The wooden longhouse that Arthur was led into was raised off the ground. Not too far, just about four feet off the ground, enough to ensure that a flash flood did not wash into the building. The simple stilts it was built upon was located all through the building, creating a crawl space beneath that had the minor disadvantage of attracting snakes and other woodland creatures at times.
Of course, it also had the advantage of allowing one to keep chickens and other smaller animals below, so long as one created the necessary fencing, so it was a bit of a give and take. The decision between closing it off entirely, leaving hatches and ways for animals and individuals to go in to verify or leaving it open was a matter of design and personnel.
In this case, Arthur noted that the entire longhouse was left open, such that one could see beneath as necessary. The building was big enough that even in bright daylight, there would be deep pools of shadows, probably requiring that someone was – if this was a real building – sent under on the regular to sweep for trouble.
But, of course, this was the Tower. This entire floor was created or dispersed as necessary as the Tower deigned. How much of it was real, no one was entirely certain. The fact that these floors were so often similar to local cultures spoke of a degree of customization, but the amount of energy required was staggering.
Entire fields of study were involved in understanding how the Towers worked, how they bent physics and how they powered themselves. A lot of new theories – and old ones, given new information – were utilized, though the more popular one revolved tapping into unknown ‘dark matter’ and the conversion of it.
All kinds of egghead things that Arthur ignored.
After all, he had his own problems, like the large dining hall slash reception room that was the main access and entrance for the longhouse. Obviously, being the main gathering place, and where a short table – meant for squatting or sitting beside – was laid out, leading to where the Tunku – the local equivalent of a Prince – sat, along with the various other warriors that he had been warned about.
There were eight figures sat there, four on each side. Three women, five men thus far; which was a rather significant departure from historical precedent. Then again, in the Tower, strength evened out, especially when one started getting to the latter stages. They were dressed in sarongs and kain kemban, as befitted their sex. By the density of the weave and the myriad colours in the batik cloth, Arthur could easily tell that these were upper class nobility and warriors.
Malaysian nobility was a weird. Especially modern day ones, which might or might not transfer over to what he saw before him. There were Tun’s – the local equivalent of an old time duke or commander of the forces, and then there were Tan Sri’s who were a level below, and then Datuk’s which were the equivalent of a baron for the west as far as Arthur could figure. And below that, which were all state level people, there were Dato’ who were the equivalent of knights – generally titles that couldn’t be inherited and were as numerous as sin.
Anyone above a Dato’ was someone very, very connected. On the other hand, it was a somewhat common joke – told by people like Arthur, of course – that anyone with a Dato’ or Datin – the female equivalent title – had paid their way in, and so were just too poor to tip.
Not exactly fair, of course, but then again; when the majority of Dato’ titles were bought, through favors, bribes or just the trampling of those beneath and were as useful in everyday life as an extra shiny gold watch, Arthur wasn’t feeling particularly charitable.
“My apologies for being late,” Arthur said, once he stepped in. He bowed a little, not much since there was never a huge thing for big bows.
For all his distaste of current day Dato’ and their equivalents, those individuals seated here weren’t the lounge lizards, the pampered fools of modern day life. These were the old time knights, the fighters and warriors that kept a kingdom from being overrun.
Not people he was willing to annoy, not randomly at least.
“Unavoidable, yes?” Tun Rahman, unlike many of the others here, was a little more on the paunchy side. Not surprising, giving his age. The man gave the feel of an old warrior gone to seed, a man who had done it all and fought the battles that he now sent the others out to wage. “Was it Tun Lok?”
“No,” Arthur said. “Tiger.”
A grunt, a few looks of admiration or caution from the others. Arthur took a seat at the man’s gesture, sinking to the floor with gratitude and smiling as the servants came out bearing a wood bowl filled with clear water and floating petals. The group returned to their conversations as he cleaned up, as best he could, and continued their meal.
The meal itself was interesting, a mix of older, traditional Malay dishes and more modern ones, in Arthur’s – admittedly limited – gastronomic knowledge. Fried chicken dipped heavily in spices along with nasi lemak, cucumbers and peanuts and roasted sardines in large amounts of fresh fruit and vegetables, fried or grilled and, of course, fish that had been baked or cooked with even more coconut.
Incredibly bad for one’s cholesterol, if that was something he had been concerned about. Extremely tasty, otherwise.
“Harimau hitam?” his seat companion asked, when Arthur was done with the bowl, leaving it muddy and dark with dirt and blood. Even after all that, his hands weren’t entirely clean, but he did take the cloth to dry himself off as best he could while offering a nod in acknowledgment to the speaker. She smiled a little at his nod, continued moments later. “Took your time coming up then, to this floor?”
Now, his eyes narrowed. “You… know of the floors?”
“Of course.” She gestured around, taking in all the other seated warriors. All of them were human, and for the most part, Malays just like the Tun. However, there was something off about them, something that Arthur was unable to put a finger on, not just yet. “We’re all Climbers. Or were.”
“Were?”
“We fell, during our trials.” The man seated opposite Arthur said, quietly. "This is just another damn play that we have to take, to get a chance to retake our own trials."
"You get that chance?" Arthur said, surprised. He'd never heard that before, and he had done a ton of reading, after all. The serious nods from the pair, and then, when he looked over to their companions nearby had him reevaluating what he read. The problem with public message boards, AI chatbots and answers and the various open areas of information was that sometimes, details could slip through as it wasn't the main narrative.
Or...
"Wait, you're second chancers?"
"We're trying to become them."
Arthur shuddered, pulling away from the group instinctively. The looks of disgust and approbation they shot him for his instinctive reaction made him flush with embarrassment. Before he could shift his body language or explain, Tun Rahman spoke up.
"If you fail me, you too will join my permanent retinue," the lord spoke. "So, I would recommend you do not."
Eyes wide, a shudder ran through Arthur, even if in some ways, it was the best option too.
Just not for him, personally.