afraid.'
Grimm scrambled in his commodious purse for the large, heavy coins, smothering a curse at the sudden clumsy tremor in his fingers. He scarcely counted as he splashed the money onto the counter in several handfuls. Several of the coins bounced onto the floor behind the counter, and he winced.
'I'm sorry,' he said, spreading his hands in abject apology.
'That's all right,' the receptionist said, dimples forming on either side of her mouth as she displayed a flawless, snow-white set of teeth.
Power and presence, the Questor chided himself. What's the matter with you, Grimm? Get a grip on yourself, will you?
Am I bewitched? he wondered, remembering his enforced infatuation with Sister Madeleine on his first visit to High Lodge.
However, his current befuddlement bore no relation to the overpowering effects of Madeleine's Geomantic spell; yes, he felt happy and a little lusty, but the all-consuming passion and semi-intoxication he had experienced in the dead Sister's presence was absent. Although he found the girl very pretty, his mind was still his own.
I'm just happy to be out of that rat-hole, he told himself. Is that such a crime?
With smooth efficiency, the young woman handed a key to each man. 'You're all on the second floor, nice and close to each other,' she said, cheery and enthusiastic, as she began a sing-song litany that she had obviously repeated many times before.
'The restaurant's open all day. All we ask is that you make a reservation an hour before you wish to eat. We offer a free laundry and repair service, and there is a bar open until three in the morning, should you develop a thirst. If you need anything, just pull the bell-cord in your room, and an attendant will be dispatched as soon as possible…
'Oh, yes, there is just one more thing, gentlemen. If you intend to visit tonight's Pit contests, it's best to reserve your places in advance. It's a very popular attraction.'
'What's the Pit?' Grimm asked, trying hard to suppress his burgeoning, inappropriate emotions.
'Ah, you gentlemen can't be from this vicinity,' the receptionist responded, smiling again. 'The Pit is what we call our unarmed martial arts arena. Boxing, wrestling, that sort of thing. Many of our guests come from far afield, just to witness the Pit bouts. We have bookkeeping staff on hand to assess the odds and take the bets. I'm told it's very spectacular, although I've never been there myself: I don't like violence.'
'I think I'd like that,' Harvel declared. 'I used to do a little prize-fighting in my youth.'
'Me, too,' Tordun said. 'I've fought in many a ring, and I was unbeaten in over fifty fights.'
Guy gave an enthusiastic nod. 'That sounds like a good night's entertainment to me.'
Grimm felt the unmistakable push of excess testosterone in his bloodstream, no doubt left over from the brief fight in the alley. 'I'll go.'
A good, fair series of fights might be just the thing to quiet his roiling emotions.
Only Numal demurred. 'Not my sort of thing, I'm afraid. I'll just stay in my room with a good book, if you don't mind.' He gave an apologetic shrug. 'Necromancer Numal, room 272, please, receptionist.'
No surprises there. Grimm suppressed an amused smile as the girl handed the Necromancer his key. Numal doesn't have quite the same drives as the rest of us.
'Then that's settled,' Quelgrum said. 'Six seats for the Pit, please.'
'Fights start at ten hours tonight,' the receptionist said, dimpling again in that endearing manner, and scribbling in the ledger. 'Six Pit reservations it is. Just show your room keys to the attendant on entry; it's best to get there early if you want good seats.
'Welcome to Mansion House, gentlemen. I hope you enjoy your stay.'
With that, the stunning vision was gone, and Grimm felt an almost physical pang of loss at her departure.
'Still want to camp out on the plain, Lord Baron?' Quelgrum said, with a wry smile.
'Not on your life, General!' Grimm wagged his right index finger in a mock reprimand. 'If we have to wait a couple of days for this fellow Chudel, I can't think of a better place to stay while we're waiting. There's no Guild rule that says we have to live like vagrants while we're Questing, you know!'
It was not a witty, humorous sally, and the chorus of chuckles from Grimm's companions might have seemed forced and inappropriate at any other time. However, the young mage no longer cared.
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Chapter 27: The Pit
With an approving nod, Grimm eyed himself in the full-length mirror in his room.
Tonight, I'm going to be the very epitome of the cultured, sophisticated Questor, he vowed, adjusting the folds in his yellow-and-blue silk robes so that they fell just right. As he donned the magical gems loaned him by the Dominie, he felt pleased that none of the periapts indicated any magical interference; his unaccustomed surge of good humour could therefore only be explained by the salubrious surroundings in which he found himself.
An hour remained until the Pit bouts started, so Grimm decided to burnish and polish Redeemer. At least that should occupy his mind for a while.
As he searched in one of his commodious travelling bags for his cleaning kit, he heard an impatient thumping sound from the other; a sound he knew only too well. He opened the clasps on the other bag, and a tiny, grey- green creature, the size of a mouse, hopped out onto the bed.
'Thribble!' he cried. 'I might have known that you would have tagged along.'
'How else am I to get material for my sagas, Questor?' the small demon squeaked. 'I heard your little scuffle in the town square, but I'd rather have seen it. I was a little hurt that you didn't invite me along in the first place.'
Grimm smiled. Thribble had proved himself a valuable and stalwart companion ever since he had first called the netherworld being into the mortal world. The mage knew he had indeed been negligent not to consider his minuscule but valiant demon friend when planning the Quest.
'I'm sorry, Thribble; I've had a lot on my mind recently. You should have asked.'
'I know what you've had on your mind, mortal!' the imp chided in his piercing, reedy treble. 'Human rutting? Ugh! The very thought makes my stomach churn.'
Grimm gulped, as he felt a cold, iron frisson of guilt at the way he had reacted to the beautiful receptionist. One day away from Crar, and he was already beginning to act as if he had forgotten his beloved Drexelica. Thank the Names that the demon had not witnessed the disgraceful display of jejune immaturity he had displayed in the Mansion House lobby!
'Don't worry, Thribble.' The Questor patted his robe pocket. 'You can travel with me from now on. I'm sure you'll find more than enough to satisfy even your insensate demands for story material.'
'I'm glad to hear it, mage,' the demon squeaked. 'I don't relish travelling in the company of your dirty linen.'
'Tonight we're going to a series of fights, Thribble,' Grimm said.
'No, don't look like that,' he added as he saw the imp's rapacious, expectant grin. 'I'm afraid we'll only be spectators, not participants. This is sport, not battle. It's a matter of fist-fighters and wrestlers trying to find the limit of their skills.'
'Oh, well,' the demon piped. 'I know very little about these human pastimes; perhaps I will learn something from them. However, I cannot understand why you mortals should fight when you are not threatened. We demons find tales of your mindless combat extremely diverting.'
'It's a part of our nature, Thribble. The desire to strive, to succeed against overwhelming odds, makes us what we are. Fighting when we don't have to is an important part of being human.'
'Is that strange, silly-looking smile a part of being human, too?' the demon asked, although there was no trace of malice or sarcasm in his voice.
'I'm just in a good mood, Thribble. Even a Questor is allowed to enjoy himself, once in a while. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to polish Redeemer.'
