Castle Kidnapped

by John Dechancie

  “Report,” Gene said. “Is this machine real or a mock-up?"

  “It is the original device, in complete working order."

  “Wonderful. Can it get me home?"

  “No. This machine—named the Sidewise Voyager—was tested once. It failed to work, and was abandoned. The data are stored in the machine."

  The finality of it came down on Gene like a landslide. This was it. He had come as far as he could, to find nothing but a dead end. His dead end. And Vaya's. A bitter lump of remorse rose at the back of his throat.

  “Is there any other service we may render at this time?"

  Gene took a deep breath. “No. Thank you for your hospitality."

  “Please come back and visit us soon,” Dis said. There was a pause. Then: “We are very sorry."

  “It's okay,” Gene said.

  Lab

  A strange machine had appeared on the platform. It was a sledlike affair of brass and steel, having at the back a circular decorated screen that looked like an open parlor fan and appeared capable of revolving. There was a seat for the operator or pilot, upholstered in red plush velvet. Numerous other Victorian touches graced the thing, here lace, there ornate chasing. A quartz rod protruded from a simple control panel in front of the operator's seat.

  Linda said, “Is that it?"

  Incarnadine approached the platform. “I don't know. Strangest damned thing."

  Jeremy said, “Jesus. I've seen that piece of junk somewhere."

  “You have?"

  “Yeah. I think it was in a movie."

  Linda put a hand to her throat. “Oh, my. You know, I think he's right."

  “It looked like something out of an H. G. Wells story. In fact—"

  “The Time Machine,” Jeremy squealed.

  “I'll be buggered,” Incarnadine said. “It's a cheat."

  “What?” Linda said.

  “The spell cheated on us."

  “You'll have to explain."

  “Spells are tricky animals. Sticklers for the letter of the wording. The spell asked for ‘a dimensional traveling machine.’ Well, time is a dimension, all right. The spell searched around, couldn't find the thing that would satisfy the intent of the wording, so it fished this thing out of oblivion in desperation."

  “You make it sound as though the spell itself were a living thing."

  “It is, in a way."

  Jeremy came over. “I wonder what studio still had this thing."

  “Studio?” Incarnadine said. “The wording didn't ask for a movie prop. Delivering one would be a breach of performance."

  “Huh? You mean—?"

  “Well, I don't know if this improbable contraption actually works, but it just might."

  “But what world—I mean, where would you get the real thing? It was just in a story, for crissakes."

  “When you're dealing with an infinite plethora of possibilities, anything can be real. Somewhere, obviously, there exists a world where H. G. Wells is fiction, and his creations fact."

  Linda said, “But I thought that there were only 144,000 universes."

  Incarnadine shot her a curious look. “Whoever told you that? There are only 144,000 portals in the castle. But possible universes? There are an infinite number of those."

  “Oh, I didn't know that."

  “It's not common knowledge. There is some debate about the literal, ontological existence of some of these ghost worlds, but—never mind. We don't have time."

  “What do we do now?” Jeremy asked.

  “Recast the spell at a greater power output, after further debugging. We have to nail down the wording exactly. Trouble is, we're going to have power supply problems farther down the road. Well, it can't be helped."

  Incarnadine mounted the platform, ruefully eyeing the Wellsian contrivance. “Damn it, this isn't going the way I had planned at all."

  Linda took his arm. “You'll win, Your Majesty. You always do."

  “Even Superman has kryptonite."

  Jeremy ran back to his computer, yelling, “I'll have it debugged in two minutes!"

  Incarnadine hugged Linda. “Thanks. You did a wonderful job on the computer's biotic components."

  “I'll never forgive you for the newts."

  The laboratory flickered and yowled. Sparks arced between silver spheres, and the air crackled with energy. “...three ... two ... one! Trip it, Jeremy!"

  Another strange device made its appearance on the platform. Bell-shaped and silvery, it had a circular hatch on the side. An oval window lay farther along the curve of the bell. A face appeared in it.

  “Gene!"

  Linda ran up onto the platform and banged on the hatch, shouting for him.

  Incarnadine and Jeremy arrived just as the hatch popped open. Gene Ferraro stuck his head out.

  “Got someone hurt in here,” he said.

  Linda stood by as they carried out a long-legged, practically naked woman. Despite her severe burns, she was beautiful.

  Incarnadine examined her. “She's bad,” he said finally.

  “Help her, Incarnadine,” Gene said. “It's my fault. You have to help her."

  “We'll do all we can. Fortunately there's power to spare, for the moment."

  They carried her to a far corner and put together a makeshift bed out of seat cushions and tapestries from the wall. Incarnadine returned with Gene to the platform, Linda staying behind to tend to the woman.

  “You can't use this thing,” Gene was saying. “It doesn't work. It's a dud."

  “Doesn't matter,” Incarnadine told him. “There'll be a spell powering it."

  “But ... I don't understand. If the thing plain doesn't work..."

  “Remember, science isn't efficacious in this universe. Very likely that's why the gizmo failed in the first place. Once a science-based machine crosses over into a magic universe ka-flooey, it breaks down. Therefore, it would never make the crossing at all."

  “Yeah, I get it. But then, what was the point of conjuring this machine?"

  “The point was to give the spell something to work with, to take its function from. You can make a carpet fly easy enough. But how do you make an interdimensional carpet? The spell would just fizzle that way."

  Gene threw out his hands. “No wonder I'm such a lousy magician. You know, I once fancied myself a writer, and I tried writing fantasy. I couldn't handle it. Magic doesn't make any goddamn sense!"

  “You're not flaky enough to be a fantasy writer."

  Linda returned. “She's resting as comfortably as she can, under the circumstances."

  “Did you magic up a pain pill for her?” Gene asked.

  “Yes, a real knockout one, too. She'll be okay for now."

  Gene, Linda, and Jeremy stood at the base of the platform stairs. Incarnadine addressed them from the top.

  “Unfortunately Vaya will have to remain here in the lab to get the full benefit of the tripspell I placed on her. It could be dangerous, because there's going to be an unbelievable energy surge. The equipment here is ancient, and some of it could blow."

  “I'm staying with her, of course,” Gene said. “All I want to know is, will your healing spell work?"

  “There will be enough energy at that moment to create a race of Vayas, let alone merely heal one. Yes, it will work."

  “I'm sorry,” Gene said. “Obviously there are more momentous things going on."

  “That's true. Jeremy, set your computer's clock to trip the main spell one minute after you people clear the room. Check?"

  “Check."

  Linda said, “I'm not leaving you, Gene."

  “Do as he says, Linda."

  “No, I'm staying in the lab. I want to see what happens."

  “If the whole scheme works, I won't be gone long,” Incarnadine said, “reckoning by castle time. If I don't return shortly, it won't matter much where you are."

  “I'm staying,” Linda said firmly.

  “Fine,” Incarnadine said. “Good luck to all of you. Jeremy, is ever
ything ready?"

  “Ready as it'll ever be. Jeremy shook his head glumly. “But I don't know. These two computers were having sex a minute ago. It was ... weird."

  “Love among the ruins. Okay, everybody at his station. Jeremy, give me five minutes to check out this machine. I'll give you the high sign from the window there. Then you boot up the program and run for cover. Got me?"

  “Gotcha."

  The lab howled. Violent discharges leaped from sphere to sphere like great flaming beasts. Orreries whirled, and multicolored auras glowed above the ranks of towering machinery.

  They huddled in the corner, Vaya tucked behind them against the wall. Linda hugged Gene, and Jeremy hugged Linda. Together they watched. The noise was unbelievable. There came periodic flashes and an occasional geyser of sparks. Smoke arose from some of the main components.

  Gene looked toward the platform. The Sidewise Voyager was still there. There could be only seconds left before the spell was tripped.

  “Get ready!” he said, but no one could hear him.

  The whine from the machinery rose in pitch until it became unbeatable. Sparks cascaded and splashed across the floor. The air turned blue, then violet, and everything in the lab—animate and inanimate—began to acquire a spectral glow.

  A great howling arose as the machines reached their peak of efficiency, became ready to deliver a microsecond of unimaginable thrust.

  The moment came, and the Voyager disappeared with a flash. Then Incarnadine's laboratory flew apart in a terrific explosion.

  Undersea World

  “See anything through that periscope, Jacques?"

  “Oui. Beaucoup de l'eau."

  “Beaucoup what?"

  “Water."

  Trent took his head from the eyepiece. “The eruption is over, as far as I can tell. The volcano must have pulled a Krakatoa and blown apart. There's nothing left of the island it was on. It sank."

  “And our island?” Sheila asked.

  “Still there, but completely denuded. Our goose would have been done to a turn."

  Sheila sighed. “We made the right decision for once."

  “Oh, we're not doing too badly at all,” Trent said. He turned to the First Officer, a tall, distinguished man who stood by at attention. “Take her up, Mr. Ponsonby."

  “Very good, sir.” Ponsonby spun around and barked a series of orders to the boatswain, who then relayed them to the rest of the crew in the conning tower.

  Ponsonby turned back. “Any further orders, sir?"

  “Conduct a search for possible survivors, doubtful enterprise though it be."

  “Capital idea, sir. No harm in being thorough."

  “None. After that, our heading will be due east at half speed. Send lookouts aloft."

  “Very good, sir."

  “Miss Jankowski and I will be in our quarters. I'm to be alerted at first sight of land. Carry on."

  “Aye aye, sir.” Ponsonby saluted, crisply about-faced, and went about his duties.

  “It still spooks me a little,” Sheila said as they descended the tight spiral stairs that communicated between decks.

  “The crew? You conjured them."

  “I know, but still..."

  “When you decided to whip up this palatial submarine, who did you think was going to run the thing? You and me?"

  “Stop teasing. Of course I didn't have time to think."

  “Your spell did your thinking for you. Did the logical thing."

  “But where did they come from? Where will they go when—?” Sheila stopped and put a hand over her heart. “Oh, no. I never thought of that."

  “They'll simply cease to exist. But no need to think about canceling the spell for the moment. There might not be any respectable landmasses on this world. A submarine's going to come in handy."

  Reaching the main deck, they made their way forward, saluted by crewmen en route.

  “I'll need some dry land when I attempt summoning the portal,” Sheila said.

  “Really?"

  “I think. God, think of what would happen if I don't get the locus positioned just right, and the portal opens up outside the ship."

  “Maybe you're right. I was going to suggest you try it inside the boat, but you ought to know your own abilities."

  “I do. I'm still an amateur when it comes to this world's magic."

  “That makes me a retard,” Trent said. “I can't get anything going at all."

  “I'll give you lessons. It's easy once you get past the main hang-up."

  They entered their quarters. The outer chamber was a sumptuous drawing room with red damask walls and oriental furniture.

  Trent surveyed the place. “Son of a cross between a Singapore cat house and a Chinese restaurant. Curious."

  “You see? That's my question. Who was the decorator?"

  “You, subconsciously. Or, to look at it from another angle, no one, really. Spells work all sorts of strange ways, picking things out of the ether at random. Actually the place is nice, in an odd sort of way. You have one hell of a talent, my dear. But why you cast me as captain, I'll never know."

  “Who else?"

  “What's wrong with a female skipper? It's your show, after all. You didn't think the crew would have any objection, did you?"

  “That wasn't the reason. Me, a ship's captain? A submarine, yet. Don't be silly."

  He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “You have a very traditional turn of mind."

  “I'm the mistress of a prince. How more traditional can you get?"

  Trent crossed to the liquor cabinet. “I could make an honest woman of you,” he said offhandedly as he poured a snifter of Courvoisier “Drink?"

  “No, thanks. Trent, that sounded like a marriage proposal."

  “I'm proposing to make you a princess, young lady."

  Sheila froze with a look of stunned disbelief.

  Trent glanced over his shoulder “Surprised?"

  “Frankly...” Sheila laughed “Trent, I'm shocked. Don't feel you have to."

  “Wouldn't think of it. It's just that I've been alone for a long time. For the most part I prefer it, but as I get older, the bed seems to get bigger, and the sheets a little colder."

  “I find it hard to believe you can't get a bed partner. But if so, get a smaller bed, then buy yourself an electric blanket."

  “Those things make me nervous. Sheila, is this a refusal? I'm crushed."

  “Hold on, I didn't refuse anything, or anyone.” She sat on the silk divan. “You have to give me some time."

  “I realize it's sudden,” he said. “After all, we were thrown together. The pressures of crisis, and all that I can understand."

  “No, you don't understand. It's just that ... I sometimes have a hard time believing all this. The direction my life has taken. This strange new world I'm in. Sometimes I doubt that it's real. That I might be in some place, some sanitarium or something, with tubes sticking out of me, and all this is some kind of sick dream...."

  She trailed off, then buried her face in her hands. Trent put down his drink and hurried to her.

  “There, now,” he said, cradling her in his arms. He handed her his monogrammed handkerchief.

  Presently she dried her eyes. “I still have trouble sometimes. I lie awake in the castle at night, afraid to fall asleep, afraid it'll all be gone in the morning."

  “Understandable. Most human beings will never be in the position you're in, seeing the universe revealed in all its true strangeness."

  “It's almost too much for the likes of me. I'm a damn bank teller, is all. I'm no magician."

  “Don't sell yourself short, my dear. May I have my answer now?"

  “Your...? Oh. Darling Trent—"

  Trent scowled. “Uh-oh, here it comes. The gentle letdown. ‘We can still be friends,’ right?"

  “Don't be silly. ‘Friends’ don't do the stuff we do. There's just one thing, Trent."

  “Which is?"

  “I don't know much about pro
tocol and matters royal, but aren't I a commoner?"

  “Frankly, yes. But that don't make no nevermind to me. I'll never be Lord of Perilous, not that your status would matter to me in any event."

  “But your family..."

  “Screw ‘em. Besides, Earth customs and Perilous customs aren't exactly analogous in these matters."

  “Oh. Then my answer is yes."

  Trent at first seemed surprised. Then a glow of immense delight spread across his face. “My darling Sheila."

  He kissed her, then picked her up and carried her through the dining room, past den, kitchen, pantry, and servants’ quarters, then on into the master bedroom.

  It was a big submarine.

  Sidewise in Time

  There was dead silence, and no sensation of movement. The instrument panel lay before him, a Christmas tree of multicolored lights, some of them blinking slowly.

  Most of the controls were self-explanatory, once he had deciphered the lettering that designated them. It was a curious language, one he had never heard of. He wondered if Gene had stumbled on a castle world that had missed being catalogued, or had been mistakenly catalogued as uninhabited. Either case was possible. Some portals had not been explored since shortly after the castle's construction.

  He was as yet unsure of the “direction” in which he should proceed. The Voyager was adrift in a medium which could not be called “space” as it is commonly understood. The immediate environment was more or less a plenum of mathematical abstractions. In such rarefied surroundings, orientation was difficult, if not impossible. Nevertheless, at length he did form a sense of relational position within a general frame of reference, and got his bearings. The place he sought was ... that way.

  The Umoi machine hummed and pulsed. He threw switches, jabbed buttons, calibrated a gauge. There came a subdued sensation of thrust. The humming got louder, the throbbing beat faster. On the instrument panel, a bank of red lights went green, and blue and yellow ones began to pulsate.

  The tiny compartment was dark. Through the view port he saw nothingness, a blank, featureless void, and superimposed on it was his reflection, a chiaroscuro self-portrait. Yet something was out there. A sense of vastness, of infinitude.