Miranda said, ‘In my travels I have heard of the Hall of Worlds several times. I had to look for quite some time to find the entrance. I know it is a means of traveling through space, to reach distant worlds.’
‘And through time, as well,’ said Boldar.
Miranda said, ‘Time?’
‘To reach a distant world by conventional means takes lifetimes; the Hall reduces transit to days, in some cases hours.’
John said, ‘Then to the heart of the matter: the Hall exists independent of objective reality as we like to define it when standing on the surface of our homeworlds. It links worlds that may be in different universes, different space-times, for lack of a better term. We have no way of knowing. For that matter, it may link worlds at different times. My homeworld, a not very distinguished sphere orbiting an unremarkable sun, may very well have died of old age before your world was born, Miranda. How would we know? If we move through objective space, then why not through objective time?
‘And because of that, we have here, within the Hall, everything. Or if not that, then as close as a mortal can wish. We trade in wonders, in the Hall, and in the prosaic, every chattel and species, every service and debt. If you can imagine it, if it can be found anywhere, it can be found here, or at least here you can find someone to take you to it.’
‘What other benefits?’
‘Well, for one, you don’t age in the Hall.’
‘Immortality?’
‘Or something close enough to it to make little difference,’ said John. ‘It may be that those of us able to find the Hall possess this gift already, or it may be that by living within the Hall we avoid Death’s icy hand, but the gains in time are not trivial, and few give them up willingly.’ He waved his hand to the gallery above. Those who inhabit my guest quarters number several hundred who fear to ever again leave the Hall, conducting their businesses in their entirety in rooms I lease them. Others come here as the only possible refuge from all danger, while yet others spend part of their days on other worlds and part of them here. But no denizen of the Hall will give up its lure after becoming aware of the benefits.’
‘What of Macros the Black?’
At the mention of that name, both John and Boldar looked uncomfortable. ‘He’s a special case,’ answered John after a while. ‘He may be an agent of some higher power, or even a higher power himself; at the very least. he’s something beyond what we would count mortal here in the Hall. How much of what has been placed at his feet is true and how much legend, only a few can tell. What do you know of him?’
‘Only what was told me in Midkemia.’
‘Not the world of his birth,’ said John. ‘Of that I am almost certain. But what brings his name into this conversation?’
‘Only that he’s a special case, as you have said. So there might be others.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Such as Pug of Stardock?’
Again John looked discomforted, though Boldar hadn’t so much as blinked at mention of Pug’s name. ‘If you seek Pug, I may not be able to offer you much by way of encouragement.’
‘Why is that?’
‘He passed through here quite a few months ago, ostensibly on his way to some odd world I can’t remember, to do research, but I fear that is a ruse.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because he hired several of Boldar’s friends to prevent anyone who asked for him from following after.’
‘Who?’ said Boldar, looking around the room.
‘William the Gripper, Jeremiah the Red, and Eland Scarlet, the Grey Assassin.’
Boldar shook his head. ‘Those are three likely to cause some trouble.’ He leaned forward to Miranda. ‘I could most likely best Jeremiah; his reputation is built mostly on rumor. But William and Eland both possess the death touch, and that makes it dicey if they’re working together.’
Miranda said, ‘Do I look like a Pantathian?’
John said, ‘My dear, after as many lifetimes as I have spent in the Hall, looks are the last thing I would depend upon. You, for all your evident charms, could turn out to be my own grandfather and it would barely surprise me – though I fervently hope the old boy is dead, as we buried him when I was fourteen years old.’ Rising, he said, ‘Pug of Stardock is another, like Macros, who is not of the Hall, but utilizes it occasionally. But his word is good and so is his gold. He paid for protection, and such he will get. My advice is not to let anyone else in this room know you seek him and to find some other means to trace his whereabouts, or be prepared to meet two of the Hall’s most reputable mercenaries and one of the most feared assassins, no less than one minute after you leave this place.’
He bowed. ‘Please have refreshments as my guest.’ He signaled a small man and said something to him, indicating that a round of drinks should be produced. ‘Should you need quarters for a time, you’ll find us reasonable. If not, I trust you’ll enjoy yourself as long as you’re here, and return to us soon.’ He bowed, tipping his white hat, and left to return to the bar and his conversation with the four-eyed man, who had just returned from whatever errand he had been on.
Blood let out his breath in a dramatic fashion. ‘What do you choose to do?’ he asked.
‘I intend to keep looking. I mean Pug no harm.’
‘Would he think that?’
‘We’ve never met. I know him by name only. But he would not think me dangerous, I know.’
‘I’ve never met him, either, but John recognized his name instantly. That means his reputation is spreading, and for that to occur in the Hall, one must possess a significant level of gifts. For him to worry about being followed …’ He shrugged.
Miranda was inclined to take Boldar at face value, and nothing he had said was inclining her to suspect him; still, the stakes were too high for her to take chances. She said, ‘If he doesn’t want to be followed, enough to take such precautions, how would one follow his trail?’
Boldar blew out his cheeks. ‘There are several oracles …’
‘I’ve consulted with the Oracle of Aal.’
‘If she doesn’t know, then none of them do,’ he observed. ‘There’s the Toymaker.’
‘Who is he?’
‘A creator of devices, several of which may be used to spy out people who don’t wish to be seen. But he’s somewhat mad and therefore undependable.’
‘Who else?’
The waiter appeared with a round of drinks, placing a frosty mug of something that looked like ale before Boldar and a large crystal goblet before Miranda. He made a show of unfolding napkins and placing one in Miranda’s lap and the other in Boldar’s. He said, ‘Compliments of my master,’ and withdrew.
The wine was delicious and Miranda drank deeply, discovering she was quite thirsty – and hungry.
‘There’s Querl Dagat,’ said Boldar. ‘He deals in information; the more improbable, the better he likes it … as long as it’s true. For that reason, he’s a full cut above the average rumormonger hereabouts.’
Miranda picked up her napkin to blot her lips, and a folded piece of paper fell to the floor. She looked down, then at Boldar, who bent over and picked it up. He handed it to her unopened.
She took it and unfolded it to find a single word. ‘Who’s Mustafa?’ she asked.
Boldar slammed his hand down upon the table. ‘The very fellow we must see.’
He glanced around and said, ‘Up there,’ pointing to the gallery.
He rose and Miranda followed; they wended their way through the press of tables and alien bodies. Reaching a stairway, they climbed to the first of the two overhanging galleries. Miranda was surprised to discover that the gallery was but one side of a wide promenade, which had large corridors stretching away. ‘Is all this part of the Inn?’
Boldar said, ‘Certainly.’
‘How big is it?’
