The Warlock's Gambit (The Arthur Paladin Chronicles) (Volume 2)

by David Alastair Hayden

  Not even the desire for a proper bed had motivated them to venture out into the rest of the Manse. Today, however, would have to be different, even if all he wanted was to just sleep, eat, and sleep some more.

  Looking over his friends, Arthur realized that the numina and servitors had all healed remarkably fast. He could tell Morgan felt better, too. And thanks to his dream, Arthur was restless and ready to learn more. But like Lexi had said: they needed to eat breakfast.

  Shoes and weapons came first, and they’d left those in the Smoking Lounge. All of their gear was neatly organized in one of the comfy chairs. Arthur suspected Valet of doing that. He vaguely remembered dropping his things in a heap on the floor next to one of the couches. Even the alien books they had gotten off the bookshelves had been tidied away. Waiter was still sprawled out on the pool table. His awful wounds weren’t bleeding silver blood anymore, but they still looked bad. At first, Arthur had been afraid Waiter wouldn't make it, but he seemed to be getting better. None of them knew for sure what happened if one of the servitors died.

  Arthur grabbed his shoes and went over to check on him. “Doing better?”

  Waiter tried to shrug. Arthur had a hunch that Waiter was feeling depressed, or maybe frustrated. It was nearly impossible to read someone who didn’t have facial features.

  Arthur slipped on his shoes. “Anything I can do for you?”

  Waiter shook his head slightly.

  “Let Valet or Maid know if I can, okay?”

  Waiter nodded. Though the servitors couldn’t speak out loud, they could communicate with one another telepathically, if they were in the same room together.

  Arthur buckled on the belt which had his raygun holsters, and then looked to Cook, who was sunk deep into one of the armchairs in the back of the room. “You okay?”

  She straightened up and nodded curtly.

  The huge Dining Hall, with its thirty-person table set with fine china and delicate crystal, its chandeliers and tapestries, seemed a lot less imposing now that they'd seen the Grand Hallway in its full glory. Morgan immediately headed for the door to the bathrooms on the other side of the room. They were currently only using the girls’ bathroom. The boys’ bathroom still had shades in it and, since the dark-heart wasn't visible from the doorway, anything they killed would just regenerate till they destroyed the gem. But the shades couldn't get through the glowing triskelion guarding the doorway, so while getting rid of them shouldn't be all that difficult, it wasn't a priority.

  Cook limped in behind them and waved for them to wash up. The rotund servitor wore a fresh apron and hairnet, but the scars of their recent battle were still visible. The paring knives, spoons, spatulas, and rolling pin on her tool belt rattled and clanged with every awkward step on her injured leg. (Though, as they had discovered, her weapon of choice in a fight was an iron skillet.)

  “Cook!” Arthur was surprised to see her up and about. “You didn’t have to get up.”

  She made shooing motions towards the bathrooms.

  “It's okay. You don't need to fix us anything,” Arthur told her. “We can get food for ourselves. You should be resting.”

  But she shook her head demonstrably and disappeared into the Kitchen. She didn’t bother asking what they wanted. Poor Waiter wasn’t here to take their orders anyway.

  After he washed up, Arthur took his seat at the head of the table, and Morgan sat in the chair to his right. Lexi hopped up on the table, but jumped back down when Vassalus growled at her. As soon as he turned to look elsewhere, Lexi stuck her tongue out at him. Morgan rolled her eyes, and Arthur suppressed a laugh.

  “I guess we’re going to get whatever Cook feels like making for us,” Arthur said.

  “She knew I didn’t like jelly on my peanut butter sandwiches,” Morgan said, “so I trust her.”

  Taking Waiter’s place, Valet brought the food out to them: bowls of cereal (bran with raisins for Arthur and without raisins for Morgan), toast and strawberry jelly, orange juice, and strips of crispy bacon. They tucked in, and only as he ate did Arthur realize just how hungry he was.

  After finishing her steaming cup of English breakfast tea, Morgan glanced at her iPhone. That required a lot of twisting it one way and then another, since the screen was shattered. “It’s 10:30 AM now. We should get started. Where do you want to go first?”

  “You know,” Arthur said as he drained the last tea from his cup, “we never went up the stairs to the loft in the Great Room. Let’s start there.”

  * * *

  Morgan took two steps into the Grand Hallway before stopping short. Arthur nearly ran into her — again. This time he tripped over Vassalus and barely managed to catch himself on the doorframe. Vassalus gave him a disapproving look that reminded Arthur of an older, stuffier version of Morgan’s stare.

  Morgan stalked across the hallway and stopped with her hands on her hips in front of … a new servitor. “Who are you?”

  This servitor was definitely a girl, and a young one. She had wavy black hair and was wearing a black dress with a white apron over it and a frilly white cap. The dress was … well … really short, with a puffed out skirt and a fitted top. Like the others, she was featureless and seemed to be wrapped up in bandages. She had an assortment of feather dusters and two cleaning rags tucked into the copper bucket on the floor beside her.

  She was mopping the floor, but paused to curtsy to Arthur.

  “That would be Maid,” said Vassalus.

  “Where’d she come from?” Morgan asked.

  “Must’ve appeared in the hallway after the battle,” Lexi said. “I guess she’s been out here cleaning and we just didn’t know.”

  Arthur wondered who had decided to make Maid look like … this … because, except for the bandages and the lack of a face — which was kind of creepy no matter what — she was … well, she was wearing a French maid outfit.

  “Wow, her skirt's almost as short as yours, Morgan.”

  Morgan spun around and looked at him as if he were nuts. “My skirt is not that short!”

  “Um, yes — it is.”

  “Arthur, it's school regulation! And you know it!”

  The length of Morgan’s skirt was something all the boys in their class were aware of.

  “Morgan, school regulation is within three inches of the knee. You’re not even close. Honestly, I can't believe you haven't been busted for it.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t get busted — not since fourth grade. I make straight A’s and never cause trouble. Unlike you, I don’t bring attention to myself.”

  “Your parents don’t say anything about it? Wait!” Arthur jumped on the half-muttered admission with a grin. “What happened in fourth grade?”

  “Didn’t you hear me, moron? No negative attention. I mind my business and fly under the radar. You should try it sometime.”

  “Um …” Arthur's mind spun as he tried to figure out how she had turned the conversation around on him — and dodged his question. Weren't they supposed to be talking about her skirt?

  Before he could think of anything smart to say, Morgan rolled her eyes and marched off towards the Great Room.

  Arthur glanced at Lexi for help, but she just gave him the cat version of a shrug. And Vassalus refused to meet his eyes. So he trudged after her, assuming the skirt issue was over. He was wrong.

  Morgan paused before opening the door to the Great Room. “You don't like my skirt?”

  “Um … I do.” It came out halfway between a statement and a question.

  Morgan narrowed her eyes. “You do?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “You don't think it's weird?”

  “Well, yeah. But in a good way.”

  “Do you think my skirt is too short?”

  Arthur sighed. “Morgan, I think your outfit is awesome. Let’s leave it at that — okay?”

  She chewed at her lip a few moments. “Yeah, okay.”

  Arthur pushed open the door, and Morgan stepped through the foot-wide
, glowing triskelion that still guarded the room. Arthur smiled. This room was the only one in the Manse that he actually remembered. It reminded him of something out of a castle and felt comfortingly familiar. Tapestries draped the stone walls, and an enormous, multicolored rug covered the wood floor. Maid had a lot of work cut out for her in here. Dust coated the high-backed chairs, overstuffed couches, plump ottomans, and coffee tables spread throughout the room. Cobwebs hung in the corners and on the massive chandelier, giving it the look of a cloud of raindrops suspended in midair. Gaslights flickered on the walls, making everything warm and cheery despite the dust.

  Directly across from the entrance to the Grand Hallway was the only door that led out of the house: the Door To Many Worlds. Above that door was a red light and a green light. When the green one was lit, they could open the door and step out onto whatever world they had come to. When the red one was glowing, like now, going outside would mean stepping into empty space … or, as Lady Ylliara had called it, the Song Between the Verses. Either way, stepping out now while the light was red would get them killed.

  Fires roared in the giant fireplaces on each side of the Great Room. Over one mantel hung the enormous head of a strange, emerald-green insect creature with yellow eyes and fur-covered antlers. A shield hung over the other mantel. The sword Arthur had borrowed to fight the shades when they first got there was again hanging below the shield. He’d dropped it fighting the takaturio in the Training Room. Valet or Arms must’ve put it away. Which was fine; the sword couldn’t hurt the shades at all.

  Staircases, one to each side, led to a high loft above the door to the Grand Hallway. Arthur had noticed the loft when they had first entered the Manse, but there hadn’t been any reason to go up there then. Arthur and Lexi went up the staircase on the right side, while Morgan, with Vassalus taking point, methodically marched up the left side, scanning everything. The loft was deeper than he had expected. Little café-style tables that could seat two each stood near the edge of the loft, just far enough back that you couldn’t see them from down below. Fresh daisies puffed out of vases on the tables. Squat, leafy trees in giant clay pots dominated the spaces between the four doors along the back wall.

  “Fresh flowers?” Morgan said, with a hint of exasperation in her voice.

  Arthur shrugged. “Maybe they’re fake?”

  Lexi jumped up and sniffed one. For a moment, Arthur thought she was going to eat it. “No, this is a real flower.”

  “I suppose the Manse magically creates them,” said Vassalus.

  It didn’t matter to Arthur. He looked at the rooms. Each door had an identical gold plaque that simply read: GUEST SUITE.

  Shaking her head, Morgan groaned. “This place doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

  “It’s a small cottage outside and a mansion inside. What did you expect?”

  “I expected internal consistency. The arrangement of the Training Room and the Armory was already straining that, but I thought maybe I had missed something. But this — if there are rooms behind those doors, then the loft would jut out into the Grand Hallway. But we know it doesn’t, because it would be kind of obvious with those cathedral ceilings in there.”

  “Maybe the rooms are above the Grand Hallway’s ceiling …”

  She shook her head. “We’re not that high up. I counted the steps. So much for my theory about the inside of this house just being a pocket universe designed to fit a large house inside of a small one.”

  Arthur shrugged and stepped up to one of the guest suites. He grabbed the doorknob, but Morgan slammed her hand against the door, stopping him from opening it.

  “Wait.” She tapped her wrists together; the gems on her power gloves struck one another; her shimmering force field activated. She had to keep her forearms up and mostly together to maintain the energy shield. The more she separated her arms, the larger the force field became, but also the weaker. If she were to spread her arms too far apart, the shield would disappear. “Okay. I'm ready.”

  “Morgan, there aren't any triskelions on these doors. If there were shades behind them, they’d have attacked us already.”

  “Nothing else in here bothers to follow the rules of physics, or logic, why should the shades?”

  “Better safe than sorry, I guess.” Arthur pulled out his raygun and got a better grip on the door handle. “Here goes.” He swung open the door, and found himself face-to-face with … a blank stone wall. The back wall of the loft continued, uninterrupted, behind the guest suite door, like the door had been built right on top of the wall. “What’s the point of that?”

  She leaned over till her nose was only inches from the stone inside the doorway and poked it. Nothing happened. Her eyes narrowed, and then fuming, she stalked down the loft, opening each door. Arthur holstered his rayguns and stepped back to avoid Morgan.

  She ran her hands through her hair, pulled out one of the café chairs, and plopped down in a huff. “Why would the doors lead to blank walls? This makes no sense — none at all.”

  Arthur sat down across from her. “Sorry.”

  She glared at him a few moments, then said, “It’s not your fault. It’s not like you … wait a second …”

  “Hey! You can’t blame me just because you don’t understand how this all works!”

  “I’m not blaming you, moron. I just figured out the guest suites. Not the wonky physics, mind you. I still have no idea about that. Lady Ylliara said the Manse was tailored to your needs. And equipment is attuned to each individual and — oh! — the equipment lockers!”

  “What about them?”

  “We only have access to our equipment, and not even you can see inside the lockers or open them. But Arms showed you your mother’s equipment in a locker.”

  He nodded. “Because I was looking for it.”

  “No, because you needed to see it, Arthur. That’s the thing. The Manse only gives you or me what we need — nothing more.”

  “So you think the other lockers are just empty?”

  She nodded.

  “Then how come the Manse didn’t recreate my father’s sword for me?”

  “Well, it must be unique and not something that the Manse generates.”

  “So, if a guest arrived …”

  “The Manse … or maybe Lady Ylliara, if there’s a difference … would create a room for them. Just for them. A guest with a wheelchair would have a wheelchair accessible room, while a guest who loved flowers might have floral pictures on the wall and vases with flowers on the stands. It makes sense, because the Multiversal Paladin might have to host alien guests who have strange needs.”

  Arthur gestured at the stairs. “I don’t think it’s wheelchair accessible.”

  Morgan shrugged. “The Manse would probably convert one of the staircases to a wheelchair lift. There’s a basic structure here with the hallways and the Kitchen, all the common areas and things everyone would need. Beyond that, rooms only exist when needed.”

  “So you and I have must both have bedrooms here …”

  “Duh.”

  “I mean, of course the Multiversal Paladin has a bedroom. But I thought maybe the companions all slept in a barracks or something.”

  Morgan shivered. “Gross!”

  He shrugged. “Sorry, I’m a moron.”

  “Well, you should be sorry. Did you seriously not notice my room yesterday? The doors off the Grand Hallway all have labels.”

  “We were kind of busy fighting evil up and down the hallway.”

  “Yes, but I noticed.”

  “Yes, Morgan, but you’re …”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  He shrugged. “Well, you’re special.”

  “Thank you, Arthur.”

  Leave it to Morgan not to take that as an insult; which, of course, was fortunate for him.

  She stood. “Come on, doofus, I’ll show you.”

  4

  Multiversal OS

  He followed Morgan back down the stairs to the Great Room and
out into the Grand Hallway. She marched past the rooms they had already explored: the Armory and Training Room on one side and the Dining Hall and Smoking Lounge on the other. The next doors on each side of the hallway were both simply labeled COMPANION SUITE. Morgan was about to keep going, but Arthur stopped. He drew a raygun and reached for the handle to the suite door on the right.

  Morgan turned around. “It’s going to be just like the rooms in the loft. The Manse only creates what’s needed.”

  “Probably,” he said, “but not necessarily. You’re the one who said this place doesn’t make sense.”

  “Yes, but —”

  “Your pocket universe theory didn’t pan out, remember?”

  “Fine,” she huffed. “Have it your way.” She activated her shield. “But that means we have to check every door.”

  “It does not hurt to be cautious,” Vassalus said.

  Lexi bobbed her head. “And checking them all won’t take long.”

  The numina readied themselves as Arthur opened the door, and again faced a blank wall. It was just like with the guest suites: the wall continued on behind the door.

  “See?” she said, triumphantly.

  They opened all eleven Companion Suite doors, and found eleven blank sections of wall behind them. When they reached the last one, it was labeled MORGAN APPLE. How she had noticed the names on the doors while the hallway was dark and monsters were trying to kill them was beyond him.

  He had expected Morgan to say, “Told you.” But she didn’t gloat. Instead, she stood in front of the door, staring, with a blank expression on her face.

  “It’s a room designed just for you. Aren’t you excited?”

  Morgan shrugged. Clearly, something about having her own room bothered her, but he knew better than to ask what. He took a few steps farther down the hallway, and smiled. “Check it out, the next door leads to the PALADIN’S CHAMBERS. We’re right next door to one another!”