flopped into a comfortable armchair he’d dragged over from by the window, he noted that one of the strange contraptions he’d seen on the other desk actually appeared to be some sort of kettle. It was now on this desk, teetering on a pile of books, whilst Eira scouted around for where she’d left the sugar.
“Go on then,” she said, when they were settled and she was stirring her drink. “Ask me.”
“Ask you what?” Marcus asked, yawning.
“About my dreams. If I saw them, and you in them, then you saw them too.”
“Do we have to do this riddling all the time? Can’t you just tell me?”
Eira smiled crookedly, a slow grin that Marcus found disconcertingly familiar. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m pretty sure that I mentioned not being very good at explanations. I thought I might do better with source material, you asking questions and me answering them. It’s either that or we call for Eustace again. Please don’t make me do that.”
Marcus sighed. Outside, the sun was setting, casting long dark shadows across the room, and he was very much feeling that it was time to go to bed. But it seemed he had some miles yet to go before sleep, so he may as well hang in there and try to take it all in. “Alright. Horses.”
“That’s an easy one. I like horses.”
“Stampedes of horses?”
“Technically, it’s a herd. I like wild horses, they’re beautiful animals.”
“What,” Marcus asked, unable to fully believe he was pursuing this line of inquiry, “is wrong with domesticated horses?”
“Nothing, really. But everything looks better in the wild.” With this, Eira shook her hair down over her head and stared into her coffee cup. “What else?”
“Look, why are we doing this? Is this going somewhere?”
Eira nodded.
“Alright, fine. Purple-robed screeching zombies. Eustace said they were a council.”
“Ah,” Eira said, draining her cup and slamming it down onto a pile of books. The whole stack promptly collapsed and avalanched off the desk, eliciting a ‘tch’ of annoyance before the Master turned back to Marcus. “Yes. The council. The four most senior Viaggiatori are elected as a sort of elite council to work with and guide the Master. By which I mean ‘attempt to prevent them from doing anything vaguely outside the boundaries of what they’ve spent their entire lives doing’.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
“I’d say so. You see, most of the progress we’ve made here has been the result of someone daring to go and do something crazy. Nearly thirty years ago now, one of our people sought leave to take a small group into the Mirrorline to try out some theories he had. The council told him no, but he went anyway, and the result of that is most of what we now know about fast-travel between the two worlds. We discovered that the solidity of our reality was strong enough to bolster a frame of Lams and create a portal that wouldn’t be undone by the Mirrorline’s kinetic chaos, allowing us to move between our worlds instantaneously if we needed to. It was a massive step forward, and if they’d listened to the council then it might never have happened.”
“You lost me a bit there,” Marcus admitted. “What happened to this guy, this rebel?”
“They tried to make him the Master,” Eira said with a dark laugh. “But he ran away. So they wrote him into the Storie, then tried to pretend that he’d never existed. The old guard – or what’s left of the old guard from his day, since I guess he’d be the old guard himself now – they still refuse to say his name. They remember. Such is the legacy of Rashalamn. Now I have to deal with the old bastards every day, and I’m fairly sure they see me as another Rash waiting to happen. It’s fun stuff.”
“It sounds it,” Marcus tried to say, but his voice was hijacked by another yawn halfway through. He could feel the fog thickening over his mind again. Just one proper sleep, and then maybe he could feel normal again..
“Go on then,” she said, when they were settled and she was stirring her drink. “Ask me.”
“Ask you what?” Marcus asked, yawning.
“About my dreams. If I saw them, and you in them, then you saw them too.”
“Do we have to do this riddling all the time? Can’t you just tell me?”
Eira smiled crookedly, a slow grin that Marcus found disconcertingly familiar. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m pretty sure that I mentioned not being very good at explanations. I thought I might do better with source material, you asking questions and me answering them. It’s either that or we call for Eustace again. Please don’t make me do that.”
Marcus sighed. Outside, the sun was setting, casting long dark shadows across the room, and he was very much feeling that it was time to go to bed. But it seemed he had some miles yet to go before sleep, so he may as well hang in there and try to take it all in. “Alright. Horses.”
“That’s an easy one. I like horses.”
“Stampedes of horses?”
“Technically, it’s a herd. I like wild horses, they’re beautiful animals.”
“What,” Marcus asked, unable to fully believe he was pursuing this line of inquiry, “is wrong with domesticated horses?”
“Nothing, really. But everything looks better in the wild.” With this, Eira shook her hair down over her head and stared into her coffee cup. “What else?”
“Look, why are we doing this? Is this going somewhere?”
Eira nodded.
“Alright, fine. Purple-robed screeching zombies. Eustace said they were a council.”
“Ah,” Eira said, draining her cup and slamming it down onto a pile of books. The whole stack promptly collapsed and avalanched off the desk, eliciting a ‘tch’ of annoyance before the Master turned back to Marcus. “Yes. The council. The four most senior Viaggiatori are elected as a sort of elite council to work with and guide the Master. By which I mean ‘attempt to prevent them from doing anything vaguely outside the boundaries of what they’ve spent their entire lives doing’.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
“I’d say so. You see, most of the progress we’ve made here has been the result of someone daring to go and do something crazy. Nearly thirty years ago now, one of our people sought leave to take a small group into the Mirrorline to try out some theories he had. The council told him no, but he went anyway, and the result of that is most of what we now know about fast-travel between the two worlds. We discovered that the solidity of our reality was strong enough to bolster a frame of Lams and create a portal that wouldn’t be undone by the Mirrorline’s kinetic chaos, allowing us to move between our worlds instantaneously if we needed to. It was a massive step forward, and if they’d listened to the council then it might never have happened.”
“You lost me a bit there,” Marcus admitted. “What happened to this guy, this rebel?”
“They tried to make him the Master,” Eira said with a dark laugh. “But he ran away. So they wrote him into the Storie, then tried to pretend that he’d never existed. The old guard – or what’s left of the old guard from his day, since I guess he’d be the old guard himself now – they still refuse to say his name. They remember. Such is the legacy of Rashalamn. Now I have to deal with the old bastards every day, and I’m fairly sure they see me as another Rash waiting to happen. It’s fun stuff.”
“It sounds it,” Marcus tried to say, but his voice was hijacked by another yawn halfway through. He could feel the fog thickening over his mind again. Just one proper sleep, and then maybe he could feel normal again..
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