The Pixilated Peeress

by L. Sprague De Camp

  "Orlandus concluded that ye had employed a spell of invisibility, like unto that on the spy he sent to follow me hither. So he hath devised a kind of blower, like that wherewith we spray our flowers to ward off snails.

  He hath ordered a hundred of these devices from Grim-bald the sheet-metal worker and plans to charge them with flour. If ye seek to haunt his castle unseen, he'll spray you with this powder, thus making your presence patent."

  " 'Tis a trifle cold to run about naked at this season," Thorolf said. "But why asked he not the Countess? She knows how I gained access to's stronghold, and the spirit possessing her would have compelled her to answer true."

  "Another mystery, son. He did so question her, we are told, whereupon she was stricken with muteness. Not a word hath she spoken since."

  "Some spell!" said Thorolf. "Yvette normally talks as a horse gallops."

  "Like that fellow in Helmanax's play who saith a woman who keeps on talking can always get her way, eh? Our informant reports that Orlandus contemplates torture to wring the true answers from her. Forsooth, how gat ye into that pile and out again?"

  Thorolf grinned. "When Sophonomy be expunged, I'll tell you all. Meanwhile I'm happy to learn you have able spies in the castle. Double-bolt your doors of nights, and farewell!"

  -

  Again, Thorolf stood before the little creeper-masked cliff concealing the tunnel entrance. This time he had come with his pack well laden, trying to anticipate every contingency. He glanced at the sun, hanging low on the mountain peaks. Since he planned to invade the castle at night, he sat and ate, killing time to wait for darkness.

  At last he rose, brushed crumbs from his hands, and pushed open the stony door. He paused at the entrance; his old panic surged back. Sweat beaded his brow despite the near-freezing temperature. Then he thought of Yvette's slender members stretched on some infernal device, while Orlandus hovered, murmuring in his oleaginous voice:

  "Now, my dear, you need only answer a few simple questions ..."

  Thorolf squared his jaw and marched into the cavity. He paused to ignite a rushlight from his pack, to close the door behind him, and to change from his heavy boots to goatskin slippers, which he himself had made to enable himself to move in silence.

  -

  Thorolf lost time by mistakenly entering a wrong side tunnel but finally found the opening to the Chamber of Audience in Zurshnitt Castle. Looking through the tear in the canvas, he saw that the room was dimly lit by a single candle. He watched, he estimated, a full half-hour. Nobody entered the chamber.

  The candle burned slowly down; in another hour it would gutter out. Thorolf would never let one of his soldiers forget a burning candle! Such carelessness risked a conflagration; besides, candles cost money, which the colonel had to extract, with much effort, from the Senate and ultimately from the Rhaetian taxpayers.

  Thorolf dropped his pack on the floor, cast off his cloak, and unrolled a bundle of yellow cloth. This was the robe of the dead invisible diaphane. He put on the robe, pulled the hood over his head, and lowered himself through the opening.

  The painting swung back; Thorolf caught it before it struck the wall and let it gently complete its swing. For an instant he stood on the balls of his feet, listening. The only sounds were the tramp of sentries on the foot-walk atop the outer wall, punctuated by challenges and passwords. He thought he could hear a snore, but the sound was too faint to be sure of.

  He slowly drew his sword. The blade came silently, because he had stuffed pinches of moss into the scabbard. He bolted the left-hand door and stepped to the door on the right. This, if his sketch was correct, should lead to the row of cubicles that included Yvette's bedchamber.

  When he opened the door to the corridor parallel to that wherein he had chased Yvette the other time, the hall stretched dimly away. At the far end, a wall bracket supported a little lamp, the feeble light of which cast yellow highlights on the metal door handles. Behind those doors, presumably, slept the upper ranks of the diaphanes.

  Thorolf stole down the corridor almost to its end. He counted the doors on his right; there were twelve. At the eleventh he halted; if he had his directions straight, this should be Yvette's room.

  He gently tried the door handle. It turned with a mousey squeak. Thorolf peered into the crack and found the room in darkness.

  On tiptoe, Thorolf let himself in, leaving the door a little ajar to furnish light. The cubicle was tiny; the bed, a small night table, a chair, and a little wardrobe left hardly space for the occupant to move about. Thorolf froze at the discovery that the bed was empty.

  He bent, groping for the pillow. The bed had been occupied since it was last made. Thorolf laid his sword on the bed and sat down, thinking. After a moment he rose and examined the wardrobe. The room was certainly Yvette's. There hung, among other garments, the beaded golden gown she had worn on their aborted assignation at the Green Dragon.

  Thinking she had possibly risen to visit the jakes, Thorolf sat back on the bed and waited. After half an hour, he was sure that she had departed on some other errand. Could it be that Parthenius had persuaded Orlandus to bend her to his lustful desires? The very thought infuriated Thorolf; but after his previous raid he had better sense than to go charging about the castle at random, sword in hand.

  Another half-hour passed before he heard soft footsteps outside. In came Yvette in a nightrobe and dressing gown, carrying a candlestick whose candle shed a cheerful yellow glow across the unmade bed. When she saw Thorolf she halted, staring blankly.

  Thorolf sprang up. With a sweeping motion he grabbed the candlestick, blew out the candle, and tossed the holder on the bed. Then he caught Yvette by the shoulders, whirled her around, and clapped a hand over her mouth.

  She bit his hand, causing him to release his grip for an instant; but instead of uttering a shriek for help she emitted only an inarticulate, "Mmm! Mmm!"

  He had come prepared to gag her; but apparently this would not be needed, since she still was under the spell of muteness. Like a frightened animal she tried to punch and scratch him. But he pinned her slender arms, retrieved his sword, and hustled her out. He dragged her at a near-run the length of the corridor and into the Chamber of Audience. As he closed and bolted the door behind him, Yvette struggled silently to break free.

  He faced a problem. To hold the picture out from the wall and boost the Countess into the aperture, he would need both hands and some cooperation. But if he released her, she would try to run to Orlandus and thwart his efforts at abduction.

  At last he sheathed his sword and brought out of the pocket in his robe a strip of cloth with which he had meant to bind or gag Yvette. He held her slender wrists in the grip of one broad hand, bound the cloth around them, and released her, holding the free end as she continued to strain away from him.

  Through the left-hand door Orlandus called: "Open up, here!"

  Thorolf hauled Yvette over to the picture and pulled it out from the wall. But how to get his recalcitrant victim into the hole?

  Holding the picture away from the wall with his head, he clamped both hands on her slender waist, preparatory to heaving her up and in. Then he heard the sounds of a chant, followed by the clank of a withdrawn bolt.

  Thorolf whirled. In the doorway stood Orlandus in a nightrobe, below which his shanks and feet were bare and above which his scalp was bald save for a narrow fringe of mouse-colored hair. Evidently the Psycho-mage was wizard enough to force a door to unbolt itself, even if not enough to grow hair on his pate, which Thorolf had always seen concealed beneath a wig of glossy black.

  "Who the devil—" began the Psychomagus, starting forward. Then he checked. "Sergeant Thorolf again, I see. And wearing one of our habits!"

  Thorolf's attention was distracted long enough for Yvette to whirl out of his grasp and run toward Orlandus, trailing the strip of cloth by which Thorolf had tried to control her.

  As the Countess approached Orlandus, the cultist threw an arm around her. With his other hand he
whisked a dagger out of his robe and placed the edge against her throat.

  "Yield!" said Orlandus. "Or your jade's dinner for my hounds!"

  Thorolf measured the distance between himself and the pair. He could doubtless whip out his sword, cross the distance in two bounds, and smite Orlandus to earth. But it would take even less time for the Psychomagus to slash open that slender neck.

  "Throw down your sword, scabbard and all, unless you're fain to see her weazand slit!" barked Orlandus.

  Thorolf hesitated, frantically weighing alternatives. Then he took the one that seemed to offer the likeliest chance. He hoisted his baldric over his head and, stooping, laid the belt and scabbard on the floor, at the same time easing his dagger from its sheath.

  When he straightened up, the dagger was in his right hand, away from Orlandus. It was a sizable weapon, weighted for throwing, and he threw. The fact that Orlandus was a full head taller than Yvette gave Thorolf a reasonable target.

  He hoped to drive the blade into the magician's eye. Instead the dagger, turning in its flight, buried itself in Orlandus' shoulder. The mage's right arm sagged, and his dagger clattered to the floor.

  Thorolf scooped up his scabbarded sword, drew, and leaped toward his enemy. The cultist, releasing Yvette to reach for his dagger with his unwounded arm, cried:

  "Hold! Be reasonable, man! Think of what I offer you—"

  As he spoke, Orlandus abandoned his quest for his dagger and, beginning an incantation, backed hastily away from the charging Thorolf. Unaware of his direction, the cultist backed, not out the door, but into the frame of one of the diamond-paned windows. The casement flew open at the impact of the magician's shoulders, and Orlandus fell out backward. Thorolf glimpsed the mage's bare feet inverted and heard a hoarse cry. Then came the sound of a body striking the bailey below.

  Thorolf put his head out the window. He could see nothing in the darkness; but the cry and the thud of the fall had alerted the guards on the outer wall. One called:

  "What was that? ... Let us go down for a look ..."

  Yvette stood with her hands still bound behind her, looking dazed. Thorolf said: "Are you free from the spell, Countess?"

  She stared at him but made no answer.

  Evidently she was not yet free. Thorolf sheathed his blade, donned his baldric, and carried Yvette over to the picture. This time he hoisted her, unhelpful but unresisting, into the tunnel and scrambled after her. As the picture swung back into place, shouts and clatter of armed men came through the canvas, together with a curious intermittent hiss, like the sound of a monster breathing.

  Thorolf knew he should flee without pause, but his curiosity proved too great. Placing his eye to the tear in the canvas, he saw two of Orlandus' mailed guards glancing wildly about the room. One, just then peering under the divan, bore a halberd; the other carried a cylindrical device with a handle at one end, while the other end tapered to a slender orifice. The guard was rhythmically pulling the handle out and pushing it back in. With each push, a pillowy puff of flour spouted from the orifice. The clouds of flour dust rapidly fogged the room until vision was useless.

  Smiling quietly, Thorolf picked up his pack and cloak and herded Yvette down the tunnel.

  -

  IX – The Disappearing Delta

  Thorolf lay close beside Yvette in the darkness of his little tent, which accommodated two sleepers only by crowding. The cold compelled them to sleep in their clothes, he in his Sophonomist robe and she in her nightwear, with his cloak over both.

  Once they were out of sight of Zurshnitt, he unbound her hands, warning her that, if she tried to flee back to Castle Hill, she would get lost and perish. She had obeyed in a dazed sort of way, as if Orlandus' death had robbed her of all volition. Thorolf could understand how her delta became quiescent when its sorcerer-master was no longer present to command it; but still he was wary. The spirit might force Yvette to do something utterly unpredictable.

  When they retired, Thorolf had tied up his sword with his scarf and lain down upon the bundle, so that Yvette could not draw the weapon without arousing him. His dagger had gone out the window with Orlandus.

  The lumpy bundle, together with the cold, made sleep hard to come by, despite the fact that the night had been well along towards dawn before Thorolf halted their flight to set up the tent. A nasty little thought kept stealing into his mind: If he tried to futter her now, she would probably not resist, at least not hard or long. Feeling ashamed of himself, Thorolf banished the idea; but it kept creeping back.

  He was lying in the dark, concocting and discarding plans for taking care of Yvette until she was restored, when he became aware of a faint illumination that was not dawnlight. A little twinkling point of blue light, like that of a firefly, appeared over Yvette's face. It rose, danced about for a few heartbeats, then streaked out the crack in the tent flap.

  Thorolf raised himself on one elbow to watch the apparition's progress. The movement aroused Yvette, who sat up crying: "Where am I?"

  "In my tent," said Thorolf, "on our way to the Sharmatt Range."

  "Your voice doth sound familiar—are you Sergeant Thorolf?"

  "The same, madam." He gathered himself to rise. "Let me strike a light."

  Soon he had a rushlight sending up its feeble flame. Yvette reached out and touched his face. "I do perceive that you are in sooth Thorolf! I recall your taking me from Castle Zurshnitt when something befell the Psychomagus; but all is confused. Is he dead?"

  "I have reason to think so. And the delta that possessed you, left masterless, has departed your body."

  "Ah, it all comes back! To you I owe my liberation; you are a true hero even if a Rhaetian." She seized his head between her hands and kissed him. "A pity you are of your class, or I should know how truly to reward you. And now I can talk again!"

  "Why couldn't you before?"

  "When the Master asked me how you escaped from the castle, my delta would have answered; whilst I stood firm against exposing the secret, lest you essay another rescue and be trapped. So bitter was this opposition internal that I found myself stricken dumb. How came you to my chamber so timely? By the tunnel again?"

  "I followed the sketch of the interior made under your direction. Finding the room empty, I sat down to await your return."

  "I was with that beast Parthenius."

  "So I feared. Did he—ah—you and he were disputing the matter when I broke in before."

  "Aye, nor did he abandon his quest. But today, at his behest, Orlandus commanded my delta to obey Parthenius; so tonight I did attend him."

  "How—I mean, was it? ..." Embarrassed, Thorolf let his voice trail off.

  "Did he pleasure me, mean you? Never! He is brutal and insatiable; after three bouts he finally fell asleep and I slipped away, or he'd be at it yet. A troll were a meeter lover."

  "Poor dear!" said Thorolf, whose mind was running on the reward Yvette said she would have given him had he only a little noble blood. Her tale gave him a mixture of disappointment and relief. He had long fantasized about making love to her, if he haled her away from the castle and got rid of her delta. But his anticipation was qualified by a tiny fear that she would make some scathing comment, comparing him to one or another of her former lovers. He therefore felt some relief at having their relationship settled for the time being. Perhaps his father was right in warning him away from titled ladies.

  Yvette said: "And you are the lad who cared nought for rescuing maidens—or at least ladies—from vile enchanters! Now tell me all that has befallen!" She spoke briskly, fast resuming her old authoritarian self.

  When Thorolf had recounted Bardi's magical blunder, she put in: "I should like to pull out that old fool's whiskers, hair by hair!"

  "You can't. Bardi is dead."

  "How so?"

  "Some of Duke Gondomar's men slew him as they robbed his house."

  "Oh, the poor old dodderer! Now tell me whither we are bound, and to what end?"

  Thorolf told how he
had sought refuge among the trolls. "But there's a complication." He reported his forced wedding to Bza, and his leaving his marital duties to Bza's lover Khop.

  "It matters not," said Yvette, "since neither this Bza nor I has any wish to wed you."

  "I hope no trouble arise from that matter. I apologize in advance for the village. You'll find a troll settlement a foul sort of place."

  "One of my rank," she snapped, "can take the rough with the smooth. Only the lower classes expect things to go on lifelong without change." She paused. "And then what next, my good Sergeant? I trust you expect me not to pass my life amongst trolls!"

  "Of course not! But I have not yet decided upon a plan. If Orlandus be dead, perchance the spines of government will stiffen enough to seize the castle and bring those within to book. Orlandus' use of deltas would support a list of indictments as long as your arm."