Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [10]
Simna kept one hand on the hilt of his sword. The warehouse was quiet, deserted, and isolated—the perfect place for an ambush. Ehomba was his usual serene self, too slopping over with inner contentment to realize when he was in grave danger, the swordsman was convinced.
“I’m looking for grog and all I see is rat piss,” he snapped at their guide. “Where’s this fine tavern you promised us?” He was all but ready to draw his sword and put an end to the bold but perjuring jabberer.
“Right here.” Reaching into a pocket of his billowing shirt, the trader withdrew a small box. Both Ehomba and Simna came closer for a better look. The box was fashioned of some light-colored wood, perhaps lignum vitae. All six sides were inscribed with cryptic symbols whose meanings were a mystery to the two travelers.
Grimacing suggestively, bin Grue moved to the center of the open floor, held the box carefully at eye height, and dropped it. Perhaps he also mumbled some words, or spat softly on the wood, or did something unseen with his hands. The box fell, bounced once, twice—and suddenly righted itself, shivering like a rabbit transfixed by the gaze of a hungry quoll.
Retreating from the quivering cube, bin Grue advised his companions to do the same. “Give it room to breathe,” he told them. Without understanding what was happening, they both stepped back. Even Ahlitah looked up from the remnants of his rat, the tiny bit of remaining skeleton gleaming whitely from between his enormous front paws.
The box popped open, its sides unfolding smoothly. These in turn unfolded again, multiplying with astonishing, accelerating speed. Light shot upward from the newly hatched sides, which melded together to form a floor. As the travelers watched in amazement and bin Grue stood with hands on hips nodding approvingly, the expanding box sides threw up other shapes. A bar rose from nothingness, complete to back wall decorated with mirrors and lascivious paintings. Tables appeared, and jars and jugs and mugs and tankards atop them. There was bright light that bounded from mirrors, and music from a trio of musicians only one of whom was human, and laughter, and shouting. Most remarkably of all, patrons appeared, arising out of the exponentially multiplying box sides. They took shape and form, hands lifting drinks and food to mouths. Some were drunk, some convivial, a few argumentative. Most laughed and guffawed as if they were having the categorical good time.
A final box side unfolded a large cockroach, which immediately scurried for cover beneath the bar. Bin Grue frowned at it. “Been meaning to get rid of that. There’s such a thing as too much atmosphere.” Striding purposefully to an empty table, he bade them join him.
More than a little dazed, they did so. Simna had removed his hand from the vicinity of his sword hilt. He continued to regard the trader warily, but with new respect. “So you’re not just some wandering merchant. You’re a powerful wizard. Well, don’t get any ideas.” He gestured at Ehomba. “So’s my lean and lanky friend here.”
“Is he?” Bin Grue grunted speculatively. “Well, he needn’t worry about me trying to cast any spells while he’s around. I’m no sorcerer, swordsman. Just a trader of goods and services, like I told you.”
“But the box, all this . . . ?” Simna stared admiringly at the busy tavern that now filled the formerly empty warehouse.
The trader nodded. “Fine piece of work, isn’t it? Hard to