Castle Kidnapped

by John Dechancie

  His apartment gave him a commanding view of the city. After spending most of the day in the city library. Gene would go back to his lair and eat a synthesized but palatable dinner. Then he would sit at a window and look out at tall spires set against the plains beyond, waiting until the swollen yellow sun set behind distant mountains. Then he would crawl into an Umoi bed—a simple affair like a sleeping bag with a spongy bottom—and listen to the silence until he dozed off.

  He would dream of empty cities and of a race that gave up living.

  Awake, he would give some thought to trying to find the portal, though he was acutely aware of the possibility that it might never again make an appearance in this world. Even if it did, there was no telling where it would pop up, or for how long.

  But he had the resources of the city to help him. From what Gene could surmise, the Umoi had forgotten more science and technology than terrestrial humans had ever created. The twilight years of Umoi civilization had been characterized by a racial desire to simplify life, to return to the basics of existence. In this the Umoi had succeeded only too well, relaxing their hold on things to the extent that life simply slipped away. Gene suspected that degenerate Umoi cultures had continued to scrape by outside the cities for a long stretch, perhaps for as long as fifty thousand years. Things had been very peaceful and natural for centuries; but in time, ancient enemies took their toll: disease, dwindling resources, stagnation. The Umoi had gone out with barely a whimper.

  “Case in point, lesson taken,” Gene intoned, sitting at a library view screen, “in the twilight ... area."

  “I beg your pardon?"

  “Uh, nothing. I gotta stop talking to myself."

  “Is this habit common among your species?"

  “Yes, perfectly normal. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.” Gene yawned. “I'm bushed, but let's go over this once again. You say that the Umoi developed the technique of interdimensional travel centuries ago but abandoned it?"

  “The Umoi weren't concerned with the practical applications of their discoveries,” the city told him.

  “How pure and virtuous. But are you telling me that one of these machines exists somewhere on the planet?"

  “I'm telling you that it's a possibility."

  “Where?"

  “I can't be certain, but such a machine was reputed to have been built in the city of Annau, long ago. It may still be there."

  “Where's Annau?"

  The screen displayed a map. A flashing dot marked the spot.

  “Here."

  “Okay. Where is that in relation to where we are?"

  “The city of Annau lies exactly four thousand gi to the southwest."

  Gene whistled. “Jeez. Quite a hike, even if I don't know exactly how long a gi is."

  “Transportation can be provided."

  “Yeah? What kind?"

  “A self-propelled, cross-country vehicle powered by the nuclear fusion of certain isotopes of hydrogen. Primitive, but effective."

  “Sounds like a great way to go, but it's still a long shot."

  “Define ‘long shot.’”

  “Risky. If I break down, or get a flat—"

  “A flat what?"

  “Never mind. Let's just say that I need to assess the risk factors here."

  “That can be done."

  Gene said, “Well, let's do it."

  Queen's Dining Hall

  “How was your flight?” Sheila asked.

  “Fine,” Linda Barclay said. A pretty blonde with pale blue eyes, she was tall and perhaps a bit too thin.

  Sheila had always wanted to be a blonde, had always hated her own red hair. Although Sheila wasn't aware of it and would probably disagree, she was just as good-looking as Linda.

  “You say you tried calling Gene's parents over and over?"

  Linda set down her coffee cup and reached for another roll, thought better of it. “I was even thinking of stopping in there, maybe asking some neighbors whether they'd seen Gene, or whether the family had gone on vacation. But that would have looked awfully strange."

  Sheila nodded. “Probably."

  “Why don't we just up and look for Gene?” Snowclaw asked.

  “Where do we start?” Sheila said. “On Earth?"

  “Why not?” the white-furred beast said as he munched his usual breakfast—beeswax candles dipped in Thousand Island dressing. “That's where he was last seen. You just take me there. I'll find him."

  “Talk about looking strange,” Linda said, laughing.

  Snowclaw chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it would look pretty weird for me to go stomping around your world."

  “Everyone would think you were Bigfoot,” Sheila said. “You'd wind up on TV. Or in a zoo, or something."

  “I don't know what either of those things is, but I probably wouldn't like ‘em."

  “No, you wouldn't."

  “I think Snowy's right, though,” Linda said. “Earth would be the logical place to start."

  M. DuQuesne had been listening. “Linda, you've been in the castle too long. Imagine thinking in terms of a whole world being a likely place to start looking for someone."

  “Sounds silly, doesn't it?” Linda said. “But we have to start somewhere."

  “I just can't believe that something happened to him back home,” Sheila said. “It doesn't make sense. No one there knows about the castle."

  “Except Incarnadine's brother Trent,” Linda said.

  “Maybe he knows something about Gene,” Snowclaw said.

  Sheila shook her head skeptically. “I doubt it."

  “We could ask him."

  “Boy, I'd hate to be putting snoopy questions to a prince. He might think we suspected him."

  Linda said, “Prince Trent seems like a nice guy, but I sensed some kind of tension between him and Lord Incarnadine."

  Sheila nodded. “They were rivals for the throne once."

  “Maybe they still are."

  “But why would Trent want to do away with Gene?"

  “Maybe he wants to do away with all of us, all the powerful Guest magicians. We're Incarnadine's servants now."

  “Vassals,” Sheila corrected.

  “Vassals. Any pretender to the throne would want to neutralize his rival's powerful allies."

  “Wait a minute. Aren't you overestimating our strength and importance just a little bit?"

  “No, I don't think so. Didn't Incarnadine himself say that we two were the most powerful castle magicians he'd ever seen, besides members of the royal family?"

  “Yeah,” Sheila said, “I guess he did say that. I just can't see myself in the role of mover and shaker."

  “Well, we did our part to save the castle a year ago. Help stop a whole invasion."

  “Incarnadine stopped it. And his brother Deems died fighting the invaders off."

  Linda nodded. “Okay, maybe I'm getting egotistical. I was just trying to imagine what the heck might be going on."

  “Maybe nothing's going on,” Sheila said. “Gene will walk in here in a few days and we'll all feel pretty stupid.” She looked away for a moment, then said, “I've been wondering. Why would we be the most powerful magicians? Some of the servants are hundreds of years old—at least some of them say they are. Why aren't they all super sorcerers? I mean, it's the castle that gives you magic powers, and they've lived their whole lives here."

  “There are powerful magicians among the servants,” DuQuesne said. “For instance, Jamin is very adept. He supervises the maintenance of various spells around the castle, like the language-translation spell that keeps this place from turning into Babel."

  “Then why does Incarnadine need us?” Sheila asked.

  DuQuesne shrugged. “I'm sure I don't know, but he must have his reasons."

  “Well, all that's neither here nor there,” Linda said. “Gene is three days late now, and I say we try to find him."

  Sheila signed. “Obviously we'll need some magic. I can't begin to imagine how we'd go about it."<
br />
  “Osmirik is the logical one to ask for help in that area,” Linda said. “There has to be something like a spell to locate someone or something."

  “Hmm.” Sheila knitted her brow. “Maybe. Anybody seen Osmirik lately?"

  “Has anyone ever seen him outside the library?” DuQuesne said. “Fellow always has his nose in a book."

  “Want to go up with me?” Sheila asked Linda.

  “Sure,” Linda said. “Right now."

  “Finish your coffee. There's really no—” Sheila broke off as a group of people entered the dining hall, among them Osmirik, the castle scribe and librarian. The other three were Thaxton, Dalton, and a young man no one had ever seen before.

  “Hey, is that the new fall-in?” Linda asked.

  “Looks like,” Sheila said.

  “Greetings,” Dalton said. “Meet our new caddy."

  Jeremy waved, then caught sight of Snowclaw.

  “Hi, I'm Sheila Jankowski."

  “Uh ... hi. Jeremy Hochstader."

  “Nice to meet you, Jeremy."

  After Sheila had made introductions all around, Jeremy took a seat, still mesmerized by the sight of Snowclaw.

  Linda said, “Coffee?"

  “Huh? Oh, sure. Thanks."

  “Snowy is one of our dearest friends,” Sheila said. “New people always get a little shaken up the first time they see him."

  Jeremy looked away quickly. “Doesn't bother me,” he said. “I've seen all kinds of things since I got here."

  “When was that?” Sheila asked pointedly.

  “I dunno, it's hard to keep track of time in here. Two days, maybe three."

  “Three days. That's when the portal wandered, all right. Where are you from?"

  “New York. Queens."

  Sheila did not pry further, as it was considered impolite.

  “We found him wandering around the golf course,” Dalton said. “More or less took him under our wing. Made an excellent caddy.” He winked at Jeremy.

  “We were just talking about you, Osmirik,” Linda said.

  “In a kindly way, I trust,” the librarian said as he loaded his plate with flapjacks and sausages. Of late he had acquired a taste for what, to him, were some rather strange foods.

  “We were tossing around the possibility of locating Gene by using a spell. Anything like that in the books?"

  Osmirik seated himself. “My dear, there are spells for every purpose imaginable."

  “Then we could do it?"

  “Perhaps.” Osmirik took a sip of coffee. “And perhaps not."

  Linda shrugged. “Well, that covers the whole spectrum of possible outcomes."

  Sheila said, “Could we find him if he's off through some portal or another?"

  Osmirik thought it over. “It is quite likely...” He chewed thoughtfully.

  Sheila nodded expectantly, smiling.

  Osmirik swallowed. “...that this is a possibility."

  Sheila slumped a little. “Well, are you willing to help us?"

  “Of course, it is you who must undertake the effectuation of any such spell. As you know, I myself am not an adept thaumaturgist."

  “Thauma—yeah, we know. But you'll help us with the research?"

  “It would be my pleasure, Sheila."

  “Good. When can we start?"

  “Might I break my fast before we begin?"

  “Oh, sure. I'm sorry. It's just that we're a little worried about Gene."

  “And I share your concern. Before we start, however, I might warn you that such a project could be weeks in the making."

  “Weeks?"

  “If not months. Were he in the castle, ‘twould be a simple matter. But locating him among a hundred thousand worlds?” Osmirik shook his head woefully. “A staggering task, and one not to be undertaken lightly."

  “But he's on Earth, we know that,” Linda said. “So forget about the hundred thousand worlds."

  “Ah, Earth magic.” Osmirik let out a long sigh. “That, I'm afraid, is a different story altogether."

  “Right,” Linda said. “You're the only magician around here who can handle that, Sheila."

  Sheila looked deflated. “We're going to have to ask for Prince Trent's help. Earth magic is the hardest of all. I'm nowhere near being good at it."

  “Then by all means we should ask Prince Trent to help. I'll go over to Halfway and phone him. Or maybe you should."

  “I will,” Sheila said. “But you're coming back to Earth with me, Linda."

  “I should stay here and keep and eye out."

  “You're right, you should."

  “Sheila, I'm coming with you,” Snowclaw stated.

  “Don't be silly. You can't go running around Earth looking the way you do."

  “So change me."

  “Huh?"

  “Do your witchy stuff on me and make me look different."

  “Gee, I never thought of that. I don't know if I can."

  “Give it a shot."

  Osmirik said, “Appearance spells are not very difficult, even within the scope of Earth magic."

  Sheila shrugged. “I'll give it a try. It'd be nice to have someone along with me. Especially you, Snowy."

  “I want to find Gene just as much as anyone. After all, we're buddies."

  “However, there may still be a problem concerning the locator spell,” Osmirik said. “Might I inquire, what is the approximate human population of your world?"

  Linda said, “Last time I heard it was five billion."

  Osmirik was stunned. “Five ... billion souls, you say? Five thousand millions?"

  “Is that a lot?"

  “Well, I should say so. I had no idea. The task of locating Gene out of that mass of humanity..."

  “Looks like we're getting nowhere fast,” Sheila said glumly. “Maybe we should concentrate on looking elsewhere."

  “But Gene never passed through the portal,” Linda objected. “You keep bringing up the possibility that he might be off in another aspect somewhere. Why?"

  “Because of that darn portal wandering,” Sheila said. “It's just possible there's been some foul play here, somebody fiddling with the portal's placement. Maybe Gene did it himself."

  “But Gene's no magician."

  “Someone he was with? Maybe Trent ... though I can't bring myself to believe that. Or maybe what's-her-name is back. Princess Ferne."

  A troubled silence fell.

  Dalton broke it by directing an aside to Jeremy. “Castle politics, son. Palace intrigue."

  “There's a lot going on here that I don't understand,” Jeremy said.

  “Well, look,” Sheila said. “I'll go to Earth and work on the problem at that end. Linda, you stay here and help Osmirik at this end. Search the castle first, then start looking for some way of finding out if he went through another portal."

  “Easier said than done,” Osmirik said. “The task of processing endless data through the spell is the real problem."

  “Processing data?” Linda said. “Too bad you can't mix computers and magic."

  “Who says you can't?” Sheila wanted to know.

  “Well, we don't have a computer, anyway."

  “Here's one,” Jeremy said, and everyone looked at him. He brought the Toshiba up from the floor and set it on the table. He flipped up the screen.

  Osmirik jumped up and went over to him. “May I see that, please?"

  “Sure.” Jeremy turned on the power supply. “Works on batteries.” He jiggled the switch. “Funny thing. You know, the first time I tried to turn it on in the castle, it didn't work. I didn't know what was going on, ‘cause I know I recharged the batteries the other day, and I haven't used it since. But I fiddled with it, and now it works fine."

  “Boy, that's a first,” Linda said.

  “Huh? What do you mean?"

  “Electricity isn't supposed to work in the castle."

  “Yeah? How come?"

  “Only magic works here."

  Sheila said, “That may
be his talent."

  “Everyone gets a magical talent in this place,” Linda told him. “Yours might be being able to work a computer without electricity."

  Jeremy chuckled. “C'mon, you gotta be kidding."

  Osmirik was watching numbers and symbols dance across the screen.

  “Very interesting,” he said.

  Cenotaphs

  Violet sky, cloudless, a small blue sun low over a distant ridge, sand and fine gravel underfoot, a steady wind blowing across a plateau peopled with stone monuments of myriad shapes. Overhead, a triangle of bright stars. This world was always the same.

  He walked among the monuments, gravel crunching under his boots, the only sound on these stark plains save for the faint murmur of the wind, melancholy and drear.

  All was simplicity, clarity, peace.

  The monuments were of various geometrical shapes, some towering into the bluish-purple sky. No one knew who had created them, or why, or what purpose they served. As objects which inspire contemplation, however, they served admirably. Perhaps that was their proper function, after all. He often walked this plain when he had some thinking to do, or when he needed to clear his mind.

  He had just completed a hard year negotiating a settlement to a protracted war. The belligerents had been obstinate to the point of exasperation, but reason had won out in the end. The terms of treaty served the interests of the state which he had a hand in governing, and in which he himself had considerable personal interest, as his family resided there. The castle was no place for small children.