She turned and looked at the door she had just stepped through, seeking to set it apart in her mind from the others, should she need to return this way. At first nothing out of the ordinary marked the doorway; at last she noticed faint runes hovering over the top of the door, difficult to see. She focused her attention on them and memorized the shape and formation, in her mind translating the glyphs to ‘Midkemia.’ Across from the door, only a featureless grey void beckoned. The doors were staggered on the left and right so that none faced another. She moved down and saw that the glyphs of the door on the other side of the one through which she had entered bore a different mark. She memorized that one as well. If she were to be turned around somehow and lose sight of where she was, a series of familiar landmarks would prove useful.
After memorizing a half dozen of the nearest door glyphs, she continued on – assuming that, without information, one direction was as apt as another – and began to walk.
The figure in the distance appeared roughly human in shape, but it could have been a member of any number of races. Miranda stopped walking and watched. She was able to defend herself, but she thought it better to avoid rushing into trouble if she could. A door to her right provided the potential for escape, though she had no idea what was on the other side.
As if reading her thoughts, the figure yelled something, holding out its gloved hand to show it was holding no weapons. The gesture was less than reassuring, as the creature was otherwise bristling with more arms than Miranda thought anyone should be able to carry and still walk upright. Upon its head a full visor masked its features, while the body was covered in a material that looked as rigid as steel, yet gave the appearance of being more flexible. It was a dull, pale silver in color, almost white, and lacked the high reflective quality that most polished armor possessed. The creature carried a round shield on its back, giving it a turtle-like appearance. A longsword’s hilt peeked over one shoulder, while what appeared to be the stock of a crossbow was visible over the other. At the right hip hung a short sword, and an assortment of knives and throwing implements hung around the figure’s torso. A whip was rolled up and hung from the left side of the creature’s belt. And over one shoulder a large sack was thrown.
Miranda called out in the Kingdom tongue. ‘I can see you are not carrying anything in your hand … at the moment.’
The figure moved cautiously toward her and said something in a language different from the first it had used. Miranda answered in Keshian, and the slowly walking arsenal answered in yet another tongue.
At last Miranda spoke in a variant of the language of the Kingdom of Roldem, and the figure said. ‘Ah, you’re a Midkemian! I thought I’d recognized Delkian a bit ago, but I’m rusty.’ He – for his voice sounded like that of a man—said, ‘I have been trying to tell you that if you jump through that door, you’d better be able to breathe methane.’
‘I have means of protecting myself from lethal gas,’ answered Miranda.
The man reached up slowly and removed his helm, revealing a face that was almost boyish – a freckled visage set with green eyes and topped with a damp mat of red hair – a face split with a friendly smile. ‘Few who walk the Hall don’t, but the stress is pretty awful. You’d weigh about two hundred times as much as you do normally on Thedissio – which is what the inhabitants call that world – and that can slow movement down a great deal.’
‘Thank you,’ Miranda said at last.
‘First time in the Hall?’ asked the man.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, unless you’re a great deal more powerful than you look – and I’ll be the first to admit that appearances are almost always deceiving – it’s usually first-timers whom we find wandering the Hall without company.’
‘We?’
‘Those of us who live here.’
‘You live in the Hall?’
‘You’re a first-timer, no doubt.’ He set the bag down. ‘I am Boldar Blood.’
‘Interesting name,’ Miranda said, visibly amused.
‘Well, it’s not the one my parents gave me, certainly, but I’m a mercenary and one must attempt a certain level of intimidation in my line of work. Hardly credible, I know, but it does prove to be the case. Besides’ – he pointed to his own countenance – ‘is this a face to inspire terror?’
Miranda shook her head and smiled in return. ‘No, I guess not. You can call me Miranda. Yes, it’s my first time in the Hall.’
‘Can you get back to Midkemia?’
‘If I turn around and walk about two hundred twenty doors, I suspect I’ll find the right one.’
Boldar shook his head. ‘That’s the long way. There’s a door a short way off that will put you in the city of Ytli, on the world of Il-Jabon. If you can get through the two blocks to another entrance without being accosted by the locals, you’ll find a door that leads back into the hall next to the door that leads to … I forget which Midkemian door it is, but it’s one of them.’ He leaned over, opened his bag, and took out a bottle. He fished around inside the sack and produced a pair of metal cups. ‘Care to join me in a cup of wine?’
‘Thank you,’ said Miranda, ‘I am a little thirsty.’
Boldar said, ‘When I first stumbled into the Hall – must have been a century and a half or so ago – I wandered around until I almost starved to death. A very agreeable thief saved my life in exchange for a seemingly inexhaustible series of reminders of that fact, usually in conjunction with a need for a favor from me. But he did save me a great deal of difficulty at the time. Knowledge of how to navigate the Hall is quite useful. And it’s knowledge that I’m delighted to share with you.’
‘In exchange for …’
‘You catch on quickly,’ said Blood with a grin. ‘Nothing is free in the Hall. Sometimes you might do something to build accounts and put others in your debt, but nothing ever goes without something in return.
‘There are three types of people you’ll meet in the Hall: those who will avoid you and spare you their society in passing, those who will try to bargain with you, and those who will try to take advantage of you. The second and third groups are not necessarily the same thing.’
‘I can take care of myself,’ Miranda said with a challenge in her voice.
‘As I said earlier, you couldn’t be here in the first place and not have some capacity. But remember this is also true of everyone else you meet in the Hall of Worlds. Oh, occasionally some poor soul without any powers, talents, or abilities blunders in unbidden. No one quite understands how. But quickly they walk out the wrong door or run into those who seek easy prey or step off into the void.’
‘What happens when you step off into the void?’
‘If you know the right spot, you end up coming into a saloon of a great inn, known by many names, owned by a man named John. The inn is called simply “The Inn,” and as John is known as, variously, “John the Oathkeeper,” “John Without Deceit,” “John the Scrupulous,” “John Who Has Ethics,” or any other of a half-dozen such honorifics, the saloon is usually called “Honest John’s.” There were, at last count, one thousand one hundred and seventeen known entrances to the saloon. If you don’t know the right spot, well … no one knows, for no one has ever returned to tell anyone what exists in the void. It is simply the void.’
Miranda relaxed. The mercenary’s affable manner was such that she doubted he would attempt to take advantage of her. ‘Would you be willing to show me to one of these entrances?’
‘Certainly, for a price.’
‘That being?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘In the Hall, there are many things of value. The usual: gold and other precious metal, gems and stones, deeds of ownership to estates, slaves and indentures, and, most of all, information. Then there is the unusual: items unique, services personal, manipulations of reality, souls of those who will never be born, things of those types.’
Miranda nodded. ‘What would you?’
‘What have you?’
They began haggling.
Twice in less than a day. Blood had proven his worth. Miranda was finding herself fortunate that he had been the first person she encountered, rather than a party of interdimensional slavers whom they encountered several hours later. Miranda had a personal distaste for the institution of slavery, a bias now heightened by the attempt to reduce her and Boldar to inventory.
Boldar had disposed of the four guards and the slaver after attempting to allow them peaceful passage. Miranda thought she might have been able to cope with them alone, but she was impressed how Boldar had instantly recognized the moment the negotiations had soured and had disposed of two guards before she could begin to focus her mind on protecting herself. By the time she would have encased herself in a protective aura, the conflict was over.
The slaves had been freed – which had required a great deal of argument on Miranda’s part, for now she had to make good on the portion of profit Boldar stood to make upon acquiring the slaves and selling them. Miranda pointed out that as he was currently in her employ, he was in fact acting as her agent, and she was free to do with the slaves what she chose. He found this proposition somewhat dubious, but after considering the difficulty of feeding and caring for the slaves, decided that accepting a bonus from Miranda would prove the better solution.
The second encounter had been with another band of mercenaries, who seemed inclined to give Blood and his employer a wide berth, but who, Miranda was certain, would have acted entirely differently had she been alone.
While they walked, she learned.
‘So if you know the locations of the common doors, the journey through the Hall can be shortened?’
‘Certainly,’ said Blood. ‘It depends on the world, how many doorways exist, and where they are relative to one another in the Hall. Thanderospace, for example’ – he waved at a door they passed – ‘has but one door, which unfortunately opens into the hall of sacrifice in the most sacred temple of a cult of cannibalistic humanoids, who are less fussy about defining cannibalism than they are devoted to eating anyone who stumbles into their most holy of holies. This is a world seldom visited.
‘Merleen, on the other hand’ – he waved at another door a short distance ahead – ‘is a commerce world that is served by no less than six doors, which makes it a hub of trade, both among its resident nations and for other Hall worlds.
‘The world from which you appear to hail, Midkemia, has at least three doors I’m aware of. Which did you use to enter?’
‘Under a bar in LaMut.’
‘Ah, yes, Tabert’s. Good food, decent ale, and bad women. My sort of place.’ He seemed somehow to be grinning behind the mask. How Miranda could tell she didn’t know. Perhaps it was some subtlety in the mercenary’s body language, or a note in his voice.
