“I like this place,” she said. “It’s … different.”
“Uh … yes,” I agreed, glancing at two passed-out drunks-one to the front of the establishment, one to the rear-and three shifty-eyed individuals conversing in low voices off in one corner. A few broken bottles and suspicious stains were upon the floor, and some not-too-subtle artwork of an amorous nature hung on the far wall. “The food’s quite good,” I added.
“I’ve never been in a restaurant like this,” she continued, watching a black cat, who rolled in from a rear room, wrestling with an enormous rat.
“It has its devotees, but it’s a well-kept secret among discriminating diners.”
I continued my tale through a meal even better than the one I remembered. When the door opened much later to admit a small man with a bad limp and a dirty bandage about his head I noticed that daylight was beginning to wane. I had just finished my story and it seemed a good time to be leaving.
I said as much, but she put her hand on mine.
“You know I’m not your entity,” she said, “but if you need any kind of help I can give you, I’ll do it.”
“You’re a good listener,” I said. “Thanks. We’d better be going now.”
We passed out of Death Alley without, incident and made our way along Harbor Road over to Vine. The sun was getting ready to set as we headed upward, and the cobbles passed ‘through a variety of bright earth tones and fire colors. Street and pedestrian traffic was light. Cooking smells drifted on the air; leaves rattled along the road; .a small yellow dragon rode the air currents high overhead; curtains of rainbow light rippled high in the north beyond the palace. I kept waiting, expecting more questions from Coral than the few she had asked. They never came. If I’d just heard my story, I think I’d have a lot of questions, unless I were totally overpowered by it or somehow understood it thoroughly.
“When we get back to the palace … ?” she said then.
“Yes?”
“… You will take me to see the Pattern, won’t you?”
I laughed.
… Or unless something else were occupying my mind.
“Right away? First thing in the door?” I asked.
“Yes.
“Sure,” I said.
Then, that off her mind, “Your story changes my picture of the world,” she said, “and I wouldn’t presume to advise you…” ,
“But-“ I continued.
“… If seems that the Keep of the Four Worlds, holds the answers you want. Everything else may fall into place when you learn what’s going on there. But I don’t understand why you can’t just do a card for it and trump in.”
“Good question. There are parts of the Courts of Chaos to which no one can trump because they change constantly and cannot be represented in a permanent fashion. The same applies to the place where I situated Ghostwheel. Now, the terrain around the Keep fluctuates quite a bit, but I’m not positive that’s the reason for the blockage. The place is a power center, and I think it possible that someone diverted some of that power into a shielding spell. A good enough magician might be able to drill through it with a Trump, but I’ve a feeling that the force required would probably set off some psychic alarm and destroy any element of surprise.”
“What does the place look like, anyway?” she asked.
“Well …,” I began. “Here.” I took my notebook and Scripto from my shirt pocket and sketched. “See, all of this area is volcanic.” I scribbled in a few fumaroles and wisps of smoke. “And this part is Ice Age.” More scribbles. “Ocean here, mountains here…”
“Then it sounds as if your best bet is to use the Pattern again,” she said, studying the drawing and shaking her head.
“Yes.”
“Do you think you’ll be doing it soon?”
“Possibly.”
“How will you attack them?”
“I’m still working on that.”
“If there’s any sort of way that I can help you, I meant what I said.”
“There isn’t.”
“Don’t be so sure. I’m well trained. I’m resourceful. I even know a few spells.”