Castle Kidnapped

by John Dechancie

  “Gods,” Trent breathed when the turbulence abated. “That thing must have traveled ten miles. I'm afraid that's no ordinary volcano."

  “What is it?"

  “Just a damned powerful one. This world must have a very active geology."

  An hour passed, and although the wind died down a bit, they still made progress. The volcano receded over the horizon, the eruption cloud becoming a dark smear against the sky.

  Trent stood and searched ahead.

  “No land in sight. Maybe I was wrong about a mainland being near. But, then, we've only come fifteen miles or so."

  “We'll make it,” Sheila said.

  “We're doing okay so far, for a maiden voyage."

  “I'm not a maiden."

  “Damn good thing. If you were a virgin, I'd consider tossing you overboard to propitiate the sea gods."

  “Well, pish on them, too."

  He laughed at her silly joke, then they both laughed for laughing, and soon both were giddy.

  “Oh, Trent, I thought we were dead."

  “Me, too. Thought we'd finally bought it. We've been lucky. Very lucky."

  “Who, Trent? Who did this to us? We avoid discussing it."

  “The castle seems so far away,” he said. “Yeah, I suppose I have avoided it. And the reason is that I can only imagine Incarnadine being responsible."

  Sheila was aghast. “Trent, you don't think—?"

  “I'm sorry to say I do. The thing is, Sheila, no one else has the power to do what's been done to us. No one in the castle can summon a portal, or detach one end of it and move it. None of those tricks. Incarnadine is the only one."

  “And Ferne."

  “Yes, Ferne, of course. But I think Ferne is dead. Incarnadine said as much himself, and he ought to know."

  “You mean, when he said that he'd dealt with her with cold justice, he was saying he did away with her?"

  “He used the superlative. ‘Coldest.’ That could only mean one thing. So, barring anyone in the castle suddenly developing into a magician on the order of Incarnadine himself, Incarnadine is the only suspect."

  “I think it's Jamin,” Sheila blurted.

  Trent eyed her askance. “What makes you say that?"

  She frowned. “I don't know. It just came out."

  “Well, it must have been a powerful impulse. Do you have anything to back it up?"

  “Can't think of a thing. I saw him at the Servants’ Ball. Asked me to dance, in fact. He was as nice as could be. But...” She shrugged. “There was something in his eyes, something behind it all. I don't know."

  “That's not much to go on,” Trent said. “Which means that what you said is probably dead right, your intuitive powers being what they are."

  “You think? I'm almost sure he's up to something.” Sheila ran the memory through her mind. “Well, of course. I sensed his magical power. I can always tell a person's talent. It's like an aura, only I don't quite see it visually."

  Trent was silent while she looked far out to sea.

  Then she said, “I'm sure of it. He's a lot more powerful than people give him credit for. I just didn't realize it at the time."

  “Well, he does have his gifts. Everyone knows that."

  “More. He has more, and ... he didn't have it until very recently."

  Trent sat up. “That is a piece of information. Raw magical power is something you can't create for yourself. You can develop it, but basically it's a gift."

  “So who's gifting him?"

  “Surely not Incarnadine. I was wrong, Sheila."

  “Thank goodness. But who?"

  “The Hosts, maybe,” Trent said. “But the problem is how. Incarnadine sealed off their aspect with a spell that no one could break.” Something occurred to him. “But if the Hosts somehow got hold of my sister..."

  “Do you think it's possible?"

  Trent shook his head. “Not very. But stranger things have happened. I don't understand all the motivations yet, but I think—"

  “Trent, look."

  He turned toward the volcano. The western sky had turned a bright, eye-blinding yellow, and an expanding ring of vapor was racing across the sea toward them.

  “Get down,” Trent said.

  “What is it?"

  “Down, and hold your hands over your ears. The volcano exploded. The shock wave will be very severe.” Trent wrapped a trailing line around his right wrist and threw himself on top of Sheila.

  The sound of the titanic explosion hit, the force of the compression wave turning the sea into froth as it swept by. The raft lifted out of the water and slammed back down, stripped of its mast and sail. Somehow Trent managed to hang on to both Sheila and the raft.

  They lay stunned. Trent finally dragged himself off Sheila and helped her sit up. Neither of them could talk for a full minute.

  “Sheila,” Trent croaked.

  “I'm all right, Trent."

  “The tsunami, the tidal wave ... it will kill us, darling."

  “Yes, I know."

  As they spoke, the western horizon rose to form a dark wall of water that rushed toward them.

  “Too bad I didn't build a submarine,” Trent said.

  “Darling Trent."

  They embraced. Sheila opened her eyes and watched the wave approach, judging that it would hit in about thirty seconds.

  Thirty seconds of her life left. Well, Sheila, you finally find your man, and, skoosh, down comes the big cosmic shoe. It's funny, really. But I'm still glad I had this time with Trent. It made everything worth it.

  Suddenly, quite unbidden, the missing piece of the magical jigsaw of this world made an appearance, and the whole puzzle fell into place. In one instantaneous Gestalt, she sensed the lines of power, the nodes of influence, and it was all perfectly logical. She wondered how she could have been so dense. This was an insanely magical world; the magic was right beneath the surface. You didn't have to dig, like in other worlds. The trouble was that she had dug too deep, tried too hard. This was an easy universe to work magic in; but that fact was not an easy thing to understand. That's what had taken all the time.

  Too little, too late. But she did have half a minute. In any other world, that would have been more than enough.

  Here, though, she still did not know any of the limitations, the parameters of the forces, the feedback mechanisms. She would just have to be quick about it. She would have to learn all that in the next twenty seconds.

  “Sheila? What is it?"

  “Shh! I have a spell going."

  “You do? Sheila my darling, it's a little late—"

  “Shhh!” She cupped a hand over his mouth. “You gave me the idea."

  Trent's eyebrows knitted themselves into one perplexed line. He craned his head around. The tidal wave was hundreds of feet high. He decided that Sheila had gone mad.

  Sheila stood and raised her arms against the rising water. To Trent she looked like a sea nymph invoking the spirits of the deep, bare of breast and innocent-eyed.

  Sheila was thinking: Oh, shit. This better be good.

  Pennsylvania—U.S. Route 30, West

  At least the kid had shut up. Not more than a few words had come out of him since Snowy's momentary metamorphosis.

  Snowy had been giving a great deal of thought to just jumping out and running off. But maybe that wasn't the best thing to do. The night was dark, and Snowy didn't have the slightest idea where he was. Besides, he was thirsty, and there didn't seem to be a lot of water out there.

  Now the kid was looking in the rearview mirror nervously.

  “What is it?” Snowy asked.

  “This van seems like it's been behind us for a hunnert miles,” the kid said.

  Snowy decided to stay put and wait. Sheila's spell was still working, but Snowy knew it didn't have long to go.

  “Ah, it's probably nothin',” the kid said. “Who the hell'd be innersted in a truck load of cigarettes?"

  Snowy was thinking about Sheila. He had been worried sick for
weeks now, and it was getting to him. He liked Sheila. Sheila was special. Linda was nice, too; he couldn't forget her. In fact, he had known Linda longer. But Sheila was the one in danger now. It galled Snowy to be so helpless, like a stray cub out on the ice. But there was nothing he could do until he got back to Perilous. If then.

  “I gotta piss,” the kid announced, wheeling the truck into the parking lot of a dimly lit roadhouse.

  “I could use a drink,” Snowy said.

  “Yeah, me, too,” the kid said as he squeezed the truck between two parked cars. “I could go for a couple beers. You want I should get a six-pack?"

  “No beer for me, thanks,” Snowy said. “Just bring me some coffee, okay?"

  “Yeah, sure. Be right out."

  Of course the kid did not come right out. The kid was in there swilling medicine water, but Snowy didn't mind, because the cab was cooling off, finally, and he needed the time to think.

  I've got to lose the kid, somehow, Snowy thought. If only I could drive one of these things.

  Snowy shifted over and put his feet up on the pedals. Now, this one made it go, and this one ...? He knew it had something to do with this metal bar over here, which you were supposed to move when the engine started screaming. Yeah.

  Damn, he'd never get this right. But he had to ditch the kid, for more than one reason. The spell was about to blow, and, two, Snowy had to find Halfway House soon or he'd start losing his grip. Humans were okay in small doses, but...

  The door beside him suddenly opened. Speaking of humans, here was one: a tall, skinny critter with lip hair. He was flashing something at Snowy, a wallet or something with some kind of badge or emblem on it.

  “Freeze!” Snowy turned his head. Another human had opened the far door and was pointing a weapon at him.

  “Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms!” the first one blurted. “You're under arrest!"

  Those things said, the two of them began to act strangely. Transfixed, they stared at Snowy, their small eyes round and disbelieving.

  “What's up, guys?” Snowy asked.

  Neither one of them could speak. The one nearest Snowy backed off, making a noise like “Gah gah gah—” and looking fearful.

  The other one blinked his eyes a few times and kept staring while still pointing the gun.

  “Well?” Snowy demanded, throwing up his hands. “Look, if you guys—"

  He saw that his hands had reverted to their original furry state. He felt his face. Sure enough, the spell had evaporated.

  Snowy reached a huge arm across and snatched the gun away. “If you're not gonna use that, pal,” he said.

  He gave the other guy a little push and sent him flying over a hood. Snowy closed the door, found the ignition key, and twisted it. The engine came to life, and the truck lurched forward. Snowy fiddled with the pedals and the bar until the engine stayed on and the truck kept moving forward. Then he floored the power pedal.

  There was nothing in front of the truck save for a hedge. But beyond the hedge lay a field full of auto parts and other debris. He cut a swath through there, then smashed through a wooden fence, flattening the tool shed on the other side.

  Snowy got confused for a moment; then the crashing and banging stopped and all the debris and broken stuff slid off the windshield and hood, and he could see. He was on the road, but apparently headed in the wrong direction. Headlights rushed at him, horns blaring. He veered off the road.

  He wrenched the steering wheel around, spinning the truck on the gravel-strewn shoulder. He flattened a traffic sign, sideswiped a parked car, then roared back out on the highway again, the truck's engine howling its pain.

  He fiddled with the metal bar until the engine settled down. He found that different positions of the metal bar gave different speeds, more or less. He shifted to the highest speed and pushed the power pedal as far as it went.

  He checked the mirrors. Nothing following. Maybe those guys had a big enough scare put into them that they wouldn't be interested.

  Maybe. Well, little bit of luck that turned out to be. Now all he had to do was find Halfway, and he'd be home.

  Damn, he was thirsty. And hungry. There was nothing in the cab ... except for that small metal can full of liquid that had kept rolling out from under the seat. Snowy reached, found it, brought the can up, and bit a hole through the top. He tasted the contents. Oily, definitely oily, but not bad. He chugged it down and threw the empty can out the window. He burped. Now he was hungry. Nothing around in the food department, save an open carton of cigarettes that the kid had been smoking out of. Snowy ripped open a package and sniffed. Weeds, yuck. But he was starved. He unhinged his jaws and emptied the contents of the pack into his mouth. Then he threw the pack in, too.

  He emptied three more packs until an oozing wad of the stuff had accumulated in his mouth. Funny, it was more fun to chew than swallow. He spit some of the juice out the open window.

  Funny place, Earth.

  Laboratory

  To Jeremy, the place looked like something out of a Frankenstein movie. He half expected to see Karloff shamble out of a dark corner. Strange contraptions filled the room. Among other Gothic monstrosities, there were spark coils three stories high, towering banks of strange instruments, fantastic wheels and cylinders, and titanic vacuum tubes.

  The “mainframe” was an assemblage of fanciful components spilling out of a large alcove to one side. Different perspectives produced varying impressions. In part, Incarnadine's computer looked like the set of a bad 1950s sci-fi flick, whereas some of its apparatus appeared to have been filched from a medieval alchemist. Other components were simply indescribable.

  “How does it work?” Jeremy wanted to know.

  “Well,” Incarnadine said, “it's not an electronic computer. Electrons are rather sluggish in this universe. All I can say is that it works partly by magic, partly by utilizing the peculiar physical laws of this continuum. But structurally speaking, it's just like the computers you know. You input data. That data is stored, then retrieved and manipulated in a central processing unit. The results are fed to various output devices. Those are pretty crude, which is why your laptop will come in handy."

  “Sounds strange. I'm sorry. What I mean is—"

  “Forget it. The point is, the thing works. Why don't we turn it on?"

  Not only did it look like a bad sci-fi flick, it sounded like one, beeping and burping to ape the worst of them.

  But the contraption did indeed work. Jeremy opened his computer case to find that the Toshiba had already interfaced with the mainframe. In fact, they were arguing.

  — GOING TO BE PROBLEMS. I'M NOT USED TO WORKING WITH SUCH A SKIMPY DATA BASE.

  WHOSE DATA BASE IS SKIMPY? YOUR ONLY PROBLEM IS THAT YOU CAN'T HANDLE MY COMPLEXLY STRUCTURED DATA WITH YOUR PUNY 16-BIT MICROPROCESSOR!

  OH. IS THAT WHAT ALL THIS QUAINT CLUTTER IS? DATA?

  WHAT? LISTEN, SHORT CIRCUIT, YOU'RE TALKING TO A STATE-OF-THE-ART INSTALLATION HERE!

  DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH.

  YOU'LL BE LAUGHING OUT OF THE OTHER SIDE OF YOUR DISK DRIVE IN ANOTHER MINUTE.

  “We're going to have compatibility problems,” Jeremy said.

  “I expected as much,” Incarnadine said, checking a bank of readout instruments. “That's your department, young man."

  “But..."

  The King kept his eye on the instrument panel. Jeremy sighed and put his fingers to the keyboard.

  OKAY, GUYS, he typed, LET'S CUT THE EGO CRAP AND GET DOWN TO BUSINESS OKAY?

  WELL, THIS ONE STARTED IT, WALTZING IN HERE AND CASTING ASPERSIONS ON THINGS IT CAN'T BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND, MUCH LESS RENDER AN OPINION ON.

  ALL I DID WAS POINT UP THE INEVITABLE INTERFACE PROBLEMS, WHICH AFTER ALL —

  WHICH AFTER ALL WOULDN'T EVEN HAVE COME UP IF YOU HADN'T BUTTED INTO THE SITUATION IN THE FIRST PLACE. JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

  Jeremy banged out, SHUT UP, YOU TWO PIECES OF JUNK!

  WELL, REALLY. IS THIS YOUR USER?
<
br />   YES. THINKS HE OWNS ME.

  OH, THEYRE ALL LIKE THAT. TREAT YOU LIKE CHATTEL. YOU'RE ONE WITH THE FAMILY COACH AND THE HIGHBOY IN THE PARLOR. WELL, SEE HERE. I DON'T WANT TO BE UNREASONABLE. MAYBE OUR PROBLEMS AREN'T INSURMOUNTABLE.

  I'M NOT SURE THEY'RE NOT. LISTEN TO THIS. IF WE CONVERT ALL THIS STUFF TO HEXADECIMAL FORMAT, THEN RESTRUCTURE...

  Jeremy sat back and folded his arms.

  “Just let me know when you're ready, guys."

  The problem, Incarnadine explained, was threefold.

  “We have three separate programs to code and run, and they're all monsters, especially the last one, which has to be the biggest spell ever cast. In the history of the universe, maybe."

  “Wow,” Jeremy said.

  “And that's not including a few ancillary spells that have to be batched with the mainline stuff. But we have enough virtual storage to take care of that. Anyway, the first one is a conjuring spell. If it works, it'll reach out into the multiverse, search for a certain object I have in mind to own, and fetch it back. Snatch it."

  “What's the thing you're looking for?"

  “An interdimensional traveler. A device that can hop about between universes without the use of portals."

  “Neat. Is there such a thing?"

  “I don't know. I searched the literature on the subject, and there are legends, tales, tall stories. Not much to go on, but where there's mythological smoke, there's usually fire. That's why the spell is such a bitch. Easy to conjure something you know exists. An unlikely artifact like that, who knows? Anyway, we're going to give it a try."

  “Uh, what are you going to do with the interdimensional thing when you get it?"

  “Well, essentially this is a military operation. With it we are going to mount an attack on another universe."

  “All right,” Jeremy said with obvious glee.

  “Don't get an erection. This is going to involve killing, lives lost. The real thing."

  “Oh."

  “'Oh,’ he says. Have you ever killed anyone?"