Castle War c-4

by John Dechancie

  Jeremy had some trouble with his lips. “Who — who — who are you?”

  “I’m Isis.”

  She came up and kissed him full on the mouth.

  Six

  The Plains of Merydion

  He put down the chalk, picked up a dry cloth, and wiped the piece of slate, erasing the last part of the message. The sending technique was primitive, but it had worked.

  He set the slate down and picked up his flagon of wine. He drank deeply. When the flagon was empty, he sat awhile in thought.

  Presently he got up and left the tent.

  Gart, the warlord, was seated by the fire gnawing a haunch of mutton. It was late, and most of Gart’s army was asleep. Campfires burned low on the plain. A hide-and-seek moon played in the clouds above. Out in the darkness, sentries walked the perimeter of the camp.

  Gart looked up from his meal. He smiled, gap-toothed and devilish, his beard glistening with grease. “What goes, magician? Communicating with your spirits again?”

  “No, I phoned home.”

  “Eh?”

  “Sent a message.” The magician sat down on a flat stone by the fire. “To my family.”

  “Ah. Things go well, I trust.”

  “No, unfortunately not. There is trouble, and I must leave to attend to it.”

  Gart was dismayed. “But we fight in the morning!”

  “My apprentices can handle it. Besides, you have the advantage in numbers.”

  “I was counting on a supernatural advantage, magician.”

  “You will have it. Fire spells, forfending spells, zone-of-death curses, everything.”

  “But you are more skilled than any apprentice, and skill is all in these things.”

  “The spells are simple, because magic — here, at least — is a simple matter. And not very potent, either. I have told you many times that if you win the day, it will be by dint of superior military talent and cunning. These you have in adequate supply.”

  “That I’m capable is true enough. But any extra leverage, however slight, is desirable.” Gart threw down the haunch and picked up a wineskin. “I’m afraid you will have to stay, magician.”

  The magician said quietly, “I’m afraid that will not be possible.”

  Gart tilted the skin and a stream of wine poured into his mouth. He grimaced and spat it out, threw down the skin. “Soured! Damn that provisioner. I’ll have him hoisted by his stones and left to savor like a game hen.”

  The magician was silent.

  Avoiding the other man’s gaze, Gart searched the night sky. The fire crackled, and insects buzzed.

  Suddenly the warlord’s head swung around, mouth twisted into a sneer. “Very well, go! You know I can’t force you to stay. Bear in mind, though — I won’t forget. When next the nobles sit in council, I will vote against you on every issue! I will be a thorn in your foot, a canker on your lip. I will block you!”

  “You would do that, anyway.”

  “I’ll … damn it all to hell!” Gart got to his feet, picked up the mutton and heaved it out into the darkness. Grunting in disgust, he stalked away.

  The magician stared into the fire for a moment, watching it glow and pulsate and send puffs of smoke into the night — cryptic signals.

  He went back to his tent and packed his things. He didn’t have much. He stuffed the satchel, gathered up his maps and battle plans, and left.

  He went to Jarlen’s tent and woke him.

  Jarlen blinked. “Master?”

  “I’m leaving. Think you can carry on without me tomorrow?”

  “You won’t be here?” Jarlen sat up. “I don’t know. I … I think so. Perhaps.”

  “Uh, could you be more definite?”

  Jarlen rubbed his eyes. Then he nodded. “I can do it.”

  “That’s more like it.” He handed the boy a sheaf of papers. “Here are the battle plans. You’ve seen them before. Study them, then burn them before the battle. Draw your pentacles straight and true. And don’t muff any incantations. If you do, you’ll have to start over from the beginning.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good. Get up. You’ve got work to do.”

  Jarlen struggled out of his bedclothes.

  “Come see me off, then go wake the other lads. You’ll need all their help.”

  “Master, may I ask where you’re going?”

  “Home.”

  “Your estate?”

  “My castle.”

  “The one in a far country, where you are known by a different name?”

  “That one.”

  They walked to where the horses were tethered. The magician tied his satchel to the saddle, then mounted.

  “Master?”

  “Yes, Jarlen?”

  “May I ask some questions which I have never dared ask you before?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Is it true what they say about your castle?”

  “What do they say?”

  “That it is enchanted, and that it is at the center of all things.”

  “It’s very enchanted. And it is conveniently located.”

  “Is your castle in this world or another?”

  “Another.”

  “How will you get there?”

  “With great difficulty. In order to cast an effective teleportation spell, I must go to a place of power in this world.”

  “Where?”

  “The best candidate is the Temple of the Universes in Timur.”

  “In the land of the ancient Mizzerites? But that is a journey of months, and you will have to go through enemy territory!”

  “Tell me about it. The time element I think I can handle, though. I can go by way of Arvad and the Timeless Forest. If I can catch a hellwind, I can get to Timur in a matter of days.”

  “But the Timeless Forest is dangerous.”

  “Quite. Frankly I’m scared shitless. I don’t know what’s going to be worse, getting home or dealing with all the crap when I do get there.”

  “You will succeed, Master. You are a great magician.”

  “Well, thanks. By the way, forget the ‘Master’ stuff. Call me by my proper name. Incarnadine.”

  Jarlen was awed. “You are the Incarnadine of legend?”

  “Don’t take too much stock in legends, kid.”

  “You speak strangely now, with a strange accent. You must be from another world.”

  “I spent a lot of time on a different world from the one I was born in. It’s called Earth, and sometimes I fall into its speech patterns. Never mind, I must be going.”

  Incarnadine looked out into the darkness, then turned again to his apprentice. “Good luck tomorrow, but let me tell you something. If Gart gets his ass beat, it’s no big deal. The barbarians just want a little fun. They have no intention of invading Merydion. This I know because I know their leader, Nagok. Met him when I was exploring the outlands. We used to go wenching together. Nice guy, if a little rough around the edges.”

  “I will remember, Incarnadine.”

  “Keep a tight anus.”

  Incarnadine reined the horse’s head around and rode away.

  Jarlen watched the man disappear into darkness. Then he calmly walked back to his tent. He needed more sleep.

  To hell with Gart!

  Seven

  Castle — Hall of Mirrors

  Sir gene regarded his many selves.

  There were any number of them, all reflections in the numerous mirrors lining the chamber, regressing to infinity. Each seemed to have its own scheme, the machinations furrowing every brow. Furious thinking was going on.

  What was known? Just this: that this place was the castle, but it was not the castle he knew. It had its Incarnadine, and indeed its Sir Gene, but was a different thing altogether. This castle’s Sir Gene — or simple “Gene”; obviously the fellow was made of commoner clay — had temporarily left Perilous. That much had been gleaned from chance encounters with servants who had been surprised to find him still about.

/>   He also knew from Tyrone that Incarnadine was away. This datum was a peg on which a whole new career could be hung, if action could be taken quickly enough.

  But what action?

  He needed allies. There was no end of possibilities. Presumably this castle had access to as many worlds as the other. The same worlds? Similar, but altered? Perhaps entirely different worlds. The truth would have to be ascertained. In any event, enlisting allies among the various universes would be the thing to do, as always. He had had partial success using this tactic.

  He would need accomplices in the castle. But he could not rely on his castlemates here being exact duplicates mentally as well as physically. He would have to feel them out one by one.

  He left the Hall of Mirrors and walked the hallways, thinking. He had already searched his room. “Gene” was a spartan sort with very few possessions, and what he had was not very useful. There was no cache of weapons, no interesting books or papers, no lists of potential supporters or enemies to be eliminated. Not that a shrewd conspirator would leave such lying about; but then Sir Gene himself had not been altogether cagey. After all, he had been caught!

  How long would Gene be gone? It was vital that he find out. How could his unexpected return be explained? He owed no answer to the servants, but to satisfy the Guests he would have to come up with something.

  Of course the simplest thing to do would be to get rid of the double. How? By lying low in the castle and waiting for the double’s return. Then pounce, a quick kill, and dump the body through the nearest aspect. Simple enough. But there was no telling when Gene would return. Incarnadine might come back first. Then the game would be lost.

  No, he had to act quickly.

  He shook his head wearily. This was more complicated than he had at first thought.

  Perhaps he should just give it up, slip into an aspect and disappear. For good. It was a temptation.

  But no. There was this hunger in him, and only a steady diet of castle intrigue could satisfy it.

  “Gene!”

  He spun around. It was the Lady Linda, running to him.

  “There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “You’ve found me,” was all he could think to say, then silently berated himself.

  Think fast!

  Linda seemed breathless but deeply relieved. “When the servants said that Halfway had disappeared and you weren’t around, I thought, here we go again! Why didn’t you tell somebody? We thought you’d gone through the portal!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have reported directly. When I noticed something was amiss I thought I’d try to get to the bottom of it. Been exploring other aspects.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Some strange things may be happening in the castle.”

  Which was true enough.

  Linda nodded. “Jeremy just got a message from Incarnadine. He says to expect some kind of disturbance.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yeah. Halfway disappearing might be part of a pattern.”

  “Did Lord Incarnadine say when he would return?”

  “No. For some reason — maybe because of the trouble — he can’t get back from where he is.”

  “I see.”

  Some capital luck there.

  “When we found out you’d disappeared, Snowclaw wanted to rush right out into that world to find you. We had trouble holding him back.”

  Snowclaw! That horrid beast, a friend?

  “I hope you dissuaded him.”

  “We did. Snowy’s not stupid. He knows he’d get into trouble running around on some strange Earth. That is what we have out there, isn’t it? Some alternate Earth with no Halfway House?”

  He did not know what Halfway House was, but could guess. In his castle, there was no stable Earth aspect.

  “Possibly,” he answered.

  “Anyway, the aspect’s still there. It hasn’t disappeared. Something might come through.”

  “Let us hope not. Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Well, one of the servants told me that the golf course world looks different. I don’t know if that means anything, but Mr. Dalton and Thaxton could be in there, and they could be in trouble.”

  “Some men should be dispatched to find them.”

  Linda brightened. “Thank God somebody’s up to making some decisions around here. Yes, of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Tyrene doubtless took care of it. One of his duties is looking after Guests.”

  “You’re right. The servant probably reported to him. I should have, too, though, just in case.” Linda smacked her forehead with a palm. “I’ve got to get my brain working. Looks like we have another crisis on our hands. But I was so worried about you.”

  “No need.”

  Sir Gene looked around. So far, so good. But the oafish Gene might appear at any minute, unless he was lost to some strange Earth. Happy thought, that.

  He said, “I’m hungry. What say we —?”

  “Snowy’s probably back in the dining hall. You’d better go there right away.”

  Hm. “Snowy,” indeed. He didn’t relish dealing with the beast, but it looked unavoidable. What’s this, now? She was looking at him strangely.

  He asked, “Anything wrong?”

  She knitted her brow. “Did you cut your hair or something?”

  “Ah … no. Why?”

  “You look different somehow. I see you changed back into castle duds.”

  “Duds? Oh, yes.” He smoothed the doublet he had filched from the mundane Gene’s room.

  “Are you worried about Vaya?”

  Vaya? Careful, careful.

  “No … not particularly.”

  “I’m not worried now that I know you’re safe. I just hope Mr. Dalton and Thaxton get back all right.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Why don’t we go to the dining hall?”

  “I’m going to elevator up to the laboratory and talk with Jeremy. I want to see exactly what Incarnadine had to say. Jeremy should have recorded the conversation.”

  “Fine. Until later, then.”

  “See you.”

  Linda went off down the hall. Sir Gene watched the way her buttocks shifted under her brown tights. In this universe the Lady Linda was more demure and somewhat more desirable. The one he had known was foul-mouthed and had bad teeth. In more ways than one, this was the better Castle Perilous.

  He was famished! Snowclaw or not, he had to visit the dining hall. Ambition could wait. He strode off to satisfy a more natural hunger.

  Eight

  Fifth Hole — Par Four

  The ball described a precise curved path across the green and dropped into the cup. Dalton straightened up and smiled.

  “That’s a birdie three.”

  Thaxton was holding the flag. “We really should have a caddy.” He looked forlornly around the course. “Haven’t seen a soul so far.”

  “Must be a holiday.”

  “Nonsense. There’s something wrong. Besides the landscaping, I mean. Bloody insane.”

  The course had changed radically over five holes. Gone was the forest, replaced by pink rocks and stands of palm trees. The sun was hot, and desert breezes dried the sweat.

  “Oh, I need a drink,” Thaxton lamented.

  “Of course you do. So do I, but we’re playing golf, are we not?”

  “Right. Sorry. Here, hold this, will you?”

  Thaxton placed his ball and picked up the coin marker. He took his putting stance.

  Dalton stood by and watched.

  A bead of sweat dripped off Thaxton’s brow. He stood motionless. Then he drew back the putter, brought it carefully forward, and gave the ball a delicate tap.

  Thunder sounded, and the ground shook. Thaxton’s ball was perturbed from its path and missed the cup. The ground continued to sway for thirty seconds, then subsided.

  “A tremor! Look at that, it spoiled my putt!”

 
“Tough luck.”

  “I get to take that over. I mean, really!”

  “Don’t know the club’s rules.”

  “You mean I should have to lose a stroke?”

  Dalton replaced his putter. “Oh, go ahead if you want to.”

  “It’s only fair.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Thaxton put his hands on his hips. “No, you’re right. Sorry. Don’t know what got into me. Earthquakes are hazards.”

  Thaxton tapped the ball in. “Double bogey, damn it all.”

  Just then a plume of steam erupted from the ground not far from the fairway. It sounded like a teapot gone mad.

  “What the devil’s this, now?”

  The steam dissipated. Then they watched smoke and fire pour from a quickly widening vent. Ash drifted down and began powdering the rocks.

  “Looks like the start of a volcano,” Dalton said.

  “I suppose volcanoes are hazards, too.”

  “Certainly. Shall we move on?”

  “I’m with you.”

  They made for the beginning of a path that wound its way through an oasis. A mushroom cloud of black smoke rose at their backs, and gray ash sifted onto the fairway.

  The gravel path wound through date palms and mimosa. Pink blossoms spangled the shrubbery. Dalton paused and drank it all in.

  “Nice place for a picnic. ‘A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — ’ Omar Khayyám never had it so good.”

  “Don’t remind me of food. I’m still ravenous.”

  “You have no romance in you.”

  They walked on and soon came out of the oasis. Moving to the edge of the next tee, they looked out.

  “Incredible.”

  The fairway seemed a mile long, the green a faraway dot on the other side of a daunting network of sand hazards.

  “Omar Khayyám? You’d have to be bloody T. E. Lawrence to get through that. And the green’s miles away.”

  “It does look a challenge. About a par seven, I should think.”

  “Par seven? This is obviously not a regulation course. It’s one of those balmy universes, I tell you.”

  “Mighty interesting place, all the same.”