The Catswold Portal

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  Olive said, “If it should prove very old…” She didn’t finish, but looked at Braden intently, her glasses catching the light. She was trying to say something she didn’t know how to say. Above them the orange cat had risen and was coming down the garden toward the veranda.

  She said, “The door makes me feel sometimes that it has more to it than…I don’t know.” She looked embarrassed. “Even if it should prove valuable, I would not like to move it from the garden.” Some nebulous idea had taken hold of her. Olive got these hunches, went off on tangents. Braden really didn’t want to hear it.

  She watched him quietly. “You don’t like the idea of it being an antique?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You know my research is solid.”

  He nodded, trying to shake off the strangeness he felt. For all her quirks, Olive was a competent researcher; she didn’t go off on wild chases in that respect, didn’t use spurious sources. She was just so damned intense. Well, hell, maybe the door was ancient. He knew she had done weeks of careful work before she sent the splinters off to be analyzed. The orange cat came onto the veranda and lay down at Olive’s feet, looking up at her expectantly. She cut a bite of cake and gave it to him.

  Braden watched Olive, both amused and annoyed because he really didn’t want to think about the damned door. But hell, she just wanted to talk. He said, “I know the test is supposed to be accurate, but did they say anything about possible misreading, a false result through some—oh, chemical change in the door itself, something unnatural?”

  “Unnatural?” Olive said, her interest rising.

  “Like garden chemicals,” he said quickly, “something sprayed or spilled on it.”

  “Oh no, I didn’t ask about that. Perhaps I should. Yes,” she said, “I guess I’d better write and find out.”

  After she left, he wondered why he’d said that. He wondered why he felt so strongly that the door ought to be left alone.

  Chapter 13

  Melissa slipped quickly into the king’s chamber. With any luck he would stay in the orchard for a while, waiting for her. The pastries would get cold, the ale would get warm, and he would be furious, but she would worry about that later. Maybe she would have found the mirror and escaped to the cellars before he left the orchard.

  The king’s chamber was dark, the purple draperies were drawn closed. The shadows were dominated by a huge canopied bed, its thick black bedposts were carved with four Hell Beasts: basilisk, hydras, lamia, and manticore. She had a quick, unwanted vision of making love with the king, observed by those beasts.

  She tried to open the wardrobe but could not. She tried one spell then another, and had begun to think she would fail when, on the eighth spell, the door snapped open wide. Velvet and cashmere coats burgeoned out. Kneeling, she reached behind the rich garments and behind the soft leather boots, feeling for a hidden door.

  But the wardrobe wall was smooth. She felt its floor. He must have twenty pairs of boots. She moved each pair, felt under it then put it back. She whispered all the opening spells she knew, but no part of the wardrobe stirred. She was standing on tiptoe, feeling beneath the upper shelf, when behind her the chamber door creaked open.

  The king did not seem surprised to see her there. He shut and bolted the door, and with a flick of his hand he made the mantel lamp burn. “My dear, this is a much better place for a tryst. How clever of you.” He took her hands and drew her close; she held herself very still.

  He kissed her lightly. “I will do nothing you do not wish, my Melissa. But I can see in your eyes that you do wish it.” He stroked her cheek. “Have you ever made love, sweet Melissa?”

  She felt as nervous and spell-cast as a trapped beast. Her mind spun and fought, and still she stood frozen. He watched her knowingly, but then he released her and moved away.

  He poured wine from the decanter on the mantel and handed her a goblet. “You did not come to join me in bed, sweet Melissa. What were you looking for?” Looking into his eyes was like swimming in black seas. As his look changed from heat to suspicion, she wanted to bolt out the door.

  He said, “It takes a lot of nerve to search the chambers of royalty.” He drew his hand down her cheek, letting it rest on her shoulder. “You are of value to the queen, Melissa. Surely you know that. Just as you are of value to me.” He stroked the back of her neck. His touch was uncomfortably soft; she flinched with an almost animal repugnance.

  “Why…” She choked. “Why should I be of value to the queen?”

  He drew her close again, stirring her desire despite her repugnance. “How old are you, Melissa?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “And where do you come from?”

  “From Appian.”

  He smiled. “You do not need to tell me the lies you tell the queen. And, of course, she does not believe you. Melissa—do you remember your mother?”

  “Of course I remember her. Why would you ask about my mother?”

  “Perhaps we can make a bargain.” He began to unbutton her dress.

  She moved away. “You—could have any girl in the kingdom.”

  “Why should I have any girl, when I can have the loveliest? Melissa…” He drew her close and kissed her throat.

  “If you breed me a healthy heir, Melissa, by the laws of the Netherworld you will be the new queen of Affandar.” Again he smiled, his look too intent. “If you were queen of Affandar, Melissa, what would you do?”

  Excitement gripped her suddenly with the heady challenge. If she were queen of Affandar, she could free the peasants. She could free other nations, and dethrone Siddonie’s puppet kings. She stared at him, mute.

  He said, “Do you know that Siddonie fears you?”

  She laughed.

  “Do you call me a liar?”

  “No.”

  He moved to the mantel to refill his glass, then turned, watching her. “Siddonie and I are locked in battle for Affandar. All the kingdom knows that. Siddonie would destroy me if she could. She wants no one to share her rule.

  “You, Melissa—she sees in you the power to help her enslave Affandar and enslave the Netherworld.”

  “I don’t understand. She mistakes me for something I am not.”

  “No, she sees truly. She would use you to enslave Affandar. But, Melissa, together you and I could defeat her.”

  She watched him intently, convinced that he wasn’t lying and that this man could tell her all the secrets that had been locked away from her.

  “Tell me, Melissa…Tell me what you remember of your childhood.”

  “The usual things. Working in the garden, caring for the sheep, collecting honey, learning to ride the pony—”

  “Stop it. What do you really remember?” He held her shoulders hard, searching her face. “What do you remember? If you really remember nothing, why were you searching for the Harpy’s mirror?”

  “What is the Harpy’s mirror?” she said dumbly.

  He shook his head. “I can see it in your eyes. You do not lie very well. You have been to the Harpy in the cellars. She begged you to steal her mirror. What,” Efil said softly, “would you trade for the Harpy’s mirror, my Melissa?” He began again to caress her; he was so changeable, emotions danced and flickered across his face. She felt there was no real core to him, no one person. He stroked her throat, kissed her neck, until she pulled away. He turned from her, folding back the velvet bed cover, revealing dark satin sheets. He said, “Afterward, I will give you the Harpy’s mirror.”

  “Give me the mirror first.”

  He only looked at her.

  She looked back steadily. He might be selfish and quickly enraged, but underneath she sensed that he was weak. She said, “The mirror first.”

  “Your promise to come to my bed?”

  “My promise.”

  He opened the wardrobe and pulled aside jackets and breeches, whispering a sharp, short spell—one she had never heard before. A panel slid away revealing a small cupboard. He took from
within a mirror no bigger than her hand. It was oval, its platinum frame jeweled with opals and topaz and moonstones flashing in the lamplight. He placed it in her hands; it was surprisingly heavy. But it gave back no reflection. She could not see her face, or Efil’s. Across its clear surface ran one fleeting shadow deep within, then its surface burned clear.

  He said, “Did the Harpy promise to give you visions for this?”

  “She—she did.”

  “You have the mirror. Now come to bed.”

  “Wait,” she whispered.

  His rage flared; he took her shoulders. “You will not take the mirror from this chamber until you have paid for it.”

  “That was my promise. But I cannot promise you a healthy child until the woman-spells are complete.” She held the mirror tightly. “If you force me to bed too soon, there will be little chance of a healthy child.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes, and then uncertainty. “You can’t think…”

  A noise from the solar stopped him. He froze, listening to movement in the next room. She panicked, not knowing where to run. He pushed her toward the draperies and behind them. “She’s in the solar. Stay hidden.” He straightened the heavy draperies, hiding her. She stood in darkness that smelled of dust from the thick velvet, her heart pounding, clutching the Harpy’s mirror. She heard the chamber door open and close, then silence, and knew he had gone out to distract Siddonie. For the first time she was thankful for Siddonie’s presence.

  Chapter 14

  From behind the draperies Melissa listened to the queen’s muffled voice in the next chamber, heard the king reply to some question, then the queen snapped irritably at him. Slipping the mirror inside her bodice Melissa moved out from the draperies. Pressing against the door, she listened.

  “…be a fool,” Siddonie was saying, “of course she is. You had a colossal nerve to approach her. And in public. Everyone saw you. Briccha has orders to confine her to the scullery. I have instructed the guards not to let her out of the palace. If you—”

  “And I suppose you will put her in the dungeons,” he interrupted.

  “And what of it?”

  “You’ll never train her if you lock her up. She will be no use to you.”

  “And she will be no use to you,” Siddonie said coldly.

  “Don’t you understand that she would bring them all here, that they would destroy Affandar!” Another pause, then the queen’s voice came closer. Melissa fled to the draperies. Behind them, she opened the glass door and slipped out onto the balcony. She had a leg over the rail, searching for a foothold in the vines, when she saw three guards below and drew back.

  She stood against the wall listening to their idle conversation. She heard an inner door open, but when after a very long time she heard nothing more from the chamber, she slipped inside.

  Efil’s room was empty. She crossed to the door and listened, then drew it open, faint with fear.

  The solar was empty. She hurried across the pale carpet between the satin chairs and cracked open the outer door. When she saw no one in the hall, she fled to the back stairs and down. She was halfway down the first flight when she saw a guard below, walking the corridor. She drew back into the shadows. When he moved away, she slipped down past him, silent and quick.

  She reached the storeroom at last, her heart thundering. She slipped behind a row of shelves as two girls went out carrying a big bag of flour between them. When they had passed she fled for the cellar door. She didn’t breathe until she was through and closing the door behind her.

  She brought no light; she felt her way down through the blackness. She hadn’t reached the bottom when she heard a man shout above, and a door slam. She raced down into the stench of the Hell Beasts and fled past them. When she reached the Harpy’s cage she was shaking. Now she brought a light, so glad to see the white womanbird she almost hugged her. She slipped the mirror from her bodice and the Harpy cried out, flapping her wings and reaching for it. Melissa held it away from her. “First show me the spell to free the prisoners. Then show me the five visions you promised, then you will have your mirror.”

  “Don’t be silly. I cannot make visions until I have my mirror.”

  “You can make visions at great distances. You made visions in the queen’s chambers. I will hold the mirror.”

  “One vision.”

  “Five visions. First, the spell.”

  The Harpy sat down against the wall and turned her face away. But in Melissa’s hands the mirror clouded, then reflected a stone wall.

  The queen stood beside the wall in miniature that quickly enlarged until she seemed to stand beside Melissa. She was pressing her hands against the stone, speaking a spell of opening. Melissa had never heard these cadences. She memorized them at one hearing, but she made the Harpy show her again, to be sure. As the second vision faded she fled for the wall.

  “Wait! My mirror! You can’t…”

  Pressing her hands against the stone, she cried out the spell. The stone under her hands vanished, and a ragged opening yawned. The stink of the cells made her gag. She stepped through, increasing her spell-light.

  Inside the cages were crowded with men, ten and twelve to a cage, all watching her. They were thin, nearly naked, their beards straggling over bony chests. What clothes remained were shreds held together by matted filth. She saw hope in some eyes, fear and distrust in others. She repeated the spell and swung open the barred doors.

  The prisoners surged out. As some brought spell-lights, she could see in their faces their despair etched deep. Three were not as thin as the others, and their beards were only stubble. She took the hands of stoop-shouldered Halek, and of thin little Methmen.

  Methmen hugged her. He smelled terrible; they all did. She led them through the hole in the wall, then closed the barred doors and sealed the wall.

  Halek said, “Did Mag send you?”

  “She doesn’t know I’m here. There is food above, on the next level.”

  Halek sent six men up the dark stairs. They returned with hams, a barrel of crackers, a bag of apples, canned fruit, and ale. Halek said, “Drink the juice of the fruit. Wash yourselves with the ale. We’re too weak for spirits; we’d be drunk and couldn’t fight.” They wolfed the crackers and ham, slashing the meat into chunks with Melissa’s knife. She watched them straighten the metal barrel rings into blunt weapons, and she helped them rip the apple bag apart and bind the barrel staves together as cudgels. They ate the fruit and broke the jars into weapons, tying the broken glass onto the ends of the cudgels. Then Halek took her hand. “Come, there must be passages deep within the cellars.”

  She drew back, pulling her hand away. “I can’t come. There’s something I must do. I will try to follow.”

  The men stared at her, then turned away. Halek, distressed, reached to touch her face. “You are certain?”

  “Yes, certain.” She watched them move away and begin to search along the walls for a hidden door, then she returned to the Harpy.

  The womanbird said, “One vision, then I want my mirror.”

  “You promised five visions.”

  The Harpy combed her breast feathers with long fingers, looking sideways at Melissa, but at last she looked inward again, her gaze remote, and began to whisper in a soft, whistling bird language. The mirror’s bright surface turned dark, then showed vast space unlike the Netherworld that faded into a dark forest with huge trees, not Netherworld trees. Images followed, quick and startling: a garden with flowers too bright to be real. A man, lean, bronze skinned, unlike a Netherworld man. Then a more familiar scene of the dark green Netherworld night. Flames reflected against the granite sky from torches set into a castle wall: not this castle but a dark, hulking structure. The vision was so real she felt that she stood beside the wall looking into the dark forest where armed shadows gathered, slipping toward her.

  Chapter 15

  The torchlight guttered and hissed, sending shadows running down the castle walls as a band of armed rebels moved ou
t of the woods carrying ladders. They tilted them against the thick stone walls, but as they climbed suddenly mounted soldiers swept out of the castle gates. They picked men off with quick arrows, toppled the ladders and skewered men with their blades.

  The king’s soldiers were making quick work of the small band, when from the forest boiled a mass of dark, small beasts running. Cats! They were cats. Hundreds of cats stormed the attacking soldiers and leapt onto the backs of their horses, raking claws into soldiers’ faces then leaping up the wall, swarming over. Cats dropped into the palace courtyard and onto the backs of mounted soldiers. And suddenly the cats changed to human warriors whose eyes reflected light.

  Melissa stared into the mirror as, within the courtyard, a king tried to rally his troops against the attacking cat-folk. He was a broad, dark-haired man, and there was something familiar about him. She watched him kneel beside two fallen soldiers, touching their bloody wounds. She saw him pull a third man from battle, a young man so like the king, he must surely be the king’s son. She watched the two of them snatch a child from the fighting, a little girl wielding a bloody lance though she could not have been more than nine. The king shoved her at the wounded prince, and pushed them toward a door. “Save yourself—save your sister.” Melissa saw a woman join them, heard her whisper, “Ithilel.” The prince grabbed her arm and dragged her with them as, behind them, the king turned to fight off their attackers. Then the king fell, with a sword in his chest. She saw the small daughter break free from her brother and run back to the king and try to lift him. She watched the three lift him and carry him through the battle, escaping down a dark passage.

  In a cellar chamber son and daughter laid the dying king on the stone floor and knelt over him. The young woman moved apart from them, watching from the shadows. She had many-colored hair, all shades of gold. Beside the king, young Ithilel wept but the little girl’s eyes held no tears, her dark eyes blazed. The dying king half rose, touching her face; then he stared toward the woman in the shadows. “How did the Catswold know my plan?”