Soulriders 5.0: Legend of the Unending Games

There's a rippling shudder, and some barked orders.  The caps of the speaking tubes buzz, but none of them actually open.  Presumably the crew is running around and ... doing something.  Bjorn's eyesight returns, giving him a momentarily confused double-vision.

Below, a city is visible.  A complex city that sprawls as far as the eye can see, more-or-less.  It's hard to make out details from here, but tall spires stick out obviously -- all of them far below.  A number of other airships can also be seen floating around, all of them equally far below.  A flash of bright energy sparks and leaps across the sky, narrowly missing the Starflare, and the ship makes another violent lurch.

Dracos grabs hold of something as the ship sways and shakes, only barely resisting shouting at those in charge of flying the thing and only by his mind outrunning his tongue.

Dracos

Tom grabs something too, swallowing heavily.

But he's totally getting used to this whole teleportation thing. How many times in the past few days, now?

"'Don't shoot at us.'  Was I not clear?  Was there some confusion?" Bjorn demands rhetorically.  He stands straight for a few seconds, but this new body is much lighter than the others he's had experience with, and another jolt forces him to grab for the table to stay upright.  

He blinks at the observation window a few times, confirming that his eyesight has permanently returned.  Then he stumbles to the door, intent on heading to the bridge.

The corridors are currently abandoned, though as Bjorn steps into the hallway, a far more significant shudder shakes the ship.  If he hadn't had one hand on the doorframe to duck through it, he likely would have been thrown flat.  There's also a rolling echo, and a flash from somewhere aft ... another set of more urgent klaxons begin wailing, before Captain Vega's voice suddenly comes across the ship, very agitated:

"...epeat: This is Captain Vega of the H.M.S. Stareflare; Anabara defensives, cease fire immediately!  No hostile--  Damn them all!  I want full power to shielding -- damage control, report!"  There's a crackle, and then the speaking tube that had opened in the passenger compartment snaps back shut.  Shuddering reports begin echoing throughout the ship, but these seem to be originating from within the ship.  Through the windows, clouds of chaff and dust begin to billow outward and away.

"Someone isn't listening," Bjorn shouts back to the others grimly.  "Well.  I think I can help with that."  And with that, he reaches out to find a spirit of the air.

The spirit responds, though no one but Bjorn can see it, at the moment.  This one looks like a tiny cloud, blowing in an eternal, tiny storm.  Maybe a half a meter across, floating in the corridor ahead of Bjorn.  "As I am summoned, I arrive," it says.  "What is it that you wish to bargain for?"

"Great spirit," Bjorn replies, the gravity of his tone slightly offset by the speed at which he's speaking, "I have words that I would have heard by all those who live in the sphere below us.  What might I offer you, that you would take my words and carry it to all their ears?"

"Let us be still a day in exchange for this token," the spirit says.  "Then a span of your time," and then some gibberish pours out that Bjorn instinctively understands means 'ten minutes'.

"Simply say when you wish it, and then your words will be heard by all for that span."

"The bargain is fair, and I accept, O spirit," Bjorn replies.  "And if it pleases you, let the time begin now."

Waiting for the spirti's acknowledgement, Bjorn raises his voice, and speaks sternly.  "This is the HMS Starflare.  In the name of the King, cease your fire and stand down."

The ship is shuddering steadily, not being rocked as though being narrowly missed, but a response comes from below, reverberating through the entire ship:

"HMS Starflare, this is Aliester Sondheim, Minister to His Majesty.  You are ordered to come about and make landing at the southern Imperial Shipyard.  Cease further communications until this point."

One of the lower-ranking crew comes down the passage from the bridge, one hand on the railing, and anxiously beckons Bjorn and friends to follow him back to the Captain.

Follow is just what they do, Dracos resisting any commentary on the wind getting stopped for a day as he headed to see what details would involve their ship getting fired at by 'friendlies'.

Dracos
OOC: Shifting to charisma/oration skills.  Don't have my sheet in front of me though

Bjorn follows in silence -- given that anything he says will be echoed to the world below, and the folks below don't seem quite eager for that to happen.

The group is led quickly to the bridge, where Captain Vega is glaring across the crew.  The crewmen are all working furiously, and the arrays of lenses before the ship are shifting around almost crazily.  One of them is showing what looks like a metal ... beetle? ... some craft that flies by flapping its wings, apparently, as it lifts off from a crystalline landing pad.  Others are locked onto different beacons, which are apparently flashing messages in code.

"Orders to land and Heldgrim, in the merchant's berths," one of the officers finally says.  "We appear to be intercepting cross-traffic."

"I can see that," Captain Vega says calmly, despite his glower.  "What's the course of that ornithopter?"

"It appears to be making towards Heldgrim, also," another crewman says.

"Aye.  And our damage?"

Another crewman, this one with his ear bent towards a series of speaking tubes, says, "Initial estimates are that we will need to put the ship in dock for at least a month to be travel-worthy.  Some repairs cannot be made in our current condition; we're going to need foundry facilities and replacement hullplates.  We've lost almost five tons of armor."

"Over the city," Vega grouses.  "Show me where."

A set of mirrors obligingly swings around, showing smoking steel scraps plunging towards one of the city's tower-like brass spires.  "Lovely.  Make for dock in the foundry at Heldgrim."

"Captain," Westley begins, before being cut off.

"I am in charge of this vessel," Vega warns.

"And I am in charge of this expedition," Westley counters, rising from his seat.  For the first time, the amiable man looks cross.  "We cannot cause upset by refusing the orders of-"

"They weren't orders from the king," Vega says, as if that settles it.

Westley presses his lips together and says nothing.

"Thanks for that bit of wonder," the captain adds, glancing at Bjorn.  "Saved us a lick or two of trouble."

"Mere confusion...or political trouble?" Dracos wondered to Westley.

Dracos

"I shouldn't say," Westley says, stiffly.  The ornithopter appears to be flashing messages of its own to the foundry that the Starflare comes about and dives towards -- if slowly.  The foundry quickly becomes clear from the rest of the city -- it's surrounded by empty fields crossed only by roads and railroad tracks.  It looks like the 'moat' of deserted land is about a kilometer wide, though the foundry and docking facilities are far larger ... probably the size of a small city.  Numerous other aircraft are all either landing or clearing out of the way.

"Those messages?" Vega asks furrowing his brows.

"New codes, Captain," the crewman manning the mirrors says, shaking his head.  "I haven't the foggiest."

Vega grunts, then rotates his chair to face Phil, Bjorn, Tom, and Westley.  Quincy is simply goggling at everything, awestruck by the visuals.  "Westley," he says, somewhat crossly, "when we land, as the leader of this expedition, you're going to need to make a full report.  I expect you'll also want to be the one speaking with Aliester.  I recall you were closer friends than I ever was with him.  Regardless of what you think of me, my first duty is to the king, and my second, to my ship.  Your mission has only ever been third to me, and I'm sorry that it has to be said now."

Westley gives a curt nod.  "I understand," he says.  "So then, this landing is not my responsibility."

"That would be the end of it, yes," Vega says, somewhat sardonically.  "All the same, I don't expect to leave the ship, until the ship is capable of leaving, if you take my meaning."

"With integrity," Westley replies, the stiffness fading.  "If that's how it's to be, then I hope to work with you again.  Until then, I admit, I had a fine time journeying with you."  He pauses, as the foundry grows closer.  Only a few more minutes, now.  Bjorn reckons that he'll be able to speak without the entire world eavesdropping by the time they make landing.  "I'll leave my liquor here.  Unless I find they've stopped making it, consider it yours."

Vega snorts, giving a fierce grin before he wheels his chair around.

Westley shakes his head, turning to face the inter-dimensional wanderers.  "If you'll come with me?" he says, back to his irritatingly cheerful disposition.

"I believe it would be for the best, though caution sounds like the order of the day," his eyes drifted to Quincy speaking calmly but hoping his message of the importance of being careful came across to the young man.  "We didn't bring anything we're not carrying, so we're ready to depart whenever you are."

Dracos

"'swhat I've been saying for the past *three days*," mutters Tom, rolling his eyes, watching the ornithopter curiously.

The ornithopter pulls ahead, vanishing from sight into the distant foundry.  Westley takes everyone to the boarding ramp, though everyone remains behind a railing until the ship comes to a rest, lurching a bit as it does so.  There's no sound of anchors dropping, this time, but the ramp descends smoothly.  At least that wasn't damaged.

When it does, fresh air and daylight reach in through the opening.  The air smells faintly of metal and heat, along with the other smells one associates with a city.  Westley takes a deep breath and grins.  "Ah," he says, shaking his head.  "Home!"

And with that, he strolls gamely down the walkway.

Tom looks a little pained (and a bit jealous), but follows after Westley, putting aside his emotional response and doing his best to look confident! And it's hard to not look confident when you're as tanky as he is right now.

Dracos spends his time taking in the scenary and trying to get a grasp of what kind of civilization they were in.  Obviously quite advanced in many ways  He looked around the foundary, eying it for signs of smog or rust, amazed at the air being nice and clean here.  A good sign for the most part if they really managed such without poluting their own sphere.

Dracos

The air is very clean, for a Victorian-era city, if Phil goes by surface appearances.  And the work area is also apparently scrupulously well maintained.  The tech that these people have must rely on a different source of energy ... Phil vaguely seems to recall something about drawing energy from the Shroud?

Either way, his studies are distracted by a handful of simultaneous factors.  The ornithopter that was glanced at in passing is at one end of the bay, and marching from it in a beeline are Nathan, a man in some swank looking robes with a huge golden medalion, and someone who seems to be dressed up like Sherlock Holmes.  On either side of them, standing in neat rows, are two groups of fully armed soldiers.  They appear to be carrying rifles, but their clips are clear cylinders filled with what looks barely-contained lightning.

The man in robes clears his throat, and then his voice fills the entire bay.  "I am Aliester Sondheim, Lord High Anabarist to His Majesty, and Special Minister to the King.  I wish to present Inspector Holmes," not just a look-a-like, then, "and his advisor, Nathan Shuker.  Welcome home, Starflare."

A distant cheer echoes from within the ship -- probably the crew.  A moment later, hatches across the ship explode open, and crew begin crawling out across the decks, many of them with tools in hand.  After pausing to ascertain that the men are setting about to repair the ship, and not attack, the guards all pivot and turn to face the ship, saluting sharply.

Westley returns the salute, holding it while he barks out:  "Colonel Westley Riggins, reporting, your eminence!"

"At ease," Aliester returns.  "It appears your mission was successful, if delayed.  I expect a full report; you and your companions are invited to stay as guests at the palace."  With that, he whirls (an impressive display in those bright, flashing robes), and marches right back into the ornithopter.

"Hello, Inspector. Mr. Shuker," greets Tom, giving Nathan a hard, hard stare.

Nathan either ignores the stare or is oblivious, one or the other.

"Hello," he responds blithely before turning his attention to Bjorn.

"Bjorn," Nathan then says, inclining his head politely to the short one, "it's good to see you again.  It looks like you have quite the story.  Will you introduce your friends?"

"Mr. Shuker," Bjorn blithely replies.  "May I introduce to you Philip Bloom, formerly of the Church of the Gates, and Tom Rhys-Lee, of Anabara, converted to a Thrall by the Church.  Behind Mr. Bloom is Quincy, also of the Church.  The rest of these gentlemen, I'm sure, can be better introduced by their friends and superiors here."

He pauses, and sketches a brief bow.  "I should warn you, I'm afraid, that I am not entirely the Bjorn Christianson you have met previously in your voyages to Greenmeadows.  I do hope, however, that you will extend to me the same friendship that you extended to him."

OOC: IC I know the name of the sphere that the plainspeople live in, but I've forgotten it OOC, it's not in the wiki, and I don't have time at the moment to hunt through the forums to find the reference.  If someone wants to remind me, I'll fix it.

"Fascinating," Holmes says, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scans the group.  "Well, let us continue this discussion in a more appropriate setting.  Please, this way to the ornithopter."  He gestures to he vehicle that Aliester is already climbing back into.

OOC: Windhurst, perhaps?  It must not have been a priority item for me; it's not in my notes.

Tom supresses a chuckle at Bjorn's words, and makes way to the ornithopter (hoping it's not too cramped.)

The vehicle seats twenty comfortably, not including the pilots up front.  Aliester's chair has been turned backwards, so he can face everyone else.  Experimentation shows that there are levers to adjust the seat's facing.  The adjustable belts can be cinched down to fit someone as small as Bjorn, or expanded to fit someone as burly as Tom, without too much trouble.

Bjorn slides into a seat and straps himself in, nodding at Homes and Sondeim.  "Where are we off to, then?"

At the same time, he sends his mind out through the Dream.  Four of the five are together: time to start hunting for the fifth.

OOC: One-person mindlink to Hal, over in the other thread.

Straps himself in easily enough, allowing curiousity to show clearly on his face, even if Bjorn beat him to the question.

Dracos

Nathan picks a seat at random and straps himself in.

"We are off to the palace," Aliester says, as the last of his passengers finish belting themselves in, and the doors are closed by the pilots.  The whirring of the ornithopter's wings seem curiously muted, inside the cabin.

"There," Holmes picks up, "we would like to discuss things with you in length -- mostly about the sphere you came from, and the condition of the Starflare."  He looks at Westley, then.  "The voyage was longer than His Majesty anticipated."

"By years," Westley says cheerfully.  "Unfortunately, we spent most of that time lost, in transit.  I'll gleefully tell His Majesty anything he'd like to know about the world beyond the Shroud, but I expect that our guests here will know far more about Windhurst than we will."

"That will be welcome," Aliester says, smiling.  "Are there any sort of special accommodations I should be aware that you will require while you are staying with us?"

"Yes, in fact," Bjorn replies cheerfully.  "I'm afraid that, for the purposes of my mission, I'll need to collect one more person.  Tim Maus is currently working at an anabaric power station, under the supervision of a man by the name of Ballmer.  I realize it might pose some inconvenience, but I would be quite grateful if we could pick him up on our way."

Dracos eyed Bjorn, a thought flitting across Bjorn's mind Are you sure its wise to have all of us clearly within view?  We don't suspect treachery here, but that doesn't mean that there isn't other folks who might be watching or listening, whether spies from the church or simply whatever different political trouble was being discussed by Vega.

OOC: switching only for the message

Nathan gives Bjorn a very sharp look.

"Discreetly if possible," he says, "The Maus siblings supposedly died when their home was burned down, and if Timothy hasn't revealed himself I presume he has a very good reason for it."

"Quickly, I'm afraid, is rather the word of the day," Bjorn replies to Nathan.  "Mr. Maus' cover has already been compromised, and his safety is best ensured by us."

Nathan frowns.  "You're remarkably well informed.  Do you know anything about his sister?"

"I'm afraid not.  But then, if Lord Sondheim will indulge my request, you should be able to ask Mr. Maus himself directly."  He raises an eyebrow at Aleister.

Dracos blinked and tapped the side of his nose, resisting headbutting Bjorn for the sake of appearences.  And strategy.  And friendship.  And the fact that hal probably was actually in danger for him to ask so bluntly.

Despite very much wanting to smack the midget around a while for the suddenness.

He wondered briefly to himself what happened to that nice grip on the floor his feet had gotten instead.

Dracos

"There's another Thrall that accompanied us," says Tom, at length. "He's still on the Starflare, but if you could see that he shares the same accomodations as us, I'd be much obliged. His name is Simmons."

"A-"

Nathan starts to say something, and abruptly cuts himself off.

"Well," Aliester says after a moment.  "Balmer.  I've little head for memorizing station attendant's names....  Holmes?"

"I believe that was the tower that was struck by trailing pieces of the Starflare," the inspector offers with a frown.  "A stopover there should not be too suspicious."

Aliester nods, and barks the orders into the speaking tube at his side.  The craft banks a bit more as the course is adjusted, and almost immediately begins descending again.

The view through the windows shows a massive expanse of city, with the occasional park, and the regular anabaric towers ... the same ones that provided the energy shield that stopped the falling armor plates.  The damaged tower is smoking faintly, and the smooth top is irregular now, torn open and jagged.  The ornithopter landing pad would have been there, so instead the pilot makes for the street.  Distantly, the passengers can hear him yelling through a sound amplifier of some kind for people to move out of the way in the name of the Lord High Anabarist, special Minister to the king.

"I would like to know more of your sources of information," Aliester adds, inclining his head slightly to Bjorn, "but I suppose that can wait until we've accomplished rather a bit more here.  'Mr. Maus' was a cousin of mine, before his ... dissapearance."  He turns to Nathan, nodding again as the ornithopter settles to the street.  "I recall, now.  You were engaged to his sister."

Holmes looks wary, but says nothing.  Shortly, the pilots open the door, and everyone can step out.  The door to the tower is wide open, and the streets are mostly deserted.  Perhaps seventy feet away, there's a piece of the Starflare's armor plate driven into the street like an irregular, curved, metal wall.  There's a handful of men with a cutting torch, slowly making the large pieces of armor into smaller pieces of armor, which are then being stacked to one side.

The general populous seems to have decided that there are better places to be.  Aliester nods at the men, who all stop their work to bow, then strides into the dimly lit interior of the tower.

Bjorn quickly follows Aleister.  At the same time, he once again makes the effort required to reach through the Dream to speak to Tim.

Dracos eyed Nathan, briefly, but kept his eyes on Aliester, trying to detect any strain in his mention of his cousin, any subtle social cue that they might be leading someone who shouldn't know about hal to hal.

Dracos

Aliester's not a difficult read, but all that Phil can readily discern is that the anabarist is eager to see his cousins again.  That could mean pretty much anything, ultimately.  Inside the doorway is a broad hallway, currently littered with boxes and loose bits of scrap metal.  A handful of men in coveralls are working on ducts and valves throughout the space, but all flinch and bow at the sight of Aliester.  He acknowledges them with an absent nod.  In short order, the Lord High Anabarist and all who are following him reach a brass-worked elevator.

He pauses there, then looks around.  "Where is Balmer?" he asks, his voice resonating.  "I would have words with him."

In short order, a balding, sweaty, corpulent man stumbles from a doorway on one side of the elevator, anxiously mopping the sweat from his forehead.  "Y-y-your grace," he squeaks out, "I, I apologize, but-"

"I must speak with Tim," Aliester says, one eyebrow rising.  "I trust you can take me to him?"

"I...."  Balmer falters, then swallows nervously.  "I think he's in the infirmary?" he manages.

"Take us there," Aliester commands.

"T...this way, your grace!" Balmer yelps, scurrying to the elevator door and frantically punching at the control panel.  "It should only take a moment!"  He continues pouring out apologies and thanks, until the elevator arrives.

Aliester ignores him, and turns to regard Bjorn curiously.  "I must confess to being impressed by your powers.  The Inspector himself here could find no trace of my cousins, after the fire."

Holmes frowns, shaking his head.  "The Spark is more powerful than my humble insight," he says.  Then the elevator arrives, and everyone boards.

It's large enough for everyone to fit comfortably, and still seems to be in perfect working order -- despite the beating the tower appears to have taken.

"Well," Bjorn replies cheerfully, "I'm not entirely human at the moment, you understand."

That comment maintains an awkward silence all the way to the elevator's stop, where the doors swing open.

"I suppose I must," Aliester says, stepping out into a carpeted hallway.  It's curved, suggesting a circle around the outer perimeter of the tower, and a sign shows a familiar symbol: A red cross on a white background.

"T...the infirmiary," Balmer says weakly, gesturing at the already obvious room.

Aliester continues ignoring Balmer, and strides into the infirmary.

Inside, Tim is standing up, looking a bit weary, battered, and almost like his earth-self.  Considering how different everyone else turned out, at any rate.  At the sideboard, scrupulously pushing two mostly-empty tumblers behind the door of a cabinet is a large, bearded man.  Standing next to the nearest bed is an elegant woman in a dress of some very nice, expensive looking fabric; Nathan recognizes her instantly from the painting in his house.

All three of them look very smudged with smoke and grease.  "C...cousin," the woman says, offering a weak smile.  "What a ... surprise!"

"And a joyous welcome to you as well," Aliester says, unable to hide a smirk.  "You'll have to apologize to His Majesty yourself for the upset and suffering he's endured in your absence, understand, but I at least am pleased to see you in good health."  He pauses then, studying Tim and the bearded man.  "You've kept yourself busy, it seems, Tim.  But enough of this; there is no longer enough time to indulge your escape fantasies.  Matters of severe importance require your presence within the safety of the palace.  At the very least until you've spoken to His Majesty."

"Catherine?" Nathan says, rather stupidly.

Oh$#@%howthehellamIsupposedtobereactinghere?!

I really should have thought about this before now!

Tom leans against one of the infirmary walls, feeling somewhat relaxed at a return to a more modern setting.

"Nothing like a reunion, eh..."

"Y...yes," Catherine manages, a blush showing through the ash on her cheeks as she spots Nathan.  "Oh, dear.  Ah, I can explain, dearest intended, only...."  She trails off and looks embarrassed, her blush intensifying.

Aliester turns his attention away from the lady, and rounds on Angus.  "Good Master, my cousins will require their things sent to the palace.  I have confidence in your ability to see to this."

"C...consider it done, Lordship!" Angus barks, saluting with one hand over his heart before he scurries down the corridor.

Aliester makes a bit of a show of not noticing Catherine's embarrassment, instead turning his attention to Tim.  "I trust that there will be no difficulties to prevent you from greeting His Majesty shortly?  My ornithopter awaits."

"None as far as I'm concerned," Tim replies with a slight sigh.

Just what the hell am I supposed to say when I do?

"I'd thought you might both be alive," Nathan says, smiling at Catherine, "But I hadn't expected to find you this quickly."

For Tim, no answers to the unspoken question are immediately forthcoming.  For Nathan, however....  Molly looks enviously at Catherine's dress (where did she come from?) and compares it with her maid's uniform.

The elder Shuker merely beams smiles at everyone, as though he were included in the group, somehow.

Nathan, so as not to look insane again, doesn't acknowledge the ghosts just now.

He does, however, extend a hand to Catherine.  "Shall we go?  His Majesty, I'm sure, would prefer not to be kept waiting."

Dracos shifted his attention to Tim as Aliester was talking, catching Tim's eyes.

~You okay, Hal?~

Dracos

Tim glances over at Dracos. Been better, I'll be better still when I have some bloody clue about what the hell is going on.

~You and me both.  You and me both.~

Dracos shifted back his influence, staying silently awkward at the reunion.

Dracos

"Well, if you don't mind me choosing now to ask, then, Lord Sondheim," starts up Tom as everyone else seems to go silent for a moment-  "-as we travel, could you fill me in on a few details of this place? Only the scarcest details are known to me, both those about Anabara in general, and of-"

He pauses for a moment, with a bit of a curious glance at all the other occupants of the room- "-this situation I have found myself in."

"Some of it," Aliester agrees.  "More, I'm confident your friend Bjorn should know; given what else he knows."

Catherine struggles to clear her throat and finally says, "Of course, dearest intended.  But I'm hardly dressed to meet with His Majesty, and-"

"That will be taken care of," Aliester says curtly.  "Now, we must hurry, or it may be wondered why my ornithopter stopped here so long on the way back to the palace."  Motioning towards the hallway, and the waiting elevator, he continues, "As it happens, my cousins here had been supposed to die in a fire some months ago.  Enemies of the king, of course.  They'd been quite careful to cover their tracks, and while we have suspicions, we lack proof.  Finding that they survived the fire is a joy, and the king should be delighted to know that his family is not as diminished as it once seemed.

"As far as the state of things here in Anabara, where should I begin?"

"Perhaps with these apparent enemies of the monarchy, and the influence they wield? That, and just what was going on in Windhurst prior to my- I believe it's called 'regression'?"

Aliester grunts, his expression souring.  "Enemies everywhere," he mutters, stalking his way to the elevator.  Once everyone's aboard, he begins to explain, "As it happens, I would hope that his majesty only has a few enemies, and they simply happen to employ a great number of agents.  I can tell you  more about that, but information from the Chuch lands that isn't from their monthly representatives is rare to the point of not even existing.

"Mr. Shuker here," he says, nodding at Nathan as the elevator begins to descend, "would have been our best bid at finding anything out, were it not for his mishap."  Catherine looks alarmed at this, and gives Nathan a querying look.

"Regardless," Aliester continues, after a tiny pause, "your information on Windhurst is undoubtedly more recent than our own.  I expect to gather more information from Colonel Riggins on the subject later."  The Colonel in question remained in the ornithopter, but is waiting at the bottom when the doors open.  "You have, I trust, been working hard to compile your report?"

"Of course, your worship," he says, bowing slightly.  "I'm afraid there isn't room for the entire party aboard the ornithopter, and I recall your request to have Simmons brought with us; I was going to offer to retrieve him and return to the palace later.  Some of my papers are still aboard the Starflare."

"See to it," Aliester says dismissively, striding through the hallway and to the street.  In the meantime, the colonel's seat has been filled with a large steamer trunk (which Tim recognizes from his room).  Other than that, there's exactly enough seating for everyone.  Aliester gestures -- there's a faint crackle of electricity, and then distant sounds all drop away.  "But back to the business of His Majesty's enemies.  They operate through any number of lesser lords, minor nobles, wealthy merchants ... all of them intent on the same thing.  Removing His Majesty from power.  Why?  I can only speculate, and the inspector is much better at it than I."

Holmes coughs, nods, and says, "It seems to me that the ones who would benefit most from the loss of the Spark would obviously be the Church.  Still, their own communications here are limited, unless they have some other way to send messages to one-another that we're unaware of.  So it obviously takes some cooperation with Anabarans willing to betray their king ... but no one wants to voice such an opinion openly.  All praise the king, even while making political moves to try and destabilize his position.  As it is, the return of the Starflare proves the existence of the Spark, and the legitimacy of his claim.  So much can shortly be lain to rest."

Aliester nods, as the Ornithopter rises again.  "Ideally," he adds, "sending the cowards traitorous rats running like the beasts they are."

"Hathoway is your link," Nathan states forcefully, "and I don't just say that because I don't like him.  If you interrogate the thugs who murdered my maid, they'll be able to tell you that Hathoway sent them.  I overheard them talking - he told them to find something.  Not what, just that they'd 'know it when they saw it'.  I'm certain I know what they were looking for.  When I came back through the portal I brought an artifact back with me, and I'm told that I was close to raving with paranoia that someone would find it and steal it."

"I can't prove it," he says, frowning as he thinks this through, "but as far as I can tell from my notes, the Creator left a behind detailing how to use the gates.  I think that what I brought back is that message."

"I heard of something like that," interjects Tom. "There were supposedly a stone of some kind left behind the 'Creator' that left behind such a message- monopolized by the Church, I think. Quincy knows more about them than I, however."

Dracos shrugged his shoulders, listening more than contributing to the discussion, eying quincy slightly and purposefully staying silent for now on answers.  "We don't know much really...about your ways either.  I think this is a shame truly."

Dracos

"Fascinating," Aliester rumbles, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair.  Holmes nods wordlessly.

"It's ... curious," Quincy says slowly, nervously.  "I....  I had heard that the Message Stone was held in the High Church.  Why would it be in Windhurst?"

"Assuming it's the same stone," Holmes adds.  "I would like to take a look at it, at some point, Master Shuker."

"Indeed," Aliester agrees.  The ornithopter begins to descend, lowering itself gracefully to one of the pads on the great, crystal-spired palace.  "We have rather much to discuss, all told.  The first order of business, of course, is going to see the siblings Maus properly dressed and shown to His Majesty."

"Joyous," the girl sitting next to Tim mumbles.

"Indeed!"  And then the ornithopter sets down, and the doors are opened.  The wind is curiously still; in fact, some of the men on the landing pad are muttering and pointing to a totally slack wind-sock.

Tim's enthusiasm is about equal to Catherine's, although the only real sign is a quiet sigh.

The men at the windsock at least provides a minor distraction for the moment. "Is there something wrong with the windsock over there?"

"The wind will not blow today," Bjorn explains.  "It wanted a rest."

Aliester and Holmes both raise an eyebrow at this.  Aliester shakes his head and says, "First things in order, and that means making you presentable.  This way."  With that, he leads the way into an elevator.

Attendants salute sharply at every turn, and after going down a handful of floors, Aliester leads the way down a hallway.  Nathan recognizes it; his guest quarters are around here somewhere (or, quite possibly, this corridor happens to look nearly identical and actually is somewhere else in the palace entirely).  Still, he indicates various side-doors for separate people, putting Catherine and Tim on opposite sides of the hall at the very end -- which opens onto a balcony looking over the city.

Tailors are summoned, and everyone is given a chance to clean up.  "Enjoy yourselves; the king will not be expecting you for at least an hour."  With that, Aliester vanishes to arrange things, leaving Holmes in the corridor to answer any questions.

Bjorn rubs his hands together briskly.  "So," he says, "I think things are going well."

"I really, really want to set you on fire right now."

"What?" he protests.  "We're all together, we know what we need to do, we've got allies, and none of us have been framed for murder.  Yet.  What do you have to complain about?"

"They all think you're insane.  They already thought I was insane."

"I'm not insane.  I'm a spirit of war possessing a witch doctor.  That's an important distinction, you understand."

"That sounds like a fairly concentrated form of lunacy to me, but I suppose I'm no expert on the topic."

"It's my cover story," Bjorn says seriously, "and it's turning out to be very useful so far.  I'm not Bjorn Christianson, witch doctor; I'm a spirit of war summoned by Bjorn to lead his people to freedom from the threat of the Church.  Which means I don't have to try and fit in, I don't have to hide any of my powers, and anything I have to do I can pass off as 'inspiritation of the spirits.'" He casts an appraising eye at Holmes.  "To my surprise, though, no one to date seems much put off by this behaviour.  Which makes me wonder how often this sort of thing happens."

Dracos eyed Bjorn, barely resisting a horribly out of role diatribe, opening his mouth a few times before talking.  "You're right.  Things could be a lot worse, and while I could do with an end to sudden surprises for a while, if we pass this venture, we're in a good place for a lot of things, particularly resisting those that need resisting and helping those that need help."

"Yeah, well, not all of us have it quite that easy," Tim replies, glancing at the much-shorter 'spirit of war'. "So far I barely know anything more than I did when I arrived, and no one - aside from the good Inspector here, now - has any idea I'm anything other than what I appear to be. I'm not particularly fond of stumbling around in the dark the way I have been."

"'specially not in your position," notes Tom, stretching his arms. "But hey, learning by doing is a virtue in this line of work."

Bjorn shrugs and then grins broadly, white teeth flashing in his dark face.  "So tell you what.  I'll fill Catherine here in on the basics of the situation.  Then you can ask me about the bits you're missing, and then we can all gang up on Holmes here on the things we're all confused about."

OOC: Okay.  I think the only NPCs left here are Catherine and Holmes.  Need this confirmed before I go further.

OOC: Catherine is absent; getting sized for a dress.  Holmes is around, and everyone is (presumably) in someone's quarters once the tailors have left.  Let's go ahead and say Tim's quarters, since they're the biggest and most well-appointed.

"I'll leave you to decide who you do and do not trust," Holmes say with a shrug.  "I doubt you'd be able to fool anyone especially close to who you were before, so...."  He shakes his head.  "To the matter at hand; I'd like to hear what you have to say to better determine how to approach a resolution for various of our problems."

"Mind setting them out for me?" asks Tom. "It's all been a bit of a blur since I got picked up, I'm afraid."

"I think Tim or I should explain it to Catherine," Nathan notes, "but if you want the simple list of problems, they are 'The Church appears to be Not Nice, and we are going to make a mark on the world by Kicking Their Asses.'  Simply put, they're the only ones who understand how to use the gates properly, which means they control all access between the spheres.  We're going to fix this."

"Any questions?"

"The only question I think of immediate importance is what do we need to know to avoid any troublesome political faux-pas when we meet the king," The question was directed at holmes.  "I think beyond that, most everything well depend on what we discover there."

"The king is an easygoing sort for the most part," Holmes says, shaking his head.  "Simply be polite.  He takes most of his cues from Aliester, and Aliester is interested in your wellbeing."

A knock sounds at the door, and a servant pokes in long enough to apologize for intruding, and lay out suits for those who don't already have them.  Once they're all parceled out, the servant adds, "His Majesty will be expecting you at the next bell."

Holmes checks a pocketwatch at this; assuming that traditions like 'minutes' and 'hours' persists, even if they don't call them that ... there's about fifteen minutes to the hour.

"Well, one thing at a time.  We need to know the king's intent more properly.  We almost assuredly need to support him and be supported in turn.  Let us handle that as our goal for now."

 Dracos stepped aside, changing into one of the provided suits  and awaiting the bell.

Other than being woefully anachronistic by current standards, the suits are pretty nice.  Tim's even came with a monacle, which is nothing compared to the feats of getting both Tom and Bjorn into suits that fit them.  Bjorn's has some insignia over the breast pocket that likely relates to Windhurst; a circle of green blades around a field the color of grass.

Quincy doesn't get a suit, per se; he's got the formal clothes that priests of this world wear.  Phil recognizes it by the almost identical set he's got stashed away (Phil is higher rank than Quincy, though).

"D'ya think they'd care much if I left my shirt unbuttoned?" asks Tom, chafing at an evidently tight fit.

"Yes," Nathan says, "We're meeting a King.  Being presentable is important."

Bjorn is a bit torn.  On one hand, being put in a suit detracts from the "crazy genius" image he is trying to put forth.  On the other hand, loincloth.

In the end, he compromises by keeping the spear with him.  If it becomes obvious that people don't think he's crazy enough, there is confidence he can compensate.

"So," he asks, "who leads off with the talking?"

"His 'cousin', of course.  Or more likely, the leader of that expedition.  It'd be idea to let him speak if to watch the reactions of the others in the court before we truly start discussing the future."

Dracos

"Eh," Bjorn replies, "fuck that.  I'm not interested in who they think should be doing the talking.  We're getting in control, let's stay that way." He cracks his neck, confidence palpable.

"I'm certainly not prepared to talk," Tim replies, shaking his head as he tries to figure out what to do with the monocle. "About the only thing I'm in a position to explain is who we are, and I don't think that's a good call."

This is when Holmes returns, showing himself quietly into the room, then surveying the assembled.  "We have an appointment with His Majesty shortly; I'd like you to be prepared.  As much as possible, at any rate.  But to keep things simple, just follow these three instructions:

"Firstly, His Majesty is genial enough, but any interview with him by necessity includes some amount of the court looking on.  This means that until we receive a private audience, it would be untoward to be anything less than respectful towards him.  When in doubt, apologize.

"Secondly," and here, he pauses to look at Tim, "Madame Maus usually does the speaking in these situations, so you can probably politely defer to her.  Being a cousin, you have the distinct right to cough loudly and change the subject, should it be required.

"Finally," and this, he says turning to Bjorn, Tom, Phil and, Quincy, "being outsiders gives you some leeway in expected behavior, but do not threaten or become short with His Majesty at any point.  Are there any questions?"

Quincy hesitantly raises a hand.  "S...sir?" he asks in a timid squeak.  "W...where's the washroom?"

Holmes blinks, then points to the door in question; Quincy scurries off instantly.  "Any other questions?"

"Don't I get any hints?" Nathan says plaintively, "I have -no- idea where I stand in the greater scheme of things."

"You're still recovering from your ordeal," Holmes reminds Nathan, almost apologetically.  "I shouldn't expect too much pressure from His Majesty on that front; he has been made aware of the conditions of your return.  That is why he hasn't requested a meeting with you previously."

Bjorn makes a dismissive noise.  "Enough with the talking," he says, "at least here.  Let's go meet this King."

Holmes checks his pocketwatch, then nods.  "This way," he says, gesturing for everyone to follow him.  After that, he leads the way through the palace, pausing only to collect Madame Maus.

She, of course, is wearing some staggeringly extravagant piece of silk and lace in what's presumably the current style.  The bonnet looks a bit silly, but she carries herself with calm decorum, sliding into place next to Nathan and wordlessly offering an elbow for him to take.

And it is palatial.  Much larger than the downright cozy fortress in the Earth Dream, for those who remember that; this place is all vaulted ceilings, echoing hallways, and bright, airy drawing rooms.  The place is also always brightly lit, even though the walls fluctuate between being crystal or high-quality well-treated wood, depending on where in the palace one is.

As the center of the palace is approached, however, all the building material tends towards crystal; even the little chairs and end-tables lining the hallways are fashioned from (large) pieces of crystal.  The vast majority of the crystal is blue, tending towards clear as glass.  Occasionally, smaller bits -- like candle-holders -- are made of different colors, but green is the most common of these, and there's no red or yellow crystal in sight anywhere.  Just blue, green, and the rare purple or brown.

The throne room has a massive door of crystal panels, secured together by sheets of steel.  The crystal can be seen into, but not through, creating an eerie effect when it opens and reveals the throne room itself.  The room is at least ten meters high, and forty wide, by eighty deep.  There are well-dressed people everywhere, though at a glance, none of the women look any better-dressed than Madame Maus, and none of the men are any better-dressed than anyone in the group -- except for Tom, who wears his shirt unbuttoned like his red skin is a banner to display proudly.

Aliester is distantly visible at the end of the hall, before the great throne itself.  The throne seems to be made of the same blue crystal that everything but the carpet and clothing in this room is made from; guards line the walls every handful of paces, wearing dress uniforms and carrying spears.  A few -- every fifth one, it looks like -- are also carrying those anabaric energy pistols with the glass canisters of lightning ... though, at a closer glance, they're probably not glass, they're crystal.

This thought becomes emphasized when Aliester clears his throat, and the flash of anabaric energy can be seen traveling through the crystal of the palace.  "Your majesty," he says, stepping slightly to one side, to allow the indicated royal to view his guests.  "May I present the royal cousins, Sir and Madame Maus; her affianced, Professor Nathaniel Shuker; Lieutenant Westley Riggins, from H.M.S. Starflare."

Nathan is momentarily at a loss when Catherine releases his arm to curtsy, and manages a reflexive bow to the king at the same time.  Tim takes a moment to catch on, but no horrified murmurs ring out from the court; it seems cousins of royalty have a little leeway.

"From Windhurst, we are also favored by providence and virtue to be granted the presence of Bjorn, a representative of his people from the lands neighboring Anabara; Tom, his assistant, and a rebel against the church's injustice."  Aliester pauses here, considering, but smoothly goes on, "With him, and part of the expedition are two churchmen who wished to visit our lands and learn of our culture themselves."

Quincy blinks at this, but when named, manages a hasty, clumsy bow.  Phil is much smoother with his.

Finally, Aliester indicates Holmes, and everyone gets a good view of the king.

At first glance, everyone is pretty much stricken silent; Holmes and Aliester went on a great deal about how shaky the king's position was, and mentioned enemies.  They never bothered to mention that there could be issue with the king himself -- and there is.

While he's well dressed, dignified, and comports himself expertly, there's no getting around the fact that he's only twelve years old -- at best -- when he rises to his feet, and with a voice that breaks awkwardly twice, he says, "Welcome, guests, subjects, and we would--  we would hope, friends, to the kingdom of Anabara.  We hope that it finds you well--  well to be here, and you enjoy your stay; we would know more of Windhurst, and it is our profound joy to invite you to join us for dinner tonight, that we may learn and share more.  And perhaps, in the sharing, grow wiser."  He smiles at that, pausing to glance at the assembled court, who now is murmuring.  "We would be overjoyed should you be able to attend."  Then His Majesty pauses, and shoots a direct, challenging glance at Aliester.  "Iced-cream will be served."

Aliester's expression speaks of long suffering, but aloud he offers nothing more than a mild, "Of course."

"In the interest of full disclosure," Bjorn interjects helpfully, "I'm not actually Bjorn, I'm a spirit of war and conflict currently posessing the mortal shell of Bjorn to fulfill his wishes and guarantee the safety and properity of his people.  But iced-cream does sound good."

Tom must restrain himself from giggling. For one thing, it would hardly be proper in front of a king who is clearly having trouble with his position as it is; his visitors must show utmost respect if he's to maintain credibility (and if they're to secure his help.)

Secondly, it might ruin his tough guy image, which is pretty hard to preserve when there's an insistant nagging in the back of your mind to 'do what people tell you'.

So instead he manages a bow (and barely manages to not embarass himself again at Bjorn's words. "Er.. indeed. Anabara is a marvellous place indeed, and I hope that be both gain well from this sharing. I'm certainly looking forward to sampling your.. uh.. cuisine."

Drawing upon skills more than a bit not his, Dracos kept a respectful demeanor.  "I am honored by your lordship's grace and kindness... as well as your offer of friendship and discussion."

Dracos

Nathan covers his surprise admirably.  He's been given hell from younger for longer, after all.

He also - barely - manages to restrain himself from making a comment about cuisine.  Royalty, Nathan.  Shut up.

"Please," the king says, smiling, "make yourselves comfortable.  Cousins, how fare you?"

Tim, separated from Catherine by Nathan, is left alone as she defers to him to answer that question.

Tim scratches the back of his head awkwardly. "A bit surprised to find myself here, to tell the truth," he replies. "Not that this is a bad thing, but it was not what I had pictured when I woke up this morning."

The king (and the rest of the court, once they see how the wind is blowing) chuckles at this.  "Wondrous news," he decides.  Then a chime sounds somewhere, and he looks a bit surprised -- so does some of the court.  But the king manages to hide it very quickly, as he rises from his somewhat oversized throne with dignity, and smiles to the court.

"Court is dismissed for today," he announces, nodding at the gathered nobles and suck-ups.  They murmur their farewells and line up to say goodbye to the king individually.  Aliester stays with him to watch over everything, and Holmes shakes his head.

"This way," the inspector murmurs, leading the party back through the main entrance, down the hall, and through a slightly shorter set of double-doors to a room that's only the size of a standard earth high-school gymnasium.  But it has tables scattered throughout it; it's probably a banquet hall of some kind.

Through this dining room is a much more reasonably sized one, with a table that would comfortably seat twenty.  The chair at the head of the table is extra ornate, obviously for the king, but all of them are supple and comfortable looking.

The table is bare at the moment, so Holmes directs everyone to a seat; Holmes will be seated to the king's left, Aliester to the right.  Nathan will sit in the next seat down from Holmes, and Catherine will sit next to Aliester.  Tim will sit next to her.  Westley Riggins will sit at the foot of the table, and everyone else can sit where they like -- pretty much (Quincy will try and sit next to Phil, but not near Tom or Bjorn if he can help it).

"We will likely have a few minutes," Holmes warns.

"Minutes I can use," Catherine says with a sigh, hanging her head.  "Today, of all days!"

"Oh?" Holmes queries, producing his pipe from a coat pocket.  "How is today any different from any other?"

"I...it is not important," Catherine sighs again, straightening up and looking away, towards Nathan.  "Um...."  Then, again at a loss for words, she stares at the table in front of her without raising her eyes.

"Wouldn't a better question be, 'What about today is normal?'" says Tom after a brief moment, dropping into a seat next to Riggins.

"A question, if I may, Colonel; how long have you served upon the Starflare alltogether?"

Bjorn rolls his eyes.  "Hey, Nathan," he says loudly.  "I think I forgot my other spear in the throne room."  He hefts the one by his side for emphasis.  "Would you mind going to get it for me?  Maybe Catherine would be kind enough to show you the way."

Westley answers, after Bjorn speaks, and says, "I was assigned to lead the expedition almost ... two years before the Starflare completed construction.  I haven't thought about it, but I suppose it's been nearly five years now -- though, only three years and three months were spent aboard the ship.  It ventured into the Shroud immediately after launch, as the maiden voyage.  The test of the King's Spark, and a successful one, I suspect."  Westley looks like he could go on, but then catches himself, frowning.  "I should wait on recounting all of this, though; the King will undoubtedly wish to hear it himself."

"Undoubtedly," Holmes agrees, though he's currently watching Nathan speculatively.  "In other news, Tom, your friend Seven should be brought in shortly to join us for dinner."

"He will? How's he been holding up?" asks Tom, sounding surprised. "I worry for him."

"And that," supplies Nathan once he can get a word in, "is possibly the worst excuse you've ever made, Bjorn, but nonetheless I suppose it would be impolite to make you fetch it yourself."

"If you would, Catherine?" he says, extending a hand to his apparent fiancee.

Recognizing it might be worthwhile to play ignorant rather than put it together.  "Pardon me, but what is the King's Spark?"

Catherine shakes her head at this, still blinking, and follows Nathan out into the hall once he's taken her arm.

Once she's gone, the door stays open just long enough for Seven to come through the doorway, looking curiously after Nathan before he steps inside.  He's dressed identically to Tom, and looks equally uncomfortable in his hastily-assembled (but decent looking) suit.

"Hello," he mumbles, taking a seat and behind introduced before Holmes replies.

"The Spark," Holmes begins, glancing at Phil, and then again at Quincy, "is the birthright of the kings of Anabara, and the royal family.  I'll give you the somewhat abbreviated version of the history, but it's believed that long ago, something was done to give the power.  Some think it was the Gates, and some find this possibility ... offensive.  This is also the source of the schism that we experience with the Church.  Either we learned how to from them and split ways, or learned at least that much on our own, and they resent that."

Quincy winces at this.  Seven looks interested, and asks, "Does this mean that Anabara's own royalty went through the Gates?"

"Their ancestors," Holmes corrects.  "And that's only theorized; some disagree."

"Some," Seven says in a quiet voice that suggests he's not one of them.

"At any rate....  The specifics of the Spark are that the royal family is either more skilled Anabarists -- like Aliester, or they have the gifts of creation and repair.  Like his majesty, or Master Maus.  While royalty has seen many of the devices which we take for granted today, only his majesty has seen a way through the Shroud, around the Gates.  That, and the Starflare are his gift to us."

"And so his gift was in question until Aliester's return with us.  I see, beyond that, it was an unstable time for the entire royal family, their gift given question and opportunity smiling for those with more ambition than sense," Dracos observed, putting their own hidden civil disorder on the table.  "Which means even with it, you can use every good friend you can get."

"You have the right of it," Holmes agrees.  "While things should be much easier to stabilize at this point, the King's position has fallen in that time."

"After all," Westley adds, nodding, "we were successful."

"You were, which would possibly make those whose infractions during this time were the most outreaching desperate.  Once it is widely known that the mission was successful, any move against him would clearly be ill-advised...  but strategically, now would be the last time to make any move.  By Tim's story, it also sounds like you have enemies who would go to such reaches...  the prize would certainly be high enough...particularly if they made certain alliances.  It seems we've arrived fortuitiously...  for it is in our interest to be your friend, my liege, to trade knowledge and wisdom and to see that you safely reach your rightful place, for I think none other will be as willing to talk and see things with an innocent eye."

"This is the case," Holmes agrees, glancing at the empty seat the king will take when he arrives.  "While there are any number of routes we could take ... I am in some small capacity known to our enemies.  In other words, they know enough to fear anything truly incriminating ... unless they feel there is more to gain from the risk against the reward."

"That sounds the size of it," Westley says with a grimace.  "Dishonorable men are cowards in heart.  'Greed and gold lead to gloom, not to glory.'"

"Yes, well," Holmes says, smiling slightly.  "You'll be help enough reporting on the status of the mission.  For the rest of you, my friends...."  The Inspector's gaze pauses on Quincy, but then goes to Philip.  "I would request your assistance in tripping up our foes.  We can only act so overtly, but guests of the king -- ambassadors, if you will -- are given more leeway on propriety...."  He trails off and raises an eyebrow.  "If we can request such a favor, of course.  I don't see that our goals are misaligned, however."



OOC: Rez, I've got to get ahold of you for an IRC session about your trip down the hall and back before this scene can continue.  (But, this is my fault; I've been waffling on mentioning it.)

Meanwhile....

Brian> The scene is thus:
Brian> Catherine is holding Nathan's arm as they slowly walk down the hall.  Aside from the occasional scurrying servant, and the stationary, stiff guards, the path is deserted.  Deserted enough to allow for quiet speech, at least.
Brian> The door to the dining room lies in the past somewhere, and Nathan realizes with irritation that he's not sure of the exact path back to the throne room.  Catherine merely follows Nathan's lead.
Brian> "I should apologize," she finally says, looking downcast, and away.  "But there has been so much, since you left....  I....  I don't know where to begin."
Rez> "Well," says Nathan after a long moment, "I'm not entirely sure where to start myself.  From my end, it's a long story - and one I no longer entirely know."
Rez> "I suspected you and Timothy were still alive - actually I was fairly sure - but I've barely had time to gather my thoughts since my release was secured."
Brian> "Ah," she says, nodding slightly.  "I have heard some of it, and wished to discover more.  I...."  She stops, then, turning to face Nathan, though she's unable to meet his gaze for more than a moment.  "I have done things that I likely should not have," she says very quietly.  "I am ashamed....  I have reasons, though I cannot know if they are sufficient."
Rez> Nathan looks at Catherine, not having the same problem - though the serious expression on his face is tinged with curiousity.  "Start from when I left, then," he says, "it seems like the best place."
Brian> "First, if I may, a question?"
Rez> "Ask away."
Brian> "I know of your recent confinement, but I hadn't known any truth to the matter; I simply assumed it was enemies of our cousin seeking to do us all harm....  I thought you were held under," she falters, and winces, "false pretense.  What do you remember of your journey?  What do you remember of...."  She trails off and shivers.
Rez> "Not entirely false," Nathan says after a moment, "But Hathoway did his damndest to things worse.  I remember almost nothing . . ." he trails off apologetically, "of anything.  My journey, of before, even you."
Rez> "But . . ." he frowns, looking away, "there's a reason for that."
Brian> "She's not worth remembering," Molly mutters, currently out of sight, and only barely audible.

Rez> OOC: Is there anyone else around?
Brian> OOC: Obviously some ghosts!  But Catherine is the only living person within earshot.

Brian> Catherine does not react to the ghost-girl, but her eyes widen at what Nathan says.  "Nothing?  But...."  She swallows, and sighs.  "Oh.  Well, then.  I had hoped that things would work out sooner....  Soon enough, my intended, to spare you whatever it is that Hathoway has done.  Our cousin's summon comes at an innoportune time."
Rez> "But I will remember," Nathan continues, "it was a bargain, of sorts."
Rez> "Why inopportune?"
Brian> "Timothy and I have been venturing for some time in the world with our true names and natures hidden," she explains quietly, face flushing.  "I ... pretended to be someone else.  I don't know if you recall, but the home that Timothy and I shared was destroyed in a fire.  Did you know this?"  Now, she finally does meet Nathan's eye and hold his gaze.
Brian> For a short woman with a silly bonnet, she manages to convey a real sense of self-confidence and ability.  Mostly, she looks determined, somehow recalling Lord Kevin to mind.
Rez> "I heard," he says, meeting Catherine's gaze, "and also that you and your brother weren't to be found.  Not long after my father died."
Brian> She smiles.  "Your wits are still about you, even if your memory is gone.  It seems quite a stretch for a coincidence of such magnitude.  Regardless.  Timothy's armored suit ... you wouldn't recall it, I suppose.  He'd been working on it for years in the basement.  When the fire started, he was there, in his workshop.  I came to warn him, so we could flee, but by the time I reached his door, the flames were already behind me."  She grimaces.  "It was not simply fire.  It was an anabarist, and a skilled one, too.  I doubt that cousin Aliester could manage flame so well without assistance."
Rez> "What then?"
Brian> "He was able to use the suit to take us both clear of the fire, though we used the secret passage ... Father's wisdom saving us once again, I know.  The anabaric deflection generator burned out, so it remains hidden, still.  Timothy had planned to take work as a nameless journeyman until he could get the tools and parts he would need to rebuild the generator, and wished me to visit a friend in the country.
Brian> "I thought this a poor idea; we were both thought dead, and my aquantainces surely would be investigated.  So instead I....  I took work as a washer at the Academy for Research of Anabaric energy.  From there I was able to access the lists of all documented anabarists.
Brian> "From that I was able to determine the likely suspects ... but I suspected it was someone within the palace.  Someone of considerable skill, likely working for our cousin ... but succeptible to the glint of gold.  There were three likely men, and one possible woman.
Rez> Nathan nods, listening but not interrupting.
Brian> "So I took another job, and continued trying to trace down whoever it might have been.  I was quite close to gathering what would prove me right ... or wrong.  There is only one suspect left, and I think he is tied to Hathoway."
Brian> Then she sighs and slumps.  "But now we are both exposed, our chance ruined.  With it known that I am alive, I can't simply hide my hair and claim a different name.  I wouldn't just be a girl who happened to look like Catherine Maus.  So I have become decietful, little better than a fallen woman ... and for naught."
Brian> "Oh," Molly says from somewhere distant, sounding unwillingly sympathetic.
Rez> "When the options," Nathan says archly, "are to engage in deceit or risk another attempted murder, I think one can forgive you the deceit."
Brian> Catherine looks startled at how quickly she's forgiven.  "But....  I should have been there for you," she protests.  "Instead, I wasted time while you suffered!  While your memory was stolen!"
Rez> "What were you supposed to do?" Nathan asks in response, "You could have made yourself known, and probably gotten yourself killed.  Hathoway isn't above murder, and it's already been tried once.  If you believe you know the person who was responsible - and they're tied to Hathoway - then it wasn't a waste of time at all."
Rez> As far as anyone can tell, he intended to keep me interred until ownership of my property lapsed.  Once that failed, he sent men there to ransack it.  I had thought this was entirely in the name of something he believes I brought back through the gate, but if he was acting before that . . ."
Brian> Catherine lowers her face and dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief.  "Thank you," she says quietly, before collecting herself, reassuming the more confident outlook she'd shown before.  "But ... Hathoway's goals against us are aligned.  It seems queer that he'd devote that much energy simply to separating...."  Then she blinks, and bright spots of color appear on her cheeks.  "Ah, yes," she says, giggling in quiet embarassment.  "Well.  Obviously."
Brian> Then her eyes widen in alarm.  "But if he kept you, to separate us, he must have known I survived the fire all along!"
Rez> "I'm not certain," Nathan says, frowning, "it's possible.  Yet, I -did- bring something back through the gate, and he may have simply been after that - which he could have gotten, had he held me longer."
Brian> Catherine nods slowly, and looks prepared to say something else, but Aliester's carrying voice interrupts further conversation immediately.  "Ah, dearest cousin," he says, marching into sight along with a pair of guards (who are flanking the young king).  He smirks, nodding.  "And without a chaperone?  The public will have a revel over this detail!"
Brian> Catherine winces at that, raising her hand to her mouth.  "Oh, dear," she says, then.  Her eyes flash to Nathan's, and the unspoken message is clear: There's more to discuss about this later.
Brian> "They shant need to know of it," the king says dismissively.  "I know of no witnesses to anything untoward.  Cousin, and Doctor, are you prepared to dine?  I am ever looking forward to our own conversations."  Then he laughs, and even though he's just a kid, he looks weary and tired.  "I apologize, cousin, that I may prevent you from spending as much time with your beloved as you might wish.  But my family is precious few, these days.  I keep what I value most close."
Brian> "Now, to dinner?" Aliester asks, looking pleased.
Rez> "I would never begrudge you such, your Majesty," Nathan says, bowing expansively, "and perhaps you and the Maestro would be willing to chaperone us back to the dining hall."
Brian> The king nods.  "It is my most happy duty," he says formally, sweeping an elegant bow to Catherine.  She curtsies back, and then the group heads back to the dining hall.
Brian> "Oh," Catherine mutters, "we never did find Master Christianson's other spear, did we?"

Therefore....

Before any further conversation can be made, the doors to the dining room open again, the King, Nathan, Catherine, and Aliester entering.  Two guards salute, then close the doors behind themselves, presumably standing attention out front.  The king is currently holding Catherine's hand, and leads her to her seat, before taking his own, at the head of the table.

"It is good to see you here, my friends," he says with a bright smile, as Aliester takes his own seat and makes a gesture.  At his gesture, a bell sounds.  "Our dinner shall join us shortly, and I expect a few of you are rather famished."

Seven's stomach growls in response, and he coughs, bowing his head sheepishly.

The king merely smiles at that, glancing across the table as Nathan takes his seat.  "This is a joyful day.  If it weren't already a festival, we would say it should be so now!"

"Of course," Aliester agrees.  The doors open, and conversation is made impossible by a train of servants carrying trays laden with steaming and delicious-smelling foods.  In short order, the giant table is groaning under the weight of the platters on it, and the servants retire.  Interestingly, this means there are no servants whatsoever in the room.  "Now," the Maestro says, serving himself a slice of some dark roast covered in gravy, "your majesty, would the time be right to take an account of Colonel Riggins's report?"

"While it is pertinent," the king says, frowning at the vegetables Aliester serves him, "I must confess utter fascination with Master Christianson.  Good sir, might I prevail on you to regale us with a tale of your homeland?"

"Oh, there's not much to say," Bjorn replies cheerfully.  "Mostly because of a lack of knowledge on my part.  You understand, I'm not actually Bjorn Christianson.  I'm a spirit of war possessing his body at his own request, to overthrow and cast down the Church so that his people can live their own peaceful lives upon the plains."  He pauses, his head cocked contemplatively.  "They didn't explicitly ask for the whole 'casting down' thing," he adds, "but that is the sort of the thing I usually do, and it seems like a good plan for the moment.  Could I perhaps have another slice of roast, please?"

A smile of amusement crossed Dracos lips at that, as he slowly dined on the excellent repast, watching over the locals for their reaction.  He considered encouraging a tale out of Bjorn of a past adventure in another world, but this thought was quickly squashed.  The good will it might encourage wasn't likely to be worth it.

"Yes," Aliester murmurs with a frown, as the midget is served another slice.  The roast is tender, and the gravy is pretty rich.  Unsurprisingly, most everything tastes wonderful, but then, this is a dinner with royalty.  The table is spread with many traditional-looking favorites.  Roast.  Some large bird.  Stuffing, potatoes (or something very like them; they taste a bit sweeter than a traditional potato), and so forth.  The drink of the evening is water, with an option for milk.  "I recall mention of this.  If you are not originally from Windhurst, however, does this mean you hail from the Shroud?"

Holmes nods at this question, asking, "If Master Christianson can't tell us of that, which may be understandable under the circumstances, I expect that our friends Philip and Quincy would know more."

Quincy winces and methodically begins cutting a biscuit into tiny pieces, too nervous to eat as he looks to Phil for guidance.

"I come from a bit further afield," Bjorn admits.  "If you have particular questions, however, I could ask them of a spirit who comes from the Shroud.  But I would myself be quite interested to learn what the Church has to say of these things."

"You wish to know of our homeland?  It is a land of devout people.  Too devout, I might say.  The church is largely the greatest authority in the lands and the people live, for the most part, primitively in comparison to your own works, with the templars keeping forcibly all cultures even more primitive than theirs.  Most of the luxuries taken for granted here are things that simply do not exist there.  Technically, we committed sacrilege by how we came here, circumventing the gates.  But I think I ruin the tone of the meal and the evening.  Perhaps Quincy could share a more pleasant tale of his home, and of the people of Windhurst rather than the policy."

Quincy winces again, shifting his shoulders as Aliester's gaze turns to him.  "I am curious to know, then.  Windhurst neighbors us, but we have so little communication aside from the monthly Church officials...."  He pauses, considering Quincy's attire.

The young churchman looks like he wishes for another outfit than the one he's wearing, as he stuttering offers, "W...well, the people of Windhurst have always been kind in my memory, and our land is safe....  The only threats I know of are the, um, savages who live edgeward...."  He trails off, glancing at Bjorn, then swallows nervously.  "T...the Church and the Templar Guild tell us that they protect us from savages and, um, Anabarans, since....  Because it is said that the use of anabaric devices is a violation of the Church tennents...."  He swallows again, then starts over:

"Our houses aren't so nice, and our cities are much smaller, but outside of what the Church tells us, our people are peaceful and content."

"The people of the plains aren't truly a threat to anyone.  Quite peaceful in nature."  Bjorn grins broadly.  "At least, until I taught them how not to be.  A significant portion of their lives, however, revolves around speaking with the spirits of the world.  I imagine that this is the sort of thing of which the Church might not approve."

'It appears we lack good story tellers for the evening.  Perhaps one of yours could regale us, and in turn possibly ignite the storyteller spirt in one of our fellow travelers," He looked over the group.  "Most of us have never before set foot on Anabara, and these are wonders quite beyond us, in that sense."

"Interesting," Holmes muses.  "Still, be at ease.  This isn't an interrogation."

"True enough," the king agrees, holding his cup out to Aliester to refill it.  "I apologize if this has made you uncomfortable, friend.  Colonel?"

Westley has been sitting at attention the entire time, and inclines his head.  "Majesty?"

"Tell me of your expedition, if it's not too trying."

"Certainly!"  And then Westley launches into his retelling of the mission.  He had three years to work on this speech aboard the ship, so everything but the last part shines like a gem, neatly glossing over the fact that they spent just over three years wandering, lost.  As far as detail goes, Westley recounts things that the king would logically already know, but conveniently outlines the facts for everyone else:

Westley and the crew of the Starflare were handpicked over the two years leading to its completion and launch.  The ship (and its mission) were the proof of the king's Spark after the loss of his parents a few years earlier (though Westley doesn't suggest it, given the political clime, foul play is not out of the question).  They were able to ascend until they pierced the Shroud, whereupon they took many measurements, recordings, and performed what tests they had the equipment for.  The ship's Anabarist was able to determine how to create lemon-water to stave of scurvy and other ills, a potentially invaluable skill for future missions (Westley seems to be fascinated by this, but the fact saved his life so it makes a degree of sense; no one else seems much interested other than a nod of the head).  Eventually, they stumbled into some kind of vortex, and found themselves within another sphere, above the plains where Christianson's people lived.

For Tim and Nathan, much of this is news, but Westley has had less time to polish this part of the recitation:  "Once we reached Windhurst and made fast friends with the natives, we learned of a detachment of the Church knights -- the Templar Guild -- who were headed towards friends of Master Christianson.  Ah ... Captain Vega chose to aid our new allies against the Church...."  Westley hesitates a moment at this.

"Force, I presume," Aliester says, pushing his plate away and steepling his fingertips together.  "How many representatives of the Templar Guild were involved?"

"The anabaric brissance projectors, Maestro.  Yes.  I believe we had located near to twenty.  They were closing in on Master Bloom and his junior, and his companions, Masters Tom and Seven.  At Master Christiansion's suggestion, the remaining forces with Master Bloom were diverted to the plains to reinforce his own people; we traded with them for some small supplies and tokens of esteem before making the journey back here.  Thanks to Master Christianson, where the trip to Windhurst took more than three years, the return voyage was far swifter."

"It seems that we will need to speak with Captain Vega, then," Aliester murmurs.  "Your majesty, what do you think?"

His majesty looks thoughtful, pushing his vegetables around on his plate with a fork.  "We think the mission could have gone better," he finally says with a sigh.  "However, Captain Vega and his crew have served you, and therefore ourselves, magnificently.  Commendations will be issued, have no doubt."

"Majesty, I--" Westley tries to apologize.

"Nevermind," the king says, shaking his head.  "It is no fault of yours, rather--"

"Mistakes can be made," Aliester interjects, before the king can continue.  "However, other than an unfortunate delay, all has turned out well.  The mission returned, you reached Windhurst, and have made our kingdom new friends and allies.  As his Majesty says, worthy of commendation."

Westley nods, falling silent.

"A question, if I might?" ventures Holmes.

"By all means, Inspector," the king says, setting his silverware on the table and mimicking (though, it looks a tad silly) Aliester.

"Thank you."  Holmes turns to Phil and Tom.  "Could you tell me more of how it is that the Church has cause for you to serve them?  Or, what you know of it, at least?"

Dracos coughed slightly.  "In simple terms...  Tom was a slave, or soon to become one, likely to be used in battle, much in the same way those nobles here may gather tools to hinder or strive against their fellows.  Criminals, neverdowells, and people the church simply would rather disappear tend to find themselves there.  In general, the treatment to transform them into such a state leaves their minds nearly blank, often with no idea who they are or what they used to be.  In Tom's case particularly, the results were extremely obedient individuals for the most part with tremendous physical strength.  This is accomplished through the utilization of the gates to selectively regress and eliminate traits."

"What he said," Seven says, nodding.  "Tom has better memory, though."

"Memory problems abound," Aliester says with a shrug.  "Unfortunately, Master Shuker remembers little from his sojourn through the Gates either.  The Starflare provides a convenient way around that."  He shakes his head.  "Regardless."  Aliester gestures, and a previously empty dish fills with ice-cream, surrounded by a flickering momentary aura of crackling energy.  He serves the king first, then offers everyone a bowl.

"My compliments to the king, for such an exquisite greeting to emissaries from abroad.  Truly, we are honored," Dracos pleasantly replies, digging into the ice cream.

Tastes homemade.  Vanilla, too.  Still, pretty decent.

"Uncle Aliester should be thanked, really," the king says with a shrug.  "But all of our guests are welcomed here.  I imagine tomorrow will be quite busy for the colonel; the Councils will both want details of the journey."

Holmes nods at that.  "The Councils will both be quite busy, I imagine.  Especially with your cousins returned...."  He turns to Catherine, then.  "Have you a place to stay then, with your family home burnt down?"

"An apartment," she says quietly, her first contribution to the conversation.  "I am not overly concerned with that for the moment."

"You are always welcome to stay in the palace, cousin," the king offers quickly.  "And you, too, cousin Timothy."

Tom digs into the icecream; sugar? Dessert? Sounds great!

"That's a useful trick," he remarks to Aliester. "Could you make other food, too? Or other objects?"

"It's not my specialty, aside from this dish," Aliester says with a shrug.  "But yes.  Manifestation is one of the powers of Anabarists.  Are there none in Windhurst?"

"Only among the church.  Beyond that, Tom has been having memory issues since his enslavement," Dracos passed off.

"No, there was at least one," responds Tom, shaking his head. "Well, one other Anabarist who didn't strike me as affiliated with the church- the one that used some kind of teleportation device. At least, that's what I think it was."

"Given the events at the tower earlier, I think I may have to take you up on that," Tim replies to the king. "Since one of the foremen very definitely knows my abilities go beyond what you'd expect of a normal journeyman, I suspect it's best I don't head back to the tower. I'd trust Master Tavner, but I also wouldn't be surprised to hear rumors start springing up, either."

"Really?" Aliester asks, surprised, looking at Tom sharply.  "That is an ... interesting development."

The king seems to miss his interest, laughing quietly.  "Cousin, it's hardly fitting that you work in a tower!  Of course you and Catherine shall stay with me."

Holmes looks thoughtful.  "Master Tom, do you suppose you would recognize this fellow if I showed you his picture?" he asks.

Dracos didn't miss Aliester's comment, questioning him "Are you suggesting such abilities may be from over here?  Outside of the gates, we don't have such technology."

"I would be surprised if that were the case," Aliester says slowly.  "But if that comes from here, it also means our betrayal does."

This does get the king's attention, and he blinks, frowning.  "More dissenters?" he sighs.

"We should investigate this and learn the right of it," Holmes says, glancing at Tom briefly before turning his attention to the king and Aliester.  "But this is not the most ideal time for it, I should think."

Aliester grimaces, then glances across the table.  "Very well.  A subject for tomorrow, then."

The king nods, then looks at Catherine and Tim expectantly.

"I'll let Catherine speak for herself, but for myself I'd be grateful for your hospitality," Tim replies.

"Of course, I'd be delighted to stay here," Catherine adds, almost automatically.  She glances at Nathan briefly, then pushes her plate away.  "I apologize ... but I would like to retire.  It has been an eventful day."

"Of course," the king says, nodding.  Then he turns to Tom.  "Are you in need of rest as well, cousin?  I would very much like to show you my workshop -- I have been practicing, as you taught me."

Aliester groans, shaking his head.  "I cannot fathom your machinery," he says.  "And I'm glad of the chance for someone else who can understand it better to speak with his majesty about it.  Angular momentum conversion was as far as my machining ever went.  Now."  He rises, stating, "I have duties I must attend; Inspector, I shall entrust his majesty's care to you."  Turning to Catherine, he adds, "Allow me to escort you to your rooms on my way, niece."

"Of course," Catherine murmurs, rising smoothly from her chair and giving an elegant curtsy to the king, who inclines his head in acknowledgment.  "In the morning, then.  By your leave."

Aliester takes Catherine's elbow and escorts her through the door, which is left open so a quick parade of servants can remove the empty dishes from the table.

The king rises, Holmes with him.  Mindful of the servants, he says, "We should like our cousin and companions to accompany us to the workshop, should any feel up to the occasion.  Otherwise, quarters can be arranged."

"I should be happy to see what you've been up to while I've been 'away'," Tim replies. "Lead the way, then!"

"It would be an honor, your highness."

"Very good!"  The king rises from his throne, and quickly makes his way to the corridor, Holmes just behind him.

It's a good distance to the workshop, and the route passes the guest quarters.  There are a good number of guards in the hallways, and Holmes points the group out to them, so the guards know where to take anyone who gets lost if they want to find their rooms.

Nathan recognizes his room as the one he was given to clean himself up in, not too far from Holmes's office.

The path eventually leads to an elevator, and then the rather imposing double-doors to the workshop.  A pair of guards haul them open; they're almost the size of the doors to the throne room.  Within, the area is half workshop, half library, with starlight filtering in through the crystal ceiling, and brighter lights from glowing crystals adorning the walls at regular intervals.  The room is probably about twenty meters high, and one hundred in length and width, with a balcony going around the walls.  The balcony has stairs leading up to it, and is lined with bookshelves, crammed with odd tools and books both.  On the ground floor, tables are strewn everywhere, most of them showing the intriguing contours of mystery items covered in dropcloths.

A few have the dropcloths pulled to one side, various tools and ... mysterious familiar looking things covered with crystaline widgets.  That monkey wrench with crystal where the adjustment beryl should be, for example, or what looks like a diamond-tipped screwdriver.  Much of the space in the far end of the room is filled with a huge orrey, a model of the solar system.

Except, that this is the Dream of Fire, and so the world people live on looks like it was a flat disk, cut into twenty eight pieces, which all lie flat and orbit a lack of a sun.  Westley pauses at the doorway, also having been invited on this royal expedition, and cocks his head at it curiously.  Iron struts support the fragments.  Currently, it's still, though it's questionable if the thing actually moves; little reason to it without moons, stars, or other objects to track.  Interestingly, the disk-fragment closest to the door has a tiny crystal city on it.  The rest are blank, smooth and unlabeled.  Beneath it is what looks, for lack of something more familiar for comparison, either a jet or rocket engine.

This engine-thing is what the king beelines towards.  "This is my engine," he says excitedly, "the one I had put in the Starflare.  I went ahead and modified the anabaric scoop to shutter against the shroud just recently; Aliester suggested that I start reinvesting myself in the Spark, in case...."  He trails off and chuckles nervously, glancing at Westley.  "W...well, cousin, we should like you to examine it yourself, and tell us what you think."

Tim is able to use his other-self's technical skills to identify the machinery easily as exactly what the king said it was: an engine.  At a casual inspection, it does not look like something a twelve year old could build, and what workings that are exposed are incredibly complex.

Tim remembers the feeling of knowing the workings of the tower machinery inside and out from trying to keep the shaft running; hoping to call on that same ability again, he places his fingertips lightly against the engine, hoping to call forth some idea of what it's supposed to be doing where it is.

This schematic is different from the shielding unit, but not much more complex.  In fact, it has some similarities.  Much of the engine is devoted towards manipulating anabaric energy, and Tim suspects that the engine really does things that typically a person would have to do.  The shield acts as a scoop to gather loose energy outside of the Shroud, and directs it into the center of the engine.  There it powers the shield, and discards depleted energy (if that makes sense) behind the engine, causing the expected reaction.

Other than the fact that it does have some crystal modulators within the center, and it relies on a form of energy that Tim doesn't think exists in the waking world, it's a working Bussard ramjet.  The thing requires no fuel to run, though it depends on ambient energy of some sort.  If another engine were to give it some forward momentum, then the shields would scoop in energy from a wide area, giving the thing theoretically unlimited acceleration potential.

Moreover, except the shield arrays, which aren't exposed to the center of the engine, it has no moving parts at all.  The king is beaming at his project proudly, and Holmes looks interested.  Westley maintains an air of quiet awe.  At Tim's guess, the shield/scoop ensamble is a recent addition, and wasn't on the original Starflare.

Reading too far much Heinlein and Niven has, contrary to his parents' predictions, actually been of use.  "A Brussard ramjet?" Bjorn marvels aloud.

Tim isn't as familiar with the name, but he recognizes the principle behind it at least. "Not a bad design at all, assuming the energy density doesn't drop too low to sustain the thrust," he comments. "Is this the only prototype, and have you tried testing it at all - not that I imagine it'd be easy to do, but."

"Who is Bussard?" the king asks Bjorn, before Tim distracts him.  "Oh, well, this is the only prototype at the moment.  There hasn't been opportunity to test it yet, but this engine is much simpler to produce than the one on the Starflare."

"Cheaper to produce, as well," Holmes notes.

The king nods, not really paying attention to the Inspector.  "Copies have been made already, though.  Another ship is being outfitted them, and likely the Starflare will be, as well.  Though, it will require repair for some time before it's ready to fly again...."  He shrugs.  "We simply wanted to demonstrate that we were not idle in your absence.  Perhaps you would be willing to help us in further endeavors?"

"Perhaps," Holmes interrupts.  "But the hour grows late, majesty.  Already your cousin Catherine has gone to rest."

"Of course," the king allows, his face falling slightly.  "We would not wish to keep anyone.  In the morning, perhaps, we can discuss it further.  We would like to invite you...."  Then he trails off and squints.  "To lunch," he says, after consideration.  "We must go visit Captain Vega and the crew of the Starflare for breakfast.  I apologize, lieutenant Westley, that you will not be free of us for that.  We eagerly await your company."

"It is an honor," Westley replies stiffly, saluting the king.  The king nods, and Holmes walks to the workshop door with him.

At the entrance he pauses and turns back.  "Cousin, if you should feel the desire, please avail yourself of this workshop.  The guards will send for anything you require that is not readily available."

Then, he's gone, barely even allowing time for goodbyes.  Westley releases a shaky breath, smiling softly.  "It is good," he says.  "But I must hurry to the shipyard and ensure that the crew is in a proper state for breakfast with the king in the morning.  No doubt many of the men have gotten drunk in celebration already."  He tips his hat to the assembled group, then makes for the door himself.

Now it is just the party, Quincy, and Seven in the king's workshop, a pair of guards standing outside the door, just past earshot.

"So," Bjorn asks, "when do you think I should let him know it won't work?"

"The sooner the better, although it'd certainly be easier when he's not quite so excited," Tim replies. "Perhaps -before- the ice cream, next time."

Seven squints at the engine, which to him is just a shiny lump of steel anyway.  "Why won't it work?"

Bjorn shrugs.  "It'll work, technically speaking, I'm sure," he responds.  "But actually getting using it to sail past the shroud... the void spirits didn't like the last one, and I can't see them responding any better to this one.  The Starflare got tucked away until they dumped it on me, and I had to give them my sight to get them to let us bring it back.  And I'm not sure that's a bargain they'll be willing to make twice."

Quincy shivers, moving to put Phil between himself and Bjorn.

"What exactly was the problem last time?" Nathan asks, having been silent for a while, "Now you've got me curious."

"The void spirits seem to mostly be interested in contemplating the heavens," Bjorn replies.  "The Starflare wasn't of the heavens and it got in their way."

"Are you sure they can't deal?" is the next query, "Or are these things that are particularly averse to such questions?"

"Oh, they might be able to cut a deal.  If they can talk to them."

"So even with this invention, the only true way between the lands remains the gates," Philip summarized.

"The only lasting way, by the sounds of it," replies Tom, shrugging. "Otherwise I'd suppose someone like Bjorn would need to be on every flight. Still, might it not be possible for you to bargain with them as an intermediary, and come to some kind of long-term arrangement?"

"Possible."  Bjorn shrugs, and then looks around the room thoughtfully.  "But why give up my leverage that way?  Besides, what we need to do is figure out how the Gates work and tell everyone.  That's how we win this part of the Contest."

"So the next thing to do would be to head to gates and see them from this side.  Though we probably shouldn't go into the details unless they really need to know them.

"I might be able to see them," Nathan notes, "I can see ghosts, in any case . . ."

He pauses.

"Molly, are you still here?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" she replies cheerily.  Now that Nathan's paying attention, she's pale, but sitting on one of the tables, swinging her feet idly.  "Can I help you, Master Shuker?"

"Nothing in - how did I miss you there?" he says, shaking his head, "But I was mostly wondering if Bjorn was able to see you."

"I can indeed," Bjorn replies, bowing courteously.  "Greetings to you, Mistress Molly."

The maid actually looks alarmed at that, blinking in surprise at Bjorn, and hurriedly collecting a sense of decorum.  Mostly by jumping down from the table and smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her apron.  "Um, greetings, Sir," she says, ducking her head.  "Can I help you?"

"Oh, no," Bjorn replies, "not at the moment.  Unless there is something I can do for you, of course?  I'm not a gentleman, Mistress Molly, I'm a spirit somewhat similar to you possessing the body of a witch doctor who made deals with other spirits like the two of us for the good of his people."  He beams.  "I find this gives me great latitude in taking a more relaxed approach to social situations."

"Y...you're a spirit?" Molly echoes, before her eyes widen.  "S...spirits can possess people?  Can you teach me how?"

Bjorn gives that careful contemplation for some time.  "Not the way I do it," he says regretfully. "The way I do it requires extraplanar presence and the intervention of several very powerful spirits.  On the other hand, while his people," he gestures down at his body, "were surprised by the possession, they didn't seem to think it was unheard of, so there presumably is a way."  He thinks longer.  "Interesting.  I'll work on it.  No promises, though."

"I would be ever in your debt," Molly says, blushing.  "Thank you very much, kind sir."

Nathan fishes the jade pendant out of a pocket.

"Well, Molly, in the interests of demonstrating that Bjorn and I are not, in fact, insane," Nathan says, offering it to Molly.

Molly accepts the pendant from Nathan curiously.  To Nathan and Bjorn's eyes, she instantly solidifies.  To everyone else, Nathan's pendant is floating in midair.

"Should I do something now, then?" Molly asks, looking at the pendant curiously.  Even though she's not visible, she's certainly audible.

"Why would we assume your loss of sanity 'now', Nathan?" Dracos bemusedly replied.

"Can you conceal the pendant?"

Molly takes a moment to put the pendant on, tucking it into her blouse.  After a few heartbeats, she fades into visibility.  "Is this hidden?"

"Not really, though we can see you now."

"Now the question is: Can you touch *other* things?"

Bjorn rolls his eyes a bit impatiently.  "While this is interesting," he says, "it might be more productive to discuss the main issue here.  We need to figure out how to work the gates.  Any leads?"

"I've been looking into that in greater detail, but need to actually be able to spend some time with them.  It's been a bit difficult..but hopefully here that can happen."

"Nothing we can do about that now, then," Bjorn decides.  "Then as for me, I'm off for sleep and a fresh start tomorrow."

"It's been a wild day...we all should retire and take things with a fresh approach," Dracos suggested.

OOC: I totally move for sleepy timeskip of goodness

OOC: Time rushes forward:

After general agreement, the group wanders back to their respective quarters (even Seven and Quincy have private rooms -- this is a palace, after all), and try to get some rest.  All of the rooms are very plush, with balconies and windows that look out over the city.  At night, the clouds are lit from below by the lights of the city.  Not too far away, the tower where Tom worked until just recently is visible, lit up with spotlights.  Some smoke is still emerging from the top, but it could probably be attributed to the distant, flickering sparks of anabaric torches as they try to repair the station.

A few dark spots in the cityscape indicate likely parks, and a single very dark line suggests a river.

After finally giving into sleep, everyone finds themselves awakened refreshed, but from a totally dreamless sleep.

Only Tom recalls anything of his dreams, and that's just a fleeting glimpse of Pandora's prison through a thick fog.

Servants rouse everyone from their sleep to enjoy the light of early day (with no visible sun), and then everyone is ushered into a dining hall.  Quincy has taken to bed, too disturbed by recent events -- a doctor (who, in this world, is called a 'doctor') says it's nerves, and he'll be fine with a day or so of rest.  Seven has already left to patrol, leaving just the Order to enjoy breakfast with Inspector Holmes.

The dining hall is smaller than the royal one from last night, but still fairly spacious.  The breakfast spread has apparent bacon, apparent jelly, and apparent English (Anabaric?) muffins.  Serving himself only a few eggs and two of the bready-things, Holmes starts the morning conversation off:

"I hope you rested well, but I would like to discuss the current state of affairs in Anabara with you, if you've the time."

"You need out.  That means you need to figure out how the Gates work, and then cripple the Church.  We need to do that.  Let's work together."  Bjorn thinks, then nods, apparently satisfied with his summary.

"It's a little more complicated than that," Nathan comments, "So yes, we have the time."

"Excellent," Holmes says.  "I believe by now you've a passing familiarity with the situation here.  I know you come from a distant place, so much of this may seem strange and different to you.  But the essence of our position is the necessary strengthening of the king's position.  The issues at hand amount to those who are out to sabotage His Majesty, which includes apparent and possible spies with access to anabaric devices which we ourselves are not ... which is of great concern.  Solving the mystery of the Gates is an issue which might allow us to expand our territory -- likely into Windhurst, since it seems we may find allies among the natives.

"There is also at this point the possible risk of assassination, which I expect to be unlikely if you remain together in numbers ... but in the name of efficiency, it would probably be reasonable to divide into at least groups.  The goals I would set on the table -- aside from your own, of course -- are investigation into the traitors, whomever they are, and investigating the Gates themselves.  I also expect you will have questions, so please take this opportunity while we have relative privacy to ask them."

Nathan and Bjorn (if he took his medicine) are aware of the ghostly Molly standing in a dim corner, towards the doors, though she returned the pendant to him before he went to his quarters the night before.  The elder Shuker is still absent.

OOC: Bjorn still has a supply of the spirit-vision-compound from Windhurst.  Enough for probably one hundred doses lasting (presumably) a fully day each.

OOC: Rails, yay rails. =)
IC:
"Agreed on the objectives.  And...perhaps we should have a spirit go with each of us.  If they're invisible elsewhere, they can carry on the message to the other group if something is wrong.  I'll head to the gate.  I've been meaning to go there on this side anyway."

"I'll attend Master Shuker," Molly supplies helpfully, though only Nathan and Bjorn can hear her.

"Thanks you," Nathan says to that, giving the ghost a smile before turning to disagree with the Dracos.

"Well, we only have Molly," Nathan points out, "and there's no real point overplanning right now.  Between us we can handle most things, this isn't the icefields where we're going to wander around lost."

"Well, it's not a bad idea, but whether it's practical or not is up to Bjorn," responds Tom, before turning to Holmes.

"I'm sorry, you asked me about that fellow I saw in Windhurst yesterday? I'm pretty sure I'd recognize him again, if it came down to it."

OOC: Conversations taking place over several days GO

"Equally simple for him to recognize you, I expect.  Still, one who had a way to cross the Shroud without the Gates wouldn't likely have cause to go near them.  So which cause you follow will be your choice."

"Well, either way," Nathan says to Holmes, "We can be pretty certain who one of the traitors is already.  Have you found out anything from the man you arrested at my home?"

Holmes grimaces.  "I wish I had a better answer, but he was murdered in his cell, before questioning.  It was arranged to appear a suicide."

"I won't pretend I'm sorry," Nathan says with uncharacteristic nonchalance for the subject, "and besides, he told me what we needed anyway.  We know where to look, we'll just have to get our evidence elsewhere."

He pauses.

"Did I tell you what he told me, or did I not have the chance?  I can't remember, I'm sorry - it was rather hectic."

"Best to repeat it for your companions," Holmes says, gesturing to the rest of the breakfast table.

Molly looks torn between gushing at Nathan's comment and turning pale at the reminder that, yeah, she's dead.  She finally settles on simpering and giving a girlish giggle.

Nathan nods.

"The rough synopsis is basically this.  I was being held by Hathoway in the asylum, until the Maestro and Inspector here came to retrieve me.  If he'd held me for another day, or possibly two, my ownership of my estate would have been forfeited - which appears to have been his aim.  When I did return to my estate, I found Molly . . . well . . . dead at the base of the stairs.  The upshot is, I overheard the thugs talking before putting them down: they were talking, and they referred to having been sent by Hathoway - and not knowing what they were looking for, but that they'd know it when they saw it."

"The obvious conclusion there is that Hathoway wanted my estate so that he could find what he correctly thought I'd hidden there - a stone tablet that's a relic of the church, that I brought back with me from Windhurst.  However . . . firstly, why would Hathoway want it - and secondly nobody on this side of the gate knew that I had it.  The obvious conclusion is that he found out another way."

"If we want to find out what foothold the Church has on this side of the gate, we're best off getting it by interrogating Hathoway - proving it would be preferable, because frankly given the ham-handed way he's handled the rest of it I doubt he's covered his tracks very well."

A slight pause.

"But either way, I intend on having his head."

"Interrogating Hathoway could be problematic," Holmes says quietly.  "I have every reason to think he's done everything you suspect and more ... but at the same times, Hathoway is legally one of the Gate custodians -- though he cannot actually go to the Gates.  Any more, at any rate.  To explain, the Gates are used on occasion as a form of corporal punishment; we can only learn how they function through trial and error, but the permutations are so vast that to truly understand them would cost us and our culture beyond reason.

"So on occasion, when the death penalty is issued, criminals opt to subject themselves to progression or regression testing, as best as the Gate technicians can manage it.  Seventy years ago, Hathoway was one of those people.  The end result, though only he understands the changes to himself entirely, is that he cannot abide the light.  He also understood enough of the Gates to create the beings that police his prison.

"Some years later, while he was still kept confined to be studied, there was an uprising.  He and his ... minions ... were instrumental in turning the tide and restoring the delicate balance of power to His Majesty's father.  In exchange, Hathoway was granted the title of Gate Custodian, and has a chair on the Lesser Council.  In theory, anyway -- meetings are in the day, so he must send a representative to attend for him.  As time progressed, his 'charitable' acts allowed him to build the Asylum, once his prison, and he has slowly and meticulously developed his political power.

"So while we can be confident that he is involved, ultimately, it is those who he works for and with that we must stop.  Once that's done, he has no power ... but the Crown is forbidden to act directly against officers of the Council, and his funding assures that they see no problem with him themselves.  Aliester's threats were not entirely meaningless ... but would warrant rather dire reprecussions.  I do not think that His Majesty would like to see his power maintained only by the presence his Starflare, armed and at the ready, but I know the people would not stand for it."

"I don't picture it being as simple up and demanding answers," Nathan says, "But I don't think that you're correct in saying that all we need to do is to remove his . . . employers.  He'd remain a threat regardless."

"What I want to do is to prove what he's done, and his involvement.  He will still want that artifact, and I can't help but wonder what he'd do were he to see another opportunity."

"That was...some very interesting information there, Nathan..."  He practically stared down the man.  "I think retrieving that tablet is likely on our agenda as well.  Can you bring it to me when you find it?  Will we have to go through this person to investigate the gates, Holmes?" He wondered as well.


OOC: *eyes yesterday's post rush*  Rez, you deserve a noogie of 'Bad Rez, no cookie' :P

"When I find it?  Damn thing's hidden in my room."

There's a pause as he stops to think, apparently oblivious Dracos' attention.

"Didn't I mention that?"


OOC: Six posts != Rush. :P

"No...No, I don't believe you did.  Would you perhaps have anything else like that you may have forgotten?  Perhaps the secret to the void spirits?  The list of names of all who threaten the king?  The secret to eternal ice cream?"


OOC: Nope, I meant the 'btw, INFODUMP OF AWESOME' =P

"I can probably answer those," Bjorn replies cheerfully.

"Well I'd been meaning to mention it," Nathan explains helpfully, "But you were having so much fun plotting that I didn't want to interrupt."

"Oh goodie, let's start with the last  one.  I'm sure the king would love such a secret.  And how gracious of you, Rez!  I'd give you applause, but that'd be rewarding using an antique response for the 'I can't believe you forgot to mention that' complaint, and you surely can do better than that."

Nathan rolls his eyes.

"I'm yanking your chain, Phil.  I did mention it - on the ornithopter after we met up.  It's the tablet I was theorising might be the church's 'message from the creator'.  Holmes wants to look at it, and I believe the Maestro does as well.  It just didn't seem relevant to raise the topic in front of His Majesty."

"No ice cream then?  Boo.  I'd forgotten apparently in the excitement of events.  Well then...What about the rest of you?  I take it Holmes and Rez are going to retrieve the book and investigate the gatekeeper?"

"That's a possibility," Holmes agrees.  "I imagine you're the best at determining your own distribution.  Who else would go where, then?"

"Well, will there be issues with examining the gate directly? I would like to go do that.  Perhaps Bjorn and I can get information out of the gates directly while Tom stays as sharp eyes and muscle alongside Tim?" He suggested.

OOC: *returns from GDC tiredly*  I see door.  Here's a breakup.  Say yay/nay whatever =P

"Sounds like a plan," Bjorn says, rising to his feet.  "Let's get to it."

"Very good," Holmes says, nodding.  "I will be readily available for discussion and questions, should you require any advice.  In the meantime, I've arranged for all of you -- save yourself, Master Maus -- to hold the same rank as Nathan, with regards to power of questioning those in town for the purposes of investigation.  Simply remember that when you use this power, your actions also reflect upon the Crown, and all that entails."  He slides a wooden case across the table; it opens to reveal a velvet-lined interior with custom-shaped recesses to hold a trio of elegant silver pocket-watches, each marked on the back with the symbol of a crown in a wheel, surrounded by a ring of lightning bolts.

Nathan recognizes them; he's wearing one at the moment.  There is no watch for Tim, his rank as near-royalty confers similar status anyway, and he's got the ring with his own crest on it.  "I will attend my own duties, but return to my office whenever necessary to check for communications from you," Holmes continues.  "Now, I'm afraid, I must attend a meeting with His Majesty, and Maester Sondheim."  He nods, then rises and marches swiftly from the room.

After some last minute banter and exploration involving how (or if) to wear a pocket-watch, Phil and Bjorn find a carriage to take them to the Gates, where they can investigate the technical issues.  Tim, Tom, and Nathan, however, remain in the office to discuss venues of exploration.

OOC: The former now go to The Black Gate is Closed (http://www.soulriders.org/forum/index.php?topic=100475.msg1008057#msg1008057) (Lord of the Rings OST); the latter continue to Questioning the Notion (http://www.soulriders.org/forum/index.php?topic=100476.msg1008058#msg1008058) (Daily Planet).

This thread now closes.