... and not a second later, Apricot wakes up in a small muddy puddle, entirely unharmed.

Hrrmrmmr...

Excuse me?

This is not supposed to happen?

He clambers up and looks around.

He's standing in a small plaza of white marble, by a pleasant reflecting pool lined with cypress trees. It's hot and bright, and the air smells pleasantly of some unfamiliar perfume. Behind him there is a stone mansion ringed with a metal fence that glitters very oddly in the sunlight, and rising above it all, raised on a great rock ringed many times with cyclopean retaining walls, is a massive domed palace. 

There's a sort of pavilion raised near the pool, right next to him, made of some brilliant scarlet fabric, and inside are some very well-dressed people in various states of surprise. The inside is smoky and dark, but he can make out the gleam of quite a lot of jewellery.

"Teleport mishap, sir?" drawls a young man in red-and-gold robes near the entrance, not completely impolitely. 

Teleport? What? Wait wait wait. That was not English. Nor any other language he knows of. He understood it just like he'd spoken the language for years. And this place definitely isn't the back yard of the garage. Nor a hospital. Nothing adds up.

The people seem like royals of Ancient Rome, or perhaps Byzant. The language isn't Latin or Greek either. Seems likely to be an alternative universe thing rather than time travel. Quantum immortality doesn't have continuation of consciousness between branches. Or perhaps he's just going crazy, as has been rather evident since the airplane project started. But this would be a different sort of insanity. Is this the afterlife? That's not a thing, right? But if it is, they'd likely not ask about a Teleport mishap? Nothing continues to add up.

Mental shrug. Might just as well roll with it. He straightens up. Is it wise to tell these people what's going on? Uncertain but he needs some answers and Teleport sounds like magic or technology indistinguishable from it. That probably means that either any user is relatively rich, or powerful, or that the world is rich enough that anyone could have that. Not that airplane tickets are that expensive but there's still some baseline here.

These people seem rich, at least. And he's in dripping-wet all-black casual clothes. Another mental shrug. Not like anything can be done about it now.

"Not sure what happened", he responds, carefully, with the same language as he was spoken to. "Could you tell me where I am, and what day it is?"

That gets him a very odd look. "You stand before Aras of the Scarlet House, in the Imperial Quarter in Entopey. ...In the Empire. It is Sun's Day. And may we perhaps know your name and your business here, sir wizard?"

Which empire, he doesn't ask. A wizard? That more than confirms that magic is a thing here. Should he be open about not being a wizard? Is that even true? Maybe he is a wizard? He apparently Teleported here instead of dying, and somehow learned a new language in the process. Hearing Sun's Day instead of Sunday doesn't even register. The fact that it's a weekday and not a date does, but that really doesn't seem to be a priority if it's not time-travel.

"Ah. Where are my manners? Nice to meet you, I'm Apricot." He avoids repeating Aras' name as he's not sure if it'd be impolite to not include the house and cannot actually bring himself to say the full name out loud. He also omits other parts of his own name. It would be weird to invent a house, and even weirder to use his actual surname here. "Originally I had no business here, as I indeed ended up in this place by accident." Literally. He considers, again, mentioning that a minute ago he didn't know of this Empire. "But now that I'm here..." He hasn't thought further than this. He just shrugs, this time with his actual body. He considers asking if they can teleport him back, but if that's possible, it can always be done later. Much more important to learn what he can about this place. Fine, a story that's true enough and still not super awkward. "I'd like to learn more about this place. I'm a scholar, and back home nobody has heard about Entopey, or the Empire." Or wizards and Teleports, but better to take it slow.

"In any case, I apologize for stumbling in like this, it's not proper", he adds a bit sheepishly. "If you want me to leave, just show me the way out and there'll be no more trouble for you."

He opens his mouth, and then abruptly closes it again. 

"It's extremely improper," she agrees cheerfully from where she's reclining under the canopy (there's a girl kneeling behind her, fanning her), "but it's always worth meeting a wizard." Specifically, one of the good ones who can teleport like that. "Do sit down. I'm sure we can find our guest something dry to wear." She says this in the tones of someone who expects vague suggestions to be obeyed very quickly. "Did you say you'd never heard of the Empire?" Wizards can be very sheltered and he does look foreign, but still. 

Apricot nods politely and sits down on a chair at the other end of the canopy. He wonders for a bit if a real wizard would just use a bit of magic to dry off clothes, but faking actual wizard powers isn't useful in the long run anyway, even if he could pull this one off somehow. Which he can't.

"I did say that. I'm not from around here." His brain are looking for the next words. Honesty is the best policy, Autocomplete offers before Game Theorist has a chance to override it. This woman is clearly powerful and keeping them happy is the key to your continued wellbeing, Machiavelli states, and the abridged-Lacan continues with and it would be super uncool to violate their expectation that you're a wizard. Freud attempts to insert something, too, but is quickly silenced. Carnegie, for once, provides a suggestion before the situation is over: Asking more questions is flattering and avoids giving any more answers.

He doesn't know her name. Or is she Aras? Too confusing. Well, he already introduced himself, it's not like he's being impolite here. Right? Right?

Hopefully the silence was not too long. "So, could you tell me a bit more about the Empire?" An open-ended question is probably better than asking about GDP and prevalence of wizards. Or technology level. Or religion, laws, population statistics, slavery, and such.

It's not going to be a problem, because quite soon an out-of-breath boy will run in carrying a spare tunic (rather fine black silk) and hot towels from somewhere. 

This boy is obviously incredibly out of his depth and has never even heard of what etiquette is. You do get that sometimes with wizards and priests and other people who can get away with it. Young, for a powerful wizard, but that is not unheard of. She's not likely to get a Seventh-Circle wizard for her House out of this, but it's not impossible. There are some people you don't even need to think about and there are some people you need to obey and everyone in between is potentially useful. 

"That is quite a question," she settles on, gesturing impatiently for someone to pour him wine and offer him dates and extremely fancy little pastries and things. "It would help to know where you have come from." Some sheltered tower in the distant provinces, probably, or else the magic has simply driven him mad. "But this is the City of Glory, the Imperial City, the last surviving remnant of the days of old, built in ancient days, the capital of the Empire, which is our provinces all the way from Auriantar to Elturel in the west," ignoring the ones lost more recently because mentioning that is politically dicey, "blessed and ordained by the gods Themselves in forgotten times when the First Empress came out from the desert." This really should ring a bell, she doesn't say.

He accepts a cup of wine and a single pastry. He's pretty sure it's not possible to eat a date in a classy way; discarding the seed by spitting it out is likely universally frowned upon. He makes a point of thanking the servant verbally even though usually he'd settle for a polite nod.

So, she's directly asking. Perhaps ignoring it once more will work. Ask for specifics instead. Like... what? Surely she doesn't know what GDP is?

Such fancy names for a city. The Big Apple doesn't really compare. How about Caput Mundi, The Eternal City, City of Seven Hills? That kind of does. His hometown doesn't really have any nicknames he could mention. Manchester of the North is the only one he can think of. Really?

"I come from the north", is what he ends up with, and that leads to the next question too. "How large is the Empire? I've never heard of Elturel, for instance, how far away is it?" Apricot has already forgotten the name of the other city, and this one will be gone in a minute or two as well. He repeats Aras five times in his mind, to get even something to stay in there.

"The North" is extremely vague. He doesn't look Yovan, anyway. And other than that as far as she knows it's... haunted forests and wilderness and nightmares. That's rather worrying, in fact, but not as worrying as someone asking about the size of the Empire. It's a little like talking to a child, except the child has stumbled on asking something perfectly reasonable and terribly politically embarrassing. There are fables about that. She hates them.

"How fascinating. How do you know it's north if you know nothing of the Empire?" That would be a dangerous move most of the time, but there isn't a wizard alive who doesn't want to show off how clever they are. "Elturel is perhaps a week by sea, or a heartbeat's span for you, of course."

What applies to wizards, unsurprisingly, applies to engineers too. He ponders unit conversions for a bit: week by the sea depends highly on wind conditions but that could be perhaps 1000 to 2000 km. (He doesn't know much about sailing.) Sounds like Ancient Rome. He also ponders if the woman is mocking him, especially considering the hearbeat comment. That could be flattery, too, he has always had trouble telling the difference.

"It's warmer here now that it gets in the summer where I'm from", he starts, "and cypress doesn't grow up there." He nods towards one of the buildings. "One also doesn't build roofs like this if there will be three feet or more of snow on them." Weird, he was intending to say "a meter or more" but apparently this is the right way to use units in this language.

Apricot doesn't mind being mocked, but falsely (?) being thought of as a wizard by a royal (?) sounds potentially risky. Not sure what to do about that? His mind draws a blank, though abridged-Lacan offers wordless reassurance for inaction. It seems like derision, too.

"How many people live in the Empire? Also, what's the name of the language we're speaking?"

He hopes that the first question is a normal thing to ask instead of something only a military spy would ask. He surely should appear too clueless for it and the obtrusive entry will help with that.

The second question, he hopes, conveys that he's a wizard, without telling any lies at all. Perhaps it even slightly asks if ability to speak a new language like that makes him a wizard. Aren't questions wonderful?

(Those particular buildings are centuries old and would be fine with three feet of snow or indeed three feet of rock, but that is indeed where the style comes from.)

Ah. A heathen, then. She supposes that makes sense. She's never met one before, but she must be able to take advantage of this. She has a lot to offer him, like not having to worship demons and actual healing and not starving to death. 

But, of course, wizards are wizards everywhere. 

"Impressive. Forgive me, you must have come from further than I thought. Allow me then to show you the City. I am afraid to say I do not know the total for the Empire, but there were some half a million citizens within the walls at the last census." Which is much fewer than it used to be. "And this language is called Gospeltongue, or I have heard sages call it High Common," not the good ones though, "but its true name is lost." 

Impressive? While the tone matches, Apricot didn't do anything impressive. Thus, the compliment is either useless flattery or mockery. He's, still, unable to tell the difference. Unless basic reasoning counts as impressive here, which would be sad. He puts that line of thought away; it doesn't lead to anything good.

They don't have census numbers for the whole Empire? How do they collect taxes? Also, citizens instead of people? Is slavery a thing here? Oh well. The only thing he has to worry about right now is not ending up as one. That might get much harder once they realize he's not a real wizard.

"True name" doesn't have the proper-noun feel. Weird. His understanding is that in Magic, the True Name bears special weight or control over its subject. Not that Apricot has any understanding of Magic, and he knows this.

"Gospeltongue" points towards religion. That shouldn't be a surprise, secularity was rather rare in premodern times. More etiquette he cannot know and has to worry about. He has likely already broken dozens of customs and hasn't even figured out the name or social standing of the woman he's talking to, which would be rude even by western standards. Heresy is often a capital offense, so saying things like "god does not exist" and any commentary on planetary movements seems like a bad idea.

Instead, he just graciously (or at least he thinks so) accepts the offer. "A tour of the city would be most interesting."

Heathens are very strange people. It doesn't show on her face, obviously. 

"That will be a pleasure to arrange."

Is it usual in other lands to know accounts of all the people living in all the provinces? How would they even know? Perhaps some sort of cult rite? She'd find the question suspicious, but she can't imagine what anyone would want with the information. 

Wizards occupy an unusual place, socially. Too useful and dangerous to shun, but they insist on coming from the most startling backgrounds. She is one of perhaps a dozen people who knows the Grand Battlemage Imperial was a cobbler's daughter, and surviving in that capacity wasn't easy. 

She's going to have to find a priest for him very soon, and questions like this are dicey until then, but...

"So, tell us more of your home." She sips her wine and tries to indicate with her eyes to her nephew to make himself actually useful. 

Apricot thinks for a bit. Any truthful answer at all will immediately reveal that something is extremely weird. Or perhaps interworld travel is done sometimes but it's just rarer than Teleportation incidents.

"I come from an inland city. It's perhaps half as big as this one, by population count. My family has lived in the area since time immemorial, they own a farm perhaps half an hour away from the city", he begins before nudging himself to be a bit more truthful. "I recently moved just outside the city proper. I used to" - the language lacks words for programming or computer, unsurprisingly - "write instructions for thinking machines", he completes. "But now I want to build flying machines, and that takes up space."

From their point of view, that should qualify him as a wizard even though no magic is involved. Sufficiently advanced technology and so on.

"It's a nice place. I can walk to the" - a word for grocery store - "food market. Although my friends live a bit further away now. But we meet every week to play board games and sometimes swim at the nearby lake." Remembering to include some flattery, Apricot adds, "Our buildings don't look as nice as yours." That felt a bit clumsy.

Why is he keeping up some illusion that the places are comparable at all? Perhaps it'll be easier to point at the differences on the city tour. For all he knows they could have magic-powered cars and fridges here and technology just doesn't make that much sense to develop if you have magic. But the girl doing the fanning would then be a magical fan instead? Perhaps it's just a status thing to have a real human do it, just like back home handmade items are considered luxuries even when mass-manufactured items are often of higher quality.

She is aware that there are cities nearly as big as this one, even bigger, but not heathen ones. 

...This is starting to seem like rather a dangerous conversation. 

She has heard of golems but 'flying machines'... what a concept. She didn't think flying carpets could be made any more. 

He's definitely hiding a lot about his home city and it's probably all the horrifying devil-worship and torture they get up to. Well, it wouldn't be the first time she's had to bite her tongue and smile. But he's not talking about going straight back just yet. Hmm. 

"Building a flying machine would be quite the achievement even for a wizard of your obvious power. I do have some good friends in the houses of imperial scholarship who might well take an interest." Obvious bribe, but he's a foreigner. "Can you give me some indication as to what you might require?" 

The woman seems to tense up a bit. Or maybe it's just that he's tensed up? The flattery feels increasingly fake. Mentioning the connections to academia at least seems promising. If he cannot figure a way to go back, that seems like the most promising career path anyway. Although, this whole magic business is vastly more interesting, but it's still not clear how one gets into that.

What I might require? Apricot doesn't know anything about the state of industry here. Do they have steel? Aluminium? Steam engines? And he's not about to just gift his knowledge about airplanes (or other modern technology) to any random Empire he stumbles upon. Although, once they realize he's not a wizard, there's nothing stopping them from forcing him to tell everything he knows, especially with magic. So, he has to be careful here.

How do you ask "do you know of steam engines?" without explaining what a steam engine is if they do not? The language has words for steam and engine, but for all he knows he could just be coining a new word here. He desperately needs to look around the city and speak to other people too, before talking too much. "Require? A lot of things. My workshop back home is the size of this plaza, and I bought lots of stuff" - eehhh online - "from specialized merchants", he explains instead.

She's missing something big here, and she doesn't like it at all.

She's going to need some time, but she can't let him wander off or let him get bored, wizards hate that. So- 

"Well then. You must be our guest, good wizard, and we can discuss these things further over dinner this evening." That's the way, act like plans are already made and then move on too fast for them to notice. "And why don't you let Aras walk with you? I'm sure he can show you what you ought to see."

From the way several people inside begin to stir, it's obvious she doesn't mean just the two of them.

"Aunt-"

Idiot. 

She waves a hand. "Oh, don't be modest, there's nobody better. Do make an effort. It's not every day one sees the Imperial City for the first time."

Food and likely a place to sleep acquired! Apricot hopes it doesn't incur a formal debt; living with an informal one is fine. These people seem rich, so even entertainment from his existence ought to have some value. Asking directly doesn't seem like a polite thing to do; the social norm of not mentioning trivial amounts of money is rather widespread. There must be a reason for that, although figuring it out in the middle of this discussion doesn't seem feasible. Instead he just thanks the woman whose name he still doesn't know.

Oh so Aras is the young man, and the woman is his aunt. Asking him for the name will be the way to go then. Discussions like that would be way less awkward if it was just the two of them going to see the city, but it seems like some other people are joining them. And in any case it'll be informative to speak to more people. Aras seemed a bit reluctant to go with him, though? Well, it's not like he liked spending time with his parents guests when he was younger, not that the situation is analogous in any way.

Sightseeing tour, then? Many things to assess apart from normal tourism which he is very interested in, too.

That makes him pause for a bit. He's supposed to be dead, and somehow isn't. And now he's interested in tourism. Just like he'd be on a vacation in a new city. Just like everything was normal.

No time to break down now. These people think he's a wizard who Teleported here. He can keep up the appearances a bit longer. Perhaps after a meal and a solid night of sleep he could consider telling the truth. Or if that's too awkward, just slipping away. Not without some kind of a plan, though. He can plan in the evening, it helps with falling asleep.

So, objectives for the city tour.

One: Figure out the local level of technology. He's not sure what to look for. Metals? Chemistry? Food preservation? Keeping eyes open will suffice.

Two: Magic. Find out anything you can, especially how to learn it. Speak to a wizard or two. Buy a book if possible. Buy? Yeah? With what?

Three: Money and Economy. What money do they use? How expensive is stuff, compared to wages? Is his host rich? Is some of the stuff in his pockets valuable? This is mandatory for planning any kind of future here. Also figure out if they do slavery.

Four. Interpersonal. Get to know Aras a bit. Figure out what kind of people his family are. Ask for names and make an actual effort to memorize them.

Five. Five? No list is good with four items. It's just not a nice number. Think think think. Look for alternative accommodation? It's warm enough that sleeping in a bush will do if nothing else can be found.

So; tech, magic, money, interpersonal, accommodation. That will do. Apricot realizes he's been sitting still and quietly, thinking, while the others have been getting ready. Well, it's not like he has to do anything to get ready. He's just about to mentally kick himself about not having a single date, and perhaps nothing else, as "Thanks for the date" would be an excellent thing to say. Except that it doesn't work in Gospeltongue. He just nods to the woman, and turns to Aras. "Shall we go?"