Lisa sipped her coffee and watched the activity outside on the screen in the galley. Sims told her that the workmen had arrived before dawn with a wagonload of precut lumber and fabric, taking advantage of the ship's lights to begin work immediately. The platform they were building appeared almost done. It was a crude stage about a meter off the ground, but the colorful drapery and bunting lent it a festive appearance. Other city dwellers were also at work setting up stalls and booths while a few early arrivers staked out prime spots from which to see the decorated platform. A growing number of people, dressed in shabby cloaks and tunics that she had come to regard as common peasant garb, wandered about or stood gawking at the ship.
"It looks like they're planning to make a big show of this," Lisa commented to Sandra, sitting next to her.
"They're probably starved for entertainment," the Brane Child's communications officer said. "I mean, other than tormenting small animals and the occasional public execution, what do they have?"
"Oh, I'm sure they have plays and minstrel shows and things like that," Doc said. He pointed to the screen. "See just there to the right. That looks like some kind of puppet stage."
"You mean like a Punch and Judy show? That's hardly entertainment."
"It's a different culture. You can't judge them by our standards."
"Sure I can," Sandra protested. "They're the only standards I have. And you can't tell me that you like it here."
Doc shrugged. "I must admit, I prefer our universe. As Thomas Hobbes said of primitive societies, life in them is nasty, brutish, and short. That doesn't mean they don't have their own unique charms."
"I don't find filth and disease charming." Sandra cocked her head as if searching for an exception and eventually found one. "Gorbo's cookies were good…but don't tell me anything about where the ingredients came from, okay?"
"They were probably all right. Actually, in terms of squalor, this place is not as bad as preindustrial cities on our world. I think the fact that it's somehow based on fantasy rather than history has something to do with that."
"Hey! There's Milton," Brax said, pointing to the screen. "And he's got Gorbo with him."
"I suppose it doesn't make any difference if people see him now," Lisa said. "He's just another ugly face in crowd."
Milton, along with a small group of other magic users, was making his way toward a fenced area near the newly constructed platform. Heading toward the same location from another direction, Gorbo's homely brethren shuffled with downcast eyes as guards herded them from the sides. The scene made Lisa wonder if they had done the right thing by coming up with their sewer plan. It made sense at the time, and she thought it still did, but the benefits would probably not be fully realized for years.
The orcs all wore similar shapeless tunics, and loose bindings that amounted to rope manacles hung at their wrists and ankles. Lisa did not believe the latter necessary. Without a leader, the orcs seemed lost and surprisingly docile. She could not believe they were still much threat. The citizens of Bardasium might not agree, and, she must admit, not without cause, but her 'spell' might help ease their minds. It was simply a matter of psychology. She had spent over an hour early this morning composing it.
"I suppose we'd better get down there," she said. "I'm sure the king will be arriving soon, and no doubt the protocol is for us to wait for him rather than the other way around." She turned to the pilot. "Brax, is our 'magic' enhancement ready?"
"Yes, Sims will monitor your performance and trigger it at the right time."