‘For all the similarities, there are things missing, though,’ Mark went on. ‘Simple things, critical things we would expect to see in a culture that mirrors early Europe this closely.’ Again, Mark glanced over at Brynne, but she still slept deeply. ‘For example, every western culture dating back centuries has brewed coffee. Can you think of the Ronan word for coffee?’
Steven smiled. ‘In the two days since I fell through an unexplained hole in the universe, located, ironically, in our living room, I have been nearly killed by a bowman sniper, imprisoned, lashed to a stone wall in a crumbling palace and threatened with ancient weapons. I have not, however, at any time during all this excitement, thought about the Ronan word for coffee.’
‘Try it now,’ Mark encouraged.
Steven closed his eyes and relaxed his mind. Ronan words came almost as easily as English for him now, but, despite his efforts, the word for coffee did not emerge. ‘That’s strange,’ he said. ‘I can’t get it. I keep coming up with “tecan”, but I don’t think that’s right.’
‘I think that’s more like some sort of herbal tea: jasmine-sleepytime-fruity-zinger tea or some such nonsense,’ Mark replied, ‘but I’m only guessing based on the information that magically appeared in my head when I landed on that beach.’
‘You know what this means?’
‘That our magic tapestry could possibly have brought people from our world to this world long before it brought us,’ Mark said. ‘I can’t think of any other way aspects of this place would so closely resemble our world… only a former version of our world. Culture is a function of any group’s values, traditions, beliefs, myths and behaviours. If cultural values, weapons technology and architecture from early Europe managed to get here, maybe the same way we arrived, those values and innovations might have embedded themselves in the fabric of Ronan life.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Steven interrupted.
‘What did you mean?’ Mark’s analysis was sidetracked momentarily.
‘There’s no coffee here. How in all hells are we going to get by without coffee?’ He laughed. ‘Give this up, Mark. You aren’t going to figure it out trapped in this palace room. We’ll need to get out of here to get home. Hopefully, the answer lies out there somewhere.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ Mark agreed, ‘but there has to be some reason why William Higgins locked that thing in your safe. He must have known about its power, and maybe how to harness it.’
‘We’ll figure it out,’ his friend assured him, then changed the subject. ‘Anyway, we can’t stay here too long. Imagine a world without coffee; you’ll perish. The staff at the cafe has our morning order memorised: one cappuccino and one just-fill-the-damned-cup-right-now-i f-you-want-to-survive-another-minute. If we’re here too long, you’re a goner.’
‘You’re right, and we’ll both be goners if we don’t get out of this ramshackle pile of rocks and find some food. I haven’t eaten since our last pizza.’
‘I haven’t either. Although this whole captive routine is an excellent excuse to avoid steamed vegetables and roasted fish.’ Steven grimaced as he remembered their pledge to eat more nutritiously.
Mark stood up to take another look out the window. He peered towards the sun, checked his watch, shook it several times and held it to his ear. ‘Let’s get out of here, I haven’t heard a sound from the palace in four hours.’
‘You’re right. Unless Sallax is waiting just outside that door, we ought to be able to get away.’ Steven moved across the floor towards Brynne. Switching back to Ronan, he nudged her gently and called, ‘Brynne, wake up. It’s time to go.’
The curtains in the upper room of Mika Farrel’s home remained closed as Gilmour Stow and the five partisans hurriedly planned their next course of action.
‘We can’t go back to the tavern,’ Jerond offered. ‘They’ll have the place surrounded or burned to the ground by now.’
‘Yes,’ Sallax agreed, ‘we have to assume they know who we are, so none of our homes are safe. Mika, Jerond, your parents should lay low for a while as well.’ Brynne and Sallax’s parents had died many Twinmoons earlier; Garec’s family owned a farm half a day’s ride from Estrad Village. Versen had moved to the southern forests from his family’s home in the Blackstone Mountains: although he would try to get word to them, he was not worried about their immediate welfare.
‘With the level of hatred for Malagon growing in Rona, they wouldn’t dare murder four elderly people,’ Sallax continued, ‘but you ought to have them disappear for the time being just to be safe.’
Jerond and Mika nodded in agreement and Jerond rose to leave. ‘I’ll meet you in the orchard at dawn,’ he told them. ‘I can get some silver, and my father has a few weapons hidden in the house.’ Jerond was the youngest of the partisans. He hesitated, obviously nervous. ‘What are we going to do, Sallax?’
‘We’re going on a journey, north,’ Gilmour interrupted. ‘Bring some warm clothing, my boy, and don’t worry. Things are moving along as they should, but let your family know they may not see you for the next few Twinmoons.’
Garec shot the older man a worried look, then turned back to Jerond and reminded him, ‘The orchard at dawn tomorrow, all right?’
He nodded agreement, then crawled through a window at the back of the building, leaped to the ground below and disappeared along a side street into the village. Mika had been listening from the doorway. He quickly descended the stairs to share Gilmour’s news with his parents.
‘I worry about Jerond,’ Garec told the older man. ‘Now, what do you mean by several Twinmoons?’
‘I mean exactly that.’ Gilmour took a long draw on his pipe. ‘We’ll most likely be gone through next summer’s Twinmoon. We have far to go, and not much time to get organised. Now, how many horses can we get before dawn tomorrow?’
‘Plenty,’ Garec answered. ‘Renna is tethered out behind Madur’s farm. He’d sell us a dozen if we can pay.’ As if on cue, Gilmour reached into the folds of his riding cloak and withdrew a small leather pouch.
He tossed it to Garec. ‘That should be enough. See to the horses, fill your quivers and meet us in the orchard tomorrow. We can’t be seen together tonight. It would arouse too much suspicion.’ Garec stood, gathered up his longbow and started towards the window as Gilmour added, ‘Make sure you get three extra mounts.’
‘Why? Madur’s horses are strong enough to carry our gear and bedrolls as well as us,’ Versen said.
‘Brynne and the two foreigners will be joining us for this trip,’ Gilmour answered, as if the reason were obvious. Garec snorted in disbelief, then crawled through the window himself.
‘I’ll need to get back to my cabin and gather a few things,’ Versen said as he clapped a huge hand on Gilmour’s shoulder. ‘See you at dawn.’
Sallax gave the big man a quick wave and watched Versen disappear into the alley.
‘What are we to do?’ Sallax asked Gilmour uncertainly.
‘ We are going to give Namont his rites and then meet your sister,’ Gilmour answered, rising from his chair. ‘But I am not climbing out of that wretched window.’
Brexan watched the attractive merchant exit through the front door of the small house and move along the street as if he had lived there his entire life. She knew the man was a spy, but she didn’t know why he had killed Lieutenant Bronfio. He had arranged for Bronfio’s platoon to enter the dilapidated keep through the western portcullis, and he’d been waiting in the shadows for an opportunity to murder the young officer. But why?
Did he not serve Prince Malagon? Bronfio had been a by-the-book officer, Prince Malagon’s man to the core. She was quite sure he had awakened every morning asking himself how he could best serve the occupation, and how to be the leader his prince expected him to be.
Bronfio often lectured his platoon on the importance of bringing a forceful but familiar occupation to the Ronan people. ‘These citizens need predictability,’ he had said again and again. ‘That’s our job, to be a powerful but steady and predictable occupation army. With that accomplished, we will need to put down fewer insurrections, mark me.’