Prisons of Ice and Fire

The Heptet

The Great Hall certainly lived up to its name: it was a hall and it was great.

So great in fact that one wondered whether or not the space it occupied could have been put to better use. For the enormity of it, at one end were seven large chairs positioned on a half crescent that sloped up in the middle. The chairs grew in stature with their place and elevation on the crescent, the largest solitary chair being at the top and centre. In front of the chairs and aligned in rows extending from each edge of the crescent were six long sets of benches, three per side.

Two simple chairs and a folding table were sitting in the gap between the rows of benches.

At one chair sat a man who was sorting through the papers he had spread across the table.

The Civil Servant pointed me in the direction of the table and made his exit via the same two huge ornate doors that we had entered by.

I walked down the ten or so steps to the floor of the hall and began to cross it. My footsteps echoed around the room, but the seated man didn't show any sign of moving until I was halfway across the floor. With a sudden movement the man stopped sorting and got to his feet to face me. Instinctively I stopped, unsure of how or whether I should approach him. The man waved the piece of paper he was holding and quietly said, "It's alright, come closer, I want to show you something."

As I approached he waved me towards the empty chair the other side of the table. He was well-dressed and clean, in fact, immaculate. He was not, though, dressed how I expected, wearing just simple clothes, but items that all fitted him extremely well.

He thrust his hand across the table and greeted me, "I am Chancellor Dragu, Ruling Centre of the Heptet. Welcome Lupi, I believe that is your chosen name?"

I extended my hand to meet his and simply nodded as we shook; unable to answer in case I used a salutation inappropriate for a Ruling Centre. He sat down and indicated that I do the same and as I sat he slid the piece of paper he had been holding across the table.

"What do you make of that?" he enquired.

The paper was segregated into four quarters by black lines from the centre of each side.

In each quarter was a diagram linked by an arrow to the one next to it forming a cycle around the page. The diagrams represented the Domes, the Ice Quarries and opposite each other, two images of the Stilt Cities.

Under each arrow was a column of numbers.  Looking at the numbers, I could see the trend: the numbers in the corresponding rows for each set added up to approximately the same.

I assumed, therefore, from my knowledge of it, that each number itself was the sailing time between the destinations in days. I couldn't tell the gap in duration between the measurements, but  I decided it must be several years, as although I felt that the journey times had changed a little, it had never moved beyond a day in my time aboard. Looking at the numbers, however, there was a clear trend, which was disconcerting to say the least.

What I said next shocked the man, but he managed to hide his reaction very quickly; a natural ability for a politician I suppose.

"How long before it becomes untenable to maintain the Cities?"

He pointed a finger at me and wagged it, "You are very astute aren't you."

For a moment he paused and looked at me as if trying to decide how far to go with the conversation.

For myself I was beginning to wish I had not shown so much impertinence.

Eventually he continued, "Why don't you tell me what you think?"