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rix_scaeduI wrote this to my Trope Bingo prompt of “Crossover”, and it came in at 1,925 words. I believe that it stands on its own, but it is directly related to a piece I wrote back in 2014 that is only on Livejournal and is called “Firenze”.
If Bhargarbh was anything, it was an interchange. It wasn't a space between worlds, although those did exist, but it was a small, finite world with many doors linking it to other worlds. Roald Dhogassohn had arrived here through a door from Maerche, which wasn't unusual because Maerche had doors to lots of other worlds, but Bhargarbh was unusual as a destination for one of those doors because most of the worlds you accessed through a door were alternate versions of each other. A series of worlds all much the same as each other with a few significant variations, like different peoples, more or less magic, asteroid strikes, or technology choices. Bhargarbh had a surface area that was sixteen to twenty kilometres across, depending where and in which direction you measured it. It had a slightly orange sun, a day length of 24.7 hours by the time keeping standards of Roald's homeland, and it was surrounded by a two and a half metre tall wall of quartz. Rumour suggested that there was nothing beyond the quartz – visitors were dissuaded from looking. Roald didn't pretend to understand it, he just used the place as a quick, safe way to get from one world to the next.
On this occasion, he was there to attend a meeting. Given that there were so many doors opening in and out of the place and so many roads passing through it, Bhargarbh had a small town of services sitting there and waiting for travellers. You could get almost anything repaired in Bhargarbh, or at least professionally jury-rigged to get you home again. There were food places, laundromats, doctors, apothecaries, surgeons, midwives, scryers and inns. There were money changers, storage places, hiring agencies, enchanters, map shops, and translators. Consequently, Roald wasn't that surprised to find himself at a table in a private parlor of The Aodach Morh with five other people waiting for a "Mr Parker" to arrive. All six of them at the table passed as human of some variety at first glance, although if you looked again at least two of them were fae. To Roald's eye, everyone at the table appeared to be male, but that was no guarantee that this was so. Each of them was clearly of a different ethnicity and there were two skin tones at the table that would not be found in Roald's world of birth. It appeared from their clothing and accoutrements that none of them came from the same culture. Two of them seemed to be wearing uniforms. From their personal bits and pieces each of them seemed to have different technological expectations.
When he arrived, "Mr Parker" proved to be one of the more unsettling human variants, specifically a native of Maerche and an unsettling member of that group. He had long fingers, dark eyebrows that were pointed arches above his eyes, and a platinum silver streak in his dark hair. Incongruously, give the air of disquiet that he generated around him, he wore a well-cut three-piece suit of the type common in worlds where petticoat breeches had been replaced by trousers. The garments were mid gray, his shirt was white, and his neckcloth and pockets square were charcoal. The only man at the table that Roald was certain was a Maerchen, sat back in his chair and flared his broad nostrils.
Once the door was closed, the man calling himself Parker went to the remaining empty space and sat down. "Gentlemen, thank you all for coming." He looked around the table as if to gauge their reactions. "I have called you here on behalf of my principal to explain the task that he would like you to undertake. My principal is trying to locate a young man of Maerchen origin who has precipitately left his home and chosen to disappear into the population of another world. You were all contacted because you are investigators or intelligence gatherers of one sort or another. Few of you are also Maerchen, but you have all spent considerable time in that world. The young man in question is hiding in a city on a densely populated, technology-focused world. There is magic there, but locally it is concentrated in the hands of the fae who themselves hide in plain sight from the rest of the local population. Transport is quick and relatively inexpensive. Other worlds are known of in certain circles, mainly fae or academic ones. Weapons are not commonly carried by the general populace but the weapons of choice in the parts you would be going to are knives and firearms. If you do not wish to work in such a place, you can withdraw now with no harm or foul."
The man whose nostrils had flared asked, as his fingers played with the velvet cuffs of his warm brown coloured uniform, "What does your principal intend to do with the young man when he is found?" His fingers went still, his hair and side whiskers bristled as he looked Parker in the eye and asked, "What do you intend to do with him?"
Parker asked smoothly back, "What is it to you?"
"I didn't ask questions once," replied the man in the brown uniform, "and it turned out badly. When we asked questions the next time, our regiment was broken."
Parker nodded. "Ah. The Neustahnisch 13th Feldjaegers who refused to become Finsterjaegers."
One of the other men, his fingers beringed and his wrists braceleted with amber, jade and unnaturally coloured resins, spoke up, "He does have a point. You are offering to pay for our services, not our souls."
Parker looked around the table, taking the mood of his audience. "Very well. My principal intends to elevate the young man to a higher station than he currently enjoys. He intends the youth no harm."
One of the fae, seated on Roald's immediate right and next to the Maerchen in the brown uniform, chuckled and commented, "So this young man doesn't want to be elevated, doesn't trust your principal, or suspects that the price of his elevation will be more than he wants to pay. Are your principal and this young man fae?"
"My principal...is practicing discretion in this matter," replied Mr Parker. "The young man does have fae blood through both his parents."
The fae dressed in green at Parker's right hand asked bluntly, "Is this a matter of Court politics? If it is, which Court? I make no secret of being bound by oaths I cannot break, and I have no wish to do so unknowingly."
"There is royalty involved in the matter," admitted Parker, "but neither the title nor the land it refers to are fae. This matter is neither between nor confined to a fae Court." He looked around the table again and added, "Payment will be half in advance. An amount for expenses equivalent to a gentleman's income for a month in the location you are going to will be paid to you in advance in local currency. Contact details will be provided to you in case you need additional funds - for instance if you have discovered that the target has travelled to another location." He added delicately, "It is possible, but unlikely, that your target has travelled or will travel to the moon or the depths of the sea. The people of the world you are going to have outposts in both locations."
The fae in green commented, "Well, you did say that they are a technology focused world."
"Indeed." Parker nodded in acknowledgement. "As none of you are making moves to leave, may I assume that you are all interested in this job?"
No-one at the table dissented.
"Excellent." He opened his leather document bag, produced six leather document folders, and handed them around the table. "This is the information we have on the young man in question, the door he used, and the conditions around the door on both sides at the time he used it. Please take the time to read through it - I will answer what questions I can."
It was Roald who asked the first question. He was blunt. "Are we looking for an archetype?"
The second man in uniform, a thin-faced type wearing a high-necked, mauvish-grey tunic that showed no hint of any neckcloth, shirt or linens that might be underneath it, was on Roald's left. A black cube with a slowly blinking blues light on it sat just to the right of his central collar opening. He commented, "There is no mention in here of probable oppositional forces. If we are dealing with a trope or an archetype, then something of that nature is likely."
The green clad fae chuckled and added, "True, my friend. Some of those tales come with enemies built in. Also, this reeks of a power play. A fae power play. Did your principal set this up or has he been set up as part of someone else's plan?"
Parker nodded in acknowledgment. "Yes, this is an archetype - The Sword in the Stone. There may be other contenders for the throne, but nothing inherent."
"Unless," put in the black-dressed fae, "this is also the Once and Future King, in which case there are inbuilt enemies and enmity." Roald thought the man seemed rather pleased by the idea.
Parker seemed to contemplate that for a moment. "I really hope not. My principal certainly believes himself to be the instigator of his plans and his plans are for The Sword in the Stone. Speaking of which, the sword in the stone has been moved to the world your target has fled to. The easier to allow inevitability to occur."
The man with the bracelets asked thoughtfully, "Do you want us to find him, or to flush him towards the stone?"
"We need and want you to find him, and then give us his location. We will take it from there." Parker looked around the room. "Anything else?"
No-one answered.
"Good. We'll forward everyone's initial payments to their chosen transaction mode immediately. The expense advances will be handed to you when we meet again at the door and time stated on the arrangements sheet in your folders. I look forward to seeing you all then, gentlemen. Good day." With that Parker stood, picked up his document bag, bowed to the room, and walked out the door, leaving it open behind him.
The fae in black turned to the man in the brown uniform and asked, "Do you have any idea which kingdom they're manipulating?"
"Not off the top of my head," replied the man in brown. "Nothing in the Murifeld Confederation, the Trephanen League or the Electorships fits the pattern of a recently dead monarch, a queen with a previous husband, and no acknowledged or locatable heir."
"No-one can know the whole world," the fae acknowledged. "The human kingdoms I am most familiar with lie to the southwest of your area of expertise, and there's nothing that fits there, although there is that one Valentian crown princess...."
"Princess Alexia? She's still alive, her father's still alive, and her husband's still alive," replied the man in brown. "You're right, it's a tempting fit, but no."
The black clad fae nodded in acknowledgement. "At least I can take comfort in being able to be unconcerned that certain groups of my people may be involved."
"Some days that's the best we can ask for," replied the man in brown. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some preparation to do."
"As do we all, my friend," agreed the fae.
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Date: 2021-10-27 09:35 pm (UTC)I do have one or two notes, but that's it.
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