Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series

by John Stockmyer

  The next thing she could remember, she was in another place. Dying! It was the place of Pfnaravin in the other world. Pfnaravin! A tall and deathly quiet Mage. Still young ... through wizardry? With stabbing eyes of fearsome green!

  Pfnaravin, calling himself John-Lyon, then brought her back ... to here. Where they found the Mage, Melcor, on the tower floor, dead. Fallen ceiling stones had crushed him. John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had then put on Melcor's crystal. Platinia was Pfnaravin's slavey then.

  Even with the magic crystal about his neck, Pfnaravin said he did not want to be Pfnaravin! He said his name was not Pfnaravin, but John-Lyon. Platinia (while she called him what he wanted) was not fooled. She knew he was Pfnaravin!

  After that, she had traveled much with John-Lyon-Pfnarvin and with another man called Golden. She had been chained up in a dungeon with them, but the Mage had used his magic-strength to set her free. In a boat, the three of them had gone to the band where she was born, to Malachite.

  It was in Malachite that the Mage found Zwicia. Because Zwicia was a Weird, she also had a crystal. A larger one than the yellow one John-Lyon-Pfnaravin got from Melcor. Zwicia's crystal also had power. It would show pictures.

  Platinia liked Zwicia because she was not a man; though Zwicia was always very strange. Too much looking in Zwicia's crystal made you strange.

  There had been a war. John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had won.

  It was after that, back at Hero Castle, that the Mage, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin, had hurt her. While not hurting her very much, the danger was that he had made her tell him she was an Etherial! So this Mage must also die.

  To get him dead before he returned to the other world, Platinia had planned to use the power he would build to shake down more ceiling stones. Like she had done to Melcor.

  But she could not do that because John-Lyon-Pfnaravin held his large, white cat. Making the stones fall would have hurt the cat. She could never hurt a cat.

  Before he left, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had told her to take Melcor's (now John-Lyon-Pfnaravin's) crystal to the man called Coluth. But she had not done that. She had been afraid that if the seaman, Coluth, had the crystal, he would hurt her. Instead, she had hidden the crystal -- being careful -- so very careful -- to touch only the chain that held the stone. She had hidden the yellow crystal in the secret place that Melcor used to hide his book. (Though spellbound by Melcor, she had seen him open that rock place in the wall, Melcor not knowing she saw because she wished him not to know.) Though she could not control a man of power, she could change his mind in certain ways -- a little.

  This afternoon, she had been watching the pretty birds. More than three were gold. More than three were green. More than three were orange. Only one was red. They were making whistling sounds. When they were trained, they could say a message. Taken someplace else, they would fly back and say the message they had been taught. That was why they were called messenger birds.

  After the soldier had come for her, he had taken her to the main room of the castle. (It was always too cold for her in there with all that stone.) Soldiers were bringing in the castle slaveys. Zwicia was there, standing at the end of the slavey line. Some of the women slaveys were crying because the men had hurt them.

  Since she did not know why the soldiers had brought her there, Platinia was afraid!

  Platinia was often very much afraid. Many times, because she understood so little. All her life, she had been kept in Fulgur's temple. Mostly, in the dark. The world outside was new to her. She did not know so many things. She did not know the names for animals. She did not know why people did what they sometimes did. She did not know the big words that other people spoke. But she was learning. (The pretty birds were called messenger birds. A boat was also called a ship.)

  In the main room where the soldier had taken her, was the soldier's Head. He looked old and strange. He had short gray hair and many wrinkles on his face. That was what made him look so old. Finally, Platinia knew why he also looked so ... strange. He had a sick arm that he could not move.

  When all the slaveys in the castle were in the room, the soldier's Head, spoke. He told the slaveys not to be afraid. That all he wanted was Pfnaravin.

  A painted priest was with the Army Head. Though he did not look like the priests of Fulgur, she knew he was a priest. Platinia could tell priests in the dark! She could smell them! She hated priests!

  The Army Head asked the question -- where was Pfnaravin -- over and over. Did anyone know where Pfnaravin was? No one knew.

  Platinia knew. But she did not say. The Head of the soldiers was a man. It was better to hide from men! All men were dangerous!

  The Army Head had gone to stand before Zwicia. "What is your name?" the Head had asked. From down the line, Platinia could not hear Zwicia's answer. If Zwicia gave an answer. Sometimes Zwicia could not talk. Sometimes when she did, her talk was strange. Platinia knew this was from staring at the pictures that Zwicia's crystal made. This was called the crystal-sickness. "I will ask you only once," the Head said in a loud, unfriendly voice. "A hideous fate awaits you if I even think you lie."

  Hideous meant bad. Platinia could tell.

  "Where is the Mage, Pfnaravin?"

  Though Platinia was too far away to hear what Zwicia said, by bending over just a little, Platinia could see that Zwicia was waving her hands like she did when she had crystal-sickness. When she was like that, either she did not talk or, when she did, her talk did not make sense.

  This had all happened just a little while ago.

  Now, Platinia saw a soldier behind Zwicia pushing Zwicia forward. The Head had wanted that. Zwicia was pushed to the center of the line and turned so that she faced the others. Another soldier brought a wooden chair for Zwicia so that she could sit.

  There was something about what was happening that Platinia did not like. Something that reminded her of when she was the sacrifice of Tenebrae in Fulgur's temple.

  Then she was sure! It was the priest! He had a jar of burning pepper! He would hurt Zwicia with the pepper! Put it on her body. In her eyes! Priests had done that to Platinia and it hurt her very much. Hurt her very long!

  Did this mean that all slaveys in the line were to be tortured, one by one? Platinia, too!?

  Platinia must do something! Something to stop the priest before he came to hurt her!

  Though it was dangerous to speak so that all eyes looked at you, it was now more dangerous not to speak.

  "I know where Pfnaravin is." Platinia said that in her tiny voice. She was very much afraid!

  "What?" It was the Head. He had stopped looking down at Zwicia. He was now looking up and down the line of slaveys. "Who said that? Step forward!" Platinia took a tiny step so that he looked at her. "What could a child know of this matter?" he said, in softer tones, smiling for the first time that Platinia saw. He did not fool her with his smile. He would hurt her if he knew she was an Etherial. He must never find that out!

  "I am not a child," Platinia said in her little voice. So little, that the room gave no ... echo ... when she spoke.

  The Army Head walked down the line, stopping before her. "I see, now, that you are no child," he said, nodding his head, smiling down his wrinkled smile. He was big; but smaller than most men she knew. "Understand that I am Leet, Head of these men from Malachite. If you know something, you had better tell me now. Where has Pfnaravin gone?"

  "To the other world."

  "And how do you know that?"

  "I was with him when he did that." She must keep him from knowing that she had the power to help! The power of an Etherial!

  "He ... left ... from here?" The Head -- Leet -- waved his arm (the one that he could move) at the room.

  "From a tower up above." Platinia pointed as best she could.

  "And when is he coming back?"

  "I ... don't ... know."

  "Step back in line, then." The Head was finished asking questions. Platinia could see it in his eyes. She could see in his mind that he would give the order to have the p
riest begin to torture Zwicia. .......... The Head did not want to do that. ........... Platinia could read pity for Zwicia in the Head's mind. Platinia could also see other things there. Shadowed things. ......... The Head soldier did not like his sick arm. ......... He did not like the priest.

  Could she strengthen these feelings in the Head's mind? Could she make him feel more pity for Zwicia? Could she make him hate the priest? And if she did those things, would he find out she was an Etherial? That she could strengthen feelings in his mind?

  No! She could not take that chance!

  "I can help you get him back," she said. Talking, more than thinking.

  By this time, the Army Head had turned his back on her to go to Zwicia in her chair. He turned again. "What did you say?"

  "I can help you get him back."

  "Pfnaravin?" Yes. Platinia had been right. She could tell that all the Army Head wanted was Pfnaravin. He did not want to torture Zwicia. Even more, he did not want the priest to torture Zwicia.

  Platinia nodded to the Head's question.

  "And just how can you help to bring him back?"

  Platinia did not know. Maybe, with Zwicia's help, with Zwicia's crystal-power, Platinia could add to the force so that Pfnaravin must come back into the tower room. And maybe not. For now, what mattered was that the Head believe she could bring back Pfnaravin.

  She must think. She must think. While she was thinking, she said: "He is very dangerous. I have seen his crystal-power."

  "You have seen him use it? What did he do?" The man wanted to know everything about the Mage.

  "He killed very many men. White men. White women. White children. It was in the war."

  At that answer, the Army Head become ... a ghost; he was so white. Almost as white as the people John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had killed with golden crystal power. The Army Head then nodded to himself. He nodded that he believed her.

  "You will show me to this tower room. The one where the Mage left for the other world." Platinia nodded.

  "I need Zwicia and her crystal."

  "Crystal?" The thought of a crystal frightened the Army Head. Though Platinia could see that fear was in his mind, she could not see fear upon his face. He was an Army Head and kept his feelings hidden.

  "Zwicia is a Weird." At hearing that, the Head tried not to show his very great surprise. "Pfnaravin is very dangerous," Platinia continued. "But less dangerous without his crystal."

  "Are you telling me that the Mage does not have his crystal?" Now, she could read hope in the man's mind. Good. Hope would make him do what Platinia wanted.

  "He could not take it to the other world."

  "Where is his crystal, now?"

  "I do not know." Platinia did not like to lie. But sometimes, lying to a man was good.

  "You're certain he's without his crystal?" Platinia nodded. "When you bring him back, he will not have it?" Platinia nodded. "One more thing. Does Pfnaravin, when coming from the other world, always come to the same place?"

  "The same place. The same room. The same place in that room." Saying that, Platinia had an idea. "Build a cage around that spot so when the Mage returns, he will be trapped."

  The Army Head suddenly smiled. The Army Head smiled very much.

  It was a good plan, Platinia thought.

  For now, Platinia was tired. She was always tired after she looked into the minds of others. All she wanted was to find a cat and go to sleep.

  "You and you ..." the Army Head said, pointing first to Zwicia, then to Platinia, "... stay. The rest of you, go back to your duties."

  The others hurrying away, the Head spoke again to Platinia. "It will take me a day or so to have the cage built. Will that be all right?" Now that the others were rushing out, the Head had lowered his loud voice.

  "The Mage is strong. The cage must be of strong, strong iron."

  "Don't worry about that. You bring him back within the cage and you don't have to worry about him getting out."

  Suddenly, Platinia felt glad. The Army Head did not yet know she was an Etherial. Would never know!

  Platinia was safe.

  Zwicia was safe.

  Without his crystal, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin would be caged. And maybe killed!

  If she could find a way to bring him back.

  -4-

  Though the morning's forecast said a storm front from the West was closing on Kansas City, it was a mild day for the end of November, the air smelling more of the damp of spring than of the dust of fall, John driving slowly to enjoy this Indian Summer day.

  He found his mind wandering, though. To be honest, after being the Crystal-Mage of Stil-de-grain, his life as junior member of a small Social Science Department was ... boring. (That's how the young men of the Lost Generation must have felt after World War I. Returning from the pulse pounding terror of the front, numbers of them had never been able to fit into the dull routine of civilian life.)

  A stray thought about Professor Fredericks' community service project at the nursing home had John remembering Paul's theory that the Van Robin who'd just died at a retirement complex was the same man who'd built John's house. On the night John had told Paul about going to the "other world," Paul had even suggested this Van Robin could be the "otherworldly" Mage, Pfnaravin, trapped in this world after coming here from the "other reality."

  A speculation that could be checked out?

  Maybe. If John had the time to call one old folks home after the other until he found the place that had Van Robin as a patient.

  Two blocks further and a sudden left had John plunging through the shrubbery that hid the entrance to his private access road. Another mile through enfolding, stick-dry bushes, a slam of brakes, and John was parked in his weed-choked, woodland surrounded yard.

  Prying himself out of the elderly sports car, John climbed the shaky porch steps and keyed himself inside.

  Hanging his jacket on a hook on the entrance hall coat rack, John passed the stairs with hardly a look, veering through his living room to get to the kitchen where he'd find sandwich meat in the fridge.

  Except ... he couldn't find the lunch meat package. Another indication of his distracted mental state was his tendency, lately, to misplace things.

  Backtracking to the living room, John sat in the carved, oak chair.

  Staring at the phone on the shaky end table by the sofa, John had an idea about how to start a possible Van Robin search.

  The idea was to dial up short, fat, no-necked, diamond-ringed, cherry-cheeked, Cadillac-herding, "call me Madge, honey" -- the real estate lady who'd unloaded this house on him.

  Not an easy woman to forget.

  Try as he might!

  Just thinking about that woman brought back her sales pitch. First, "Just call me Madge, honey" had establish the fact that John Lyon was from out of town, that he had no relatives in Kansas City, and that he had, as yet, made no friends North of the River.

  After that came her predictable attempts to sell him houses she knew he couldn't afford.

  Followed by the tour of this property: an old, limestone building in the middle of a couple of acres of woods.

  The house had a first floor entrance hall that accessed a moderately sized living room to the left, small bedroom (convertible to a den) on the right, and kitchen at the back.

  Opposite the front door, half-open stairs squeaked to the second floor, the upper level "sporting" three, ruined bedrooms plus an old-fashioned bath.

  Not much. But all John could buy.

  By the time John had signed the contract at the realtor's office, talkative Madge had revealed everything about the house except that it was haunted! (No sense spoiling the new arrival's impression of Kansas City by being negative.)

  Though it had taken some time, he'd traced the house's "ghost" sounds to the wedge-shaped storage space beneath the stairs; eventually discovered that those strange noises originated in some other world.

  The background to his Van Robin investigation reviewed, John moved to the old g
reen divan. Took the Yellow Pages from the phone stand beside the sofa and looked up the real estate company.

  Finding the northern branch number. Dialed.

  "Realty," said a pleasantly eager voice after a single ring.

  "I'd like to speak to Madge, please."

  "Certainly, sir, though I'm not sure she's in the office at the moment. If not, I can reach her by pager. Could I tell her in what regard ...?"

  "She sold me a house. I'd like to talk to her about that. My name's John Lyon."

  "I'll see if she's in."

  Expecting "waiting music," John was surprised to hear muffled voices; one of them, Madge's "expansive" tones.

  Listening more carefully, John thought Madge's voice had become a trifle strident. That she had to be argued to the phone.

  The pick up. "Madge, here." And it was Madge -- impersonating Frosty the Snow-person.

  "This is John Lyon. Remember me?"

  "Ah. No. Sorry. ... Been ill, you know. Just in the office for a moment...."

  "Surely you remember me. You sold me an old house just last September. ........... Six feet tall? Light brown hair, green eyes, dimples? .......... No distinguishing marks?"

  "Ah ... I'm getting ready to rush to the airport. Need to get away for my health. Some place warm. Doctor's orders."

  "I'd appreciate it if you could give me a little information about the house. It won't take long."

  "Information?" Said warily.

  "It's my understanding that a Mr. Van Robin owned the house before me. I believe the name was in the abstract."

  "Ah ....."

  "And what I'd like to know is, is this the same Van Robin who recently died?"

  "That's what you want to know?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "I've found some papers I think his family might like to have." If one lie in time saved nine, surely two lies would save a baker's dozen, "If that's the same man."

  "Well ....."

  "Anything you could tell me would be appreciated."