Rendering Nirayel-Stepping on Arbitos Page 7

  Another of those odd gadgets, he thought. Gnomes were always sporting some type of strange contraption. Such was their stock and trade.

  Oh, they had other interests, to be sure. Aphoris maintained a wide range of standard guilds: everything from Enchanter to Necromancer. What they all seemed to have in common, however, was their unerring, unending curiosity for gadgetry. It held strong ties in their culture as well. All Gnomes had a fierce pride in not only their Race's prowess in this respect, but in themselves as individuals. It was not simply a matter of a few stray gnomes puttering about laboratories and cooking up the occasional invention. They all seemed to share in this passion. Obviously, this woman was no exception in that respect.

  Experiencing a moment of inspiration, he decided to try a different approach. "How marvelous!" he abruptly exclaimed with a flamboyance only previously utilized when in the remote company of certain school chums who enjoyed his rendition of the Magistrate's own elaborate bearing.

  "Beg pardon?"

  "Milady, you simply must tell me who made those spectacular spectacles!"

  "Why, I constructed them myself," she admitted, a bright blush forming on her tiny cheeks.

  "No, no. I fear that's quite impossible," he offered expansively, defensively raising his hands and briefly glancing away, as if to ward off her fabrication.

  "And why is that, may I ask?" she inquired, anger rising in her voice. "Do you think me incapable?"

  "Well, I don't wish to insult milady, but quite frankly, I find it difficult to believe that a woman of your stature could take on the immense responsibilities of your esteemed office, then still find the time to develop anything as astounding as those fabulous spectacles. Besides, whoever did create them must have spent decades, or perhaps even centuries, perfecting their skills, and…well…obviously, you're hardly more than a girl."

  Borin afforded himself an inward pat on the back. Yes, he thought. A most interesting weapon indeed.

  "Ambassador?" intoned Lady Thindell in a voice suggesting that his self-congratulation might be premature. "I think I should warn you. Aside from correcting my vision, and detecting a number of various energy signatures, the spectacles also detect certain variations in the nervous system-especially when untruths are being told."

  ***

  Across the pavilion, a similar assortment of commissioned officers, shopkeepers, dignitaries, and various other members of the upper crust were standing in yet another line, similar to Borin's own.

  Jester understood the Captain's reasoning, but after all they had accomplished, it just didn't seem proper to exclude Delphi from all of this, especially after he had already asked her to attend. He frowned, recalling her reaction of the Captain's insistence. It was the first time she had actually appeared disappointed.

  Even so, it was Delphi herself who had eased the awkward situation for Jester, rather than the other way around. "This is a precarious time for all concerned, milord. Captain Krue is quite right. You must consider that there are very few who would accept a Dark-elf at such an event." Her argument had parroted the Captain's own, and he found himself wondering who was more disappointed: her, or perhaps himself.

  ***

  Before she had time to react, Marcus had steered them to the back of Jester's line. Introductions were kept brief in order to keep the lengthy procession moving. In a matter of moments she found herself next in line.

  There he was, her baby brother. Of course, he bore little resemblance to what was now certain to be no more than a drooling space case, if in fact he really was still there. As far as she knew, they could have discovered him, then, thinking he was in some sort of coma, they could have rushed him off for some weird emergency procedure, perhaps involving those little shock paddles.

  In what might soon have developed into an anxiety attack to compound her already shaken facade, she told herself, That isn't possible. He has to be there. If they had moved him away from the laptop, then Jesterwolf would cease to exist. At least that's what Kwibee had said. Still, she knew that the possibility remained, and the longer he was trapped, the greater the chance of that very calamity.

  She had asked Kwibee what would become of Jesse, were he to become separated from the signal, but the Doctor had danced around the question until she had become confused enough to drop the subject. Or perhaps his reluctance to answer had quenched her enthusiasm to understand. The best thing to do was simply get them out as quickly as possible.

  No. The figure before her looked nothing like Jesse-pointy ears, too short, too thin, reddish hair as opposed to Jesse's darker brown. Also, her brother would never be caught dead in such a getup. The official attire for Dryadic Ambassadors looked like a cross between eighteenth century buckskins, and a high school marching band uniform. Even so, she knew it was he, and not just because she was acquainted with the Jesterwolf character. He had the same Huckleberry expression as he always had: one she had always found most annoying when they were children.

  He bowed to kiss the hand of a rather short woman with a round face and even rounder belly. Her reduced stature was further exaggerated by his need to bow a bit lower. After a moment, Sarah realized the woman was in fact a Halfling.

  "Ambassador Thistle," announced Reginald formally. "Allow me to introduce two of our finest young Paladins. This is Lieutenant Marcus Goodfellow, and Corporal Selina Valorous.

  Jester offered Marcus a deep bow of respect.

  Marcus returned the gesture, being sure his bow was slightly deeper to illustrate his recognition of the Ambassador's office.

  "Marcus plans to become a fully vested Marshal," Reginald offered cordially. "I believe that Corporal Borin mentioned that you expect to get your star within the next three summers."

  "Is that right, Marc?" inquired the Magistrate, obviously impressed.

  "Two, actually," Marcus returned, half smirking at his own cheek.

  Then Jester turned to Selina, who curtsied while offering her hand. He took her hand, bowed so as to kiss it, and then returned to the formal posture Reginald had taught him. Presently, his polite smile faded to a blank expression. There was something quite odd about this woman-something that drew his attention for closer examination.

  Looking, or rather, staring at her, he found himself quite disquieted by some undefined recognition. A most perplexing vexation held him frozen for several long and uncomfortable moments. What was this strange and most elusive perception? Was she some old acquaintance, perhaps long forgot? He felt sure of it, and yet she appeared to be someone who he should have recalled instantly, were he to ever have crossed paths with her before now. She was certainly attractive enough, though somehow this notion felt unlikely, even revolting, though he knew not why. He experienced a small ambiguity he could not quite fathom. For some reason, she reminded him of Tuda, and for a very brief moment, he found himself wishing he had a Roc pie.

  An image of a small boy came to mind. A Round-eared child of perhaps five summers, standing behind an adolescent girl. The older girl was a sibling. How he knew this was as much a mystery as the image itself, and yet he knew it was so.

  The girl was quite angry with the youngster. She felt he was like unto a millstone about her neck. She had been granted entrance to some wondrous place of both mystery and adventure known as The Mall. And yet her admittance to this kingdom had come with a high price. She must bear the millstone, or be denied this heart's desire.

  Absently, he brought a hand to his forehead as a minor ache developed.

  ***

  {Get out! Get out now!} [Huh? What?] {The filter is collapsing! If you don't exit this area immediately, we lose the link!}

  ***

  The image began to fade. In a moment, it was gone, and when he looked up, so was Corporal Valorous. In glancing about, he caught a glimpse of her escort just as he descended the staircase, apparently in pursuit. The woman herself was already out of sight.

  Reginald exhorted a short but nervous laugh. "Ahh, youth. Always in a rush," he smiled sheepi
shly, hoping to avert attentions from the obvious faux pas.

  "Perhaps the lovebirds are in the midst of some quarrel," offered the Magistrate.

  "I was unaware that Selina and Marcus were even involved," returned one of the other officers in line to greet the new Ambassador.

  If he had not been committed to the business at hand, he too would have sought her out. As it was, Jester was left to his obligations. Some other time, he thought. Perhaps he would find her tomorrow. Whatever it was that had vexed him would simply have to wait. As he returned his attentions to those yet standing in line, he forced himself to ignore the mild headache that persisted.

  Chapter Four-Never Judge A Book Or A Harness By Its Cover

  Her unexpected departure was noticed by many in attendance, including Borin, whose attention was suddenly torn from the Candle-port Minister of justice as she sprinted past, followed closely by Marcus.

  Gads! he thought. What has that Hellcat stirred up now?

  He glanced back toward Jester's assemblage in time to witness his father's expression of embarrassment, along with Jester's own uncharacteristic look of confusion. From what he knew of the Druid, he doubted that confusion was something to which Jester was accustomed. Still, if anyone could vex him, it would certainly be Selina.

  Enough was enough. First she dares lecture me on propriety, and then turns about and causes a scene like that! Poor Marcus. He would attend to Valorous himself, at the earliest opportunity.

  ***

  When she was of a distance far enough from her brother, Kwibee determined that it was safe enough for her to stop running.

  Her current attire had not been designed to include athletic activity. Before she could think straight enough to inquire as to why Kwibee had insisted upon her self-inflicted embarrassment, she was first forced through constriction to readjust certain specific, and terribly uncomfortable, undergarments.

  "What in the Seventeen Realms of Abhoron was that all about?!" Marcus shouted as he caught up.

  Suddenly exhausted, she sat on the edge of a nearby fountain, and regarded him as one might a rash one had failed to give proper treatment, so that it had once again found her both annoyed and without opportunity for preparation: two problems she meant to put an end to immediately.

  ***

  With initial introductions of the more prominent and influential people out of the way, the new Ambassadors were expected to mingle with the greater number of common constituents. At least that was the surface reasoning behind official purpose. There were of course a large number of prominent people yet in the crowd. These were what Reginald had defined as those with careers of largely unimpressive influence, who remain potentially impressive, if they continued successfully to climb the political ladder.

  "Though of a less formal nature, this activity is no less vital to the overall image one presents," as the Magistrate had put it.

  "Quite right. First impressions are most important," Reginald agreed quickly.

  "At this point, whom you meet is not so important," continued the Magistrate, "as is realizing how you are seen, and not only by those who might be considered of influence, but by…"

  "The people in general," continued Reginald, as if completing the Magistrate's own thoughts while the Magistrate himself continued to nod with enthusiastic vigor in light of the Captain's astute observations.

  Borin and Jester listened for several minutes longer as both the Magistrate and the Captain droned on about the importance of public relations. At one point, Jester looked to Borin as if to say, Is all this quite necessary? As he was just as new to all of this frivolity as was Jester, Borin could only shrug his shoulders in response.

  Neither of their two elders had even noticed. They were both thoroughly absorbed in the tandem lecture of wisdom they meant to impart. When they were at last satisfied that the two younger men were properly prepared for dealing with the crowd, they left Jester and Borin to the all too important task of mingling amidst their constituency.

  What followed was a series of hand-shaking, baby-kissing, bowing, flattering, hand-kissing, posturing, and general schmoozing amongst every type of Race and Class maintaining good relations with Arbitos and Spurious. During this time, the good Captain had been watching Jester's progress while the Magistrate concentrated on Borin. Later, they would compare notes, so as to determine what weak points their protégés should work on.

  Jester did fairly well. His one true failing was in his reaction to the Norwen High Shaman's perfume. The woman appeared most embarrassed when Jester unavoidably held his nose the entire time he was in her presence. As it turned out, Reginald learned that the latest rage in the Norwen Prefectures was a perfume derived from a concentration of walrus feces and mammoth musk. The reaction received from the males of her own Race had been most favorable. She had no idea it would be so poorly received by others.

  Later, he learned that Borin had come upon a small problem himself when confronted by the Colliefur Potentate's offer to allow him to bed three of his most favored concubines. This was further exacerbated by the abject howling of the Potentate's head consort, Lassilla, who had apparently been mortified beyond her ability to maintain composure.

  Of course, no actual insult had been intended. Simply put, Ambassador Krue was not particularly attracted to Gnolls, not even the non-violent variety.

  The Magistrate managed to smooth the situation over by explaining that what Borin had meant to say was that he simply did not feel worthy of such an honor, and that such truly superior Ladies should never be exposed to anything but the finest stock available.

  At this, the Potentate quickly calmed, and upon reflection, even returned to thank Borin for his conscientious consideration for the Colliefur pack.

  Borin was of course as gracious as could be expected, but could not help but cast the occasional glowering glance in the Magistrate's direction.

  ***

  "Ahh, Ambassador Thistle. I fear, in all the commotion, that I may have neglected properly to introduce myself," crooned Colonel Clawtorn sweetly while sweeping into an impressive curtsy and presenting the Ambassador with her outstretched hand.

  This action was not received in great favor by the Captain of the Brinehaven Militia, who accordingly shot the intruding woman a most disapproving scowl, when the Ambassador was forced to turn away from his attendance in order to address her interruption.

  "Think nothing of it, milady," Jester offered reassuringly, quickly bowing to kiss the Lady's hand. "The Colonel's reputation precedes her. Won't you join us?" he offered.

  "To be perfectly honest, I was rather hoping that the Ambassador could join me," she smiled.

  Jester glanced back toward the gentleman from Brinehaven, who was beginning to look quite put out. The man's wife, who up until this point had been content to remain seated, had abruptly come to her feet and was currently matching her husband's own indignant scowl.

  "I really shouldn't rush off so quickly, milady. What would our guests think of me?"

  "I'm sure they can do without you for a few minutes," she assured him while offering the angry couple a perfunctory smile.

  "What's all this, then?" inquired the Magistrate.

  "Oh… Well, I thought I should acquaint the Ambassador with his new Estate, and perhaps introduce him to the staff of servants."

  "There is a time and a place, Colonel," intoned the Magistrate sternly.

  "Yes… Yes, I'm sure you're quite right, milord. Yes…well then…I suppose I have other duties to be about," she stammered while backing away. There continued an awkward moment that seemed to linger in a radius about her, as all eyes in the immediate vicinity turned to stare. She quickly turned about and scurried off.

  "I swear!" exclaimed the Magistrate. "That woman can be so exasperating at times." He continued to watch her make her way through the crowd until out of sight, and then returned his attention to the business at hand.

  "May I please have your attention!" he shouted so as to be heard by all pre
sent. "The inauguration ceremony will commence within the hour. Please make your way to the lower reception area and you will be seated accordingly."

  ***

  "Nanna?" Dobin whined. This Collar's too tight."

  "Quit yer fidgetin, boy. The collar stays buttoned. Ya look just like a little gentleman." She smiled proudly while twirling the fancy ribbon-bound toothpick she had smuggled out of the Magistrate's tea party.

  Tuda giggled at the idea of her brother being thought of as a gentleman.

  The resulting glare she received from Dobin seemed to indicate that were there no adults about, she might quickly find herself far less amused.

  Accordingly, she responded with the customary cross-eyed stare, which was of course accompanied by her tongue, like a small red flag waving before an angry Minitor.

  "Stop that!" Magnatha exclaimed while reaching over Dobin to spank her.

  Tuda complied immediately, yet swayed far enough out of her grandmother's reach to avoid physical reprisal.

  When Magnatha's attention returned to the Speaker, who was now ascending the stage near the center of the amphitheater, Dobin quickly turned to his sister, sticking his own tongue out, and then just as quickly returning his own feigned attentions toward the Speaker. After a moment, he could feel Magnatha's steely gaze. He casually turned to witness her stern expression. "What?" he asked, as if her glaring accusation was unfounded, if for no other reason but his obvious ignorance to the purpose of her attention.

  "If the two a ya canna behave, then I'll just have ta put ya both on the back row with yer folks."

  Both children immediately faced forward, folding their little hands in their little laps.