Baron Phelan's Estate
The Estate of the Baron in Blitzheim isalmost indistinguishable from the other buildings sharing the street. It is composed of gray stone, with soaring doorways and high arched windows. Bars and heavy curtains keep his private business inside, and a high stone wall ensures that events on the street, stay on the street.
Inside, the walls and floors are composed of white marble. Chandeliers and ornate oil lamps seem to be everywhere. Light is reflected from all surfaces, and for individuals used to Chronotopia's dark days, the bright illumination is disconcerting. Objects seem to have sharp, knife-like edges in the harsh lighting. No carpets, and few wallhangings are present to dull this unpleasant feeling.

In a small room at the south end of the building, a patient stirs. His wounds were not life threatening, but the loss of blood and the length of time before he was treated nearly finished him. He has been comatose for nearly two weeks, then started showing signs of strength in the last two days. Raising his unbandaged arm to his head, the Cervani moans, then calls out. "Nurse? Anyone?"

Buran makes her way to the patient's bedside and inquires, "May I be of help?"

Buran's eyes quickly survey the patient, looking for anything obviously amiss.

The patient tries to rise, his eyes blinking in the bright light. "Where am I?" As he looks at Buran he gasps, "Is this Bosch? Who are you!"

Buran shakes her head. "No, you're not. You're safe here. I'm a healer. It is my job to ensure that you are well."

The deer moans quietly, lying back and his headrack scraping at the wall behind him. "Oh… No offense healer, but I must know if my eyes deceive me. I have been having the strangest dreams. Are you some strange spotted Khatta with wings?"

Buran smiles slightly at some unspoken thought. "I have been called that, yes. Your eyes are not deceiving you. In fact, as far as I can tell, they're perfectly healthy."

"My appologies, I had no desire to insult. My last memories were of wounds in my shoulder and leg, and many strange dreams. It is so bright I feared I was far from home." The deer looks around the plain room, with its heavy curtains and bare floor, then back to the Sphynx. "My name is Shem, how should I address you healer?"

Buran's ears twitch slightly. "My name is Buran. I am pleased to meet you, Shem. I don't mean to be impolite … but how were you wounded this way?"

A slight frown crosses the Cervani's face. "How is it you don't know, didn't the Landsknecht bring me here? I was with one when the carriage we were in was ambushed." He tries to rise on his good arm.

Buran gently places one hand on Shem's chest. "Please, don't move. You will recover, but I'd like you to take it easy for a while. I'm afraid that I don't know what happened. I was summoned by the baron's guards shortly after they brought you here."

Shem lets himself be pushed back down against the bed. "Baron, which Baron? Why am I here and not at the palace, have I been captured? Was anyone else with me, a boy?" His eyes blink rapidly.

Buran sighs, and her ears visibly droop. "There was a Korv healer with you. He had been shot, and he was bleeding very badly. I tried to stop his bleeding, but the wounds were too severe. He didn't get help in time… " She trails off.

"Brother Salvatori? Oh the Star!" He makes the sign on his chest, murmuring quietly, "May you take your place in the Great Machine."

"I am sure you tried your best, Healer Buran. You shouldn't blame yourself. I knew something was wrong when the Landsknechts got involved." Shem says, trying to comfort the Sphynx.

Buran looks up again. "I know little of what happened to you … but the Landsknechts are respected. You believe they did this to you?" She looks a bit surprised.

"No, no healer Buran." The Cervani shakes his head vehemantly, his antlers crashing against the wall. He pauses at the impact, then says, "No, they would not do such a thing. It was because they were involved… how can I explain this?"

Buran's ears perk up and her whiskers twitch. "Go on, please." She sits down in a chair next to the cot.

Shem puts his right hand against his chest. "I am one of the Palace guards. On the day of the funeral we were given some unusual and specific orders. As we were carrying them out, we met the Landsknecht St. Germain, and the healer Salvatori, and they were opposed to us."

"Leftennant Varick, my superior, was willing to take arms against them. I knew what we were doing could not be honourable, if they had arrived to stop us. Varick agreed, eventually, that this was the case. The Landsknecht and I wer eon the way back to the palace to question my superior who had given the order, when we were ambushed." The deer explains, looking intently at Buran's eyes.

Buran says, "So you believe you were ambushed because of your orders?"

"I'm not sure." He sighs, rubbing at his long nose, "Our orders said we would meet some resistance, and under no circumstances… you are sure there was not a young buck with us?"

Buran shakes her head. "No."

"Thank you." Shem says, though it's notclear if he speaks to Buran or some other power. "There is not much else I can tell you. This much I fear may already be too much. How long have I been unconscious?"

Buran says, "A while, I'm afraid. About two weeks. Shem, you were very sick. You lost a lot of blood and you're lucky to be alive."

A strained sigh escapes the guard, "Two weeks. What has happened with the parliament, has a new Kaizer been chosen? Who?"

Buran shakes her head. "No one has been chosen yet. All I know is that something … strange … has been happening. But what I don't know. I've been asked to care for you."

Shem just shakes his head slowly, staring at the bright ceiling and with the brilliantly illuminated bare walls. "I am such a small cog in all of this, I have no idea what great movements are being caused." He falls silent, one hand twisting in the sheets of the bed.

Buran shuffles her wings a bit, and re-folds them. "I'm not quite sure myself. I'mnot allowed to leave the city. I'm being treated well, but … " She pauses. "I am a healer, and that I will do when asked. But this is unusual."

"How did you come to be here Buran, if I may ask?" The Cervani turns his gaze towards the Sphynx.

The room is quiet for a long time as Buran contemplates a proper answer. Finally, she says, "I lived most of my childhood at a Temple in Rephidim. It was thought that perhaps my parents were Exiles, but I don't know whether or not that was ever decided. I'm sorry to say that I know little of my parents… " Silence falls again as Buran seems to be lost in thought.

Buran finally goes on, though a bit quieter than before. "I doubt that I'll eve rknow, since I seem to have been the source of some shame to them. I don't hold it against them, and I hope they're well off. I was eventually taken in by the Technopriests, and taught the arcane craft of machines; its what I've done for years. This was supposed to be my sabbatical, to learn the art of healing as well, though I suppose it's become more of an adventure. I don't know how I will explain this when I get back … oh, never you mind. I suppose it will all work out in the end." She spreads her fingers as if to indicate that she's done, and falls quiet.

"I have heard of Rephidim Island." Shem smiles weakly, "It is said it brings the clear days. It must be an interesting place, so far removed from the curse of Bosch."

Buran nods. "It is … unusual. We have only mild seasons throughout the whole year, and the view is quite beautiful. I've spent hours gazing out the window before. I think you would understand if you were ever to see it."

The Cervani looks at the shrouded window. "Much could be said about our weather here. I fear I am so used to the dim days that this light is almost painful. I believed I had passed onto the great machine… " He turns his gaze back to Buran

Buran looks out the window herself, looks at the dim sky. "I see why."

A few bits of fur fly through the air as Buran shakes herself out. A feather follows a few minutes later. "But I'd rather not talk about that."

"I'm sorry, I don't want to pry." Shem rubs at the bandage on his right shoulder, "I just have many questions, and am not used lying still. You seem to have done your work well."

There is a small pitcher of water on a table near the window in the sparsely-furnished room. Buran rises from her chair and uses the pitcher to refill Shem's glass of water, then offers it to him. "I understand."

Shem smiles, taking the glass and guzzling the water. "I didn't realize I was so thirsty, or hungry for that matter. Is there something I could have to eat?"

Buran refills the glass. "I can get you something."

Buran lifts an eyebrow. "What would you like? You're healthy enough to eat more than the honey you've been getting."

"I am hungry enough now I would eat spent axle grease, I am sure anything you can bring me would be lovely." Shem says with a small tilt of his head.

Buran chuckles. "I don't think axle grease is appropriate. I'll find you a good salad."

The door closes behind Buran as she quietly heads into the hall to find the promised salad for Shem …

The kitchen is not far away, down a hallway, and another hallway. Like the rest of the estate it is very clean and bright. The hanging pots gleam distractingly as the Sphynx enters, shiny enough to use as mirrors.

Buran quietly shuts the door to the kitchen to avoid distracting the staff, then turns and looks around. Upon finding her face staring back at her from what must be hundreds of pots, pans, spatulas, and knives, she pauses and looks around at all the neat shining things.

Quiet, except for the staff working on dinner. Buran walks over to an especially shiny cauldron, being used to prepare soup, and sniffs – there's something very tasty in that pot.

Buran mutters, "Food for patient. Look at pots later." She pulls her attention away from the cauldron – although with difficulty – and goes over to one of the chefs. "Excuse me," she says. "My patient requires some food… "

The staff is unusual in being entirely Khatta. In the mixed culture of Chronotopia, it is strange not to see one of the other minor or major groups. The few in the kitchen ignore Buran's presence, except for the Matron, who replies "Yes healer, take what you need."

Buran looks about the kitchen – how could she not with all those beautiful, shiny, silvery pots? – , and her eyes fall upon a shiny counter on which a chef is preparing tossed salad for supper. She fetches a bowl (big and shiny) from a rack, and (after spending a minute or two looking at her reflection in it), fills it with salad.

The Khatta nod or otherwise avoid the Sphynx. They've grown used to her appearance during her stay at the estate. Soon the shiny bowl is full of salad.

Buran sweeps up a few (shiny!) cylinders full of seasonings that won't hurtShem, some eating utensils, and grabs the shiniest tray in the tray rack. She puts it all together and then heads back out of the kitchen.

The hallways echo with the Sphynx's footsteps as she returns to the room set aside for her patient. He still lies in the bed, watching the door expectantly. His expression brightens when he sees the plate of food.

Shem can see himself – and the room – reflected in everything except the salad- which looks extremely tasty.

Buran smiles. "Here you go."

The guard smiles, which fades a little when he catches a glimpse of his image, "I look terrible. May I sit up to eat?"

Buran surveys Shem. "I don't see why not." She helps him to sit up, and props him on some fluffy pillows. "I just don't want you moving around too much. You could reopen your injuries."

"I think I can take a little rest time." He lies back, "and the food certainly looks nicer than what I can get in the barracks' mess."

Buran smiles, apparently familiar with such issues.

Shem takes a fork, and starts to eat eagerly. "So you work both with machines and people, which do you find easier to repair?" He winks.

This is apparently an amusing topic. Buran smiles a bit, and rearranges her wings again. "It depends on how difficult they are," she explains with a sly look on her face.

"Oh, you'll have to explain. I know little more than how to replace the spring in my Egg, and nothing about healing a body." The deer confides, between mouthfuls of salad.

Buran shakes her head. "I was teasing. But it's sometimes harder to heal some than others. Sometimes I succeed, and sometimes, well … " She trails off, not wishing to pursue a sensitive issue. "Machines, at least, don't have to be repaired right away."

"That's true, when working they are very demanding, but in disrepair they are willing to languish indefinitely." Shem finishes chewing the lettuce and scrape sat the bottom of the bowl.

Buran amends, "Not indefinitely." as she bends over to pick up the feather she shed earlier. "But much longer than, well, people."

The stag watches the feather retrieval, then asks curiously. "May I see that? I'm used to the feathers on the Korvs, and the fur on the Khattas, and not the two together."

The feather is a very dark gray color, about the same color as Buran's spots. It has a dull shine to it, like most bird feathers do. Buran hands it to Shem. "Be my guest."

Shem turns it over, looking at the colouration and running his finger along the edge. "Very unusual." He comments, twirling the tip against his palm, "Do you make writing quills with them?"

Buran surveys the feather. "I've never tried, though I suppose you could."

"What do you do with your lost feathers?" Shem asks.

Buran ponders the question for a few minutes. "They often fall off in midair, so a lot of them just get lost. I've a fan in my quarters in the Temple, made out of a few of them. It's very good for warm days."

As Shem plays with the feather, a thought comes to Buran's mind. "I wonder … " she pauses. "Yes, I think so. A fanning machine. For warm places… "

"Ah, I suppose you should keep this for your fan machine then." He reluctantly holds out the feather. He gives a quick indication of his rack, "These come off yearly, I usually donate them. Antlers are useful in a decorative way, or in some cruder manner in machines, or as tool handles."

Buran shakes her head and smiles. "No. You keep it. I've plenty more where that came from -" she stretches out one wing – "so I think I can afford to let you have it."

Shem smiles, "Thank you. Now if I only knew where my possessions were I could put it when them. Do you have any idea where they went?"

There is a slight rustle as Buran re-folds her wing after shaking some kitchen dust out of it. "I think your uniform was destroyed. It was, to put it simply, in bad condition. However, your personal effects are over here" – she opens a cabinet and indicates a shelf – "and as far as I can tell, nothing is missing."

Shem watches with some fascination as Buran's wings fold. He arches his neck to look over at the cabinet. "Yes, it looks like its all there. Could you put the feather with them? I really appreciate it."

Buran smoothes out the feather, obviously from years of habit, and sets it atop a small pile of Shem's other possessions, then carefully closes the cabinet.

"Your wings are built differently than a Korv's. How well do you fly compared with them?" Shem observes.

Buran tilts her head. "Not to brag, but better, I'd say. Probably faster, and … " she seems to blush just a bit – "I don't know that Korv are as good at acrobatics."

Shem's ears flick forward as Buran blushes, and he smiles slyly. "Well, I daresay a Khatta is more graceful on the ground than a Korv, I would suspect that one which could take to the air would shame them there as well. It must be a wonderful feeling. I've never even been aboard an airship, what is flying like?"

Buran ponders that for a good long while. "It's … very hard to describe. You can see so much farther, and there's nothing between you and the ground. You're not confined by anything like politics or geography. You can go where you will, when you want to." She looks at the dark clouds outside. "So long, of course, as the weather holds."

"That sounds very free, though I can't think of many places I would rather be."He nods, following her gaze out the window. "The weather has grounded you?My friends fly in the rain. If you were to wait for a sunny day to fly, you would bewaiting a long time."

As the clouds thicken, darkening the room still more, Buran shakes her head. "I am sorry… " She pauses and looks out the window. "For you, that is. To almost never see the sun. Though I imagine that if you've lived here all your life, you'd be used to it."

Shem chuckles, "Oh, its absence makes its appearances all that more special, and feared. Chronotopia only needs the direct light of the sun in it's most dismal hours. At all other times, we can provide our own as you see." He waves his hand around at the overly bright room.

Buran looks about. "Ah, yes… I can see your point."

Buran catches sight of her reflection in a mirror, and gazes at it for a while. "And effectively, too."

The Cervani looks appreciatively at what he can see of Buran's reflection. "Yes, I have to agree with you there. This house is as clean and bright as it is empty. I am used to the tiny whir of mechanisms, and they seem absent here."

Buran's ears perk up. "What do these mechanisms do?"

"Tell the time mostly." Shem replies, "Some are decorative, others… well we have one for sharpening our weapons in the barracks. Another to polish pieces of armour. Surely you must have seen them if you had spent any time here."

Buran nods. "There aren't any here, I suppose, because you don't need to worry about them for the moment. You just need to rest until you're well enough to return to your duties."

"Does anyone know I'm here? Do you know if word was sent to my superiors?" Shem questions.

There is silence for a moment as Buran thinks. "I would imagine so, since you were brought here by other members of the guard. But no one has confirmed such to me."

Shem nods, but with a worried expression, "I hope you're right, I'd… "

A young panther knocks at the door, interrupting, "Healer Buran, could you come with me? Baron Phelan wants to speak with you now."

Buran nods to the panther, then turns to Shem. "You'll have to excuse me. If you need anything, I'm sure one of the servants here will be glad to help you."

There is a *skriik* as Buran's chair scoots backward and she rises to walk over to the panther.

"Sure, I'll just rest as you suggested." The stag lies back, looking at the ceiling.

"This way healer." The young Khatta leads.

Buran follows behind the panther, tail occasionally brushing the floor.