The demon's immense flame seethed with screaming rage. The fire howled, sending quakes through The Purple Room. She focused, drawing it about her tiny form in a churning, shrieking sphere. Grinning, she hurled herself into the door. There was an explosion as magic clashed against magic. In fact, very little force was released on a physical level. But the metaphysical shock waves rocked the castle at a supernatural level, and had Margle not wisely taken the precaution of reinforcing its astral foundation, the castle would surely have crumbled. As it was, hardly anyone noticed. Only a few nearby ghosts (who developed mysterious, numbing headaches), a skull on a spice rack who cackled madly, a hellhound trapped in a carpet, a gnat no one ever heard and a single dark wizardess.
The door to The Purple Room fell off its hinges. Too exhausted even to fly, the demon scuttled from her prison and inhaled the fresh air. It wasn't very fresh, a bit stale actually, but nothing had ever smelled quite so sweet.
She chuckled. "Now just a bit of rest, and I'll be ready to destroy that damned wizard once and for all. And his precious castle. Then I'll see about doing something about this pathetic mortal world."
She paused, expecting herself to say something else, but there were no other herselves left to speak. She folded her wings in a shrug.
"All things in their own time."
Needing to gather her strength, she turned to scuttle into a secure dark crevice and came face to face with a large, speckled brown toad.
"Hello," said the toad. "You wouldn't happen to be a princess, would you?"
The demon squinted into the amphibian's black eyes. "No."
"Too bad. I myself am a prince, vexed with this loathsome form. And while I can't say for certain it would work, I've heard a princess's kiss could undo such a curse. And I know that somewhere in this castle there is at least one princess in some similarly accursed shape. With a single kiss, we could do both ourselves a great favor. Maybe even fall in love and well . . . who knows what else?" He smiled. "Fairy tale nonsense, of course, but one can dream."
The demon, who had a great love of her own voice but very little affection for anyone else's, glared at the toad.
"Are you certain you're not a princess?" he asked again. "There would be a wonderful dramatic irony to a toad prince and a firefly princess."
"I'm not a princess." Her voice boomed. "I am a queen. Queen of the abyss, mistress of the screaming void, regent of the blistering flame and . . ."
The toad's tongue flicked out, mostly by its own instinct, and he swallowed the demonic insect before he'd truly known he'd done so.
"Oh darn. I didn't get a chance to ask if she knew of any princesses."
Frowning, he belched a small spark of flame.
"Spicy."
He hopped away in search of any other treats and/or princesses flittering about.
Gnick the gnome found himself polishing well into the night as he did every night. He knew he could never complete his task. The hope had long ago left him. But he kept on, compelled by ancient silver gnome custom. Although, when it grew late enough and when he was certain no one was looking, he'd pretend to sleep, which was as close to sleep as he allowed himself.
Atop the dragon armor, he paused in shining its horns to commit the aforementioned, near unforgivable sin of his race. While his eyes were closed in simulated slumber, he heard a rustle in the armory.
"I'm awake! I'm awake!" He rubbed the horns vigorously. "I wasn't asleep. I was just resting my eyes. I have every right to rest my eyes from time to time. I'm allowed!"
There came no reply. Gnick glanced around the armory and saw no one. Of course, not everyone in the castle could be seen at a glance.
"Is someone there?"
Silence filled the armory. But there was something amiss. He could feel it, and since he spent all his time in the armory, he trusted he should know. He thought of the hellhound roaming the castle. But Gnick wasn't undead, and perfectly safe. Yet he was definitely getting a tingling foreboding that stood his bushy eyebrows on end and put a twitch in his beard.
More rustling. Louder this time and sounding distinctly of metal against metal.
"Whoever is out there, you'd best show yourself. If you think Margle has a way with curses, you've yet to see a bane of the gnome folk. I'll turn your fingers to gold, your eyes to pearls, a tongue of copper. Try sneaking up on someone when you've got platinum toes!"
The threat seemed to have driven the intruder away. There was only quiet in the armory. But his eyebrows kept tingling. His beard still twitched. He attributed this to an overactive imagination, leaned against the dragon armor's horns, and closed his eyes. Another moment or two of feigned sleep would do him good.
The clatter of banging metal filled the chamber.
"I'm awake! I'm awake!"
The plate mail of the fabled Blue Paladin stepped from its pedestal. A troll-spiked carapace broke free of its display case, taking up a halberd and shield. A suit of granite and limestone made for rock brutes lumbered past. A dozen tiny pixie protective leathers zipped high in the air. All around, the armors were filled with sudden life. As the armory was Gnick's responsibility, he was thoroughly vexed.
"What's this nonsense?" he snarled.
The suits each raised their head in his direction to peer at him with eyes they didn't have.
"Get back to your places! Right now! This very instant!"
The armors shook, clanging with silent laughter. One smacked a gauntlet across the back of another with an echoing gong.
Gnick glared. "I polish you every day, and this is the respect I get."
The shell of the Blue Paladin waved to his comrades and, dutifully, they marched from the chamber.
"One little tarnish and you'll be back! You'll all be back!"
The dragon armor shifted unexpectedly. The gnome tumbled and rolled down its back and tail to land harshly on the stone floor. Though he was immortal, he could still be hurt, and it felt as if he'd broken his arm.
The armor of the dragon czar raised its helmet as if unleashing a mighty bellow. It thumped its iron tail and joined its smaller cousins in their unprecedented stroll. It stooped to leave the chamber, but its steel wings brushed the archway, tearing away chunks of stone. It disappeared around the corner.
Clutching his damaged limb, Gnick walked after them, but they were gone, vanished into a dead end. Even the dragon armor had somehow disappeared without a trace.
Gnick didn't know what to make of it. Margle's castle was a refuge of infinite possibilities, but this was more than a strange occurrence. This was outright disorder in his armory. He looked at all the empty pedestals and broken cases.
And he smiled. It was that much less to polish.
"Next time, take a few more swords with you," he suggested to the wall through which they'd gone.
Fortune hadn't always been a very good hunter. It'd taken him some time to adjust to his cat body, to find the stealth built into his graceful black form. For many months, he'd relied on Nessy to take care of him. It was her job to do so, but Fortune had never been one to depend upon others. His whole life, he'd trusted only two things: himself and his luck. That he was now a cat showed even the latter had been a mistake.
He wasn't entirely sure of that. When he'd come to Margle to propose his wager, he'd been hoping to retire. Had Fortune won, great wealth would've been his, but he knew himself well enough. It would've been gambled away eventually. Perhaps a year. Perhaps ten. Spending it would've been fun, but the end would always be the same. Now, as a cat, he enjoyed a simple life of napping and prowling. Margle's castle was always an interesting place. So in a way, his luck had given him what he'd wanted. Not exactly, but close enough.
Now that he was good at it, he quite enjoyed hunting. Waiting patiently for an hour or two. Staring at a hole in the wall. Hearing the click of tiny claws. Then seeing the little nose and beady pink eyes poke out cautiously. This was the tricky part. He couldn't move yet. He had to wait for the right moment. He stood stock still,
save for his tail that swished back and forth of its own accord. He narrowed his eyes, and thought of himself as invisible. The mouse stepped from its protective shelter. It was white and brown. Fortune licked his lips. Nothing tasted quite so good as a white and brown mouse.
His haunches tightened in preparation for the pounce.
"Look out! Look out!" shouted a large potted sunflower. The mouse darted back into the wall. Fortune pounced but missed.
His ears flattened. "Why do you do that?"
Rose the sunflower shrugged her leaves. "You can't expect me to just sit by and watch that carnage, can you?"
"It's nature." He flicked his tail.
"That's easy to say when you're the cat."
Fortune stalked back and forth across the crack, occasionally peering within. "And what am I supposed to do for a meal?"
"I fail to see how your right to exist supersedes the mouse's."
"Big things eat small things. It's the way it is."
"And sometimes, little things get away from big things," she said. "That's also the way it is."
"Hadn't really thought of it like that, but an excellent point." Fortune smiled. "I should warn you though. It's bad luck to make a black cat go hungry."
He lay beside her as if for a casual nap, but kept his eye slyly trained on the mouse hole. He could wait. The hint of dawn was offered by one of the castle's rare windows. This one was small, with iron bars, but it allowed enough sunlight during the days to keep the flower from dying.
"Did it ever occur to you that the mice you eat could very well be accursed folk much like yourself?" asked Rose.
"Certainly. In fact, I place the chances of such as roughly a hundred to one. So really, it's not very likely that I would be devouring more than an ordinary rodent."
"And what if it's that hundredth mouse that ends up in your belly?"
"A good gambler plays the odds when they fall in his favor." He narrowed his eyes so that he could appear to be sleeping, but his gaze remained on the mouse's refuge. "And a cat has to eat. It's not as if I'm cruel about it. I don't bat the poor thing about and play with it. I just crush its neck and gobble it down."
Rose twisted on her stem to shake her bud. "My, aren't we a merciful sort."
There arose a great rumble from one end of the hall. Fortune covered his eyes with his paws. "What's going on now?" He was quite annoyed, for the noise was sure to scare away his dinner. If he hadn't known a bowl of milk was waiting for him this morning, he'd have been terribly disgusted.
"Something's coming." Rose turned her petals in one direction and leaned forward on her stem. "Noisy, isn't it?"
Fortune perked up his ears. The rumble echoed through the bricks. It traveled up his paws and vibrated his fur on end. He hid in the darkness behind her pot and thought himself invisible again.
A gray fog poured toward them. Its movement was slow and ponderous as if it were having to dig its way through the air. The rumble of its motion was akin to boulders being split by lightning. The mist drifted to the window with a clatter, and stone materialized over the small crack to the outside world.
"Hey, I need that!" shouted Rose. "I barely get enough light as it is."
The fog reached down and swirled around the sunflower. Fortune backed away, hackles raised.
"What are you doing?" she said. "Help me!"
He was at a loss as to what he could do to stop the fog. As a cat, few choices were available to him. A low growl rolled from Fortune's throat. Instead of deterring the fog, it spurred it forward, reaching out to him. He turned and dashed off, hoping perhaps to lure it away. The fog didn't chase him. Its icy touch grazed and numbed his tail, but he quickly outdistanced it. Not so quickly as he expected, having to drag some inexplicable extra weight. He waited in the darkness, ears perked, whiskers twitching. Soon the rumble faded away.
Fortune glared at the tip of his tail. The last inch was a lump of granite. Frowning, he went back to check on Rose. The once tall and delicate sunflower was now a block of stone. There was little indication of her shape left. He spotted a protrusion here and there that reminded him of her leaves. Beside her were scattered, here and there, lumps of rock, bricks of odd shapes. They left a trail down the hall.
He swished his tail. Or tried to. The rock made effective swishing impossible. It ungracefully scraped against the stone floor.
"Nessy," he thought aloud. "She'll know what to do."
He headed on his way, his stone tail dragging behind him.
TWELVE
Nessy wasn't surprised to wake to a fresh day of new troubles. She would've been astounded if it had been any other way. She didn't find it as bothersome as she would've imagined, and this lack of personal distress troubled her. She couldn't stomach the notion of adjusting to chaos, finding it acceptable. It was contrary to both her duty and her nature. She spent a thoughtful minute analyzing any possible lessening in her standards, but when the allotted minute passed, she set aside such examination and focused on her new day. Had Nessy been even a shade more self-involved, she would've seen this as undeniable proof that she was as sensible and efficient as ever. She might've also realized that her calmness stemmed from a quiet confidence in her ability to handle these new situations. But this same unassuming confidence kept her from understanding this truth. No one saw themselves as they truly were, and even practical Nessy wasn't an exception to this rule.
Her first stop, before even getting her breakfast, was The Purple Room. She stood silently in the empty prison. Light filtered through the doorway, and she took stock of the hundreds of tiny ashen piles. She was unsure what to make of it.
Sir Thedeus, who'd recovered from his devouring and regurgitation the night before, clung to her shoulder. "Do ye think the creature could've done all this with just a lump of coal?"
"I think there is nothing so predictably unsafe as a demon given what it wants." She frowned, although she didn't really know why. But in the back of her mind, in some obscure, underdeveloped, dishonorable corner of her personality, she felt a twinge of guilt for keeping her bargain.
The nurgax, sensing her internal conflict better than she did, licked her twice with his great, sloppy tongue to comfort her. Nessy smiled and scratched under its muzzle. Its leg stamped rhythmically.
"Maybe the dark creature perished in its escape attempt," said Sir Thedeus.
"It would be wiser to assume she didn't." She rubbed some gray powder between her fingers and sniffed it. It smelled of burnt flesh.
"Perhaps it has left the castle entirely."
Nessy would've liked to believe that, but there was a spell on Margle's castle that prevented casual departure. Powerful enough to hold a demon, she presumed. The demon hadn't escaped its prison yet. Merely found a larger cage.
"A demon lord loose in the castle," said Sir Thedeus. "I can think of nothing more dangerous, lass."
"What about the dark wizardess that carries death in her fingertips?" asked Fortune. "Or a small infantry of unmanned armor roaming the halls? Or a noisy fog that turns things to stone?" He thumped his heavy tail against the floor. "Not to mention the hellhound or the countless other horrors that walk these halls that we've all gotten used to but are nonetheless still quite dangerous."
"Ach, what a mess we've found ourselves in."
When Nessy thought about it, there seemed to be a greater pattern to all of this. But she couldn't see it clearly, only sense it in the vaguest manner. She wished she knew more of magic. Then she might be able to connect it together. Or not. Perhaps her desire for order was so great that she saw design in anarchy. Perhaps the castle was falling apart around her, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
Before this concept could become too unpleasant, she had already moved on to more pressing concerns. Most important of these was Tiama the Scarred. She went to check on the wizardess only to find the guest room vacant.
Melvin of the Mirrors, still wearing Tiama's form, apologized. "She didn't do anything all night. Just stoo
d there, staring into the fire. Then, just before dawn, she got up and left. But not before she trapped me in this reflection, in this mirror somehow." He leaned against the glass. "You have to get me out of here. It was bad enough to be hostage of a thousand looking glasses, but only one will drive me mad."
"I'll look into it," she promised, but it was not at the top of her priorities.
"This just keeps getting worse, lass."
On the contrary, Nessy didn't think they could get much worse. Whether Tiama roamed about alone or escorted, it didn't make her any more dangerous. She could still take the castle anytime she wanted once she discovered Margle was dead and there would be no way to stop her.
Nessy considered letting the wizardess have the castle. It wasn't the place it'd once been, and Nessy was beginning to doubt she could manage it. She'd been its keeper, but Margle had been its cruel master. Nessy wasn't nearly so menacing. In truth, she wasn't menacing at all. Without the threat of some wizardly wrath, the castle seemed to have grown defiant, ill-behaved, and downright discourteous. Tiama could easily instill some fear into it, and she might have a position available for Nessy too. Or the wizardess just might kill Nessy. But it wasn't the risk of death that kept Nessy from offering Tiama the castle.
She wasn't ready to give up on it yet. Nessy had never believed that fear and respect were the same thing. Nor did she believe that the castle's manners were beyond redemption, for although her accursed home was mostly bad it was at least a little bit good. She hoped it would be good enough.
Nessy, Fortune, and Sir Thedeus spread out to ask any nearby inhabitants if they'd seen Tiama pass by. None had. It was as if she'd walked out the door and simply vanished. Not an impossibility for a wizardess of Tiama's reputation.
"Maybe the witch got bored and left," said Sir Thedeus.
But the suggestion was just as unlikely as it had been with the demon.
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