Lawrence Watt-Evans - Out of This World

She nodded.

Rachel had recruited crewmen to fetch chairs from the kitchen and dining room to the family room, resulting in a temporary traffic jam as everyone bumped into each other. This was further complicated by Raven’s return from the basement, accompanied by Stoddard, Squire Donald, and the wizard Valadrakul. As the chaos gradually subsided and everyone either found seats or places to stand, Nancy looked the entire array over with some dismay. She counted seventeen guests-and she hadn’t had a chance to shop.

“Would anyone like coffee?” she asked, a little more loudly than she had intended.

Pel looked over the gathering with an odd feeling of unreality. His house was full of characters out of fiction-spacemen and swordsmen and wizards.

Not actors, though; their clothes were all lived in, serious working clothes, not costumes made just for looks. He could smell sweat and perfume-the perfume, he thought, was coming from Squire Donald. He could see pimples and nose hairs.

These people were just as real as he was.

So if these people were all out of storybooks, did that make him a fictional character, too? Was he living out an adventure? If so, he hoped he was the hero, and that there would be a happy ending.

Up until yesterday he had thought he was all through with any chance at adventures, and that he had already gotten safely to the living- happily-ever-after part. He had a wife he loved, a delightful daughter, a pleasant home, and his own reasonably-successful business.

Maybe he was just background, then, just a spear-carrier, some bit player.

Or maybe it wasn’t a story at all. After all, what sort of adventure story had both wizards and spacemen? And what were lawyers doing in it?

No, this was no story; this was the real world taking an entirely new and bizarre turn, such as his life hadn’t done since college. And it had never before taken a turn this weird.

“We’ll be sending out for pizza a little later,” he announced as Nancy carried in the second tray of coffee. “For supper, I mean. I’m afraid we’re not equipped to feed everybody anything more substantial than that.”

“Will we be staying here, then?” one of the Imperials asked-Pel did not yet know them all by name, and this was not one he knew.

“What’s pizza?” someone else asked, a little more quietly; Pel was not sure who had spoken.

That, at least, was a question he could answer.

“Pizza, for those of you who aren’t familiar with it, is a sort of tomato and cheese pie you can eat with your fingers,” Pel explained. “I think you’ll like it, and it’s something we can get delivered easily. As for whether any of you will be staying here for any length of time, I don’t know; that’s one of the things we need to discuss.”

He looked around at the crowded room, and three dozen eyes looked back at him attentively. He was the host, the man in charge; it was his responsibility to get things moving.

“To start at the beginning,” he said, “my name is Pellinore Brown, and this is my house; that’s my wife Nancy bringing you all tea and coffee, and my daughter Rachel over there in the doorway.” He pointed. “We have a cat somewhere, but he’s probably hiding under the bed upstairs.”

No one laughed; a few polite smiles appeared briefly.

Pel continued, pointing, “That’s Ted Deranian, our attorney; some of you owe him a vote of thanks for getting you out of jail.”

Ted, who had managed to snag the recliner and who now sat comfortably enthroned, his feet up, smiled and waved without rising. A polite murmur was heard; when it had subsided, Pel continued.

“Over there,” Pel said, pointing to the step down from the hallway, “is Amy Jewell, who owns the land where the Imperial spaceship crashed, and beside her is her attorney, Susan Nguyen.” The two women were seated side by side on the step; Amy did not react visibly, but Susan acknowledged the introduction with a nervous little nod.

“And,” Pel said, looking around to make sure he hadn’t missed anyone, “according to what I’ve been told, the six of us are the only people here from this planet. We have people here from three different worlds. I’ll let Raven introduce the people from his world.”

Raven rose from the white mesh patio chair he was using, one of three that had been brought in to augment the available seating. Pel noticed that at some point he had put his sword back on.

The man in black nodded an acknowledgment and said, “My thanks, friend Pel Brown. From my world there are at present but four of us come. I am called Raven of Stormcrack Keep; my companions,” he pointed, “are the mage Valadrakul, Squire Donald a’ Benton, and Stoddard, man-at-arms. We came hither by magic, seeking aid in the struggle against the Shadow that has darkened our homeland.”

Ted, still ensconced in the recliner, snorted derisively.

“Thanks,” Pel said, quickly speaking up before Raven could go any further. Raven essayed a quick bow to the gathered company, then sat again as Pel said, “And the rest of you are from the Galactic Empire; Captain Cahn, if you could introduce your crew?”

“I’m Captain Joshua Cahn, commanding I.S.S. Ruthless , detached service, Imperial Fleet,” Cahn said, rising from his place on the couch. “My second in command is First Lieutenant Alster Drummond, my second officer is Second Lieutenant Geoffrey Godwin.” With each name he pointed. “My men are Peabody, Smith, Lampert, Cartwright, Soorn, and Mervyn, and our Special is Registered Master Telepath Proserpine Thorpe.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Pel took a deep breath.

“Mr. Brown,” Captain Cahn said, interrupting whatever Pel had been about to say, “why are we here? Are we your prisoners?”

“Oh, no, Captain!” Pel said, startled.

“No, you are mine ,” Raven added, rising.

Astonished, Pel turned to see that Raven had his hand on the hilt of his sword, Squire Donald’s hands were ready, and Stoddard was pulling his blade from its sheath. Valadrakul had made no move toward his knife, but had raised both hands in a very peculiar spread-fingered gesture that vaguely resembled a martial arts stance.

“What?” Pel said, baffled. “Raven, what d’you think you’re doing ?”

“Why, claiming my prisoners, friend Pel,” Raven replied. “And my thanks to you and your comrade, and your lovely wife, for fetching them for me.” He grinned, and Pel remembered that his very first impression of Raven had been of a Mafioso in Renaissance dress.

The Earth people all stared in confusion; the Imperials reacted with tension, anger, and befuddlement. Some stood, some started to and then froze, others never moved.

Ted smiled an uneasy smile. Amy muttered, “This is insane,” and clutched her purse tightly. Susan watched, her face emotionless.

Captain Cahn did not bother to say anything; he hauled a blaster from the holster on his belt, pointed it at Stoddard, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

“Damn,” he said. “I was afraid of that.”

Ted giggled.

“Stoddard, put that thing away,” Pel said. “And you, too, Captain; even if it doesn’t work, I don’t like people pointing guns in my house.”

Stoddard glanced at Raven.

“Nobody is anybody’s prisoner here,” Pel insisted. “Raven, you three may have swords, but there are four of you and fifteen of us, and a drawerful of knives in the kitchen. If there’s a fight someone’s going to get hurt, and you might lose, and besides, it’s just stupid. Put the swords away and let’s talk about this, okay?”

“We have more than swords, Pel Brown,” Raven said; he kept his right hand on the hilt of his own weapon and gestured at Valadrakul with his left.