Tatja Grimm's World

Tatja placed her hand on his arm as she saw what he was looking at. “How do you like those pictures? It’s something we picked up in the Osterlais. Those pictures are made by a machine that looks at its subject and instantly ‘paints’ the picture, just like in the Diogens stories.” Her hand slipped down onto his. For a moment Svir’s vision blurred. A warm glow spread through his body. “My picture is at the bottom there because the Science Department was only introduced last year, when Svektr here gave in to the increased popularity of Contrivance Fiction… How long have you been acquainted with Fantasie?”

“Ever since I was in triform school. Ten years. The Tarulle Barge has come through the Archipelagate five times in that period. I’ve looked forward to each arrival more and more eagerly. I’ve worked part time for the University Library’s Restoration Department, seen all the issues they have.”

Tatja laughed, a friendly, intimate chuckle. The men at the table receded into the far back of Svir’s consciousness. “Such restoration is a worthwhile job. Did you know that in all Tu, there is only one complete collection of Fantasie?”

“You mean the proof copies on the barge?”

“No. Not even the Tarulle Company has a complete version. Remember, there was a fire on the Old Barge three hundred years ago; all the copies to that date were lost. Up to twenty years ago there were several complete collections, but a series of accidents has destroyed all but one.” She put a faint accent on the word “accidents.”

Svir had never thought about it, but it was possible that only one complete collection existed. As the Tarulle Company toured the world, they sold their magazines and printed extra copies to drop off at later island chains. Delivery was quite unreliable compared to a subscription service—such as some island magazines used. Thus it was very difficult to get a continuous sequence of issues. And Fantasie was seven hundred years old. Even though most issues had been recopied and their stories anthologized—any major library contained thousands of stories from the magazine—there were still “lost” issues unavailable on the Chainpearls.

The person or government that possessed the complete set must be very wealthy and dedicated to culture. “Who has the collection?” asked Svir.

“The regent of Crownesse, Tar Benesh,” Tatja answered.

Svir frowned. Tar Benesh had never impressed him as a man with deep cultural roots. He almost missed what Tatja Grimm said next. She wasn’t looking directly at him, and her lips barely moved. She seemed to be preoccupied with something far away.

“It’s too bad Benesh is going to destroy them.”

“What! Why? Can’t he be stopped?” His shocked questions tumbled over each other. Why would anyone want to destroy seven hundred years of Fantasie? The epic cycles, the ingenious short stories—all those glimpses into worlds-that-are-not—would be lost. Half the faculty of Arts and Letters at Krirsarque University would suicide.

Tatja’s hand tightened around his. Her face came near to his. “Perhaps there is a way to stop him. With you and your dorfox perhaps—”

“Please, Miss Grimm, not here!” Ked Maccioso leaned forward tensely, at the same time glancing around the tavern. Svir’s circle of attention expanded. He realized that now the Arbor was half full, the dance floor overflowing, and the jongleurs in fine form on their resonation platform. Tatja’s presence had made him completely unaware of the changes.

She nodded to the barge captain. “I suppose you’re right, Ked.” She turned back to Svir. “When were you planning to return to the Continent?”

Return? Then Svir remembered the lie he had implied. But he couldn’t reveal his fraud to her now.

“I sail tomorrow for Bayfast.”

“Would you like to come on the Tarulle Barge? It’s slower than hydrofoil, but we’ll get you there just the same.”

“I certainly would.” The words came spontaneously, but he felt no desire to retract them. Imagine sailing off with a beautiful, famous girl—into adventure. His previous reality seemed pale indeed beside these prospects.

“Why don’t you come out to the Barge with us tonight. We’ll show you around.” She looked straight into his eyes. The men with her watched carefully, too. They couldn’t talk here.

“Okay.” Svir set Ancho on his shoulder. They stood and worked their way to the door. The music and party sounds faded as they descended the ancient stone stairs that led from Highrock to the wharves of the Krirsarque harbor.

There were people waiting by a lander. Soon the silent crew was paddling them out to sea. Apparently the landing was a secret. It was well into the night sleep period and no other craft were moving. A breeze swept across the water, splashed luminescent algae into the boat. The crew shipped their oars and raised a sail.

Half an hour passed. No one spoke. Ancho shivered quietly, fearful of the water. They left the glowing waters of the harbor behind. It was cloudy, so even the light of Seraph was denied them. Gradually Svir convinced himself there was a greater darkness on the water ahead of them. And then he was sure. The huge pile of the Tarulle Publishing Barge rose tier upon tier out of the ocean. Beside it floated the smaller forms of scout hydrofoils. All were without lights.

They pulled over to the hulk, and a group of company sailors hauled the little boat into a lighter bay. A section leader saluted Maccioso. She said, “XO’s compliments, sir, and no exterior activity noted.”

Maccioso returned the salute. “Have him take us out past the shelf.”

Svir was escorted up a zigzag of stairs, into the heart of the vessel. They entered a luxurious, brightly lit room. Just maintaining the algae pots must have cost several man-hours a day. The five seated themselves around a table, on which was fastened a detailed map of Bayfast, the capital of Crownesse.

“This must all seem a bit melodramatic, Svir,” spoke Tatja, “but Tar Benesh has an efficient spy system extending from Crownesse on the Continent all the way to the Osterlai Archipelagate. The regent is ambitious without limit. He—”

Ancho began nibbling at the map. As Svir pulled him back, the animal keened an almost inaudible whistle. For an instant everyone in the room felt stark terror. Then Svir patted the little animal, and the dorfox relaxed. The feeling of panic disappeared. Ancho turned his large eyes toward Svir as if to ask forgiveness.

Tatja smiled shakily. “Tar Benesh is an extremely intelligent, capable individual. He is also perverse … and mad. Since he came to power in Crownesse, he has been a collector of Fantasie. We believe that, to enhance the value of his collection, he has sabotaged the others.”

“We know for a fact that he has destroyed other collections,” Brailly Tounse interrupted.

“Every five years Benesh holds the Festival of the Ostentatious Consumption. You may have heard of it…”

Svir gulped. “You’re not telling me that the Fantasie collection is going to be one of the sacrifices?”

Tatja nodded her head slowly. “Yes, that’s it exactly. The Festival is scheduled to begin ten days from now. We plan to arrive in Bayfast on the night wake period of the Consumption.” She gestured to the map of the Bayfast area and the detailed floor plans of the Crown’s keep. “I can’t go over the details of the plans now, but we are going to try to save that collection. Our magazine has the unconditional backing of the entire Tarulle Company—” she glanced at Maccioso “—in this venture. It’s not going to be easy. But I think we could succeed if we had Ancho’s help. And we need you too. You know Ancho best, and can persuade him to cooperate.”

Svir glanced down at the little mammal, who sat licking his paws, unaware of the plans being made for him. “Yes,” he answered, “dorfoxes are strange that way. It takes years to gain their loyalty.”

“Svir, this will be dangerous. But we need you. And some of the stories Benesh has exist nowhere else. Will you come with us and help?” She was pleading.

Svir suddenly realized what he was being asked to do. He could get killed—and all for some magazines. Before now he had been uneasy at the mere thought of traveling to Crownesse, and now he was going to risk his life in a plot against the government of that country. Some sensible element within him was screaming No, no, no! But he saw the pleading in Tatja’s eyes. He was hooked. “Yes,” he quavered, then continued more strongly, feigning confidence, “I’ll do anything I can.”

“Wonderful!” said Tatja. She stood. “You’ll want to go ashore and get your stuff together. Ked will have a boat take you back.” The group left the room and walked toward the outer hull. About halfway there, Tounse and Ramsey left them for the typeset area. The walk gave Svir time for some heart-stopping second thoughts. He had a