“I don’t see how that answers my question.”
“The idea is that using magic on magic seems to alter it into something new. I don’t know if anyone’s ever proved it. Are you sure you’re ready to walk?”
“I want to go to the Library and read some of these books. Will you show me where they are?”
“Of course, but I think you shouldn’t walk so fast just yet. You’re weaving a little.”
“I’ll be fine.” Ailanthe leaned heavily on the stair rail and hoped Coren didn’t notice.
They ascended in silence for a while, then Coren said, “There’s two other bedrooms in my suite. I think you should move into one of them.”
Ailanthe had to grip the stair rail harder. “Oh?” she managed.
“You producing things out of the air was a bit of a distraction, but I didn’t miss the part where you said you were attacked outside your room. I think it would be safer for you if you weren’t alone.”
“Oh,” she repeated. “I…think you’re right.” And let’s forget what I thought you were asking.
She retrieved her bag from her room and left it in the bedroom across from Coren’s. It was a pleasant room painted blue and white that looked out over a forest of broad-leaved trees populated by birds of every possible color; she wished she could push the window open and hear what their cries sounded like. Then they went to the Library, and Coren showed her the S-shaped curve of shelf where the books on magic were kept. There were more than a hundred of them, and Ailanthe’s heart sank at the thought of searching every one.
“Don’t worry,” Coren said, taking in her despairing face. “Many of these are technical books for kerthors, though some are about convincing spirits to do your will. I suppose it’s possible they might have something about the Castle in them, but I doubt it. At least, I never found anything like that in them.” He pulled out two and handed them to her. “Try these. Good information on magic theory, and they talk a little bit about the Castle.”
“How do you ever find anything in this place?” Ailanthe exclaimed. She looked around her at the curving shelves. “Isn’t everything just jumbled up?”
“I made a map.” He went to a drawer under one of the lecterns scattered throughout the room and took out a sheet of cloth. “I tried to do this with some of the ink and paper here, sketch out where everything is, but of course the Castle isn’t satisfied with returning the paper to the drawer, it has to put the ink back into the bottles. So this is what’s left of one of my shirts and a stick of charcoal I brought with me.”
It was smudged and hard to read, but Ailanthe saw how the contours of what Coren had drawn matched her guess as to how the Library looked from above. “Are you wearing the Castle’s clothes, then?” she asked.
“Yes.” He smiled and hitched up one of his trouser legs to draw attention to where the fabric ended about an inch above his anklebone. “It was one of the reasons I moved in here, that the man who had the suite before me was more or less my size, only a little shorter. I’ve gotten used to it, but sometimes I wish I had pants that fit.”
Ailanthe looked at where the fabric of his tunic strained across those broad shoulders and felt a little guilty at thinking how good it looked on him. So. Don’t bother the man after midnight, unless…oh, do not start thinking like that. “So these symbols, what do they mean?” she asked quickly.
“Different types of books. Histories. Natural philosophy. Stories. I’ll write you a key.”
“Thanks.” She hefted the books. “I guess I’ll start reading.”
“And I’ll try the histories, see if anyone mentions the Castle or its builder.” He grasped her shoulder again and squeezed gently before turning toward another row of shelves.
Ailanthe nodded, though he had his back to her. He’d helped her explore all those rooms…well, she didn’t think he was doing it just to humor her, but he certainly hadn’t seemed this enthusiastic before. He really was resigned to spending the rest of his life here, she thought, and now he…does he think this gives him, both of us, a chance at escaping? Maybe he was right. Maybe her newfound, erratic ability would reveal a way for her to wrest control from the Castle and finally open that door.
She watched Coren more covertly now, because he’d taken a book from the shelf and turned around, already absorbed in its contents, to walk back in her direction. He moved like the young warriors of her mother tree, though without their self-aware swagger; he was graceful, completely unselfconscious. She lowered her head to her book before he passed. It was just that he was the only man around, that was all, and so different from the Lindurian men she’d grown up with, though he was an incredibly attractive man and now that she’d seen that light in his eyes she couldn’t stop thinking about how to make it appear again.
She tried to focus on the first lines. What was she looking for again? Oh, yes, a better understanding of magic and possibly some information on how the Castle worked. She cast a furtive glance at Coren, who’d settled into his favorite chair and wasn’t paying her any attention. Attractive or not, his presence reassured her. If she were trapped here alone…she shuddered.
A warm pressure against her legs told her Miriethiel wanted a lap, so she obliged him, then settled in to reading for real. It was possible one of these books could tell her about her strange new ability, and maybe how it could be used against their captor. She would not let this inanimate pile of stone defeat her.
Chapter Eight
Ailanthe waited, hovering behind Coren’s shoulder as he reached inside the next door and felt around for the button that would turn on the lights. “I still think I should go first,” she said.
Light flared. “You keep saying that,” Coren said. “This way is safer. The shadows have never attacked me in all the time I’ve lived here.” He pushed the door open fully and stepped inside. Ailanthe followed him, still nervous despite the circle of light her lamps made around her. A week of exploring together without being attacked hadn’t freed her from the memory of those clinging, freezing strands.
“More storage,” Coren said. The room had once been a salon like the ones off the entry hall, filled with couches and chairs arranged around a low central table. Its high ceiling and walls were painted white, and seascapes hung at intervals like windows on an ocean frozen in place. Stacked atop the couches and chairs were wooden crates labeled in a language that for some reason the Castle hadn’t translated, or maybe they were the names of distant cities in Indrijan or Rius-zara or some country Ailanthe had never heard of.
More crates filled the spaces between the couches and the walls. Coren lifted a few out of the way so they would have room to move. One of the lids fell off and landed upright between a crate and a chair.
“That will make it easier, if all the lids are loose,” Ailanthe said, raising the lid of the nearest crate. Inside she saw bundles of fabric; she removed one and held it up. It unrolled, turning out to be a heavy, unnaturally puffy coat with a strange silvery toothed line up both edges of its open front. The hood was lined with soft fur. “This looks like it could keep someone very warm. I wonder how far north you’d have to be to need it.”
“I don’t know what half these things are for,” Coren said, lifting a handful of metal spikes. “This box is full of them.”
“This next one has nothing but coats, too.” Ailanthe opened another box and saw stacks of flat packages wrapped in white, crinkling fabric and tied with string. She opened one and spread out the cloth. “Food, I think. Lots of dried meat, which I don’t mind telling you I’m sick of looking at.”
“It’s good for you, if you don’t have anything else. Ailanthe, I think this was all for some sort of northern exploration.”
She nodded and removed another lid, and caught her breath. “It’s for mountain climbing.”
“How can you tell?”
She held up coils and coils of rope made of strange, slick fibers. “Because it’s either that, or someone was founding a new mother tree.”
; A grin spread across Coren’s face. “Now we just need a window.”
They went up the unstable stairs to the tower as quickly as they dared. Ailanthe carried the coils of rope looped about her body. Coren carried a hammer they’d found in the box of spikes. At the top of the tower, he turned in a circle, surveying the windows. “I don’t know if I can fit through any of these, even if we break out all the glass,” he said.
“If I can get out, I can open another window lower down,” Ailanthe said.
“Well, stand back, then,” Coren said, and brought the hammer around in a powerful swing, his other arm covering his eyes. The hammer struck the glass and rebounded with equal force, causing Coren to lose his grip on the handle; it flew backward past Ailanthe’s head, making her short hair lift in the wind of its passing. She gasped and ducked. It struck another window, bounced off and landed on one of the hard cushions, sending up a puff of gray dust.
“I didn’t expect that,” Coren said. “That could have killed you.”
“I know.” Ailanthe went to pick it up. “What kind of glass doesn’t break?”
“The kind a magical Castle is made of, apparently.”
“Didn’t you ever try to break the windows before?”
“The glass is fairly thick. I tried with some of the furniture, but when that didn’t work I assumed it was just too strong to be broken by anything I could lift. I didn’t think it was completely unbreakable.”
Ailanthe took a deep breath. Her heart rate was almost normal again. “There has to be a way out of here,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“I can see my home from these windows, Coren. I am not giving up.” She began feeling along the edges of the windows, which were well-sealed against the wind that must blow night and day around the top of this tower. Coren sighed and did the same. Almost immediately, he exclaimed, “This is a latch.”
Ailanthe came to his side. “I don’t see anything.”
He took her hand, causing her heart to beat faster again, and pressed her fingers to a spot near the top of one of the windows. “It’s set flush with the frame and painted over, but you can feel where it sticks out a little.” He reached down to the bottom of the window, and added, “There’s another one here. I don’t see hinges. It must open outward.”
Ailanthe took hold of the slim nub of the flange and pulled. “It’s stuck.”
“Let me try.” But Coren’s fingers were too large to grip the flange, and he stepped back and looked around the room. “I wonder if there are any more.”
It turned out every third window was made to open. Ailanthe worried at the latches until her fingertips were sore, but they didn’t move. Unlike the exit, this was probably because of the black paint thickly coating each one. “Someone didn’t want these opened,” Ailanthe said.
“I wonder how the Castle did it. Maybe the sprites, carrying a bucket of paint and tiny brushes?” Coren sat on one of the cushions and leaned back, his head against the window glass. “There’s got to be a way to open them.”
Ailanthe picked at the paint covering a latch. It came off in flakes. “This will take forever, but I don’t have a better idea. And we might have forever to do it in.”
“Stand back,” Coren said. He stood, hefted the hammer and laid the flat of its head against the flange Ailanthe had been picking at. Ailanthe stepped well to one side, gauging where the hammer might fly if the latch was as recalcitrant as the glass. Probably into Coren’s head, from the way he was holding it. “That could be a bad—” she began.
Coren swung, not as hard as he had before, barely more than a tap. The latch twitched. More flakes of paint fell. “Is it working?” Ailanthe said.
Coren shrugged and tapped the latch again. Nothing happened. He pulled back for a harder strike and missed entirely, causing the hammer to fly in an arc that barely missed hitting Ailanthe’s nose. “Is there anywhere I can stand that I’ll be safe?” she demanded.
“Probably not. Sorry. Do you want me to stop?”
Ailanthe looked at the latch. There was a fingernail’s worth of brass shining where the sliding part of the latch had pulled free of the window frame a little. “It’s working! Keep trying!”
Coren struck again and again, and finally the slider shot away from the window. “I don’t understand why these are even here,” he said. “Why bother, if you’re just going to paint over them?”
“Just more of the Castle’s weirdness, I expect,” Ailanthe said. “Do the bottom one now. Please.”
“I’m glad you can remember your manners at a time like this,” Coren said with a grin, and took a swing at the lower latch. The flange bent and tore; the latch didn’t move. “Damn,” Coren said.
Ailanthe pressed her fingers against the flange and felt it bend a little more under pressure. “Try another window,” she said.
But the other windows didn’t yield so well to Coren’s hammer; while none of the latches broke, none of them shifted at all either. Finally Coren put down the hammer and said, “We need another approach.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say we should give up.”
“We’re halfway to freedom. It’s far too early to give up.” He went to examine the broken flange, then the wood surrounding it. “I wonder,” he said, and pulled out his belt knife and began hacking at the wood surrounding the latch. Ailanthe came closer to watch. “I’m glad the wood isn’t as resistant to damage as the glass,” she said.
“Me too.” Splinters rained down onto Coren’s knee where he knelt next to the window. “You realize we only have one chance at this? The Castle will repair any damage we do after midnight tonight.”
“We can always come back and try again.”
“I have a feeling the Castle will put this together more securely now it knows what we’ve done.”
“Do you think it’s that aware?”
“On some level, yes. Don’t you think the way that outer door stays shut no matter what you try feels like there’s a mind behind it?” He’d carved away enough wood that she could see the brass of the slider.
“I thought I was just imagining things.”
“No, I—damn it,” he said, as the knife slipped and skidded across the frame toward Ailanthe. “I swear I’m not trying to kill you.”
“I’ll just stand over here,” Ailanthe said, backing away from the broad, sharp blade.
“It shouldn’t be much longer.”
Finally the entire length of the brass slider was exposed. Coren pushed hard on the window. It didn’t move. “Help me,” he said, and they both laid their shoulders against it and leaned with all their weight. The window remained closed.
Coren cursed and turned away. Ailanthe sank down onto the cushion beneath the window and stared at the latch. “You are not stopping me,” she said, and took hold of the broken flange and wrenched it, hard, willing it to move. It jerked, held fast, and then flew out of the slot as if it were greased. The flange snapped off in Ailanthe’s fingers. She sat for a moment, staring at it, then let it fall. Her fingers tingled from gripping the flange so hard.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Coren said.
“Neither can I,” she said. It felt like a victory over the Castle, and she wanted to jump and shout, but she didn’t want Coren to think she was crazy. She laid her hand on the window, gave it a gentle push, and it swung outward, letting in the wind. It was a strong gale that blew her hair into her mouth and made Coren’s hair whip around his head like a real horse’s tail blowing in the wind. Ailanthe leaned far out the window and felt Coren’s hands clasp her about the waist. “I won’t fall,” she called out over the noise of the wind.
“That’s right, because I’m hanging on to you,” he replied. “What do you see?”
She looked down. “I think the tower is about a hundred feet above the nearest roof, but I can’t tell how tall the Castle is. There’s at least one hundred fifty feet of rope, which ought to be more than enough.” She ducked back inside and told he
rself it was her imagination that he’d held on to her a trifle longer than was necessary. “I need something to tie this to.” She trotted down a few steps, tugging on the stair rails until she found one thick and sturdy enough to support her weight.
“You’re not trusting your life to that thing,” Coren said.
Ailanthe looped the end of the rope around the stair rail in a neat knot. “This is the knot we use to connect the bridges to each other,” she said. “It has to hold the weight of dozens of Lindurians. It’s very secure.”
“I was talking about the stairs,” he said. “They barely support your weight.”
“Then you can anchor me at the top. But I’m climbing out of here.” She tested the rope, then ran it backwards up the stairs and into the tower room. “Loop this around your waist, and stand there.”
“You ought to tie it around yourself, too,” Coren said.
“I will, don’t worry.” She secured the rope around herself and stood on the cushion. “I’ll find a window I can open or break, and then we can both climb out of here,” she said. “I hope Lindurien isn’t too far from your home.”
“I don’t care how far I have to walk, if I can get out on my own terms,” Coren said. “Good luck.”
She grinned at him and sat on the window sill, then turned to kneel on it, keeping one hand on the sill as she groped around for a foothold. The outside of the tower was the same granite she’d seen when she entered the Castle, but rougher, more worn, with slight projections where the stones met unevenly—nothing she could find purchase on. So she gave her whole weight to the rope, and slid out of the window.
The wind beat at her, making her twist as she dangled below the window. “You’re going to have to lower me,” she shouted at Coren, who was looking down at her in dismay. He nodded, and she began descending in little jerks, kicking at the tower to keep from being slammed into it by the wind. She’d never been this high up before, and she looked down once, saw the world spinning beneath her, and afterward kept her eyes resolutely forward.
The View From Castle Always Page 8