From what the Duende boy had told Ellen, ‘Ker had thought this would have been a great walled city with a university and a palace at its center. A keep at the very least. But this was a much nicer place than the closed in, cramped, dirty places of learning he had come to expect from human university cities. Iorke, a place that could only be referred to as “of long ago” he was now realizing, had been so dirty and dank the last time he had been there, ‘Ker thought his boots would never stop smelling of pig shit, rotting food, human urine, dead people and all possible combinations in between. But this city was clean, and not surrounded by defensive walls and ramparts made it open to the wind and sky. The streets were wide, well tended, and smoother than any he had ever seen in his life. His brief time in Scotland had led him to believe that their streets and roads were masterful marvels of masonry, but they were rutted tracks across bare stone compared to this city of Richmond.

The houses were an odd mix of fine, uniform bricks, and timber, and bore no association with the term “fortified.” These people didn’t have even the threat of war on their doorsteps, and had probably never had to fight a war in their own streets. It was amazing to see such a huge collection of homes and businesses completely, naively, open to the predation of raiders and warlords. They had honestly given the thought no credit when it came to building their homes, if Tj’Chin’Ker could judge.

It must be an amazingly safe place to live. Children being brought up to never fear riders on the horizon, nor the sight of torches marching in the night. Amazing…The thought made ‘Ker smile to himself, and almost he could feel a tear or two laying siege to his eyes.

Once through the imposing set of doors, and into the receiving hall of the safe house, ‘Ker could feel powerful magics snap into place as the doors were closed behind him. Where his own charms and spells were solid, hard things in his mind, these works of the arcane were harder than the best steel he could imagine. And his mind scrabbled, and scratched away at the surfaces of the spells, automatically looking for weak spots to attack or exploit, he may as well have been a spider trapped in a drinking cup carved from marble.

He, and Ellen and Trout…Trutt… had been taken to a small dining room where a light selection of dinner foods and even some treats and fancies awaited, the two others were then shown to comfortable rooms in the large ornate house, but Cole had then asked ‘Ker to stay a while and would take him to see Mister Stark. Not knowing the name beyond what he had heard Trout whisper into the “phone”, he did notice the deference the shy Duende boy gave the name and so assumed it was their benefactor.

A short wait, sitting on a comfortable, and ridiculously overstuffed, lounging bed of some sort, ‘Ker had been on the verge of slumber himself before Cole reappeared, and asked him to follow.

He led ‘Ker back outside, and in a moment had them back in the car, and driving further into the streets of the tree lined and completely unprotected city. It turned out to be a laughably short drive, though. And ‘Tj’Chin’Ker wondered why they would even bother to waste so wonderful a conveyance for so small a foray. Walking would not have killed them, nor did taking the “car” save them too much effort. It was less than a mile, maybe less than a half of a mile, a brisk trot would have had them here within minutes; walking would have taken little longer, if at all.

Cole parked the car on an obvious side street and indicated that they should proceed on foot. A half a block up from where they had parked, the sleepy little street was sorely marred and betrayed by a brightly lit red neon sign over a very small door on the front of what ‘Ker took to be just another one of the many narrow homes on this street.

The sign above the black door said “The Scene,” and once they had entered, there was a small, warm and as noisy a pub as he had ever witnessed before. It was overflowing with the life you can only find in a well loved local pub. Half of the warmth in such a place came from the close proximity of too many people, the other from those people being too far gone with drink and merriment for any thoughts of anger to penetrate.

He could sense, just barely, a spell at work here. Just at the very edge of his own perception, there existed a subtle command. Something as implacable as the sunrise, but as gentle as the fall of a freshly molted downy feather.

It did not scream any orders at those inside the establishment. It did nothing so crude as command them, as his own spells might have done. No, this was a pervasive sense of how things should be, and a voice in the farthest recesses of every attendees’ mind to…just … be at ease. Be calm. No one here means you any harm, and you mean no harm to any other. Listen to the music. Drink in fellowship, break bread with your neighbors.

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Even as Tj’Chin’Ker felt it, even as he recognised it, he found himself caught up in its wave of good fellowship. All spells he had ever encountered before had fallen apart like fine sugar pastries in a hard rain once one noticed them, the spell being unable to hold anyone who could see its workings.

But not this.

This, while ‘Ker might admit he had barely caught it overcoming him, this held him firmly in its thrall.

Had his mind not already succumbed to the spell, he would have been fighting it for all he was worth, just on principle.

He wondered if they had any good ale here. And maybe something to eat, as he and Cole slowly wended their way through the throng of people standing, drinking, some swaying to music in the narrow space of the bar.

The room into which Cole and ‘Ker walked was a long narrow affair with a row of patrons sitting at a bar on the left, with a small and cramped selection of tables further along on the right side of the hall. Accents in brightly polished pine shone like gold in the dim lighting as the murmurs of conversation ebbed and flowed to cover the strange and almost discordant music flowing around the two short men as they passed all the tables to knock at a solid, heavily carved white oak door near the back of the bar.

More charms on the walls, floor and ceiling of the tavern were well hidden, but there all the same. ‘Ker marveled at the variety of magical inscriptions that surrounded him and Cole. …and it’s all to keep people calm…no angry thoughts would survive long in here, certainly not long enough for someone to come to blows…whoever did these is a masterful mage…almost without peer…what the individual charms might have lacked in strength is more than made up for by the intricacies of the weavings, and their overwhelming number…

And it was true. No anger would hold long enough in “The Scene” to flourish, nor grow. Someone entering in a state of rage would find their mind wandering from the subject of their anger, and even the ire itself would transform to some other set of feelings, if not dissipating all together.

‘Ker could imagine that sometimes sadness crashed against these wards like an elderly fishing scow might against the hard stones of the rocky shores, oft times an especially angry patron would find themselves diverted from their cheating lover caught in a lustful embrace at the next table to wondering what kind of fried snacks were on special that night.

(Cole later told him, it was usually sweet potato fries, sometimes with a spicy sauce…and sometimes eggplant chips, or crispy haricots…with a sweet and tangy sauce…)

Lost in his contemplation, ‘Ker didn't notice the door had been answered until the two of them were guided through to a darker room filled with small tables and the sounds of some of the oddest music ‘Ker had ever heard, then on to a large deep booth set back from the other tables in a shadowed corner, where a well dressed, if ugly, little man sat; while ‘Ker had yet to acclimate to the local fashions, he knew good fabric, and well cut he saw it. And this little man wore the best quality of cloth and tailoring ‘Tj’Chin’Ker had seen since coming through the Ring of Fire.

The wardings were even heavier here in what must have been the center of this intimate back room. Any anger in here would be met with instant sleep so deep as to almost look like death. The richly dressed man looked up through a thatch of salt and pepper hair that was in a state of riot at their approach, and smiled grandly at ‘Tj’Chin’Ker. Lips stretched wide on a large mouth, showing far too many, and far too large of teeth.

A melodious and silken voice curled from the white toothed grin, “How do you do, I’m Elgin Stark, and I’m so happy to see you.” The man stared at ‘Ker for a moment, his dark eyes, which were made all the darker by having outsized irises that covered almost all of what would be the whites in any other man’s eyes. The rich, deeply brown, almost black orbs wandering from ‘Ker’s head to his heels as the man continued to grin.

Elgin took a quick breath, his eyes narrowing, and he paused in his assessment, the fellow saw… something… in ‘Ker that he didn’t quite like.

For the level of excitement in his voice, his hands, clasped gently on the table in front of him, moved not at all. Near the nest of thick fingers sat a small clear glass of a dark gold, almost brown, highly viscous liquid, and a gaily wrapped bundle of purple flowers. The table was comfortably low enough that Stark could rest his hands and elbows easily and casually on the surface before him. It was the lowest table in the room, and ‘Ker guessed it was specially placed for his host by the owners.

“You’re back so much earlier than I thought you would be, and I don’t just mean from Scotland. You’ll forgive me for not meeting y'all at the airport? I have a tradition that I eat dinner here every Wednesday night while listening to Blues and Jazz. The music style almost died out a while back, and I love that it didn’t. So here I sit…”

The happy little man prattled on for a while as ‘Ker did his own assessment, and was surprised at the man’s ability to talk so fast and so deep at the same time. …Most people’s voices go up in register when they speak faster…not him apparently…not quite the reception I expected…but he looks so… familiar…

“Sit! Please, sit! Join me, you have to tell me how the ‘Tj’Shea have done over the last few years…OH!” something of great import had just occurred to him. “And how is your sour-faced big brother, Tj’Arr‘Dne? Still the Speaker to Things Dead for the Crown?”