Ellen Under The Stairs

by John Stockmyer

  * * * * *

  Chapter 9

  John was disorientated. Not so much dizzy as disassociated from reality.

  But feeling better than the first time, nothing as bad as the first time.

  Platinia had apparently suffered little from the trip, her small, dark, enigmatic self standing to John's right.

  Ellen was catatonic. Would be that way for awhile since this was her first journey to Never-Never Land.

  He had the static electric generator in hand, the machine feather-light in Stil-de-grain's weak gravity, John not only less disorientated but better prepared. He had the right clothing and shoes, for instance, taking both his and Platinia's robes to the Laundromat earlier in the week.

  He had money -- what passed for money in the bands of this world: flat, slugs of silver and gold, no pictures or writing on them. Coins that were still in the pockets he'd had stitched into his robe before the last transfer, pockets not yet a part of Bandworld apparel.

  The ceiling soared over him, punctuated by the irregular spot of golden sky lancing through the section of collapsed roof to light a patch of sodden floor. Good! The time of day was what the natives called full light -- daytime -- light-magic the universal translator of tongues.

  Somber, stone-block walls circled the room, wedge shaped indentations in them through which arrow slits had been cut to the open air, crosses that allowed the castle's archers a vertical and horizontal field of fire.

  While the beginning of the passage to this "other reality" started in the narrow space beneath John's stairs -- and a cramped space it was, packed with three people and a Van de Graaff generator! -- this was the other end: an age-darkened, corner turret soaring above the walls of Hero Castle.

  John found himself shivering, his robe warm enough for the moderate climate of Stil-de-grain, but inadequate in the chill of this stony room.

  Letting Ellen recover at her own pace, John turned to Platinia. "Scout ahead. Carefully. I want to know if there are soldiers in the castle and from what Band. See if you can find out if Pfnaravin is still here and if he's planned any nasty surprises for my return." The girl nodded. "We also need something local for Ellen to wear. Robe. Shoes. Can you get those items?" She nodded again. "Come back as soon as you can."

  And she was off, padding over the slippery floor to disappear down the tunnel that was the room's sole access.

  Nothing to do but await Platinia's return. Belonging in this Band more than John ever would, the girl knew the crooks and byways of the castle.

  Opposite the chamber's arched exit was the stone table, benches flanking it; also the secret hiding place in the wall, cap stones disguising it. He'd found that secret vault on his last trip; knew where to look because of Platinia's knowledge of the cranny's existence. If no one else had stumbled on to it, the wall safe should contain the book of magic he'd found in there. At least Platinia thought it was a magic book, its writing so "spider fine" as to be undecipherable.

  To John's left was the spot where roof stones had crushed the Band's Mage, John picking up Melcor's Crystal, making John -- though he didn't know it at the time -- Stil-de-grain's new Crystal-Mage.

  Time to hide the Van de graaff.

  Striding to the far wall, feeling strong because freed from most of the pull of his own world, John pried back the stones that concealed the hiding palce, the blocks coming out smoothly, swinging to one side.

  With no time to take a second look at the book, John eased the generator into the hole, then swung the stone cover back in place. Above all, he must protect the static electric generator. It was his ticket home.

  On his last two trips, he'd traveled to the inner bands of Malachite and Azare. Had felt heavier, and heavier still, because going "inward" in this ringed world gave you more gravitational pull. He'd also been to the band called Realgar, just to the outside of Stil-de-grain, finding Realgar's gravity noticeably lighter. He'd not been to Cinnabar, Cinnabar the outer rim of this "other reality." From the rumors he'd heard about "The Cinnabar," John wondered if there was so little gravity there he'd float off the ground. Had no way of knowing, of course, few claiming to have gone to that mystic place.

  Still waiting for Platinia to return and for Ellen to come out of what could best be called a trans-world stupor, John had time to reflect on the frantic half-hour preceding the static electric leap to Bandworld.

  First, there was getting Platinia and himself dressed in the costumes of Stil-de-grain. Then the decision to be made about what to take with him.

  The first time he'd blundered to the "other side" he'd brought nothing from his own world except his clothes and pocket change -- both handicaps in a place that had never seen the like.

  On the second trip, he'd allowed himself a butane lighter. Just a lighter. And had found that, in a world of Magically cool fire, real fire was devastating.

  Not this time.

  After some thought, he'd made the decision to forgo advanced-world aids, the people of this backward place with no defense against "scientific magic."

  Anyway, the plan was to get in. Get Platinia settled. Expose Ellen to the curing influence of the "other reality's" light. And get Ellen out.

  There was a sound and the hint of shadow entering the room. Platinia. Her small face drifting in the darkness like a white balloon.

  As instructed, she had a robe for Ellen. Shoes.

  "See anyone?" John asked, keeping his voice down in the echoey tower.

  "Yes."

  "Who?"

  "Slaveys. Some slaveys."

  "The regular household staff?"

  Platinia nodded.

  "Did you talk to any of them?" A shake of her head. "Anyone on this level?"

  "No."

  "Soldiers? Guards?"

  Another head shake.

  John breathed easier. He'd hoped this would be the case, that Pfnaravin had gone back to his home band of Malachite.

  There was another sound in the room. Ellen. Drawing a deep breath. She was "coming out of it."

  "Ellen," John said gently, stepping to her side, taking her hand.

  No response, blue eyes showing fear, pupil's wide, her other hand over her mouth to contain her terror.

  Not wanting to frighten her further, John put his arm around her. "It's all right, Ellen. I'm here. So is Platinia.

  John knew the effect of trans-world travel. The dumbfounded disbelief that such a thing had happened. The shock of finding yourself in an alien environment. Even if you thought it was possible to enter another world, even if you'd been told it would happen, you couldn't get your mind around the reality of the experience.

  Looking up, John saw that Platinia had retreated to the shadows, the girl of little help.

  "I ...." Ellen was coming out of shock at last. "I'm ... here?"

  "Yes"

  "Where?"

  John had briefed her, of course. Besides the physical manifestations, she was suffering the psychological and mental effects of the trip. "You're at the other end of the "pipeline." You're here with me, high up in one of the corner turrets of what the locals call Hero Castle. In the Band of Stil-de-grain."

  All nonsense information to a person as stunned as Ellen.

  "I feel ..." She let that thought dangle in the mental confusion of her mind.

  "Disoriented?"

  She nodded, her gold hair sheened by reflections from the shaft of yellow light pooling the floor to her left.

  Ellen was dressed in the same clothing she'd been wearing when she'd come to consult John. Not bad, actually. Rather "robe" looking. When she'd recovered a little more, he'd have Platinia take her into a room off the hall to get her dressed in the genuine Stil-de-grain robe Platinia brought.

  "I feel ... airy." Ellen floated her arms over her head, like a dancer in a classical ballet.

  "Do you remember me telling you that's the way you'd feel? Because of lighter gravity, you are lighter. Also stronger than you'd be at home. At least for awhile. You get used to gravitational chang
es in time. That's all it takes. Time.

  "Other than weightless, how do you feel?" She just shook her head.

  At least Ellen had understood this question, floating a light-weight hand to her forehead. "I ... can't tell. I think I feel ... better ....

  Better, but not well, John thought. If the doctors of his own world couldn't cure her, John had to hope that the healing magic in this world's light -- over time -- would eliminate what was causing her fever.

  Meanwhile, John would see that Platinia was settled in before John and a healthy Ellen returned to their own world.

  With Ellen well again, Paul would also recover.

  Leaving the final question: whether John's plan to restore Ellen's health was motivated by altruism or by the desire to win Ellen's gratitude and affection. A question John refused even to consider -- much less try to answer.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 10

  Feeling better that the castle didn't seem to be under the control of Pfnaravin, it was time to move on. "Platinia, will you take Ellen to one of the side rooms," -- he motioned to the corridor -- "and help her into the robe you brought?"

  The girl nodded, John suppressing a smile about the difficulty he'd had explaining to little Platinia how to put on his world's clothing.

  By this time adjusted to his transfer through the "static electric tunnel," John turned to Ellen, Ellen doing better in light gravity but still looking ... feverish ... her hair damp with sweat. He hadn't known how fast she'd get well in the magic light of Bandworld, but had hoped to see immediate improvement.

  "How do you feel?"

  "In general?"

  "No. How's your fever?"

  Ellen paused to think. "With all the other feelings of ... strangeness ... it's hard to sort them out." Again that introspective look, "A little better, maybe."

  "Since people here never get sick, I have no idea how long it will take to get you well. I do seem to remember people saying their throat got dry in the night. That they would cough. But at up-light, these symptoms went away."

  "I'm ready for my symptoms to go away," Ellen said, her smile just ... off.

  "First things first. We need to have you look more like a native. Platinia has brought something for you to wear. Can you walk?"

  A nod.

  "Follow Platinia, then. Be careful, the floor is slippery. It rains here every night. Fog at down-light, light rain at night, more fog in the early morning. Night time drizzle comes through the hole in the roof," he pointed, "making the floor slippery. Promotes the growth of moss and mold. This room doesn't seem to be in general use, so is never cleaned."

  Another nod, Ellen turning to face Platinia, Platinia leading Ellen into the mouth of the twisting corridor, John waiting, Platinia finally back to say they were ready.

  John knowing this part of the castle, he took the lead, at the first opportunity removing one of the hall's wide-spaced torches, using that torch to light the women's way through dark patches, taking them down, and ever down, headed for the first floor.

  Sooner or later, he'd hook up with a slavey (slaveys "belonging" to the castle) and order up some food. In spite of that hard to remember rule about "feeding either a fever or a cold," it had to be a good strategy to keep up your strength.

  Down and twisting down, through irregular shaped corridors, all stone, most dripping with condensed moisture.

  At last reaching first, crossing one of the many rooms that John thought of as entrance ways, they were headed for the banquet area with its board trestle table when John put up his hand for quiet.

  A noise. The sound of several people, laughter, John unable to get the women behind one of the hanging tapestries or back of a thick column before soldiers strolled into the food area, coming to a surprised stop when seeing John's party.

  Stil-de-grain soldiers -- white tunics with gold piping -- one of them an officer, a gold sash angled across his torso.

  "Who ...?" said the officer, either a First or a Second, John never able to sort out Stil-de-grain rank.

  Peering through the high-window gloom, the officer ... grinned. Turned to his men. "It's him. Just like she predicted!" a cheer going up from the little band, smiles on their faces, the soldiers approaching to stand at attention.

  "Welcome great Mage," the leader said, saluting with one arm slanted up across his chest. "We have longed for your arrival. Have done our best without your leadership, but now will follow your every command!"

  Excellent! Someone who recognized John, John receiving fawning treatment from anyone realizing he was a Crystal-Mage. Time to run the bluff.

  "And you are?"

  "I am Pom, Head Second." Again, the salute.

  "Thank you for your welcome. First, we are in need of something to eat. Can you arrange that?"

  The Head Second snapping his fingers, a soldier with a narrower chest band pulled a cord against one wall -- the way to summon slaveys, John remembered, an old woman appearing silently, head bowed.

  "Will you bring some food and drink?" John asked, his wish a command. "We're not particular about what. Speed, would be nice, however."

  And she was scurrying off at a frightened pace.

  Crystal-Mages. Men to be feared by high and low alike.

  "Anything else, sir?"

  "Yes. I've been gone awhile."

  "Yes, sir. But have now returned at a most fortunate time."

  "First, you seemed to know of my coming?"

  "Yes sir. It was the old woman who told me."

  "Old woman?"

  "The Weird of the castle, sir."

  "Zwicia?"

  "I believe that is correct, sir. Though a Malachite," a disgusted twist of the mouth, "at times, useful."

  "She's here ... in the castle?"

  "Yes sir. Never leaves her room." He pointed down, as if stabbing into the bowels of the building.

  "Are you saying she had a Crystal-prediction that I was to return?"

  "I ... don't know. I stay away from those kind of magic people -- pardon me," he finished blushing. "No offense intended."

  "None taken."

  Zwicia in the castle. Crystal gazing. Able to predict John's return.

  This was a sensitive topic. "The last time I was here," -- John didn't want to emphasize that he'd been run out by Pfnaravin -- "there was another Mage and, if I recall, some of his soldiers."

  A wide grin. "Yes, sir."

  "Tell me what happened?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "By the way, you and your men can relax. No need to stand at attention."

  "Thank you, sir." Deep sighs from the soldiers. They were not going to be roasted alive where they stood, apparently. (Not a stupid worry, given the tricky and violent nature of Crystal Mages.)

  Holding up his hand to delay the soldier's story, John motioned for Platinia to take Ellen to the table; to get her seated so she could rest, Platinia understanding, leading Ellen, the soldiers making a path for her to get to the table by the shortest way.

  The women seated, John nodded to the Head Second.

  "A slavey came to me in the night. Said the old women -- a Weird -- wanted to see me.

  "I followed her to this ... room. And there she was. Old. Wild looking, if that is not to give offense. In purple. Before her on a table was a round piece of stone. A foot across. She was ... petting it. It took a long time for her to even know I was in the room, the old lady muttering to herself. But then she looked up. Said that the Mage, John-Lyon, would soon come back. That I was to make the castle safe for his -- your -- return."

  "Go on."

  "I knew what she meant, being here when the other Mage -- of Malachite -- had ...." The man stuttered to a stop. He didn't want to recall the time Pfnaravin had John in an iron cage, either.

  "That was then. This is now," John said, using what cops in the other world would call his "good cop" voice.

  The soldier grinned. He had not offended a man of power.

  "Well, as you know -- Mages knowing all things
-- the other Mage had not that many Malachites here in the castle. Many more Stil-de-grain soldiers, only following his orders because they must. So, by surprise, in the night, we captured the Malachites."

  Of course in the night, magic unavailable after dark, taking away a lot of Pfnaravin's power.

  "Unfortunately, we were unable to capture the other Mage." Not that they worked that hard at it, would be John's guess, Mages frightening everyone.

  "We chained the Malachite soldiers in the dungeon. The castle is entirely yours, great Mage!"

  "You have done well. All of you," John said, including the Head Second's men -- high praise coming from the Crystal Mage of Stil-de-grain!

  Crystal Mage -- without the Crystal that gave him both authority and power. Fortunately, there were few occasions when a Mage had to display his Crystal, allowing John to pretend to be wearing the Gem.

  The conversation at a lull, slaveys hurried in, pots of food in their hands, the women of the castle not wanting to offend by interrupting important "doings."

  The food brought to the table, dished out on wood trenchers, Platinia and Ellen began to eat.

  Good.

  "I want to see these Malachite soldiers," John said, needing to be sure they couldn't get loose. He'd done some time in one of this world's dungeons, "strong man" John finding a way to escape.

  The women taken care of for the moment, it was down and down again, round and round through the amazing twists of Hero Castle, John allowing himself to be led, at the same time on guard against a possible trap. He had no weapons. Didn't know how to ask for them. Wouldn't know how to use sword and shield if he did. His only protection was his surprising strength -- surprising to the natives -- a strength advantage he could use for fight or flight.

  Down.

  Down and around, until well below ground, the soldiers halted at a heavy, iron braced door, a guard there at a small, torch-lit table.

  Rising, bowing at the introduction of the Mage, the sentry produced a massive key with which he unlocked the door.

  Sliding back a metal bar, the man groaned in the door.