PGDO: Imperial Entanglements

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 3 AM – The Godcarvers/Spindrift]

> “It is as you say,” the elf agreed.
>
> Mithi’s chuckle grew into a full laugh. “So, if yer interested in an
> *experienced* opinion there?” At the elf’s nod, the apprentice
> cheerfully continued, “Trust me, Fin, Oi fink you’ll do *fine*. An’
> you’ll ‘ave lotsa ‘elp.”
>
> “Thank you,” he repeated.

A few minutes later, the travellers were assembled at their improvised
Telepad, and were ready to depart. Or nearly ready, as Finfin described
the necessity of two people needing to be carried to fit within his
capacity of five additional passengers, plus what they could carry. The
trio of Pussycats, Mithi, Tramma, Songbird, and Jeyshann would total to
seven. Mithi gave Finfin a grin and practically leapt into his arms;
they had travelled this way before, and the elf could easily bear her
weight.

Tramma chuckled, and gave Songbird a look. “I’m stronger than I look,”
she quipped. “How about it?”

The Bitani priestess giggled. “Don’t I know it. But we may have a boring
welcoming committee waiting for us on the other side, and the less we
disturb the paper pushers, the easier it might be for all of us.”

“I’m happy to let you carry me,” Josie pointed out. And an instant
later, Tramma proved that her earlier words were not just a hollow
boast. Showing that there was some surprising strength in her modest
frame, the silver haired bard was easily able to scoop up the redheaded
Pussycat, and even managed to keep Josie’s hemline demurely turned down
to avoid exposing any schoolgirl secrets.

The travellers linked hands, and Finfin began to chant. The uncanny
black and white rings of his Dimensional Folding Tunnel appeared as
expected, and shuffling along together, all seven voyagers shuffled in,
and through…

…emerging as near as could be determined an instant later out of the
Tunnel mouth on the Telepad platform some dozen feet above a corner of a
Spindrift park.

Here indeed was the opportunity for the first chance for something to go
awry with their plans. The paperwork had all been secured back in
Seaholm for the Authorities to expect a trio of declared weretigers here
at Spindrift, who would then be escorted to Springtide Chapel to swear
out a Divine geas to assure that they would remain welcome guests, and
not an invading menace. That word *should* easily have by now reached
Spindrift; the Imperial Bureaucracy *did* have a reputation for
effectiveness, if not efficiency.

But in any bureaucracy, things *could* go wrong… and if an error was
made in a civil service the size of Numenor’s, there was no telling
where those instructions might have landed. Possibly in the colonial
capital of Yeltkeep, or perhaps buried in the central files of Numenor
itself. Or even misdispatched out to some far flung corner of the globe
spanning Empire that Finfin had never even known to exist.

And even if the word *had* properly reached Spindrift, there was always
the chance that someone with an overdeveloped fear of lycanthropes might
be a bit hasty on the trigger. That would truly darken *everyone’s* day.

However, as Finfin and the ladies emerged from his Tunnel, it was clear
that they *were* expected; the dispatches had NOT been misrouted. And
far from looking jumpy, the squad of Imperial Marines were at full
attention, clearly not alarmed about the incoming visitors. Their
numbers had been reinforced, however, by two additional men. One was
dressed in the universal uniform of a mid ranking civil servant,
complete with pinstripes, bowler hat, and briefcase. The other was
dressed in the ubiquitous black macintosh of an entirely different sort
of Imperial employee.

The “Man in the Mac” simply smiled and stayed in the background, while
the pinstriped civil servant stepped forward and offered his hand.
“Captain Finfinfin?” he asked. “Thank you for arriving precisely on
time.” He looked around curiously at the seven ladies, five of which
were in identical schoolgirl uniforms that would not have looked at all
out of place from several of the city’s best academies.

His eyes widened when he recognized Songbird. “High Priestess!” he
exclaimed happily. “This is a pleasant surprise! And a most efficient
one, too. Thank you for helping us out with this minor matter.” He bowed
respectfully to Jeyshann; clearly the lady by Songbird’s side was the
outland native whose paperwork had already been completed. “Ma’am,” he
said respectfully, before turning to look at the five “schoolgirls”.

“Are these the weretigers?” he asked curiously.

“Three of us, yeah!” Josie replied cheerfully, pointing to first herself
and then her fellow two Pussycats.

“Well then!” the civil servant replied genially. “I had no idea that
weretigers beyond the mountains were so well turned out. It is a
pleasure to meet you.”

“Us, too!” Mel answered for the trio. Finfin, meanwhile, observed that
the man was not actually going as far as exchanging names, probably
preferring to remain rather anonymous. The “man in the Mac” was not even
pretending, and was simply remaining watchfully in the background.

“It is just as well I arranged for *two* carriages,” the civil servant
continued genially. “To Springtide Chapel?” he asked Songbird deferentially.

“Yes, please,” the Bitani priestess answered smoothly.

Once they’d clambered down the stairs from the Teleport platform, it was
clear that they were heading to the same cab rank they’d used not many
days before.

“Ooo!” Tramma exclaimed. “Can I beg a detour by Dunki’s? I’d forgotten
how much I’ve missed the stuff.”

The civil servant smiled. “I could not imagine doing without, myself. It
is said with perhaps more truth than many know that this corner of the
Empire Runs On Dunki’s.”

Once Tramma had secured her large mug, they were escorted to a pair of
waiting four-wheelers. Not military vehicles or police paddywagons, but
nothing more threatening than a pair of the larger city cabs. Tramma
steered the Pussycats, Mithi, and Finfin into one, leaving the other for
Songbird, Jeyshann, and the two Imperials. And quietly, Finfin noted
that neither of their minders seemed disturbed at losing sight of the
fearsome weretigers.

Once they were somewhat snugly ensconced in their cab, Mithi confirmed
that her thoughts were lining up with Finfin’s. “Doesn’t look like the
Authorities are any too worried,” she observed.

“And why should they be?” Josie exclaimed happily. “We’re here to have
*fun*! Now, what’s all this stuff over here?”

As the carriage began to roll, Tramma did her best to answer all of
Josie’s questions. And the questions kept rolling in, each of the
Pussycats asking an endless series of queries about the sights and
spectacles outside of the carriage’s windows. Balancing her tall mug of
Dunki’s coffee, Tramma did her level best to play tourguide, keeping an
almost continuous commentary as she answered the endless litany of
questions while pointing out the city’s highlights.

Mithi smiled at her eager Pussycat Pals. “We should ‘ire a cab after
they’ve got the run of the city,” she suggested, “and let *Tramma*
choose the route.” All three Pussycats’ squealed in delight at the
notion. Stage Magic part shopping would have to wait a bit.

Pressed in between the eager ladies, Finfin smiled indulgently at the
Pussycats’ enthusiasm. He had grown up in a city himself, and had come
to appreciate the cultural and social delights a fine metropolis like
Minal Tel – or Spindrift – could offer. For the Pussycats, an urban
center was Fort Lucas, which to city folks like Finfin, Tramma, or to
some degree Mithi was merely a backwoods hamlet. The elf was enjoying
the Pussycats’ delight in seeing for the first time what a “real” city
was like.

Quietly, he also mused at just why the Imperial Authorities were taking
such a laid back approach to the morning’s visit by a trio of foreign
weretigers. To some degree, the elf knew, it was because just now the
weretigers were HIS responsibility, and as an army officer of an allied
country, the Numenoreans were counting on HIM to keep the peace.

He also knew full well that the Empire could easily muster the forces to
handle the weretigers if both the Pussycats and Finfin himself
disappointed their Imperial hosts. But the elf well understood the
importance of marshalling one’s forces. As strong as the Empire was, it
couldn’t be strong *everywhere* at the same moment, and had to
judiciously choose when and where to allocate its forces. It would much
rather keep its ready reaction force well capable of dealing with rogue
weretigers and turncoat allied army officers in reserve, ready to
respond wherever needed.

That, and clearly the Powers that Were understood probabilities. The
odds of the weretigers going rogue were not at all great. So the Empire
would keep its muscle in check, and only roll it out in the unlikely
event that it really was needed. And Finfin shared the Imperials’
confidence that a response would not be needed. The Pussycats at present
were no more of a hazard than any other visiting tourist. As long as
they were left alone, and in that regard they were no different than
many other visitors.

Tramma was finally able to make some serious inroads on her tall mug of
Dunki’s by the time the two carriages pulled in front of the mellow
brick buildings that marked the public facing side of Springtide Chapel.
Eagerly, the Pussycats poured out, followed closely behind by the
others. Graciously, Songbird gave her new guests a similar tour to
Finfin’s earlier visit, culminating in the grove itself.

Here was Finfin’s second anticipated chance for something to go wrong.
Would the Authorities attempt to demand that Songbird impose a geas upon
the Pussycats that no right minded freedom loving person would be able
to endure? Fortunately, the elf’s concerns were once again misplaced.
Songbird’s ceremony was as simple and unthreatening as it was beautiful.

As she Danced around the five points to define and invoke her patron’s
protective Wards, the Bitani priestess added in an extra spell that any
observer well versed in Spellcraft could recognize as Darkness. The
effect was not a total absence of light, or even of thick choking
shadows that might manifest at the behest of a malevolent Spirit.
Instead, the area within the priestess’ Wards were comfortably shaded…
almost as if the small area was lit only by faint moonlight. Whether
this was a special variation of Darkness, or merely how the prayer
worked for *all* Bitani priestesses, or was perhaps a manifestation of
the spell only within sanctified Bitani Wards would have to remain a
mystery for now. Whatever its origin, the apparent moonlight was clearly
the correct environment for further Bitani Magic.

And those Magics were as simple as they were non threatening. Songbird
chanted in an obscure language that Finfin’s Tongues spell could
decipher, but would remain a mystery to those without either similar
magics of their own, or extensive training. But the Sybil of the Moon
shifted into simple Common as she asked the assembled Pussycats if they
agreed to keep the peace, and not *initiate* any violence to any within
Yeltanar, while being free to respond in kind if violence was offered to
them first.

All three solemnly agreed, and those with any Spiritual sensitivity
could feel a surge of Power as Songbird chanted obscure words that
Finfin understood to mean “And So May It Be”. And then the ceremony was
complete as Songbird dismissed both the Wards and the protective moonlit
shadows. The civil servant offered Songbird a form to sign, and after
inspecting it, offered each Pussycat a passbook of their very own,
pausing only to stamp each one with an entry permit.

And that ended the extent of the Imperial Entanglements, the civil
servant and the “Man in the Mac” retreating to reclaim one of their
cabs, while leaving the other for the new arrivals to use or dismiss as
they might choose. The Pussycats, their pals, along with Songbird and
Jeyshann, were free to do as they pleased.