David Brin - The Practice Effect

Two more guards fell in behind. Dennis was led down service corridors, then upstairs to an elegant hallway. None of the servants turned to look at the shabby fellow clutching a blanket around him who passed by.

Another pair of guards flanked a door at the end of the hall. They opened it at a nod from Lord Hern.

Dennis followed his escort into a well-appointed room without windows. There was a king-sized bed, with a richly elegant brocade covering. A pretty young servant was laying out an elegant dark brown outfit with puffy sleeves. Through a door on the opposite side came steam and the sound of water being poured.

“You will dine with the Baron tonight,” Lord Hern announced. “You will behave well. The Baron has been known to lose track of inconsiderate guests.”

Dennis shrugged. “So I’ve heard. Thanks. Will you be there?”

Lord Hern looked down his nose. “I shall not have the pleasure. I shall be on a diplomatic errand. Perhaps another time.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Dennis nodded pleasantly.

The aristocrat barely returned the nod. He left without another word.

Coylians, apparently, were an unenlightened and unsophisticated people. The guards merely looked curiously at the odd arm and finger exercise Dennis performed in the direction of the departing lord’s back.

He didn’t need to be told a bath was being drawn. Dennis drop-kicked the blanket over into a corner and made his way toward the sound of pouring water.

Cavemen, Dennis reminded himself again and again as he walked to the banquet room.

Remember, boy, they’re only cavemen.

It was hard to keep it in mind. The grand hallway was lined with brilliant mirrors alternating with ornate tapestries. His boots and those of his escort clacked on a mosaic floor that reflected glistening highlights from sparkling chandeliers.

Guards with sun-bright leather armor and gleaming halberds stood at even intervals, at rigid attention.

Dennis wondered. Was this an ostentatious display, keeping these men here when even their leisure time was more valuably spent practicing things?

Then it occurred to him that they were practicing something—this very hall. They were looking at the mirrors and hangings and each others’ uniforms, making them more beautiful by appreciating them. These guards, he realized, were undoubtedly selected less for their prowess than for their good taste!

His escort glanced at him as he whistled appreciatively.

As they approached two high, massive doors, Dennis tried to relax.

If the local honcho expects a wizard, my best chance is to act like a wizard. Maybe this Baron Kremer isn’t unreasonable. Perhaps I can strike a deal with the fellow—freedom for myself and my friends, and aid in fixing the zievatron, in exchange for teaching one of the maker guilds the principle of the wheel?

Dennis wondered if the nobleman would trade Princess Linnora for the “essence” of lighter-than-air flight.

The great doors opened soundlessly as Dennis was ushered into a broad dining room with a vaulted, open-beamed ceiling. The center of the chamber was dominated by an ornate table carved from some impossibly beautiful dark wood. Subdued light came from three rich candelabras. The crystal on the embroidered tablecloth sparkled in the candlelight.

Although four places were set, only servants were visible at the moment. One brought forth a tray with an assortment of beverages and offered Dennis his choice.

He needed something to calm his nerves. It was hard to keep in mind that a savage—a caveman—owned all this. Everything in the room was meant to make the guest know his place in a stratified society. In a room such as this on Earth, Dennis would be about to meet royalty.

He pointed to a bottle, and the servant poured the liquor into a crystal goblet the color of fire.

Dennis took the glass and wandered about the room. If he were a thief and had a working zievatron within reach, he could retire on Earth on just what he could carry in his hands.

Providing, of course, the things retained their current state when they left the ambience of the Practice Effect. Dennis smiled, imagining irate customers whose wonderful purchases slowly decayed before their eyes into the crude products of a kindergarten workshop!

The lawsuits could go on for years.

The sense of alienation was back again. It felt inexorable. And this time he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t be a help. He had to appear confident this evening, or risk losing whatever chance remained of ever getting home again.

In a contemplative daze he passed through elegant French doors onto the balcony. He looked upon the starry night, with two small moons casting their light on the drifting cumulus clouds, and brought the goblet to his lips.

The pensive spell was broken instantly as he gagged. He coughed and spat the stuff out onto the brilliant parquet floor. He wiped his lips on his lacy sleeve and stared in disbelief at the cup in his hand.

Once again he had been trapped by his own assumptions, In this kind of lavish environment he had expected fine vintages, not elephant piss!

From the shadows to his right there came musical, feminine laughter. He turned quickly and saw that someone else stood on the balcony with him; her hand briefly tried to cover a grin of amusement.

Dennis felt blood rush to his cheeks.

“I know how you feel,” the young woman hurried to say in sympathy. “Isn’t it awful? You can’t practice wine, and you can’t cook it. So these cretins put what they have in fancy bottles and are happy, unable to tell the difference.”

From his brief glimpses and the stories he had heard about the L’Toff, Dennis had built in his mind an almost elfin image of Princess Linnora—as someone fragile and almost ethereal. Up close she was, indeed, beautiful, but much more human than his imagination had drawn her. She had dimples when she smiled, and her teeth, while white and brilliant, were slightly uneven. Though she was clearly a young woman, sorrow had already planted faint lines at the corners of her eyes.

Dennis felt his voice catch in his throat. He essayed a clumsy bow as he tried to think of something to say.

“In my country, Lady, we would save such vintages as this one for periods of penance.”

“Such penance.” She seemed impressed with the implied asceticism.

“Right now,” Dennis went on, “I’d trade this rare goblet and all the Baron’s wealth for a good Cabernet from my homeland—so I could raise it to your beauty, and the help you gave me once.”

She acknowledged with a curtsy and a smile. “A convoluted compliment, but I think I like it. I admit, Sir Wizard, that I expected never to see you again. Was my help so poor?”

Dennis joined her at the rail. “No, Lady. Your help made our escape from the jailyard below possible. Didn’t you hear the commotion you indirectly caused that night?”

Linnora’s lips pursed and she turned away slightly, obviously trying not to laugh undemurely out loud at the memory.

“The look on my lord host’s face that night repaid any debt you owed. I only wish his net had remained empty this time.”

Dennis had it in his mind to say something stylishly gallant such as, “I could not stay away but had to return to you, my Lady.” But the openness in her gray eyes made it seem verbose and inappropriate. He looked down.

“Well, uh,” he said instead. “I guess even a wizard can get a little clumsy once in a while.”

Her warm smile told him he had given the right answer. “Then we shall have to hope for another opportunity, shall we not?” she asked.

Dennis felt unaccountably warm. “We can hope,” he agreed.