Alastair Archibald - Truth and Deception

Grimm's heart leapt at the offer, but he could not ignore a sharp pang of conscience that jabbed his heart. His intention had been to leave Mansion House as soon as he had talked to Mr. Chudel, and he cast an anxious look at Quelgrum.

"What do you think, General? Should we stay another night, or leave today?" Although he took care to keep his tone neutral and serious, as if he felt equally happy with either option, he found himself hoping that Quelgrum would vote for the latter. He did not want to be the one to make this choice.

Quelgrum shrugged. "What difference will a few hours more make? I vote we stay tonight, and start out fresh in the morning."

To Grimm's immense relief, the other members of the team chimed in with an enthusiastic, almost school-boyish chorus of approval. "That seems unanimous," he said, relieved to be freed of the real decision to stay. "Who am I to argue? We can afford to stay one more night-after all, Mr. Chudel hasn't arrived yet."

"Excellent!" Keller said, rising to his feet. "Well, Tordun, the fighters have a busy schedule ahead of them. Wouldn't you prefer to come down to the gym while they're still loosening up for their main exercises?"

Tordun levered himself out of his chair. "That sounds good to me," he declared. "I'll see you later, gentlemen."

"What do we do for the rest of the day?" Guy asked, smoothing his hair back over his pate. "Shall we go for a walk outside? The grounds seem magnificent."

"Better not," Grimm said, clinging on to the shreds of his sense of duty. "We'd better hang around until this Chudel person comes back; he's got to be a busy man, and he may be difficult to contact once he's stuck into his duties. Besides, it's pleasant enough here, isn't it? Nobody else here seems to want to go outside."

"Well, I suppose so," Guy sighed, although Grimm could see that his expression was far from downcast. "Still, I had hoped to make a little more of this holiday than this."

"It's not a holiday," Numal said, with a rather pompous, pious expression on his face. "It's a Quest."

Guy opened his mouth to speak, but Grimm interrupted him. "Numal's right, Guy; perhaps we can come back here afterwards and really enjoy ourselves, but we're not on our own time at the moment."

Grimm half-expected an argument from the older Questor, but none came.

"I can't argue with that, Dragonblaster. Can't be helped, I suppose."

"That's right, Guy. It can't be helped," Quelgrum said.

Why do we all keep coming back to that phrase? Grimm wondered.

The words seemed almost like a devotional response; a mantra, a coda, a password. They reminded the young Questor of a resonance in a spell, where a mage became trapped in an incantation from which he could not escape; a single thought, chant or intent echoing in his head with ever-increasing intensity. Nonetheless, he knew that no magic was acting upon him, and that no poisons or drugs were in his system. He took a deep breath of the gently perfumed air and smiled.

We're just so relaxed and cheerful that we're lapsing into easy cliches, he told himself. There's no need to read some sinister bloody influence into every situation, Afelnor. We're not drugged or hexed; we're just happy!

"The bar's right next to the reception area," Crest said, beaming. "What do you say to the idea of an early morning drink?"

"Have you seen the prices here, elf-boy?" Harvel said. "At those rates, we'll be bankrupt before the morning's out!"

Grimm felt the gentle, tickling burn of nascent tears at his eyelids. These were such simple people; such honest people; such decent people! He would feel like a churl to spurn such sterling company.

"Don't worry, friends; I'll pay!" he said, burning with bonhomie and good humour. "Let's make the most of our time here while we have it!"

"It's a shame Tordun's not with us," Numal said, and Grimm shrugged.

"Can't be helped," he said, and then clapped a hand over his mouth as if he had committed some solecism.

Quelgrum started the laughter, quickly joined by Harvel and Guy. Crest sat for a few moments, his face reddening, and then burst into tearful guffaws, after which Numal exploded into a bloated, teary, puce-faced tirade of glee.

"Did I say something wrong?" Grimm felt more than happy to play along with the humorous melee. "Oh, well, I suppose it can't be helped."

He tried to keep his face placid and open, but he could not resist the itch any longer. He laughed, over and over again, until hot tears burned their way down his aching cheeks, the sensation intensified by the sound of booming laughter from guests at other tables, who could not even have heard what had caused this merriment.

Could any place be better than this? he wondered. As he eyed the hysterical groups of people sitting around the restaurant, he knew the answer. All of these people were good, worthy souls, with whom he felt an unaccustomed spirit of community.

He rose to his feet. "The drinks are on me, everybody!" he shouted, his heart almost bursting with fullness. "All day!"

The raucous chorus of appreciative cheers that greeted this announcement filled Grimm's heart. The shade of Magemaster Crohn seemed to hover over him, wagging a censorious finger, but he dismissed the vision with a single effort of will. He felt determined to savour his momentary popularity to the full.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!" he shouted, dancing like a pagan festival spirit. "It's all on me!"

****

Thribble, sitting in the Questor's pocket, felt a horrified stab of lightning run through him at his human friend's bizarre and uncharacteristic behaviour. Despite Grimm's protestations, he knew that the mage must be possessed by some sort of compulsion. This was not the young mortal he had come to know and respect. While all around him guffawed and cackled, the demon slid to the ground, using Grimm's robe as a break-fall. This man, Keller, seemed to be a dangerous influence, and the imp decided to follow the Pit-master as he walked away with a strange smile on his face.

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Keller led Tordun to the Pit and opened the large double doors with an ornate key. The silence of the auditorium, in contrast to the raucous clamour of the previous night, struck the albino as eerie, and he shivered. The stadium seemed, somehow, more than empty. It felt almost as if some negative, spectral presence was waiting to suck the energy out of him.

"Spooky, isn't it?" Keller said, as if divining the pale swordsman's thoughts. "I work here every day, and I still notice it. A place like this should be full of living, breathing bodies to give it life.

"Down here," the Pit manager continued, opening a door to a descending stone staircase, with treads bearing the semicircular evidence of years, if not decades, of regular wear from the passage of hundreds of feet.

At the bottom of the staircase, Tordun and Keller stepped into a large, well-lit square area, with an opening at each face.

"This is the fighters' area, Tordun. We have everything they need: a refectory, a relaxation area, a fully-equipped surgery… everything a fighting man needs to stay at the peak of physical perfection."

Keller pointed to the left-hand opening. "Quarters and social facilities are through there," he said. "To the right are the medical facilities and the administration block. I'll give you a more detailed tour later, but let's tackle first things first."

The Pit-man led Tordun through the far opening, into a corridor with many doors, giving a brief description of what lay behind each one as they passed. "Sauna, massage area, baths, relaxation area…"

"You take good care of your warriors." Tordun felt impressed at the comprehensive range of facilities.

Keller nodded. "We have a considerable investment in each of our men, and it's only good business practice to protect that investment. A pampered fighter is a good fighter.