The darkness lifted as soon as they stepped over the threshold, a milky glow coming directly from the substance of the walls.
«Cari, is that radioactive?» Keff asked. His whisper was amplified in a ghostly rush of sound by the rough stone.
«No. In fact, I'm getting no readings on the light at all. Strange.»
«Magic!»
«Cut that out,» Carialle said sulkily. «I say its a form of energy with which I am unacquainted.»
In contrast to all the other chambers Keff had seen in Chaumel's eyrie, this room had a low, unadorned ceiling of rough granite less than an arms length above their heads. Keff felt as though he needed to stoop to avoid hitting the roof.
Chaumel moved across me floor like a man in a chapel. The furnishings of the narrow room carried out that impression. At the end opposite the door was a molded, silver table not unlike an altar, upon which rested five objects arranged in a circle on an embroidered cloth. Keff tiptoed forward behind Chaumel.
The items themselves were not particularly impressive: a metal bangle about twelve centimeters across, a silver tube, a flattened disk pierced with half-moon shapes all around the edge, a wedge of clear crystal with a piece of dull metal fused to the blunt end, and a hollow cylinder like an empty jelly jar.
«What are they?» Keff asked.
«Objects of power,» Chaumel replied. One by one he lifted them and displayed them for Keff. Returning to the bangle, Chaumel turned it over so Keff could see its inner arc. Five depressions about two centimeters apart were molded into its otherwise smooth curve. In turn, he showed the markings on each one. With the last, he inserted the tips of his fingers into the depressions and wielded it away from Keff.
«Ah,» Keff said, enlightened. «You need five digits to use these.»
«So the amputation is to keep the servers from organizing a palace revolt,» Carialle said. «Any uppity server just wouldn't have the physical dexterity to use them.»
«Mmm,» Keff said. «How old are they?» He moved closer to the altar and bent over the cloth.
«Old, old,» Chaumel said, patting the jelly jar.
«Old Ones,» Carialle verified, running a scan through Keff's ocular implants. «So is the bangle. The other three are Ancient, with some subsequent modifications by the Old Ones. All of them have five pressure plates incorporated into the design. That's why Brannel tried to take my palette. It has five depressions, just like these items. He probably thought it was a power piece, like these.»
«There's coincidence for you: both the alien races here were pentadactyl, like humans. I wonder if that's a recurring trait throughout the galaxy for technologically capable races,» Keff said. «Five-fingered hands.»
Chaumel certainly seemed proud of his. Setting down the jelly jar, he rubbed his hands together, then flicked invisible dust motes off his nails, taking time to admire both fronts and backs.
«Well, they are shapely hands,» Carialle said. «They wouldn't be out of place in Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel frescoes except for the bizarre proportions.»
Keff took a good look at Chaumel's hands. For the first time he noticed that the thumbs, which he had noted as being rather long, bore lifelike prostheses, complete with nails and tiny wisps of hair, that made the tips fan out to the same distance as the forefingers. The little fingers were of equal length to the ring fingers, jarring the eye, making the fingers look like a thick fringe cut straight across.
Absently conscious of Keff's stare, Chaumel pulled at his little fingers.
«Is he trying to make them longer by doing that?» Carialle asked. «It's physically impossible, but I suppose telling him that won't make him stop. Superstitions are superstitions.»
«That's er, grotesque, Chaumel,» Keff said, smiling with what he hoped was an expression of admiration.
«Thank you, Keff.» The silver magiman bowed.
«Show me how the objects of power work,» Keff said, pointing at the table. «I'd welcome a chance to watch without being the target.»
Chaumel was all too happy to oblige.
«Now you see how these are,» he said graciously. He chose the ring and the tube, putting his favorite, the wand, back in its belt holster. «This way.»
On the way out of the narrow room, Chaumel resumed his monologue. This time it seemed to involve the provenance and ownership of the items.
«We are proud of our toys,» Carialle said deprecatingly. «Nothing up my sleeve, alakazam!»
«Whoops!» Keff said, as Chaumel held out his hand and a huge crockery vase appeared on the palm. «Alakazam, indeed!»
With a small smile, Chaumel blew on the crock, sending it flying down the hall as if sliding on ice. He raised the tube, aimed it, and squeezed lightly. The crock froze in place, then, in delayed reaction, it burst apart into a shower of jet-propelled sand, peppering the walls and the two men.
«Marvelous!» Keff said, applauding. He spat out sand. «Bravo! Do it again!»
Obligingly, Chaumel created a wide ceramic platter. «My mother this belonged to. I do not ever like this,» he said. With a twist of his wrist, it followed the crock. Instead of the tube, the silver magiman operated the ring. With a crack, the platter exploded into fragments. A glass goblet, then a pitcher appeared out of the air. Chaumel set them dancing around one another, then fused them into one piece with a dash of scarlet lightning from his wand. They dropped to the ground, spraying fragments of glass everywhere.
«And what do you do for an encore?» Keff asked, surveying the hall, now littered with debris.
«Hmmph!» Chaumel said. He waved the wand, and three apron-clad domestics appeared, followed by brooms and pails. Leaving the magical items floating on the air, he clapped his hands together. The servers set hastily to work cleaning up. Chaumel folded his arms together with satisfaction and turned a smug face to Keff.
«I see. You get all the fun, and they do all the nasty bits,» Keff said, nodding. «Bravo anyway.»
«I was following the energy buildup during that little Wild West show,» Carialle said in Keff's ear. «There is no connection between what Chaumel does with his toys, that hum in the floors, and any energy source except a slight response from that random mess in the sky. Geothermal is silent. And before you ask, he hasn't got a generator. Ask him where they get their power from.»
«Where do your magical talents come from?» Keff asked the silver magiman. He imitated Potria's spell-casting technique, gathering in armfuls of air and thrusting his hands forward. Chaumel ducked to one side. His face paled, and he stared balefully at Keff.
«I guess it isn't just sign language,» Keff said sheepishly. «Genuine functionalism of symbols. Sorry for the breach in etiquette, old fellow. But could the New Ones do that,» he started to make the gesture but pointedly held back from finishing it, «when they came to Ozran?»
«Some. Most learned from Old Ones,» Chaumel said, not really caring. He flipped the wand into the air. It twirled end over end, then vanished and reappeared in his side-slung holster.
«Flying?» Keff said, imitating the way the silver magiman's chair swooped and turned. «Learned from Old Ones?»
«Yes. Gave learning to us for giving to them.»
«Incredible,» Keff said, with a whistle. «What I wouldn't give for magic lessons. But where does the power come from?»
Chaumel looked beatific. «From the Core of Ozran,» he said, hands raised in a mystical gesture.
«What is that? Is it a physical thing, or a philosophical center?»
«It is the Core,» Chaumel said, impatiently, shaking his head at Keff's denseness. The brawn shrugged.
«The Core is the Core,» he said. «Of course. Non-sequitur. Chaumel, my ship can't move from where it landed. Does the Core of Ozran have something to do with that?»