CHAPTER 4 
CHAPTER 4 As Jason hiked away from the Repository of Learning, he soon realized that the loremaster was right about at least one thing—those berries had really replenished his energy. He felt like doing karate or acrobatics or a decathlon. All drowsiness gone, he strode toward the rising sun, wrapped against the chill in his cloak, wondering how long it would take to leave the woods behind.
All day he marched, traversing a rolling succession of forested hills, breaking only to snack on mushrooms. There was no denying anymore that somehow he really had been transported into an alternate reality. He could very well live out his life here without discovering a way back. There might not even be a way home. He had to focus on following the one lead the loremaster had offered, and pray the Blind King could help him get home.
Eventually Jason’s thirst became irresistible. He stooped beside one of the cleaner-looking streams he had encountered and took a drink, trying to ignore the slimy moss coating the rocks and the bugs gliding across the surface where the water pooled. The cool water tasted good. He figured if he was going to get sick drinking from a stream, he might as well do it in style, so he drank until he was full.
The sun sank behind him, casting a golden glow over the woods. The force of gravity seemed gradually to increase as Jason’s berry-induced vigor wore thin. When he crested a final hilltop and found more hills beyond, he spread out his blanket beside a tree and slept instantly.
* * *
The following afternoon, with the trees thinning and the hills flattening, Jason found the parallel ruts of a cart track. The weedy track headed generally eastward, so he followed it until it evolved into a narrow lane.
Glancing back at the last of the wooded hills, he froze, certain he had seen a form dive into the shadows a good distance up the slope. He stared at the spot where the half-glimpsed figure seemed to have landed. Leaves whiffled in the breeze. He saw no other movement. Finally he continued along the lane, occasionally stealing quick glances behind, but noticed nothing else out of the ordinary.
After a time a strange cottage came into view, obnoxiously painted in many bright shades, with no length of trim or windowsill matched in color. Sequined curtains shimmered behind octagonal windows. Smoke twisted up from a chimney composed of yellow and blue bricks. A low green fence painted with innumerable flowers enclosed a spacious yard.
“Pssst, hey, you, longshanks, step over here.”
The harsh whisper came from a stand of low trees to his left, making Jason jump and turn.
“Be quick about it,” the voice urged. Near the base of a tree, obscured by brush, squatted a disheveled man in layers of dark, filth-stained clothing. He wore fingerless gloves of gray yarn. A shapeless black hat sat on his head like a deflated basketball. His furtive face bristled with whiskers. “Come down here out of sight.”
“Are you trying to rob me?”
“I’m harmless. Be quick.”
Jason complied, descending the shoulder of the lane to stand above the stranger within the cover of the trees and undergrowth. “What do you want?”
“I know this community,” the man said. “You’re an outsider. What brings you this way?”
“I’m looking for the Blind King,” Jason said.
The man squinted up at him skeptically. “I suggest you move along. There’s barely enough pickings around here for one man to quietly skim the cream. Two would starve.”
“I’m not here to beg,” Jason said.
“Beg?” the man spluttered, obviously offended. “I’m no beggar! I live by my wits! And I don’t need interlopers stirring up the henhouse.”
“Why are you hiding here?”
“I’m taking measure of the situation,” he said. “Franny’s been baking. Mind crouching a little? Good lad. Name’s Aster.” He held out a hand. Jason shook it, certain the courtesy was transmitting fleas.
“I’m Jason. I’m not here to cause trouble for anyone. Once I find the Blind King, I’m sure I’ll head elsewhere. I’ve got plenty of my own problems.”
Aster gave a curt nod. “I believe you.”
“You’re going to steal from that house?”
Aster’s face split into a wicked grin. “More than likely. Not enough to do the owner any harm, mind you. Just pinch a pie or two.”
“Do you travel much?” Jason asked.
“Don’t have much use for it. Travel involves uncertainty. I found myself some well-fed gulls, so I chiefly stay hereabouts. Live off the surplus. Say, you don’t happen to have a morsel to spare? Not a handout, mind you. I’ll pay you back tenfold in meat pie if you’ll wait around for an hour or so. It’s just that all this waiting has teased my appetite.”
Jason opened his food sack. “I guess I could spare a couple of mushrooms.”
The vagrant pulled a disgusted face. “You must be in a worse fix than I am, if you’ve resorted to dining on fungus. And I honestly have no idea what to make of your outfit. But you strike me as a companionable fellow. Tell you what—sit with me a spell and I’ll snatch us a hearty meal. Assuming you’ll move along afterward.”
The reek of the man alone was sufficient deterrent. “Thank you for your generosity, but I’d better keep moving. I actually meant to knock on the door to that cottage and ask directions.”
The vagrant suddenly looked alarmed. “You won’t seek to spoil my raid, right, friend? I’ve been counting on this meal.”
Jason wondered if the man could be dangerous. “I’ll do my best to repay your friendliness,” he replied ambiguously.
“Fair enough,” Aster said. “Try not to cause a stir. Give my regards to the Blind King.”
Jason returned to the lane, glad for the fresh air, and strolled to a sky-blue gate in the low green fence. “Hello?” he shouted. “Anybody home?”
A moment later the front door opened, and an obese woman with a bright scarf tied round her head leaned out, a cheery smile spreading her cheeks. Her smoothly bloated features gave her face an ageless quality. The smile disappeared when she saw Jason. “What business have you here?”
“I’m just passing through the area,” Jason said amiably.
“This town has no use for drifters,” the woman warned, scowling. “Keep on walking.”
Jason looked around. He saw no town. Her home must be on the outskirts. “I’m wondering if you can direct me to the Blind King?”
Her scowl deepened. “Are you one of his misfits? You ought to know where to find him.”
“I’ve never met him,” Jason said. “I need his advice. I’m Jason.”
The woman sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude, Jason, but these are ugly times. Fair faces and kind words can disguise foul intentions.”
“I’m only asking for directions,” Jason maintained. “I’m not trying to make waves.”
The woman opened the door wider, and an enormous dog padded onto the porch. The beastly canine looked like a bulldog the size of a Saint Bernard. Its hair was short enough to imply it had recently been shaved bald. The animal shook its deeply folded face and emitted a brusque sound between a growl and a cough. Jason would not have been eager to steal anything from a house with such a monstrous guardian. Aster was apparently bolder than Jason had realized.
“Puggles here would prefer if you stopped straining our hospitality,” the woman insisted. “I have an alarm beside the door. Don’t make me call the militia.”
Jason glanced over toward where Aster was hiding. “Listen, lady,” Jason confided in a loud whisper. “I don’t really need anything from you. I have food in my bag and a destination in mind. But I have important information.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean? Who sent you?”
“Nobody sent me. I just happen to know about a thief who intends to raid your house.”
Her expression relaxed, and she chuckled. “You mean Aster?”
“You know him?”
A smile crept onto her face. “That scoundrel takes food from me three times each week, like clockwork. I’ve known him for years. The loafer refuses to accept charity, but if I let him feel like he’s stealing, he’ll swipe whatever I leave to cool on the windowsill. He fancies himself a soldier of fortune. I would welcome him to stay in a guest room, but he won’t have it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“How odd.”
“Perhaps. But he keeps his pride, and I perform a service for a friend. He watches out for me. He’s run off troublemakers more than once.”
“You’re a generous person.”
Her smile widened, then faltered. “Funny he didn’t bother you.”
“We spoke,” Jason said.
She nodded. “He’s an able judge of character. You must have landed on his good side.” She looked Jason up and down. “You tried to warn me of trouble. You can’t be all bad. You wear strange apparel. Do you come from far away?”
“You have no idea,” Jason said. “Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I could really use directions to the Blind King.”
The woman paused, biting her lower lip. “I’m Francine. Franny. I hate to be unwelcoming. It isn’t my desire. You can come up to the porch if you like, Jason. I can at least offer you some bread.”
“Would you rather I swiped it from your windowsill?”
“Don’t try it. Puggles knows Aster. I’d end up finding pieces of you buried around the yard.”
Jason held up both hands. “Okay. Maybe the porch would be best.” He reached for the gate, and Puggles barked. Jason paused.
“Puggles, heel,” Franny ordered, slapping her thigh. She pointed for the dog to go back inside the house, and the bulky canine trundled out of sight.
Jason let himself through the gate. Franny disappeared inside. By the time Jason had mounted the porch steps, she had returned with a loaf of bread wrapped in a coarse bag.
“I have a weakness for the downtrodden,” she confessed. “But that doesn’t make me gullible. A word from me, and Puggles will tear you apart. If you know boarhounds, you know I’m not exaggerating. And we know Aster is watching as well.”
“I hear you,” Jason said politely. “About the Blind King . . .”
“It isn’t far. Continue down my lane to the crossroads and turn left. You’ll pass the Gamester’s farm, fork right onto the gravel road, and shortly come into view of the castle.”
“So he’s a real king with a castle and everything?”
“Not everything,” Franny clarified. “He’s the unofficial arbiter around here. It would be a stretch to label him a real king. Opinions about him vary. He settles disputes, offers advice. Some do his bidding, but he lacks real authority from the emperor.”
“Will it be hard to get into his castle? Do I just knock?”
“Speak with the gatewarden. The king grants audience liberally. You really know so little about him?”
“I only know I need to have a talk with him.”
“Your business is your business. By all reports he is a just arbiter. Some who surround him seem odd. You’ll have to form your own opinion.”
“What do you think of him?” Jason asked.
“He keeps a fairly high profile in a time when it might be more prudent to lay low. You should be on your way.”
“Thank you, Franny.”
“You seem very open,” Franny said sadly. “You should travel with more care. There are plenty abroad who would take advantage of you.”
Jason descended the porch steps and backed toward the gate. “Thanks for the warning, and the bread.”
“We never met,” Franny said, retreating into her multihued house and closing the door.
Jason waved at the trees where Aster was hiding, then started down the lane. He opened the bag and tore off a chunk of warm bread, which tasted hearty. By contrast it made the bread back home seem ridiculously flimsy. Grateful to have something to eat besides mushrooms, Jason consumed almost half the loaf.
Not long after Franny’s home passed out of sight, Jason reached the crossroads. A white stone obelisk marked the intersection. One side of the obelisk was deeply scarred, as if an inscription had been gouged away. Aside from the tall marker and the dirt roads, no evidence of civilization could be seen in any direction.
Jason turned left, passing feral fields of tall grass interrupted by occasional copses of trees. He saw the charred remnants of a house, thorny shrubs growing up among the blackened wood, the scorched chimney still mostly intact.
Presently he came upon tended fields where crops grew in long rows. A fenceless house came into view up ahead: a low, sturdy structure. Out front a burly, shirtless man in overalls sat on a short stool sketching on a large parchment propped on an easel. Another fellow sat nearby on the grass, fiddling with a series of interlocked iron shapes. On a nearby table rested a ceramic dome segmented by lines suggesting it was a complex three-dimensional puzzle. Farther back towered a bronze sculpture comprised of bizarre shapes balanced precariously. Certain portions of the sculpture were on pivots and swiveled lazily in the breeze, squealing faintly.
“Hi, there,” Jason said from the lane. “Is one of you the Gamester?”
“I am,” said the man in overalls. He stood, a husky man with arms like a linebacker. He seemed a tad wary, but unafraid.
“Did you make that puzzle?” Jason said, jerking his head at the man trying to unlink the shapes.
“I did, along with many others.”
“I like that sculpture.”
“It can be reassembled in many combinations.”
“Do you sell your puzzles?”
He shook his head. “I give them away.”
“Do many people come by?”
“Mainly just Jerome here. Most folks would rather not bother. Sometimes a few will come and watch Jerome solve a series of my toughest creations.”
Jason gestured at the parchment. “Are you designing a new puzzle?”
The Gamester nodded. “I permit no man to view my designs.” He rolled up the parchment, even through Jason could view none of the drawing from where he stood. “What brings you this way, stranger?”
“I need to speak with the Blind King.”
“How do you know the Blind King?”
“Isn’t he famous?” Jason answered vaguely.
“Locally, yes, to some extent. But you are not from these parts.”
Jason was unsure what to say. “It might be best not to ask me too many questions.”
“Fair enough,” the Gamester replied. “Safe journey.”
Jason turned his back on the peculiar pair. The Gamester had not acted very welcoming and had seemed a little too curious. He walked briskly.
After a few miles Jason stopped and stripped off his gray coveralls for the first time, revealing his T-shirt and jeans. A tentative sniff proved that his sweat-marked underarms reeked like unwashed monkeys. It was long past time to wash up and do some laundry. Maybe the castle would have someplace to bathe.
Continuing on with cloak, blanket roll, and coveralls bundled under one arm, he eventually forked right onto a gravel road. Crunching along the gravel sapped more energy than walking on the hard-packed lane. The road wound around a hill, finally bringing him below the shade of broad-leafed trees.
As he rounded the back side of the hill, the castle came into view, constructed atop a shallower hill behind the first. The massive stone complex looked abandoned. Sagging walls topped with crumbling battlements had collapsed entirely in some locations. Only two towers remained standing, one of which was so crooked and damaged it looked ready to topple at a cough from a butterfly. Jumbled heaps of stone and rotted beams marked where other structures had already fallen. The decrepit castle looked like an ideal hideout for thieves or vagabonds. No wonder Aster had told Jason to send the Blind King his regards.
Jason sighed. Had the loremaster misled him? Might he have sent him into a trap? Jason was quickly losing confidence that the Blind King would be able to help him. But with no apparent alternatives, what else could he do?
The gravel path led Jason to a corroded, raised drawbridge with a small door built in its center. A plank led across the shallow, dry moat. Outside the door stood a grave, middle-aged man clad in mismatched armor and clutching a poleax. “Who might you be, sir?” the gatewarden inquired stiffly. Despite the ruins around him he apparently took his job seriously.
“I might be anyone,” Jason said. “I’m searching for the Blind King.”
“Have you scheduled an audience with His Majesty?”
“No. I’ve recently arrived from a distant land.”
“Do you come on an errand of royal consequence?”
“Of course.”
“Your name?”
“Jason.”
“Wait here while I inquire within.” The man unlocked the door using a key from his belt. Probably not the best defensive strategy to give a lone, exposed guard the key to the door he was protecting. Then again not the best idea to have huge gaps in your walls, either. The gatewarden disappeared through the door.
A few minutes later he returned. “His Majesty bade me to admit you. Take care to show him the respect befitting a sovereign of his magnificence.”
The gatewarden escorted Jason across a courtyard where weeds thrived between the cracks of uneven paving stones. They passed close by the precariously teetering tower. The entire complex appeared deserted. Nobody roamed the courtyard, and the windows in the surviving structures looked vacant. Motioning with his poleax, the gatekeeper ushered Jason through a set of double doors into the sturdiest building within the castle compound, which adjoined the only solid tower.
The building housed a great hall. Birds roosted in the rafters, and white streaks of droppings marked the floor and trestle tables. At the far end of the room, upon a moldering dais, a shabby man sat upon a battered throne. A dingy rag bound his eyes, a tarnished crown rested upon his gray hair, and a grimy green robe edged in dirty white fur enshrouded his body. He looked like some old homeless guy playing the part of a wise man in a soup-kitchen Christmas pageant.
Three attendants stood nearby: a mustached man in a stained velvet cap fingering a dented trumpet, an ugly woman with her hair caught up under a faded bonnet, and a humbly clad, young minstrel holding a lute.
“Presenting Lord Jason,” called the man in the velvet cap in a proud voice, blasting a flourish on his trumpet for emphasis. The loud notes sounded brassy and annoying, echoing harshly off the bare walls of the cavernous hall.
“One moment,” croaked the old king. “First allow my chancellor to complete his report.”
“As you will, sire,” the minstrel said in a courtly voice, casting a nervous glance at Jason. “As I was recounting, the invading armies have been repelled beyond our frontiers. General Braddock reports staggering enemy casualties. He hesitates at our borders awaiting your command.”
“Onward,” the king coughed, waving an arm. “Use our initiative to drive them into oblivion before they can reform.”
“A dispatch will be sent at once.”
“Sooner,” the king demanded. “What now?”
“The matter of Lord Jason,” said the man in the velvet cap.
“Come forward,” rasped the old king, beckoning with one hand.
Jason gaped at the ridiculous scene.
“Go on,” urged the gatewarden quietly.
Jason approached the dais. “Greetings, mighty king,” he said politely, opting to play along with the charade. It required some effort to restrain his sarcasm.
“Welcome to my realm,” the king intoned, spreading an arm outward, sightlessly indicating the damaged walls and dilapidated furnishings. It was embarrassingly clear that the Blind King believed he ruled a grand domain. Jason felt tempted to turn and walk out. There seemed no chance that this pathetic pretender could help him. But it would be rude. And he had no other place to go.
“What brings you before His Majesty?” asked the minstrel, now speaking in a softer, higher-pitched tone.
“I come seeking wisdom,” Jason replied, trying to sound formal.
“He comes to the right place,” the minstrel declared in a different voice, having changed positions. The others cried out, “Hear, hear,” repeating the words in various voices. What an act! Jason threw in a “Hear, hear” of his own.
The king raised his hands for silence. “What wisdom do you seek, young traveler?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
The attendants murmured theatrically.
“What guided you to my kingdom?”
“I was referred here by a loremaster. He lives in a repository—”
“Say no more. I understand.” Jason noticed the king’s grip momentarily tighten on the arms of the throne.
The attendants mumbled vaguely about the perceptiveness of the king. The woman crept some distance away, coughed loudly, and returned.
“I would converse with Lord Jason at once in the privacy of my chambers,” the king proclaimed.
The attendants looked shocked. Apparently this was an infrequent invitation.
“As you command, Your Majesty,” the minstrel finally responded in a deep voice.
The woman aided the king to his feet and helped him down the dais steps. “Let young Jason serve as my guide,” the king said. The woman stepped away, and the gatewarden hurriedly directed Jason forward. The king placed a hand on his shoulder. Jason followed the gatewarden out one side of the hall.
The gatewarden eyed Jason, making grandiose gestures. Jason took the cue. “You have a spectacular castle,” he said.
“Most gracious of you,” the king replied in his raspy voice. “We will proceed alone from this point.” The gatekeeper bowed and returned to the hall. When they advanced to a curving staircase, the king grasped the banister. “I require no further aid.” Jason followed the king up the stone steps, into the more stable of the two towers. The old guy mounted the long flight at an impressive pace. Despite his long gray hair and beard he seemed in healthy condition.
Eventually they spiraled up to the highest room in the tower. The stairs stopped at a heavy door bound in iron. “Here we are,” the king said, unlocking the door and leading Jason through the portal.
The room was nicely appointed, with clean furnishings and a canopied bed. The king moved about the room almost as if he could see. With one hand extended probingly, the king found a cushioned chair. “Please be seated.”
Jason took a seat across from the king, who sat straight and tall. For the first time Jason noticed the broadness of his shoulders. His bearing somehow seemed more regal than when he had been slumped upon the throne.
“Bridonus sent you,” the king stated.
“He did, Your Majesty.”
“Then you have seen inside the book bound in living skin?”
The question surprised Jason. “I have.”
The king exhaled. “At long last.”
“How do you know about the book?”
“I too have seen within its pages, though few in my kingdom know this fact. You have part of the Word?”
Jason stared at the ragged king. “The first syllable.”
“A great burden now rests on your shoulders,” the king murmured. “You must think me a fool.”
“I have no army. I know I live inside a derelict castle with a handful of well-meaning courtiers. Some of them do not realize I know this, or they pretend not to realize. It gives them great satisfaction to believe they have convinced me that I rule a mighty domain. I do rule here, but my kingdom is the opposite of mighty. For their benefit I put on a stately air, and I play along with the silly intrigues and wars they fabricate.”
Recovering from his absurd first impression, Jason was beginning to hope this king might be able to help him after all. “I’ve come across some weird relationships lately.”
“Explain.”
“A woman who lets a hobo steal from her because he refuses to accept her charity. A game maker who crafts puzzles for the single person who takes the time to solve them. And now you and your subjects.”
The sightless monarch nodded. “People find meaning where they can. These are uncertain times. Part of the reason I play along with our ludicrous pretentions is because it casts us in a ridiculous light. The more absurd we seem, the less we need to fear the emperor.” He folded his hands upon his lap. “You have a sharp eye for connections. Where do you hail from?”
“That’s hard to explain.”
The king stroked his beard. “Are you a Beyonder?”
Jason’s heart rate quickened. “Bridonus used that word. I think so.”
“How did you come to our world?”
“I know how this sounds.” Jason shifted uncomfortably. “I came here through a hippopotamus.”
“A water horse? Intriguing. Recount how it transpired.”
Jason was thrilled the old guy seemed to believe him. “I worked in a zoo, and one day I heard music coming from the hippo. I got too close trying to listen and fell into the tank. The hippo swallowed me. Except not really. I was suddenly sliding down a tunnel. Then I came out of a tree and couldn’t get back.”
“What happened next?”
“Well, the music came from a bunch of musicians floating on a raft.”
“The Giddy Nine.”
“That’s right! They were headed for a waterfall. I tried to rescue them, but I messed it up and everyone got angry. Then I found the Repository of Learning, read the book, and Bridonus booted me out and told me to find you.”
The Blind King nodded, stroking his beard again, a faint smile bending his lips. “Perhaps those merrymakers were right after all,” the king murmured. “They summoned a Beyonder.”
“Excuse me?”
“The leader of the Giddy Nine, Simeon, was an adventurous man, more soldier than minstrel. He used their music as a subversive tool, so naturally the performers began to make enemies. He took time off and went to visit a prophetess, one of the few remaining oracles with any real credibility. The act required an arduous journey. Upon his return he consulted with me before implementing her instructions.”
“Some oracle told him to float off a waterfall?” Jason asked.
“Essentially. Tell me about your life in the Beyond.”
“I’m a student. My dad is a dentist. I live in a nice house. Our world is really different from yours.” As Jason spoke, he realized how far away all of that had already begun to feel. He was sitting in an ancient tower—homework and baseball seemed almost surreal.
The Blind King nodded pensively. “Have you ever sacrificed for a cause?”
“Um . . . I’ve helped with some car washes to raise money for our local soup kitchen. Nothing drastic. I keep trying to understand where I am, and how I can get home. Can you help me?”
“Not many remain who possess the sort of information you seek. Of those who do, few would bother to help you. Maldor discourages the naming of places. He forbids the production of maps. He frowns upon traveling. He teaches the populace to distrust strangers. He wants a fog of ignorance to disconnect our world. None are allowed to discuss the Beyond or the forbidden language. Many have forgotten much, or have never learned it. Others pretend to have forgotten.”
“But you’re not afraid of the emperor?”
“I am afraid for many reasons. Not so much for myself. I love this land. I do what I can.”
“Can you help me understand what I should do to get home? Or maybe where I should start looking? What do you know about the Beyond? I still don’t really get where I am.”
The king scratched his cheek. “I can’t say how to access the Beyond. I’m not sure who might be able to tell you. Others have crossed over from the Beyond, though never frequently, and as of late, traffic between our worlds has come to a standstill.
“I can do my best to orient you. Years ago this particular fiefdom was called Fortaim, and an earl occupied this castle. Fortaim rests upon a peninsula that juts westward from the mainland out into a vast ocean. Following the river westward over the falls, you would have come to the estuary where it empties into the sea. But you went south without a trail until you happened upon the Repository of Learning. From there you came eastward along the peninsula until you arrived at this ruined castle. The river, once called the Telkron, lies a few miles to the north.”
Jason was impressed. “Who needs a map with you around?”
The Blind King steepled his fingers. “Once I had eyes, and I used them to travel widely in search of the Word.”
“How did you lose them?”
“In a fight with a devious conscriptor. He hurled powdered acid in my face, flaying my skin and stealing my sight. A small inhalation scorched my throat, damaging my voice. The conscriptor captured me. Eventually I came before Maldor. The emperor offered me new eyes. I refused. I would not accept the restoration of my sight at the price of becoming one of his spies. So I was delivered to his tormentors.”
Jason swallowed. This old king was something serious.
“Now you must pursue the Word,” the king said.
“Honestly, I’d rather find a way home.”
“No doubt you would. Should you encounter a way back to the Beyond, I would be the last to blame you for fleeing our world. We teeter on the brink of destruction. But a path back will be difficult to find. Perhaps impossible. In the meanwhile you should seek the Word. Mark my warning—Maldor already pursues you. Seeking the Word is your sole chance for survival. Remain still, or wander aimlessly, and you will be taken.”
Jason shifted uncomfortably. He felt no heroic urge to become Blind Lord Jason. “Did you learn much of the Word?”
“I learned some. More than most, I believe. But the syllables I acquired are lost, along with the memories of where I found most of them. Maldor’s tormentors used relentless conditioning to abolish many recollections. When it comes to the Word, I remember few specifics. But I retain a few fragmented memories on the subject. I still remember Bridonus, and the book itself.”
“So I should leave, then?”
“Rest here for the night. There is somebody you must meet, a fellow traveler. Share a meal with us. I will provide further counsel on the morrow. How does roasted pheasant strike you?”
“I’ve been living off of mushrooms.”
“Go ring the bell twice. It will summon Chandra, my cook.”
Jason went to a bell mounted atop a dresser and delivered a pair of sharp blows with the tiny mallet resting beside it.