the courtyard.'
I nodded again. 'It went away so fast I thought it was a side effect of teleportation.'
'Most people's senses adjust to the change pretty quickly and everything begins to look normal.'
'Does that mean I have only two dimensions now?' The thought worried me for some reason.
Dagamier's glossy head shook as she pondered. 'Let me think of a way to explain it. You, me, this place'-she gave an inclusive wave of her arm-'were created in the three dimensions of the Prime Material Plane, then transported here. We didn't lose any of our definition by coming to a place that only recognizes two dimensions.'
She snapped her fingers when another thought came clear. 'It's like visual acuity. You and I may both look at a statue that's fifty feet away. If my eyesight is better, I will see more detail in the statue than you, but that doesn't mean the detail isn't there when you look at it.' She held up both hands in an expressively questioning gesture. 'Does that make sense?'
'I think so,' 1 muttered, trying to piece it all together. 'Does it follow, then, that anything created here and sent to the Prime Material would have only two dimensions?'
Dagamier nodded.
'Then that's why the Council decided to build Bastion on Krynn and bring it here,' I realized at last. 'I'd thought it was only for convenience or secrecy.'
'Probably all three.' She dismissed the subject with a shrug. 'The nave,' she said, redirecting my attention, 'is the only space we share, aside from the entry apse.'
Dagamier pointed to the column. 'Each of us spends a third of our time, in rotating shifts, monitoring Bastion's perimeter through a magical replica of the plane.' She blinked. 'At least, that is how we have divided the task previously.'
I was surprised that so much of my time would be spent staring at a model. 'It sounds as fair a system as any,' 1 assured her.
Just then, a hidden door-sized panel slid back in the column, and a sparkling footbridge of glass spread like a rainbow across the moat. Out stepped a funny little man who reminded me strongly of the wizened old chamberlain at Castle DiThon. He wore an ill-fitting white robe edged in gold thread. His long, frizzy hair, the color of sunlight on a dull day, was askew, as if he'd just stepped out of a fierce wind. Seeing me with Dagamier, he blinked with eyes that were small black dots behind very thick spectacles. He crossed the small magical bridge and stood among the greenery.
'Nothing to report today,' he said to my black-robed guide, ignoring me. 'Your hell hounds became excited with the new arrival, and the gargoyles grew edgy, but they all seem to have quieted now. Is he ready for his first watch?' the man asked with a slight jerk of his head toward me. 'Or will you be taking the next one?'
Before I could say I would be happy to take my turn,Dagamier stepped across the bridge and paused under the sliding panel. 'He hasn't even been to his rooms yet.' The bridge retracted like a fan and disappeared. Dagamier withdrew into the column, and the panel closed behind her, leaving no seam.
I stood with Ezius, feeling uncomfortable and vaguely irritated. No one had warned me that they both had stunted social skills. If he was as abrasive and resentful as Dagamier, I was going to have quite a time of managing things here.
'Yes, well, that won't do,' Ezius muttered to himself. 'The only way to fix that is to let him look at his rooms. There's no point in delaying that. None at all.' The white- robed mage meandered toward the door to his wing.
'Say, uh, Ezius, is it?' I called after him awkwardly.
The man stopped his mumbling and his steps to look vaguely over his shoulder. 'Yes? Yes, well?'
'I–I thought we might at least introduce ourselves.'
'Haven't we?' He shrugged. 'I guess not. I don't know your name.'
'It's Guerrand. My friends call me Rand.'
'Rand… Yes, well, that's a nice name, isn't it? I once knew a man named Rind, an excellent cobbler from Blode- helm. He could resole a pair of boots in two winks of an eye, and always used the best quality thread and leather. Although there are those who think that catgut made from twisting the dried intestines of sheep is superior.' He blinked at me through those thick lenses. 'Rind was his name. I don't suppose you know him?'
I looked at him closely to see if he was jesting, but his face was guileless. 'No, I'm sorry I don't.'
What plane is he on? Zagarus snorted.
I breathed a sigh of relief so loud even Ezius xvould have noticed if he hadn't already departed through an arched, immense white doorway to the right of the nave. I'd realized the mumbling mage wasn't being intentionally abrasive, he as simply befuddled.
Reading over his master's shoulder, Zagarus pecked gently at Guerrand's hand until he set his quill down upon the desk in the library of the red wing.
'What is it, Zag?'
Make sure you tell Maladorigar that Ezius isn't just befuddled, he's a real stick-in-the-mud.
Guerrand didn't entirely agree with the gull's assessment, so he ignored it and picked up the quill again. But the bird wasn't ready to be silent yet.
Is it just me, or does Dagamier remind you of LaDonna?
Guerrand screwed up his face in thought as he tried to envision both women side by side. 'I suppose I see a little resemblance,' he agreed at last, 'but I'm not sure it isn't just because they're both women and both mages.'
Esme was a woman and a mage, Zagarus pointed out, and Dagamier doesn't remind me the least bit of her.
Guerrand felt himself tense at the mention of Esme. Would it ever stop hurting? And why was Zagarus, who knew how much the subject pained his master, poking a wing in the wound? Guerrand closed his eyes tightly and willed patience. 'What I meant was, LaDonna and Dagamier are both dark-haired women who wear the black robes.'
I suppose. With that, Zagarus closed his beady eyes in reluctant concession, ruffled his wings into a comfortable position, and dropped off to sleep on the desk next to Guerrand.
The mage gratefully returned to the safety of his letter to the gnome back in Harrowdown.
With the introductions out of the way, there was nothing keeping me from exploring the red wing.
Maladorigar, I can't begin to describe how comfortable and carefully considered the red wing is. There is a sense of Justarius's own subtle dignity to the magic that maintains my apartments-no talking teapots or crazed brooms and
their ridiculous like here.
The wing's six rooms are set in a rectangle, all of them more warmly inviting than the last, fust one is large enough to make our house in Harrowdown look like a shack. I'm sorry, that was less than thoughtful, since you're still living there.
Anyway, the first room on the right off the circular nave is a large, practical storeroom. All I have to do is set whatever I wish stored just inside the doorway, and the next time I return it's been put in its proper place upon the shelves.
Across the hall from the storeroom is the daily living area, where I cook and eat my meals. It's stocked with enough pans and platters and is of sufficient size to feed a visiting troop of nobles and all their retainers. There's a huge fireplace that burns constantly and is far larger than I need to prepare the simple gruels I am capable of cooking. I surely miss your herbal stews.
Next to this area is my sleeping chamber. I spend little time upon the soft feather tick, yet enough to know that I far prefer it to my straw bed in Harrowdown.
The sleeping chamber leads directly into a room that I suspect was modified by Justarius for my benefit. Or should I ›ay Zagarus's? I don't remember it from the original floor plan. All of nature that is absent from Bastion is painted here in murals that cover the floor, walls, and ceiling. Blue sea to the left, green fields to the right, and in the middle is an elaborate pool someone (which is why 1 suspect Justarius) went to a great deal of trouble to make look like the seashore near Thonvil. Live heather and pampas grass abound. Real water Jbuts the blue sea mural on the left edge, giving the scene the infinite look of the horizon line between water and sea. Zagarus in particular feels quite at home here.
My favorite room, though, is the laboratory. It's by far the biggest, taking up the entire short end of the
