B.T.V. -- Session 07 Prelude: A Shadow Crosses Adrilankha

The silver-plated copper sheet had to have a hand-polished, mirror finish or there was no point to the exercise. Exercise it was. By the time I was done, my arm was definitely tired. I gave the fellow in the finished result a wink and his dark expression winked back at me. So far so good and the best part of the evening still to go.


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Another planetfall. How many did that make it for me? Don’t panic. I don’t keep track of that sort of thing. I usually have better things to keep track of; valuables certainly come to mind, women’s faces (they might be the most valuable), the location of the entrance to the last portal, you get the idea. Useful things. Coming to another world wasn’t a category to get too worked up about. Let’s call this arrival somewhere around the hundred mark, eh? The small point I’m trying deliver is that I’ve seen a few worlds. This one is called Axildusk.


How do worlds get their names? Is there a vote? A kind of lottery maybe? My hope is that it’s a despot from history that decrees what a world shall be named. “I, Elaborate the Mighty, royally proclaim this world, Dirt!” And the world of Dirt it is called forever afterward. That appeals to me. Not the name of the king or the name of the world, just the idea of someone having that kind of say. Must be nice.


Whatever means by which Axildusk got its name, it seems to suit it well. I’d been warned to expect a place benighted even in the daylight and verging on dim light when one might have expected otherwise. I say warned because the young summoner who said it didn’t know me very well. ‘Dim’ and ‘benighted’ are two words that have occasionally been used to describe me. Having spent a day here, I can say that Axildusk and I are much like an elite pair of softest leather pick-gloves — well-matched and made for each other.


It was my second order of business to get a feel for the city of Adrilankha. It didn’t take long to manage. In that space of time, I understood that it was like other capital cities I had known and therefore I ceased to attempt to learn more. Little to gain as I wouldn’t be staying long. Why frustrate myself with the potential I’d uncover? I only needed to learn enough to be capable of two things. The first was to assist those I’d been sent to Axildusk to find. The second was to make sure I left my mark on the place. Call it habit if you’d like. I like the word, elan. Others, who generally have good reason, call it, criminal. To each their own — after I’ve taken my share, that is. Whichever word you decide to use, my activity should add to my reputation for good or bad.


An hour or two’s, chimney-leaning watchfulness and I believed I had a fair sense of local doings, goings and to-ings and fro-ings. Adrilankha was a city of a variety of elf as I’d never seen before. Most were tall, averaging seven foot, quite unlike the will-O'-wisp elf you might have read about that is capable of slipping unseen between fronds of a bushy, frondy thing. The elf of Adrilankha had less chance of going unnoticed than a man of the city. The men were typical heights and breadths, some with hair, some with beards and all meek, all ‘invisible’. The elf of this place did take differing appearances but there wasn’t a beard, moustache or bald pate among them. There was no missing these elves regardless of their individual looks. Striking might be the word. Oh, and with regards to the facial hair, I did spy one elf who had the longest pair of slender, wind and gravity defying eyebrows. They stuck out beyond his temples, like a great cat’s whiskers might. Do elves wax their eyebrows? This might be the city to find out.


The atmosphere of the city came as forewarned. It was desultory. Not just the air but the light too. Magnificent. Yes, really it was and I won’t hear a word to the contrary. You have to appreciate each place on its own merits. So what if the men of Adrilankha were clearly treated as third rate by the tall elves? That was just a fact of life here. The ruddy sky, smirched by a thousand, sooty fires and frothed into a seeming chowder of crimson and black and grey clouds that hung like nightshirts on lines strung across streets, was meritorious indeed. Here was a sky made for a proper city. None of that clear brightness that put people off their business with thoughts of pastimes or made to get them to forget their troubles. The sky of Adrilankha would have none of that. It was a pointed sky that issued its perspective to all beneath it, the short and the tall, to be mindful that life was about grim deeds and unique triumphs, that could delight those who survived to hear about them.


A gently spoken word in my ear about, “... pissing off before your vital fluids used the eaves and troughings meant for rainfall.”, had me descend the roof I was on. A burly elf with dark features said this with no trace of uncertainty. Swarthy? I suppose he was although normally I’d hesitate to call someone who couldn’t grow stubble that. It wasn’t worth my time to get to arguing over a roof so I went on to the streets.


I didn’t know it but I would learn that I’d been sent in as close to my assignments’ location as could be managed. This meant I was in a district called, Colleridge. In Colleridge, many of the tall folk were dressed as if for manual labour. I was the only one in Colleridge thinking this was odd. Sturdy boots, leather bracers and braces, thick shirts and an abundance of shovels and pick-axes made it clear that these were not elvish harpers about to form an orchestra. They all, to the last elf of them, entered openings in a cliff face along a street posted as, Black Rock Way. The significant scatterings of coal on the street put my brief imagining of burly elves digging up night sapphires back on my must-find list. There wasn’t any shouting or whipping going on. The miner elf seems to be happy enough to work for a living. I was not wrong to wonder that if hard work was something an elf would take on willingly – getting filthy no less -- what did the men of the city do to earn a bowlful? It wouldn’t be pleasant and it would mean that there had to be some humans like me about. Not everyone can do the lowest kind of work. Like me, they’d find other ways to eat. That’s how it starts despite what the do-gooders might tell you. Thieves are made not born — generally speaking. I’m willing to agree I’m a unique case. I won’t get up you if you say I was born for my work. Far worse things have been said of me.


Adrilankha’s shops proved particularly good. Both the selection and quality of items was first rate. The keepers were less than friendly to me. I’m not tall nor an elf. I didn’t let this sway me. I found a provisioner’s with just the ‘right’ shop owner. Then I helped myself to the things I would require. Two sets of cord went into a boot top, four clear vials within my belt, a small packet of purple dye went between my wrist and its cuff and another packet of some seeds went on to a sideclip I wear to sometimes keep my hair from my eyes. Oh, and I bought a small, screw top jar of solvent. Two reasons for not helping myself to it as I had the other things: buying something would let me be clear away before the owner might notice the things that were missing and I needed some of the local currency as I travel with gemstones not lucre.


Sloshing jar in hand, I went quickly northward. I stopped on a well-built bridge to survey. I always start at the top and work my way down. Works for cities and the ladies equally well in my experience. There were towers off about a mile to the south. At least four maybe more. Whoever was stationed there and I assumed they were military types, would get a grand view of the place. I’ve been to cities where towers like that belong to city fathers. It’s possible that the towers weren’t guarded positions. In the sky to the north I saw ships. Yeah, ships that floated on the dark and red air. I guess when elves have a city these things are bound to happen.



I should halt my description of what I could see to mention that I have nothing against the ‘faerie folk’. They like to work their weird magics to trick us men into all kinds of odd situations. They are flighty, terribly untrustworthy and ruthless in a sort of nonchalant, inhumane way. You see? I’m ambivalent.


The ships weren’t crowding the sky but there were more than two or three aloft in one glance so there was probably nothing extraordinary about them. The folk passing by didn’t look at the ships at all, so I feel somewhat confident in saying this.


Walkers-past were predominantly elves with humans maybe making up a tenth of the number. The men were all more or less the same. They wore heavy cloaks and thick breeches or the lightest of shirts and trousers. Either choice was not appropriate for the moderate climate, which leads me to think these humans only have the one set of clothing and must wear it regardless of the season. The elves have no such issues, wearing clothing that varies both in function and colour, cut and material. The elf inside a particular outfit is nearly as unique. All are tall, the least is well over six foot and some seem close on seven or more. There were different skin tones; many fair as might be expected but more sallow or ruddy or even pallid grey and a few broaching on darkest grey walked past me. Their ears were points and went from petite tips to definite spears. Did these exaggerated ears give them better hearing? I’d like to think the extra vulnerability the points gave them, that they’d gain at least that if not something else.


There were quite a few wagons laden with goods heading to a selection of skiffs all tied closely one to the next. The river was reasonably slow moving so these boats didn’t seem to need more securing than the thin cords used to attach the skiffs together. Apart from wagons there were unusual carriages that moved without beasts to pull them. Understand these carriages were just that, proper vehicles used to carry the well-enough off where they might hire the carriage to take them. They seemed to be empowered by magic. The typical carriage lanterns, affixed to the top, front corners, glowed with an intense blue-green light as did the hubs of the wheels. Elves.


I stated that not all the ships flew. Below the bridge, ships, smallish ones and boats moved about with insect-like industry. Almost all were used by elves. Most were rowed, some were poled. A couple had humans aboard and two had men plying the river as though the boats were their own. Most of these craft were carrying bundled freight. There were two spots in the middle of the river that looked to be where this freight was craned on and off and where waiting wagons took up its cartage.


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Next, the liquid needed to be applied almost liberally but not carelessly. A fine distinction made the more taxing by the danger of breathing in the fumes of this liquid. The vapour was harmful to the lung tissue resulting in permanent shortness of breath which I tried to avoid on account of my future dancing career. I ragged the liquid with particular care to coat the outside edges of the metal square. An even disposition is an ambition for more than just men. Finished, I turned my head away, coughed and spat for safety’s sake and wrapped the already dry copper in a doeskin sleeve. It would remain there until the moment of its use or it would be ruined.


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This view of the river had all but exhausted its sights to show me. What was left was what I was most interested in. The palace. Even from the almost mile away, its emerald roof domes were enticing. They weren’t copper gone green in its exposure to air. Anyone with a knowledge of verdigris could see that such was not the case. If they were only painted green, I’d be disappointed and if they were made from actual emerald, I’d gladly admit elfish superiority in all things while happily making off with a half dozen roof tiles. That investigation might have to wait as my plan didn’t include a detour to the palace roof. I’ve mentioned towers off to the south but next to the palace was a single, squared-off tower that dwarfed those. It was monumental in scale. One side shone outward and upward into the sky lighting it the blue-green that seemed to be used everywhere. It can only be a kind of lighthouse? It may be related to ships that fly and this would explain its differing from the other lighthouses I’ve seen.


The palace of the empress. I desired to close on my target as a mile was too distant to enact my plan. To get there started with a walk. The area had a definite upper education feel. I’m not sure what elves would think important enough to commit to studying. Trees. Mirrors. Anything with strings attached.

I leave the bridge well-behind me. It’s a touch too early for my plan to be triggered. Conditions aren’t quite to my liking. I work best at specific times of the day. I have time on my side – at least, I think that’s its intention – Dragons are tough to figure. I stroll along pleased to know that my time here is going to be fruitful. Across from me a stall offers short skewers of pickled turnips. Perfect. Not the turnips. Can’t stand the things but buying a pair of sticks lets me learn what coins are what and how to make change for the ]imperials I got at the shop. ‘Imps’, the cooker of horrible skewers calls them. That’s a good one. Coins whose nickname made them minor, evil creatures. Knowing what the men I’d known would do for a coin, I couldn’t think of a better name. I could see why my time here was curtailed. I could grow fond of Adrilankha.


As I continue my walk through the market stalls, I look for somewhere to drop the skewers. Let the rats rejoice! Before I find it, I see two of the elves moving in unison. Now that’s my cue. Not that I know these two from Absolom, just their type. My type. Thieves. I can always spot a fellow practitioner. These two weren’t too bad -- for thieves that to me were clearly too tall and obvious, that is. It didn’t seem to hamper them though. In fact, it soon was clear that the other elves knew them to be thieves. What’s more these other elves didn’t care. I want to learn more but before I can the two thieves reach above their heads. I think they’ve been sprung by whoever polices the streets. Not so fast. They have raised their hands not in surrender but to hoist themselves upward. They are quickly standing on one of the narrow gangplanks I’d seen placed between buildings and homes. A neat trick to get up without needing an obliging wall to climb. Maybe they’re not too tall for their trade after all. The other elves down with me on the street don’t react. I have to know more. I can ask an elf on the street but where’s the chance for a complication in that?


Instead, I call up to the two, perfectly sized thieves, “Say there, High and Dry, mind telling an admirer what you two are up to?” ‘Dry’, glares an eloquent phrased response. ‘High’, grins lopsided -- okay it’s a sneer -- and chooses his words not carefully at all, “You talking to us, Eas-stain-er?”


I’m taken back. Not aback, I’d expected something of the sort. No, his words remind me of a time when I was at a particularly fancy party to relieve certain partygoers of their finery. I had fooled my way in by posing as an officer of the castle. Unfortunately, the man I procured my outfit from had succumbed to the rough pummeling I’d supplied him, before telling me his actual role in the castle. His job became clear when I was asked by a couple of fops to accompany them to the privy, where I could wipe their asses and afterward dispose of their ‘contributions’, in the castle’s oubliette. To say I was shocked was also to say I wasn’t very professional at the duty. I manage the ass wiping well enough – years of practice on my own, so to speak – but the dumping of pots proved to be too much for me and I got just enough on my borrowed togs to end up stinking for the rest of the evening. The partiers took to referring to me by all manner of witty references to droppings, turds, dung – you get the idea – stain was one of the nicer names.


Thinking on this, I smile fondly and say, “You might know your better if you weren’t so quick to judgement.”

High said, “He thinks I’m an Iorich, Clefanthra! What a simple wretch he is.”

Dry-Clefanthra pointed down at me and said, “I wish one of us or he was an Iorich. At least they’re usually flush. He doesn’t look well off enough to bother with. I’ve only just sharpened my blades. I don’t want to take the edge off on that.”

High was going to say something but I beat him to it, “Who revolted and put you two in charge? These others down here don’t seem to mind that you’re waiting to drop on one of them. A situation that’s a too-odd-to-leave-alone thing for me, eh?”

Dry-Clefanthra laughed quite a bit and naturally too. I think he found my words truly comedic. I’ve had this happen a few times before. Usually, the laughter comes from a potentate well certain of his guards’ hold on my biceps. In this situation, as I wasn’t being held and the time of day had advanced a bit, I felt emboldened to let them have a little of my magic. It’s a sudden thing. Over in, no, not a flash – quite the opposite. To describe High’s and Dry’s reaction as startled would only be accurate. I didn’t see their faces due to my choice of direction but I did hear their indrawn gasps as I grew narrow and thin. The shadow drawn on the pavement by the gangplank above me was just the thing. I placed a brotherly arm around each of their waists and waited. Just a half-second or so. They reacted that fast to my sudden appearance between them on the plank. Dry’s gasp turned into a choked-off curse and a still-born cough. High jumped straight up, forcing my arm and hand down his front. I could have grabbed his privates but this wasn’t the time for getting better acquainted.

“I could have knifed your cod, High. Be grateful I am on holiday.”

High replied, “You, you didn’t teleport up here.”

It wasn’t a question. That told me a fair bit about these elves. I added ‘damned casters’ to my list of adjectives for elves.

“You two can teleport or all of your kind?”

“We are Draegerans. Any of our race can use sorcery to do teleports, Easterner.”

A-ha! He’d dropped the ‘stain’ from my title. It’s been said one should know when one has been insulted but also when to accept a compliment. To not show either of these bits of knowledge is unrefined. I decided to accept the implied compliment. I bowed to High. Which was unfortunate because the low and graceful sweep of my arm struck Dry right behind the knees and he collapsed without thinking it over. Straight down. Knees buckling is an involuntary reflex shared by man and elf it seems. A useful scientific discovery, somewhat undone by the fact that Dry was poised atop a gangplank over a busy market street. He fell hard. His shoulder took the brunt. There was a distinct ‘pop’ which is never good unless one is in the presence of a wine bottle.

“If shoulders were corks, we’d all be drunk.” I said, pleased with my wit.

High looked from Dry’s pained facial expression to my smug and satisfied one. He seemed unsure. It is in such moments that great men act. I felt inclined to include elves in this wisdom. As he hadn’t risen to the occasion, I offered him Dry’s money belt which had somehow come away from the unfortunate elf and into my hand. Funny that. High then did something odd. He bowed and while doing it, he looked at me with a mixture of respect and slyness, like a badly acted arch-villain in a poorly directed scene.

“You won’t take the belt, High?”

“No, I won’t be trapped in your spirit jar, you apparition.”

“Who me?” I am a regular thespian when I need to be.

“Yes, you. You’re obviously ghost light empowered. A spectral form out to commit mischief on the likes of us. I offer you no hate, ghost. You have no power over those who extend themselves without fear.”

“Me? A ghost?” Oh, the words were rolling like liquid gold from my lips.

“You sport with me. I’m Draegeran though. I know of you too well to be taken in.”

“Do ghosts have names?”

This gave him pause. Better, so I continued.

“I will give you my name. This will mean you will know who I was in life, eh? That will give you the power to --”

“-- speak with and summon you whenever I want.”

“Useful?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. People call – called me, Jack.” I’d changed the tense to be more ghostly. I expected some glee and hand rubbing from High at gaining ‘power over me’. Instead, his tan complexion grew lighter. He backed away from me. Not bad on a gangplank. His eyes stayed locked on the money belt of his associate.

He managed, “Keep that. I know who you are, Jack. No one would dare call themselves by that title unless they were, he. It explains how an Easterner could manage what you have. No harm done. We can part friends.”

“Friends? Dry has been dislocated and had his arm wrenched from its socket, and you call me ‘friend’?”

High had reached the roof the plank was attached to. “I go now. Takings are yours, Masterjack.”

Masterjack. He said it like one word. Not a title followed by a name. Had the Dragon hoodwinked me? Sent me here before and some how I will learn of it later? That would be just like him. Shadow always putting people at a disadvantage. I hefted the heavy, money belt. Almost always.

“For the repairs.” I said and dropped several imperials on to Dry. I made use of the other end of the gangplank and one-handed my way down a vertical guttering to the street. I decided it would make sense to stay within the safety of the crowded market. Reprisal wasn't out of the question. I was still able to move some way toward the palace while doing this. I slung the money belt over my shoulder. Dry wouldn’t be able to do that without wincing twice for a bit -- no money to carry, get me? And that was how I left the two Draegeran thieves, High and Dry.

Not so fast, Jack. Let’s go ahead ten minutes.

I had rounded a bend of the market stalls. I’d spotted a couple of attended skiffs between two stalls. Just the ticket. Tickets hopefully not being too expensive. That was the moment when I saw High again. There was no denying those long legs let them shift when they wanted to. He was standing at a doorway with a tavern sign above it. He was turned profile to me but I knew it was him because he had that same arch half-a-smile on this side of his face. The sneering elf said, “Come and listen to the minstrels playing, Jack. I’m sure you’ll approve.”

Now, you should know that I’ve met almost as many people who despise musicians as like them. Some would even offer contracts on a player of songs. Personally, I reserve that kind of hate for magicians and tyrants. Dragons I will have to get back to you on, the judge hasn’t decided their case yet. Anyway, you’ll understand that I can basically take or leave most minstrels, skalds and who-have-you. As long as they don’t sound like a sack of cicadas on fire, I’m willing to live and let sing.


I listened from outside of the tavern to the song from within. It was about three lines in before my hand went to my sword hilt. Another two and it was out its scabbard. My blade dragged me to go past High. Death takes a bard. Sounded like a good title for the tale. A story I wanted very badly to write immediately and self-publish at my own expense. A run of an infinite number of copies would just about serve to warn all musicians, present and future to never play this song again. Overreaction? Who me? I’ll give you a taste but then, once you’ve read it, you must swear you’ll burn what you read and set fire to the remains. The ashes you can immolate and then I will be satisfied. Listen to this,

And when he passes

He casts shades of mystery black

Flowing like molasses

It's only Jack of Shadows on his way back

To the kingdom of thieves

Before the skies crack

Everlasting Death was too good for these singers. At the third line my hand went to sword hilt. By the fourth, it cleared its scabbard. The sword pulled me into the doorway. Their words, my sword. It had an alluring eloquence and I was powerless to resist the seduction. I heard High. He was chuckling. I felt him grab the trailing edge of my cloak. I stopped. I lowered my sword. Murder might spoil my plan.

“You see, Jack? You’re a celebrity on Axildusk. No human dares to use that name and no Draegeran would want it. Not even a Jhereg like me. I do have a question for you, Jack... Do you actually, ‘flow like mole asses’?”

Elves. I guess they have a sense of humour. Maybe. Maybe, it’s just these Draegeran elves.


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The two picture frames were about a hand long and half that wide. They were made from silver metal. Not silver, possibly steel but they were too shiny for that and had been tagged too cheaply to be electrum so I am stumped. They’d do is the point. I slip one into the doeskin sleeve. I can’t see what my hand is doing. That doesn’t matter as I only have to get it on one side of the coppered-steel rectangle. Having worked within shadow for as long as I have... well blind work is easy-doings. The other frame goes in next. It has to be on the other side. The three things fit together well and I’m pleased. You’ll note I haven’t mentioned glass or a backing for it. Those come after it has been used.

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One elf at the skiffs turns out to be as bad as I’ve described her race. You know the type or you can count yourself either a man from a non-magically infused world or just tons-lucky. I got a seat in the other skiff. This elf was slender but had forearms cabled as much as any fisherman’s sweater. Looked like he knew his business. He was gruff too, which I prefer in those I hire. Less talk, less to pay. He charged too much but as I had no plans for investments brewing, I didn’t mind. I took a seat on the small, wooden board at the front of the skiff. My knees pressed against the two converging sides as they came together to form a squared-off point. The elf knew his craft. We merged with the busy river traffic moving in the middle of the river. I sat up straight, looking ahead like some heroic general leading a flotilla into the pages of history. I had reason to look like an eager and interested traveller, okay? I wondered what time it was. Not that I had a schedule in minutes and seconds but more out of a concern for what was to come and how ready I was for it.


I asked my pilot, “You don’t happen to have a watch?”


“There’s no watch but there’s the blue coats ‘bout.”


He said nothing further as though he’d made perfect sense. I might need to reconsider my preference for non-talkative hires, pay scaling be damned.


“Thanks for that... know the time?” Persistence is a virtue. Who knew I had one?


“ ‘Course, Easterner. Is the left side.”


He had to be pulling my leg.


“That would be what hour?” The virtue was dripping off me.


“26 or ‘bout that.”


That was more like it. An actual number. I chewed on how many hours an Adrilankhan day might have. I decided it had to be late, after the evening meal period but the river was still crowded with boats so not so late that peoples’ thoughts hadn’t quite got to leaving off working and getting a drink or whatever. Then again, elves live forever so maybe working way too long is normal. Normal elves. There’s one for you.


My elf skiffer had not reacted when I said I wanted to head toward the palace. I’d taken that in stride at the time. As we poled closer, I wasn’t so sure my pilot shouldn’t have protested. There were armed elves all over. Regular troops or that’s how I took them. They all wore similar green bits and pieces. More a motif than an actual uniform as you sometimes see with soldiers. I supposed that elves might have an individual streak that human soldiering types lack. Effectively it didn’t matter, as even I could tell they were of a kind and I had only just seen them. Some had bows but not as many as I’d expected. One had a gun. What it might fire out of its business end I didn’t know but not wanting to find out the traditional way I took an immense risk...


“Nice weapon on that one there with the green, striped kilt. Don’t see many of those. Dangerous things, guns?”


I didn’t really ask a question but I wanted more than a grunt from my pilot.


He stared at the elf. More than was necessary to be fair so I shouldn’t have minded that this attracted the elf-with-the-gun’s attention.


“Su, anything that holds the light is dangerous. That weapon sends it out like a sorcerer’s wand does but it works some places where spells and wands don’t.”


Excellent, Captain! I could have hugged him. Skiffs are treacherous to do that sort of thing upon so I resisted my impulse. From the blue-green glow coming from the gun’s ‘vents’, easily seen even from the skiff, I took ‘the light’ to be the ghost light that seemed rather common.


My regard for the elf skiffmaster increased as he made to put in at a pier that had golden mooring posts, planted at regular intervals around its perimeter. I say ‘golden’ because nobody would normally use actual gold for such a mundane purpose. This was a palace pier though and you know... elves. A single, green, smocked soldier sauntered over to the boat. I was now standing as my pilot had hold of his end, tight against the bricks of the pier. I tried to look imperious. It seemed appropriate.


The soldier offered, “An Easterner from the north and by sea.”


There was something about the way he said it that made me think he was amused. He certainly wasn’t smiling, instead having a basic, ‘impale you’ expression accompanying his words.


I decided to ignore his face, “I am here on palace business. A smart and competent guard would see that straight away. An even more intelligent guard would inquire what was in it for him if he assisted me and I would reply to his excellent questioning with, ‘Ten rubies, each the size of a quail’s egg’.”


His expression changed which was something. He still seemed amused though. Plus, he looked thoughtful now. Maybe he didn't know what a 'quail' was. Him thinking worked for me so I made another move.


“The empress will be expecting me. I am, however, quite pleased to sit in the waiting room for an audience with her. I expect my Eastern nature will require the usual delay for appearances’ sake. If you can only get me to as far as the waiting room, I will still give you five of the rubies. The others you will have if I get in and when I’m out again.”


“Waiting room? You mean the ambassadors’ antechamber?”


Damn, I’d played it almost perfect, “Ahem, I do, yes.”


“If this is a trick...”


“My ten rubies say it’s a demon of a trick.”


“How will I know they’re real rubies?”


To this and in inner triumph I produced a pouch with a practiced flourish. “I’m concerned I might lose a stone in the river. May I step ashore on palace ground?”


He eyed me well and truly then. I tried my miserable best to look innocent. This is a condition I had left behind at birth so I was a little out of my depth. I made the pouch dance a little as though I was at sea in a major storm and his eyes went to the pouch and he motioned me over toward him with ‘don’t drop it, Stupid’ impatience.


I loosed the drawstrings on the pouch and let the stones roll into my hand. They danced with an inner fire from a world beyond this elf-soldier's ancestors’ knowing.


“Geli’Qys Eyes, they’re called.”


The elf’s eyes shone almost as brightly, with their own inner light, gazing at the red and white starred rubies.


“They look real.”


“If not real, they might be an exotic what-have-you, worth even more than the real thing. I often take them out just before bed to stare at them.” I sighed wistfully for emphasis.


“You said you had ten. I see five.”


“A habit my father taught me. Never pouch all your valuables together... thieves, you know.”


The soldier looked across the water to a somewhat sinister, city skyline.


“I know what your father meant, Easterner. The pouch as well?”


I pretended to deliberate, then smiled, “Why not? The empress will be pleased I have finally managed to arrive. She will eventually grant me due compensation.” I re-pouched the rubies and handed the pouch over.


As good as his word, he took me to a richly dressed, large room, the greedy bastard. The ambassadors’ antechamber was perfect for my plan. It had to be next to the empress’s throne room. That’s what ‘ante’ means and it’s rarely used incorrectly by royal architects. I’m fond of those who make where the important stuff is, clear.


Once alone, I climbed up one of the exquisite tapestries in the chamber. This took me to some architraves that from below looked tiny but up close were large and easily able to provide handholds and support my weight. I moved around the dome’s circumference to a place a third of the way from where I started.


I mentioned earlier I didn’t have time to get on to the domes’ surfaces and check on the elements that tiled them. That was still the case. Why the dome’s circumference then? Because there was a gap in the plaster at one section. From the floor it just looked like a fine line. I knew from shadowstuff that the gap was present. I swung my legs up. I rolled into the gap. It was just possible for one, slippery customer to fit through. It was good to know that I qualified. I shifted both my weight to the back and shadow to my rear.


I was now up above the throne room. At the chair was the empress. This was a problem I hadn’t foreseen. It was late enough that I had expected her to be well away doing ‘empress’ things. Above her head was a sphere. It seemed to oscillate. It was violet and about the size of a human head. She stood. That’s as simple as I can put it. If I were to be more elaborate I could but it would make this writing too long. Whatever gracefulness elves are accounted to possess, this empress had received a tenfold helping. Just in standing up I could see it. Her dress was plain. No need to get fancy with the setting when there’s a gem of this quality on the ring. Just a simple, straight blue shift of a dress that magically hung off her shoulders. She began to move down the steps, away from her throne. Languid doesn’t begin to cover it. Sensual might. I watched her feeling almost guilty at my spying. Imagine me feeling shame for doing what I do best. Maybe that will give you some idea of this empress’s nature. I imagined what it must be like for whoever she cared most for, to see this creature approaching. That’s one lucky, lucky elf. Almost made me want to subject myself to the rack, put on a foot or more inches and get my ears extended. My idle thoughts turned to a more busy type as I considered that an illusionary spell might well allow a human to pose as one of these Draegeran elves. A man can dream – as long as it’s quick.


Typhon’s trick of making time stand still was known to her. I knew this as a certainty, as she walked-glided across the throne room floor. She poured herself something wet, sipped – lucky glass! -- made a face at the drink’s flavour that would be foul on another. She sighed as though the weight of Axildusk was on her fine-boned, pale and bare shoulders. It likely was. That world-weariness was exactly why I had come. This empress had been alive a long while. Her attractiveness didn’t give me a hint of this fact. The Dragon had told me about her when I’d asked who was in charge of the Shadow World. Okay, I was planning a little ‘purloining of something’ and that plan had changed as he’d told me about her.


I mentioned earlier, I don’t like tyrants. Empress Zerika the Fourth wasn’t a tyrant. Despite my comment about her partner being lucky, the Dragon had made it clear he believed there wasn’t one. Zerika was the last of her kind. A Draegeran Phoenix, he’d called her. I knew a Phoenix once before. It had been something special as well. This Phoenix seemed far more vulnerable in her imperviousness. Alone, with all her worldly power, gifts of magic, loyal retainers and gifts of grace. Her sigh was a treatise on all she wanted and could never have. Her sigh made me wonder if she bore the Phoenix’s fabled power to be re-born. Her sigh made that seem like a doom more than a gift. Her sigh made it seem likely that she wouldn’t choose to use her gift. Her sigh made me glad I had never been a king. I like me just the way I am, low, base, shifty and not often wanting for company.


She drifted out of the room on an unfelt breeze. I was alone in the loneliest room on this world. I left her my prearranged gift. The Dragon had helped with it. I was reasonably confident she’d like it. I climbed back up and exited through the shadow’s gap I’d entered by. When the soldier returned I was ‘asleep’ in my chair, in the antechamber. He woke me, apologised for his empress being unavailable and escorted me with some deference to the palace gates. I say deference but it was probably more like distaste as I was still a foreign Easterner, even if I was giving him several years’ pay in rubies. He invited me to return and I said I might, with just a hint of ruefulness to indicate that he’d got the better of our transaction. I walked away unhurriedly to complete my exit from the royal area. I felt sure that even with magics, there would be a great mystery as to how my gift had wound up in the empty throne room. The empress would marvel at her inability to discover how it was done. That and the gift itself would work a particular hope into her spirit that would ease her state of mind. I wasn’t sure it would do more than that, but it was something.


I don’t remember getting back to Colleridge. I was lost in thoughts of queens and gentleman callers and beheadings and other good stuff. I may have slipped into shadow once or twice as it didn’t seem to take too long to arrive at the location of the two fellows that had brought me here. That is to say, that the Dragon wanted me to meet. Meet with one I did. His name is Selador. He’s a man of letters and law. Ironic, no? I thought so anyway.

We got on rather well. He is a man who enjoys learning and I am a man who loves to teach. Normally I teach harder lessons than the one I gave him, which might explain why we got on... Law. There’s a thing to consider. I like the laws I've come across. I suppose if there wasn’t any law, I’d have a hard time gaining my reputation. That’s everything to a man like me. I could easily be lost without it. We talked and all the while I struggled to forget the damned minstrels just a district away. Several times I came close to inviting Selador to accompany me to pay our respects to them. He might be of Law but a bad song is a travesty of justice. I’m afraid my teaching might have suffered a little as a result. I wasn’t the only problem in this regard, as we received a steady stream of interruptions. Most involved the other I had come to assist. His name is Simon Balazs. Unlike Selador, Simon is a real Easterner, Dragon help him. Some way or other, he has managed not to take elves' lives and reached adulthood.


You might wonder at what I could do to help a man of Axildusk when I wasn’t very aware of the place. I had wondered that myself at first. But my first few minutes in Adrilankha had changed that. If you scan backward you’ll re-read that I started this all off by telling you of my second order of business. Selador and Simon were the first. In my first hour in the city I had wandered about, always in shadow. This allowed me to get my footing before properly arriving. I watched some, followed others for a minute or two. Heard the inflections of speech, the manners of intercourse and so on. A thief is a spy, a spy is just another kind of thief. Words of wisdom. Learn them, memorize them, cherish them, trade them and collect the whole set.


I knew Simon’s and Selador’s names before I was sent. The Dragon had told me their names. That’s a given, yes? It might come as a slight surprise to hear that in the first hour I came upon Draegeran elves discussing Simon. They inferred things to do with Selador but they mentioned Simon and his last name on no less than four occasions in an eight minute conversation. That’s one mention every two minutes. That’s more than interest. That's downright rude unless the person discussed is family, a lover or grand vizier. Simon was, I was pretty sure, none of these three categories to these two elves. They knew each other very well. I know this because they greeted one another and spoke and departed all without using the other’s name. Say it with me, ‘Familiarity’. They spoke about Simon being a problem. A difficult problem. One that needed special care so as to not elicit particular interest from his friends. This might be referring to Selador and other associates he has in Adrilankha. Might doesn’t mean is or does. Take it from an old hand at plottings. These two didn’t mean people Simon was with. This was a reference to something else. I haven’ t got the information sources I’d have with a month to myself in the city. Typhon’s big, black ass, I don’t even know one Draegeran from another. What I do have is their description.


___________________________


All done. I spun the sleeve between my index finger and thumb. I wouldn’t drop it. Too good with cards. Too many night’s wiled away playing high stakes, money or your soul games with demon and lost soul alike. Shadow was about me, the way a hive has its swarm. The plate slid about in the doeskin sleeve anxious for its unveiling. I prepped a small part of my shadow stuff. I liked to be thorough about these things. The two Draegerans were a minute into their chat. The ambrotype’s exposure required the sitters to be still. How useful that these twos’ skullduggery meant they were like oblivious statues. Come to ponder it, not many statues have their eyes carved in to see with. I guess statues being oblivious kind of goes without saying.


I formed shadow into a willing and perfect backdrop. It curved around the elves without them noting the slightest change to their surroundings. Conditions were ideal. I slipped out the polished silvered-copper plate. I pulled back the shadow veil from its surface, forming in it the smallest of circular holes and began a silent count. The tendrils of vapour from the shadow levitated jar, washed over the plate’s mirror finish. The Draegerans wouldn’t notice. Shadow be praised. It must be six and one-half minutes. They went on about their plan. It is not often that that this technique results in a double exposure that is a perfect image at the same time. Well done for an amateur, Jack. Deft and good. A double exposure for certain. Usually this means the image is blurred and perhaps unfathomable. And yet.

Words by vynegael.

Character creator, 'Jack of Shadows', R. Zelazny.

Lyric creator, 'Jack of Shadows', Hawkwind.