Miranda relaxed. The mercenary’s affable manner was such that she doubted he would attempt to take advantage of her. “Would you be willing to show me to one of these entrances?”
“Certainly, for a price.”
“That being?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“In the Hall, there are many things of value. The usual: gold and other precious metal, gems and stones, deeds of ownership to estates, slaves and indentures, and, most of all, information. Then there is the unusual: items unique, services personal, manipulations of reality, souls of those who will never be born, things of those types.”
Miranda nodded. “What would you?”
“What have you?”
They began haggling.
Twice in less than a day, Blood had proven his worth. Miranda was finding herself fortunate that he had been the first person she encountered, rather than a party of interdimensional slavers whom they encountered several hours later. Miranda had a personal distaste for the institution of slavery, a bias now heightened by the attempt to reduce her and Boldar to inventory.
Boldar had disposed of the four guards and the slaver after attempting to allow them peaceful passage. Miranda thought she might have been able to cope with them alone, but she was impressed how Boldar had instantly recognized the moment the negotiations had soured and had disposed of two guards before she could begin to focus her mind on protecting herself. By the time she would have encased herself in a protective aura, the conflict was over.
The slaves had been freed—which had required a great deal of argument on Miranda’s part, for now she had to make good on the portion of profit Boldar stood to make upon acquiring the slaves and selling them. Miranda pointed out that as he was currently in her employ, he was in fact acting as her agent, and she was free to do with the slaves what she chose. He found this proposition somewhat dubious, but after considering the difficulty of feeding and caring for the slaves, decided that accepting a bonus from Miranda would prove the better solution.
The second encounter had been with another band of mercenaries, who seemed inclined to give Blood and his employer a wide berth, but who, Miranda was certain, would have acted entirely differently had she been alone.
While they walked, she learned.
“So if you know the locations of the common doors, the journey through the Hall can be shortened?”
“Certainly,” said Blood. “It depends on the world, how many doorways exist, and where they are relative to one another in the Hall. Thanderospace, for example”—he waved at a door they passed—“has but one door, which unfortunately opens into the hall of sacrifice in the most sacred temple of a cult of cannibalistic humanoids, who are less fussy about defining cannibalism than they are devoted to eating anyone who stumbles into their most holy of holies. This is a world seldom visited.
“Merleen, on the other hand”—he waved at another door a short distance ahead—“is a commerce world that is served by no less than six doors, which makes it a hub of trade, both among its resident nations and for other Hall worlds.
“The world from which you appear to hail, Midkemia, has at least three doors I’m aware of. Which did you use to enter?”
“Under a bar in LaMut.”
“Ah, yes, Tabert’s. Good food, decent ale, and bad women. My sort of place.” He seemed somehow to be grinning behind the mask. How Miranda could tell she didn’t know. Perhaps it was some subtlety in the mercenary’s body language, or a note in his voice.
“How does one learn of these doors? Is there a map?”
“Well, there’s one,” said Boldar, “at Honest John’s. It’s on a wall in the public room. There you can see the known limits of the Hall. The last time I looked, there were something like thirty-six thousand—odd doors identified and catalogued.
“There are occasionally messages forwarded to the Inn from those who encounter new doors, either in the Hall or upon any world where a new passage is discovered. There’s even one legendary lunatic whose name I forget who is exploring the far reaches and sending back messages, some which take decades to reach John’s. He’s getting so far from the Inn he’s becoming a myth.”
Miranda thought. “How long has this been going on?”
Boldar shrugged. “I suspect the Hall has existed since the dawn of time. Men and other creatures have lived here for ages. It requires a certain talent to survive for long within the Hall, so it has its appeal for those who seek a . . . higher-stakes sort of living.”