The Wounded World

His Only Heir

Quin's eyes rapidly took in the scene around him. There seemed to be about twenty visible guards, although there was no telling how many waited in hallways, hidden alcoves, and rooms. Behind him was clear, but if he turned and ran, they could simply shoot him in the back – unless Grise had told them to take him alive. He thought about that for a second – he didn't know if Grise would do that or not. Other options: he could pull out his pistol, but then they would all start shooting and he would be dead. If he used John as a shield, he could probably get away, but then John would be dead and that would hardly be fair. If any of the kids were nearby, he could use one of them as a hostage... but no, they had all fled. Finally, Quin simply took a deep breath, and placed his hands on his head. John copied him.

"This way," the guard intoned.

The other guards took up positions around them, with guns aimed in their direction. Quin hoped they were well-trained enough not to accidentally pull the trigger. He wasn't sure he trusted Grise to ensure that his men had received the appropriate training.

The inside of the building was lovely – polished marble everywhere, grand sweeping staircases leading into the upper floors of the building, carvings and decorations on every flat surface. As they walked, John muttered about historical and anatomical inaccuracies of the statues while the footsteps of the guards echoed in the halls around them.

Rounding a sharp corner, the guards in front of them moved out of the way, revealing another large door. This one was painted a simple black, and bore no carvings or designs of any sort. It opened automatically from the inside, and the guard behind them nudged Quin in the back with his gun.

They stepped forward.

"I see you made it," Grise said. He looked older, with far more wrinkles than Quin remembered. His hair made a silver halo around a growing bald spot in the center of his head, and he sat at a large desk, elbows planted firmly on its surface and fingers laced. A young man stood directly behind Grise, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked vaguely familiar, but Quin focused his attention on his father.

"You were expecting us," he stated, not particularly surprised. It was all a game to Grise. A scowl crossed his features and stayed there, with no intention of leaving.

"Of course!" Grise smiled. "I left you directions, after all."

"Oh, the book!" John exclaimed. "I forgot about it!" He began to rummage around in his shoulder bag, finally pulling out A Dialogue of Worlds. "Here's the thing though: it's not helpful when you leave your messages in made-up languages."

"You didn't figure out the code? Do you mean to say you found me without the book?" Grise's eyebrows raised in surprise. "You are smarter than I had anticipated, son."

Quin's scowl deepened. Typical. His father had never been able to understand that 'not book smart' and 'stupid' weren't the same thing. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"You, of course." Grise stood slowly and began to pace back and forth in front of the desk. The young man behind him stayed put, hands still clasped behind his back. His face maintained the same expression, but his eyes darted about nervously.

"You are, in fact, my only heir," Grise continued. "I have created a wonderful world, and I wanted someone to share it with. Logic, of course, dictates you. But, should you refuse, I have many other wonderful young people to choose from."

"Ahem," John said, raising a finger. "I only have one problem with your previous statement."

Grise turned his eyes towards John with a look of mild amusement. "And what is that, John?"

"You said that you've created a wonderful world, but the thing is... well, I noticed a few malfunctions."

Grise's eyes darkened. The younger man that stood next to Grise stiffened as his face grew a concerned expression, and his eyes fixed on John.

"For starters – that river has serious problems, largely that it's virtual and not related to any known geological formations... which means, essentially, there's a hole in your science which you're trying to hide. Also the colours changing, the birds never landing, and the buildings being grown from the ground up, not to mention the very odd clouds... this planet is still in an inter-dimensional space, and if you try to move it with all of these people on it, you risk killing them all!"

Slowly, Grise walked towards John and looked him in the eye. "Young man, I have been building planets for over five centuries – far longer than you have been alive. I think I know what is safe and what is not." He turned to look at Quin. "Now, if you'll all come with me – you too, Landon." He gestured to the young man. "I have one more thing I wish to show you all before Quin beats up my guards and runs off. Again."

A small smile crossed Quin's lips as he remembered the last time his father had spoken with him. Grise had hired four bodyguards, and all had been standing close by, a precaution he had taken when telling Quin of the truth behind his mother's death.

As a child, Quin had been told that she had gotten sick, but in reality, she had been a victim in a home intrusion and shooting. Grise had proceeded to explain that an angry politician had hired some thugs to break into their house and steal Grise's research in order to sell the secrets of planet-building and Doors on the black market.

This detail had simply been the final lie on a steaming pile made of decades of untruths. It had been a lifetime of secrecy and disappointment. Quin couldn't take any more of it, especially not from the one person who was supposed to care about him the most.

As soon as the story had left Grise's lips, Quin had calmly strode forward, knocked out the first guard with one blow of his massive fist, tripped the second guard, flipped the third over his head and down on top of the second and then elbowed the fourth in the solar plexus and incapacitated him with a sharp blow to the back of the neck. Then he had turned his back on Grise, and walked out.

They hadn't spoken since.

Behind the desk was a large blank piece of wall, with no paintings, carvings, or any sort of decoration – similar to the door to his office.

"You may recognize this technique," Grise said calmly as he walked forward and disappeared through the wall.

Quin and John glanced at one another – the Door in Oliphant's bookstore was hidden in the same manner: in plain sight. Then the young man, named Landon apparently, also vanished as he quickly followed Grise.

"Move!" the soldiers commanded, and Quin strode quickly forward and stepped through the Door.