— Linda
—
Origin: The Castle BBS
Melanie was puzzled. All this time she had assumed that Linda was posting from a BBS far away in another city. It took days, sometimes weeks for a message on the CyberNet to negotiate the maze of interconnecting phone lines and reach its intended recipient, and the same length of time for an answer to get back. The Net was not a direct-communication system. That would cost a lot of money, and the Net was a nonprofit system. A bulletin board didn’t work like that. It was slow; however, it was cheap.
But Linda was answering a message that Melanie had just posted minutes ago. That was impossible, if Melanie understood the way the Net operated. The only way it could happen was if Linda were sitting at the terminal of the university’s BBS computer over in the Student Union, just a block away.
But the message’s Origin line had read “The Castle BBS,” not the “Eagle’s Eyrie,” the name of the university system. Melanie had never noticed a location tag for The Castle, but it had to be outside the university.
At the SELECT: prompt she hit R for “Reply” and TO: LINDA BARCLAY came up automatically. For “Subject” she hit the RETURNkey and the computer reproduced Linda’s subject line: WORRIED. She began typing the body of the message.
I was surprised to get your message. Are you somehow patched through the Eagle’s Eyrie? How did you get my message so quickly? Anyway, I’m sorry about that last post. Was feeling pretty rocky. But I’m okay n
Suddenly the keyboard froze. She vainly jabbed random keys and hit RETURN,but nothing happened. Then:
CHAT:start
Hi, Melanie! Thought I’d break in and talk on-line. Your message did worry me. How are you really feeling?
On the screen, the cursor had moved to a blank line. Melanie was puzzled. She typed:
Linda? Is that you?
Yeah, it’s me. Want to tell me what’s going on inside your head?
How are you doing this? Are you on the university system?
No, but I’m using a modem you wouldn’t believe. It can do almost anything. I’m on a direct line to your computer.
Wow, that really neat. I can’t understand it, but its great. Anyway, your right, I’m pretty down. But Ill be alright.
Excuse me if I don’t believe that. You’re really sound depressed. You’re not thinking of doing something silly, are you?
Melanie thought about. She was indeed thinking of doing something. But what she typed was:
No, I”ll be alreight. Excuse my typing
You’re putting up a good front, but aren’t you having suicidal thoughts?
Melanie sighed. No use to hide it.
Okay your right. How did you know?
How? Because I’ve been there myself. But I sense something else wrong, something major. Care to tell me?
Well, there is something. Jeez, I don’t know.
Are you pregnant?
Melanie was amazed.
Linda, do you have a cristal ball? Yeah, you guessed it. I’m preggy.
That’s “crystal.” I don’t need one to know who the daddy is, do I? The dork.
Chads not a dork. He’s immature and needs someone to tell him what to do and be a mother to him. I wasnt ready to do that.
Sorry. Have you told him?
No. Why complicate his life? It was my fault anyway.
It takes two to tango, kid. Well, have you thought about what you’re going to do about it?
If your talking about abortion, I think ive pretty much ruled that out.
So, you either keep the baby or give it up.
I havent even begun to think aobut that. I guess Ill have to drop out of school.
Not necessarily, but you might want to do that just to get yourself together.
Yeah, Im so behind. I haven’t done a thing all term. I might flunk out.
Ever thought about getting away for a while, away from everything, just to clear your head?
I’d love to be somewhere else, anywhere else. The Virgin Islands maybe. Hah! Great place for a woman in my condition. Sun, sand. Blue water. I’d love it.
Well, I can’t give you the Virgin Islands exactly. But you’re welcome to come stay with us at the castle.
What’s the castle?
It’s just what it sounds like. I live with a lot of people in a huge castle. It’s fun. We’d love to have you.
Where is it?
Very near to you. In fact, you wouldn’t believe how close it is. Want to hop over for a visit?
Sounds inviting. Maybe I’ll take you up on it someday.
Why not now? We can come pick you up.
Melanie thought it over. What the heck. What else was she doing that was so important?
Tonite? Well … OK. Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble. Want me to wait outside the dorm? Im in Haberman Hall. Are you going to send a car? Hey. You guys aren’t terrorists or anything, are you?
Yeah, we hijack castles. We have a fix on you right now. You don’t have to do anything. Just a sec.
The cursor blinked at her silently. She sat and waited for half a minute, then keyed:
Linda, are you still there?
Yep. Melanie, go to your closet and open the door.
Melanie frowned.
Huh?
Just go look in your closet. You’ll be surprised.
Well, if you say so. This is really
Melanie didn’t know what to say. She got up and went to the closet of the small dorm room and put her hand on the doorknob. Was this some practical joke, some jape designed to make her feel foolish? If so, it wasn’t very funny, and it didn’t seem like a thing Linda would do. But what else could it be?
She turned the knob and opened the door.
The closet was full of her roommate’s junk, just as before. No change.
So it was a joke after all. Melanie didn’t understand.
Then she saw light coming from the rear of the closet and suddenly noticed that it looked as if the back wall had been torn out. Light was coming through from what she presumed was the room next door.
“Melanie?”
It was a woman’s voice, and one she didn’t recognize.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Linda. Can we clear some of this junk out of the way?”
Melanie shoved aside her roommate’s four winter coats — one of which was fox fur and very expensive — and revealed a smiling face.
“Hi! Melanie? I’m Linda.”
Linda was pretty and blond and had large blue eyes. Her teeth were very white and even.
“Hi,” Melanie said. “You were right next door all the time?”
“Not exactly. Is all this stuff yours?”
“No. My roommate ran off to Peru with a guy, an archeologist. She left all her stuff.”
“So you have the place to yourself, eh? Great. Want to come through?”
“Uh … okay.”
Melanie shoved the tangle of clothes to one side and made an opening for herself, which she slipped through, ducking under the low shelf. She stumbled on a guitar case, and Linda helped her out the other side.
What was on the other side was not another dorm room. It was an immense chamber with a vaulted ceiling, filled with strange and wondrous things. The place looked like something out of a Frankenstein movie. Melanie’s gaze was torn between the huge machines resembling electrical transformers along the far wall and an arrangement of even stranger components in the middle of the floor.
“That’s the computer I’ve been working with,” Linda said, pointing to the latter grouping. “It’s a mainframe.”
“A mainframe?”
“Yeah, but it’s different from your average computer. Works by magic.”
“Magic?”
“Yeah. Come over and meet Jeremy. He’s our computer whiz.”
Linda led Melanie across the floor and around a U-shaped wall of instruments. Seated at a terminal in the middle was a thin young man in blue tights and a red tunic — h
e looked no more than sixteen years old.
Jeremy looked over his shoulder. “You want to hold the portal, or can we let it float?”
Linda turned to Melanie. “Are you going to stay with us for a while? We can call the portal back any time.”
“Uh, sure. Yeah, I’ll stay.”
“Break the spell, Jeremy.”
“Sure thing.”
Jeremy jabbed at the keypad, looked at the screen, then sat back and swiveled around. “It’s broken.”
Melanie looked back at the wall. The opening was gone, replaced by dark stone. She turned back to Linda, who, she now noticed, was dressed in black tights, pointed shoes, and an orange and white striped doublet. She looked like she was dressed to play Hamlet.
“Linda, where are we?”
Linda smiled brightly. “Welcome to Castle Perilous.”
Chapter Two
Castle — Queen’s Dining Hall
The discussion had somehow gotten sidetracked onto music, having started out on the question of whether new inductees would benefit by a proposed formal orientation session. The upshot was “No,” and that had been the end of the matter.
“Myself, I like classical,” said the man everyone called Monsieur DuQuesne as he picked at a plate of clams in Mornay sauce. He was small and round-faced and wore old-fashioned round glasses. He was always dressed for the opera: white tie and tails. He was sociable, but no one knew much about him because he rarely spoke of himself.
“So do I,” Deena Williams said.
DuQuesne was mildly surprised. “You do?”
“Yeah. What’s the matter? Don’t you think my kind can like that stuff?”
“It’s not that. You’ve never said anything before.”
“Well, I do. Oh, I like the kind you can dance to, all right, but I think classical’s good too.”
“Who’s your favorite composer?”
“I listen to it, but I don’t know much about it. I kind of liked that thing you were playin’ when I came to get you for lunch.”
“That was the Peer Gynt Suite, by Edvard Grieg.”
“Grieg, huh?”
The dining hall was full. The Earth portal had been wandering lately and there were many new people from all over the world. Consequently, the table bore dishes representing many different kinds of cuisine.
Tall, curly-haired Gene Ferraro was sampling something he thought might be Balinese: rice, nuts, and vegetables in a ginger sauce. He chewed thoughtfully. Malaysian? Anyway, it wasn’t bad, if you liked that sort of stuff. He swallowed.
“Edvard Grieg,” he said, “was as fat as a pieg.”
Deena Williams looked at him. “You say somethin’?”
A man called Thaxton, light-haired and distinguished, was seated to Gene’s right. “He certainly did. He said that Edvard Grieg was as fat as a pieg.”
“I heard him. ‘Pieg’? What the hell’s that?”
Thin, balding, and middle-aged, Cleve Dalton was on Gene’s left. “There’s a term for that sort of rhyme, but it escapes me.”
“It’s called ‘cheating,’” Thaxton said.
“What brought on that bit of verse, Gene?” Dalton asked.
“Nothing. It just suddenly occurred to me that Edvard Grieg was —”
“Et cetera, et cetera,” Thaxton said. “Well, go on, man. Finish it.”
“Finish what?”
“The clerihew.”
Deena looked offended. “Cleri-what?”
Thaxton said, “At Balliol we used to improvise them at table.”
“Balli-what?”
“Oxford.”
A man in Nigerian tribal dress seated next to Deena said, “We used to do limericks at Trinity.”
Thaxton said, “I shouldn’t be surprised at anything they do in Cambridge.” He turned to Gene. “Well?”
Gene regarded the stone-ribbed ceiling for a moment. Then, stumped, he took another bite.
“You don’t start a clerihew without finishing it.”
“Oh, I do it all the time,” Dalton said. “Music? Let’s see. Uh, okay. How about this: Gustav Mahler / liked to jump and holler.”
Thaxton frowned. “It’s all very well to start something. Well, I suppose I’ll have to do your dirty work.” He took another bite of Steak Diane and chewed thoughtfully.
“Right. I’ve got it.” He got up and recited:
“Gustav Mahler
Liked to jump and hahler.
He wrote to perfection
The tune Resurrection.”
Dalton scowled. “Not what you’d call inspired.”
Thaxton sat down. “You can do better, I suppose?”
“Maybe.”
Many of the diners were in costume. Not all were medieval, some shading into the Renaissance and beyond. Gene was dressed in something out of Dumas or Edmund Rostand. On the table in front of him, a wide-brimmed hat blossomed with a white plume. He had taken to training with a rapier lately and had become quite the proficient fencer. He was good with almost any kind of sword. He was in fact the castle’s best blade-wielder, dazzling swordsmanship being his particular magical stock in trade.
Suddenly goosed by the Muse, he sat up straight. He blurted:
“Edvard Grieg
Was as fat as a pieg.
He wrote Peer Gynt.
I sure wish he dynt.”
Groans around the table.
Dalton picked up the plate with a roast chicken on it and set it in front of Gene. “For that, you win the pullet surprise.”
Thaxton said, “For that, you ought to be taken out and shot.”
“One bullet through the head, please. Quick and clean. Except for a little blood and brains on the ground.”
“Very little brains, I’m afraid.”
“Hey, I’m eatin’,” Deena complained.
DuQuesne said, “What are you up to these days, Gene? You’re dressed fit to kill, and something tells me that should be taken literally.”
“Snowclaw and I are staging a revolution in Arcadia.”
“I don’t believe I know that aspect.”
“Keep, west wing, right next to the chapel.”
“Human world?”
“Yeah.”
“What do they make of Snowclaw?”
“Sheila tricks him out to look human. She’s good at that.”
Thaxton said, “I’ve never understood why that beast doesn’t hang about with his own kind.”
“I don’t recall ever seeing Snowclaw’s kind in the castle,” DuQuesne said.
“Well, with the other nonhumans, then.”
Gene said, “Snowy’s always said that he basically likes the way humans smell. Reminds him of rotting blubber. He happens to like rotting blubber.”
“Where do the nonhumans hang out?” Deena wanted to know.
“They have their own dining hall,” DuQuesne said. “Haven’t you ever been there?”
“No. Where is it?”
“North forebuilding, near the Hall of the Kings.”
“The Hall of the Mountain Kings, perhaps?” Thaxton said slyly.
DuQuesne ignored him. “There are many other dining halls and Guest residences, you know.”
Deena said, “That I know. I ran into one the other day. All kinds of people in there I didn’t recognize.”
“They would be Guests from human worlds other than Earth.”
“I kinda figured that.”
“They tend to keep to themselves. So do the nonhumans.”
“As do we,” Dalton said.
“Nerds of a feather,” Gene mumbled.
“Speak of the nonhuman,” Dalton said.
Everyone looked up as Snowclaw came striding into the room with his huge broadax, blade wickedly gleaming, balanced across his shoulder. Snowclaw was an immense ursine-humanlike creature completely covered in fur of the purest arctic white. Yellow-eyed and sinewy, mouth ferociously toothed, Snowclaw was something you would not care to be politely introduced to in a clean well-lighted place
, much less meet in a dark alley.
“Hi, everybody!” He came over to the table and threw the broadax down, knocking over a tureen of crab bisque. “Oops, sorry.”
“Think nothing of it,” Thaxton said, mopping his lap with a serviette.
“Your spell wore off,” Gene observed. “We’ll have to stop by Sheila’s world and get you fixed up.”
“So, Gene,” Dalton said, “you and Snowclaw are off to war and revolution. Who are you overthrowing? What sort of potentate? King, prince, sultan, pharaoh, what?”
“I’m embarrassed to say that we’re aiding the royalists against an anarcho-syndicalist regime that came to power by revolution. The regime’s been so monstrous and bloody that it makes a monarchy look utopian by comparison.”
“I’m surprised there are any royalists left.”
“There are almost none in the country itself. Most of them are émigrés in a neighboring state.”
“Well, it sounds like a good cause.”
“It does kind of recharge the old moral batteries,” Gene acknowledged.
“How do you feel about it, Snowclaw?”
Snowclaw sat down. “Don’t know about that stuff. I just like it when the fur flies and the guts go splattering all over the place.”
“Energizing the ethical dry cells, as it were,” Thaxton said.
Just then Linda Barclay walked in with Melanie in tow, Jeremy bringing up the rear. Introductions were made all around.
Deena asked, “How do you like it so far, Melanie?”
“Fine, so far.”
“Wait till the creepy stuff starts happening.”
“Uh … like what?”
Deena set her coffee cup down. “Well, let’s see. A while back we had the Blue Meanies invadin’. Then the devils from Hell. But that’s nothing compared to when the whole place goes crazy and the walls turn to rubber and things start shakin’ and shiftin’ around.”
Dalton said, “The castle has been unstable at times. And there are permanent areas of instability. But you keep away from those parts.”
“Oh.”
“Soon you’ll acquire a sixth sense about the place, and you’ll be able to find your way around. And depending on what your magical talent is, you’ll be able to use that to advantage as well.”
“Magical talent?”
Linda explained, “Most people acquire the ability to do magic when they get to the castle.”
Castle Murders Page 2