Mirrored from Sythyry.

Me: “Oh, great staring gods. Am I under arrest again?”

Zineng (né Guard-Mage): “No such duty currently is upon my shoulders. Indeed, it is unlikely that you will be arrested and I will not.”

Me: “That is less than wholly comforting. What do you mean, in more detail?”

Zineng and Jagraton: “We hereby explain in confusing order, using incorrect similes, that Lord Kethji and Lady Noshi probably have been using Mentador in terrible ways for quite some time, and blackmailing the important dignitaries and officials of the city (and staying largely to themselves) to avoid scrutiny and bloodier consequences.”

Me: “I approximately understand, if you are not too fussy about the details.”

Phaniet: “And the prince?”

Zineng: “We don’t know… some sort of mind control effect, making him think he is a native of the city? An impostor?”

Me: “Perhaps psychic possession — so that it is someone else’s mind wearing Rastomil’s body?” I am proud of this guess.

Jagraton: “Is such a thing even possible?”

Me: “It is not easy, to be sure, and it would probably have unfortunate consequences for at least one of the two, but it could be done — and a wizard of Mentador and Spiridor would be the one to do it.”

Zineng: “Nanggi-Zi, the wizard of Mentador and Spiridor, is long dead.”

Me: “Perhaps — though I would not completely count on it — but I would venture that his magical devices and tools still remain, and that the lord and lady in question can manipulate them.” My hedging there was a reflexive Zi Ri mysteriosity, not any particularly good guesswork.

Jagraton: “What can we do?”

Phaniet: “To start with, we can go and inspect pseudo-Rastomil, or possessed-Rastomil, or whatever he is. Let us be well-defended and prepared for many alarms when we do!”

Zineng: “I will be present, to lend my modest powers to the event, and an official Guard presence.”

Phaniet: “Brave man! We all go at the risk of our minds and lives, I suspect. But you also risk your job, if I do not mistake the situation.”

Zineng: “Perhaps, perhaps.”

So we collected Jyondre and Yerenthax, Phaniet, myself, hCevian, Jagraton, and Zineng. Since Jagraton had been evicted from there once already, we disguised him — a curly blonde wig, a reverse dye to give him a more conventional Rassimel sort of fur, and garments well-suited to a member of the Erotic Dancer’s Guild of Hanija, which Phaniet and Este had lying around for reasons which are perfectly reasonable and ordinary for a married couple.. And a different scent, as Phaniet insisted and nobody else could tell. I wanted to go in disguise as well, but transforming my wings at this point is unwise.

And a plentiful supply of magical protections, especially against Mentador.

From the Outside

We peered at the mansion. “It doesn’t look particularly unusual,” I said. “A modicum of magic there — the usual sorts of Corpador and Herbador and Pyrador spells one would expect in a well-made mansion. Not a trace of Mentador or Spiridor.”

“Use the Eye of Mirizan and Melizan,” suggested Phaniet.

“That’s a bit excessive. I have been inspecting spells by the naked eye for well more than a century, and I am tolerably good at it.” I said.

“Indulge me, even if it is excessive,” prodded Phaniet. I am not one to argue overmuch with my assistants, so I did.

“No, that’s not a bit excessive at all,” I said after a minute. “There’s a huge illusion around the whole mansion — the whole of two blocks around — set to conceal Mentador and Spiridor and itself. And good enough to fool me, or me without tools at any rate. Even with the Eye I can’t see any Mentador or Spiridor, but at least I can find the illusion.”

“Simply fooling you isn’t so hard,” said Phaniet. “But baffling your magic sense, I admit, isn’t quite so easy. That would explain how they could work all manner of mind-spells and nobody would see a thing.”

“It will be troublesome, though. Even with the Eye I’m not going to be able to make out much of anything Mentador inside of there,” I had to admit.

“What is the boundary of the illusion?” asked Zineng. I described it — I fluttered around it, in fact It is two adjacent small islands, separated by a narrow canal, and surrounded by broader ones. “To be sure, the residents of the mansion rarely leave that space. None of them.”

“Should we go tell the city guard about this? See if they’re willing to be more official about the problem,” asked Phaniet.

Zineng frowned. “No. I do not trust the captains of the guard so well on this point. Kethji and Noshi are too good at blackmail. Let us proceed, and get what better evidence we may.”

Mirrored from Sythyry.

Prince Rastomil, or the impostor thereof, had called the city guard to haul off his erstwhile bodyguard Jagraton. This caused a certain amount of conversation, as bodyguard and cityguard strolled away.

Guard-Mage: “I understand that the prince is your former — lover, is it? — back in Inner Ketheria.”

Jagraton: “I am his bodyguard, appointed and hired by the royal family of Barency to protect their son.”

Guard-Mage: “As you wish. In any case, he is no longer in Barency. He is in Hanija, and, in particular, in the domicile of the eccentric Lord Kethji and Lady Noshi. He seems to have placed himself under their protection. Perhaps you could take this as a form of success of your project, and enjoy a vacation?”

Jagraton: “But! That is not the true prince, but a wicked and subtle imposter!”

Guard-Mage: “A peculiar claim. Why do you say that?”

Jagraton: “Aha! I have an evidence! Did you ever meet the prince before?”

Guard-Mage: “No, I cannot say that I have. This makes it difficult for me to tell whether he is an impostor.”

Jagraton: “Are you exceedingly famous in Hanija? I do not mean to insult you — I am certain that you are thoroughly skilled, and quite well-regarded in all those circles which intersect or are tangent to the Guard — but is a newcomer tourist likely to know you by sight?”

Guard-Mage: “I have no such fame. Though your pilot Sythyry and chef Arfaen certainly know me by sight.”

Jagraton: “I assert, and I can have Sythyry and Arfaen confirm, that neither of them knows your name — or at least that neither of them discussed it much in Strayway. Sythyry calls you “The Guard-Mage”. Yet this imposter knew your name and title precisely, at a glance.”

High Lieutenant Mage Zineng (formerly “Guard-Mage”): “A grange full of gods! He did just that! This seemingly-minor event instantly becomes a matter of considerable interest to me. I believe I owe a not insubstantial sum to High Lieutenant Detective Aeji-Ru!”

Jagraton: “What? Why did we suddenly stop strolling along the canal, and start quick-marching towards a guard station in the middle of town? Am I under arrest now?”

L.H.M. Zineng: “You are a surprising witness in a most concernsome situation which L.H.D. Aeji-Ru has been muttering about for years, and the rest of us have thought imaginary. I am no longer so sure. But now Aeji-Ru and I will take the matter under deeper investigation. Captain Geng be damned!”

Jagraton: “This is not wholly comforting.”

L.H.M. Zineng: “You, in any case, are unlikely to be accused of anything. But do not be comforted; the situation is alarming.”

The Suspicious History of Lord Kethji

L.H.D. Aeji-Ru (a Herethroy co-lover with sparkly purple chitin and a very nervous air) enumerated a list of disturbing matters.

The Servants: Lord Kethji and, after their marriage, Lady Noshi hired a number of live-in servants over the decades. These servants have, one and all, become fanatical devotees of the lord and lady, in a matter of days — or hours? They abandoned their families and friends outside, devoting themselves to their labors and masters, rarely or never leaving the island upon which the mansion rests. Now, these servants were generally chosen from among those with few close connections, so abandoning friends and family was no great matter for them … but that is a topic of suspicion to Aeji-Ru as well.

The Blackmail: Lord Kethji and Lady Noshi have been the most successful blackmailers in Hanijan history — or they have not. This is quite difficult to determine, but a handful of death-bed confessions by a handful of nobles and dignitaries suggest that the lord and lady discovered a handful of the wickedest secrets, and applied them with perfect force.

The Prince’s Feast: Jagraton told what he observed and experienced at the feast.

The Old Wizard: Lord Kethji was, in his youth, an intimate of the Rassimel wizard Nanggi-Zi. “A specialist in Mentador and Spiridor,” said Aeji-Ru, “And one with a terribly poor reputation. She had protection from the Duke at the time, and rarely showed herself in public, or she would probably have been lynched. The protection being the first of Lord Kethji’s famous blackmails. Nanggi-Zi herelf died some time ago — roughly when Lady Noshi married Lord Kethji, in fact.”

The Suspicion: So we are suspecting that the Lord and Lady have some wicked Mentador and Spiridor tools left from Nanggi-Zi, and use them in careful and wicked ways.

Jagraton: “You are willing to investigate two powerful nobles of your own city for a string of terrible crimes?”

L.H.M. Zineng: “This is troublesome. our superiors would be very upset if we did so too openly.”

L.H.D. Aeji-Ru: “Unless we were successful!”

L.H.M. Zineng: “Even if we are successful, if — as I suspect — their blackmail is at work among the judiciary and guard.”

L.H.D. Aeji-Ru: “For a fact, a worrisome fact, I have been told, in the strongest of terms, not to pursue this matter.”

Jagraton: “Oddly, I have no such orders. And I have a wizard of my own who is willing to help out.”

L.H.M. Zineng: “Which could prove essential, should the Mentador spells come flying.”

Mirrored from Sythyry.

Me: “No spare Prince Rastomil in the mansion?”

Jagraton: “Nowhere I could find him.”

Phaniet: “So, perhaps he is transformed into something…”

Jagraton: “I have a perfectly fine magic sense for noticing such things!”

Phaniet: “And I have a perfectly fine illusion-spell to hide such transformations. I doubt I could get it past the Eye of Mirizan and Melizan, but I could hide it from an un-augmented Sythyry. And I am not so much of an illusionist.”

Jagraton: “Sythyry! I invoke you in the name of all that is sacred to Barency, take your eye to the mansion of Noshi and seek for Rastomil!”

Me: “Well, I think you should let Phaniet finish. She was about to say something sensible, I believe.”

Phaniet: “I was. Perhaps Rastomil is held in an extra-dimensional pocket universe. Perhaps Prince Rastomil is being held somewhere else in Hanija, or in the countryside. Perhaps he is killed and his body disposed-of. There are other options as well.”

Me: “That leaves rather a lot of universe-and-environs for us to search.”

Jagraton: “All the more urgent that we begin swiftly and exhaustively!”

The Updated Plan

Tomorrow morning, I will start trying to reconstruct an arcane connection. The procedure I am using might work, or might fail. If it works, it will give a very fragile connection, which might succeed in locating Rastomil, or might fail. This is not a good plan.

Other people will attempt detective work.

Detectives and Detectives[22 Nivvem 4385]

Investigating a noblewoman in a foreign city is not the easiest of tasks.

Jagraton attempted to chat up one Yodathzo-Jam, an old Herethroy woman who cooks for Lady Noshi, whom he chanced upon (with considerable effort) in the market right across a narrow canal from Noshi’s mansion.

“Hello there, my good lady!” said Jagraton.

“Yes, yuss. Hello. You said hello to me, young man,” said Yodathzo-Jam.

“You seem to be having a bit of trouble with those bags of vegetables, ma’am,” said Jagraton, for the old woman certainly was. She was missing a mid-leg, and supporting herself with a walking-stick in the other mid-leg, and that left her rather off-balance. “May I offer you some assistance?”

“Yes, yuss. Yussistance. You take this stick, young man. These are beans in the bags — my beans — and I won’t have them manipulated by an amateur!” Yodathzo-Jam handed him the walking stick, and proceeded to walk around using her mid-leg in the way her creator god intended (or one of the ways, viz., for walking on). She was rather worse balanced that way.

“I’m not after your beans, ma’am. I’m just going to be waiting here for an hour or so, and I might as well be helpful to a sweet old Herethroy as, say, sit and stare into the fountain and not do anybody any good,” said Jagraton.

“Yes, yuss. The fountain. That fountain. I lost my heart in that fountain once, I’ll have you know, young man,” said Yodathzo-Jam.

“Oh? How did that happen, ma’am?” Jagraton was secretly delighted; the old woman was in a garrulous mood, which might well lead to Useful Information.

“It slipped out of my head, between my antennae! Fell right out into the fountain! I’ve looked in there every time I come to the market, but, no, noesss, it’s not there anymore. Lord Kethji snapped it up, he did,” said Yodathzo-Jam.

“Oh? You’re fond of Lord Kethji?” asked Jagraton, all innocence outside, and inside all gladness that she was talking about the household.

Yodathzo-Jam shook her head. “Can’t abide the man. He took my heart. ‘Tweren’t his heart, after all. ‘Twere my heart, and he took it for hisself. Stuck it in a box on his dresser drawer, he did. Awful man.”

“Why do you work for him?” asked Jagraton, thinking: we could bribe this disaffected servant quite easily, enough to be comfortable for the short rest of her life.

“He’s got my heart, sonny! Didn’t you listen to me with hearing the first time? A squeeze on that heart and I’m out of the putter, you hear me?” shouted Yodathzo-Jam.

“Oh, he’s got it that way, has he?” said Jagraton.

“Yes, yuss. Many’s the night I spent lying by his door, crying like a snowfish. Now it’s Lady Noshi’s door, of course,” said Yodathzo-Jam.

Jagraton decided that he had enough of her confidence to ask. “What about the new one? The one who calls himself Prince Rastomil?”

“Oh, oh, I’m sure I’m going to be crying by his door soon enough too. What kind of a city is this, when a lord can scoop up a young girl’s heart in the fountain in the marketplace, I ask you?”

“It’s such a shame, truly, ma’am,” said Jagraton. “Do you know what became of the real Prince Rastomil?”

“Carry those packages to the pantry for me and you can see him!” said Yodathzo-Jam with a hideous laugh.

Jagraton was delighted. This could go quite well. It could also go quite badly, so he made sure his sword was loose in the sheath.

# # #

Jagraton snuck around behind Lady Noshi’s mansion with Yodathzo-Jam, and into the pantry to leave behind all the day’s food. Thence, into the parlor, where the fake Prince Rastomil was sitting on a sofa, going through the contents of a well-used etui that Jagraton had never seen before, and tossing out old reciepts and rusks.

“Yes, yuss! There’s your Prince Rastomil for you!” cackled Yodathzo-Jam.

“Rastomil?” asked Jagraton.

“What, you’ve come around here again?” said Rastomil. “I do believe that I told you not to. Now begone!”

“I shall do no such thing! I insist upon having my questions be answered!” said Jagraton, suddenly floundering.

Rastomil, uncooperatively, answered no questions (though Jagraton asked many), and returned his attention to the etui. Jagraton harangued him for a few minutes. Then the household’s warriors came to remove Jagraton; and, when he resisted them, a couple of the city guard. Including my old friend, the Guard-Mage.

Guard-Mage: “Someone else from Strayway, getting in legal trouble?”

Rastomil: “So it seems. High Lieutenant Mage Zineng, please do me the kindness of removing him from the premises, and charging him with anything you can find to charge him with?”

Guard-Mage: “Jagraton, I believe your name to be — please come with me.”

Mirrored from Sythyry.

The Induction

I might not pay that much attention to the woes of Jagraton, who did nothing much to make himself well-loved. I definitely listen to Jyondre and Yerenthax. I believe I will listen more to Invincible Fire Demon in the future. (This has absolutely nothing to do with him being very Orren, remarkably sensible for an Orren, plenty cute, and experimenting with kissing members of other species.)

Jagraton: “I demand you help rescue Prince Rastomil!”

Me: “Thank you very much, Jagraton.” I avoided any number of more sarcastic replies only with the greatest of moral character difficulty.

Invincible Fire Demon: “Well, will you help?”

Jyondre: “We’re going to!”

Me: “Of course I will.”

Invincible Fire Demon: “If you don’t, we’re going to go there and take care of the situation ourselves.”

Jyondre: “We’re going to go there and beat up that Lady Noshi.”

Me: “I’ll help…”

Invincible Fire Demon: “We’ll rip her fur out ’til she tells us what she did!”

Jyondre: “And how to reverse it!”

Me: “I’m in.”

Jyondre: “We’ll risk our lives!”

Invincible Fire Demon: “Our honor!”

Me: “I’ll help.”

Invincible Fire Demon: “Our visas!”

Jyondre: “But this is wizard work!”

Me: “Which is why I’ll be helping you.”

Jyondre: “Without a wizard we will surely fail!”

Invincible Fire Demon: “Doomed! Doomed!”

Jagraton: “Let’s get on with it!”

Yerenthax and me: “But they’re so cute when they’re in a Wild Rush!”

Invincible Fire Demon: “Were we rushing? … sorry!”

Our Clever Plan

The plan evolved into two parts. (1) Find out where the real Prince Rastomil was hidden, and (2) extricate him from the place discovered in part (1).

Jagraton: “And (3)! Skewer the liver of this imposter who is imposting away at the identity of the prince!”

Phaniet: “No, or not unless we somehow challenge him to a duel or something. We know too much about the Hanijan legal system already.”

Me: “And the prison system, for that matter. Though you might get along quite well with Khipo.”

Our Less Clever Results

Phaniet: “Here is some fur of the prince, from his brushes. It will serve as an arcane connection, allowing us to locate him with perfect accuracy.”

Me: [after a couple of failures] “Unfortunately, I believe Rastomil has has been subjected to There is None Who Knows Thee, which breaks nearly all arcane connections. His fur is useless for location. Perhaps the kidnappers were, unaccountably, expecting to kidnap him.”

Phaniet: “There is a way …”

Me: “Yes, but it’ll take me three days to do. I’ll get started tomorrow morning.” Abandoning a good bit of work on an enchantment, alas.

Jagraton: “But! By then he may be killed, or removed beyond the range of your spells! Now! Start seeking him now!”

Me: “The procedure has to be started at dawn. Provide me with a dawn now, and I will start now.”

Jagraton: “I must seek him myself, and sooner than soon!”

So we messed around a bit with Veil spells (which conceal the subject from most senses), and miniaturization, and flight, and detections spells, and location spells, and all sorts of things.

Jagraton, of course, was the one who actually went inside Lady Noshi’s mansion to hunt around. At night, of course, for the best safety and convenience. In the shape of an invisible and inaudible hummingbird, he zoomed around, looking everwhere he could. He buzzed over Lord Kethji, who mumbled and rocked in his bed in a locked room high up in a turret, his cheek-fur sloppy with splashes of that purple drug. Lady Noshi herself slept in a knot of blankets on a cot in the next room over, also dripped with that purple narcotic — perhaps her guilty conscience over adultery and kidnapping and all would not let her sleep without such aids.

Prince Rastomil’s impostor got the nicest bedroom, on the second floor of the mansion. A big round bed draped in chenille and mink-fur, a decanter of licorice brandy on the side-table, a big box of feminine jewelry on the vanity, big shelves of books on two walls, a substantial closet of clothing for a noblewoman in the Hanijan styles. The impostor sprawled in the middle of the bed, looking utterly at peace with himself and the world. There were no signs that he required any narcotics. He did wear his disguise to bed: natural enough if it were a matter of spells.

If the mansion held any prisoners, or dungeons to hold them, they were not visible to Jagraton.

Mirrored from Sythyry.

“I should like to have someone sneak into Noshi’s mansion and look around for Prince Rastomil,” said Jagraton. “I’m not much of a sneakiste myself, though. Is there anyone on the Strayway roster who is?”

“On the roster, yes, we have a Sleeth named Rheng, who styles himself the ‘Thief Supreme’,” said Jyondre, managing to keep a straight face. “He would be far and away the best person on the roster for the task.”

“I don’t think I’ve met him,” said Jagraton. “Could you run off and talk him into helping?”

“No … he is far and away, period. We don’t update the ship’s roster very often. I don’t think there’s anyone really capable of it on board,” admitted Jyondre.

“Except hCevian!” said Invincible Fire Demon.

“I don’t think we should ask a Locador demon for help unless we’re quite sure we need it,” said Jagraton, who is actually more sensible than we gave him credit for.

“I recommend a frontal assault!” boomed Yerenthax.

Jagraton muttered something prejudiced and/or true about Gormoror.

“Let us go to the front door of this mansion and — knock upon it! Thereafter we may inquire about the presence and condition of Prince Rastomil. Bared blade and bloody brand — we shall seek him out of hand!” proclaimed Yerenthax.

“Bloody brand? Do brands even get bloody? And wouldn’t ‘burning brand’ be just as alliterative?” asked Jyondre.

“Much better!” said Yerenthax, and scooped Jyondre up in a tight embrace.

“Is this a planning session or a poetry critique session?” asked Jagraton, flicking his tail angrily.

“Or a make-out session?” asked Invincible Fire Demon, who has not quite gotten used to such public deeds by the transaffectionate.

“Why must it be only one? Why can it not be all three?” asked Yerenthax, who is also more sensible than we generally give her credit for.

# # #

The plan was, that Jyondre and Invincible Fire Demon would knock on the door, while Yerenthax and Jagraton lurked behind bushes as backup. Yerenthax, the Gormoror, looks too ominous for social calls. Jagraton, of course, can look socially acceptable, but he was perhaps too well-known as the prince’s bodyguard.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Excuse us,” said Jyondre. “We are companions of Prince Rastomil.”

“There. Is. No. Excuse!” proclaimed Kebu, the withered butler.

“May we see him?” asked Jyondre.

“Tell Jagraton-his-bodyguard hiding there in the bushes that he is still Not Invited,” said Kebu.

“There’s nobody hiding in the bushes,” said Invincible Fire Demon, who had not learned when to abandon a pretense.

“There is nobody invited hiding in the bushes,” corrected Kebu. “The person hiding in the bushes is blorascic and plumrulent!”

“I don’t understand that…” said Jyondre, interruptedly.

“It is not meant for your ears, but for the ears of the ghost Zujazisa, who follows me about for a purpose both diacrestic and scorminary!”

“… but may we speak to Prince Rastomil, please?”

“Once yon prudescent and dulfinated Rassimel bodyguard comes up to the door like an honest man!”

Jagraton blinked at Yerenthax, who was hiding next to him, effectively, despite being twice his size. “I suppose we might as well.”

# # #

Kebu conducted the four adventurers into a parlor — a much smaller and more defensible one than the dinner had taken place in. Prince Rastomil was already seated on a chair, wearing a dressing-gown, and lapping occasionally from a steaming chalice full of some hideous-smelling herbal mess. Even he didn’t like it; he made a moue at the taste. “Ah, good day, the elegant and amiable Jagraton, and three assorted shipmates! You have come to visit me? What a wholly unexpected surprise — an unpredicted encounter — an unexpected way to start the middle of the day!”

“I was worried that you were being kidnapped, last night,” said Jagraton.

“Well, you aren’t so far off,” said the prince. “Lady Noshi has quite firmly captured my heart. As well as some other useful body parts, which, for the sake of decorum, I will not enumerate.”

“I … suppose I noticed something of the sort last night,” said Jagraton.

“I’m surprised you could notice anything. You were quite drunk. Rather maddened on a few cups of our wine, I believe,” said the prince.

“Very well, sir,” said Jagraton, his ears flat. “May I inquire as to when you will be returning to Strayway?”

“You are ridiculous!” said Rastomil, snorting. He took another sip of his herbal concoction. “Vile stuff… Anyhow, Jagraton, I shan’t be coming back at all. Later today I shall be announcing my engagement to the Lady Noshi. Who is presently indisposed, so don’t try to speak with her.”

“I wasn’t going to,” said Jagraton.

“What about her other husband? Lord Kethji, wasn’t it?” asked Invincible Fire Demon, with a bit of an edge to his voice.

Prince Rastomil gave Invincible Fire Demon a somewhat perplexed look. “Ah, dear Lord Kethji! He shall be out of the picture soon enough. He nearly is already.”

“As you are not returning to Strayway, I trust that your new fiancee has a chamber for me, close enough to your own so that I can continue to guard you?” said Jagraton.

“Your services are no longer required, Jagraton,” said Prince Rastomil evenly. “I shall no longer be paying your wages. Lady Noshi’s household warriors will more than suffice to defend me.”

“You never were paying my wages. Your royal parents do that. You cannot dismiss me; you have not the authority,” said Jagraton.

“Ah! But I do have Lady Noshi’s household warriors! And plenty of magic of my own, if it comes to that. And, of course, the law of Hanija will be on my side in any dispute,” said Prince Rastomil, with an elegant swish of his tail.

Invincible Fire Demon threw himself at Rastomil’s feet. “But what of me? Do you cast me off — your own true and sweet Invulnerable Flame Devil?”

Everyone looked down at Invincible Fire Demon perplexedly. Invincible Fire Demon whined, and kissed Rastomil’s ankle. Rastomil gently disengaged his foot. “I am sorry, Invulnerable Flame Devil. What was once between us was sweet, very sweet, but it is now past. I shall be faithful to Lady Noshi. Never fear, I shall pay the rest of your tofitude in full.”

Invincible Fire Demon wailed.

Rastomil clapped his hands. A half-dozen fierce-looking Rassimel warriors appeared. “Please conduct Jagraton, Invulnerable Flame Devil, and these others to the front door. They may leave in peace; but see to it that they do not return.”

Yerenthax grunted, “We will leave in peace, never fear. Don’t forget our wedding invitations though. That wouldn’t be polite, considering how many times we saved your life.”

“Of course not. Considering how many times you saved my life on the way to Hanija,” said Prince Rastomil.

# # #

Back in Strayway, Jagraton asked his companions what had happened. “What happened back there? The three of you are nodding grimly but with some amusement, as if you understand it. I find it mysterious and incomprehensible!” he added, for he found it incomprehensible and mysterious. He had a very hard day.

“Well, Rastomil knows my name. I’m Invincible Fire Demon, not Invulnerable Flame Devil. What happened between me and Prince Rastomil was very sweet — it was a bottle of hot honeyed hippocras and three experimental kisses after the bottle was over, in the name of studying for class — but it hardly amounts to me being his boyfriend or tofyof.” Invincible Fire Demon was blushing a great deal at that admission, though the wrongfolk were grinning immensely. “Or one-time fling, even. And he didn’t even seem to recognize Yerenthax and Jyondre, much less know what they hadn’t saved his life even once.” He glanced at the happy couple. “Not that they wouldn’t — I’ll bet they’re going to today or so — but they hadn’t. Maybe the Prince’s head is fuddled — but I’ve seen him quite drunk, and he’s not that clear when he is.”

“So?” demanded Jagraton.

“So I don’t think that’s really Prince Rastomil.”

Mirrored from Sythyry.

Jagraton had made himself quite unpopular with us from the beginning. He did not improve much until he actually needed help.

Incidentally, I should take some of the blame for Phaniet’s behavior. After a very small dose of Jagraton, I had taken to treating him as arrogantly and dismissively as I could manage. Usually this seemed quite appropriate — as when, say, he was demanding this or that special treatment or defense for Prince Rastomil, especially one which the prince did not much want. My loyal and/or obnoxious clients Phaniet and Grinwipey were more than happy to follow my example.

Usually, as I say, this was quite appropriate. In this instance, more concern for Prince Rastomil would not have gone amiss.

Mirrored from Sythyry.

Distressing Dawn [22 Nivvem 4385]

Jagraton sat up in bed as dawn gave him new cley. This was somewhat remarkable, as (1) he was now able to move his own body, without interference or even residual clumisiness from the paralysis; and (2) he was no longer drunk, though he was enjoying one of the most vicious hangovers of his whole life.

“Ho there, foreign Sir Mister. Are you awake now?” asked the tall Orren woman in the next bed.

“I am — oh, I am! Do you know what has become of Prince Rastomil?” asked Jagraton, who had not as yet assembled the story in his mind quite so coherently as it has been presented thus far.

“Sir Mister, I don’t know who or what your Prince Rastomil is or might be. was he also teleporting around, blind drunk? ’cause if he was doing that, that’s not a good idea in Hanija, Sir Mister.”

Jagraton got out of bed and engulfed two quarts of water. He had been stripped and re-dressed in the night, and he was wearing a pleasing peach nightgown. “I hope he wasn’t, then. Where am I, and where are my clothes and equipment?”

“You’re in the Bipothzing Residence. I’m Ropaf Bipothzing, at your service,” said the Orren woman. “Your clothes and weapons are off in the laundry-room, hanging to dry. I have never seen so many weapons in one fumbergine’s clothes! Not that I often have call to strip a fumbergine naked and dress him and put him to bed and count his weapons, mind you, for I’m not that sort of a girl.”

“Well, allow me to thank you for saving my life. I was just about out of tricks,” said Jagraton.

Ropaf curtsied. “Quite welcome! I’m a poor boat-woman, and you’re a wealthy fumbergine, but I’m the one to pull a Rassimel out of a canal when he needs it most!”

Jagraton collected his weapons and proper clothes, got directions, and gave Ropaf a respectable reward, and, lacking any useful ideas, headed back to Strayway.

Helping the Prince [22 Nivvem 3485]

Jagraton returned to Strayway, having lost Prince Rastomil, and nearly his own life. He didn’t have much hope that the Hanijan city guard would be terribly helpful at poking at a member of the greater nobility. So he asked us for help. This would have gone better if he had made himself well-loved in the skyboat beforehand.

“Ah, Grinwipey, my good man…” said Jagraton to the first adventurer sort of person he found on board.

Grinwipey is not the best target for that. “Foh! I’m your good man now? Years and years I spend with Sythyry and Castle Wrong, fending off advance after gleensnigging advance from all these porkydotting traffs, and suddenly! With no notice at all! I’m your man! And your good one, at that! Without even being asked if I’d rather have your piffipoker in my snoodberry, or whether I’d prefer it in my gunders! A fine frottle of frogs this is! Even Inconnu’s not half so rude!”

“No! That’s not what I mean…”

There is little escape from Grinwipey when he’s in a mood. “No? No? You’re spurning me? You’re rejecting me? You’re out-and-out flobbering breaking up with me? After all our time together, all those evenings of squelchy romance, all our adventures! You’re just sending me off with just a ‘not what I mean’? You lout, you vundrel, you pile of gromp’s shomps! I’m just burnt squid eggs on toast for you to take up when you want me and feed to your pet geese when you don’t, am I?”

“It’s an emergency!”

“Oh, that’s what you all say, you two-legged pluffers. You get all sweet and seductive, with them words all dipped in malt syrup. Then when I’m all seduced and everything, ready to render up the virginity that I’ve preserved so carefully through four marriages — and you’re all “it’s an emergency!” and toss me off like a used-up squirtie-hankie. What’s this emergency of yours you’re making up? You met yourself a flousy floozy, one what can actually find your dingerdong under your fur and can pretend to enjoy the nine seconds between intromission and extrohaustion, and that’s the sort of emergency to dump me?”

“Nothing of the sort! Prince Rastomil has been kidnapped or murdered!”

“Well, ain’t that the whip’s tips! You’d better go goggle off to the prince’s loyal bodyguard, the one what won’t let the prince out of his sight for a minute on account of he’s so dorbitty concerned with the prince’s safety and well-being, and ask him about it. Much more efficient than making those passes at the ship’s tailor what never did anyone a flea’s worth of harm.”

Jagraton stomped off to find me, with Grinwipey floating behind. He actually found Phaniet, since I was busy with that morning’s work.

“Phaniet! I need your help!” cried Jagraton.

“Oh, he does, he does. He’s gotten himself all erunct and horniry over me, and I sure as sheepwrack won’t shimmer his shindig. So who does he go looking for, but Sythyry? Probably needs a finding-spell, he does,” noted Grinwipey helpfully.

“Shush, Grinwipey. What’s wrong, Jagraton?” Phaniet kept her voice carefully cool and professional. She doesn’t actually like Jagraton very much.

“The prince! He’s been kidnapped or murdered or something!”

Phaniet nodded. “That could be unfortunate, or even sad. Tell me more?”

“Can I please see Sythyry and Vae?”

“Not unless you persuade me it’s important,” said Phaniet. “As of now, you look like a Rassimel imitating an Orren in a wild rush.”

So the bodyguard told Phaniet a chopped-up and scrambled version of the story. After which, Phaniet said, “Well, you were certainly quite drunk. The rest of the story will take some checking. It doesn’t sound all that plausible, even from you.”

“Quickly! Quickly!”

Phaniet was not inclined to move quickly. “First of all, did Prince Rastomil come home last night? If he did, that would indicate that he was not kidnapped, and even reduce the likelihood that he was murdered.” But checking with Windigar in the pilot’s chamber found that Rastomil was not on board. “Well — he was supposed to be seeking a dissolute lifestyle. Perhaps he is simply sleeping in with this appealing Lady Noshi — illegally — or even enjoying a second round before breakfast?”

“No! I’m sure it’s worse than that!”

“Oh, dear. You do seem quite jealous. Why don’t you trot ’round to Lady Noshi’s house and ask after him? If he’s been kidnapped, I’m sure someone will want to hand you a ransom note,” said Phaniet.

“They tried to kill me!”

Phaniet flicked her tailtip. “Well, you are an adequate warrior, I believe. Simply don’t let them paralyze you or get you stinking drunk, and you should be fine.”

“I need assistance! The prince’s life is at stake!”

Phaniet shrugged. “I will be glad to assist you save the prince, should he need saving. At the moment I think you are misunderstanding the situation, based on an overload of strong drink and other peculiar Hanijan intoxicants, and, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised, jealousy as well. Still, if you want assistance, ask Jyondre and Yerenthax. They’re usually good for an adventure.”

So Jagraton did. He also collected Bryef (who was his official but uninspired deputy) and Invincible Fire Demon.

Mirrored from Sythyry.

Jagraton lay flopped back in the cushions of the circular couch in Lady Noshi’s parlor. He was paralyzed, in the sense of having been rendered incapable of moving his body, and his brain buzzed with a great and extensive drunkenness far beyond the three cautious sips of wine he had tasted. He lay in a comfortably relaxed position.

The prince did not notice Jagraton’s incapacitation. Indeed, after a bit of the most casual and insipid repartée, Prince Rastomil and Lady Noshi had removed or opened certain of their garments, and were now shagging — no more dignified term would fit the character of their junction, and even “rutting” might not be utterly inapplicable — quite frantically on the couch. Even drunk, Jagraton found this behavior unexpected, even to the point of being surprising. Perhaps Jagraton remembered the Hanijan laws on the topic, or perhaps he considered the situation in light of the prince’s general preference for privacy and infrequency in his amours. Perhaps, again, the presence of Lady Noshi’s husband (no matter how drugged with that fuming nacreous purple beverage), might have been thought to inhibit such matters. But the lord simply muttered, “That’s how it starts, yes, for me too,” in a very vague voice, to which his wife snapped, “Be quiet, Kethji!”

Despite all these things, inhibitions were desperately lacking.

Or, more specifically, Prince Rastomil’s inhibitions were lacking. The Lady Noshi, while she can hardly be said to be non-receptive — for her entire body was clearly and completely devoted to the task at hand — maintained a certain ironic detachment on her face. She seemed, if anything, to be deep in contemplation of some distant mathematical theorem or abstruse philosophical principle, at which the frenzied rocking of her hips and the occasional orgasm were, at most, a minor distraction — if that.

She almost seemed to be performing some intricate and long-term sorcery, but Jagraton could clearly see that there was no magic at all involved. Not that he was spell-blind! Not a bit of it. He could clearly see the Ruloc Corpador spell that had paralyzed him.

After some time, Lady Noshi turned her head from her efforts with Rastomil. (Rastomil’s stamina, which was ordinarily quite ordinary, was quite infinite this time.) “Kebu! My work is about to get difficult, and I don’t want any interruptions. Please dispose of that bodyguard.”

Kebu, the withered butler, nodded. “Does your porthaceous and umnolent ladyship wish for him to be found ever again?”

“Best if he is not,” said Lady Noshi. Prince Rastomil grunted, though whether in assent, protest, effort, or pleasure, I cannot say.

“I shall render him mortaceous and pulpish,” said Kebu. He took a long and sharp carving knife, and stepped over to the paralyzed bodyguard.

I think I must do something about this, said Jagratonl. He was more of a warrior than a mage, but knew some magic. Not enough to fight off a butler, especially one who seemed quite experienced in wickedness, but enough to escape. [Bard notes that spellcasting on the World Tree does not actually require speech or movement, though it is easier that way and not everyone seems quite aware that it does not. -bb] The prince seems to be safe enough. Indeed, his current course of blatant adultery is practically obedience to his duty. I am afraid that flight, rather than active defense, is the best course of action for me. It will not look well on my report. Still, staying here and being killed by a carving knife would not look well on my grave.

So he cast his best teleport spell, which was tolerably good by the standards of most primes. (Your impression of Locador may be spoiled by the way that Vae uses it, or hCevian, or even Feralan and I. It is usually much more modest.) He had no idea where anything was, so he told it “as far as possible that way”.

Back in the parlor, Kebu set down his carving knife neatly, lining it up with the forks and chopsticks. “M’lady, the bodyguard has rendered himself strossulent and disproximal, in defiance of your wishes.”

“My wish is for quiet and calm while I finish this!” snapped Lady Noshi. Her body was quite occupied and entangled with Prince Rastomil’s, but her face showed not the slightest interest in those proceedings.

Kebu curtsied quietly, and stood by for further commands.

# # #

Hanija is a city of canals. Teleporting blindly around town is perhaps unwise, especially if one is paralyzed and unable to swim. Fortunately for Jagraton, he teleported somewhat over the water, and fell in with a loud splash.

An Orren boater pulled him out in an instant. “Hello, Sir Mister. Are you all right?”

The boater’s companion started doing the squeezes and presses that push water out of the lungs. “I think he’s drunk. There’s the gin and the arak, stinking on his breath.”

“He’d have to be, to do such a stunt as that. Hif-hith! He’s a well-dressed fumbergine, at least. Let’s take him to the house and let him sleep it off. Should be he’ll pay us a nice rescue-gift, if he’s got manners to match his clothing.”

Mirrored from Sythyry.

Losing Prince Rastomil (a novella)

The Concept

[The next story arc is a bit of a novella. I'm going to try to phrase it as a serialized novella. I'd like new readers to be able to start with it, or with any novella. So I'm going to give some background. ]

[I'm also going to repeat the first segment, so that it comes after the background section, and so that I don't delete replies to when I posted it the first time.]

Background

1. The skyboat Strayway, with many passengers from the city-state of Barency, is visiting the distant and exotic city-state Hanija.
2. Sythyry, the nominal author, is a Zi Ri wizard: a small, long-lived, hermaphroditic feathered blue dragonet. Zie, and most of the crew of Strayway, is traff (or transaffectionate): romantically interested in members of other species, which is not well regarded on most of the World Tree (though more acceptable in Hanija than most places).
3. Prince Rastomil (a Rassimel — raccoon-person) of Barency is one of the passengers. He is in disfavor with his royal parents, and most of Barency, for having been heroically rejected by a princess in an arranged dynastic marriage. He has been sent to Hanija to ruin his reputation, thereby making his rejection seem less stinging. Rastomil is unenthusiastic about this task.
4. Jagraton (a Rassimel) is the prince’s bodyguard. Jagraton’s misison is twofold: to protect the prince, and to ensure the prince’s public debauchery. Jagraton has made himself quite unpopular on Strayway, though not (unlike his co-worker Wentalilla) been kicked off the ship.
5. Phaniet (a Cani — dog-person) is Sythyry’s assistant: somewhere between a wizard’s apprentice and a technical secretary.
6. Jyondre (an Orren man — otter-man) and Yerenthax (a Gormoror woman — bear-woman) are a couple — Jyondre is Yerenthax’s legal tofyof, or registered concubine, in Hanijan law. They are excitable and adventurous, and willing to take terrible risks for nearly any worthwhile purpose.
7. Invincible Fire Demon is an Orren student from Hanija; despite his name, he is not invincible, not incendiary, and not demonic. Sythyry has a bit of a crush on him, but Invincible Fire Demon seems unaware of it.
8. Grinwipey is a Khtsoyis (floating air-octopus) dressmaker and tailor. He is brutal and violent, and one of the mightiest warriors on Strayway. He has strong criminal connections. He is also one of the best embroiderers in the world. He is not transaffectionate.
9. The Guard-Mage is a Rassimel member of the Hanijan city guard: moderately skillful at magic, but nowhere near Sythyry or even Phaniet. In a previous story, Sythyry was arrested and imprisoned, and the Guard-Mage was in charge of keeping Sythyry in jail. He is named Zineng, though Sythyry never actually gave his name in that story.
10. Wingsa is a Zi Ri wizard of Hanija. In fact, zie is the only other Zi Ri in Hanija; Zi Ri are quite scarce. Zie has one grandparent in common with Sythyry.

The Prince [21 Nivvem 4385]

[OOC: This is the start of a new story arc, which I would probably name if I were awake. -bb]

Beware! I did not see much of this myself. I generally take great liberties with peoples’ words and descriptions, but I stay true to the spirit of the original. In this story, I will be less accurate than that. I heard various fragments of it from various of the principal — by some wondrous miracle, the fragments occasionally managed to be consistent with one another. The rest is guesswork or pure embroidery, except for the scenes where Phaniet or I are present, which measure up absolutely to the precision which you have come to expect from me.

“My lord prince Rastomil, why are you donning your most formal outfit, with its waistcoat of plum and burgundy with bright copper buttons? Were you not about to depart for an evening in the fleshpots of Hanija, drinking quantities of the local herb-infused distilled spirits, and winning dozens upon dozens of lozens from foolish locals at games of chance, thereby recouping those you lost yesterday and the day before?” Jagraton was nominally Prince Rastomil’s bodyguard, but was under orders to ensure that the Prince returned to Barency in a state unsuited for polite company. Rastomil had no great love for the project.

“No, my good man, I have other plans for the evening. I have been invited to a dinner at the home of some local noble or other. In the spirit of fostering good relationships between our cities, I imagine I should attend.”

“But, lord Rastomil! It will be a slow and tedious evening! The intoxicating liquors shall dribble forth, rather than being quaffed voluminously and energetically! The conversation shall be hedged in polite qualifications, rather than being bold and colorful! No songs shall be sung, that you may join in their lusty chorus! If there are dancing girls, they are certain to be old and withered society matrons wrapped in hideous corsets of antique fustian, not the comely and barely-dressed darlings you so dearly love to watch!”

“Forgive me, my good Jagraton. I have spent the last eight nights trying my very best to carouse. I have returned home well after midnight, too drunk to remember which way my own door opens, which can be rather awkward when I am returning home with company eager for activies which are remarkably illegal in Hanija. I have sung vulgar songs — so many of them that I know sixteen Hanijan words for ‘vulva’, despite not knowing even one for ‘manners’. I have made every effort be be depraved. Now, I need some time for recreation. I am a quiet sort of Rassimel anymore, and I fear I would rather stay home collecting ornamental teacups or something.”

“Collecting teacups, my lord?”

“Collecting teacups, or even collecting dust,” said Rastomil. “Should I wear a purple cockade, do you think? Or does that mean something I don’t intend in Hanijan, like Would you be my tofyof? or I am violent atheist?”

“I’m sure I don’t know such things, my lord. I assure you that they are not relevant in the taverns in the roll’gainst quarter, where you may go with the utmost assurance of being instantly well-liked upon paying for a round or two of beverages,” said Jagraton.

“Well, I shall wear the purple cockade, then, and if it carries some invidious meaning, then my dear parents’ orders shall be better-satisfied in a single evening than in a month in the saloons!”

Lady Noshi’s Parlor [21 Nivvem 4385]

The parlor was small, and panelled in old wood, and dignified with the dignity of old age. A nearly-circular sectioned couch took up much of the room, with a low dining-table in the middle of it, already set about with bowls of dry fruit, salt-basins, fingerbowls, bouquets of scallions, and all of the other requisite materials for a small and intimate high-class Hanijan dinner. And it was going to be small and intimate. There were only settings for three people at table.

“My goodness!” exclaimed Prince Rastomil. “Is this the dwelling of the Lady Noshi? Who is expecting one Prince Rastomil of Barency as a dinner-guest?”

“It is indeed that most quailient and prothraceous location. And which one of you is Prince Rastomil?” said the ancient and bitter-eyed Rassimel butler.

“That would be me,” said Prince Rastomil.

“And who is this other gentleman, both loritent and ulsome of appearance, who has accompanied you thus far on your inevitable journey to your fate?” said the butler, in a voice like frozen serpents.

“I am Jagraton, his bodyguard!”

“Well, Jagraton-his-bodyguard, there is no place set aside for you at table. You were Not Invited,” said the butler. Such was his contempt that he did not bother to make up adjectives.

“I do not leave the Prince’s side,” said Jagraton.

“Perhaps you do not, and perhaps you do, but the seat which we must prepare for you shall be both esperical and drail.”

“As long as it is near at hand to the Prince, I care very little,” said Jagraton.

“For my part, you can put him in the kitchen or even the seraglio. I haven’t gotten a moment’s peace from him these last several weeks,” said the prince.

A fourth place was set at the table for Jagraton, and the two from Barency took their seats.

# # #

A third of an hour later, which they passed in amused (Rastomil) or watchful (Jagraton) silence, the first of their hosts arrived. He was old and shaky and Rassimel, his fur stringy and ill-groomed, his dressing gown threadbare and stained with food and with less reputable substances. He stank. A servant — half waitress and half nurse — wheeled him in on a castered chair.

“The Lord Kethji!” announced the butler, who had returned as well. “A mighty tower of legislative power, a strallic pillar of mighty fervency, a gridfraceous and triumphal master of many honorous villages!

“Noshi,” said Lord Kethji.

“The Lady Noshi, polmerscient with beauty and renown, shall arrive shortly, Lord Kethji. In the meantime, Lord Kethji, this is our guest, the Prince Rastomil of Barency,” said the butler. “This other Rassimel is his manservant or some such tundrane thing.”

“I am quite pleased to meet you, Lord Kethji,” said Prince Rastomil with a courtly curtsey. As a courtier from birth, he was well-used to greeting nobles who were even more incoherent than Kethji, and who smelled worse.

“Noshi. Lady Noshi. Rastomil, Noshi. Noshi.” said Lord Kethji, incoherently and stinkily.

The Lady Noshi strode into the hall. She was a Rassimel of her middle years, with squirrel styling, and she wore ceremonial robes in a distinctly masculine style. Her chest and voice were plainly feminine, though. “Ah! My lord Prince Rastomil! I am so glad that you were able to attend this small but pleasant soirée on such short notice! It is a veritable pleasure — a true ecstasy — a veritable happiness to meet you at last!”

“Lady Noshi! I am, in turn, precisely delighted to meet you as well!” Rastomil was, too: he had dreaded the thought of an evening with Lord Kethji and an equally withered and insane wife. Lady Noshi was clearly nothing like that.

“And who is your elegant and amiable companion, Prince Rastomil?” asked Noshi.

“My bodyguard Jagraton,” he said, and explained.

“Ah! This is a wholly unexpected surprise — an unpredictable delight — an unexpected addition to our happiness! Please be so kind as to enjoy this evening and our welcome, good Jagraton!”

The first course was served: an appetizer of sliced prens in a sauce of ground groundnuts and chocolate. Lady Noshi chatted with Prince Rastomil, coaxing him to speak of his villages and possessions back in Barency. Lord Kethji burbled his wife’s name in an anxious confusion, until the nurse let him have a fuming nacreous purple beverage, after which he lapsed into a bewildered quietude.

“This doesn’t seem so bad after all,” Jagraton thought to himself, relaxing in his seat. The wine must have been quite strong; his head was already bubbling with drunkenness. He attempted to reach for another bite of sliced pren, and discovered that he was unable to move.