Tom and Door move past the main heart of the marketplace, exploring more than shopping at this point. The walls are brick here, which is different from the main architecture of the city.
"Lemon Alley?" Tom says, as they walk towards a sign in English manuscript. "That seems rather out of place here."
He feels a strangely familiar prickling of energy all about him. It's almost as if- as if he's near a wizarding quarter, but that cannot be.
It's relatively deserted for a street so close to the marketplace, although there are a few half-hearted booths up and down the street, and a fountain playing at a dead-end.
Someone is perched on the edge of the fountain; a tall, lanky someone with a close-cropped haircut and a long black coat with a hood. "Tourists," he says, "always look for the lemon trees. But the natives know it's because this used to be the outer edge of the city, before it expanded again." He snaps the shabby green-bound journal on his lap shut and gets to his feet nimbly.
"In Chinese, it's Li Men Dao, Yak Gate Alley. So named for the vast herds of yaks that never, ever lived on Santo." He's ambled closer now. "Ni hao."
He's a very intense young man, with startling eyes.
"I forget how Chinese has influenced everything here. It's a fascinating place."
Made even more so by the fact that not only does this place have the feeling of his Wizarding world, but there's something like home here, too. Not the Underside, of course, but an echo, a taste, a something that reminds him of the wild magic he's grown to know and love.
He frowns, looking around rather puzzled. His grip on Door's hand has tightened.
"Prepare," he says dryly, to Door, "for disappointment."
He takes a coin from his pocket; it's made of some bluish metal, with a square hole punched in the center. With excellent aim he flicks it into the fountain, bouncing off a wall to splash down.
"You see--another translation for the word li--"
Ripples spread across the surface of the water from the spot where the odd coin plunked down; across the surface and beyond, a fast moving ripple in the air and fabric of the world.
"--is magic." His smile is small and secretive; there's absolutely nothing different about Lemon Alley, but from further up and down the cross-street, the smells and sounds of the market have changed.
"I say, we're from, erm, off-world," he says, obviously stumbling with the unfamiliar word. He matches the other man's intense gaze with one of his own.
"But I'd know a place like this anywhere. You're a magic user, aren't you?"
Lemon Alley. Lemonalley. Leminally. Liminal-ly. Tom quirks a smile. Word play, obviously, has never gone out of style in the naming of magical places.
"I knew it!" He produces his own wand, grinning as he twirls it. So there are wizards in the future. How brilliant!
He cocks his head after a moment, eyeing the journal. It looks exactly like a blank one he purchased on one of their trips to Brittany. He keeps it in his study for the day he decides how to use it.
He didn't know people wrote with quill - or pen - to paper in this future.
"My name," says the strange wizard, "is Bird Rydell." The emphasis is on the first syllable. "Which I realize may not mean much to you. But perhaps it'll clear things up a bit if I say that zuzong is Chinese for 'ancestor'."
There's a lot of Tom in him; there's a lot of everywhere else, too. The accent is vaguely South African, the features vaguely bronzed. "May I show you a bit of Santo Xia?"
He's still on the "our children" part. How? What? Then that means- well, that means he and Door have children, which he figured would be the logical progression of things. But it also means that they have at least one child who is wizard or witch.
And that is bloody fantastic. He's an Opener and a proud part of the Underside, but he is also a wizard. Magic is what he's lived and breathed all of his life, and to have that part of him live on...
"Lemon Alley?" Tom says, as they walk towards a sign in English manuscript. "That seems rather out of place here."
He feels a strangely familiar prickling of energy all about him. It's almost as if- as if he's near a wizarding quarter, but that cannot be.
Can it?
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Someone is perched on the edge of the fountain; a tall, lanky someone with a close-cropped haircut and a long black coat with a hood. "Tourists," he says, "always look for the lemon trees. But the natives know it's because this used to be the outer edge of the city, before it expanded again." He snaps the shabby green-bound journal on his lap shut and gets to his feet nimbly.
"In Chinese, it's Li Men Dao, Yak Gate Alley. So named for the vast herds of yaks that never, ever lived on Santo." He's ambled closer now. "Ni hao."
He's a very intense young man, with startling eyes.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
Made even more so by the fact that not only does this place have the feeling of his Wizarding world, but there's something like home here, too. Not the Underside, of course, but an echo, a taste, a something that reminds him of the wild magic he's grown to know and love.
He frowns, looking around rather puzzled. His grip on Door's hand has tightened.
Reply
He takes a coin from his pocket; it's made of some bluish metal, with a square hole punched in the center. With excellent aim he flicks it into the fountain, bouncing off a wall to splash down.
"You see--another translation for the word li--"
Ripples spread across the surface of the water from the spot where the odd coin plunked down; across the surface and beyond, a fast moving ripple in the air and fabric of the world.
"--is magic." His smile is small and secretive; there's absolutely nothing different about Lemon Alley, but from further up and down the cross-street, the smells and sounds of the market have changed.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
This is a place of magic.
"I say, we're from, erm, off-world," he says, obviously stumbling with the unfamiliar word. He matches the other man's intense gaze with one of his own.
"But I'd know a place like this anywhere. You're a magic user, aren't you?"
Lemon Alley. Lemonalley. Leminally. Liminal-ly. Tom quirks a smile. Word play, obviously, has never gone out of style in the naming of magical places.
Reply
He produces two things from his pockets--the green journal once more, and a shortish length of knobby wood.
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He cocks his head after a moment, eyeing the journal. It looks exactly like a blank one he purchased on one of their trips to Brittany. He keeps it in his study for the day he decides how to use it.
He didn't know people wrote with quill - or pen - to paper in this future.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
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Rydell? Ancestor? What???
Then, because Tom is British, no matter what nationality Bird might claim, he says, "Beg pardon?"
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(The comment has been removed)
There's a lot of Tom in him; there's a lot of everywhere else, too. The accent is vaguely South African, the features vaguely bronzed. "May I show you a bit of Santo Xia?"
Reply
He's still on the "our children" part. How? What? Then that means- well, that means he and Door have children, which he figured would be the logical progression of things. But it also means that they have at least one child who is wizard or witch.
And that is bloody fantastic. He's an Opener and a proud part of the Underside, but he is also a wizard. Magic is what he's lived and breathed all of his life, and to have that part of him live on...
His eyes find the journal again.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
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