Shadow of a Dark Queen (37 page)

Miranda called out in the Kingdom tongue. “I can see you are not carrying anything in your hand . . . at the moment.”

The figure moved cautiously toward her and said something in a language different from the first it had used. Miranda answered in Keshian, and the slowly walking arsenal answered in yet another tongue.

At last Miranda spoke in a variant of the language of the Kingdom of Roldem, and the figure said, “Ah, you're a Midkemian! I thought I'd recognized Delkian a bit ago, but I'm rusty.” He—for his voice sounded like that of a man—said, “I have been trying to tell you that if you jump through that door, you'd better be able to breath methane.”

“I have means of protecting myself from lethal gas,” answered Miranda.

The man reached up slowly and removed his helm, revealing a face that was almost boyish—a freckled visage set with green eyes and topped with a damp mat of red hair—a face split with a friendly smile. “Few who walk the Hall don't, but the stress is pretty awful. You'd weigh about two hundred times as much as you do normally on Thedissio—which is what the inhabitants call that world—and that can slow movement down a great deal.”

“Thank you,” Miranda said at last.

“First time in the Hall?” asked the man.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, unless you're a great deal more powerful than you look—and I'll be the first to admit that appearances are almost always deceiving—it's usually first-timers whom we find wandering the Hall without company.”

“We?”

“Those of us who live here.”

“You live in the Hall?”

“You're a first-timer, no doubt.” He set the bag down. “I am Boldar Blood.”

“Interesting name,” Miranda said, visibly amused.

“Well, it's not the one my parents gave me, certainly, but I'm a mercenary and one must attempt a certain level of intimidation in my line of work. Hardly credible, I know, but it does prove to be the case. Besides”—he pointed to his own countenance—“is this a face to inspire terror?”

Miranda shook her head and smiled in return. “No, I guess not. You can call me Miranda. Yes, it's my first time in the Hall.”

“Can you get back to Midkemia?”

“If I turn around and walk about two hundred twenty doors, I suspect I'll find the right one.”

Boldar shook his head. “That's the long way. There's a door a short way off that will put you in the city of Ytli, on the world of Il-Jabon. If you can get through the two blocks to another entrance without being accosted by the locals, you'll find a door that leads back into the hall next to the door that leads to . . . I forget which Midkemian door it is, but it's one of them.” He leaned over, opened his bag, and took out a bottle. He fished around inside the sack and produced a pair of metal cups. “Care to join me in a cup of wine?”

“Thank you,” said Miranda, “I am a little thirsty.”

Boldar said, “When I first stumbled into the Hall—must have been a century and a half or so ago—I wandered around until I almost starved to death. A very agreeable thief saved my life in exchange for a seemingly inexhaustible series of reminders of that fact, usually in conjunction with a need for a favor from me. But he did save me a great deal of difficulty at the time. Knowledge of how to navigate the Hall is quite useful. And it's knowledge that I'm delighted to share with you.”

“In exchange for . . .”

“You catch on quickly,” said Blood with a grin. “Nothing is free in the Hall. Sometimes you might do something to build accounts and put others in your debt, but nothing ever goes without something in return.

“There are three types of people you'll meet in the Hall: those who will avoid you and spare you their society in passing, those who will try to bargain with you, and those who will try to take advantage of you. The second and third groups are not necessarily the same thing.”

“I can take care of myself,” Miranda said with a challenge in her voice.

As I said earlier, you couldn't be here in the first place and not have some capacity. But remember this is also true of everyone else you meet in the Hall of Worlds. Oh, occasionally some poor soul without any powers, talents, or abilities blunders in unbidden. No one quite understands how. But quickly they walk out the wrong door or run into those who seek easy prey or step off into the void.”

“What happens when you step off into the void?”

“If you know the right spot, you end up coming into a saloon of a great inn, known by many names, owned by a man named John. The inn is called simply ‘The Inn,' and as John is known as, variously, ‘John the Oathkeeper,' ‘John Without Deceit,' ‘John the Scrupulous,' ‘John Who Has Ethics,' or any other of a half-dozen such honorifics, the saloon is usually called ‘Honest John's.' There were, at last count, one thousand one hundred and seventeen known entrances to the saloon. If you don't know the right spot, well . . . no one knows, for no one has ever returned to tell anyone what exists in the void. It is simply
the void.”

Miranda relaxed. The mercenary's affable manner was such that she doubted he would attempt to take advantage of her. “Would you be willing to show me to one of these entrances?”

“Certainly, for a price.”

“That being?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“In the Hall, there are many things of value. The usual: gold and other precious metal, gems and stones, deeds of ownership to estates, slaves and indentures, and, most of all, information. Then there is the unusual: items unique, services personal, manipulations of reality, souls of those who will never be born, things of those types.”

Miranda nodded. “What would you?”

“What have you?”

They began haggling.

Twice in less than a day, Blood had proven his worth. Miranda was finding herself fortunate that he had been the first person she encountered, rather than a party of interdimensional slavers whom they
encountered several hours later. Miranda had a personal distaste for the institution of slavery, a bias now heightened by the attempt to reduce her and Boldar to inventory.

Boldar had disposed of the four guards and the slaver after attempting to allow them peaceful passage. Miranda thought she might have been able to cope with them alone, but she was impressed how Boldar had instantly recognized the moment the negotiations had soured and had disposed of two guards before she could begin to focus her mind on protecting herself. By the time she would have encased herself in a protective aura, the conflict was over.

The slaves had been freed—which had required a great deal of argument on Miranda's part, for now she had to make good on the portion of profit Boldar stood to make upon acquiring the slaves and selling them. Miranda pointed out that as he was currently in her employ, he was in fact acting as her agent, and she was free to do with the slaves what she chose. He found this proposition somewhat dubious, but after considering the difficulty of feeding and caring for the slaves, decided that accepting a bonus from Miranda would prove the better solution.

The second encounter had been with another band of mercenaries, who seemed inclined to give Blood and his employer a wide berth, but who, Miranda was certain, would have acted entirely differently had she been alone.

While they walked, she learned.

“So if you know the locations of the common doors, the journey through the Hall can be shortened?”

“Certainly,” said Blood. “It depends on the world, how many doorways exist, and where they are relative to one another in the Hall. Thanderospace, for example”—he waved at a door they passed—“has but one door, which unfortunately opens into the hall of sacrifice in the most sacred temple of a cult of cannibalistic humanoids, who are less fussy about defining cannibalism than they are devoted to eating anyone who stumbles into their most holy of holies. This is a world seldom visited.

“Merleen, on the other hand”—he waved at another door a short distance ahead—“is a commerce world that is served by no less than six doors, which makes it a hub of trade, both among its resident nations and for other Hall worlds.

“The world from which you appear to hail, Midkemia, has at least three doors I'm aware of. Which did you use to enter?”

“Under a bar in LaMut.”

“Ah, yes, Tabert's. Good food, decent ale, and bad women. My sort of place.” He seemed somehow to be grinning behind the mask. How Miranda could tell she didn't know. Perhaps it was some subtlety in the mercenary's body language, or a note in his voice.

“How does one learn of these doors? Is there a map?”

“Well, there's one,” said Boldar, “at Honest John's. It's on a wall in the public room. There you can see the known limits of the Hall. The last time I looked, there were something like thirty-six thousand—odd doors identified and catalogued.

“There are occasionally messages forwarded to the Inn from those who encounter new doors, either
in the Hall or upon any world where a new passage is discovered. There's even one legendary lunatic whose name I forget who is exploring the far reaches and sending back messages, some which take decades to reach John's. He's getting so far from the Inn he's becoming a myth.”

Miranda thought. “How long has this been going on?”

Boldar shrugged. “I suspect the Hall has existed since the dawn of time. Men and other creatures have lived here for ages. It requires a certain talent to survive for long within the Hall, so it has its appeal for those who seek a . . . higher-stakes sort of living.”

“What of you?” asked Miranda. “You could live well on most worlds with the fee you charge me.”

The mercenary shrugged. “I do this less for the bounty than for the excitement. I must confess that I do grow easily bored. There are worlds where I could rule as king, but that has little appeal for me. In truth, I find myself happiest in circumstances that would drive most sane men mad. War, murder, assassination, intrigue—these are my stock-in-trade, and there are few who match me in skill. I say this not to brag, for I have your commission already, but to tell you simply, once you grow used to living in the Hall, there is no other life.”

Miranda nodded. The scope of the place was staggering; it was literally the sum of all known and quite a few unknown worlds.

Boldar said, “As much as I am enjoying your company, Miranda, and as much as I enjoy the wealth you promise, I grow tired; while time has no meaning here, fatigue and hunger are real in all dimensions—at least the ones I've visited. And you still haven't told me where you go.”

Miranda said, “That's because I really don't know where I'm going. I'm looking for someone.”

“May I enquire whom?”

“A worker of magic, by name Pug of Stardock.”

Boldar shrugged. “Never heard of him. But if there is one place where both our present needs can likely be met, it is the Inn.”

Miranda was uncertain, and wondered at her own reluctance to embrace the obvious. If there was a communal center to the Hall, then should Pug have come through the Hall, that was the most likely place to inquire. But she feared others might also be interested in his passing and thought it likely he would have avoided letting others know of his whereabouts. Still, it was better than wandering aimlessly.

“Are we far from the Inn?”

“No, actually,” said Boldar. “We've passed two other entrances since we met, and there is another a short distance away.”

He motioned for her to follow, and after progressing past another two doors, he pointed to the void. “This is very difficult the first time.” He pointed to the door opposite the void. “Note that mark?”

She nodded.

“It's Halliali, a nice place if you enjoy mountains. One of the entrances to Honest John's lies across from it. Now, you simply step off and expect to meet a step a foot or so beyond the edge of the void.” So saying, he stepped into the grey and vanished.

Miranda took a breath, then, as she started to duplicate his move, thought,
Step up or down?

Miranda fell forward: the step was down and she had guessed up. Strong arms caught her, and she opened
her eyes wide at the sight of white fur on them.

She tried remaining calm as she disengaged herself from her helper, a nine-foot-tall creature covered in that same white fur from head to foot. Black spots broke up the otherwise snowy surface, and two immense blue eyes and a mouth were the only visible features on a shaggy head. A plaintive grunt was followed by Boldar saying, “If you have any weapons, now is the time to surrender them.”

She saw he was efficiently divesting himself of his arsenal, including several rather innocuous-looking items that had been secreted about his person. Miranda carried only two daggers, one in her waistband, and another strapped to the inside of her right calf, and she quickly surrendered them.

Boldar said, “The proprietor learned ages ago that his establishment thrives so long as it is neutral ground for everyone. Kwad ensures that no one who starts trouble remains inside the saloon any longer than necessary.”

“Kwad?”

“Our large hirsute friend here,” answered Boldar. As they left the doorway, he continued. “Kwad's a Coropaban; stronger by the pound than any creature known, almost completely resistant to any magic; and the most toxic poisons take a week or so to kill one. They make incredible bodyguards, if you can get one to leave their homeworld.”

Miranda stopped and gaped. The saloon was immense, easily two hundred yards across, and twice that deep. Along the right wall, nearly the entire way, ran a single bar, with a dozen barmen rushing to meet their customers' demands. A pair of galleries, one above the other, overhung the other three sides of
the hall, thick with tables and chairs, providing vantage points from which those drinking and dining could gaze down upon the main floor.