“I…” says the Guild member. “I have to say that when I first saw you earlier today, I thought you looked very strange. Alien, almost. Sorry.” He hesitates before continuing. “But now… I think you’d look amazing no matter what you wear.”
Startled by this response, Donralaiz is silent for perhaps slightly too long.
“Then… maybe the red one. If you don’t think it’s too ostentatious?”
If the Guild member catches even a glimpse of Limmiri, he shows no sign of it. “Ostentatious? No, not at all. At least, not on you. If I tried to wear something like that…”
As Limmiri prowls silently along the corridors of the Guild Hall (perhaps followed by an invisible pixie), there are various muffled noises from nearby in the building: footsteps, conversations, large objects being moved around. Among all of these sounds, however, one becomes clear and obvious.
“Offended?!” Tolzias is saying, just around a corner. “He’s welcome to be as offended as he likes, in the suite of comfortable guest rooms we’ll be locking him into for the night.”
Another man mutters something in a tone that’s half apologetic and half defiant.
“Of course you can rescind it,” Tolzias replies. “Just explain to him that you were all temporarily insane. Unless the insanity is permanent? I just want three simple things from this evening. The ceremonies running smoothly. At least one of the best Easterners agreeing to join us. And Master Balvayar only being at his usual level of superciliousness… because if I overhear one more gentle, forgiving reference to ‘inexperience’, I may be about to spend a very long time in prison. And I’m sure a successful event will be so much easier to achieve with a surprise special guest whose face tells us, at a glance, that he’s from another world… just in case we happened to miss the clues given by his weird-looking pet bird and his ice-bat-homunculus thing. Tell me, if the only member of our Guild who’s invented something interesting during the past half-year has broken sixteen different laws in the process, why would we dress up the evidence that we’re all accessories after the fact and invite him along to a social event attended by some of the most influential people in the nation?” Even Tolzias’s indrawn breath is audible to Limmiri. “Why?”
“I don’t think the bird is a pet,” says the other man. “He can talk.”
“Ah. The bird talks. Why didn’t you say so before? That fixes everything.” Tolzias pauses briefly. “Gah. What has got into all of you?” Tolzias’s next words are spoken quietly and seriously. “Or… What did he do to you?… I’m sorry, I’m going to have to check you for enchantments.”
“He hasn’t cast anything. We all just spend too much time thinking about politics, rivalries and reputations. We’ve forgotten what it’s like to meet someone who’s genuinely honest and-”
“Oh, be quiet and let me concentrate.” Tolzias speaks the words of a spell. Then there are a few seconds of silence. “Nothing. You really think that this man Donralaiz is genuinely honest. With your own brain. Not even the slightest trace of the flimsiest charm as an excuse. Well, I am going to find the transparent swindler and his menagerie and escort them to somewhere lockable. Don’t argue.”
“I think you’ll be too late, sir,” the other man says mildly. “He’s had plenty of time to get changed, and some of the guests from the other Guilds have already arrived in the reception hall. They’ve probably already met.”
“I see.” Tolzias’s voice is now almost a whisper. “‘Inexperience.’ By tomorrow morning, I’ll be needing a lawyer.”
Footsteps approach, and Tolzias walks into Limmiri’s view around the corner of the corridor.
Limmiri steps back into a place where the glow from the clockwork lamps on the wall is less bright.
For a moment, Tolzias is looking almost directly at Limmiri. Surely he can’t miss noticing the mephit. But he walks straight past them.
His clenched fists and his succession of grimaces may be giving subtle hints about the emotions that are distracting Tolzias from his surroundings.
Tririesk barely manages to wait until Tolzias is out of sight and presumably out of earshot. “That sounded like a rather exceptional rant. Translation, please!”
Limmiri provides a comprehensive whispered translation. The mephit does not gloss over “transparent swindler” or “ice-bat-homunculus thing”.
The pixie hasn’t forgotten that Tolzias is owed some thwarting, and he’s helpfully listed three potentially thwartable desires.
This is an important tactical decision, and so Tririesk ponders the question of how to target her mischief for almost ten seconds.
“Did he really say best Easterners?… I don’t think I like people ranking other people in that way. Thinking about it more deeply, I definitely don’t like it. I now hereby declare that no Easteners of any sort will be joining Guildmaster Tolzias. If I have my way. If I have one of my many ways. Maybe.” The invisible pixie flies away to begin looking for the place where everyone’s gathering for the Guild ball.
When Donralaiz arrives in the ballroom of the Guild Hall, he is dressed in the red and gold jacket, and Limmiri is perched on his shoulder.
He glances around the large space quickly, trying to identify someone who gives the impression of being possibly both friendly and informative.
The ballroom is crowded, and most of the people were talking in small, separate groups, but now almost all of them have turned to stare at Donralaiz. This isn’t surprising - Donralaiz is the only human in the room whose skin does not have a metallic tint (and the only non-human here is the ice mephit on Donralaiz’s shoulder) - but there is still perhaps something odd about the intensity of some people’s gazes.
A tall, broad-shouldered man strides towards Donralaiz. This man has dark golden skin, while his hair and neat beard are a lighter shade. He’s wearing an ankle-length purplish-blue jacket, which is one of the most vivid garments in the room. At first glance, the man’s smile appears friendly. But there’s also something gleeful about it, as if he sees Donralaiz as an opportunity of some sort.
One group of people in the far corner of the room is noticeable for being more plainly dressed, in sombre clothing. They seem to be trying to keep out of everyone’s way. A woman in the group has her arm in a sling.
The most outwardly friendly person is a man carrying a tray of tall glasses filled with pale liquid. With his steel-coloured skin and silver-grey hair, he resembles Tolzias, although he looks somewhat older and shows none of the Guildmaster’s open impatience or exasperation. As he approaches, he nods to Donralaiz. “Welcome,” he says quietly.
Meanwhile, Tririesk has been flying around the corridors until she manages to catch sight of Woohoo’oosh, following one of the Guild members. The pixie swoops close. “Woohoo?” she whispers, trying to imitate the owl’s own voice.
“Woohoo. Ahem. Um. Forgive me,” says the fey owl to the woman who has been showing him the way. “I hope this doesn’t seem impolite, but would you mind giving me directions to the ballroom, so I can catch up with you in a few minutes? I need to spend a little time alone, in reflection, to prepare myself. My people are unused to large crowds, and sometimes we seek spiritual guidance from the forces of air and ground, for balance, to help us avoid misjudgements and misunderstandings.”
The woman nods. “Of course. We’re nearly there, anyway. Just turn right up ahead and then it will be the set of big open doors on the righthand side.” She starts walking away, then stops and looks back. “There should be people around to ask, if you get lost.” After a few moments, she continues along the corridor. “Owl,” she says quietly, as if to remind herself.
“Cute little hovering clockwork contraption,” Tririesk whispers once the Guild member is out of earshot. “Just decorative, or does it do something other than follow you around?”
“They’re lending it to me so I can speak their language. A good way to learn a bit more about their magic, I thought. I’m hoping to give Donral a chance to study it later. He may have an opinion. He usually does. So why are you bothering me rather than them?”
“To tell you what Limmiri helped me overhear from Mr Guildmaster Tolzias!” the pixie replies brightly. “So you can act accordingly…” she adds in a doom-laden voice. “He’s very impolite, so he deserves more mischief than even a pixie can deliver in an evening. He described you as a weird-looking pet bird and Limmiri as an ice-bat-homunculus thing and Donral as a transparent swindler!”
“I don’t think these people have seen owls before. Maybe not mephits either. I’m looking forward to hearing how he describes you when you finally stop being invisible all over the place. As for Donral, ‘transparent swindler’ isn’t entirely inaccurate.” The owl makes an approximate shrugging gesture with his wings. “All the same, it is rather inelegant for him to say all of that behind our backs. Or in front of our invisible fronts. What have you found out?”
“I’m going to be encouraging Easterners not to join! If there are Easterners. But there’s someone called Balvayar who may be likely to say condescending things about Tolzias, and I think Tolzias deserves that after the insulting things he said about us. That’s only justice, don’t you think? Also, anything we can do to stop the evening running smoothly will help with the thwarting. Have you got all that?”
“I think so, yes,” the owl replies dryly, and then launches himself into the air and flies towards the ballroom before the pixie can distract him from the directions with any more suggestions.
Donralaiz notes the sling. Why hasn’t she had the injury healed yet? There are several possibilities, and he plans to try to narrow them down at some point during the evening. No hurry, though. The man in purple-blue is more immediately interesting. If he sees me as an opportunity that can be exploited, that means he’s most likely an opportunity that can be exploited. I think I need a drink first, though. He turns to the man carrying the tray. “Good evening, sir! This seems a most convivial gathering. I’m still a bit confused, though.”
“How can I help?” asks the man with the tray. “I’d heard there were unexpected guests arriving, but I was so busy with preparations for tonight. I think I missed some important parts of the story. My name’s Evrinas, by the way. No close relation of Tolzias - people keep thinking we must be brothers or cousins, but if we're related at all it must be much more distant. Wine, sir?”
At first, Donralaiz thinks: this man is exactly what I’m doing my best to pretend to be. But there’s something about the way Evrinas said Tolzias’s name. An almost imperceptible decrease in emphasis, perhaps. Donralaiz mentally rewords the question he’s about to ask. If I make it more about Tolzias than the Guild in general, I may be able to work out what I’m sensing…
“Tolzias introduced himself as the Guildmaster, and this is the Guild Hall, isn’t it? But I think I’ve missed something. There are guests here, aren’t there? Not from the Guild. Is Tolzias the master of all, in charge of everything? Or…”
He takes a glass of wine from the tray.
“Oh, no, we’re hardly in charge of everything. We’re just the South-west Guild, still the smallest. Of course, it’s impressive for Tolzias to become Guildmaster so young, but there are several people here tonight who are more influential than he is.”
Evrinas seems to be a skilled deceiver, but by now Donralaiz is convinced that the very small changes in tone when Evrinas mentions Tolzias’s name are a hint of much stronger feelings. Envy and resentment, Donralaiz guesses. It’s not surprising that Evrinas would compare himself to someone who looks quite similar, and given that Tolzias is at least several years younger…
Yes, envy and resentment. But how much? Donralaiz starts to raise his glass but finds that he is suddenly reluctant to drink any of the wine. It’s not that he has any reason to suspect that the liquid has been tampered with, but Donralaiz’s instinct says that Evrinas is capable of dangerous actions if tempted by an opportunity. And that’s enough to make sipping from the glass a lot less appetising.
“I see. Thanks! Everything makes a lot more sense now. So are your guests mostly from other Guilds?”
Donralaiz realises that he started to raise his glass and then lowered it suddenly, and he’s noticed Evrinas’s glance following this. Then Evrinas looks up and gazes directly at Donralaiz’s face for just a moment.
We’re both pretending to be friendly and enthusiastic, and now we’ve both seen through each other. Well, this evening may turn out to be even more interesting than I expected. Although whether it’s quite as entertaining…
Donralaiz wonders why he’s so certain about Evrinas. The man’s only spoken a few sentences. But Donralaiz has met people like him before, years ago, during that brief time as a visitor to a royal court. Envy and resentment were common there, and of course people did their best to hide their feelings, at least until it was time to act.
The Guild members here all seem to be obsessive, eccentric tinkerers, and therefore they’re much saner than anyone at a royal court. And so Evrinas may not be planning murder. But he’s planning something.
Following an owl, Tririesk flies into the ballroom.
Followed by a pixie, Woohoo’oosh flies into the ballroom. He turns his head to scan the room for people who could be interesting opponents in a debate.
So, Donralaiz is holding a glass while talking to another man, and the two are watching other with obvious suspicion. Donral’s swindling continues to be not entirely opaque. Meanwhile, a man in a startlingly bright purple-blue jacket seems to be about to intrude on their conversation - his gleeful smile suggests he’s looking forward to an opportunity to use Donralaiz to make trouble somehow. There’s a small group of people standing near the far corner - they seem to be trying to appear to be in a more sociable mood than they really are, and they’re not being very successful at it. They may need some cheering up. And Tolzias has just arrived, looking like someone expecting the total ruin of all his hopes and ambitions to occur across the next few hours.
The still-invisible pixie flies near Donralaiz, pokes Limmiri and tugs the mephit’s ear.
“Welcome, welcome,” says the man in the purple-blue jacket to Donralaiz. The jovial booming voice is probably clearly audible to half the guests in the large ballroom. “My name’s Balvayar. Forgive the intrusion, but I couldn’t help noticing your intriguing winged companions. May I ask for the correct forms of address and any background details I should be aware of for politeness?”
Just as the man named Balvayar speaks, the mephit on Donralaiz’s shoulder lurches sideways suddenly, as if losing their balance, and then falls off completely and flies away.
Donralaiz happens to see Tolzias just at the moment when Tolzias seems to be noticing for the first time that Balvayar is talking to Donralaiz.
Tolzias looks appalled and starts hurrying across the ballroom floor towards them.
If Tolzias wanted us to keep secrets for him, he really should have treated us more courteously. And maybe not issued an ultimatum to a witch. Let’s see how much I can reveal before he intervenes.
“Good evening!” Donralaiz says to Balvayar. “My name’s Donralaiz, but you’re welcome to call me Donral if you’d prefer. We’re not in favour of titles or other fancy forms of address where we’re from. Which is the Wood. Known to our neighbours as the High Road Wood. I don’t know if you’ll be able to-”
“Ah, there you are,” says Tolzias as he reaches Donralaiz’s side. “Why don’t I introduce you to some of our more interesting other guests? We don’t want all your time here to be monopolised by us tedious Guildmasters.” He places a hand on Donralaiz’s elbow and starts trying to guide him away from Balvayar.
Donralaiz keeps his feet exactly where they are. “-find it on a map,” he says to Balvayar without even a sideways glance at Tolzias, “because we came through some sort of gateway between realities to arrive here. The landscape’s very different. My avian colleague is Woohoo’oosh, or at least that’s the only name I can give you.”
From the grip on Donralaiz’s elbow, Tolzias doesn’t seem particularly strong. But the polished wood of the floor is somewhat slippery. It would certainly make a memorable image for onlookers, if they get to watch Tolzias physically dragging me across the ballroom.
“Because the fey owls in our world tend to keep their true names to themselves. And they design their alternate names as tests for humans. I’d advise you to try to say his name as seriously as possible. My elemental colleague is-”
When Donralaiz mentions a “gateway between realities”, Balvayar raises his gold-tinted eyebrows, and his smile becomes even wider. And when Donralaiz says “world”, Tolzias’s hold on his elbow tightens.
“Or perhaps you’d like something to eat,” Tolzias says. “It’s been a long day for you, and we have a variety of substantial items almost ready to be served from our kitchens. Which might also be interesting for you - they’ve been mechanised in ways that I think may be intriguing.” He pulls Donralaiz away from Balvayar, and the soles of Donralaiz's boots do indeed start to slide across the floor, but only for a few moments before the friction is enough to halt him.
Balvayar now seems to be trying to suppress laughter.
“-called Limmiri.” Donralaiz doesn’t resist except by imagining his weight sinking downwards into his feet. He also tries to keep his free arm steady so he doesn’t spill his wine. “They’re used to being ignored or condescended to in our world, so they’ll probably respond positively to any sort of respectful conversation. And if you happen to meet someone very surprising, she may answer to Tririesk. Do you know Evrinas here? I believe he’s plotting trouble. I even had doubts about drinking this, but that was probably an overreaction. What do you think? Do you people go in for poisoning much?” He raises his glass but waits for the responses of the three man around him before tasting the wine.
Tririesk follows Limmiri to a quieter corner of the ballroom. “I need your help again,” the pixie whispers. “To find the Easterners. Could you ask around? I know Donral's spell only helps with comprehending, but can you remember their word for ‘Easterner’ yet?”
Limmiri flies around the ballroom. By now, most of the conversations have stopped and the guests are staring at Donralaiz, or at Woohoo’oosh, or at the mephit themself, so it’s not hard to get someone’s attention by hovering close and asking. “Eartensers?”
Hm, that didn’t sound quite right.
Limmiri approaches someone else. “Sateersern?” The mephit’s tone becomes mournful. “Tsenraseer?”
“I may be able to help,” says a woman nearby Limmiri. She walks closer, and lowers her voice to a whisper as quiet as Limmiri’s, though warmer in tone. “Good evening, and welcome. Can you understand what I’m saying? You can just nod… um, if you can… I’m just going to cast a spell, if you’re willing. Nothing harmful, it will just let you speak our language for a while.”
Limmiri nods and lets the woman touch them. Once the spell is cast and takes effect, the mephit says, “ Good evening, and thank you. I’m looking for some people. Easterners?”
“There are a few people from the Eastern Guild here,” the woman replies. “I don’t know if the others are late, or if they’ve decided not to attend. Would you like me to introduce you?” She walks through the crowded room towards a corner where three people are standing. “Good evening,” she says to them. “I believe one of our new guests would like to meet you. I hope I’m remembering everyone’s names correctly - please tell me if I’m getting anything wrong.” She gestures first towards a woman with dark coppery-brown skin and short white-streaked copper-coloured hair. “This is Guildmaster Volrieda.”
“Former Guildmaster,” says Volrieda quietly.
The woman making the introductions turns to a tall, white-haired, gaunt-faced man whose chalk-white skin has scattered flecks of silver across it. “And this is Kyassav, her deputy.”
Kyassav nods but says nothing.
“And this is Nieryn - they’re one of the Eastern Guild’s most accomplished young workers.”
Nieryn is a small person, with skin that looks almost black except for some reflected glints of deep metallic blue. Their hair is much the same colour, and it frames their face with tangled curls.
All three Easterners are dressed plainly, in shades of charcoal and blue-grey, and Volrieda’s arm is in a sling.
“Hello!” says Nieryn to Limmiri.
“Hello!” says the ice mephit. “I’m Limmiri. The three of you seem less... loud than everyone else here. Is something wrong?”
“Is it tiring for you to keep flying?” Nieryn asks. “Would this make it easier for us to talk?” Nieryn sits cross-legged on the polished wooden floor. “The Eastern Guild is about to be disbanded. Because the city it was in has been completely covered by the mists. It was on a lower plateau than here, you see.”
Limmiri lands on the floor, folds their wings and crouches in front of Nieryn.
“The mists rose?” asks the mephit. “Why? Has something changed?”