Alright I admit it. I want to be a blog of note. Or I guess I should say that I want this blog to be a blog of note. I’m just a few days short of having blogged every single day for a year, so I deserve this! Oh well. If anyone wants to get me a back-to-school gift…
One of my favorite features of Amathar is the subway.
Just as the station was atypical of what I would expect of public transportation, so too was the train car. It was furnished more like a living room, or a comfortable den, than a public transportation system. There was a piece of furniture very much like a sofa, a small table in front of it, and a several very comfortable chairs. The sofa and chairs were covered with material that was patterned after animal skins, though it appeared to be man-made. Most surprising of all, there was a large bookcase against the back wall, filled with books. I stepped over to the small library once the subway had started into motion, and pulled one of the books from its place.
The book was very much like the book of Amath’s teachings which Norar Remontar had previously shown me. It was a bound volume with a spine, and it had a cover made of leather. The pages were made of a material something like plastic. They were thin and they could bend like paper, but they had a strength far beyond any paper product. The entire book was written in Amatharian, which of course I was unable to read, but the lines and letters seemed to be laid out in a familiar fashion. As I had noticed, the characters resembling simple line drawings of stylized animals and other almost familiar images. After staring at it for a moment, I almost thought that I could see tiny predators ready to pounce upon their prey.
“Is this a private transport car?” I asked, replacing the book.
“This shuttle train belongs to the air clan,” Norar Remontar replied, “though they make it available to anyone who needs transportation.”
“I am surprised that it doesn’t become damaged, or that the books and other furnishing aren’t stolen,” I said, noticing several small art objects atop the table, and hanging on the walls.
“Why would some one take something that wasn’t his?” the Amatharian wondered. “Of course there is a great deal of wear because of the number of people who travel on the train. That is why we must all take extra care, to see that this property of others is not needlessly damaged.”
I looked, but couldn’t find any more wear and tear than one would find in the average living room.
“Alexander Ashton, are you conscious?” I opened my eyes to see the face of the Princess looking down at me. “I thought you might be in a coma.”
“What happened?”
“Look and see, kinsman.”
I tried to sit up, but found it difficult, since both my hands and feet were bound with heavy wire. I managed to look around me, and saw that we were on the floor of a large room. It looked familiar, but for a moment I didn’t know how. I realized that this was a Zoasian land vehicle of the same general type which I had so recently driven, just as one of the aforementioned snake-men entered the compartment and pointed a large ray gun at me.
“Go ahead and shoot me, you cold-blooded bastard!” I shouted at the reptile. He just hissed at me uncomprehendingly, and then sat down nearby to guard us.
“It seems your thanks for the rescue were premature,” I told my companion.
“I resigned myself to my own death when I was first captured by the Zoasians,” said Noriandara Remontar. “The situation is no worse now. If anything, we can be happy that we have caused them so much trouble.”
“I can’t believe that they found us in the middle of that sand storm,” I said, rubbing the painful knot just behind my temple.
“The Zoasians have an extra eyelid which they can close to protect from the elements, and still be able to see,” she explained. “My aunt has made an extensive study of their culture and their physiology, though I dare say, I will be able to write quite a book on the subject myself, if I ever get back to Amathar.”
It was a lovely dress made of a heavy material of the deepest red.
Chapter Twelve: Wherein I hear the story of a Princess of the Elves.
Not having a hare to cook for our morning meal, and in truth I never really expected there to be one, I didn’t bother building a fire. We shared cold pickles and Hysteria ate the last of her oats. The sun was high in the sky and even though we were eating our meager meal amid large drifts of snow, as long as we stayed in the sun, it was pleasant enough. As you can imagine, my mind was reeling at the possibility that my orphan boy was not only a girl and an elf, but quite possibly a seventy-nine year old half-orphan princess. My mind was so awash in the news that I scarcely paid any attention to the pickles I was eating. It was a real shame, because I enjoy a good pickle. My poor old mother made some of the best pickles ever.”
“What are you doing now?” asked the half-orphan princess.
“I’m attempting to ponder pickles.”
“That figures,” said she.
“But I find myself unable to.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Because of you, my very own little liar.”
“Stop calling me a liar. I didn’t lie. Everything I’ve told you is the truth… except for the part about being a boy and being called Galfrid and being an orphan.”
“And now you claim to be a princess.”
“I am a princess,” she argued. “My father is Jholhard of the wood elves.”
“Come,” I said, wiping the pickle juice off my fingers. “Let’s get going and you can tell me your woeful tale as we ride.”
We remounted my noble steed, which is to say Hysteria, and started off once again down the road. The mood was subdued. At least the mood was subdued between myself and the half-orphan princess. Hysteria seemed quite jovial, and threatened to break into a trot on several occasions. I can only assume that she was happy to have had oats for elevenses. I am sure she didn’t realize that we had no more.
“It is just like in your story of the Queen of Aerithraine when she was trapped in Fall City,” Jholeira said at last.
“What is?”
“Being a princess. It’s like being in jail.”
“You were locked away?”
“Well, not really. I had the run of the entire wood. It’s just that I didn’t realize just how small a world that wood really was until I left.”
“Now we come to the first plot element,” said I. “Why did you leave?”
“I ran away,” she said. “I ran away because my father was going to force me to marry.”
“Well that’s hardly worth running away over,” said I. “I mean, fathers all across the world are busy arranging marriages for their daughters. What was wrong with the fellow? Wasn’t he tall enough? Was he bald? Did he have a wooden eye? It was a wooden eye, wasn’t it?”
“He didn’t have a wooden eye.”
“If he didn’t have a wooden eye, then what was wrong with him?” I wondered. “Maybe you are just being too picky.”
“There was nothing wrong with him. I just didn’t want to marry him. I didn’t want to marry anyone.”
“That seems a bit obstinate to me,” said I.
“Don’t berate me about it now,” she sulked. “I have paid dearly for running away. I was captured by slavers and taken halfway to Lyria. I only escaped them when they were attacked by bandits. The bandits took me captive and carried me away to their camp in the mountains. I was taken from the bandit camp when it was attacked by trolls. The trolls took me into the woods. Then I was stolen away from the trolls by ogres, who put me in a cage and took me to their horrible city. There things got even worse when I was captured from the ogres by a band of wererats.”
“Hold on.” I counted them off on my fingers. “Slavers, bandits, trolls, ogres, and wererats… If this were my story, then next would come… harpies.”
“Pixies.”
“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Pixies are little.”
“Evil pixies.”
“Still. Little.”
“Evil pixies from hell.”
“Ah. But at least you got away from them.”
“I managed to escape.”
“Because they’re little, right?”
“Um, yes. But then I was captured by pirates.”
“Pirates in the middle of North Lyria? By the Ogre Mountains? Far away from the ocean?”
“They were on holiday.”
“Pirates on holiday?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. And how did you get away from them?” I asked.
“One of the pirates, a woman named Prudence released me. I think she was jealous that the pirate captain might fancy me instead of her.”
“Prudence? Prudence the pirate?”
“That’s right.”
“And you say she was jealous?”
“Yes.”
I ran through the details in my mind. Slavers, bandits, trolls, ogres, and wererats. Then came the pixies, but I would change them to harpies. Finally there was Prudence the pirate. Prudence who was jealous. Possessive! Possessive Prudence the pirate. Or Prudence the possessive pirate. Yes, I quite like the sound of that. Prudence the Possessive Pirate—that had to be a half-crown story if ever I heard one. I could take a title like that, work it into something, take it to every pub and inn in Illustria, and make a fortune. Of course I would send the half-orphan elf girl a percentage. On the other hand, she said she was a princess. Princesses are rich. She probably doesn’t need the paltry amount made from the sale of a story. She might be insulted if I tried to pay her.
“Now I’ve had more than enough,” said she.
“You don’t want any money?”
“No. I’ve had more than enough adventure and I want to go home,” she replied. “Are you carrying on some other conversation in your head about how you are going to take my story to every pub and inn in Illustria, and make a fortune, and not pay me anything for it?”
“Of course not,” I replied. “You want to go home. And besides, I am a firm believer in maintaining all the appropriate copyrights.”
His Robot Girlfriend is the most popular new book download at Feedbooks.com for both the week and the month, being downloaded about fifty times a day.
My Email to Baen Books:
Dear Editors,
I submitted my novel THE STEEL DRAGON for your consideration through your online submission program on September 6, 2008. It is manuscript number 3962. While cognizant both of the large number of manuscripts that you are faced with and your admonition that it takes 9-12 months to review submissions, I never-the-less thought that 10 months might be an appropriate point at which to check in and ask for a status report.
Thank you for your time and effort both in reading my submission and this email.
Sincerely,
Wesley Allison
The Reply
We’re running behind. It’ll be another couple of months before we get to it.
City of Amathar 