Castle Spellbound

by John Dechancie

  “I had a dream the other night. I dreamt of a great horse—"

  Trent looked pained. “Oh, no."

  Telamon frowned.

  Trent said, “Does this idea of yours have something to do with hiding some guys inside a big wooden horse?"

  Telamon was astounded. Awed as well, he shook his head. “Is there no hiding even dreams from a sorcerer?"

  Trent grinned. “Sorry, it's not that I'm peeking into your noggin, it's just—never mind. No, the horse thing is silly. Forgive me, but do you really think the Troadeans are dumb enough to fall for something like that? They'd build a fire under the thing first to see if anyone yelped. I'd drill a few holes and run a spear or two through. First thing I'd think of, once I saw that the enemy had pulled up stakes and vamoosed, leaving this huge fucking statue of a horse. Wouldn't you?"

  Telamon laughed. He nodded. “I suppose I would."

  “Oh, there's a chance, I suppose.” Trent drank again. “No, I take that back. That scheme has about as much chance as a fart in a—"

  Something seemed to occur to Trent just then. He stared off into space.

  Telamon studied his face. After a longish while he said, “You have an idea."

  Presently, Trent's attention returned to the here-and-now. He spilled the rest of the wine into the dirt, then tossed the cup into a corner.

  He smiled. “I do. As they say right before the fadeout, ‘Now, here's my plan...’”

  High in the Air

  Dying wasn't so bad, once you got over the initial panic.

  This thought came to Dalton as he fell. At first there had been a numbing terror. Then ... nothing. He'd blacked out.

  Now? Peace. Great peace. His life was over. It had been a good life, all told. Not that there weren't a few things he regretted. Difficult to avoid all the rough spots. But overall, he'd enjoyed living. And he was grateful for the castle. Yes, especially for the castle. The privilege of living in Perilous for just a few years had been enough to make it all worthwhile.

  Marvelous place, even though it killed him in the end.

  Another thought came to him: he'd been falling for an awfully long time. A bit too long, really. Maybe he was already dead.

  He opened his eyes. Sky above. He rolled his head. There was the ground, and he was surely heading toward it. But there was something wrong. His sense of time was distorted.

  Was it true, the old saw about your entire life flashing in front of your eyes? Well, he was indeed feeling a bit retrospective. Maybe when you die this compressed time thing happens, and it takes forever to actually kick the old bucket. Good thing dying wasn't all that unpleasant.

  He was falling. He could feel and hear the air rush past. But he wasn't falling very fast. What was the formula? Feet per second squared times the gravitational constant g ... something like that. He should be plummeting, really dropping. But he wasn't. This was rather peculiar.

  He craned his neck to look at the ground again. Yup. Still getting closer, but not as fast as the last time he'd looked.

  This was damned peculiar. Was he going to die or wasn't he? Here he had gotten used to the idea, had even arrived at the point where he was thinking, well, maybe it isn't such a bad thing after all; in fact, maybe it's the old proverbial consummation devoutly to be wished—and now it seemed there was some doubt about the whole business. Hmph. Well, that didn't wash with him. If you fall off a high parapet, you're damned well supposed to die, and that's all there is to it.

  Slowly, he tumbled over until he was dropping face forward, like a skydiver in free fall.

  Except that he was doing blessed little diving. This was more like floating, for pete's sake. Floating? What the blue blazes was going on here?

  Out of the air, a familiar voice came to him.

  Hello, there! This is your lucky day. You've managed to trip one of the castle's safety spells. This one is designed to catch people who have been heroic, clumsy, or just plain dumb enough to fall out of a window or off a battlement. Only you know which case applies! Whichever it is, though, you're quite safe. The levitation spell will lower you safely to the ground. No need to worry. If you've been heroic, you have my thanks. If not ... do try to be more careful in the future. Have a nice day.

  The voice was Incarnadine's.

  “Well, I'll be damned,” Dalton said.

  After a superhuman effort, Thaxton managed to pull himself up.

  He spilled over onto the walkway and lay on his back, not really caring that lions might devour him at any moment. He felt sick with grief, wanting to die himself. He almost would have preferred to fall than watch Dalton do it.

  The funny business above the castle was still going on, though he couldn't quite make out the strange smirking face. Bright things flapped in the air above the parapets, among rainbows of unnatural color.

  Presently, he thought he might get up. He raised himself to a sitting position and looked about him.

  No lions.

  Well. He got to his feet, an act that took slightly more strength than he seemed to possess. He went to the parapet and looked over the edge.

  It was a frightfully long way down. He couldn't see a thing, and he didn't really want to. There was no chance that Dalton had survived, and he had no need to see evidence confirming the fact.

  He'd best get back downstairs. It would devolve to him to apprise everybody of the grim event.

  Nasty business. Nasty, nasty business.

  He headed back to the tower.

  Like Buck Rogers with his antigravity belt (he still remembered those old serials!), Dalton settled gently to earth, feet first.

  He felt a little wobbly, but otherwise fine. He stood in the middle of a high-walled courtyard. An arched gateway lay to his right, and he walked to it.

  He entered another courtyard. He crossed it, going through another gate.

  After traversing a maze of cloisters, courtyards, and barbicans, he finally found what he thought was the exterior wall of the keep. He kept it to his right as he continued to thread his way through the labyrinth.

  Finally, he saw a pair of mammoth bronze doors. No knobs or door handles, but strangely enough there was, set into the stone wall beside one door, a button that looked like a doorbell. He pressed it. A deep chime sounded inside.

  After a longish moment, he pressed it again. As he was about to do it a third time, a small wicket opened in the right-hand door and a strange-looking Guardsman poked his head out.

  “Who is it?"

  “Uh, my name's Dalton, and I—"

  The Guardsman, who looked like some cartoon character, was annoyed. “Can't you read the sign?"

  “I fell off the, uh ... What? Oh. That."

  Only then did Dalton notice the neatly hand-painted sign on the wall to his right. In archaic script, it read:

  DOORBELL OUT OF ORDER—PLEASE KNOCK

  “Interesting."

  The Guardsman's head withdrew and the tiny door closed.

  Dalton knocked. The sound echoed inside.

  After a while he knocked again. Just to be sure, he pressed the bell button a few more times.

  Finally, there came clanking sounds from inside. The door opened a crack.

  Another Guardsman, this one looking quite normal and not like something out of an old movie, peered out and registered recognition. “Mr ... Dalton, is it?"

  Dalton said, “Yes. This is rather embarrassing, but I fell off the roof of the castle."

  “Ye gods! Are you all right, sir?"

  “Fine. The safety spell saved me."

  “Thank the heavens! Come in, sir, come in."

  The Guardsman admitted him.

  Inside, Dalton looked up at the other side of the immense door. He could see no wicket nor even the suggestion of one.

  “Very interesting."

  “Sir?"

  Dalton grinned at the gatekeeper. “Nothing.” He chuckled. “Never a dull moment in this place, is there? Not even a slightly dull moment."

  The Guards
man shook his head sadly. “I'm afraid not, sir. I'm afraid not."

  Between the Universes

  “Well,” Melanie said, “where do we go from here?"

  The interior of the Voyager was dark except for myriad tiny lights, many of them glowing a panicky red, on the instrument panel. The temperature had been pleasant at first, but now was rising into the uncomfortable range.

  Luster and Dolbert were phlegmatically silent in the back seat. Nothing ever seemed to unsettle them.

  “Actually, there's no direction in non-space,” Jeremy sard.

  “What the heck is ‘non-space,’ anyway?"

  “I dunno if I can explain. It's sort of like, well, actually it's an extra dimension over and above the four dimensions of normal space. Something like that. Only it's just one dimension. We're really not in it, just riding on it like on a sheet of ice. As long as we keep moving, which we are, we stay on that plane. If we slow down or stop, we drop through into normal space."

  “Oh. But you said we can't get back to the castle."

  “Right. Without the navigation system, the ship doesn't know what direction the castle's in. Get the picture?"

  “I think. What can we do?"

  “Well, first we have to get out of non-space, ‘cause non-space isn't such a great place to be for too long. So, we gotta drop back in somewhere."

  “You mean drop back into real space? Like, where?"

  “Well, that's just the thing. We aren't gonna know where until we drop in. It'll be some universe. I just hope it's not one of the weird types."

  Melanie knew all about the weird types. She'd been stranded in one of them once. It was enough for her.

  Jeremy was chewing his bottom lip.

  “What's the matter?” she asked.

  “I was just wondering if I should boot up Isis."

  “Isis?"

  “You never met Isis. She's a program."

  Melanie was confused. “A program?"

  “Yeah. Actually, a cross between a spell and a utility program. She's an artificial intelligence, and, I guess, a spirit of some kind."

  “What kind of spirit?"

  “I really don't know. It bothers me sometimes to think about it. But she's also a program, and I got her loaded into the ship's computer."

  “I see,” Melanie said. After being reminded, she remembered hearing of Isis. Some spirit! A knockout brunette who was totally devoted to Jeremy and who made the female-shy Jeremy more than a little nervous.

  “She always helps, but sometimes she gets a little bossy."

  Melanie was about to reply, when a voice came out of a speaker on the instrument panel.

  Jeremy, that hurt!

  Jeremy's face flushed. “Damn it, I forgot that I have her programmed to automatically boot up with engine start. Sorry, Isis."

  The voice said, Well, you should be.

  “I didn't mean it, honest. I appreciate your help. It's just that when someone makes a lot of suggestions I get kind of confused. Sometimes I'm better off just working on a problem myself."

  I understand, honey. Really, I don't want you to feel that I'm here to boss you around. You're the user, darling, not me. I'm just a utility program.

  “Heck, you're more than that. You're a person."

  Thanks, baby. But I'm not much of one when I don't have my virtual body.

  Melanie thought, And I've heard it's one helluva great virtual body.

  Jeremy said, “It's kinda cramped in here at the moment."

  Oh, I don't take up so much space. Please?

  “Uh ... okay. Sure. Just watch where you materialize."

  Melanie wondered where in the cramped compartment someone could possibly “materialize” without landing on top of someone else.

  Isis suddenly appeared, sitting in Jeremy's lap, her knees jutting sharply up over Melanie's. She wore a short black cocktail dress that exposed most of her long shapely legs. She was dark-haired, blue-eyed, and simply beautiful.

  “Hi, honey!” She kissed Jeremy on the lips.

  Jeremy blushed. “Hi, Isis. Nice to see you again. Uh, Isis, this is Melanie."

  Isis smiled warmly at Melanie. “Hello, Melanie."

  “And you know the Gooches."

  “Hello, boys. Nice to see you again."

  The Gooch brothers tipped their moth-nibbled baseball caps.

  Luster beamed, “Pleasure's all ours. Miss Isis."

  Dolbert cooed, bashfully averting his eyes.

  “Now,” Isis said. “We have a problem, don't we?"

  “Yup,” Jeremy said. “We sure do. Do you think it's hardware or software?"

  “That's a toughie. We're going to have to figure that out first. If it's hardware, we may have to land somewhere to make repairs."

  “That's always risky,” Jeremy said.

  “True, but we might not have any choice. Drop the ship into normal space, Jeremy."

  “If I can reach."

  “Just put your arms around here, baby. I'm not ticklish."

  Melanie thought. This woman, or whatever she is, really knows how to handle men. Maybe she can teach me a few tricks.

  “Okay,” Jeremy said, “I have it."

  Isis giggled. “Do you really know what you have in your hand?"

  “Ooops! Sorry."

  Isis laughed as Jeremy's face got beet-red.

  Oh, brother! Melanie thought.

  “Okay, we're through, or out ... or whatever."

  “Would you like me to clear the view port, Jeremy dear?"

  “Check."

  The view port lightened from complete opacity to a dark neutral tint. Outside the craft lay blue sky and white puffy clouds.

  “Looks normal enough,” Melanie remarked.

  “Famous last words,” Jeremy said. “Usually right before the bug-eyed monsters come out of the woodwork."

  “Looks like sky,” Melanie said, “not woodwork."

  “Yeah, well, fine. Okay, Isis, you want to start checking things out?"

  “Aye aye, Jeremy dearest. Let me swivel a little."

  Isis turned toward the control panel. Jeremy grunted.

  “Oh, am I hurting you, dear?"

  “Nah, it's fine. Go ahead."

  Isis began flipping switches and studying readouts.

  “You could probably do this better without virtual body,” Jeremy commented.

  “Not true, hon. A physical presence gives me an intuitive feel for the physical parameters."

  “Oh. Not that I don't like your virtual body."

  “I know you do, dear. And I know that you know it's not really all that virtual."

  “Uh, yeah. Um."

  “Don't be shy.” Isis turned her head to Melanie. “He's awfully shy."

  Melanie nodded.

  Isis resumed her scrutiny of the control panel.

  “Shore wish we had our tools,” Luster said, “if we're gonna have t’ fix ‘er agin."

  “They would come in handy,” Jeremy agreed.

  “You can use the tools in the ship's emergency tool kit,” Isis said.

  “What tool kit is that?” Jeremy asked.

  “There is a very small compartment on the port side of the undercarriage, near the secondary positron generator,” Isis said. “That's it."

  “Is that whut that is?” Luster said, surprised. “Ah opened that up oncet, and there was all these funny-looking rods and things in there."

  “Well, they're tools for alien hands,” Isis said, continuing to work as she talked. “This ship wasn't built by human beings, you know."

  “Wull, ah figgered that's whut they was, but ah don't rightly know iffen we can use ‘em."

  “Unfortunately, Luster dear, they're all we have to work with."

  Lester chuckled. “Wull, in that case, ma'am, ah figger we ain't got no choice but t’ try and use ‘em."

  “That's the spirit, Luster. Oh, dear."

  Jeremy said, “What's up?"

  Isis clucked and shook her head. “I'm afraid it's a hardwar
e glitch, Jeremy dear. We'll have to put down and make repairs."

  “Rats. I hate it when this happens."

  “Worse things could happen, Jeremy."

  “We didn't even want to go out into the universes. We just wanted to get away from that nut stuff back at the castle. We wouldn't even have—"

  “Major malfunction!” Isis was peering intently at a cluster of red lights that had just come on.

  Jeremy tried to peer around Isis's head. “What now?"

  “Jeremy, honey, we just lost the main graviton flux inducer."

  “There's a backup, maybe?"

  “Afraid not. This craft never had one installed."

  Melanie asked, “What does a graviton flux thingee do?"

  The craft began to pitch forward. The horizon crawled up the view port.

  “A graviton flux inducer is the thing that generates the antigravity field,” Jeremy said. “And that's what keeps the ship up in the air."

  Melanie's heart did a flip-flop. “And that means we're going to...?"

  “Crash,” Jeremy said, scowling. “Boy, I hate it when this happens."

  Keep —Lowest Levels

  There was much clink and clash of steel against steel in the sitting room—or what was left of the sitting room. The fancy furniture lay overturned. Glass shelves were shattered, their objets d'art strewn over the carpet or smashed against stone. Tapestries lay trampled across the floorboards.

  Gene swung mightily, connected, and sent his opponent's banged-up shield flying. Unprotected, the gladiator braced to parry Gene's next assault, but mistook a low feint for the real thing. For a penalty he lost his head, which Gene took off cleanly at the shoulders with one whistling cut.

  The severed head left a bloody trail across a Persian throw rug before disappearing.

  Gene looked over his shoulder in time to see Snowclaw skewer his adversary, who promptly disappeared.

  Linda came out from behind an overturned highboy.

  “Yuck! I know they're not real, but I can't stand the gore. I'm getting ill."

  “It's not doing my stomach any good, either,” Gene said as he sheathed his weapon, “but the whole phenomenon is getting kind of shaky."