HistoryPark: Here There Be Dragons

Part Four

Waking. Morning ablutions. Dressing. Being met by Vlad at the door and escorted down the hall, walls and ceiling and floor all hewn from the dense, dark-gray rock. The hallway ending in a striated wall of some softer, paler rock – limestone, perhaps – broken by the rounded dark opening of a doorway into some larger chamber beyond. Stepping forward, the ceiling opening overhead and the walls spreading out on both sides, looking up…

…into glory.

The chamber opened into an immense cylindrical cavern, the ceiling covered with crystals and stalagtites of fantastic shapes and colors, seemingly the interior of a vast geode. Powerful electric lights beamed up into the darkness, and the ceiling glittered like a galaxy of stars. The floor was cut down into the chamber, a flat polished pool of lustrous yellow stone that shimmered like a molten lake. Down the walls, pastel flows of rock glistened in waterfalls of pink, yellow, green and blue.

Kevin stopped stock-still, mouth agape. Vlad smiled a small, secretive, possessive smile. “I have to steal the electricity, so I use it sparingly. But here… here, nothing else will do.” He motioned at the low tables and leather-upholstered chairs in one corner. “There is a small natural chimney in a rock cleft in that corner. In cooler weather, a fire is most welcome.”

“What did you do to level the floor?”

“Very little, actually. The cave proper is limestone but the underlying rock is much harder. There were no stalagmites, only some lumps of soft flow. It was tedious work to level and polish it but the result, I believe, is worthy.”

“You could not have done this by yourself!”

“No. I had help. Friends. Perhaps you will meet some of them, perhaps not. They come and go as they wish.”

As they paced across the chamber, Kevin’s head swiveled back and forth as he attempted to take in the incredible sight. Vlad tugged him to a halt and motioned at a trio of passages set into the wall on their left. “Those passages lead to dangerous areas. You could easily fall, or become lost. Please do not… do not… enter those three passages.”

He stepped forward again, gently urging Kevin onward also. “This passage leads to my quarters, and to the gallery I wished to show you.”

They passed under the arched roof of the hallway. Kevin resisted an instinctive urge to duck; after the soaring height of the central cavern, even a three-meter ceiling seemed uncomfortably low.

The gallery stretched straight ahead, thirty meters or more in length. The floor was flagged with marble slabs, intermixed black and white and dark green. The right wall was carefully floodlit, each warm pool of light centered on a black marble slab that had been framed in gilded wood and carefully hung on the wall. The left wall was pierced at waist height for gothic-arched windows, elegant wooden shutters carefully hooked open. As they progressed down the gallery to the first such opening, Kevin turned his attention from the mysterious framed slabs to peer through the window.

The space beyond was not as large as the main cavern, but it was still a fair-sized chamber. Subtle lighting revealed an undulating floor that humped up to meet the far wall. Every surface glittered and glistened and bristled in a formless chaos of shimmering light. Kevin blinked rapidly and closed his eyes for a moment until the after-images faded.

When he reopened them, the scene came into focus – a dimly-lit forest glade centered around a pool, all created entirely of crystal and glass. There were trees, suggestions of animals, even toadstools cunningly fashioned from bits of crystal and carefully pieced-together shards of glass. Under the surface of the pool could be glimpsed a fish, poised to lunge at the insects that were frozen in mid-stride on the water.

Kevin stood staring through the window, rapt in the unearthly beauty of the scene. Unable to speak or tear his eyes from the magnificent sight, he motioned helplessly at the tableaux. Beside him, he felt rather than saw that Vlad was smiling. “Another of my friends donated this. He calls it his Garden of Eden. It is spectacular, is it not?” Kevin could only nod dumbly.

At last, Vlad’s hand on his sleeve compelled him to look into the other’s face. The wide-set eyes were gleaming black pools and a hint of a smile curled his lips. “You will have time to enjoy the sights of my demesne, but that must come later. Now, we must be gone to our rendezvous. Come.” He led the younger man across to the peculiar gallery and then down the hall to the first slab, where he shouldered a pack that was resting against the wall.

“Reach out and touch the surface,” Vlad urged, taking up Kevin’s left hand in his own grip. Tentatively, Kevin reached out to stroke the smooth, polished slab. He felt a peculiar electric prickle, and as he tried to jerk his hand back he felt his hand seized, felt his hand and arm pulled impossibly forward into the rippling blackness.

And then they were in a very different place.

Usually I only respond to comments before posting another installment. Since the first 'short story' is several days away from being ready, I am going to break with custom and reply now.


Commandante - It is indeed a gallery. The question is, however, a gallery of what? Worry not, answers are forthcoming.

I hadn't thought about the black marble slabs, framed and hung on the walls like pictures, as being similar to the '2001' monolith, but you are absolutely correct. Now that you point it out, the similarity is startling.

Anibal - What would a good 'Dracula' story be without fear? Be afraid, mortal... be very afraid.

Valdemar - Aw, shucks. Glad you enjoyed the installment. I kind of like the cave myself... perhaps it should become a permanent attraction at the Park?

Stuyvesant - Thank you! This one is more 'fantastic' because it is all taking place in VR. As Sir Arthur C. Clarke famously said, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."

The line you quote is not a direct quote from anyone as far as I know. If I have inadvertently quoted someone else I'd like to know.

I think it just sounds like the philosophy any good leader must have: lead from the front, protect your people and put their welfare before yours.

Coming attraction: A Study in Scarlet

”A Study in Scarlet” – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

They stood beside a rutted road that wound down the slope in front and up the other side to a rough gate; the town beyond was ringed with an earth and timber palisade. A few hard-looking men with weapons were looking over the stream of people, horses and wagons that was moving slowly through that gate. Kevin noted that almost all the traffic was moving into the town and very few people were departing. The smell of muck from the road was mixed with manure, sweat, sewage and wood smoke. He shivered slightly as a chill breeze wafted down the hillside.

“It’s late afternoon and it looks like rain. If we make decent time, we can be in Tirgoviste before dark,” Vlad said, shifting the straps on his pack. “I’ve arranged rooms for us, but if we don’t show up by evening, old Brun will shop them to someone else. With all the people arriving for Council, the city is filled to bursting.”

“We can’t stay at the Castle,” he continued, waving at the low stone hulk atop the taller hill. “The Danisti are in power and they’re no friends of my branch of the family. Besides, I’m only five years old, here and now, so I can hardly show up and claim to be myself.” They strode along the grassy verge, leaving the rutted muddy wallow of the road to the horses and wagons.

“Dan Second died a few months ago, but they put off Council until after the harvest was in. All the boyars are allowed to come vote on his successor as Voivode, and they can choose any male member of the House of Basarab. Realistically, there are only two candidates and my father is one of them. Both sides are politicking furiously.”

“What makes it more complicated is the question of who will be allowed to vote. In this new history, Dan Second won his war with the Turks and was recognized as Voivode of the Dobruj, Rumelia and Bulgaria. My father has been serving as administrator in Bulgaria, and they respected him, so if the so-called ‘new boyars’ get to vote, he’ll probably win. His rival, Alexander, is a Danisti, so he has access to the treasury – what Dan left of it – and he’s well known in Wallachia.”

“The man who holds the balance is Theodoros. He speaks for a lot of the Greek families and the merchants, and he controls enough votes to swing the election either way. Both sides have been trying to find out what he wants, but so far he hasn’t made a commitment to anyone. I’m hoping to talk to him this evening, or perhaps early in the morning.”

“Oh, before I forget… you and I are boyars from Dobruja, here to see what our new Prince will be like. And to get a piece of any bribes floating around, of course.”

The wait to get through the gate was short, the inspection perfunctory and the rain did hold off, though the breeze got colder and wetter and stronger as the afternoon dwindled. Inside the gate, the little town was indeed crowded to bursting. Food vendors and taverns were doing a roaring business and there was some sort of entertainment going on in a central square. Kevin couldn’t see over the heads of the people who were watching and Vlad left him no opportunity to try pushing his way into the throng.

They arrived eventually in a quieter neighborhood. Two-story buildings thrust up above a less-traveled street, though garbage and sewage still ran in runnels down the middle of the hard-packed dirt. Vlad counted his way up from a crooked cross street, then pounded on the door of one timber and plaster house. He used his knife-handle as a door-knocker, saying, “Brun doesn’t run a lodging house or a tavern, but he does take in paying guests when the need arises.”

The girl who admitted them was pretty but painfully thin, as was the man she fetched to greet them. The light from the little clay oil lamps underscored the sharpness of his cheekbones and the deep hollows of his eyes. His manner was pleasant but not overly so, and he led them directly through the central common room and up a steep, narrow flight of stairs.

The room – they would have to share, but Vlad made a joking reference to the people who were sleeping in common rooms of inns, and in stables – was barely big enough for them to lie curled on the pallet on the floor. There was a window, but with the rain now pouring down outside Kevin was content to leave it securely shuttered. Vlad disappeared to find someone to send to Theodoros as a messenger, then returned to announce that the evening meal would be served shortly and that Theodoros himself was among the expected guests.

The meal was venison from one of the plentiful red deer of the forests, served on platters of black bread. A thick, savory sauce with bits of vegetables was ladled over the meat and a decent ale was served up in actual glass goblets. The conversation was spirited and merry, ranging over a variety of topics – save one. Theodoros refused to discuss the election. “I’ve about made up my mind,” he said. “But I have meetings in the morning, and I won’t decide until I’ve heard from both men.”

Kevin found himself studying not the dark-haired, furtive Greek but the other guest. Ionnes – Brother Ionnes – was a copyist and keeper of accounts at a monastery down the river to the south. His superior had sent him to Council as an observer and to make that superior’s views on certain topics known to the new Voivode. Ionnes was also, Kevin had to admit, possibly the ugliest man he had ever seen.

He was no taller than other men of the time, but massively heavier. Thick shoulders and arms like a blacksmith’s balanced a vast sloping belly and legs like treetrunks, now barely visible under the plain coarse stuff of his tunic and robes. His chest was hidden behind a ragged carpet of beard; what little of his face could be seen was pocked and scarred and dotted with moles. He spoke little, laughed often and drank much, and when he did speak he showed a wit and penetrating intellect quite at odds with his gross body.

Vlad made a point of keeping Theodoros amused and did secure a promise of a meeting at midmorning. But Brother Ionnes was beginning to yawn and Theodoros refused another goblet of ale, saying he wanted a clear head for the morrow. As the inn where Theodoros had taken a room was not far from the little church where Brother Ionnes had put up, the two decided to walk together for safety and to leave before the hour grew too late.



The rain had washed the skies sparkling clean and the morning was gloriously bright. The sunlight was warm even if the air was crisp and cool. They stretched out the worst of their pains from a night on a thin pallet and a hard floor, got some cheese and fruit from the kitchen to break their fast, and set out.

They dawdled in the markets for a bit, listening to the merchants cry their wares. Then Vlad led the way down some narrow twisting lanes to the tavern where Theodoros had taken a room. Unlike the more usual inns of the smaller towns and countryside, this had a large block of rooms separate from the common tavern room, clearly catering to guests who had more than an overnight stay in mind. Unusually, each room had its own door that let onto a central alley.

Unlike the other rooms in the row, one was marked by a stream of clotted blood that seeped from underneath the door and ran sluggishly into the drain of the alley.

Part Two

Vlad sent a street boy for the innkeeper and another down the street after Brother Ionnes. Beating on the door gave no result; both men attempted to look through the latch-string hole but something was covering it. The window shutters were closed and stoutly pegged from the inside; forcing them open would damage or destroy them.

While they awaited the innkeeper, Kevin asked why there was no lock on the door. “Metal work is very expensive, and this is a poor country,” Vlad replied absently. “There’s a string to operate the latch inside the room, but the string has been pulled in through the hole and a lid swung down over it.”

The innkeeper seemed ready to blame the two for troubling him, but the sight of the blood trickling down the damp hard-packed dirt convinced him there might actually be justification. He produced a long, bent wooden pick with a hook on one end, deftly maneuvered aside the cover and scooped up the rawhide string, cursing inconsiderate lodgers all the while in a low monotone. Then only a simple tug was required to lift the latch and the door creaked open on its wooden hinge-pins.

Just as Brother Ionnes arrived, puffing furiously, the brilliant sunlight spilled into the room, revealing Theodoros sprawled face-down on a low bed in the corner. The ticking and quilts were sopping with blood and a thick stream of it had run down his outstretched hand and across the hard-packed earthen floor to the door.

He was obviously dead, but they checked anyway. He lay on his stomach, fully dressed except for his boots, head toward the wall and right arm trailing on the floor. His own dagger was buried in his back – Vlad commented on having seen it on his belt the night before - and there was ample evidence that he had been stabbed multiple times. As they turned his body over, they noted that his throat had been cut.

Brother Ionnes studied everything carefully, eyes darting everywhere and his big hands – curiously gentle – flitting lightly over the body. Then he stood thinking, lips pushing in and out, in and out. “We’ve only a few minutes before someone sends for guardsmen from the Castle,” he said. “And this poor man isn’t through speaking to us.”

“Yes,” he said, turning at their surprised looks. “I served as a village priest before I took to the monastery. I’ve seen dead men before – worse even than this – and they all want us to know how they came to die. We must not only look, but see, and we will know.”

“Look you,” he said, turning next to the innkeeper. “We will stay here until the guardsmen come. We must make certain that no-one decides to add embellishments to this sorry tale… then we will take the body to Saint Katherine’s and see about notifying his family.”



The guardsman was clearly unhappy to be called and positively eager to have Brother Ionnes take the body. The innkeeper, too, was glad to have someone to hand the problem on to. They rigged a makeshift stretcher from a battered old door and lugged the body down the street to Saint Katherine’s church.

There, they gave his body, clothing and personal effects a thorough examination, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Vlad filled Brother Ionnes in on the political maneuvering that Theodoros had been conducting. Through it all, Ionnes listened carefully, nodding occasionally to show that he understood.

“Officially, of course, the Church has no position on the selection of a new Prince,” he said gravely, and then unexpectedly winked. “However, Alexander thinks that the way to get more milk is to beat the cow… and then he doesn’t understand why he has a dead cow and no milk. They say Vlad is a hard man, but a fair one… I won’t be a party to any lies, gentlemen. I’ll help you find out what happened to poor Theodoros, but that’s all.”

Kevin tore his eyes from the poor battered corpse. “What can you tell us, Brother? Who stabbed him?”

Brother Ionnes began ticking off points on his fingers. “First, the person who wielded the knife was right-handed – the pattern of stab wounds tells us that. Second, they must have felt a powerful hatred to slit his throat and then stab him twenty times or more. Thirdly, the wounds aren’t very deep, so no great physical strength was used, and the wounds are haphazard – they aren’t carefully aimed at all. This could have been done by a woman or a child approaching maturity, but not by a fully-grown man.”

“Fourth, they didn’t realize he was already dead when they killed him.”

Judge - I feel guilty spending so much time on 'non-game' matters, but all of this relates to the game soon, I promise.

Machiavellian - well, in a manner of speaking. All will become clear (or clearer ) in Part Three.

Heagarty - What was it, tacos last time? Just watch what you eat, I know how you get...

Anibal - Glad you like it! I chose to work this story by starting with a confusing situation and gradually making it clearer. So things should become clearer soon. I hope.

Merrick - That is the unfortunate thing about sequels. Yes, reading the first 'HistoryPark' would help, but no I don't think it is necessary. Of course, I want you to read it because I'm proud of it, but... perhaps you could read the first few chapters just for background.

Welcome to HistoryPark!

Stroph1 - the game is pretty twisted, too... No money, no manpower, no diplomats, no merchants, almost no other nations of your religion... and Poland, Austria and the Ottomans for neighbors! Sheeesh. This is a lot like work.

My early strategy was to hurt the Turks as much as possible. Wallachia made alliance with Moldavia and waited for the Turks to declare war on Byzantium. While the Turks were occupied with that siege (over 30,000 men took part), I took the Dobruj, Rumelia and then Bulgaria. The Turks offered money, but no land... then they got involved in another war (and revolts, I suspect) in the east. All their men moved off to the east, leaving me to fight only what they could raise in Macedonia. They offered 3 provinces for peace and I took it... then they let Byzantium off easy and I allied with the Eastern Empire.

Eventually I want to kick the Turks out of Macedonia and annex Moldavia and... dare I hope... Byzantium herself.

Stuyvesant - medieval Europe was not as 'pretty' as re-enactors and movies would make it seem. The reality was pretty awful, and Wallachia is on the poorest and most backward fringe. Note the wooden latch with rawhide string and wooden door hinge pins. Note the dirt streets and packed-earth floors...

Your concerns about the knife wounds will be addressed. Brother Ionnes is not related to Monsieur Poirot - monks usually don't have children - but he is nobody's fool.

As for the quotes... I'm flattered to be considered quotable.


Part Three should be up on or before Thursday.