Castle Spellbound
Page 18
Pink and purple clouds drifted amongst the tops of high columns. Here and there a Day-Glo butterfly flitted and fluttered.
“Hello?” Gene called as he began mounting the stairs to the platform.
“Hello,” came the reply.
Gene and Linda reached the top of the stairs and looked around curiously. The place was an ungodly mess.
“Hello, there. I'm Thorsby. This is Fetchen."
Gene asked, “Is he all right?"
“Uhhh,” Fetchen answered.
“He'll pull through,” Thorsby said. “Thought I'd lost him, but he's doing fine."
“Good,” Gene said. “Let me ask you a question."
“Fire away, sir."
“What the hell has been going on here?"
“Ah! Yes, of course, you would want to know that. Well, that's going to take some explaining. If you'd just give me a minute to collect my thoughts. Been in a bit of a dust-up, don't you know. Almost didn't pull through myself. We've had no end of trouble, no end of trouble."
“They had one hell of a good time,” said the large bald man who sat at the far end of the dais.
“Who's that?” Gene asked of Thorsby.
“Uh. Actually, I don't know. I say ... sir? Do you have a name?"
“Just call me Omar."
“Omar, I'd like you to meet”—Thorsby turned to Gene—“I do know your name, sir, but it escapes me at the moment."
“Gene Ferraro. You're one of the apprentice magicians, no?"
“Right you are, sir."
“So you two are the jokers who cast the wild spell?"
Omar laughed. “Oh, did they screw it up."
“Well, now, we certainly did achieve some spectacular effects."
Omar hooted.
“Yeah, I'll say you did,” Gene admitted. “Did you know you about had this castle in the worst uproar it's ever been in?"
“Did we know? Oh, no, sir, we did not. Did ... uh, did some of the manifestations escape?"
It was Gene and Linda's turn to laugh.
“Our apologies for any disturbance we've caused,” Thorsby said. “But I assure you that it was all quite inadvertent. The unfortunate result of a series of thaumaturgical accidents, which, as I'm sure you understand, are sometimes unavoidable when one engages in important scientific—"
"Ah-hah!"
Gene and Linda turned and saw no one, though the voice had come from behind. Linda gave a squeal when she bumped into a dark-bearded man in turban and slippers who was not quite three feet tall. He wore colorful silk robes and several emerald rings. Despite his size, he looked like trouble.
The dwarf turned his head to Omar. “Are these the two?"
“That's them, boss."
The dwarf swiveled his gimlet gaze to Thorsby and Fetchen. “You incompetent, lazy, stupid, miserable good-for-nothings have succeeded in queering my karma for the next six hundred cycles of existence."
“See here,” Thorsby said. “Who the devil are you?"
“You're talking to the Grand Wazir, boys,” Omar told them.
“Oh. Uhhhh..."
Fetchen picked that moment to sit up. He blinked his eyes and said, “I'm feeling much better.” His eyes focused on the Wazir. “Hello. What are you?"
The Wazir's dark bushy eyebrows lowered. “What am I? I'm the canker on your gum. I'm the boil on your bottom. I'm the worst nightmare you ever sweated through. That's what I am, you contemptible, scrofulous, illegitimate get of a diseased, flea-bitten camel."
Fetchen turned to his mate. “Who's this little wanker, then?"
“Yes,” Thorsby said indignantly. “Get along with you, tiny person, before you get hurt underfoot."
The Wazir howled and charged.
He was on them like a swarm of gnats. There seemed to be dozens of him, all kicking shins, biting fingers, goosing bottoms, and elbowing crotches. Thorsby and Fetchen ran from the chamber screaming, pursued by a miniature whirlwind of nastiness.
When they had gone, Gene and Linda burst into helpless laughter.
As they were recovering, Omar stood and stamped his cigar out. He yawned.
“Well, I'm off. Nice meeting you people."
“Same here, Omar,” Gene said. “Where exactly are you going?"
“Back into the woodwork. I'll be on unemployment for the next millennium, probably.” He sighed. “Ah, well. So long."
He walked down the steps and headed off into the gloom that lay between two columns.
They watched him fade into darkness.
Gene looked at Linda. “Feel kind of sorry for him."
“Me, too."
“Say, woman. You and me have some wedding plans to discuss."
“Yup. Church or secular?"
“Oh, church. We have that huge chapel upstairs."
“Great! I'd never figured you for a church-wedding type."
“Me?” Gene said. “Why, I'm as pious as they come."
“Oh, yeah."
Just then, Cleve Dalton came walking into the crypt.
“Cleve!"
“Halloo!"
After Dalton mounted the stairs he felt the need to sit, and the one intact divan was all there was to sit on, which he did, despite its being a filthy mess.
“Is it all clear upstairs?” Gene asked.
“All clear,” Dalton said. “It was over pretty quick. Everything just started to fade, and then it all went poof, like that. Nothing left but some pretty smoke.” Dalton sized up the place. “Looks like someone threw a hell of a party down here."
“Yup. By the way, Linda and I would like you to be the first to know that we're—"
“There you are, Dalton."
Lord Peter Thaxton came sprinting up the stairs. “Well, you look hale and hearty."
“No problem,” Dalton said. “Something tells me you found out about the safety-net spell."
“Firsthand. You must have had a ghastly time of it, though, not knowing."
“I dunno. It was one of those experiences that you are grateful for afterward and hope never to repeat."
“Indeed.” Thaxton turned to Gene and Linda. “And how about you two? What did you do during the brouhaha?"
“Oh, we—” Gene began.
Linda covered his mouth. “We hid out with Snowclaw."
They looked at each other.
"Snowclaw!" was their duet of dismay.
“Yo!” came a voice from the rear of the chamber. Snowclaw came forth, gnawing on a curious object. It looked like...
“Ohmygawd, a pink bunny leg,” Linda said, making a face. “I think I'm gonna be sick."
“Funny thing,” Snowclaw said, climbing the steps. “I can't even taste this. It's like fluff."
By the time he reached the top of the stairs all that remained was the yellow spat that had wrapped the foot. Snowclaw tossed it aside.
More people entered the hall: Deena, Barnaby, Du-Quesne, Sheila, Kwip, Osmirik, and lots more. Everyone wanted to see what had caused all the ruckus.
But there was more ruckus to come, because at that moment a strange bell-shaped silver craft materialized out of thin air and promptly crashed into the far wall.
“We keep doing this,” Jeremy mumbled as they pulled him from the wreckage.
Miraculously—and this is meant quite literally—all the occupants were only slightly injured. The craft had been outfitted with technological magic, and a protection spell had absorbed most of the shock. (Or was it a force field? No matter.)
“Come on, Dolbert,” Luster said. “We got to start fixing this blamed thing again."
Dolbert snickered. Then he yawned. He'd had a restful nap.
Melanie emerged with only bruised knees and a sprained arm.
“Nice little trip."
“By the way, where are your kids?” Deena asked.
“Safe with my babysitter, away from the castle. Which is where I'm heading, right now. Sometimes this place gets too much for me."
“Oh, you love it here,” Gene taunted.
“Yeah, I know. I must be crazy."
“Aren't we all?"
And as far as this narrator has been able to ascertain, they all live there still, quite happily, and will doubtless continue to do so ever after.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1992 by John DeChancie
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN 978-1-4976-2310-1
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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