Castle for Rent

by John Dechancie

  Trent spoke to Gene. “Write a letter to your folks and make up some good excuse for your absence. It’s no problem for me to take that letter and back-time it a year or so.”

  Incarnadine was surprised. “You’ve been dabbling in time travel?”

  “Sending people back is a little beyond my skill. But dropping a few letters into the postal stream of twelve months ago would be a breeze.”

  “Trent, I think you’ve become the family’s best magician.”

  “Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.”

  “I like the idea,” Gene said. “It means we could just pile into the car with Sheila and drive home now. Those stories are going to have to be pretty good, though. Now, let’s see. What wild yarn could we come up with?”

  “Could somebody lend me plane fare to California?” Linda asked.

  “No problem,” Trent said. “Put it on my MasterCard.”

  “Thanks. You’re very kind.”

  “We princes are naturally charming.”

  “He’s been using lines like that for three hundred years,” Incarnadine warned.

  “Go to hell, Inky.”

  Incarnadine rose from the table. “I think it’s just about time.”

  Castle

  The two brothers stepped through the veil their sister had erected to block the portal. Being of the House of Haplodie, they were immune; no spell could keep them out of the castle.

  They found their sister Ferne slumped in a chair in the parlor, three empty sherry bottles at her feet. She was polishing off the remains of a fourth. Seeing Trent, dim recognition formed in her eyes.

  “‘Lo,” was all she managed, along with a twisted smile.

  “Stay with her,” Incarnadine said.

  “For as long as I can,” Trent said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t stay in the castle for any length of time. It’s the spell Dad laid on me when we had our difference of opinion. He banished me, Inky. Never told anyone. I guess he felt a little guilty.”

  Nonplussed, Incarnadine said, “What sort of spell?”

  “Nothing much. It’s just that if I stay here longer than, say, ten minutes, I begin to get a case of the paranoid heebie-jeebies. I just go quietly nuts and get this overwhelming urge to run screaming from the place. Very effective.”

  “Gods. I’m sorry, Trent. I wish I had known.”

  “Yeah. Well, I didn’t tell anyone, for the shame of it all. Silly, I guess. It’s not my fault Dad had it in for me.”

  Incarnadine felt restrained from commenting. “Uh, well, if you have to go — listen. Thanks. I’ll never forget it, Trent.”

  “Don’t mention it. Look me up next time you’re in New York.”

  “I will.”

  They looked at each other for a long moment.

  “Farewell, brother.”

  “Farewell,” Incarnadine said. He turned and left the parlor.

  * * * *

  He found Deems in the outer halls, along with the bodies of thousands of his men. Many had died of wounds, but more had succumbed to spell exhaustion. Judging from the number of enemy dead, they had given a good account of themselves, defending a strange castle in a foreign land.

  Incarnadine took his overcoat off and covered his brother’s body with it, then recited a prayer for the departed.

  He walked a good distance into the castle before encountering carcasses of the previous invaders. The place already stank to high heaven. It would be a monumental cleanup job.

  A whispering silence held throughout the castle. Death skulked in the shadows, but would not show its face. Time hung like cobwebs in the corners.

  Incarnadine walked with purposeful stride. As he did, he got the feeling that someone or something was ahead of him, keeping just out of sight. He didn’t see anything.

  He knew exactly where to go. It was a long trip, and a lonely one. The years echoed in the halls, reverberating off stone-vaulted ceilings.

  In a dim crypt in the nethermost reaches of the castle, he found what he sought. A black oblong lay inscribed in gray shadows. He approached it.

  He heard his name called, far off, faint.

  “No,” he said.

  Dim shapes swam within the portal, and a cold wind blew out of it. There came to his ears a faint wailing and weeping.

  He ignored it, raising his hands. He began the spellcasting, reciting each line of the incantation crisply and distinctly. As he continued, the wailing grew louder and louder.

  The spell was short, succinct, and to the point. He finished it with a flourish of his hands, and the sounds emanating from the portal ceased. He stepped forward and peered into the darkness. What had been a gaping hole was now a blank stone wall. He reached out and touched it. The portal was gone.

  On his way back, he undid the protective spells over a few of the aspects his Guardsmen had retreated into along with most of the castle’s local citizenry, and many of its Guests.

  Tyrene, the captain of the Guard, was standing watch inside one of them. When the portal opened, Tyrene regarded his liege lord with some disgruntlement. Obviously he did not care for hiding out while the castle was overrun by invaders. But he had had his orders. Incarnadine did his best to assuage him and salve his wounded pride. Then he bade him sound recall.

  Whistling a tune he had heard during his stay on Earth, he trudged up to his study to begin the job of bringing the castle back to life.

  Throne Room

  His Serene and Transcendental Majesty sat in state upon the Siege Perilous.

  “Bring the prisoner,” he ordered.

  The prisoner was escorted through the huge room and brought to kneel at His Majesty’s feet.

  “Arise,” he commanded. Then he said, “Do you have anything to say on your behalf before I pronounce judgment on you?”

  Ferne shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Perhaps you can clarify a few issues.”

  “If I can, I would be most happy to.”

  “Why did you do it, Ferne?”

  Her laughter was low and private, as if no one could possibly share or understand it.

  He said, “You will not answer?”

  “Oh, Inky, what a question. I could give a hundred reasons. A thousand. I wanted your position, your power, your magic. I deserved it. Even if I didn’t deserve it, I wanted it. But all of that is rather academic now. Perhaps the real reason is that I was desperate for something to do.”

  His Majesty pondered her answer.

  “Perhaps I know what you mean,” he said.

  Her look was haughty. “Don’t be so damned understanding! You couldn’t possibly know! You’re the type who’s perfectly happy raising children and keeping house and wallowing in the mundane things of half a thousand worlds. I’m not. I hunger, I thirst for things you’ve never dreamed of.”

  “Do you claim to know my dreams?” he answered. “Do you claim to know me at all?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it, if you don’t mind.”

  He nodded slowly. “As you wish. Tell me one thing, though. I’m a little unclear as to the chronology of the plot you hatched. When did you begin to bargain with the Hosts?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “I talked with them off and on for years, trying to think of some way to use them to my advantage. After all, they are a powerful force, and would make excellent allies. But I couldn’t find a way that did not involve inordinate risks.”

  “So you settled on a lesser ally?”

  “The blue things? As I told you, I had no thought of allying myself with subhuman rubbish. It was then that Deems and I struck our bargain. We simply needed the castle to be invaded. I simply picked one of the holes Father had sealed up. I remember. I was with him when he did it. He’d conducted an expedition into the aspect and had found a nascently dangerous militaristic culture.”

  “So you undid Dad’s containment spell. But nothing happened immediately,” the King said.
/>
  “No. The blue ones took their good time about it, plodding, unimaginative military types that they are. But then I had a stroke of luck. You popped off to Earth in search of Trent, whom you suspected. And then the blue ones attacked! Marvelous timing, but quite fortuitous. But when you refused to cooperate, I had a real problem. I had overplayed my hand as far as the blue ones were concerned. They were too powerful for Deems and me alone. The only alternative was to employ an even more powerful force to rid the castle of them, reserving you as a trump card against these new invaders. I thought I could keep you out of the castle. You were in a world where your magic did not work. I was the superior magician in that world.”

  “Didn’t you think Trent would help me?”

  “Never. I’m astounded that he did. And truly astounded by his talents.”

  “As am I. Nevertheless, he did help me.”

  She nodded sadly. “I should have seen it. I should have made it my business to find out what Trent had been up to during his exile.”

  “You knew of Dad’s banishing him?”

  “Oh, yes. It was supposed to be a secret, but I caught wind of it.” She chewed her lip, perplexed. “But even if I’d known of Trent’s powers, I would never have imagined that his hatred of you would have ameliorated over the years. You two had such terrible fights when you were young.”

  “We did. Sibling rivalry can certainly last into adulthood, but given enough time — and we are all very old indeed at this point — it passes, like all things in all worlds. No one can nurse a grudge forever. Except perhaps you, dear sister.”

  “I bear no grudge. It was simply something to keep me occupied in my dotage.”

  He chuckled. “You don’t look the part of the aging dowager princess.”

  “Please! Don’t compliment me when you are about to sentence me to death!”

  His smile faded. “You deserve to die. You killed Deems, your brother. You misled him, manipulated him.…” He was astonished at her pained expression. “You feel some remorse?”

  “Yes! Of course.”

  “I wonder if it’s real. No matter. One more question. How could you have let Host agents infiltrate your base on Earth? If they had succeeded in assassinating me, your cause would have been lost.”

  She looked away. “I don’t know. The irrational in me had taken over by then, I suppose. I suppose I wanted nothing but death at that point. Not for you, but for me.”

  “The irrational came to dominate your thinking a long time ago. Even the thought of striking a bargain with the Hosts is itself an irrational act. To entertain any such notion is tantamount to contemplating suicide.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said, her voice small and colorless. “You always are.” She seemed on the verge of tears. But she composed herself and said, “What does it matter now?”

  “It will matter in your future life, sister.”

  Her eyes filled with wonder, hope, and disbelief. “You … you would let me live?”

  “I will not condemn a relative to death, especially a pretender to the throne. It always looks bad, no matter how weak the claimant’s case. It would reflect badly on my kingdom, and my reign.”

  She looked at him a long moment before saying, “I can’t fathom what your motivations are, nor can I imagine who would gainsay your right to condemn me to death. In fact, I should think the common run of opinion is that if you don’t, you’re weak, or mad, or both.”

  “Let those who would judge me do so and be damned. I hereby pronounce judgment on you. You shall be taken to an unstable area of the castle and put through the first aspect that appears. The gateway will be guarded until it disappears. Should you somehow find your way back into the castle, you will be laid hands on and put out immediately, in the aforementioned manner. Do you understand the nature of your fate?”

  Her voice barely audible, she said, “Yes.”

  “May the gods have mercy on you. Take her away.”

  The guards made motions to lay hands on her. She halted them with a curt, imperious gesture. She stepped forward, mounting the two steps to the throne.

  The King rose. She embraced him, and covered his mouth with hers.

  Their embrace lasted but a few seconds. He broke it, a look of astonishment on his reddened face. Her smile was mysterious, as always. Then she laughed.

  “Take her away,” he said. “And leave, all of you.”

  He sat in the empty throne room for a long time, his eyes far away, his thoughts troubled.

  Finally he said, “To hell with it.”

  Then he yawned and got up. He doffed his robe and draped it on the throne. Taking off the crown, he hung it at a jaunty angle on the left upright of the ancient oaken chair. He left the chamber by a secret back door.

  The spiral stairs led up into the family residence. He walked to an area of wall bordered by two pilasters. Raising his arms, he muttered a short incantation. A portal formed in the wall, and he stepped through.

  His wife and children were in the kitchen, having breakfast. Bright sun poured through the windows. Outside, palms bent in a stiff sea breeze.

  His son and daughter ran to embrace him. Then Zafra took him into her arms. Holding her, he looked out over the beach and got a powerful urge to go sailing that day, no matter how tired he was.

  Then he remembered something. He had contracted to write a novel for Spade Books, and the deadline was in six months. Six months! Why, he hadn’t written a word in thirty years.

  He had never heard of a novel-writing spell, but he was fairly sure he could come up with one, after a little brainstorming.

  Biography

  John DeChancie is a popular author of numerous science fiction/fantasy novels including the hugely entertaining CASTLE series and STARRIGGER trilogy. He lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.