Alliphor

CHAPTER SEVEN
By Beck McLaughlin

Elfie spent the day, alone, in the little cabin. As prisons went, it was not too bad. There was bottled water in the cupboard, and cheese biscuits -- a bit dry, but palatable. A toilet was tucked cleverly in a closet. She thought about picking the lock, but each time she set her ear to the door, she heard the unmistakable sound of a guard.

The cabin had a tiny porthole. If she sat on the chest of drawers right beneath it, she could see outside. They were in the country. Now and then, she caught a glimpse of roof behind the dense greenery, the glint of a window. Finally, bored, she fell asleep.

Sometime in the middle of night she was awakened by the sound of feet clattering in the distance. She heard muffled shouting. Elfie lay, holding the blankets against her chin, while the boat rocked, then stilled. When no one came, and the silence continued unbroken, she drifted back to sleep.

In the morning, a guard came for her. He ignored her demand for food, clamping a gloved hand on her shoulder and kept it there. They marched up the steps, down the elegant corridor, whereupon the guard opened the door to the room she'd glimpsed yesterday.

Today, there was no sign of the littered table or the richly dressed gentlemen. A fresh breeze came through the open portholes. The room had two occupants, and Elfie's heart forced itself up into her throat.

Although she had grown up in l'Sanjil, Elfie had only seen the princess from afar. Still, there was no mistaking the tall, dark beauty rising from the couch to look her over. "Your highness," she said, and sketched an awkward curtsey.

"Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well? Is your cabin acceptable?"

Elfie swallowed, but the tightness in her throat continued. "Yes, your highness. Thank you."

"Come, child." Sit down." The princess smiled and extended a hand. Elfie tried not to notice that the smile never touched her eyes. "I do apologize for the rather -- distressing nature of your arrival -- but it was imperative that I speak to you."

"Me?" The word came out a squeak. "Why me?"

"I should be angry with you, naughty child. That book, Krisalka, would have saved me a great deal of valuable time."

"You commissioned the theft?"

"I did, but it turns out that I've discovered something far more valuable. I'm told you are a spirit-summoner. I wish to see a demonstration of you talent. Summon a spirit." Driade's smile did not waver, but the cold in her eyes deepened.

"It -- it doesn't work like that, your highness. Some -- sometimes he won't come."

"Thonnor, persuade her."

Elfie had seen the soldier standing near the other door and given him no thought. Now, however, she took a closer look and saw, to her horror, that he was a kelblade. The man crossed the room to her. Elfie shrank, but with a swift, fluid motion, he drew his sword and laid the tip at her throat.

Paralyzed, Elfie stared helplessly back at him. Near the hilt, the sword began to glow and the glow spread down the blade toward her. Oh, gods! It was a demon sword!

Suddenly, the kelblade shouted and flew backwards. The sword was wrenched from his grasp, sliding across the carpet, leaving a trail of singed wool in its wake. Elfie turned and would have bolted, but the princess stepped into her path

"Well, well. As I suspected -- telekinetic."

Cool hands guided Elfie gently to the couch, settled her tenderly into the cushions.

"What -- what do you want with me, highness?"

"Your assistance."

Startled, Elfie lifted her eyes. "Mine?"

The woman smiled, but still there was no warming her eyes. They glinted, hard, implacable. "You will, of course, be well compensated for your inconvenience. How does a hundred gold sound?"

"Nice," Elfie said in a strained voice, "but five hundred sounds nicer yet."

Thonnor laughed, retrieving his blade. The thief's heart thumped painfully when he took up a position directly behind her.

"Money, is it? Excellent. Five hundred, and if you please me, another five hundred. Will that be enough to hire your services?"

A thousand? Elfie felt faint. A thousand?

"You -- you don't want me kill anyone, do you?"

"Of course not. I ask of you only such things as your guild might have legally contracted for." Elfie nodded tightly. A thousand gold. Her guild destroyed at this woman's command. Gods.

"Very well, your highness," she said faintly. "I would be honored to work for you."

The Princess ordered servants to find new clothes for Elfie and soon the thief was the stunned recipient of several breath-taking gowns. There was a luxurious bath, scented oils, even a gold necklace with a crystal that flashed fire at her throat.

She was allowed to wander about the yacht's upper decks at will. The boat was tied to a lone pier at a bend in the river. Elfie had no idea where they were, whether still on the Ser or one of its tributaries. The banks were heavily wooded and it was impossible to see what lay up the path that led away from the pier.

As the sun set, the yacht cast off. Elfie ate dinner on deck with the Princess, watching the fields glide by. Driadre ignored her, engrossed in a scroll half-filled with tiny, precisely scribed symbols. Occasionally, the woman would write something down on it, then stare off into the countryside, mind clearly far away.

Elfie had to admit there was much to recommend her current situation. Escape no longer seemed a matter of great urgency. She liked being waited upon. The gown of ruby silk she wore was fit for a duchess, and if her hostess was a little strange, a little scary, what of it? She was royalty. So, in spite of the misgivings that persisted, Elfie ate her dinner and drank her wine, and watched the sky darken.

"Are you bored, child?" Driade's voice, unexpected in the quiet, made Elfie jump. A servant moved silently about the deck, lighting the lanterns and the incense-soaked torches. "I think a little entertainment is in order. Thonnor!"

Leave! Go now!" Storchi was standing beside her at the table, fully visible in his agitation. Horrified, Elfie looked at the princess, but the woman wasn't looking at him, only at her. She forced herself to smile apologetically.

"I'm sorry. It's getting cold and I'm tired. May I go to bed, highness?"

Too late!

Across the deck came the Thonnor and with him was a familiar figure, handsome and forbidding.

"You!"

Shaken by a chill, Elfie clenched her icy hands. Reven's lean countenance swam in her vision. He was in chains, jaw stubbled, eyes red-rimmed.

"You and Lord Avril have met? How unexpected. Do sit down." Driade waved imperiously to an empty chair. "Lord Avril?"

Thonnor shoved the blond man forward, but Reven's leg-irons caught him up and sent him to his knees. Driade smiled. "My lord Avril, please get up and join us. How do you and Elfira know each other?"

Reven had to be helped up by a hovering servant. Clearly, he had not enjoyed the same hospitality as she. Bruised, a cut above one eye, he stared bleakly at the wine they set before him and did not touch it.

"I tried to steal from him and got caught," Elfie said shortly. Hoping her voice wasn't as thin as it sounded to her, she added: "And I don't like him very much."

"His social skills are underdeveloped," Driade replied, "but charm is not a qualification for his job."

Reven's wide, well-shaped mouth twisted. He lifted his arms, burdened as the were with heavy iron, and set them on the table, knocking over glasses and the lamp. Servants sprang forward in a panic. Driade was unmoved.

"Your defiance grows tiresome, Avril. It is possible for you to be more trouble than you're worth."

"Do you think I fear death after this?" he demanded.

"All living creatures fear death, Avril. It is an instinct in humanoid species. However, I put more confidence in your barbarian's honor. You will not to force another to take your place."

Elfie could see Driade had scored a hit. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Driade smiled faintly.

"Is what she says true, Avril?"

He nodded.

"And where was this unsuccessful theft?'

"A few days ago," Elfie muttered. "By Kirmil."

"Indeed. And what were you trying to steal?" Amusement glimmered in Driade's voice. Elfie shrugged. "Food, money -- anything. I would have succeeded, too, if it weren't for the Doctor . . ."

Driade stiffened. Her color faded. "Who?"

"T-the Doctor."

Reven was looking daggers at her. Elfie's voice faltered, then, angrily, she continued: "A mage traveling in Lord Avril's company. He called himself the Doctor. He was kind to me."

"What does he look li -- no, never mind. You are sure that's what he calls himself? Rassilon! Could it be?" The princess was on her feet in a single, jerky movement, hands twisting before her. "Damn! That meddling, interfering . . ." She stopped, looking down at Reven coldly. "My husband's spies told of rumors that Kellin has taken up with mage. Is it he? Is it?"

It was gratifying in a small way to see that the Doctor had the power to frighten the icy Driade. Elfie quickly dropped her eyes to her lap rather than reveal her feelings to the princess. Perhaps Reven nodded. When Elfie looked up, she saw the princess shoving her papers into a satchel.

"Fetch Thonnor," Driade commanded a nearby servant, "and some guards to take this wretch back to the hold. You!" Another servant bowed apprehensively. "Interrupt the prince. I must speak to him at once!"

In a swirl of silks, the princess was gone. Reven and Elfie stared at each other across the ruins of the table.

"A fine way to repay the Doctor's kindness," he said shortly. "Guttersnipe."

"Slave!" she shot back, stung all the more by the fact that he was right. She should've kept her tongue between her teeth where it could do no damage.

Indeed, came Storchi's sardonic voice in her ear. This is madness, thiefling. Beautiful gowns and feather mattresses are not worth your soul!

"I know," she muttered. "Shut up."

"Talking to yourself?" Lord Avril mocked.

"I'd have Storchi knock some courtesy into your thick skull, but he says you look so miserable, he hasn't the heart!"

Reven stared at her in disbelief. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. "If nothing else, brat, you've got spirit. Pity sold yourself to that whore, Driade."

"Who said I did any such thing? Maybe I just want to stay alive another day." She got up, seeing Thonnor, and wanting to be as far from him as possible. Turning her back on Reven, Elfie left the prisoner to the tender mercies of his comrade-in-hell.

"Is every kelguard out tonight?" wondered the viscount aloud.

The mage, tucked back into the corner of the cab, flashed him a white smile in the dark. "I'm counting on it," he said cryptically.

The palace was awash with light and activity as Moric's carriage crested the hill. Leaning out the window, he shouted to his coachman, who obediently turned the carriage into a side street. They rattled over the cobbles, keeping to the deep shadow of the meandering stone walls until, at last, they reached a gate tucked discreetly at the end of an alley. Lover's Bolt, it was called. Many were the nights that Kellin, Moric and a few other intimate cronies -- in various states of intoxication -- made use of the little-known entrance.

There was a single guard at watch in this out-of-the-way spot. He recognized Moric and bowed, standing aside to let them in. Something in the direction of the man's gaze made him pause and look around. The Doctor was no longer behind him. A moment later, however, Moric caught a glimpse of the mage a few steps up the path, waiting impatiently in the moonlight.

Inside the palace, the halls were deserted. Maybe every kelguard was out in the streets. The mage hurried ahead of Moric down the richly carpeted hall. Rounding the corner, he stopped abruptly, several items tumbling out of his pocket to roll in all directions. With a disjointed apology and brief smile, he dove to retrieve them. Moric sighed and crouched, rescuing a small, hard ball that had rolled behind a commode. When he looked up, it was to see the Doctor, fallen belongings forgotten, striding quickly down a left-hand corridor. This was not the direction of his apartment! Swearing, Moric scrambled to his feet and made haste to follow. The mage veered into a large parlor.

"Oh, no you don't ..."

It was too late. The Doctor strode through the room and out the other door. Moric started to run. Ahead was another parlor. Sixth months ago, he, Kellin, and several others had been in it, had been present to witness the arrival of a large, blue box -- a magical vehicle even the priests could not explain.

The box, or TARDIS, as the Doctor named it, had not moved from that spot since. It was a hotly contested item between the priesthood and the prince. The former claimed it as their purview since it was clearly occult. Kellin claimed possession because -- well, he was Kellin. They did agree on one thing -- neither wanted the Doctor near it. So the mysterious ship remained where it was, under constant guard, an odd sight against the paneling and age-darkened paintings.

The parlor door stood ajar. Moric pushed it open and was promptly confronted by a guard -- only one when usually, there were three. Moric saw no sign of the Doctor, wasn't sure whether to be angry or amused.

"My lord?" The kelguard was staring at him curiously.

Down the hallway, just out of sight, came a loud crash. The two men exchanged startled looks.

"My lord!" The guard drew his sword. "May I impose upon you to guard the demon craft?" Speechless, Moric nodded. The guard hurried off and, to the viscount's complete and utter lack of surprise, the Doctor appeared in the doorway seconds later.

"Not bad,' marveled the viscount.

The mage acknowledged the compliment with a graceful bow, then slipped past Moric -- heading right for the TARDIS.

"Hie, now! You're not really going to leave, are you?" The viscount, dismayed, hurried after him. "You swore to Kellin you would not!"

Moric made a desperate leap after the mage, colliding with him, tumbling them both through the door. The Doctor recovered first and jumped to his feet, slamming the door and locking it. Dazed, Moric sat up, vaguely aware that the slam echoed.

"Lords of hell!"

A vaulted ceiling, alive with stars, met his disbelieving eyes. The accouterments of living were arranged in the great space around them - a chair beside a small reading table with a porcelain cup set upon it, shelves in the deeper shadows at the edge of this fantastic place that were filled with books. The center of the chamber was dominated by an device of mysterious function, rather like a pillar of light, surrounded by a ledge covered with dials and buttons and inset with glass panes that covered runes, some of which changed ceaselessly.

"I"ll keep my word to Kellin," the Doctor said, extending a helpful hand to the stunned viscount. "In the TARDIS, we'll be back before we leave!"