The Mirror of the Moon (Revenant Wyrd Book 2) (24 page)

“He really calls it a flying ship? Honestly, you think he could have come up with a better name for it than that,” Grace scorned.

“No, he is revealing the name tonight when he shows the ship off. Just think the honor of showing this ship at the festival. Can you imagine the festival of art and music being used to display this wyrd? I assume the normal wyrding competitions will seem somewhat pathetic when the ship is displayed; some of the artists might just pack up and leave.”

“I am sure that he is not presenting it as a piece of art, though if it works it sounds as though it surely would be more than mere transportation.” Grace thought a moment. “However, we are not exactly here for the festival, though I am sure we would like to witness that.”

“You mean they want to see public sex?” Dalah laughed at Angelica’s gaped mouth. Grace failed at hiding her smile.

“No, mostly we are on our way to somewhere, though I will not tell you where,” Grace tried teasing her friend into a conversation Dalah didn’t want to have.

“It won’t work, Grace,” she reiterated, fussing with her hair in a way that demonstrated her internal need for new gossip.

“Give it time,” Grace said.

“So, you are here for the festival, which is all I need to know. I am sure that you would like a room and a nice hot bath.” She looked them all up and down. “Even if you wouldn’t like a bath, I think I would have to insist. We have never had bedbugs, and I am not going to let you give them to us with your filth.” She smiled to soften the candor of her words. “Would you like an attendant for Joya, or do you want to clean her yourself?” Dalah asked.

“As long as it’s a female attendant I don’t think there will be any problems,” Grace said.

“No, in fact, I was going to let the portly chef undress her and slather her up with some soap, but since you insist on a female, I will have to see what can be done,” Dalah said sarcastically. “Truly she treats everyone like morons still?”

“Pretty much,” Jovian answered, gaining him a disapproving look from Grace.

“Rama is from the Realm of Fire,” Dalah said, and when she spoke her name the girl appeared as if by wyrd. She was tall and in her early thirties with long, brunette hair that hung in limp curls to her waist with highlights of lighter brown here and there. Her skin was caramel brown, though her time away from the heat of the Realm of Fire had lightened her some. She had long since forsaken the garb of her people and stood before them, a victim of the current fashion, though in the regimental dark yellow of Fairview Heights, with only a white apron marring it. “She will be your attendant. Now if you follow me I will get you set up in a suite that will in fitting your needs.” With a motion of one chubby hand the rest of them, Rama included, fell in step behind her.

“I think suite 501 would be good,” Dalah muttered, conferring with her ledger. She retrieved a key from under the desk and handed it to Grace. She led them through a doorway in the back and up five floors on a dimly lit yet enormous set of stairs. Finally they left the stairs at one landing where a bonze plaque pronounced it as floor five, encompassing suites 500–530.

“Thirty rooms per floor?” Jovian asked, and he couldn’t help but notice the smile Dalah and Grace both wore. “That is six hundred rooms!”

“Thirty
suites
per floor,” Dalah corrected.

“And the first floor is the Reception Hall, so that doesn’t count,” Grace chimed in.

“Wait, how many rooms are to a suite?” Angelica asked astonished by the complexity of Fairview Heights.

“It would be better if you just asked how many rooms we have available, not how many suites there are.”

They waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t Jovian asked: “How many rooms do you have?”

He had barely finished asking when Dalah responded. “Two thousand rooms encompassing nineteen floors.”

They were stunned into silence.

“The suite I chose for you, 501, is made up of four rooms, which means someone will have to share with another, but I am sure that will not be hard to figure out, unless you let Joya rest in the common room of the suite. I am sure she would not care as she would never know if she slept on a bed, divan, sofa, or Balageshian rug.”

“Oh Dalah, now you are just trying to impress them,” Grace chided.

“Actually, I think I have gone a mite passed impress already. I am trying for awe, maybe all out worship. I haven’t decided yet.” At the mention of rugs from Balagesh, Jovian began examining the thick carpet below his feet with intricate, abstract designs in shades of deep red and burnt orange that matched the wood, tapestries, and lamps of the hall to perfection. Rugs from Balagesh were very expensive to purchase. They had one back at the plantation mainly because Dauin loved the artistry that went into each weaving, but it was never used as a rug, and instead hung on the wall in their father’s room.

“Don’t worry; they gave me a discount on the price because I did them the honor of taking Rama off their hands.”

“Don’t you mean you did them the pleasure?” Rama joked.

“Whether the discounted rugs were in sympathy or gratitude I have not been able to decide.”

Just when Jovian didn’t think anything in Fairview Heights could be more beautiful than the first floor, he was proven wrong. She had not been lying when she listed all the amenities the suite held. The divan, sofa, and large stuffed chairs were all upholstered in dark red while the Balageshian area rug was woven with threads of dark red, scarlet, tan, and faded blue creating strange symbols that resembled flowers when looked at one way, and represented imps, fairies, and sprites when viewed at another angle. It was not the mahogany table and chairs, the polished walls, nor the artistically carved ceiling that caused Jovian’s jaw to drop, but the fireplace large enough for all of them to dine in, and still have room to lounge. It was all created in a manner of stone and brick that matched the surrounding room to perfection. However, it was warm enough on that day that the fireplace was not in use; rather the large, double glass doors were open to the balcony beyond, the pale blue gossamer curtains guttering in a fragrant breeze.

“It is stunning, Dalah, truly,” Grace breathed as she stepped in and servants followed stowing their bags away in rooms that led off the common room by heavy double doors. “I could actually live here.”

“You know, we do allow people to rent monthly and live here,” Dalah pitched.

“If the rooms on the fifth floor are this amazing imagine what they must be like higher up,” Jovian commented following the servant carrying his bags into the room he imagined was to be his. The servant politely placed his bags on the bed large enough for three, and left as Jovian surveyed the dark blue furnishings and hangings. The room did not have any doors that led out to the balcony, but it did sport several ceiling-to-floor windows with the same style curtains as the common room.

“We don’t have much time if we are to make it to the festival before Davis reveals his flying ship,” Dalah prodded, bringing all their attention back to their necessity of food and bath. “The bathing room you will find through this door,” she said pointing toward a door in the corner that led into a large marble bathroom.

“What would you do with all this stuff?” Maeven asked as he rummaged through a pantry full of scented oils, towels, flower petals, and soaps.

“Add them to your water and you will see why people like them so much,” Angelica commented lifting a bottle marked “Lavender” and sniffing deeply of the oil within.

Rama stepped in and began pumping the first bath in a marble tub that sunk into the floor surrounded by rose and slate tiles.

“I will have dinner brought up in a while. For now all of you should bathe and find some proper clothing for tonight.” With that Dalah bowed herself out.

In little more than an hour the sun was beginning to set and they were all filling themselves with one of the best meals they had since leaving home.

“I feel as though I have died and gone to the Ever After,” Jovian leaned back with a deep sigh and a pat on his contented stomach.

“Well, there is no time to waste,” Dalah said re-entering the suite as they finished. “We have a festival to attend.” She appraised all of their outfits and found nothing wrong with their clothing. “All a picture of fashion,” she complimented, raising her eyebrow at the way Angelica fidgeted in the provided dress. There was nothing Angelica liked about bodices, bustles, or corsets.

“What are we going to do about Joya?” Grace asked, retrieving a fan from the divan where she had tossed it once the food had arrived. It was in a shade of green to match her dress and the pins that held her silver hair in place on her head.

“There is nothing to worry about.  I have taken care of it; let’s just say no one will be able to enter your suite without getting a nasty surprise—a perk to being a sorceress.” She winked at Jovian. “Come now,” she commanded, ushering them out. Rama trailed behind them with her yellow uniform discarded for a scarlet dress much the same fashion as Dalah’s had been earlier. Her long hair had been left to cascade down her back, and a fan hung from her wrist. She smelled of plumb blossoms in summer.

“They have fans, but what are we to do if we get hot?” Maeven asked.

“Sweat, I suppose.” Jovian chuckled, fixing Maeven’s ascot. “I don’t know why you wore this foolish thing, not even mentioning how silly it looks; it will only make you hotter.” Maeven smiled but didn’t say anything.

The streets were jammed with crowds making their way to the festival and the perspiring Jovian mentioned before started almost immediately. It seemed hours they walked to the fairgrounds not far away.

“Look at that!” Angelica exclaimed, bringing Jovian’s attention to the way ahead so that he could glimpse a blue glow before them. Within minutes they were close enough to see that the glow was really fire formed in the shape of an arch heralding the entrance of all to the grounds.

Jovian’s senses were drunk with the sights, sounds and smells of the festival. A smile spread across his face that he could not help as he took in all the sites from glowing wyrded fire to booths laden with goods and fireworks on the ground twisting in displays of color and light. Jovian had never beheld such sights before, not even at the grandest of celebrations at home.

He nearly bumped into a man in bright colors juggling flaming sticks to impress the throngs of sticky-fingered children gathered around him.

“Careful now,” Maeven heeded, catching hold of Jovian. The older man did not let go until he was sure Jovian would not sway again, though the activities all around guaranteed that Jovian’s head would be spinning most the night.

“What’s that?” Angelica pointed to a gigantic lump on the ground smack in the center of the festival.

“Judging by all the people gathering around, that is Davis’ flying ship,” Dalah said. Grabbing Grace by the arm, she dragged her toward it. “We better get good spots or we will not hear him well.”

“You mean we will not
see
him well?” Grace asked,. Dalah began fidgeting with her clothing and hair. Jovian only laughed.

When Davis Hulen stepped out onto the dais before the large covered object, Jovian realized at once that even if they had been standing at the back of the crowd it would have been hard to miss him. Not only was his physical presence overwhelming, but the wyrd that came from him was also considerable.

As a sorcerer, Davis Hulen looked to be in his mid twenties, though the power emanating from him suggested an age much older. His shaved head sported stubble in dark shades, though not as dark as Maeven’s. While his long willowy frame on most people would suggest frailty, on Davis it suggested a supple grace and wiry strength. He was tall, much taller than most people Jovian was used to, ranging well over six feet tall, with a slightly larger than normal nose.

In his hands he carried a cane, more for show than any practical use, unless it concealed a knife. In the other he carried a strange canister that shimmered and glowed with yellow and black wyrd. The canister he sat on the podium, and then he cleared his throat. The crowds would not have any problem hearing him for his voice was projected over the gathering by some kind of wyrd.

“Good evening,” he said. His voice captured a lazy drawl, yet with a deepness that suggested the strength his body only hinted at. “I assume you are all here to see the unveiling of my newest venture?”