#ideris

Maximilian Cain is once again tending at the bar tonight.  A cheery, indomitable sort of fellow.  well kept hair, sparkling blue eyes, white T-shirt and faded jeans.  His open smile and upbeat tone make most feel quite comfortable.  He is very dangerous.  Few ever dare to cause trouble at the Four-winds cafe.

Some soft rock band is playing a smooth melody you've never heard before.  A female vocalist croons softly into the mic.  There were usually jazz artists here, but Max booked the talent, and he liked to mix it up a little sometimes.

You gently sip your usual as you look around.  at the other circular tables by the bar are a few characters that interest you, and a few that interest you not at all.  

A writer sits by the wall that partially divides this area from the larger room.  He is a wire of a man who scribbles feverishly in his notebook, obviously caught in an open flow of inspiration and trying to take advantage of it.  You know from some of his mumblings and what little you could read by walking by, that he was writing a thesis on the state of the soul while dreaming.  He seemed convinced that during sleep -or at least during some points of sleep- the soul actually leaves the body.  Interesting idea, but not valuable.

In the corner two tables down from the billboard sits a well built man with a grim look.  He is on his third glass of Black Russian, but doesn't seem phased.  He is wearing a light, para-military suit and is obviously an explorer.  By the insignia on his arm, he works for the Black Sky Initiative.  A group trying to actually form maps of the ways and routes between worlds.  He looks grizzled and frustrated.  But it seems he hasn't figured out that the routes change, and his maps may already be useless.  You could tell him that and save him months of trouble.  No real reason to bother though.

There are others.  A giggly young couple whispering flirtations over their wine.   A fire merchant taking a swig of ale, pleased with his day's sale.  An engineer going over his notes of the great ship that composes the top part of the cafe.

But the one who interests you is a bald man in a sharp suit.  He has been waiting for half an hour, trying to look like he is just enjoying his drink.  You continue pretending to read your book.  the book you always carry.  A symbol that only others like you would understand, or even notice.  You continue watching the man, though you never look at him directly.

The man's informant arrives.  A dark skinned man with a well trimmed grey goatee, black suit and hat, red tinted glasses, and a silver bow-tie.  He sits down and and Max brings him a gin and tonic.  Max looks directly at you and winks.  Max enjoys giving occasional hints that he knows what people are up to.  You pretend to be engrossed in the book, even turning the page.

The informant takes a casual tone, yet he speaks very softly.  Between your sharp ears, and talent for lip reading you miss little.  Though the informant is facing mostly away from you, his words are not too difficult to pick up.

He has been staying in a place of powerful magic.  An independent realm controlled by Lady Giselle.  You know that this is one of the Iderian palaces.  A place all of it's own, that stands in between the other worlds as a sanctuary for it's master, and any of his or her guests.  There are many who would do anything to create or secure such a place for themselves.

The informant speaks of the palace and it's boundaries.  How the only way in and out is through the great front gate that leads to wherever the mistress wishes.  And how every other side simply drops off into a deep blue oblivion.  He seems to think that he can create a 'side door' into her realm.  A way in without an invitation.

The bald man becomes very intent.  "If we could sneak in and out at will, we could study the Ideris!"  He whispers excitedly.  "what will you need?"  Your eyes flit to them for half a beat when you hear the informant's response.  "A luminescent spark of inspiration -preferably of the blue-green variety- and 12.3 milli-liters of bottled time."

How interesting.  You hadn't realized that anyone was in the business of bottling time.  The bald man simply nods and says that he will keep in touch.  The meeting is over it seems.  The bald man leaves, and the informant finishes his gin and tonic.

You know that it would be profitable to inform lady Giselle, but would it be more profitable to wait and see if you could snatch the secret of creating and Iderian realm?  Many buyers would pay dearly for that knowledge.

You casually put away your book and take your empty glass to the bar.  Max gives you his trademark grin.  "whatcha need?"