knave Naylor,” the one who was going to try to rape Colene herself. Colene kept her face straight. He looked sinister to her, a knave indeed. But he was going to have a rude surprise when he tried to tackle this supposedly innocent visiting maiden.
Hobard appeared again in the image. Beside him formed a picture of a neat house on a hill. The picture drew away, and landscape appeared between the house and the man. Hobard spoke, saying his name and several other words. He is from Hillside Acres, some distance west of here, Seqiro clarified.