Grandmama and Beyond

Pleasure before business had always been a powerful rule for dragon kind. After watching the demise of the great saurians, the fear that life might just be too short to waste had ingrained itself deep in their racial memory. Even dragon gods believed that each and every diem should be carped, and Toby’s Grandmother was no exception.

She met Toby at the door, and welcomed her with an informal twining tail hug, then started helping her remove her packs. Toby appreciated the greeting, and even more appreciated knowing that, while always on her best behaviour around Grandmama, this was to be an evening without ceremony or formalities.

Indeed, it was not until much later, after dinner and catching Toby up thoroughly on news of her extended family, that Grandmama became the Venerable Kami of Tides Unstoppable and told Toby about her new task.

On one of the innermost planes, just one step from the original world, there lives a Queen named Sheherazade. She lives because she tells a new story every night, and for this the King, her husband, did not kill her. She lives because she tells a new story every night, and for this the King, her son; and the King, her grandson; and the King, her great-grandson many times over; would not kill her. She lives because she tells a new story every night, and because she tells new stories, she enjoys living.

Over the years, she has created linked stories that broaden and enrich the planes. Sheherazade is responsible for more of our worlds than any other person. She is responsible for many of our fairest planes – not merely fair in appearance, but also fair in economy and law. Sheherazade realized, once the first shock of survival had died down, that she could influence the court with her tales.

She had become Queen because she was one of the few remaining women of marriageable age alive in the capital. She was not a princess, or a great beauty, not – in fact – any of the things that Kings usually seek in their Queens. She was, however, intelligent and compassionate and from a family of lower level merchants who believed that their daughters needed to be as educated and useful as their sons. Thus when living seemed to become an ongoing possibility, Sheherazade began telling tales of commoners. At first it was all about commoners who rendered unusual service to heroic royals and were, in return given minor gifts and allowed to live long and happy lives. Then, as her audience became more sophisticated, she began to tell tales in which the commoners were the heros, and battled evil alongside royals to achieve greatness. Finally, when the King, her husband, had died and been replaced by her son, she started telling tales in which sometimes, the evil that needed to be battled was royalty that ill treated those they ruled.

As the number of planes owing their existence to Sheherazade grew, some of us began to take notice. We made contact, and both have benefited from that. We give her new ideas, sometimes even new stories entire, and she gives us planes that work, planes that are pleasurable both for their inhabitants and for visitors.

Recently, though, she has asked us to help her with a new story. Her world has grown, she believes, beyond the need for their royalty no matter how benevolent the royalty remain. We have agreed to provide stories of lands that change. Lands where commoners and royalty have joined and mixed, or lands where royalty are absent, or asleep. Among Sheherazade’s favourites have have been tales of Über Cellestia. Your mother was relaying these to Fundy, my main servitor on your plane, but she has decided that an interplanar sabbatical would do her good, and we need someone to replace her. Few outside her own plane knew of Sheherazade, and even fewer knew of her down plane connections. The replacement would have to be an individual of great discretion.

“You, Tobermory, have been selected,” the Venerably Kami’s voice sharpened, “you will write reports of what is afoot in Über Cellestia and send them to me. We do not believe that anyone will suspect that a diligent grand-child is doing anything other that corresponding dutifully with a respected grand-parent – even though you have been rather remiss in that diligence in the past.”

Toby hung her head, suitably chastened. She had not considered that the mysterious new assignment would be something as unglamourous as writing letters home.

* * *

The next day dawned clear and crisp. Toby broke her fast alone, the Venerable Kami being off taking care of an upset in solar tides caused by a misaligned comets on one of the less well designed science planes. Thinking about the trip ahead, the only bright light on Toby’s horizon was the empty cookie plate lying beside her packs. A new plane, a different legal system, and three little clients taking on a giant corporation. Having a Brownie on her side would be her only advantage.

Toby took off shortly after breakfast. Interplanar travel was not as slow as flying, but it still took lots of energy. It also took far more concentration, her unerring direction sense did not work in spaces where distance and direction itself became meaningless and progress towards a destination could be measured in smells or colours or music more easily than in kilometers or miles.

This particular destination was distinguishable by a faint scent of burn hydrocarbon mixed with magic. Planes where magic and science intermingled tended to be trouble spots. The interface was rarely well thought out, and like a societal fault line spawned frequent quakes and eruptions between the two disciplines.

Toby found her contact, the Third Daughter, waiting in the hotel lobby beside a small stack of file boxes. With her, were Happy, Ever, After’ newest clients. Or, at least, Toby assumed that the twitching lumps in the Third Daughter’s pockets were probably her clients. Moments later, Toby had checked in, and she and the Third Daughter were ushered into the hotel’s penthouse suite. All the best hotels kept a penthouse floor for dragons – easier to design the high ceilings and landing pad sized balconies at the top of the building.

The Third Daughter started laying out files on a meeting table while Toby offloaded her packs, making sure that the one most likely to contain the Brownie was set in the meeting room. Joining the Third Daughter, Toby looked at the stacks of paper she had made and sighed, careful not to singe the paperwork.

“Tobermory, would you like to have a chance to read this all, or meet your clients first?”

“Meet my clients,” Toby replied hastily, “and, meet you too. I mean, I know we’ve been introduced, but I only was told your title – if we’re going to be working together, I should know your name...?”

The Third Daughter looked startled for a moment, then smiled and answered, “I’m not suprised you only know my title, no one in your firm has ever asked for my name before. It’s Sapphire, like the stone, but most people call me Blue. My parents liked pretentious names that they thought would suit our future fortunes – my elder sisters were Amethyst and Chrysoberyl. Amy and Chris, now.”

“Okay, and you can call me Toby, most everyone does.”

“Thanks, Toby, and here...” Blue started lifting mice out of her pocket and setting them gently on the table, “are Ike Squee, Eek Squeee, and their only surviving daughter Iyk Squee-Squeee. They have been expecting you ever since the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Sentient Non-Dominant Species started talking with them.”

Toby leaned closer to the table, eyeing the little furry bundles cautiously. They looked rather as she would expect mice to look, except a little larger and rounder. And tail-less. It was hard to tell, she thought, whether they looked rounder because they lacked the balance of a properly slender tail, or because they were just singularly well fed. The mice continued to sniff around the table, ignoring Toby’s looming head. She grinned, experimentally, showing lots of teeth. The mice didn’t even pause, much less trembling properly. So, three blind mice with stumps where their tails should be. Toby’s case was right on track.

“I suppose it would be too much to hope this is some kind of random local prank? What can you tell me about our opponents?”

“Sorry, Toby, but you’re right. It would be too much to hope. Besides, the Society has it’s hands full enough. They wouldn’t have brought you here for anything less than wholesale sadism. As far as I have gathered, and I’m sure there is a lot more information in the briefing documents, the plane was relatively quiet for a long time. Technology grew while magic took a back burner, but there was enough of a balance to keep magical beings from leaving entirely.

“Then one of the science types discovered how to move from plane to plane in a primitive and dangerous machine. Unfortunately one of the first planes he found had fairly advanced biological sciences. He brought back several journals that explained how something called ‘genetically modified’ plants and animals would feed the world conveniently and at low cost. But the journals didn’t explain how to do this ‘genetic modification’. So he went back to get more information. We don’t know whether he got to the same place at a different time, or a different place entirely. He didn’t quite make it back himself – or at least, not enough of him made it back to sustain life. He did, however, send back quite a load of books. It took his friends some time to translate the books, they were written in an entirely different script and language from the first journals. The contents were remarkable enough, however, to encourage the full translation of the lot.

“The first indication that something new was happening came when the company that sponsored the science guys tore down the statue of their old fashioned icon, and replaced it with a new statue. This one features two men, identified on the base as Lamarck and Lysenko, holding up a metal shield on which stands a beaming, modern-looking version of their founder’s image.

“The second, grimmer indication, was that the company suddenly started buying animals – mainly mice and rats – from everyone and anyone who could sell them. Ike and Eke met in a cage in the factory building. The building was full of cages, each one containing a male and female animal. Somehow the board of directors had decided that animals could or would pass on to their children their own learned (or manipulated or mutilated) characteristics. Since it’s easier to mutilate than teach, they have been blinding generations of animals seeing whether it breeds true, then, when it doesn’t blinding their children and trying again.

Toby blinked hard, swallowed – reflexively trying to keep from losing the remnants of her last meal – and growled, “Give me a mad wizard any day. They’re easy to convince – or convince into throwing the first fireball, and then I can eat them. Mad scientists, are much harder to handle. In court, there’s always a chance that I won’t win.”

“I understand. Don’t worry too much, though, the Society has sent a lot of research, they even found arguments for the death penalty – for the company, that is, not the scientists. The mice and I will go rest in the second bedroom, if you need us to answer any questions, all you need to do is call.” Blue had been collecting the mice as she talked.

Toby couldn’t think of a good reason to stop her from leaving. At any rate Toby was certain that “I hate reading dry legal stuff – stay here and talk with me!” would not be considered a particularly good reason.