The young man seemed harmless enough. His mouse-brown hair, parted in the middle, hung straight over the tops of his somewhat too large ears. He might be considered normal height here, but he stood a bit shorter than average for a man of her time—or dimension, or whatever—although this still left him taller than Lisa was. Her lack of height was genetic, though. She knew that people in pre-modern times tended to be shorter, mostly because of the prevalence of childhood diseases and the fact that their diets were not as balanced, and food was not as fresh or as abundant as it was in industrial societies. It was a foregone conclusion that this place didn't have anything like refrigeration or combine harvesters. It might not even have irrigation.
Milton turned back toward the city. Stains spotted his floor-length brown robe, especially at the frayed hems. Although it resembled one in no way at all, it suggested something like a lab coat to Lisa. In the world she knew, she would have assumed he fit somewhere in the tech geek category. In some ways, so did she, so she recognized the type.
They followed him to the city gate, which remained closed when they reached it. Hushed voices came from the other side.
"Open the gate," Milton said.
"Who is it?" yelled a voice from inside.
"What do you mean, who is it? It's me, Milton. Ferman's apprentice. I've only been gone a half hour at most."
"Are you sure it's you?"
"What?"
"I mean, you could be like a doppelganger, or possessed, or mind-controlled, or something. It happens, you know."
"Well it hasn't. I'm quite sure I'm me."
"What about those people with you?"
"They're not me. Stop messing around."
"We can't let just anyone in, you know. Strange things are happening all over."
"And they're steadily getting stranger," Lisa mumbled.
"If I may, Commander?" Brax offered.
"Be my guest."
Brax strode to the gate and positioned himself in front of the peephole. "We are members of the awesome and renowned adventuring group known as…the Peacekeepers. We are loved by peasants, admired by kings, and feared by monsters of all kinds. We are the Peacekeepers. We're here to help you."
Lisa rolled her eyes. Peacekeepers? Where did he come up with that?
"You're sure you're not vampires or something like that?" the skeptical voice behind the door asked.
"It's daytime."
"Fair enough. What about werewolves? You could still be werewolves."
"Could be, but we're not," Brax said. "Believe me, I'd know."
A different voice offered another possibility. "What about zombies? Could be zombies."
"You idiots," Milton yelled at the door. "The king wants to talk to these people. Open the gate right now!"
The multi-voiced mumbling on the other side of the gate grew louder and more agitated. A few seconds later, it opened, and wary soldiers stepped back to make room for them to enter.
"Whew! What is that smell?" Lisa said, waving a hand ineffectually in front of her nose.
"It's a medieval city," Doc told her. "Watch where you step."
Just beyond the gate, stone and timbered buildings crowded what had to be regarded as a narrow street rather than an open sewer because people were walking on it, or more accurately, in it. And it wasn't just people. Dogs, chickens, and even pigs roamed freely, occasionally sampling items from the putrid street as if it was a buffet.
"I think I'm going to spew," Lisa said, one hand covering her face. From the look of the street, she would not be the first.
"Try breathing through your mouth," Doc said. "Shallowly, if you can."
"How can they live like this?"
"Actually, it's not as bad as I feared. In London in the fourteenth century, I've read that the muck in the streets could get over half a meter deep in places."
By staring at her feet, she avoided a soft brown lump, a glistening purple lump, and a small pig that didn't seem to want to get out of their way. Those things she could not avoid were probably eating holes in the bottoms of her shoes by now. She noticed that some of the locals wore wood-bottomed sandals as overshoes, which seemed to keep their shoes, if such they wore, above the fermenting lower sludge levels.
Something hit the street with a 'splat' not far ahead of her. She glanced up to see the shutters from a second floor window close. When she looked back down, a bewhiskered nose poked out of the layer of fresh debris and twitched at her before vanishing again.
"Was that some kind of cat?" she said, hoping it was.
"I'm fairly sure that was a rat," Doc said.
"It was too big to be a rat."
"It eats well…that is, it eats a lot here, I'm sure."
"This place is disgusting."
"Welcome to the Middle Ages."
"I've seen enough, thank you. I'd like to go home now."
"It is a bit more real than similar places in stories and games," Brax said. "The people who write those tend to skip over details like this."
A dog ran past them with something she did not want to think about in its mouth.
Milton continued to lead the way past shops and stalls peddling cloth, earthenware, a few metal goods, and some semblance of food. One proudly displayed half of a pig's carcass hanging from a hook, which at least the flies buzzing everywhere seemed to be enjoying. The smell of unwashed people, decaying garbage, and bodily waste mingled disturbingly with that of freshly baked bread and roast meat. How anyone could even think about eating in a place like this amazed her.
"The palace isn't much farther," Milton said.
"At least it should be cleaner," Lisa said through the hand over her mouth. It would have to be. She couldn't imagine an alternative.
Doc shook his head. "I wouldn't count on it. When this many people are crowded together with dodgy food and no indoor plumbing, any convenient spot becomes a lavatory. They say the Palace of Versailles reeked like an outhouse in the summer, although I have to assume it was better tended to than most."
Their journey toward the palace drew bewildered stares and even a few cheers from the people they passed.
"Why are they doing that?" Lisa said. She felt like the main attraction in a small parade. "Is it because of how we're dressed?"
"Oh, no. In fact, your clothing is quite conservative compared with many adventurers we've had visit us. For some of them, it was little more than chain mail underwear, which, quite frankly, I never saw the point in. It's just that word has started to get around about your flying behemoth and how you chased away the orcs," Milton said. "You're all kind of heroes."
That might be useful, Lisa thought, or perhaps it already had been. It had gotten them an audience with the king of the place. After seeing just a small part of it, she almost felt sorry for him.
Milton led them to an iron gate in a relatively low curtain wall. Ivy climbed the stone walls and wove between the iron spikes on top. Beyond the bars of the gate lay the palace, a sprawling structure with a stone façade and narrow windows on a low hill. Between it and them was an acre of green grass, which a small flock of sheep dutifully tended and fertilized.
Milton approached the two men guarding the closed entrance. Each of the soldiers wore a shiny breastplate, helmet, and red uniform jacket, and both were armed with things that looked like wide axes on overlong handles. She thought they were called halberds, but she may have been mistaken. Ancient weapons were not one of her interests.
"King Genrex wishes to see these people," Milton said.
Genrex? Lisa thought the name sounded like a vitamin supplement for senior citizens, but she diplomatically refrained from commenting.
"They're the ones from the flying behemoth?" one of the guards asked with just a touch of awe in his voice. He glanced nervously at Lisa and the others.
"They are," Milton confirmed.
"All right. We were told to watch for you. I'll ring for an escort."
He tugged on a bell rope by the gate. Soon after, a bearded man wearing a pointy bl
ack hat and dark robes decorated in silver stars and moons approached.
"Milton!" the newcomer yelled while still some distance away. "All seems to have gone well, I see." He turned his attention to one of the guards. "Open the gate and let them in. The king is waiting."
"This is Master Ferman," Milton told them. "I'm his apprentice. Master Ferman, this is Commander Chang, Brax, and Doc. They're members of the adventuring group called the Peacekeepers. Commander Chang is their leader."
"Adventuring group. Ah, I should have known," Ferman said. He bowed politely. "You can't imagine the stir you've caused. That magical flying behemoth of yours puts on one heck of a show, let me tell you. I've never seen anything like it, and I'm no novice when it comes to magic, if I do say so myself." He waved a hand as if to brush such trivia aside. "But, enough of that. Come on, the king wishes to meet you." He glanced at his apprentice. "I suppose you may as well come along too, Milton. Follow me."
With that, Ferman turned and headed back toward the palace.
"Peacekeepers?" Lisa whispered to Brax as they followed. "Why Peacekeepers?"
"It was the first thing that came to mind." He smiled. "Actually, it was the second. I almost said Ghost Busters."
What they called themselves here probably didn't matter, but she didn't understand why they needed a name at all.
She tried to imagine what the king of a place like this would be like. She'd find out soon enough. There probably was very little chance that he would be a kindly old man with a generous disposition and some palladium in his pocket.
They got to the front door of the palace, a stout, wooden affair with ornate carving and polished brass handles. Another guard opened it for them.
When they all were inside, Ferman turned to them and in a hushed tone said, "Personally, I think you did a fine job with the orcs last night, but some of my peers still have doubts. You may have to prove yourselves. Not to worry about that, though. I'm sure you'll do fine."
Lisa wondered what this meant. It could be anything from arm wrestling to being the guest of honor in some medieval torture chamber. She very much doubted it meant polite introductions and a few probing questions over a cup of tea.
Ferman led them up a wide central corridor with stone walls decorated with tapestries dimly lighted by smoky torches sputtering in wall sconces. Doc had been right. The place did not match her preconceptions for the word 'palace'. Her definition included an excess of sparkle and a shortage of foul odors rather than the other way around.
Ferman spoke briefly to another guard by a pair of large wooden doors at the end of the hall. Doc unexpectedly put a hand on Milton's shoulder. He must have noticed something about the young man that Lisa had missed.
"You seem nervous," he said to the young apprentice.
"Oh, well, I've never been here before. Once the guard announces us, we're going to be in the presence of the king. You've probably met lots of kings and other important people, but this is my first time. It's kind of overwhelming."
"People are just people," Doc said, "and being king is just a job, right?"
"No. I mean, kings are different. They're like, well, not just anyone can be a king."
"I'm not sure about that. Warming a throne takes no special skill, and an impressive title does not by itself make a person great."
"But if he wants, he could have us beheaded," Milton said.
"Which would prove him a very small man indeed, but I see your point."
Beheaded? Until now, Lisa had not been nervous. Perhaps she should be.
"Ferman and the Peacekeepers!" the guard announced, opening the door for them to enter.
The introduction made them sound like a pop music band, one that in this case would be taking the stage without any rehearsal, and, if Milton was not exaggerating, severe penalties for a poor performance.
Ferman bowed. "Your Majesty, fellow mages, honored knights and lords, may I present to you Commander Chang, Doc, and Brax of the adventuring group known as the Peacekeepers, masters of the flying behemoth, and the heroes who helped us repel a dastardly attack upon our fair city by marauding orcs last night."
He bowed again at the waist. Brax nudged her to tell her they should as well.
When she rose, the king smiled from his ornately carved throne about ten meters in front of them. Lisa estimated his age at around seventy years. His shoulder-length white hair and beard made him look a bit like an oddly dressed Santa Claus with a purple cape and a crown.
Wooden pews lined the walls on either side, where other men sat. Some wore breastplates and red capes—probably the city's equivalent of military officers. A few, in heavy, well-tailored cloaks, must be some kind of nobility. A few men were dressed in the embroidered black robes of magicians, and one of them, a dark-haired man with a hooked nose, seemed to be glaring at them with undisguised distrust.
"So, you're an adventuring group, are you? Kind of a small one, it seems. Which of you is the leader?"
"I am." Lisa said.
Brax nudged her again.
"… Your Majesty. Our other members are in our ship." She felt it best not to reveal that Sandra was the only person there. Sims could also conceivably be considered part of the crew, although the AI was really more a part of the ship.
"Your ship is the flying behemoth, I take it?"
"That is correct, um, Your Majesty."
"An impressive thing. Very impressive. But some of my advisers have cautioned me about adventurers. They say they're nothing but trouble, bad luck, not to be trusted, and largely incompetent. The last ones we treated with certainly were. We had a minor problem with a gelatinous cube down in the catacombs several months ago. They were supposed to get rid of the thing, but they ended up just making it bigger, if you see what I mean. Gobbled them right up. But I've been around a few years, and I've learned that adventurers can sometimes be useful, and your arrival was certainly impressive. Good show chasing away those orcs, by the way. I figured we owed you something for that, which is why you're here. You've earned yourself an audience and maybe a job. Just maybe, mind you. Rennart says you should be tested first."
"Tested in what way, Your Majesty?" Lisa asked, feeling apprehensive about the situation. She saw no way out now, however. They couldn't just turn around and leave. She would have to bluff it out until the end, whatever that might be.
A bemused expression came over the portion of his face she could see through his beard. "You know, I'm not sure."
He turned toward the seats to his left. "Rennart, how did you plan to test these people?"
The man she had noticed glaring at them earlier stood. He was several years younger than Ferman but dressed much the same, although the cloth of his robes appeared to be newer and of a higher quality than that of the older mage. The tone of his obsequious reply reminded her of a defense lawyer attempting to shift the blame for a crime to the victim.
"A simple magical evaluation, Your Majesty," Rennart said.
"I don’t want any fires or explosions," the king warned him, "and nothing irreversible, if you can help it."
Rennart nodded.
"Would that be all right with you, young lady," the king asked her.
What choice did she have? Perhaps just one. There was no reason everyone should be subjected to whatever the possibly sadistic man intended.
"As leader of the Peacekeepers, I will submit to this test for our group, Your Majesty."
"Brave and selfless," the king said. "I like that. I'm sure that will be acceptable." The finality with which he said it indicated that Rennart would have no problem with it even if he did.
The hook-nosed magician strode confidently toward her.
"First, a simple evaluation," he said.
She thought she could detect malicious intent in his voice. It was not the voice of a madman, the kind that raged and screamed as its owner pursued his victims with a chainsaw. This voice was calm, calculating, the voice of a man who carefully measured each cut as he flayed his opponents wi
th a scalpel. This was not a nice man.
He mumbled a short word and made a brief gesture with his hand.
"Very odd," he said. "No reading at all. Not even background magic." A restrained smirk of cruel amusement ghosted across his face. "Now for something that may tell us a little more about the true nature of this brave adventurer."
He pulled what appeared to be a sliver of bone from a pouch on his belt, waved it from left to right, and chanted.
"If you're brave
"Or if you're true
"You will not flinch
"When I say… 'Boo!'"
He could not possibly expect to frighten her by saying 'boo'. The idea struck her as so ridiculous she could barely stop herself from laughing. Instead, she said, "Is that it? Is the test over?"
Her reaction obviously surprised the magician. He walked a circle around her, staring as if dumbfounded that she was not quivering on the ground in a warm yellow puddle. People here must scare easily.
Rennart recovered from his surprise quickly. "You may have been lucky against such a minor spell, but with His Majesty's permission, I would like to attempt something a bit more challenging."
He glanced at the king who nodded his approval.
The antagonistic magician stepped back and drew another item from a belt pouch. This one looked like either a small cocoon or a large wad of pocket fluff. He gestured more theatrically this time.
"Swirling mist on quiet bog
"Patient sits a bump on log
"Craving flies within the sog
"Now thou art a croaking frog!"
She could not restrain herself this time and laughed in his dumbfounded face.
Rennart backed away, still watching her, his eyes narrowed in a cold, calculating squint.
Ferman ran up to her. "How are you feeling?" he asked anxiously.
"To be honest, a bit confused," she said, wiping her eye and trying to compose herself.
"Oh? Like maybe wondering why you have a sudden urge to wallow in the mud or eat a fat, juicy fly?"
"What? Don't be ridiculous. I'm confused about what all this is about. It's a joke, right? Is this some kind of movie set or something?"
In her world, the real world, movies hadn’t been made with live actors and sets in over fifty years because it was so slow and expensive. Better results could be obtained from computer graphics, but this being a movie set was a more plausible explanation than anything else she could imagine.
"Now I am a bit confused," Ferman admitted. "That last one might even have gotten me. Young Rennart has obviously been practicing."
"Well, I'd say he needs a bit more. As a poet, he'd make a good painter."
"I don't think it's your ability to withstand his poetry they find impressive," Brax told her.
"Your Majesty," Ferman said. "I believe Commander Chang has demonstrated an impressive resistance to magical attack. It is my opinion that the Peacekeepers have proved themselves worthy of the commission we discussed earlier."
The voices of the other people assembled in the room murmured around her. Eventually one of the magicians approached the king and whispered something she could not hear.
"Good. That's settled then," the king said. "Peacekeepers, you have done us a service by turning away the orcs, but I fear they will return. Orcs are not known for their ability to cooperate in large numbers or in common cause as they did last night. Someone or something must be controlling them. The commission we offer you is to discover who or what this is, eliminate that control, and save the city from further such attacks. If you do this, we will grant a boon of your choice. What say you?"
It sounded as if he was offering them a job as mercenaries of some kind, and her first impulse was to turn it down. She was an engineer, not a soldier. But refusing the offer might be unwise for a few reasons she could think of, one of which had much to do the armed men she noticed standing along the walls.
"May I take a moment to discuss this with my companions, Your Majesty?" Lisa said.
"Certainly. The moment is granted."
She turned back to the other two members of the crew who were with her. "What do you think? And what's a boon?"
"A boon is a gift," Brax said. "And based on the way he phrased it, you get to choose what it is. We could ask them for the palladium we need. Who knows? They might have some."
"It also extricates us from this situation and keeps us in their good graces for a while," Doc added.
"Good point. So it's a yes?"
They both nodded.
She turned to resume her audience with the king. "We will accept the commission in return for some palladium."
"Palladium?"
"A silvery metal, um, Your Majesty," she said.
His pale blue eyes squinted with bemusement before focusing them on one of the men seated along the wall. "Preazly, you are our master of alchemy. What do you know of this palladium?"
An extremely elderly man stood and replied in a quavering voice. "It is a soft, white metal, Your Majesty. Quite uncommon, the lightest of those we know of with properties similar to platinum."
"And can we obtain some?"
The old man seemed to consider the question a moment, perhaps searching his aging memory. "There are ways in which we could acquire a small amount, I believe, Your Majesty."
"How much would you need, Commander Chang?" the king asked her.
She recalled the size of the damaged KK transition modulator, estimated how much palladium they would need to repair it, and tried to translate that amount into something the king would understand. "A piece about half the size of an egg, Your Majesty."
"What kind of egg?"
"Just a regular egg."
"Are we talking a starling's egg or a dragon's egg?"
"Oh, I was thinking a chicken's egg."
He turned to his alchemist and raised an inquiring eyebrow. The recipient of the silent question nodded an equally silent reply.
"Done," he said. "We have a contract."
~Chapter 8~