Raelene was gratified when, two days later, Maerile came in to tell her that a magician named Marlli had offered to take her to Dravishi, so long as she was willing to first visit the city of Toul. At Jemassein’s suggestion, Raelene had been poring over maps of Dravishi in the hope that some sympathetic vibration would provide more exact guidance. This was so far without result, but at least the maps were to hand. Maerile pulled out a sheet showing the lands west of the Green Sea. Here was Toul, over to the east on the Reghen Gulf, while her destination was west and a little north. Maerile said she would only need a bag and ordinary clothes, even though the map showed two mountain ranges and the Frozen Wild in the way.
Marlli was tall, curvy, long-legged, gracious. Raelene felt stumpy and awkward beside her. She arrived at the front door, towing a large chest, made polite conversation for a short time and then turned to Raelene.
“Well, let’s be off. You have your luggage?” Raelene hefted a bag on to her shoulder and nodded. Marlli extended her left hand. “Hold tight.” She lifted a jewelled pin and stabbed herself in the eye, there was a moment of blackness and they were standing on a windy platform overlooking a bay studded with islands. As far as Raelene could tell, the sun had not moved, but she definitely had. At Maerile’s home the water stretched to the west; here, beyond the bay, the sea lay to the east. Marlli gave the view no more than a glance and led off, down steps, through an arch, across a terrace and down a steep cobbled street. This was Raelene’s first glimpse of town life in this new world, and she looked about with curious eyes. The houses were of white stone, tall and narrow, with steep roofs of cheerful red tile. Doors gave straight on to the street, and the lower windows were covered with screens of carved wood.
The people more than made up for the lack of colour in the architecture. They swirled about in loose robes, sarongs, full-sleeved shirts and long jackets, in orange and purple and crimson red, sea-blue and sky-blue and all the shades of green. Some carried baskets or bags, some guided loads slung under poles that floated in mid-air, some were just out for a stroll. Most had olive skins, some dark, some light. Marlli’s dark brown with copper undertones did not stand out, nor did her own dusty black attract attention. She saw others of similar complexion and two of a true coal black, as well as the first pale skins she had seen here – folk soberly dressed in short black jackets over brown shirts and trousers. Their drab attire stood out in the colourful throng like potatoes in a flower bed. Same as Pallama, thought Raelene. The memory jolted her into noticing that this street had no cars, in fact no vehicles of any kind, smelt of people and stone and wood, not rubber and tar and petrol, was not festooned with signs and wires. That she was in a different world suddenly became more real to her.
They turned into a wider, more commercial thoroughfare and the realisation hit with more force. She had grown used to stones that glowed and invisible servants, but here was another kind of display entirely. The shop windows were made up of many small panes, which came together to create a picture of the wares within and then launch it into flight above the crowd. As Raelene watched a parade of musical instruments formed above, to serenade a glittering line of jewellery. The jewellery darted about until each piece found its match in an elaborate costume, then all bowed and departed, making way for another flight.
Marlli smiled at her amazement. “They do this well, don’t they? You can come back later. They look best at dusk. For now, we need to keep moving.”
They turned into a side street, shadowed and cool, and mounted some steps. A doorman resplendent in green and red ushered them through into an elegant lobby. Raelene trailed behind Marlli as she swept across the gleaming tiles to the desk. This was uncomfortably posh, a far cry from the flaking paint, worn carpet and bare bulbs of Pallama’s two pubs. The walls were panelled in some light wood, the glowstones hung in elaborate filigree baskets, an arch to to one side gave on to a saloon where overstuffed chairs sat around low tables. The young woman behind the desk was polite, even deferential; her dress was a sleeveless fall of light fabric, high-collared, a dark blue that set off a clear brown skin and shining black hair. To Raelene she looked like a fashion model out of a glossy magazine.
Marlli halted her floating luggage with a flip of the hand and spoke to the receptionist. It was not Dravishi, so Raelene could not follow. She stood there wondering if she should put her bag down and whether her hair looked odd to these folks. The receptionist said something and Marlli turned. “She asks if you have any special requirements – any foods you cannot eat or any religious restrictions.”
Raelene shook her head and then followed this with a hasty negative. The only thing she knew she should not eat was rock wallaby, and there were none in this world. For the rest, she could just leave it on the side of her plate if she did not like it. When an attendant took her bag and led them away she followed meekly, worrying whether her table manners would fit in. A stair that somehow had only three steps yet took them to an upper floor, then along a corridor to a suite overlooking the sea. Marlli dropped a coin into the attendant’s hand and looked around.
“This will do nicely. Your room is through there, mine through here and there’s a washroom here.” She opened a cupboard. “Excellent – they have a cleaning hanger. Just put things on this and use this brush and it will take the wrinkles and dirt out. There’s a proper bath-house downstairs, of course. We’ll use that later.”
Raelene felt hopelessly out of her depth. She was not used to this luxury, had no idea of how to behave in this crowded town and did not know the language. More, she knew in her bones that this was not her land. Her uncertainty must have shown on her face, for Marlli suddenly smacked herself lightly on the face and announced “I’m an idiot! Lydissa always tells me to think about the implications, and I didn’t. Your world is very different, right?’
Raelene choked out a ‘yes, it is’ and looked for a place to sit down. She wanted to cry. When Marlli came over and pulled her into a hug, she did cry. Up to now she had coped by going along, taking each day – no, each hour or minute – as they came. After that awful first day and night there had been mostly good things, lots of new things, much unexpected kindness but nothing really threatening. Now there was this – this elegant, sexy, confident upper-class woman who was also a super magician, who would expect her to know which fork to use and how to talk to snooty hotel staff and what to wear to dinner with the Prime Minister or whoever. It was too much. Marlli let her sob herself out, passed her a handkerchief, sat her down and brought her a cup of water.
When she could speak she choked out a confession of inadequacy, went on to sketch some of her fears, and added a heartfelt “Why are you doing all this for me?” The ‘To me’ was unspoken.
Marlli smacked her own face again, again told herself she was an idiot, spoke to a parchment square beside the door and then sat down opposite Raelene. A pot of herbal tea arrived just after the sniffles had subsided. Marlli poured them each a cup.
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“This is liani – everyone drinks it around here.” Raelene took a sip, found it flowery, slightly astringent, something like the green tea the Chinese take-away served. Marlli gathered her thoughts. She began with an apology; she had not realised just how different all this must be for Raelene. Also – and she apologised again – she had not given any thought to languages. Manners she waved away – had not Raelene noticed that she used her hands like a mature Dravish woman? That would do, and if it didn’t well, no-one would sneer. Not while she was with Marlli. While Raelene was digesting this Marlli went on that anyway they would not be dining with Toul’s Last Speaker. Dinner at Eglantine’s tomorrow night was the only thing booked. Anything chosen by Kashlei was sure to be acceptable wear for that.
Marlli startled her with a cheeky grin. “Do you want to know why we are here for three days, before going to Dravishi? It’s because I get frisky. Magic is fun and the Wild is great, but every so often I need to get away and find some company. And I thought ‘young woman from another world? Surely she’d like a bit of fun before going off to dreary Dravishi.’ As for the language, I have an idea for that.”
Marlli was here to get laid? And thought Raelene might be interested too? Raelene did not know whether to be shocked or intrigued. To be honest, sex with Mick had been okay but not wonderful. She had not been tempted to move on – the choice was not wide, and there were ugly words for girls who slept around. Marlli laughed. “I’m not just here for that. I also want a haircut and pick up some books and, oh yes, I have a short business meeting in two days.”
Raelene washed her face and changed. Then she went with Marlli for a dish of black rice pudding with mango and a hair cut. After a three way discussion, Raelene’s hair was washed, dried, brushed, snipped and swept into a shining bunch from which fell a a single braid threaded with blue beads. When Raelene felt it far too glamorous to be the real her, but the hairdresser and Marlli were so pleased that perforce she was too. She almost did not recognise herself as the stylish young woman in the mirror.
The next stop was the Magicians’ Association. Marlli was evidently a familiar visitor, for the doors opened at her approach and the desk clerk welcomed her by name. While Raelene gawped at the casual magics adorning the room. Marlli had a brisk conversation first with the clerk and then with a woman in a splendid scarlet robe and two-tiered velvet hat. That done, she came over to Raelene, who was watching a planting box where flowers came forward to duel. As far as Raelene could tell, the score was roses 3, Iris 0.
“I hope to be busy later tonight and perhaps much of tomorrow, so I have found you a companion who knows the town and speaks Dravish. I’m sure you’ll like her.” At least Marlli had not fitted her up with a boy. The escort? guide? would come by later, so Marlli towed her along to pick up her books (two fat tomes bound in purple cloth) before they returned to the hotel. Raelene was glad of the chance to lie down.
* * * *
She did like the guide. Kielefe was older than Raelene by a few years, full of energy and irrepressibly cheerful. She joined them for dinner on the rooftop terrace of the hotel and chattered away informatively about her life. When told that Raelene was from another world entirely she was awed and curious. Raelene must, she said, tell her all about it as they wandered about the next day. Would Raelene mind if she wrote a paper for the Toul Association? She would use another name of course, and Raelene could read it first. Raelene was only learning to read? Oh well, she would keep notes and ask later. Raelene’s outfit looked great – where did she get it? Kashlei? Really? That was nearly as awesome as coming from another world.
At Kielefe’s suggestion they started the next day with a walk down to the harbour. Raelene was fascinated by the life of a busy port. Bundles, crates and barrels were hoisted over the sides of tall ships, loads went past under lift-poles, tackle creaked, orders were shouted, whistles blown. As they watched a three-master eased away from the wharf, added sail, heeled over as it caught the breeze and made for the outer gulf. Just as picturesque to her eyes were the many small fishing boats, red and blue-hulled, that dotted the waters inshore. As with the streets, what struck her was the difference in noise and smell. No diesel, no oil, none of the dry odour of concrete; no motors, no tyres. If the salt air was the same here as at Maerile’s, it came laden with old timber, cordage, tar, fish fresh and not so fresh and the wafts from the varied cargoes. Raelene had never seen a ship of her own world other than on a screen, but tried to describe them to Kielefe – their huge size, steel sides and piled containers. Kielefe asked what made them go and was appalled at the idea of burning oil. Selm of the Waters would not tolerate such a vessel and would certainly drag it down into the depths before it had made a league. That is if the land permitted it to be built at all. The land was not fond of fire.
That led Raelene to talk of gum-trees, which needed fire to seed, and her own people’s use of fire to shape the land. Kielefe nodded. There were trees like that in Dravishi, and undermen hunted with fire. That led to further questions. They ended up sitting on a shaded bench sipping cool drinks and exchanging notes on their homelands. Kielefe described Dravishi – the great swamps of the south, the grasslands of the higher country, the secret societies that permeated Dravish life and contended for influence in the Skull-Moot. Raelene gathered that this was something like the Australian parliament, although better mannered. Kielefe’s home town of Sianx sounded like a pleasant place. At Kielefe’s suggestion she spent a long moment concentrating on how the land here felt to her. Like an amiable stranger, she decided. One who would give directions if asked, but not invite conversation.
Lunch showed Raelene the difference between seafood just caught and that frozen and hauled 600 kilometres inland. They were not at all alike. After a walk along the walls it was time to get ready for dinner at Eglantine’s. Marlli’s door was shut, so Raelene washed, tidied her hair and changed into the dress. It was as well the buttons were at the front, Raelene thought, for it was a snug fit from the bust through to the hips.
There was a mirror in her room, and she swirled about, imagining what her friends in Pallama would say if they could see her. The women would tell her she looked glorious and the men would make rude jokes. It came to Raelene that Kielefe, Marlli, Maerile and Jamassein all did what they pleased without regard for male opinion. That morning on the wharf there had been no cat-calls, no unwanted advances or gestures, and many of the workers had been women, shifting bales or directing crane-loads. When Kielefe had pointed out the town watch, many of them had been women too, striding along carrying long staves. Did magic have anything to do with this? She thought about how Maerile had dealt with her captors, and tried to imagine how Mike and his mates would feel if a woman could set them on their arses with a few words. Not well, she reckoned. Raelene swirled again and decided she liked the look.
Marlli came out looking nearly as glamorous as Raelene felt, they picked up Kielefe downstairs and were carried to Eglantine’s in chairs hung under lift-poles. The building carried no sign (‘if you don’t know where it is you’re not invited’); the stair translated them to a lobby where a young man rose to greet Marlli (‘this is Rafeli. He’ll be joining us for dinner’), and Eglantine herself came out to welcome them. Raelene barely kept her jaw from dropping; Eglantine was tall, slim, almost impossibly beautiful and radiated a warm charm. They were ushered through to a secluded booth (‘we’re here to eat, not to be seen’), drinks appeared without their asking (‘Eglantine’s chooses the menu for you, and never makes a mistake’) and then dishes came out, each small, artfully presented, delightful to the tongue and eye.
“How is it they serve me one of my favourite foods?” asked Kielefe. Raelene was thinking much the same as she took a bite of a game meat very like kangaroo, tender and matched with a citrus glaze. Her fruit punch was cool and tangy.
Marlli shrugged. “It’s their secret. Eglantine was one of the leading courtesans of Tsitiev, a city famous for refined diversions. She studied how to please for decades, then retired from that life to come here. She made this table open because I’m friends with her daughter – you have to book months ahead otherwise.”
Raelene let each bite linger, told Marlli and Rafeli about her day and concluded the meal with a tiny glass of a flowery nectar. From the way Marlli kept patting Rafeli’s hand Raelene thought he would be joining her for more than dinner, but it was none of her business. He was handsome, polite and cheerful, and Raelene envied Marlli’s luck. And her confidence.