“What happens when you step off into the void?”
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“If you know the right spot, you end up coming into a saloon of a great inn, known by many names, owned by a man named John. The inn is called simply ‘The Inn,’ and as John is known as, variously,
‘John the Oathkeeper,’ ‘John Without Deceit,’ ‘John the Scrupulous,’ ‘John Who Has Ethics,’ or any other of a half-dozen such honorifics, the saloon is usually called ‘Honest John’s.’ There were, at last count, one thousand one hundred and seventeen known entrances to the saloon. If you don’t know the right spot, well . . . no one knows, for no one has ever returned to tell anyone what exists in the void. It is simply the void.”
Miranda relaxed. The mercenary’s affable manner was such that she doubted he would attempt to take advantage of her. “Would you be willing to show me to one of these entrances?”
“Certainly, for a price.”
“That being?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“In the Hall, there are many things of value. The usual: gold and other precious metal, gems and stones, deeds of ownership to estates, slaves and indentures, and, most of all, information. Then there is the unusual: items unique, services personal, manipulations of reality, souls of those who will never be born, things of those types.”
Miranda nodded. “What would you?”
“What have you?”
They began haggling.
Twice in less than a day, Blood had proven his worth.
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encountered several hours later. Miranda had a personal distaste for the institution of slavery, a bias now heightened by the attempt to reduce her and Boldar to inventory.
Boldar had disposed of the four guards and the slaver after attempting to allow them peaceful passage. Miranda thought she might have been able to cope with them alone, but she was impressed how Boldar had instantly recognized the moment the negotiations had soured and had disposed of two guards before she could begin to focus her mind on protecting herself. By the time she would have encased herself in a protective aura, the conflict was over.
The slaves had been freed—which had required a great deal of argument on Miranda’s part, for now she had to make good on the portion of profit Boldar stood to make upon acquiring the slaves and selling them. Miranda pointed out that as he was currently in her employ, he was in fact acting as her agent, and she was free to do with the slaves what she chose. He found this proposition somewhat dubious, but after considering the difficulty of feeding and caring for the slaves, decided that accepting a bonus from Miranda would prove the better solution.
The second encounter had been with another band of mercenaries, who seemed inclined to give Blood and his employer a wide berth, but who, Miranda was certain, would have acted entirely differently had she been alone.
While they walked, she learned.
“So if you know the locations of the common doors, the journey through the Hall can be short-ened?”
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“Certainly,” said Blood. “It depends on the world, how many doorways exist, and where they are relative to one another in the Hall. Thanderospace, for example”—he waved at a door they passed—“has but one door, which unfortunately opens into the hall of sacrifice in the most sacred temple of a cult of cannibalistic humanoids, who are less fussy about defining cannibalism than they are devoted to eating anyone who stumbles into their most holy of holies.
This is a world seldom visited.
“Merleen, on the other hand”—he waved at another door a short distance ahead—“is a com-merce world that is served by no less than six doors, which makes it a hub of trade, both among its resi-dent nations and for other Hall worlds.
“The world from which you appear to hail, Midkemia, has at least three doors I’m aware of.
Which did you use to enter?”
“Under a bar in LaMut.”
“Ah, yes, Tabert’s. Good food, decent ale, and bad women. My sort of place.” He seemed somehow to be grinning behind the mask. How Miranda could tell she didn’t know. Perhaps it was some subtlety in the mercenary’s body language, or a note in his voice.
“How does one learn of these doors? Is there a map?”
“Well, there’s one,” said Boldar, “at Honest John’s. It’s on a wall in the public room. There you can see the known limits of the Hall. The last time I looked, there were something like thirty-six thousand—odd doors identified and catalogued.
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in the Hall or upon any world where a new passage is discovered. There’s even one legendary lunatic whose name I forget who is exploring the far reaches and sending back messages, some which take decades to reach John’s. He’s getting so far from the Inn he’s becoming a myth.”
Miranda thought. “How long has this been going on?”
Boldar shrugged. “I suspect the Hall has existed since the dawn of time. Men and other creatures have lived here for ages. It requires a certain talent to survive for long within the Hall, so it has its appeal for those who seek a . . . higher-stakes sort of living.”
“What of you?” asked Miranda. “You could live well on most worlds with the fee you charge me.”
The mercenary shrugged. “I do this less for the bounty than for the excitement. I must confess that I do grow easily bored. There are worlds where I could rule as king, but that has little appeal for me. In truth, I find myself happiest in circumstances that would drive most sane men mad. War, murder, assassination, intrigue—these are my stock-in-trade, and there are few who match me in skill. I say this not to brag, for I have your commission already, but to tell you simply, once you grow used to living in the Hall, there is no other life.”
Miranda nodded. The scope of the place was staggering; it was literally the sum of all known and quite a few unknown worlds.
Boldar said, “As much as I am enjoying your company, Miranda, and as much as I enjoy the wealth you promise, I grow tired; while time has no meaning here, fatigue and hunger are real in all dimensions—at least the ones I’ve visited. And you still haven’t told me where you go.”
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Miranda said, “That’s because I really don’t know where I’m going. I’m looking for someone.”
“May I enquire whom?”
“A worker of magic, by name Pug of Stardock.”
Boldar shrugged. “Never heard of him. But if there is one place where both our present needs can likely be met, it is the Inn.”
Miranda was uncertain, and wondered at her own reluctance to embrace the obvious. If there was a communal center to the Hall, then should Pug have come through the Hall, that was the most likely place to inquire. But she feared others might also be interested in his passing and thought it likely he would have avoided letting others know of his whereabouts.
Still, it was better than wandering aimlessly.
“Are we far from the Inn?”
“No, actually,” said Boldar. “We’ve passed two other entrances since we met, and there is another a short distance away.”
He motioned for her to follow, and after progressing past another two doors, he pointed to the void. “This is very difficult the first time.” He pointed to the door opposite the void. “Note that mark?”
She nodded.
“It’s Halliali, a nice place if you enjoy mountains.
One of the entrances to Honest John’s lies across from it. Now, you simply step off and expect to meet a step a foot or so beyond the edge of the void.” So saying, he stepped into the grey and vanished.
Miranda took a breath, then, as she started to duplicate his move, thought, Step up or down?
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her eyes wide at the sight of white fur on them.
She tried remaining calm as she disengaged herself from her helper, a nine-foot-tall creature covered in that same white fur from head to foot. Black spots broke up the otherwise snowy surface, and two immense blue eyes and a mouth were the only visible features on a shaggy head. A plaintive grunt was followed by Boldar saying, “If you have any weapons, now is the time to surrender them.”
She saw he was efficiently divesting himself of his arsenal, including several rather innocuous-looking items that had been secreted about his person.
Miranda carried only two daggers, one in her waistband, and another strapped to the inside of her right calf, and she quickly surrendered them.
Boldar said, “The proprietor learned ages ago that his establishment thrives so long as it is neutral ground for everyone. Kwad ensures that no one who starts trouble remains inside the saloon any longer than necessary.”
“Kwad?”
“Our large hirsute friend here,” answered Boldar.
As they left the doorway, he continued. “Kwad’s a Coropaban; stronger by the pound than any creature known, almost completely resistant to any magic; and the most toxic poisons take a week or so to kill one. They make incredible bodyguards, if you can get one to leave their homeworld.”
Miranda stopped and gaped. The saloon was immense, easily two hundred yards across, and twice that deep. Along the right wall, nearly the entire way, ran a single bar, with a dozen barmen rushing to meet their customers’ demands. A pair of galleries, one above the other, overhung the other three sides of 52887_Shadow of a Dark.qxd 9/3/02 3:49 PM Page 335
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the hall, thick with tables and chairs, providing vantage points from which those drinking and dining could gaze down upon the main floor.
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 cra-vat of bright yellow. Upon his head he wore a wide-brimmed white hat with a shimmering red silk hat-band. 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.
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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 ques-
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tion, 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.”
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“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, Mi
randa. 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 52887_Shadow of a Dark.qxd 9/3/02 3:49 PM Page 339
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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.”