Back to business. The room I’d arrived in had only one door, and I didn’t remember coming through it.
“Loiosh? Is this the door where we entered?”
He hesitated, then said, “I don’t know.”
“Huh.”
I looked again at those glass windows—no, not windows exactly; they were a series of doors that were all glass except for a wood frame. Whoever built this place had way, way too much money. I ignored them and walked over to the regular one, then hesitated.
Magical connection of unknown properties.
I know what a teleport is like, because it takes a couple of seconds and I can feel it, and besides, the amulet prevents it from working. I know what a necromantic gate is like, because it’s like your body moves first and then your soul catches up with it and there are all these golden sparks all around you, only they aren’t really there, and—crap. I can’t describe it, but the point is, you can’t mistake it. However I’d gotten from the cliff to here, it was neither of those, and I’d wager Loiosh’s next meal that it was somehow connected to whatever was trapping Devera.
“Hey—”
“Shut up.”
Okay, Vlad, think it through: if different places were in different times, that meant necromancy, even if it didn’t feel like a gate. Something was going on that involved connection to other worlds—
No, not to other worlds, through other worlds.
The Halls of Judgment.
The manor—the “platform”—had been designed to provide gateways to other worlds, and doing this had resulted, by accident or design, in sections of the place wrapping back on itself in odd ways and at different times, and it was somehow all tied to the Halls of Judgment. From what Sethra had said, the Halls of Judgment were easy—as such things go—to reach from our world, and from others. And this connection had somehow trapped Devera.
I badly wanted to have a nice, quiet chat with the Necromancer. Or Devera, if she’d stick around long enough to answer some questions.
I thought about how pleasant it would be to pull out a knife and rip up the bed, scatter the pillow stuffing everywhere, smash the furniture, and break the windows, just to do it. I guess I was getting more frustrated than I realized. I didn’t actually rip anything up, though.
I thought about taking the amulet off just long enough to teleport. I had risked taking it off a couple of times and gotten away with it. Yeah, it was a gamble, and every time I did it, the risk increased. But still. Get to Castle Black, find the Necromancer, have a long talk about how the world was put together, then come back.
“Come back, Boss?”
“You know we’re going to solve this thing one way or another, Loiosh.”
“But—”
“Devera.”
He sighed into my mind.
No, I wasn’t going to remove the amulet. Not yet. Not unless I was desperate. And I couldn’t be desperate, there were still doors I hadn’t opened. You’re not desperate until you’ve opened all the doors. T-A-L-T-O-S.
I scowled at the door in front of me. Fine, then. I took a step forward and pulled it open. It might be the same hallway I’d first entered, or just one that looked the same. Might as well find out. It would be annoying to bump into Harro again and have him give me the sad eyes about staying put, but if all else failed I could always cut off his ears, right?
In ten steps I was pretty sure where I was: a few more steps would bring me back to the room where I slept, and beyond that Zhayin’s room, and the strange meeting room, and the front doors.
I took a few more steps and I was elsewhere and I was annoyed. Abrupt, irrational shifts going through doors was one thing, but between two steps in a normal hallway seemed unfair.
It was no mystery what kind of room I was in. As soon as I recovered from the surprise of the transition I recognized it: a large room full of bunk beds in neat rows, with hooks all about, and uniforms hanging from the hooks, a sword and a halberd on a stand next to each bed. This was a barracks. There were mirrors above each door, angling down. Anywhere else, the far door would lead to a training yard; but anywhere else, the near door would have led to a convenient corridor that permitted actually getting somewhere useful. I counted a total of thirty-two beds, which was not an unreasonable number.
The weapons were clean and sharp and in good condition, of similar make to the ones I’d found in the armory upstairs, though perhaps a bit more modern, judging by the forward curve of the ax, and the narrowness of the spear blade on the halberds.
Which is to say there wasn’t that much to see. The other door led to a room with a slightly larger bed, a desk, a chair, and a cabinet, with several blank sheets of paper and two pencil stubs on the desk. There were no other doors, windows, or surprise exits.
I went back through the barracks and into the hallway. I turned around, and there was no door behind me, and no sign of one existing. Creepy. I shrugged and continued in the only direction I could. After a few paces, there was a door on the right, just past the bedroom from which I’d emerged. I opened it without hesitation, and said, “Oh, pardon me. Uh, Odelpho, was it? We met in the hall when you were running in terror.”
“Yes, m’lord. Of course.”
“I’m just, I was looking … so, what is this room?”
“The old nursery, m’lord.”
“Oh. Of course.” There was a crib there, and walls painted deep blue, and there were hooks in the ceiling where things had once hung over the crib. “Mind if I ask what you’re doing?”
“M’lord?”
“Just wondering why you’re here. If you don’t mind telling me.”
“M’lord? Where else would I go?”
“Don’t you have your own room?”
“Oh, I see. Your pardon, m’lord, I misunderstood. I thought you meant … I just like to come here and remember.”
“To remem—ah, the child.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I should have been there.”
“But you were ill?”
She nodded. “I thought I was going to die. Now—yes, m’lord.”
“Harro feels terrible about what happened.”
“He told you about it?”
I nodded. “I sort of made him.”
Her face did something odd, like she couldn’t make up her mind about what sort of expression she should wear. “He was such a good boy. It was horrible. And poor Lord Zhayin. And poor Harro.”
I nodded.
“And then, his daughter.”
“Pardon me?”
“You didn’t know about his daughter?”
“I only knew he had a son.”
She shook her head. “I probably shouldn’t speak of it. My Lord Zhayin is, well, he is a very private person, you know.”
Daughter. Yes. Of course. I’m an idiot.
I nodded. “Yes, I understand. I’m sure he wouldn’t want you speaking to a stranger about poor Tethia.”