placed strategically around the room.
The Keeper arrived, dressed opulently for dinner, all brocade and ruffles —casting Angel and me in the roles of poor country cousins. He took his place at the head of the table, immediately sampling an offering of wine to ensure its suitability for guests. His suddenly sophisticated demeanor surprised me. I declined the beverage.
“You do not care for wine,” the Keeper asked.
“It’s not that,” I said. “Your hospitality has been flawless, but I have been warned that the living cannot survive on the fare of the dead.”
He nodded sagely. “Yes, of course, I should have remembered. Unfortunately, I have nothing else to set before you.”
I quoted a line often heard from my father, when he was not off in some king’s court teaching fencing, “What cannot be changed must be endured.”
“What would happen,” Angelique asked me, “if you did drink the wine?”
Children are curious over the oddest things. I shrugged. “That is something I am not willing to discover.” I thought of the pouch left in my room. “Fortunately, I have water from Avalon to prolong life and strength. It is said to possess remarkable restorative properties.”
“Shall I have it fetched for you?” the Keeper asked.
“No!” Angel answered, scooting her chair hastily back from the table. “I will get it for you, Mama!” She raced off, and I noticed the Keeper’s arched eyebrows.
“Mama? How can the living mother the dead?”
“That is my business,” I snapped back.
He looked more amused than offended by my tone. More and more, I began to believe the man an impostor. This could be the Gamesman, playing yet another game.
Azrael swept into the room, taking a chair well away from me.
I definitely needed to resolve matters with him. Soon after, the first course arrived on silver platters. Needing a topic for conversation, I seized upon the many miracles we had seen within this house. “The moving closet, the water-filled railings that glow, your statue servants; why are their wonders here that are no where else in the city?” I asked.
The Master of Gears took a sip of wine before answering. “The things you speak of —the technology that moves the city, and the crystal-powered gates that connect many worlds—are from my home-world. My people deal in mysteries and secrets, bartering them.”
“What world is that?” Azrael asked.
“Atlan,” our host said. “We are descendants of survivors of a great cataclysm long ago on Earth.”
“ Your people are survivors of Atlantis,” I asked, “the island continent that sank into the sea?”
Our host nodded. “My ancestors gated to a new world we might not have chosen if not for the press of time, and have built a wondrous civilization through the centuries.”
“Then why would you come here to be the Gamesman’s servant?” Azrael asked.
“I have ... my reasons.”
The Master of Gears had reasons he was not going to share. I wondered if he might be some banished criminal, forbidden to return under threat of execution, or some out-of-favor lord escaping political retribution.
Angelique returned with the water flask. She filled my goblet and I drained it thirstily. Whatever its virtue, the flavor was unremarkable. Pity, I expected more.
My thoughts fragmented, scattered by a wild wind within my skull. Waves of dizziness came and went. I put my hand to my head, covering my eyes for a moment.
“Celeste?” The dark stranger’s whispery voice seemed impossibly far. “Are you all rig ht?”
Whoever Celeste was, she failed to answer.
I stood slowly and the room canted disagreeably. My head felt so light, I had to touch it again to be sure it had not floated away. The winds inside me were screaming now, a roaring in my ears. I gasped, trying to breathe as the air turned thick as resin. The candles blurred, throwing out winding bars of
The Keeper arrived, dressed opulently for dinner, all brocade and ruffles —casting Angel and me in the roles of poor country cousins. He took his place at the head of the table, immediately sampling an offering of wine to ensure its suitability for guests. His suddenly sophisticated demeanor surprised me. I declined the beverage.
“You do not care for wine,” the Keeper asked.
“It’s not that,” I said. “Your hospitality has been flawless, but I have been warned that the living cannot survive on the fare of the dead.”
He nodded sagely. “Yes, of course, I should have remembered. Unfortunately, I have nothing else to set before you.”
I quoted a line often heard from my father, when he was not off in some king’s court teaching fencing, “What cannot be changed must be endured.”
“What would happen,” Angelique asked me, “if you did drink the wine?”
Children are curious over the oddest things. I shrugged. “That is something I am not willing to discover.” I thought of the pouch left in my room. “Fortunately, I have water from Avalon to prolong life and strength. It is said to possess remarkable restorative properties.”
“Shall I have it fetched for you?” the Keeper asked.
“No!” Angel answered, scooting her chair hastily back from the table. “I will get it for you, Mama!” She raced off, and I noticed the Keeper’s arched eyebrows.
“Mama? How can the living mother the dead?”
“That is my business,” I snapped back.
He looked more amused than offended by my tone. More and more, I began to believe the man an impostor. This could be the Gamesman, playing yet another game.
Azrael swept into the room, taking a chair well away from me.
I definitely needed to resolve matters with him. Soon after, the first course arrived on silver platters. Needing a topic for conversation, I seized upon the many miracles we had seen within this house. “The moving closet, the water-filled railings that glow, your statue servants; why are their wonders here that are no where else in the city?” I asked.
The Master of Gears took a sip of wine before answering. “The things you speak of —the technology that moves the city, and the crystal-powered gates that connect many worlds—are from my home-world. My people deal in mysteries and secrets, bartering them.”
“What world is that?” Azrael asked.
“Atlan,” our host said. “We are descendants of survivors of a great cataclysm long ago on Earth.”
“ Your people are survivors of Atlantis,” I asked, “the island continent that sank into the sea?”
Our host nodded. “My ancestors gated to a new world we might not have chosen if not for the press of time, and have built a wondrous civilization through the centuries.”
“Then why would you come here to be the Gamesman’s servant?” Azrael asked.
“I have ... my reasons.”
The Master of Gears had reasons he was not going to share. I wondered if he might be some banished criminal, forbidden to return under threat of execution, or some out-of-favor lord escaping political retribution.
Angelique returned with the water flask. She filled my goblet and I drained it thirstily. Whatever its virtue, the flavor was unremarkable. Pity, I expected more.
My thoughts fragmented, scattered by a wild wind within my skull. Waves of dizziness came and went. I put my hand to my head, covering my eyes for a moment.
“Celeste?” The dark stranger’s whispery voice seemed impossibly far. “Are you all rig ht?”
Whoever Celeste was, she failed to answer.
I stood slowly and the room canted disagreeably. My head felt so light, I had to touch it again to be sure it had not floated away. The winds inside me were screaming now, a roaring in my ears. I gasped, trying to breathe as the air turned thick as resin. The candles blurred, throwing out winding bars of
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