Helena Lee was so dizzy that she fell out of her chair. When she found herself on the floor—which was shockingly dirty, and scattered with straw—she discovered that she was inside a large dark room full of people. She remained on the floor, staring at everything around her. It all reeked of sweat, perfume, wine, and olive oil. The atmosphere was hazy, which must have been due to the candles flickering in the chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, as well as the roaring fire pit at the room’s center. Music was playing—live music with lutes, flutes, and singers who were singing in an Eastern European folk style. She had been sitting by the wall across from a tall thin man whose facial features she found sharp, handsome, almost birdlike. He was wearing white clothes, had the blackest skin she had ever seen, and spoke with an unidentifiable accent.
“Gontran, what are you doing?” he said, hunting for her in the darkness beneath the table. When he found her—taking a long time because of what a strange voice said was her high stealth skill—he helped her back into her seat.
“Perhaps you have drunk enough for the night,” the man added.
“What?” Lee said. This sound coming from her throat startled her. The deep manly voice thrumming inside was someone else’s.
Her handsome companion nodded to the table. A clay pitcher was there, as were two clay cups full of wine. One had been knocked over during her fall. As she stared at the pool of wine on the table, a spider skittered across, making her jump with fright. She hated spiders and had even been diagnosed with arachnophobia, to the extent that she had done therapy and would feel physically ill if people even mentioned those horrible little monsters.
Before Lee could do anything else, a white woman wearing a dark dress wiped up the mess with a linen towel. Somehow Lee knew her name was Eirene. She said something about how she would take care of it—there was nothing to worry about. For some reason Lee found herself staring at Eirene’s chest. Unable to control her thoughts, she imagined Eirene naked, and tried thinking of a joke that would make her laugh.
Eirene met her eyes and smiled. Was she just being polite, or was she flirting?
As a rogue, your charisma skill is high, a mysterious voice said from every direction at once. As a Journeyman Charismatic (Level 6/10), many people find you charming and attractive.
Before Lee could figure out who was talking to her, something strengthened in her pants. She grabbed her crotch, and her eyes widened. Instead of what she usually found there, she discovered something else.
This isn’t happening, she thought.
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Was she herself? Was she in her own body?
Eirene finished wiping up, winked at her, and then walked away. The handsome man—whom Lee sensed was her business partner—glared at her.
“Eh? What’s come over you?” he said. “You looked as though you wished to eat her alive! What an embarrassment!”
Lee was hardly listening. After discovering that she did indeed possess a penis, she felt her chest under her shirt—a linen tunic you had to lace up at the front—and found that her boobs were gone. They had been replaced by broad firm pectorals coated in coarse black hair. Her arms, too, bulged with strength, though the mysterious voice reminded her that as a rogue she should avoid mêlée combat.
Still wide-eyed, she touched her square jaw. Sandpapery stubble scratched her fingertips. She gasped and jerked her hands back. Then she searched for a mirror or any kind of reflective surface in the crowded dark room, but couldn’t find one.
“I need a mirror,” she babbled to the man across from her, unable to put her thoughts together. “Where can I find a mirror?”
“What do you mean?” the man said.
“You don’t know what a mirror is?”
“You speak nonsense, Gontran.”
Lee sighed. Because some wine was left in her cup, she looked at the reflection inside. A young white man with a large nose and shining eyes met her gaze in the ocean-dark depths. Something was indeed roguish about him. He seemed French, and had the face of a tough guy, a smooth talker, a lady’s man always getting into trouble.
She was disgusted and bewildered by this transformation—she had turned into some white dude! Her friends couldn’t call her a banana anymore—the whole peel was gone!
“Gontran?” the other man said.
Lee looked up, startled out of her thoughts. “Where am I?” she stammered. “Who are you?”
The man lowered his brow. “You amuse no one.”
“I’m serious. I have no idea where I am. Please help me.”
The man glanced at his wine. “Did they drug this? I have noticed no strange effects. And we have come here so many times…”
“Please!” Lee shouted. “What’s going on?”
People sitting at nearby tables stopped talking and looked at her. The music even slowed for a moment as the musicians glanced her way.
“Calm yourself,” the man said. “Your name is Gontran Koraki. I am Kambine Diaresso. We are in a small port city in the Empire of Rûm called Abydos—and we are partners. You hail from a place called Metz, in the Frangistani Kingdom. I’m an exile from Tomboutou, in Afrika. Shall I continue?”
Lee looked around, feeling dizzy again. “What year is it?” she gasped.
“The year for whom?” Diaresso said. “Every place tells time differently. Sometimes it differs village by village. I think they count the years in Rûm by the emperor, do they not? In the Year of the Flight—the only calendar which matters—it is the year four hundred and seventy-three. This is the number of years since the Prophet, may peace be upon him, left Makkah for Madīnah to—”
Lee had stopped listening. The dizziness overwhelmed her. She could only cradle her head as she collapsed on the table and lost consciousness.