The Summons

About once every century the doors could be opened. They were made of hard stone, intricately carved, and had once been inlaid with metals and precious gems. The metals and gems had long since been pried away, but one massive cabochon remained in the very center of the double doors. It surface glimmered with entrancing rainbow hues and it could not be removed no matter how hard one tried. And tried the kings had. Why should there be this treasure buried here when it should be in the treasury? The thing itself had proven to be as indestructible as the doors it sealed shut.

The carvings on the doors, if one could pull their eyes away from the gemstone long enough to see them properly, were a clear illustration of how to use the facility. When the gem shines brightly the king could touch the gem. The doors would open, and a person would emerge.

In the carvings the king was identified by his scepter and long robe, and the many attendants trailing behind him. The mysterious person emerging from the room beyond the doors wore a long knife at his hip, carried a tablet in one hand, and was accompanied by a bird with a long tail. His clothes were an outlandish style. In the final scene the doors had closed and the newcomer was kneeling before the king. One hundred perfect, tiny, images of the largest moon, Crevist, whose cycle took a little over a year, bordered the frieze signifying the one hundred cycles of the room's functioning.

Nobody knew how long the rainbow gem had been shining. The passage to the ancient doors was two levels deep in the palace basement and was stuffed full of old furniture. A servant whose job it was to lug heavy things around the palace saw the light and reported it to his superior. Three days later the corridor had been cleared so the chamberlain could have a look at it. The chamberlain reported the finding to His Majesty, who sent various advisors to look at the thing and tell him what should be done. The advisors argued among themselves long enough for the king to forget the matter entirely, which wasn't very long because he was more interested in plans to build a new netball court than he was an old door in the basement.

When the king lost interest so too did his advisors, and there the matter should have stayed if it hadn't been for Brother Serano. Serano was the ambassador from the Unity Church and when he learned of the phenomenon in the palace's basement his advice was unique in its simplicity and appeal: open the door; kill the stranger; keep the gem.

Brother Serano explained the knife/tablet/bird symbolism dated from before the Church unified all hearts on the Tenobre continent in the love of the creator Olyon. The stranger's clothing wasn't exaggerated, but shaped to fit his demonic body. The bird was the demon's spirit. The knowledge on the tablet was forbidden. The knife would find its way into the monarch's back. The promise of service was a lie.

While the doors were open the gem could be taken. Without the gem the room beyond would cease to lure demons into the world. The room beyond the doors could serve a useful purpose as much-needed storage space. The dead stranger would be no threat.

The king liked the Brother's proposal the best, as it directly increased the treasury.

At the appointed hour the King descended into the second basement of the palace, a place he had never visited before. With him were the Chamberlain, the Marshall, the King's Secretary, Brother Serano, a crew of four builders whose job it was to remove the valuable gemstone (and carry the torches), plus ten royal guards.

To a traveler who had seen many humanoid races they would seem strange: each person was like a human who had been gifted with one or more beast traits, without any rhyme or reason or apparent regard for genetic compatibility. Some had fur, others had claws, a few had eyes that shined in the night, and quite a few had tails. A great many ear shapes were in evidence, as was skin and fur color.

They royal party stopped before the jewel and stared in wonder as it threw bright beams of colored light all over the walls. The Chamberlain tried to direct His Highness' attention to the carved mural and extol the apparent age of the doors: they might be the oldest feature in the oldest palace of the oldest kingdom on the continent but the king, impatient in the face of such history, slapped his hand on the precious jewel.

"How long is this supposed to take, Chamberlain" demanded the king, "I don't want to be late for the netball game."

"Not more than a few minutes, I'm sure," said the chamberlain. Even as they spoke the light in the gem went out and a there as a low-pitched rumbling from behind the doors. "I think His Majesty can let go of the gem now. The mechanism is working."

The noise continued for a while, during which the king discussed the teams' chances in that night's game with the guards. The game was a doubles exhibition especially for royal family to be held in the palace's training arena, and there was considerable betting. Four of the guard and two of the builders took positions in front of the king. As the doors finally began to open the guards held up their wooden shields and pointed their bronze swords at the crack forming between the doors.

The builders hurried forward to take hold of the doors and pull them back to the passage walls fully, then stake them in place so they couldn't close again.

A small figure emerged from the room into the torch lit hallway. He was very slight and nearly naked except for a colorful striped cloth wrapped around his waist. On his feet were thin sandals, and from one hand dangled a loop of rope with stone about the size of a grown mans' fist attached. His hair was long enough to touch his shoulders but was bound up in a small loop behind his head, and his body was hairless but well-formed.

To the assembled party the stranger looked like a foreigner from the rain forests of the northwest end of the continent, who were rumored to wear little to nothing all year long. This in spite of the Unity Church's teachings about modesty. What was most puzzling was the words he spoke, which nobody could understand. The language of Unity had been the official tongue of every nation for so long that all others had died out entirely.

The youngster tried to speak again, but to no avail. On his third try he simply pointed to himself and said, "Taylor DeLanion". Then he bowed: a curiously ornate movement with both hands and a sweep of one leg that brought his body low, then back to a standing position. His eyes remained fastened on the King's face during the entire movement.

"This doesn't look much like a demon to me," said the King to Brother Serano. "I don't see a knife or a tablet or a bird. He's just a smooth skin[1], unless there's something under that cloth."

"You should kill it to make sure," advised the priest, "before it can grow stronger. If it doesn't speak Unity it can't be friendly."

The stranger turned toward the builders and began admonishing them in his strange tongue: one man had a hammer and chisel poised above the gemstone. He shoed the frightened builders away and grasped the entire bezel holding the stone and slid it easily out the edge of the door, then handed whole assemblage to one of the builders. The builder, uncertain what to do, hugged the thing to his chest and ran to hide among the guards.

"He seems friendly enough to me," laughed the king, "I'll keep him for now."

"I urge your Highness to reconsider. He could be..."

"That's enough from you, ambassador. You don't know what you're talking about and I'm done listening to you. Chamberlain, give the visitor a guest room and some clothes. Let me know if he does anything amusing."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Once the king walked away with this retinue the chamberlain's brown floppy ears, which until now had stood high on the top of his head, relaxed and slid sideways a bit. "You are luckier than you know, pup."

The chamberlain pointed to himself and said, "Mister Murphy", and bowed properly. Taylor imitated him credibly well and introduced himself again. "Not bad for a first attempt. Come this way," motioned Murphy.

The Kingdom of Lavradio was one of the smaller countries on the continent of Tenobre, but it was easily the oldest. The Royal Palace of Lavradio was a triptych of square five-story buildings connected to each other by fifty-meter walkways. The first three stories were stone, and the last two were made of wood. Wide eaves at each story of the buildings kept them cool in the hot summers but were prone to damage in the high winds of winter storms.

The entire complex was built on a uniquely ancient and indestructible foundation that had never cracked or slipped. The structures above had been rebuilt three times in recorded history, which spanned six hundred years, but the ancient foundation was forever. It expanded far beyond the central three buildings to support a large network of outbuildings. The palace was a collection of ephemeral structures erected an on indestructible ruin.

It took Murphy longer than usual to get from the central palace, where the king's court, offices, and home were located, to the western building that housed most of the visiting nobility. Taylor kept stopping to look at, and obtain the word for, just about everything. He introduced himself to absolutely everyone no matter their rank or reaction. Nothing and nobody seemed beneath notice. By the time they reached the west building Taylor could say the phrases "my name is Taylor" and "pleased to meet you" perfectly and perform a bow good enough to show the king. He also learned the important phrase "may I touch".

By the time Murphy handed the boy off to Mrs Lidia he had a headache and was badly in need of a drink. "This is master Taylor, a guest from very far away. He doesn't speak Unity and has no clothes. Give him an attendant and see to his clothing. He can have the run of public areas, but keep an eye on him. His Majesty believes the boy may be amusing in time. He wants reports."

"So ... you're the barbarian I've been hearing about, rampaging nakedly about the palace," said the Matron of the West Palace.

"My name is Taylor," he said gamely. "It's a pleasure to meet you," and executed a fine bow.

Mrs Lidia threw a questioning look at Mr Murphy. "He learned that between Central and here."

"He has a nice smell about him. Wood resin and spice. And he is very clean. What is that he's holding?"

"I don't know, but I think that's where the smell is coming from. Maybe it keeps flies away?"

"Well, come along young master. I'll introduce you to Micas."

Micas was a girl of fifteen blessed with a full covering of orange fur decorated with black spots and long white canine teeth. Her manners were good enough to put her in rotation as a royal attendant, so being assigned to a barbarian child did not appeal at all. Her professional face was too dignified and neutral to give this away. She seemed equally unimpressed with his greeting and unfazed by his nakedness.

She took the boy straight to the resident tailor Gabriel, who fawned over him excessively. They seemed to enjoy each other's company, with Taylor gathering the name of every last object in the room, quite a few adjectives, and even asking to touch Gabriel's extravagant yellow mane. He was cooperative while being measured, but then wanted to inspect the string and obtained the names for numbers and the units of linear measure.

Taylor let Gabriel and Micas remove his cloth (he was entirely naked beneath it and without any beast traits) and dress him in underclothes, stirrup pants, a tunic, and sash. He asked them to demonstrate how the sash was tied three times, so he could learn to do it himself. It was the kind of running-about outfit the child of a minor noble might wear. That plus a second set of more formal clothes would hold him for a few days until his full wardrobe was ready.

After Gabriel's she showed Taylor to his room. He had the least-favored of all the guest rooms, on the third floor just below the servant's level. He looked around a bit, wrinkled his nose at the chamber pot, poked around in the straw mattress, sat in the chairs, and looked under the table. The majority of the floor was covered by an old animal skin whose fur was going bald in places.

By that time dinner was approaching, so she took Taylor to the hall where she had to explain his circumstances repeatedly as he introduced himself to every person who would let him. Those he had met earlier in the day were greeted by name. Dinner was informal, with guests and their families sitting as they pleased while the servants brought around food on skewers or big bowls to add to their plates.

Taylor was taken in hand by Marcia Monforte, the Dowager Baroness of Fringe, who demonstrated the use of utensils and proper table etiquette. Her party included her her three grandchildren ages six to seventeen. Taylor tried a little of every food on offer, refused alcohol, and thanked the dowager afterwards. He didn't have enough of the Unity language to say what he was thanking her for, but his message got across.

"Let's go to room, Micas" he said and left the hall.

"Not bad for a savage," said Anacio Monforte, the baron's oldest son.

"Hardly," scoffed his dowager grandmother. "He's foreign, to be sure, but I doubt very much he's a savage."

"You didn't see him earlier today," spoke six year old Gonzalo Monforte, excitedly. "He had on a little cloth around his waist and sandals. And nothing else!"

Amalia couldn't help but tease her little brother, "and you're the one who has bits of meat stuck in his whiskers, Gonzo."

Royal Palace, Riding Hall

Two women stood in the stands of the royal riding hall. Both were dressed for riding, in boots and finely etched leathers dusty from their afternoon ride. Each was equipped with a bronze saber, a typical weapon carried by nobles from equestrian families. Their hardened leather helmets rested on the railing in front of them.

The older woman would have been immediately recognized by any denizen of the palace as Queen Diana, not only from the royal crest engraved on the back of her riding jacket but also for the fine coat of silver-blue fur that covered her entire face and body. It was a coveted blessing in a prized color. It was such an overwhelming feature that people overlooked her almond-shaped eyes and full lips. She had often wished for a second beast trait that would confer some more tangible advantage, but beauty was an asset nobody in the palace could ignore.

The younger woman was Lady Vivian, one of the queen's ladies in waiting. Her blessings were night vision and retractible claws. Like all the queen's ladies, Vivian was attractive. Unlike most of the ladies she was not distinctive. Her obvious fitness, glossy black hair, and symmetrical features made her popular at dances. Dressed down, she disappeared into crowds. Whereas the queen would be pressed to hide her identity, Vivian could be anyone with a wig and a change of clothes.

The roof vents were all open to let in the early evening breeze and light. Below them the royal equerry was exercising a set of four matched appalons. Their coats shone dark blue with glossy purple highlights that rippled as they moved in easy circles around the hall in a fast pace. At a signal from the handler the beasts halted and knelt so they could be mounted by riders. The animals rose together, and their riders worked in unison through the full set of paces, spins, side-steps, and kicks from the cavalry manual. The animals were not yet in their prime but took the routine without any sign of strain.

The queen's first husband, King Emilio Odemira, had been a great lover of riding. As youths, they would rendezvous in secret under the stars and talk while their appalons pulled fruit from the trees. They were never so happy as when they were mounted in some wild place, far from the strictures of royalty. She loved to ride still. The smell of appalon and woodlands in the summer, the pounding of their padded feet, the hot breath of her mount: together they were a prayer that summoned his memory to her. With her attendants instructed to stay far behind her, Diana would talk to her departed husband. Quietly, so no one would overhear, she would tell him about her day; about their son; and about Emilio's jovial but feckless brother she had been required to marry to keep peace in the kingdom.

Her one child by Emilio, Leonardo, had been attached to the embassy in Unity City for the last three years. He was coming home in winter and these mounts were for him and his retinue. Leo had some of his father's love of riding, and there were no finer beasts in the kingdom than these four. There were none finer in several kingdoms.

A palace runner appeared with a private board: two small boards faced together to conceal the writing, tied with string and notched to keep the string from slipping. He stopped and bowed before the two women and handed over the message to Vivian, then promptly made himself scarce. The message was addressed to "queen or company" so the lady in waiting sliced the string with a claw and read the neat brushstrokes within.

"Micas got appointed as the boy's attendant," Vivian summarized for the queen. Then, with more interest, "she says he has smooth skin. He's friendly, but it's hard to know more until he can speak our language. She can report in person in two days, after she puts him to bed."

Vivan tucked the boards away in a satchel, the kind typically carried by attendants. These rides were private time for the queen, or as near as she ever got, so they had no attendant. The lady who rode with her carried the bag.

"Unfortunate boy," said the queen, "it must be tough without any blessings."

"He is from another world," Vivian replied thoughtfully. "Olyon blessed our people because we were nearly extinct, if you believe scripture. Maybe his world never had the same problems, and nobody has blessings at all."

The queen considered that with interest. "We must find an opportunity to ask him."

Thoughtspace

Before Taylor slept, he began building a headspace for this new world. Streams of thought and memory were sieved for the strange, the new, the stray, the incomprehensible. The body he lived in now had a lively, attentive mind so the harvest was prodigious. What was found was sorted, then arranged to form a new place. The new headspace began to take a preliminary shape.

His first summoner in Tellestria (World 1) had been a shaman with a rare level of mental acuity. He was the first to teach Taylor that his mind was as trainable as any muscle: even an average brain could be highly useful if properly conditioned. Ever since, Taylor had leaned heavily on those skills to condition new brains and survive hostile circumstances. But it was the Most Contemplative Sages of the M'rin Star System (World 3) who taught him thoughtmancy. It was less a kind of magic than a collection of mental skills which required small amounts of mana. Over the next decade the young brain he possessed now would mature enough to let him deploy many advanced techniques. Assuming he lived long enough.

Every new world carried new risks. Whatever emotion he felt about being summoned had to be a lower priority than observing his surroundings, learning the language and, if possible, making friends.

Natural observations were a small category today making them easy to arrange. The sky was a normal-ish blue color but the sun was tiny and blue-white. The number of moons was unknown. Plant forms needed more collection before his attention would be worthwhile, but so far tended toward fern shapes. He had barely spent any time outdoors. For now he just packed these things into their own corner and resolved to return to them later.

He had no animal forms in tonight's collection, but he did have many people forms to consider. They were humanoid but had random-seeming animal traits. Some had manes in the place of conventional hair, claws for nails, odd eyes, differing amounts of body fur, many kinds of noses, and a wealth of ear shapes and placement. Coloring varied widely. There had been few tails in evidence but their clothing seemed capable of hiding them. These features were collected and arranged in a taxonomy that would help him identify individuals.

Language was his most pressing problem. All he had so far was nouns, some common verbs, the occasional adjective, and several phrases. He had only a vague notion of grammar. He carefully arranged the words he had so far, to better remember them. He set a goal for the number of new words per day, enough that in a few days he should be conversational albeit with obvious quirks. With a proper tutor for grammar he could be fluently conversational in about two weeks. It would take at least a month to pass for well-educated.

It was the social axis that required the bulk of Taylor's attention. As he was living among a great many people they were the most likely source of pain and death in his immediate future. The man wearing the rich purple cape and a silver sash across his shoulder was obviously important. He had a trail of long black hair that ran along his crown and down his back like a horse's mane, tied in multiple braids ending in silver bands. Everyone had looked to him for direction. Taylor labeled this person Big Leader.

Mister Murphy and Matron Lidia were properly labeled, as was everyone else whose names he had collected. Quite a few guards went into two groups: those who bore sharp weapons (and stayed nearest Big Leader), and those with mere batons. The two groups were put aside until they got better identifiers. A few people without names got temporary labels because they were interesting for one reason or another. He organized the entire population by two principle axes: their perceived predisposition towards himself, and their relative social rank. Both were tentative measures subject to further review.

Of special concern was Agitator1 and his relationship to Big Leader. Agitator1 was clearly hostile and had urged Big Leader to do something not in Taylor's interest. There was an outside possibility that Agitator1 wanted Taylor dead. Under the hostility he seemed very fearful. Big Leader had looked annoyed … no, more like irritated. He didn't like Agitator1 telling him what to do and had denied him for the sake of spiting the man as much as anything else. He seemed happy to get the lock stone undamaged. Maybe it was valuable and Big Leader was a little greedy. He would hardly be the first profit-driven leader Taylor had ever met. Greed and ego were common among the great and would-be great.

Taylor swept the rest of his observations (mostly architecture and technology related) into a metaphysical bucket labeled "bronze age, mostly" and let himself sink into a true sleep. The mind really did need rest to function properly. Not even the Most Contemplative Sages could function without sleep.

Royal Palace, West

Taylor woke to pre-dawn light.

Scratchy bed: check.

Cut stone walls: check.

Chamber pot: check.

Wash basin: check.

Shitty bronze age civilization: check.

He had finally landed somewhere nice (World 11) where he could get a proper education and live in peace, and now this happens. He had made the most of the previous world while he had it, but he would have liked another ten years there. Or a lifetime. Not to mention his parents, who must be frantic.

At least he wasn't a slave in this world. Warfare and slavery tied for worst circumstance.

Getting summoned from a locker room hadn't been ideal, but at least he was wearing a towel. And he still had his soap-on-a-rope. That should last him until he could either source some locally or "invent" it. Cedar must appeal to to the people here because they had sniffed at him all day long. Or maybe it was a normal way to check out a stranger. He wondered what would happen if he sniffed them back?

Taylor cleaned and dressed himself, then performed mental exercises while the building began to stir. In Emristar he had trained in healing magic, but a few quick attempts verified those incantations didn't work in this new world. However, he could still gather and shape his mana, or whatever they called magical force in this world, and keep himself in shape until he learned whatever passed for magic here.

When he heard the guards mustering in the courtyard he put on his shoes and dashed downstairs to follow them. The mixed-gender force arrayed themselves neatly, wearing their uniforms of green leather armor. Varying degrees and colors of body fur, types of ears, tails (and not tails), whiskers, and so on made them entertaining to look at. It seemed beast traits like claws and thickened skin were desirable in this particular unit. Unlike many of the other residents, these guards let their tails out.

After roll call there was a change of shift, then about a third of the force, twenty guards, split off to train. Their leader (a woman named Ledani) was surprised when Taylor indicated he wanted to join them, but she allowed it. The routine wasn't so different from physical training anywhere else: running, push-ups, burpees, squats.

After a brief rest there was weapons training. This unit did not use sharpened weapons in the palace: that privilege was only afforded to the more prestigious guards around Big Leader. Instead they each bore a pair of sticks with a leather-wrapped grip at one end. For training purposes they used lighter padded weapons, but those would still hurt if you hit hard with them.

Taylor received his pair enthusiastically and squared off against a young man who might be the most junior present: he wore none of the pips on his collar that most of the guards had. They introduced themselves (his name was Nelito) and began at the signal. Nelito was fast, but he didn't adjust well to his opponent's defense. After a minute of feeling him out, Taylor dispatched him with a fast triple-hit to the chest, just hard enough to be felt under his gambeson. They rotated match-ups for several rounds (all of which Taylor won) then broke up again for a tournament.

The unit gathered in a large circle, and Ledani called for Nelito and Taylor. To give Nelito a chance, Taylor put the sticks in his belt and took a fighting stance.

"Our new guest is a good sport. He's giving Nelito a handicap," called Ledani. The group chuckled, and leaned forward in anticipation. "Begin!"

Nelito tried to engage Taylor twice, only to have him melt away with barely any effort. On his third try he wound up on his back with Taylor's stick pointed at his throat.

"Match goes to Taylor! Let's speed this up," decided Ledani. "Bibi and Carla, you two against Taylor."

Carla and Bibi did not fare much better than Nelito had. But Frederico and Rui forced Taylor to draw his weapon to defeat them. "I think we're tiring him out," bragged Rui. Augusto was a good match for Taylor on his own, finally wearing him down with his long reach and superior offense.

Defeated, Taylor thanked his opponent and joined the others in the circle. He avidly watched the rest of the matches and took in the occasional notes from Ledani. These people weren't hobbyists or athletes. Their fighting skill was a primary tool for them: a less-than-lethal way to control and subdue. They took the practice as serious business instead of sport.

Afterwards Taylor followed the men to the communal bath where he found Micas waiting for him with a change of underclothes and am impatient looking crinkle at the outside corners of her eyes. He took the clothes, followed the men to where they could rinse off and relax before resuming their day. It seemed the habit here was to change into clean underclothes and shake the dust off their outerwear.

The best part of his morning was breakfast with the guards. They ate in the same room as the residents they guarded, but tended to cluster around their own tables. It felt good to share a space with them, even if he wasn't one of them. He collected new words and phrases. People kept piling food on his plate until he begged them to stop while imitating crying, which earned him a few laughs.

At the end of the meal he was approached by the oldest (although not the highest ranking) member of the guard, a fit man named Otavio. He had a craggy face that looked like it had spent most its life outdoors, a tall wiry build, close-cropped graying hair, and startling green eyes with minuscule pupils. If Taylor ever again managed to reach fifty he wanted to look just like him. "Tomorrow. Otavio and Taylor!" He took fighting stance.

Taylor mimicked him, "Tomorrow. I understand!"

After breakfast, while exploring the grounds, he tried to engage his shadow Micas. "Micas, face," he said, pointing to his face and making an angry expression, "why?"

She stopped where she was. "How can you ask why? You're supposed to wait until I wake you! I went looking for you. I am a royal attendant, for the queen! Do you know how much trouble I'm in if I lose you? I don't get to make mistakes."

"Sun up," he said, pantomiming, "Taylor run. Fight! Eat! You find Taylor."

"I'll get in trouble if you don't behave like a normal guest!"

He inferred the meaning of the word 'trouble', and that he was it. "No trouble," he said, placing one hand reassuringly on her arm, "Micas is good." Micas silently wondered if Taylor was trying to end her career in the palace.

That day he was drawn to the workshops, Micas trailing behind him. A collection of two-story buildings for workspaces and craftsmen stood apart from the main palace buildings, separated by a screen of tall trees. Micas had to explain him several times: "This is Taylor, a guest of the King's from a far-off land. He is to be shown anything that interests him, provided it isn't secret. He is still learning the Unity language and asks for your patience."

Taylor looked at all the workshops and asked questions about the things they made or repaired, mostly by awkward pantomime. Furniture, metal fittings, architectural carvings, leatherwork, and repairing small tools were the bulk of the work done in-house. Occasionally Taylor delighted in small details that only a fellow craftsman would appreciate, instantly winning him the good will of the workers. He observed their techniques and tried his hand at a couple. Nobody seemed to mind his presence for long.

After the workshops he found the gardens, where he sought out the groundskeepers. He skipped lunch entirely, which Micas didn't appreciate but kept to herself. Instead she found an attendant to stand in for her long enough to eat. All they had to do was follow the boy around and keep him out of anywhere restricted.

By the time Taylor was done with the workshops and gardens it was nearly time for dinner. Micas returned him to his room to clean and dress.

"Do you need time for yourself, Micas? The day is long." His speech was already better.

"That is very kind of you, Master Taylor. I would appreciate a short rest before dinner."

"I will rest too. My head is tired because it is full. Madam Monforte will fill it more."

On their way to dinner Taylor warned Micas he wanted to see the town. "You begin late. I practice with fighting. Then we see town on foot. Make easy."

"Are you sure you want to see the town, Master Taylor? It isn't as nice as the palace."

Taylor an unusually long time to respond. She couldn't tell if he was having trouble understanding the question, or didn't know how to respond. "World is bigger than palace," he said finally.

At dinner Taylor greeted dozens of people by name and gained introductions to yet more people. He spent an hour asking Monforte children general knowledge questions about the Kingdom of Lavradio, with emphasis on governmental organization and the legal rights of nobles. Along the way he received extensive help from the Dowager Monforte. When he heard the night's entertainment would be music he selected to stay, for a little while.

The musicians were a trio that played a lap harp, a pair of drums, and a wooden flute. All three could sing. The trio wasn't there simply to perform but also to lead the residents in their singing. Groups would take the stage and sing a verse. If it was politely received then they were done. If the song was received enthusiastically then they had to finish it. The trio seemed to know every song everybody wanted to sing.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself a great deal, young Taylor," observed the Dowager. "Do you sing?"

"Yes. I know songs at home."

"Then you shall sing a verse for us," declared the dowager. Taylor attempted to beg off on the basis he knew no Unity lyrics, but the dowager's call was soon joined by others until Taylor was forced to relent. The downside to making yourself popular was that people expected you to participate in things.

Defeated, he went to the stage and bowed to the crowd. "A song of a soldier, far from home." He chose a famous song from one of his previous wolds, telling the story of a soldier facing death. His thoughts of home were his reason for fighting. Nobody would understand the words but the tune was passionate and courageous. It had been wildly popular on the moons of Aqqak, and this wasn't the first time Taylor had borrowed it.

At the end of the first verse the noble crowd was pounding on the tables, demanding more. Behind Taylor the harpist struck a chord, signaling their intention to accompany him, so Taylor let them play along. He wasn't very good playing with others but he found these musicians easy to work with. Together they finished two more verses and an improvised flute solo. By the end the audience was simultaneously roused and teary.

Afterwards people kept coming around trying to fill Taylor's mug with ale. Taylor laughed and said he'd already had too much about a dozen times. To fend them all off he took to hugging his cup to protect it. The Dowager Monforte definitely had things to say but couldn't get a word in edgewise through his new admirers. He was in fact relieved when Micas returned from the back room where she had dined with the staff and reminded him of his early schedule. Grateful for the assist he begged his leave from everyone and made the fastest exit courtesy allowed.

Royal Palace, Central

His Highness, King Joaquim Odemira of Lavradio, reclined on his private couch of ivory and gold. A concubine rubbed his feet and another massaged his scalp. Ruining the whole experience was the royal secretary.

"The tailor reports the boy has no visible beast traits. He is learning Unity quickly, and people seem to like him."

"What about those rumors?" asked the king.

"Those are spread by Brother Serano, that is certain. He tells people that the stranger is a violent savage but the rumor has no legs. We don't know why he is saying these things."

"The boy is too slippery for the old priest, is that it?"

"He's too friendly. He goes out of his way to meet and talk with everyone, no matter their station. Nearly everybody comes away from an encounter liking him. If you try to tell them the friendly boy they met earlier today is a savage who will kill children in their sleep or drink your blood, people don't believe it. None of the nobles of the west palace will hear a bad thing about him."

"Nobody wants to listen to a dried up virgin," grunted the king. "Has the boy gotten into any trouble?"

"Not yet, though he did give his attendant a scare. She found his bed empty in the morning and had to track him down."

"Oh?" The king looked hopeful, "where did he get off to?"

"He invited himself to join the Palace Guard's morning training. He bested half of them bare handed against batons."

"Now that's promising," said the King hopefully. "I was worried the ancient summoning room had fetched us a dud. Have him taught netball in time for the youth tournament. I command him to compete." Then he smiled. "Have him play in his native dress. That should make for an interesting day."

"As you wish, Sire. One final item about the boy: he has asked his attendant to take him into town tomorrow."

"Let's allow it," smiled the King, "but give them a guard in street clothes to go with them. The boy is not to be impeded unless he gets into serious danger. And give him some pocket money, too. Let's see what kind of trouble he finds."