| DISCLAIMER: You're intelligent enough to distinguish which characters I ripped off of Madam Pierce and which ones I invented. Author's note: I apologise for seeming to drag this story on a bit ... I'm still working on the plot, subplots and other little kinks, and I wanted to develop the characters I already have a bit. Hopefully, the next chapter will deal with some of that. Hopefully. ~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~ That afternoon, after the meal, it seemed the world had abandoned me. Blayne, Nik, and the rest of the trainees had gone to attend to their afternoon chores; those with no mounts for which to care and no lessons to learn had other duties to which to tend. Following a short debate between my sense of adventure and my sense (in which adventure won unanimously), I left the hall and wandered some of the corridors, occasionally passing a guard or servant, who went by without a glance. I mounted the iron steps of a winding staircase and after a short climb, surfaced into open space. Moving air caressed my face; I had located of the fortress's three observation towers. I circled the tower, admiring the view, and respecting the dizzying altitude. Closing a hand tightly on the parapet, I shut my eyes. I twisted, to better feel the wind playing with my hair, and tilted my face to meet the warm sun. I breathed deeply, tickled by the fresh ocean air and listened to the cries of the seagulls and the waves crashing on the rocks below. It was wonderfully peaceful, after spending half the day being shocked out of my wits. "Marvellous, isn't it," a woman's voice said fondly. She stood next to me. "Yes." I glanced at her, and stopped, stifling a gasp. Black hair in coiled braids around her head like a crown, the lady's eyes, staring at the horizon, appeared glittering emeralds and her lips, parted slightly, soft red cushions, both set against soft peachy skin. She wore a simple tawny felt jacket and russet breeches, which - though not something a queen ordinarily donned (and she was not an ordinary queen) - suited the swoop. She seemed to note my astounded silence, and flushed. The imperialness about her vanished; she fingered the prominent arch of her nose. "Please, don't. It's very embarrassing for me." I closed my open mouth. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty." She raised an eyebrow. "You know me." She shifted from her leaning position. I nodded. "Queen Thayet." "I am a prominent figure," she acknowledged, smiling briefly. "But I don't believe we've met," she added awkwardly, twisting the sparkling diamond ring on her finger and tugging her lobes. She looked up at me, a careful expression on her face. "You're not a trainee." "No, Your Majesty. I'm ... a guest of the baron's. I don't suppose he's told you of me. My name is Cate Papathanksis." "You're right; he hasn't said a single word about you." She relaxed, cocking her head sideways, examining me. "Although I probably wouldn't have heard him, being so wrapped up in my own thoughts, he would've mentioned it at lunch." "I assumed as much, Your Majesty. About him not mentioning it, I mean." "Thayet," she said absent-mindedly as she scanned the shore, a distant look on her face. I grinned. "Thayet," I repeated obediently. She broke from her drifting and smiled at me. "Cate, is it? From where did you come to Tortall?" "I..." I hesitated, before going along with the story I had decided to tell. "It's beyond Carthak; I doubt you'd recognise the name ..." "Try me." "Thayet?" An unfamiliar voice floated up the tower stairs. "Are you there?" I breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, Jon," she called. "The king is here?" I said disbelievingly. "He is, albeit only for a few days," she admitted. "He usually stays at the palace in Corus, where he is needed, but I persuaded him to come this summer." She smiled faintly. A man emerged from the dark hole in the ground. "Whew! What a climb." He grinned, teeth white against his blue-black beard. The wind plucked at his closely cropped hair, making the short curls dance. His billowing sleeves flapped against his dark blue leather tunic. "Ah, who's this?" "Cate Papathanksis, a guest of George's, new at Pirate's Swoop." Thayet smiled faintly at me. "Fresh meat, eh?" he said, breathless from his climb. He winked as he huffed. "Jon, you're worse than George, I swear." Thayet shook her head and removed the spyglass from his belt, extending it and putting her eye to the small round window. I stared at her; her change of mood, though not absolute, was rapid. She seemed ... annoyed, or upset. I looked at the king. At him? "Worse? Or better?" He laughed; I watched, spellbound. "Worse," she said, without looking at him. "Excuse me, Thayet and ... ah ... Jon" - he nodded "- but I must be going now." "Good day, Cate," Thayet said, scanning the waters without a seeming target. "If you choose to join us at our table, perhaps we will speak at dinner," the handsome man added, eyes twinkling good-naturedly. "George doesn't have many guests." I smiled and followed the spiral staircase. I glanced up briefly, and stole a peek of the couple. Jon's arms curled around Thayet's waist from behind as he drew closer. As he nuzzled her ear, she held back a smile, pretending to occupy herself with the spyglass. Feeling my face warm up, I quickly retreated down the steps. Evidently, whatever they had a disagreement about, it was done with. -- "YAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" A boy, about nine and his sword high, screamed as he hurtled at his target, a man who held a battered, though sturdy-looking, tower shield. The boy yelled as he brought his blade down and jammed it into the wooden rectangle. He blinked and pulled at his sword, but it was wedged securely. A few of his companions burst into laughter. He turned as red as his hair. As the others left to tend to their own practices, the man with the shield straightened, chuckling as he pulled the blade free. He handed it to the boy, whose head hung low. The man ruffled the younger's hair. "'Ere, Thommy boy. Ah, don't worry; everyone starts out a little green. Even yer mum," he said. The redhead sniffed and looked up, his eyes glistening with tears. "Really? Even her?" "Aye," the man said solemnly. "Why, she was a runt, probably smaller than ye when she started!" He lowered his head, and motioned for the boy to lean over. "But don't tell her, or she'll have my neck," he said confidentially. Thom nodded sympathetically, fully understanding. "And who be this lass?" He looked straight at me, and the boy followed suit, eyes wide and dry. I sighed; was I truly that conspicuous? I walked from beneath the tree I stood. "My name is Cate Papathanksis ... I'm a guest of the baron's." "Aye. I think we might've heard of ye. From beyond the Emerald Ocean, are ye?" "Yes." He nodded. "Word travels fast at Pirate's Swoop. It has to." He extended a hand. I took it and shook firmly. "My name be Coram Smythesson, of Trebond." "Aren't you supposed to be at Trebond?" He frowned, and I cursed myself for slipping, but he nodded. "Aye. I ordinarily don't come to Pirate's Swoop" - he wrinkled his nose at some unpleasant thought - "but my Lady Alanna asked that I come and help the kid with a little pre-training. Her others are still a little young. She says she trusts no one but I in the matter." He grinned. Thom tugged at his tunic. "Introduce me, Coram," he whispered. The big man sighed. "Cate, this youngling be Thomas, eldest son of her ladyship and the baron." "I'm going to be a knight," he announced. "Really?" I knelt, meeting his eye, which, as his other, was as soft as his father's green hazel eyes. "Yes, next year, I'll be starting as a page at the palace with Roald and Kally." "And how old are you?" "Nine." "Nine, wow." I grinned. "By the looks of it, you're practically a page." Thom puffed up his chest. "See, Coram. She says I'm a page." "Aye, master. Practically." Coram rolled his eyes at me, as I rose and smiled. As they resumed their practice, I moved to the far side of the courtyard, to watch the others practise. A wrestling pair stopped and rested, wiping sweat off their faces and limbs. "Hey, girl!" one called. I looked, startled. The speaker was a tall, lean man, chestnut hair tousled and damp from the exercise and his bronzed chest bare. He was leaned over, a foot up on a stone, as he dried his hands. His breeches were the brown edged with yellow of a guard's. "You any good?" "At what?" He grinned as the others sniggered. In slow realisation, I felt my cheeks heat up. Coram looked up from his adjusting of Thom's stance, excused himself, and stalked over to where I stood. "Ye men troublin' this lady?" he growled. "Ye better be told, afore I take some rash action, that the baron don't tolerate that sort of behaviour." "Coram," I whispered nervously, tugging at his sleeve. "Please. It's all right." The man who had spoken to me shrugged; his eyes stayed on me. "Didn't mean too much by it, Master Smythesson." "Aye, Robert, ye better remember that." Coram nodded to me, before walking off and yelling, "Thommy boy! What did I say about yer legs?" Robert stared at me, before letting his friends persuade him into a rematch. Shivering, though there was no wind, I retreated to my room, feeling weary. -- Lying on the bed, I stared up at the stone ceiling, thinking of the incident on the courtyard, which drew my thoughts to Robert. I traced a finger along the circular pattern on the coverlet. While he unsettled me, I reluctantly admitted to myself that I found him attractive. Though, from what I'd seen, disrespectful and crude in manner, he was a very good-looking man. The rumpled brown hair, the hazel eyes, the bronzed chest. I shifted from my side to my back, with the desire to rest. I had a long day. Smiling, I fell asleep. -- Someone rapped on my door. "Cate? Cate!" "Hmm?" I yawned and rose, stretching. "Just a moment." I lifted the lock on the door and found Kuri. "Kuri, hello." "Supper's to be served." "Oh, yes." I peeked over my shoulder, and through the window, saw it was nightfall. The barracks' eating hall was just as noisy as at lunchtime. "Cate!" Nik yelled. "Over here!" Balancing my tray precariously, I joined her at a table close to the head table. Sitting down, I asked, "Where's Blayne?" She giggled. "Blayne smacked his bottom today when riding. He's being fixed up, I think." I laughed. "I do hope he's all right." "He will be. The healer said so." She grinned. "Here comes our hero now." Blayne limped into the hall, careful to favour the offended area. After scanning the room, he wobbled over to where we were eating. He winced as he sat down at our table. "Never get thrown by a horse," he groaned. "I took the liberty of picking up your dinner," Nik announced, pushing the tray towards him. "Thanks." He grimaced as he shifted in his seat. "Blasted animals," he said under his breath. I lifted my fork to my mouth. "You must've done something to provoke him," I added with a smile. "I'd rather be a fisherman than ride," he muttered as he sulked over his meal, ignoring my question. Seeing Blayne wasn't fit for conversation, I sighed and ate. A few minutes later, Nik nudged me when she saw he was too distracted to notice her whispering. "This afternoon, when we mounted our ponies, Blayne only managed halfway when he slipped off." She giggled. "Because he's so tall, they assigned him a horse instead of a pony, and he fell a little farther than he would've." I grinned, trying not to laugh. "You see," Nik explained, taking on a more serious tone, "he comes from a fishing family and a small town besides, and they don't ride often. He's one of the small number of trainees that don't have a single clue about riding." Her eyes shone with good humour. "Although I'm sorry you didn't get to see him try to sit on that horse. Blayne's always playing big man; it was hilarious." "I bet." I finished off the rest of my meat. "Shall we go pick up dessert?" ~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~ That night, I sat upright, woken by a dream. My heavy breaths, the only sound, were heavy and difficult to take; the pitch-dark room was suffocating. Throwing my feet to the floor and felt around with my toes to find the pair of slippers Kuri had earlier coaxed a reluctant trainee to relinquish. Slipping my feet into the soft, worn cotton, I stumbled over to the window that opened to the courtyard and pushed open the shutters to the hot and humid night. Cool air rushed in and swept over my warm face; I sighed with pleasure and relief; I plucked idly at my sticky gown and leaned on the windowsill, a lazy smile spreading on my face. A clear night, moonlight washed the empty and shadowy courtyard, smooth where the dirt ground was flat, uneven where footprints had created an indent. Trees rustled with the passing breeze; a colony of crickets sang over the distant crash of waves on the shore. I frowned; while it was a pleasant change from the city, the tranquility made me uneasy. Shaking my head, I withdrew from the window, and closed the shutters. Lighting a candle, I pulled the stuffy nightgown over my head and stuffed it into a drawer, while retrieving my t-shirt and shorts. Dressed, I shoved my feet back into the slippers, snuffed the flame, and unbolted my door. Opening it a crack, I peeked out into the very dimly lit corridor. Satisfied that it was deserted, I closed the door. "What are you doin' up?" a voice spoke up curiously. I shrieked. "Cate! By the Crooked God, don't wake the entire swoop; it's me, George." I sagged against the door with relief. "Sire." I turned and found the baron watching me closely. A beaten metal jug in one hand, he wore nothing but breeches and shoes, his chest, legs and arms covered in thin, dark, curly hair. I swallowed, trying not to stare. "Feeling the heat, baron?" He grinned. "Aye. You, as well, I see." I blushed. "What are you doing up, sire?" His moustache twitched; something twinkled in his eye. "I asked you first." "It was far too hot to sleep" - I managed a smile as I recovered - "much less in a strange bed. I thought to take a walk to cool off." I waved in a random direction. "Ah. Well, Master Numair and I were havin' a late night chat." He raised an eyebrow. "Care to join us? Refreshments will be provided." He waved the jug. "Er ..." -- His study was well lit and Numair was idling on a chair, tossing grapes into the air and catching them in his mouth. He was similarly dressed to George, but preferred an open shirt to a bare chest. All the same, it was a struggle not to gape. "Cate," he said, as I followed the baron into the room. I gave him a faint smile. Recognising the map that Daine had used to inform the baron of the siege that had afflicted them a few years ago, I walked over and distracted myself by studying it briefly. I sifted through the telling box of coloured pebbles, thinking. "What are you doing here?" I turned to look at him; his face was unreadable, though his voice had betrayed his surprise. His hands lifted to fasten his shirt closed. "She couldn't sleep," George explained, as he gestured for me to sit. I pulled a chair next to him. "I thought maybe she could join us ... to, well. You know." He looked uncomfortable. "The baron means perhaps we can now discuss your ... origins, Cate." The mage's voice was calm and even, as he finished his laces. "Perhaps," I murmured. Sweat trickled down my shoulder blades; I shifted restlessly in my chair. Wiping my upper lip, I reached for a cup of water; the baron handed it to me. "Thank you." I sipped it, eyes lowered, however I could feel both theirs on me. "Cate, George told me what he thought was the ... basis of your ... arrival at Pirate's Swoop." George nodded now as he pulled on a shirt, which he left undone. "I had to tell him," he said apologetically. I stared at him, and looked down at my lap. "Don't blame the baron; I bullied him into talking." Numair paused. "Can you start at the beginning, Cate?" he asked quietly. I paused, and looked at him. "I don't think you'll be able to ... grasp what I have to say, Master Numair." He grinned, making me smile. "I doubt that." A hand squeezed mine; I looked up to see hazel eyes gazing at me. My heart pounded; my breaths came fast and shallow. The baron's voice was soft and even. "Tell us your story, Cate and we can figure it all out later ... together, and face it together." "All right." Trembling, I put down the cup and licked my lips. My mind raced about where to start. "Where should I begin? When I came here, or before?" Numair and George exchanged glances. "Before." And so, the next half hour or so was occupied with me telling the story of how I came from the future, and how in my world, Tortall was just a wonderful story of fantasy, where they - the baron, Numair - didn't exist. "Where I ... come from," I said awkwardly, fiddling with the string tie of my shorts, "there are no creatures like here or the Divine Realms - griffins, dragons, unicorns, and so on. They are myths, dismissed by science." I swallowed and looked at them apologetically. "I don't think I should continue." George shook his head gently. "Do." "I ... I'm not quite sure how to say this, but in our world, science is our ... sustenance, as imperative for us as magic is for you. However..." I hesitated momentarily. "...in my world, magic doesn't exist, or isn't widely believed to exist, as it has for centuries. It's little more than a fantastical whim, with no valid place anywhere, except in fairy tales, and ... stories; stories like yours." At that, George made a noise of what sounded like stifled surprise and Numair choked on a section of orange. "What in Mithros-" The baron said gravely, "Calm down, Numair. Let her continue." "George! I-" "Don't you think I'm knocked by this as well?" the former Rogue demanded. "Don't you think I'm just as bothered? Let her continue." Numair glared at him, but said nothing further. The baron waited a moment, to be sure the mage had subsided. "Go on, Cate." Glancing worriedly at Numair, I resumed my story with a description of the small bookshop, its mysterious keeper, my exchange and purchase with him and how I woke in the stables, in which they didn't seem very interested, occupied with their own thoughts. "The baron would know the rest," I finished. There was a stretch of dead, tight silence. Numair shook his head, and rose, running a hand through his loose black hair. He stared at me. He finally broke the stillness with a cracked whisper: "Nothing. No ... magic, no mages, not anything. Absolutely nothing." I smiled sadly; somehow, I felt that he had heard nothing after the bit about magic. "Yes, Master Numair." He shook his head and gazed at his mussed reflection in the mirror that stood in a corner. "I don't exist in your world, do I?" he said finally. "The baron, me, the Queen, Daine" - he faltered here and my heart wavered - "... we are nothing more than stories dreamed up by a writer. As you said, little more than a ... fairy tale," he spat out. "Numair-" the baron began. Numair held up a hand. "No, don't say a word, George." His eyes blazed. "Not a word!" I blinked, eyes suddenly burning with guilt. "Master Numair, I ... I shouldn't have told you what ... what I did." "Lass, it's not your fault." The baron's voice was gentle, but strained; he enclosed me in his strong arms, a hand guiding my wet cheek to his shoulder. Hesitantly, I let myself relax and lay there, feeling very young. I closed my eyes and felt the baron tighten his arms. His grip was tense and stiff; he was as shaken as Numair. He said roughly, as though he fought his own tears, "Dry them eyes, lass." A callused finger brushed my cheek gently. The mage looked at me; I silently returned the stare. He sighed, and released the fist he gripped. "I'm sorry, Cate. It's just-" He broke off, unable to speak further. He let out a breath and said shortly, "I need some air." He strode out of the room, shirt flapping. For the few minutes that passed, the baron held me close, wonderfully warm and strong. Finally, he sighed as well and freed me. I uncurled, and settled in my seat, his warmth still tingling on my skin. I rubbed my arms. The baron smoothed his moustache, looking weary. "Perhaps I am gettin' too old for these surprises," he remarked. "Although I must say, yours was a little much." "Sire?" He grinned at me. "Yes, I've over forty years now, an old, soft nobleman and all mellowed out, unlike Hothead there." He nodded towards the mage's empty chair, and added, "I should think that the Lioness is the only one in all the lands who would have me now." He laughed. I looked down at my lap. "I wouldn't say that," I said, not very clearly. He watched me intently, sipping from his mug. "Oh?" "In all these years, ever since I laid hands on those wondrous books, I've ... I've always have a particular ... fondness for you, baron." He chuckled. "If you'd only caught me in my early years; you're a sweet girl, lass, and I would've wooed you like the unruly thief I was." He eyed me. I blushed furiously. "Thank you, baron." He offered me an orange, which I accepted, and said gravely, "Unhappily, the Lioness has me tight in her snare." He winked. "She'll have my hide if I run off with a lovely maiden and leave her to raise the three scamps we dare to call children." "How are they?" I asked, distracting myself by peeling the orange. The baron scratched his head. "Thom is raring to go-" "Yes." I grinned. "I met him yesterday afternoon in the courtyards with Master Smythesson." He nodded. "The younger 'uns are frisky as colts," he went on. "They're six, soon to be seven." The baron's eyes went towards the door. "Arram." "Baron ..." - the lanky man nodded at me - "... Cate." The dark-haired mage fiddled. "I apologise for ... my outburst. It was, er ... uncalled for." He glanced at me. "I have much to learn." "As do I, Master Numair." I inclined my head. "No matter. Sit," the baron invited. "There's much to talk about, the three of us." ~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~ |
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