Shadow of a Dark Queen (38 page)

There every game of chance conceivable was being played, from several variations of dice to a knife duel in a small sandpit. Creatures of every imaginable conformation moved easily through the press, greeting one another as they chanced upon old acquaintances.

Creatures carried trays covered with a variety of pots, platters, cups, buckets, and bowls. Some were put before creatures that defied Miranda's sense of order. At least a dozen clearly reptilian creatures were dining in the hall, the mere fact of which caused her to be very uncomfortable. The majority of the clientele was humanoid, though an occasional insectlike being or something that looked like a walking dog could be seen.

“Welcome to Honest John's,” said Boldar.

“Where's John?” she asked.

“He is over there.” He pointed to the long bar. At the near end stood a man wearing a strange suit of shining cloth. It consisted of trousers that broke without cuffs at the top of shiny black boots with oddly pointed toes. The jacket was open in front, revealing a white shirt with ruffles, closed by pearl studs and sporting a pointed collar, set off with a cravat of bright yellow. Upon his head he wore a wide-brimmed white hat with a shimmering red silk hatband. He spoke closely with a creature that looked like a man with an extra set of eyes in his forehead.

Boldar waved as they approached and the man identified as John said something to the four-eyed man, who nodded once and departed.

With a wide smile, John said, “Boldar! It's been, what, a year?”

“Not quite, John. But close enough.”

“How do you tell time in the Hall?” asked Miranda.

John glanced at Boldar, who said, “My current employer, Miranda.”

With a theatrical gesture, John doffed his hat and swept it across his chest, bowing at the waist as he reached out with his other and took one of hers lightly in it. He then made a gesture of kissing it, though his lips never touched skin.

She withdrew it quickly, feeling somewhat awkward at the contact. John said, “Welcome to my humble establishment.”

Suddenly Miranda's eyes widened. “What language are you—are we . . .”

John said, “Your first visit, I see. I thought it unlikely we should host as lovely a guest as yourself before without my notice.” He waved them to a table located near the bar, and pulled out a chair. She blinked at it a moment before she realized he was waiting for her to sit. She was unused to this odd behavior, but considering the range of human custom, she chose not to offend and let him seat her.

“One of the few magic spells allowed. It is not only useful, it is necessary. It's not foolproof, I fear, for we do occasionally have the odd visitor whose personal frame of reference is so alien to the majority of sentient life that only the most basic communication is possible, if any, and we also do get the occasional fool.”

Boldar chuckled and said, “That we do.”

John waved his hand. “Now, as to your first question,
measuring time is simple. Outside the Hall, time passes as it does everywhere else in the universe, as far as I know. But to answer what you meant to ask, we measure it as we did on my homeworld. It's a vanity, but as I am the owner of the establishment, it's my right to make the rules. What world do you hail from, if I might know?”

“Midkemia.”

“Ah, then, it's very close to what you're used to. Mere hours different per year; enough to trouble scribes and philosophers, but in the course of a normal lifetime, you'd only be off by a few days on your birthday between the two calendars.”

Miranda said, “When I first learned of the Hall, I thought it a magic gate through which I might seek other worlds. I had no idea . . .”

John nodded. “Few do. But humans, for that is what I judge you to be, are like most other intelligent creatures—they adapt. And they find things that are useful and continue to do them. Likewise, those of us who are privileged to walk the Hall, well, we adapt, too. There are too many reasons to stay within the Hall, too many benefits, once one finds one's way into it, to ignore, so most of us become citizens of the Hall, abandoning our former ties or at least neglecting them shamefully.”

“Benefits?”

John and Boldar exchanged looks. “So I don't bore you, my dear, why don't you tell me what you know about the Hall?” suggested John.

Miranda said, “In my travels I have heard of the Hall of Worlds several times. I had to look for quite some time to find the entrance. I know it is a means of traveling through space, to reach distant worlds.”

“And through time, as well,” said Boldar.

Miranda said, “Time?”

“To reach a distant world by conventional means takes lifetimes; the Hall reduces transit to days, in some cases hours.”

John said, “Then to the heart of the matter: the Hall exists independent of objective reality as we like to define it when standing on the surface of our homeworlds. It links worlds that may be in different universes, different spacetimes, for lack of a better term. We have no way of knowing. For that matter, it may link worlds at different times. My homeworld, a not very distinguished sphere orbiting an unremarkable sun, may very well have died of old age before your world was born, Miranda. How would we know? If we move through objective space, then why not through objective time?

“And because of that, we have here, within the Hall, everything. Or if not that, then as close as a mortal can wish. We trade in wonders, in the Hall, and in the prosaic, every chattel and species, every service and debt. If you can imagine it, if it can be found anywhere, it can be found here, or at least here you can find someone to take you to it.”

“What other benefits?”

“Well, for one, you don't age in the Hall.”

“Immortality?”

“Or something close enough to it to make little difference,” said John. “It may be that those of us able to find the Hall possess this gift already, or it may be that by living within the Hall we avoid Death's icy hand, but the gains in time are not trivial, and few give them up willingly.” He waved his hand to the gallery above. “Those who inhabit my guest
quarters number several hundred who fear to ever again leave the Hall, conducting their businesses in their entirety in rooms I lease them. Others come here as the only possible refuge from all danger, while yet others spend part of their days on other worlds and part of them here. But no denizen of the Hall will give up its lure after becoming aware of the benefits.”

“What of Macros the Black?”

At the mention of that name, both John and Boldar looked uncomfortable. “He's a special case,” answered John after a while. “He may be an agent of some higher power, or even a higher power himself; at the very least, he's something beyond what we would count mortal here in the Hall. How much of what has been placed at his feet is true and how much legend, only a few can tell. What do you know of him?”

“Only what was told me in Midkemia.”

“Not the world of his birth,” said John. “Of that I am almost certain. But what brings his name into this conversation?”

“Only that he's a special case, as you have said. So there might be others.”

“Perhaps.”

“Such as Pug of Stardock?”

Again John looked discomforted, though Boldar hadn't so much as blinked at mention of Pug's name. “If you seek Pug, I may not be able to offer you much by way of encouragement.”

“Why is that?”

“He passed through here quite a few months ago, ostensibly on his way to some odd world I can't remember, to do research, but I fear that is a ruse.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he hired several of Boldar's friends to prevent anyone who asked for him from following after.”

“Who?” said Boldar, looking around the room.

“William the Gripper, Jeremiah the Red, and Eland Scarlet, the Grey Assassin.”

Boldar shook his head. “Those are three likely to cause some trouble.” He leaned forward to Miranda. “I could most likely best Jeremiah; his reputation is built mostly on rumor. But William and Eland both possess the death touch, and that makes it dicey if they're working together.”

Miranda said, “Do I look like a Pantathian?”

John said, “My dear, after as many lifetimes as I have spent in the Hall, looks are the last thing I would depend upon. You, for all your evident charms, could turn out to be my own grandfather and it would barely surprise me—though I fervently hope the old boy is dead, as we buried him when I was fourteen years old.” Rising, he said, “Pug of Stardock is another, like Macros, who is not of the Hall, but utilizes it occasionally. But his word is good and so is his gold. He paid for protection, and such he will get. My advice is not to let anyone else in this room know you seek him and to find some other means to trace his whereabouts, or be prepared to meet two of the Hall's most reputable mercenaries and one of the most feared assassins, no less than one minute after you leave this place.”

He bowed. “Please have refreshments as my guest.” He signaled a small man and said something to him, indicating that a round of drinks should be produced. “Should you need quarters for a time,
you'll find us reasonable. If not, I trust you'll enjoy yourself as long as you're here, and return to us soon.” He bowed, tipping his white hat, and left to return to the bar and his conversation with the four-eyed man, who had just returned from whatever errand he had been on.

Blood let out his breath in a dramatic fashion. “What do you choose to do?” he asked.

“I intend to keep looking. I mean Pug no harm.”

“Would he think that?”

“We've never met. I know him by name only. But he would not think me dangerous, I know.”

“I've never met him, either, but John recognized his name instantly. That means his reputation is spreading, and for that to occur in the Hall, one must possess a significant level of gifts. For him to worry about being followed . . .” He shrugged.

Miranda was inclined to take Boldar at face value, and nothing he had said was inclining her to suspect him; still, the stakes were too high for her to take chances. She said, “If he doesn't want to be followed, enough to take such precautions, how would one follow his trail?”

Boldar blew out his cheeks. “There are several oracles . . .”

“I've consulted with the Oracle of Aal.”

“If she doesn't know, then none of them do,” he observed. “There's the Toymaker.”

“Who is he?”

“A creator of devices, several of which may be used to spy out people who don't wish to be seen. But he's somewhat mad and therefore undependable.”

“Who else?”

The waiter appeared with a round of drinks, placing a frosty mug of something that looked like ale before Boldar and a large crystal goblet before Miranda. He made a show of unfolding napkins and placing one in Miranda's lap and the other in Boldar's. He said, “Compliments of my master,” and withdrew.

The wine was delicious and Miranda drank deeply, discovering she was quite thirsty—and hungry.

“There's Querl Dagat,” said Boldar. “He deals in information; the more improbable, the better he likes it . . . as long as it's true. For that reason, he's a full cut above the average rumormonger hereabouts.”

Miranda picked up her napkin to blot her lips, and a folded piece of paper fell to the floor. She looked down, then at Boldar, who bent over and picked it up. He handed it to her unopened.

She took it and unfolded it to find a single word. “Who's Mustafa?” she asked.

Boldar slammed his hand down upon the table. “The very fellow we must see.”

He glanced around and said, “Up there,” pointing to the gallery.

He rose and Miranda followed; they wended their way through the press of tables and alien bodies. Reaching a stairway, they climbed to the first of the two overhanging galleries. Miranda was surprised to discover that the gallery was but one side of a wide promenade, which had large corridors stretching away. “Is all this part of the Inn?”

Boldar said, “Certainly.”

“How big is it?”

“Only Honest John knows for certain.” He led her past booths offering all manner of goods and services,
several lewd, a score or more clearly illegal anywhere Miranda had ever been, and many incomprehensible. “Rumor has it that John was a barkeep on his homeworld who was run out of his birth city over some dispute. A roving band of some sort of aboriginal people chased him, and he blundered into the entrance to the Hall. As fate would have it, he appeared in the Hall in the midst of a battle. It has been said that, not knowing any better, he jumped into the void opposite the door he had entered, discovering the first entrance into the stable place in which the Inn is now housed.”

Boldar moved down a side corridor. “He blundered around in a strange darkness, then somehow found his way back to the Hall, moving back to his homeworld once he was certain the aborigines were gone and returning to his birth city. Over the years he came back to the Hall, exploring and trading. When he finally had some sense of the society within the Hall, he decided the Inn was what would make him rich. He made some deals, hired some workers, and returned here to establish his small inn. He's added onto it over the years, until now it's a small township. Whenever he adds onto the building, he encounters no limit to the size he can increase his holdings, or at least not so far.”

“Has it?”

“What?”

“Made John rich?”

Boldar laughed, and again Miranda was struck by how boyish the mercenary looked. “I suspect that by any reasonable measure, John is the richest man in creation. He could buy and sell worlds should he choose. But like most of us, he's found that after a
while riches are only a means to keep oneself amused or to keep tally on how well one does in the various games and transactions in the Hall.”