disliked carriages. The road here was really pretty nice, smooth, with well fitted stones that should have been like riding on glass under the wheels, so it wasn’t the roughness of the ride. No it was the close space around him while the whole thing moved. The little jolts and divots in the road that would have gone unnoticed if he could see outside through more than a tiny window, left him feeling a bit sick and disoriented instead.
It would have been so much better if he could have just flown.
That got him thinking, which at least distracted him from the ride he was on if nothing else.
What if he set the flying rig to go slower, no more than say, twice what a carriage could do, and fly only a few inches above the ground? Did it count as flight at all if you were still shorter than everyone else around you, and went no faster than a very quick person could run? It really only had use the Capital of course, unless other cities started to decide that flying inside their limits should be forbidden. Still, it would be easy enough to make happen, and might make a fun toy for kids. In a lot of ways easier than a real flying rig too. Not so easy that he could make one riding along in the back of this box on wheels, but he was able to do most of the planning for it.
That had gotten a lot easier with practice. Planning out new builds. He used to have to take note and work things down over several times, but now it was just mainly going through the whole thing mentally first. Way easier.
The carriage, unfortunately, got him to the gate about half an hour before seven. The driver helped him offload, and then left, having already been paid. Too bad, because Tor had been willing to pay the man for his time to wait and at least see if he had to leave or not. The gate guard wouldn’t let him stand out front of course, so Tor had to walk up and down the street while time passed, his luggage following him along so it wouldn’t get in anyone else’s way. What did they think he was going to do, camp out in front of the gate?
The idea of a lean-to made of scraps from around the city tickled him. He could set it up right next to the little hut that the guards hung out in, using the wall around the palace for one of the walls and the corner made by the guard shack as the other. It was all pristine white already, so he wouldn’t even have to paint. Maybe he could pump water over the palace wall from the pond garden and set up a little pool that floated in the air for bathing? Of course he’d probably have to fight with the Royal Guard daily and there were no restroom facilities out here. Maybe he could build a separate lean-to for that? He didn’t really know how to dispose of waste, so it would just have to be a bucket or something like it for now, but he’d used worse.
Seven came, at least by the bells he heard ringing somewhere off in the city. They were pretty, deep chimes that would have woken the dead had they dared trying to sleep at this time of day within the walls of the Capital and maybe a little ways past the tall outer wall. Tor walked up to the gate, little invitation in hand, waiting to be turned away again. He actually held his breath as the gate opened, but they let him walk through and no one even tried to kick him out yet.
Or broke his legs. That was good, because walking was still hard enough as it was.
Tor kind of remembered Varley or Karina mentioning that he was supposed to be met by the King and Queen, but no one else was outside. Not even a servant to tell him what to do. He’d come to the correct gate, hadn’t he? This was the main one… right? The courtyard was empty. Not even the guards were walking around in here. He’d have triggered his shield in case an attack was about to come… but didn’t have to. He’d never turned it off, not even for the ride over.
Nothing happened. It was just like everyone had vanished, leaving the world silent and still.
What was he supposed to do, he wondered, go and knock on the front door?
Chuckling a little, he did just that. Still, no one came at all. Were they pretending to not be home? That… seemed beneath them. He used the big knocker in the center of the door, but still no one came to let him in, or even send him away.
For a second he contemplated building a cutting field and slicing through the door, but that seemed far too rude and destructive. Even if he wasn’t welcome here anymore, it was someone else’s home, not something to be casually destroyed because of a whim. Or anger, no matter how deserved it might seem at the moment. Shrugging he decided to walk around to the back of the building and see if he’d just gotten the wrong place. Maybe he’d misunderstood the directions. He knew it was the right day, or the guards wouldn’t have let him in.
When he saw the small outbuilding used as the kitchen he got what must have happened to delay everyone. Then nearly panicked.
Black and gray smoke was pouring out and flames had engulfed the side closest to the palace. It was far enough away that he could barely hear the shouting. Looking around he didn’t see anyone near him, so he activated the flying rig, hoping that this being an emergency and not technically “in the city” would get him out of too much trouble. He struggled to dig out an “air choke” from his waist pocket with his right hand; it was what the people fighting the fire up in Ross had started to call them.
It worked; you just had to make sure no people were in the field when you turned it on. Of course, hands still clumsy, and far too shaky to not look palsied, he managed to drop it on the ground, and had to land to find it. He still had everything else at least. He checked, fire or not, because someone accidentally checking their food with his little “poison snoop” explosive would die. Anyone around them for a long distance would too. It kind of needed to stay with him.
Clutching it tightly in his right hand he flopped up to the burning building, where some people screamed at others not to try and put out a grease fire with water. The water group didn’t listen, being made up mainly of guards. The Queen stood back, not trying to yell anything, just looking scared, Varley was next to her, both dressed up very prettily, but that was so normal for them Tor ignored it almost instantly. The King shouted orders, but he was supporting the water group.
Stupid.
All throwing water on a grease fire did was spread it around. No wonder it had gotten this out of hand.
Tor tried to sound strong instead of sick when he yelled at Richard. He looked at everyone else too, but the King kind of needed to shut up.
“No! Clear the building. Now! Clear the building! The airs going to not be breathable in a few seconds! Get out of the building and stop throwing water you morons!” Tor had to use both hands to steady the field as he darted in the door. The air stopping effect focused around the first thing the line of sight touched, other than air itself. In this case a blackened work table that had once, probably less than half an hour before, been a nice piece of sturdy oak. It still was. Half of it was just charcoal.
Once the building was cleared, it only took a few minutes to have the fire under control and about five more minutes to make sure that the hot grease wouldn’t re-ignite. The shield he wore kept most of the smoke away from him, not all of course, because it had to let air through too and some of the smoke was too fine to keep out and still breath.
This time he wasn’t even soaking wet after.
Thank goodness, because really this was his best set of clothing. He still had the ones that he was supposed to wear to the birthday party, but they weren’t his, belonging to Rolph. Anyway, if he’d worn those, they’d smell like grease smoke right now, if faintly.
He backed out of the smoke filled kitchen shaking his head.
“Well,” he quipped, loud enough for everyone in the yard to hear. “I think we may need to make other plans for dinner. Is there another kitchen?”
The tall gray haired woman that had given him food one time ran to him, crying, and gave him a hug.
“Thank you! I thought for a second that the whole thing was going to go.”
He patted her back awkwardly with his shielded hand and murmured in her ear.
“It’s all right now. It’s OK.”
He was released by the cook only to find himself grabbed from behind. The arms couldn’t crush him, since he still had the shield in place; Tor tuned, more than a little awkwardly, to find Connie struggling to hug him, Varley trying to join in and Richard valiantly, and ineffectively, tried to clap him on the shoulder.
After a few seconds he slowly stepped back from them. He wasn’t trying to give offense, but the whole thing was a little overwhelming, especially since he didn’t know where he stood here. Not really. For all he knew some of these same people might have helped poison him. Or at least ordered it. Hardly time for hugs and cuddles.
There was crying off to the side, it sounded young, and like more than one person. Tor looked and found the source of the noise, two kids, a boy and a girl, both looking about twelve, and more than a little familiar. He didn’t have names for them, but they were familiar from some of the functions he’d been too, as servers. The two little
