Dennis winced. Arth was right, of course. He had been in a confused state when he screamed at the pixolet and the robot. It wasn’t the sort of thing a storybook adventurer would do.
But Dennis was a man. He was susceptible to the psychological pressures of his unusual and highly dangerous situation. He might think he’d adjusted to being stranded in a strange world with strange rules, sought by enemies for reasons he barely understood—then a disaster shook his equilibrium, making him disoriented, estranged, lightheaded.
But he couldn’t explain this to Arth. Not while he was freezing. Anyway, if they were to have any chance, they would have to cooperate. That meant making Arth respect his rights.
“I’m sorry about this mess, Arth. You have my wizard’s vow that I’ll make it up to you someday. Now, give my blanket back, or I’ll turn you into a frog and take both of them for myself.”
He said it so evenly, so calmly that Arth’s eyes widened in reaction. No doubt his opinion of Dennis had plummeted since the episode on the rooftop. Still, he remembered tricks the foreigner had pulled in the past.
Arth snorted in disgust and tossed Dennis the blanket. “Wake me when breakfast comes, Dennzz. Then see if you can turn it into somethin’ edible!” He rolled over the other way under his blanket.
Dennis wrapped himself as well as he could and tried to practice the blanket while he waited for Baron Kremer to decide his fate.
Time passed slowly. The tedium was punctuated by the occasional pacings of the jailers up and down the halls. The guards muttered constantly under their breath. Eventually Dennis was able to make out that they were repeating over and over a dolorous evaluation of the condition of their clients.
“Sure is dank an’ gloomy in here,” Guard One commented as he passed.
“Yep. Dank. Gloomy,” the other responded.
“Sure wouldn’t want ta be a prisoner. It’s awful down here.”
“Sure is. Awful.”
“Will you stop repeatin’ what I say? Do I have to do all th’ work? It’s really irritatin’!”
“Uh-huh. Irritating. Sure is…”
Anyway, it solved one mystery. The way they kept the dungeon in practice was by having cycles of jailers constantly comment on how terrible it was down here. Presumably the prisoners were too distracted to put up much resistance. Perhaps Kremer even hired local masochists to come down and enjoy themselves.
It was an unsavory corner of the Practice Effect Dennis wished he’d never learned about.
They finally came for him a couple of days later, after the evening swill. Dennis stood up as the wooden bolt was raised and the door swung wide. Arth watched moodily from the corner.
An officer in a severely elegant uniform casually entered the cell. Behind him stood two tall soldiers, whose conical bearskin headgear brushed the hallway ceiling.
The tall aristocrat looked familiar. Dennis finally remembered seeing him on the street on the day they were captured, arguing with the betrayer, Perth.
“I am Lord Hern,” the officer announced. “Which one of you is the wizard?”
Neither of them replied.
Lord Hern glanced at Arth, then made a decision. With a bored motion he indicated for Dennis to follow him.
“Good luck, Arth,” Dennis said. “I’ll be seeing you.” The little thief merely rolled his eyes and sighed.
The sun was setting behind the western mountains as they emerged on one of the lower parapets. Dennis shaded his eyes, so long had he been in the dimness belowground.
Two more guards fell in behind. Dennis was led down service corridors, then upstairs to an elegant hallway. None of the servants turned to look at the shabby fellow clutching a blanket around him who passed by.
Another pair of guards flanked a door at the end of the hall. They opened it at a nod from Lord Hern.
Dennis followed his escort into a well-appointed room without windows. There was a king-sized bed, with a richly elegant brocade covering. A pretty young servant was laying out an elegant dark brown outfit with puffy sleeves. Through a door on the opposite side came steam and the sound of water being poured.
“You will dine with the Baron tonight,” Lord Hern announced. “You will behave well. The Baron has been known to lose track of inconsiderate guests.”
Dennis shrugged. “So I’ve heard. Thanks. Will you be there?”
Lord Hern looked down his nose. “I shall not have the pleasure. I shall be on a diplomatic errand. Perhaps another time.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Dennis nodded pleasantly.
The aristocrat barely returned the nod. He left without another word.
Coylians, apparently, were an unenlightened and unsophisticated people. The guards merely looked curiously at the odd arm and finger exercise Dennis performed in the direction of the departing lord’s back.
He didn’t need to be told a bath was being drawn. Dennis drop-kicked the blanket over into a corner and made his way toward the sound of pouring water.
2
Cavemen, Dennis reminded himself again and again as he walked to the banquet room.
Remember, boy, they’re only cavemen.
It was hard to keep it in mind. The grand hallway was lined with brilliant mirrors alternating with ornate tapestries. His boots and those of his escort clacked on a mosaic floor that reflected glistening highlights from sparkling chandeliers.
Guards with sun-bright leather armor and gleaming halberds stood at even intervals, at rigid attention.
Dennis wondered. Was this an ostentatious display, keeping these men here when even their leisure time was more valuably spent practicing things?
Then it occurred to him that they were practicing something—this very hall. They were looking at the mirrors and hangings and each others’ uniforms, making them more beautiful by appreciating them. These guards, he realized, were undoubtedly selected less for their prowess than for their good taste!
His escort glanced at him as he whistled appreciatively.
As they approached two high, massive doors, Dennis tried to relax.
If the local honcho expects a wizard, my best chance is to act like a wizard. Maybe this Baron Kremer isn’t unreasonable. Perhaps I can strike a deal with the fellow—freedom for myself and my friends, and aid in fixing the zievatron, in exchange for teaching one of the maker guilds the principle of the wheel?
Dennis wondered if the nobleman would trade Princess Linnora for the “essence” of lighter-than-air flight.
The great doors opened soundlessly as Dennis was ushered into a broad dining room with a vaulted, open-beamed ceiling. The center of the chamber was dominated by an ornate table carved from some impossibly beautiful dark wood. Subdued light came from three rich candelabras. The crystal on the embroidered tablecloth sparkled in the candlelight.
Although four places were set, only servants were visible at the moment. One brought forth a tray with an assortment of beverages and offered Dennis his choice.
He needed something to calm his nerves. It was hard to keep in mind that a savage—a caveman—owned all this. Everything in the room was meant to make the guest know his place in a stratified society. In a room such as this on Earth, Dennis would be about to meet royalty.
He pointed to a bottle, and the servant poured the liquor into a crystal goblet the color of fire.
Dennis took the glass and wandered about the room. If he were a thief and had a working zievatron within reach, he could retire on Earth on just what he could carry in his hands.
Providing, of course, the things retained their current state when they left the ambience of the Practice Effect. Dennis smiled, imagining irate customers whose wonderful purchases slowly decayed before their eyes into the crude products of a kindergarten workshop!