Prisoner of the Looking Glass

After another trip through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace, Jock led me to the greenhouse. It was lush and fragrant, with goldfish splashing in an ornamental pool among water lilies.

"His Highness Prince Arthur," Jocko announced solemnly.

Angrew stood up with his jack o'mirror and greeted me, "Good morning, my friend. How did you rest?"

"It was fine, thank you. I slept like a log."

"That's amazing!" Angrew led me to the table among the rose bushes. "You know, my first night here I didn't sleep at all."

We sat down at the table and Angrew let go of o'mirrors. Jock gave me a questioning look, I nodded, and then he left.

"Actually, I'm not quite sure if my choice of food is to your liking," Angrew said, taking the lids off the plates, "but these little rascals, o’mirrors, I mean, have assured me that the food is similar to what people eat in the real world. I have no idea how they know everything."

I looked down at my plate. The food was unfamiliar: some purple slices with orange sauce on them, and something that looked like fruit. 

"Oh, I'm not a picky eater," I said, tasting the food. "Wow! It's delicious." It was true.

"Glad to hear it," Angrew smiled, "What about drinks?"

"If they don't serve coffee here, whatever," I shrugged.

"How about some white wine?"

"Sounds good."

We ate in silence; then Angrew put down his fork.

"So, Arthur," he said, looking at me with a sarcastic squint. "What have you done so terrible that the Irrats decided to lock you in the Looking Glass?"

"Well," I stretched, examining the wine in my glass against the light, "I knew too much. Though the Irraths had nothing to do with my imprisonment in this lovely place. I was sent here by an ambitious lady who wanted to hide certain facts of her biography from her fiancé."

Angrew laughed, "Frankly, I've never heard such a thing before. You're right. The woman's revenge is frightening." He leaned forward. "What terrible secret is this lady keeping?"

"The lady is hiding her ancestry," I explained without going into detail. Despite what Alex had once told me, I liked Angrew, and I didn't want to dump a bunch of unpleasant news on him right away.

"This sounds reasonable," the prince said, "the Irrats are extremely prejudiced against some of the families of Edge. Perhaps the lady had no choice."

"The lady has a naturally bad temper," I objected. "Shall we change the subject?"

"Okay, give me the topic."

"Yesterday you said you would help me find a way out of here, didn't you?"

"I'm afraid you misunderstood me," Angrew shook his head, "there is no way out. The Mirror that brought you here was created centuries ago by the great Merlin. At first it worked both ways, but then it broke, or was deliberately damaged... so the passage became one-way."

"If the passage was damaged, we can fix it!" I replied.

"Many people, including myself, thought the same," Angrew chuckled sadly. "But we are still here."

"You don't understand, Angrew. This is not about my thirst for freedom. But out there, in the Lace, the wizard called the Faceless Destroyer is going to ruin the universe. If he is not stopped, the Lace may disappear. The Master's great creation will come to an end. Chaos will reign."

Angrew did not seem impressed by my words. 

"You can never leave the Looking Glass without outside help," he said in an indifferent voice. "The way out from this side is closed."

"I can't wait for outside help! I have to open the passage from here. How can I do that?"

I saw the pity in Angrew's eyes. 

"The only way to create a passage to reality is to exactly restore the magical ornament in the Pentagonal Hall, breathe life into it, and make the lines glow with pure flame. Only then will the connection be restored. Do you know how to do this, earthling?"

"No, but I will," I said and walked away.

A few dozen yards later, Jock caught up with me.

"Any orders, my lord?" 

"Show me the Pentagonal Hall," I replied.

"But it's time for dinner, my lord," the o'mirror said.

"I've just had lunch!"

"But the dinner is in your honor."

"Oh, my God! As if I've got nothing else to do. Take me to the hall."

Jock mumbled something under his breath, but obediently walked forward. I looked around, trying to remember the way, making notes in my head. 

"Guard-Ancha!" Jock announced as we reached the foot of the spiral staircase a few levels later. "The Pentagonal Hall is up there. If you ask me, there is nothing to do there."

"I didn't ask you to come with me."

Jock sighed and started climbing the stairs ahead of me, showing me the way. I followed him.

Guard-Ancha. Alex had once told me that this was one of the sights of the Irratian Palace. The highest and oldest tower of the palace was located in the geometric center of the palace and formed together with the other six towers a pyramid with a regular hexagon at the base. By the way, Alex had also mentioned that there was an observation deck upstairs that offered a panoramic view of the Lace. In the real world, I never had the chance to go up there to see it. I wondered what I would see here, in the Looking Glass. 

We had climbed only a few feet when there was a terrible rumbling somewhere above, and soon a man rolled to my feet with about an inch of blade sticking out of his back. Jock stepped aside and let the body pass.

"What a ruffian!" he said indignantly, pointing his thin, gristly finger at the unfortunate man. "Nothing can be done about them."

I was shocked by Jock's indifference. Suddenly, the man I thought was dead stirred and tried to get up. I reached out and helped him to his feet.

"Thanks, body," the man said and began to straighten his clothes, ignoring the blade that had pierced him.

I stared at him, not knowing what to do in this situation. I'd seen many things in my life, but this was the first time I saw a man with a wound like that roll down a flight of stairs and survive. Yet this redhead was not only standing up and talking, he was also looking pretty cheerful.

The stranger met my gaze and flicked his fingernail at the hilt of the sword piercing his chest. "It's not aesthetic, is it?" he said and tried to remove the blade from his chest. "Damn, it stuck. Would you help me, Highness? It's a bit uncomfortable."

"Heh, are you okay?" I asked, regaining my voice.

"Absolutely," he replied. "Take it off! Do it."

I grabbed the hilt with my right hand, pressed down on the wounded man's chest with my left, and pulled. The blade came out with a little effort. 

The redhead pressed his palm to the wound. A scarlet stain spread from under his hand across his white cambric shirt.

"You'll have to bandage it," I admitted.

The man waved his hand. "Ah, it’s nothing! It'll stop soon. I'm Roger Renn. Call me Roge," he introduced himself without any title or rank. "We were introduced yesterday, but you can't remember everyone the first time."

"You're right. By the way, I'm Archie."

Roger laughed and patted me on the shoulder. "Great! Are you going upstairs?"

I nodded.

"Let's go," Roge took the blade from me, wiped it on his pants and ran up the stairs. "I still have to get my revenge."

I followed him, and the o'mirror followed me, muttering something about ruffians and bad companies.

"Hey, Archie! I'll give you some free advice," Roge offered.

"What advice?"

"Don't let that blabbermouth take liberties. If he does anything wrong, punch him right in the ear! Or he'll get in your hair!"

"Did you hear that?" I turned to Jock. "Watch out!"

He grumbled angrily and fell silent.

"Listen, Roge," I started, "but you should be dead. By all rights." 

He laughed, "I forgot you were new here. But that one," he pointed at Jock, "had to explain everything to you."

"I didn't have time," the o'mirror replied. 

"A lazy bum," Roge concluded. "Well, I'll have to do it for him."

He stepped aside to make room for me. Now we walked side by side, the width of the stairs being sufficient.

"You see, Arthur, the Looking Glass has its own laws,” Roge began. “You become kind of immortal here. This is our punishment," he sighed.

"It's really not bad, I would say."

"Say it again in about twenty years, when you‘re fed up with your life but you can't even hang yourself or poison yourself. You can't take steel, you can't burn in fire, you can't drown in water." 

"What a boring life," I nodded and added, remembering the unforgettable MacLeod, "Didn't you try to cut off heads?"

"That's a great idea!" Roger rejoiced. "I should try it on someone particularly evil."

"You'd better not," I objected, "the effects could be irreversible."

"You think so? Okay... Where's that dastardly Korf?"

The answer to his last question came immediately in the form of a short man with light hair and rough features, holding a bare blade. His white shirt was stained with blood.

"Good to see you, Your Highness," the man greeted me, and then turned to my companion. "What took you so long, Roge? I thought you'd gone to lunch!"

"Not until I get you down the stairs!" Roger exclaimed.

"Life teaches you nothing," the blond sighted, "three to one, brother. Not enough for you?"

Roger gritted his teeth. "By the way, Archie, that narcissistic snob, Marquis Louis Korf, was once the best swordsman in the Dark Edge," he said with a grimace.

"Exactly! The Coordinating Service's annual fencing tournament is named after you," I said enthusiastically .

"Being buried alive and then worshiped is quite Irratian," the Marquis chuckled.

"Alas, Marquis, alas... no one appreciates contemporaries. But now you're a legend!"

"It's a damned pleasure," he shrugged. "Well, how about you, Your Highness, do you fence?"

"Of course I do!"

"Would you deny me the honor of challenging you?"

"It would be my pleasure, Marquis. But not today."

"I'm always here for you," Korf smiled.

"Your friend Roger only calls me by my first name, Arthur, or Archie," I added.

"Then call me Lui. At your service anytime, Arthur. Have a good day."

I followed Jock O'Mirror. After a few steps I turned around to see that Roge had forced his opponent to continue the fight.

"They're crazy," Jock muttered. "They do the same thing every day. They fence and fence and fence. Don't mess with them, my lord. Bad company."

"Really?" I pretended to be surprised. "They didn't seem so bad to me."

"But Your Highness," Jock seemed really disappointed. "These two are not high enough rank! There are many other decent people here."

At that moment, I regretted having called myself a prince. What was wrong with "traveling knight"? No, I wanted to be honored.

"Okay, what do your ‘decent people’ do?"

"What do you mean?" The o'mirror didn't understand.

"Well, these two like to fence. What do the others do?"

"Oh, many different things. They draw, they write poetry, they sculpt. They also play cards, compete. There is plenty to do if you want to."

I imagined myself with a brush and paints at the easel.

"No, thanks. I'd rather do fencing. At least it's a form of exercise."

Jock gave me a regretful look, but didn't say anything. I was starting to think there was something to Roger's advice about o'mirrors. This one was really annoying.

A few hundred steps later, we finally reached the door of the Pentagonal Hall. Jock opened it in front of me and stepped aside.

"Where did this sudden modesty come from?" I wondered.

Jock sighed, "There are some places where creatures like me are strictly forbidden to enter."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Jock spread his hands, "but I can't go there. Go on, my lord. I'll wait here."

I asked no more questions and stepped through the open door.

My reflection stepped toward me: a kind of dressed-up, dapper loafer. I went to the mirror, turned around, fixed my hair... Not bad for a prisoner, damn it! Quite a prince! The thought made me feel good, and I began to look around the room in an unexpectedly cheerful mood. 

Soon, however, it got worse. The writing on the ceiling seemed intact and original at first glance, but the paintings on the walls needed a thorough restoration. The ornament on the floor was half destroyed. Even if I had the blueprints, the restoration seemed quite difficult. Besides, where could I get these blueprints?

Perhaps I could remember this ornament? There, in the real world, I didn't look at the lines, I had another problem. But I had seen it!

Stent-Aike, a professor of psychotechnics at the Academy of Coordinating Services, used to say that people remember everything. Literally everything they have ever seen, heard, or felt. Everything stays in the subconscious, everything... You just have to be able to retrieve it from there.

But how could I retrieve it? It would be possible with the help of an expert, but they all stayed behind the Mirror.

Recall, recall.

I went to the center of the picture, closed my eyes and tried to imagine the Pentagonal Hall in Irrat. But all I could see was Mara placing candles in the corners. There was a throbbing pain in my temples. I continued to rack my brain, but to no avail. I opened my eyes and shook my head. This wasn't going to work!

The situation seemed hopeless. I sat down on the floor and hid my face in my hands. There was not a single thought in my head.

I was frustrated. I really had no idea what to do. 

Angrew had said that in a thousand years of this place’s existence, no one had ever come out of here. But I didn't want to stay here forever. I couldn’t! I had so much to do.

"Your Highness, my lord," I heard Jock’s voice. 

"What?"

"You must hurry, my lord, to be in time for dinner."

I stood up, brushed the dust from my pants and straightened my clothes. 

I shouldn't lose hope. I would certainly find the way out. But not today.

I walked out of the hall, closing the door behind me. Jock stood up straight, looking me intently in the eye.

"Lead me now," I commanded.

We had dinner in the same hall as yesterday. I sat across from Angrew, and my new acquaintances were at the other end of the long table. We nodded at each other, but they were too far away to talk. 

On my right was the lovely Lady Laima Stranga, an ash blonde with a pale pink mouth and turquoise eyes lined with long black lashes that would drive even a monk crazy. I was far from a monk, so I didn't even try to resist the magic of Laima's look and smile. After all, I deserved a few bonuses for all the suffering I'd endured! 

The charming Laima willingly supported the conversation, laughed at my jokes, which in more civilized places would be considered hoary, and smiled seductively. Her company was enough for me, and I would have gladly forgotten all the others.

Unfortunately, the others had no desire to forget me.

"Laima, you're just being inappropriate," said another charming but somewhat annoying lady sitting next to Angrew. "We all want to hear about the Prince's adventures."

"What adventures are you talking about? There was nothing interesting, really," I replied.

"He's right, Nilitton," Angrew stood up for me. "Don't insist now. Maybe Arthur is not ready to talk about himself yet."

"You don't have to talk about yourself!" a fat man on our side of the table spoke up. "But we had no information from outside after Angrew came. What's going on in Irrat? Does Garbor still rule?"

I smiled apologetically at Laima. She patted my hand and winked conspiratorially.

"Come on, Prince! We're all ears!" Nilitton hurried me.

I cleared my throat. "I'm not sure I can tell you much about Irrat. I am not a native there and have spent little time in your lovely world. But I can tell you a story I learned from my Irratian friend, though I can't claim credit for it."

"Don't wiggle, Your Highness! Speak up!" Roge shouted, "All we need is an interesting story. Who cares if it is true? No one can verify it!"

"If you wish," I nodded and told them the story of Irrat. I told them everything I'd heard from Alexander Sa-Maste, without changing a word, without leaving anything out or adding anything. They really were a great audience. I wasn't sure if they believed me, but it didn't matter.

Actually there was one who certainly believed. It was Angrew. The whole time I was talking, he kept his eyes on my face, and I didn't feel very comfortable with him drilling me with his gaze.

"That's all I know," I finished my story, "Now Mabert is in power, and so far they've managed to keep the Faceless One at bay. But it won't last long. In the next six years, everything will change. And the Lace will be on the verge of collapse."

"Stop!" Angrew interrupted me, slamming his hand down on the table. "How can you know what will happen in the next six years? You're not an oracle, are you?"

"Of course I'm not," I rejected his suggestion. "I have enough to worry about! I know the future because I've been there. That's all."

There was a laugh around the table, but it was quickly silenced when Viscount Puddigate, the oldest inhabitant of the Looking Glass, rose from the table. Due to a local temporal phenomenon, he looked as young as he had been on the first day of his imprisonment, some forty Earth years, with only his tired, indifferent gaze to betray his age. But now there was fire in his eyes.

"The future? You were in the future?" he asked excitedly. "Did you get there by the Full Moon of Kainos?"

"You are right. Only, on the contrary, I came from there. Kainos brought me back in time."

"Did you hear that?" Puddigate exclaimed, shaking his feast. "Did you hear? It's time!"

Angrew put his hand on the viscount's shoulder and tried to sit him down. "Calm down, my friend,” he said. “You're taking Opgent‘s words too personally. That man," he pointed at me, "does not look like the Messiah. He is not even from Irrat, whereas the prophecy spoke of a direct descendant of the Great Master."

"The blood of the Master does not flow in the veins of Sa-Maste alone!" Puddigate objected, taking Angrew's hand from his shoulder. "The Great Master lived so long ago that it is impossible to trace the lineage of all his descendants. But I remember Opgent's words exactly!" The viscount stood up proudly, raised his finger, and proclaimed, "The prison of the Looking Glass collapses when one who has passed through the Mirror of Oblivion is inside and outside at the same time! No one thought it was possible. But the day has come. He," Puddigate pointed at me, "is here. And he is there. What is it if not the fulfillment of prophecy?"

"But the magical ornament on the floor is still destroyed," Angrew insisted, "and no one, not even him, has the power to rebuild it."

"We shall see," I admitted grimly. My enthusiasm caused by the local elder's words had waned a bit after Angrew's statement, but I had a lot of stubbornness and determination. "By the way, Your Highness. Don't you want to be freed?"

A shadow crossed Angrew's face.

"I just don't think the painting can be restored," he shrugged, "but I will help you, Arthur. I will reconstruct the images of the Pentagonal Hall with you until you give up your delusion! After all, you have blamed my descendants for what happened in Irrat, so now I have a good reason to return."

I nodded and held out my hand to him. I wasn't sure if I would get a gesture in return, but Angrew shook my hand.

"I'm with you," Puddigate said, placing his hand over ours.

Then there was an incredible noise, and forty-four more people signed up to help reconstruct the Pentagon Hall.

From what I knew of people in g

eneral, I assumed that most of them would have enough zeal for a week or two, but I was still glad to see the united impulse that had swept the society.