009 - No Help, Some Help

“Yes. Can you tell us your name?” The man sat at the desk, his hands on the keyboard of the computer.

“Caspian.”

“Last name?”

“Not that means anything here.”

“Date of birth?”

“Fourth day of the month of Akil, seventh year of the reign of Sharius of Silvona.”

“In English.”

“That was in English. I am not sure how to reconcile the calendars.”

“Skip it. Citizenship?”

Suddenly Caspian remembered a similar scene being played out more than ten years prior. And how he finally got that person satisfied. “I am native of Silvona, and previously came to this land for study. I learned your language then, but have not had cause to use it since.”

“Great. Another kook.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pal. There are only two kinds of people in this area. Natives and kooks. You don’t talk like a native.”

Caspian took a moment to digest what he had just been told. “I think it might be best if I just sit aside quietly.”

The Ranger punched a few buttons on his keyboard while looking at his larger box. Then moved a smaller device around and pushed some buttons on it. He then turned away from it, toward Caspian’s gear. He looked it over a bit, picked at it a bit, and left it be.

Caspian was glad he did not carry anything particularly nasty. For the rest of the day, he just stayed quiet and out of the way. His stuff was hung in a closet, out of the way, but otherwise left alone. As the afternoon progressed, the rangers came and went in several different vehicles; the dog moved a bit and went in and out at its leisure. They all seemed to regard Caspian as an unwanted guest; too polite to cause trouble, but a nuisance just by his presence.

Dinner happened, and a new ranger showed up from somewhere else in the structure. Probably had been up in the tower, Caspian figured. After dinner, two of the rangers left in the vehicle that had brought Caspian here. They did not return before Alistare Kevan finally showed up in his vehicle.

The time had not been a waste. Caspian had remembered about clocks, and how time was reckoned. He had remembered most of his language training in the local tongue. Cyrril had communicated that he was fine, and had Caspian’s staff nearby.

Judge Alistare Kevan dressed in a three-piece suit and wingtips entered the room from outside in a huff. Built heavy, he stood a head shorter than the average man. Barely contained power accented his every action. He looked a bit more than slightly annoyed, spotting Caspian faster than he did the desk.

“I’m Alistare Kevan, here for him.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Caspian, who had stood up.

The ranger looked up from her book, over her glasses. “Right.” She took her foot off the desk and reached for her keys. “Let me get his stuff.”

She opened the closet, pulled Caspian’s things out, and dropped them on the counter. The other ranger just sat and watched, over his newspaper.

Alistare turned, pinning Caspian to the wall with a glance. He then spoke in Caspian’s native language. “Next time, give me some warning. Fortunately for you, my schedule was easy today.”

He turned back to the ranger, and signed the release, and switched to English. “Thank you. Was he any trouble?”

“’Been quiet since calling you. Have a good drive, and take the second mile easy. The deer are near the road about this time.”

“Rush hour on Saturday night.” Alistare turned and walked back out, leaving Caspian to pick up his stuff and follow.

Outside a large, low slung coach sat with its lights on and motor running. It was longer, and more massive, than some of the vehicles the rangers had parked nearby. Alistare just climbed into the driver’s side, leaving Caspian to figure the door handle. Shortly, Caspian was in the passenger seat, with his stuff piled on his lap.

They rolled out, Alistare expertly guiding the coach back onto the dirt road. Caspian had paid attention to the operation of the vehicle this morning. He noticed that Alistare seemed to drive with a total disregard for the conditions around him.

They drove out of the valley, and stopped. Alistare turned on the internal lights and turned to Caspian  speaking in English, evidently through speaking in their native tongue. “Where’s that dragon of yours?”

Caspian called out to Cyrril’s mind. The little beast was coming, but had been close by the station, and left behind.

“Cyrril is behind us. He should catch up shortly.” Caspian responded in his native language.

Caspian took the moment to put his stuff in the back seat, and to admire the interior of the coach. The leather showed a fair amount of use, and good aging. The wood trim had been well polished, if it was real. The little shield with two sprigs of leaves wreathing either side was a symbol that Caspian vaguely remembered signified a fine quality vehicle.

“Quit using that language. You need to get used to English again.” Alistare unlatched his seatbelt, climbed out, and went around back to lean against the back of the car to wait in the cool mountain air.

Caspian followed, closing the door behind him.

Alistare Kevan had been living on this planet for most of the last thirty years. A child of aristocrats in a city-state, he immigrated after attending school, married a local wife, and left Tywacomb behind. His wife knew all about his history, and had even been to Tywacomb a time or two. Now they sponsored ‘students’, and helped ‘tourists.’ As such, they had very little patience with trouble makers. She was just as impatient with idiocy as her husband. That he was a judge in a busy city was both advantageous, and threatening.

Caspian had worked with them years before, when he had come for a few years of schooling. He had made some definite impressions then that had evidently not worn off.

“What brings you a sixth of the way across the galaxy, Caspian?”

“Elves, worked up about a prophecy.”

“Which one?” Alistare had been a historian’s apprentice growing up. He knew of most of the major happenings for several hundred years back. Obscure prophecies were light reading to him. For elves to get worked up was more of an oddity.

“The signs of the Chaos Bringer.”

Had he been drinking, Alistare would have choked and spit his drink all over. “What!?!”

“The elves of Nidear believe that one of their clan is the line head of the fifth generation half-elves. That she immigrated here over a century ago. Now I need to find the latest in that family. I had a half-day lead on some guys from Krogg, until this morning. Now, I don’t know where they are. It looked like a warrior and a spy would be coming.”

“Great. More strangeness that might have to pass before my court.” Alistare pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. “Everybody is after the same people I presume?”

“Yes.” Caspian wanted to tell more, but felt too tired to deal with how Alistare would react.

For his part, Alistare could tell that Caspian was not yet recovered from his interstellar jaunt, and might not even be awake for most of the trip home. They just sat quietly, watching the stars, or the land. A slight breeze played among the scrub. Shortly Caspian alerted, and stood up. He held his arm up.

“Here.” He spoke in his native language.

In seconds Cyrril came flying up, and slapped the staff into Caspian’s outstretched hand. The little dragon folded its wings and held on as the staff stopped, then crawled down to Caspian’s shoulder as the arm was lowered.

Alistare stood up, and walked back around and got behind the wheel. Caspian carefully put the staff across the rear seat, and got in. Cyrril bounced off the front seat back and into the rear seat as Caspian closed the door, and put his seat belt on. Little more was said as they traveled.