Or, wait a moment, he told himself. If Diane could take the manuscript to Standish House, she could take it just as easily to Oxenford. At Oxenford she could deliver it by hand to Bishop Wise and wait to bring back the word.
But, thinking this, he knew that none of it was possible, knew that he had been doing no more than conjuring up fantasies in a desperate effort to find some solution to his problem.
He could not hand over the manuscript to Diane — nor, perhaps, to any other. He could not give it to someone he could not trust and in this place, other than Conrad, whom could he trust? Diane had lured him and his party into this circle of enchantment. And now she said that she was sorry, had even wept in saying she was sorry. But expressions of sorrow come easily, he told himself, and tears just as easily.
And that was not all. The manuscript had been given into his keeping and it must stay that way. He was the one who had sole responsibility for it; it was a sacred trust he could share with no one else. In his mad groping for some way out of his predicament, he had forgotten, for the moment, the holy vow he implicitly had taken when His Grace had handed him the parchment.
“Another thing,” said Conrad. “Could the demon help us? He might have a trick or two up his sleeve. If we appealed to him, if we were able to offer him the payment of setting him free, if we could…”
“With a demon I’ll not deal,” snapped Andrew. “He is a filthy beast.”
“To me,” said Duncan, “he seems a decent chap.”
“You cannot trust him,” Andrew said. “He would play you false.”
“You said we could not trust Snoopy either,” Conrad reminded him. “Yet if we’d paid attention to Snoopy, we’d not be where we are now. He warned us against the castle. He told us not to go near it.”
“Have it your own way,” whined Andrew, “but leave me out of it. I’ll have no traffic with a demon out of Hell.”
“He might have a way to help us.”
“If he did, there’d be a price attached. Mark my word, there’d be a price to pay.”
“I’d be prepared to pay the price,” said Conrad.
“Not the kind he’d ask,” said Andrew.
It was no good, Duncan told himself. Scratch, decent chap though he might be — something of which they could not be certain — would not be able to help them. Nor could anyone. Diane, if she had been able, would have opened a path for them. And if she were unable, so would be all the others of them. An enchantment of this sort, he told himself, if it were to have any value, would have to be foolproof and tamperproof.
Despite all his daydreaming, all his wishful thinking, the matter now was closed, the venture cancelled out. They could not leave the castle, the manuscript would not get to Oxenford, the one last hope of mankind, as His Grace had termed it, now had flickered out.
He rose heavily to his feet and started up the stairway.
“Where are you going, m’lord?” Conrad asked.
Duncan didn’t answer him, for there was no answer. He had no idea where he might be going or what might be his purpose. He had no thought at all. It was as if his mind had been wiped clean of every thought he had. The only thing he knew was that somehow he must get away, although he did not know from what. And even as he thought this, he knew that he would be unable to get away from anything.
He kept on plodding up the stairs.
He had almost reached the entrance when he heard the scream — a ululating wail laden with an unsupportable terror, the kind of half screech, half howl a condemned soul might utter, interspersed with squeals of stricken horror.
The sound nailed him to the spot, petrified and stupefied, terror-stricken by the horror of it.
The screaming was coming from somewhere inside the castle, and the first thought he had was of Diane. But it was not Diane, he realized; the sound was too full-throated, too deep to be made by a woman. Cuthbert, he told himself — it had to be the wizard.
With a superhuman effort he broke the chain of terror that held him in place, forced his legs to move, and went leaping up the stairs. As he burst through the entrance into the hall, he saw that it was Cuthbert. The old man was running along the balcony above the hall. He wore the long white nightgown with ruffles at the throat and wrists, the flaming red nightcap askew upon his head. His hands were lifted high, as if raised in horror, and his face was so twisted it seemed scarcely human. From his foam-flecked, frothing lips issued a stream of screams and squeals, and then, in mid-scream, he went over the balustrade that closed in the balcony and spun in the air, cartwheeling through the emptiness, his scream becoming one loud, persistent screech that did not end until he hit the floor. Then the scream cut off and he lay, a huddled, crumpled figure all in white except for the red nightcap.
Duncan rushed forward, and out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Diane, still clad in her filmy gown of green, running down one of the staircases from the balcony.
He reached Cuthbert and went to his knees beside him, reaching out his hands to lift the body, but stopping when he saw the rivulet of blood that came from beneath the shattered head to run along the polished flagstones. Then, more slowly, he reached out again and turned the body, saw what had happened to the head and face and then let it roll back again to its original position.
Diane was racing toward him and, getting to his feet, he leaped to intercept her. He caught her in his arms and held her while she beat at him with her fists.
“Don’t look,” he told her sharply. “You don’t want to look.”
“But Cuthbert…”
“He is dead,” said Duncan.
Above him he heard a creaking, and looking up, he saw that a part of the balcony balustrade was swaying. Even as he watched it came crashing down. Shards of shattered stone skittered across the floor, and from somewhere within the castle’s bowels came a groaning sound. Then one of the pillars that stood along the wall of the reception hall tieing the hall and balcony together slowly, gracefully peeled itself off the wall and toppled, not with a rush, but settling slowly, describing a polished arc, as if it were tired and lying down to rest. It struck the floor with violence despite its graceful fall and came apart, the broken debris flying out to roll across the flagstones.
“Let’s get out of here,” yelled Conrad. “The whole damn place is beginning to fall down.”
From deep within the castle came the moaning of strained and shifting masonry, the moans punctuated by unseen crashes. Out of the walls of the hall blocks of stone were coming loose and moving, the entire wall writhing as the blocks continued their shifting.
“M’lord!” yelled Conrad. “M’lord, get a move on, for the love of God!”
Duncan moved as if in a dream, heading for the entrance, dragging Diane with him. Behind him came thunderous crashes as the castle continued to collapse. Meg was scuttling out the entrance, followed closely by Andrew. Conrad was hurrying toward Duncan, intent on grasping him and propelling him to safety.
A bawling voice rang through the hall.
“Help me!” the voice bawled. “Do not leave me here.”
Duncan, still with a grip upon Diane, swung around to see where the voice came from.
Scratch, the demon, had jumped down off his pedestal and was on the floor, his back toward them, his hands upon the chain, leaning backward, heels dug in, tugging futilely at the chain in an effort to free it from the stone.
Duncan gave Diane a shove toward the entrance. “Run!” he shouted. “Don’t look back, just run.”
He leaped for the demon and the chain, but Conrad got there first. He shoved the demon to one side, wrapped the chain around his fists, and reared back on his heels, throwing the weight of his massive body against the staple fastened in the pillar. The links of the chain hummed and whined with the strain he put upon them, but the staple held.
Duncan, moving in behind Conrad, also grasped the chain. “Now,” he said. The two of them threw their weight against the staple but it did not stir.
“No w
ay,” gasped Conrad. “We can’t pull it out.”
“Hang on. Keep it taut,” said Duncan. He stepped around Conrad to position himself between Conrad and the staple. He drew his sword and lifted it high above his head, then struck at the chain with all his strength. Sparks flew as the blade’s edge struck the iron, but the sword skidded along the length of chain and the links held. Duncan struck again and again sparks flew, but the chain still stayed intact.
One wall of the reception hall was down and stones were falling from the ceiling, bouncing on the flagstones.
Stone dust floated in the air, and the floor was covered with tiny bits of fragmented masonry. Any minute now, Duncan knew, the entire structure would collapse upon them.
“Let the damn chain be,” wailed the demon. “Cut off my hoof to free me from the chain.”
Conrad grunted at Duncan. “He’s right,” he said. “That’s the only way. Cut off his goddamn foot.”
Duncan spun around, ducked behind Conrad.
“Fall down,” he yelled at Scratch. “Hold up the foot so I can make a cut at it.”
Scratch sprawled full length on the floor and held up the clubhoof. Duncan raised his blade for the stroke.
Someone joggled him. He saw that it was Andrew.
“Get out of the way,” Duncan shouted at him. “Give me room.” But Andrew did not move. His staff was poised above his head and he brought it down in a vicious sweep. It struck the outstretched chain and at the blow the chain shattered into bits, tiny shards of metal spewing out along the floor.
Still holding the staff in his right hand, Andrew reached down with his left, grabbing the demon by the arm, and headed for the entrance, dragging the freed Scratch along behind him.
“Run for it!” yelled Conrad, and Duncan ran, with Conrad close behind him. Ahead of them Andrew loped along with surprising speed, still hauling along an outraged demon, who screamed to be let loose, that he could make it by himself. As they burst out the entrance and started down the stairway, the reception hail caved in upon itself with a thunderous roar. Small fragments of broken stone went whizzing past them, and a cloud of dust belched out of the entrance.
By this time Andrew had let go of Scratch, and the demon, despite his clubfoot, was scrambling frantically down the stairs. On the lawn at the foot of the stairs, Meg was kneeling with her arms locked around Diane’s knees to keep her from struggling free. Behind Duncan and Conrad the castle continued crashing in upon itself. The central tower had already fallen and the walls were buckling.
Reaching the foot of the stairs, Duncan ran to reach Diane. He grasped her arm.
“You can’t go back in,” he said.
“Cuthbert,” she said. “Cuthbert.”
“She tried to break away and go back,” said Meg. “I had to hold her. I had to seize violently upon her. She almost got away.”
“It’s all right now,” said Duncan. “All of us are out.”
He grasped Diane by both shoulders, shook her.
“It’s all over now,” he told her. “We can’t help him. We never could have helped him. He died when he hit the floor.”
Daniel and Beauty were at the foot of the park, standing beside one another, staring up toward them, watching the crumbling of the castle. Tiny was loping up the park toward them, his ears laid back, his tail standing out behind him.
Hubert, the griffin, did not seem to be about.
Scratch hobbled over to confront Andrew. He stood before him, his head tilted up to look at him.
“I thank you, reverend father,” he said, “for freeing me. That is a truly miraculous staff you have.”
Andrew made a choking sound, as if he had swallowed something that tasted very bad. His face twisted in disgust and he had the look of a man who, any minute now, might fall down dead.
“It was not death I feared,” said Scratch. “I doubt I would have died. It was something worse than death. Death is something that holds no fear for me, for I doubt I’ll ever die. In a truly horrible way, I suppose I am immortal. But if the castle had crashed down upon me, I’d have been imprisoned there until the very stones should rot away with time and…”
Andrew made a croaking sound and swung his arm, as if to banish the demon forever from his sight.
“Leave me alone,” he moaned. “Begone, foul demon, from me. I want no sight of you again.”
“You do not even want my thanks?”
“Least of all I want your thanks. I want nothing of you. Forgetfulness is all I ask from you.”
“But Andrew,” said Conrad, walking up to him, “all this poor creature tries to do is express his gratitude. It is not meet you take such an attitude toward him. Demon he may be, but surely you must agree it is to his credit to feel gratitude. And he says right — you have a miracle of a staff. Why had you not told us before it held such puissant power?”
“Begone!” howled Andrew. “All of you begone. I want not to have you gaze upon me. I do not wish you to be the witnesses to my shame.”
He turned about and started walking down the park. Conrad made as if to follow him, but Duncan signed him to desist.
“But there’s something wrong with him,” protested Conrad.
“In time he’ll let us know,” said Duncan. “Now all he wishes is to be left alone. Give the man some time.”
Diane pulled herself away from Duncan and looked at him with level eyes.
“I’m all right now,” she said. “It now is at an end. I know what happened. With the death of the final wizard, the enchantment now is ending.”
The sun had been shining brightly, only halfway down the western sky, but now it seemed to be getting dark and the sun was gone.
The crashes from the castle were fewer, and in the deepening dark it no longer was a castle, but a heap of rubble, with only two towers still standing. A faint haze of white stone dust still could be seen hanging over the shattered masonry.
Conrad plucked at Duncan’s sleeve. “Look, the standing stones,” he said. Duncan looked toward the foot of the park and saw that the standing stones were no longer standing as they had been. Many of them were canted at an angle and the lintels had fallen off them.
He turned back to stare at the castle and in the moonlight (the moonlight!) he saw it as a mound — saw it as he first had seen it when they’d come out of the chasm with the windy voice in the upper reaches of its walls chanting, “Holy!
Holy! Holy!”
“So it ends,” said Diane, her voice small and soft. “The last wizard is dead and the enchantment gone. The castle a mound, as it has been for centuries.”
“There are fires,” said Conrad, and, indeed, there were, many little campfires gleaming in the dark on the hillside between the mounded castle and the hills.
“The Horde?” the demon asked. “Waiting there for us?”
“I think it unlikely,” said Duncan. “The Horde would have no need of fires.”
“More than likely,” Conrad said, “it is Snoopy and his gang.”
Duncan said to Scratch, “There’s no need for you to stay. We placed no price upon the freeing of you. We have no claim upon you. If there’s somewhere you want to go…”
“You mean you do not want me?”
“It’s not that,” said Duncan. “Should you want to stay with us, you’re welcome.”
“I thought, perhaps, the hermit. He is not happy with me. Although I cannot understand…”
“He’s only dramatizing,” said Conrad. “Showing off a little. He’ll get over it.”
“I have nowhere else to go,” said Scratch. “I have no other friends. I can, mayhaps, be of some small service to you. I can fetch and carry.”
“Stay, then,” said Duncan. “Our company becomes more diverse as we proceed upon the journey. We can make room for a demon.”
The ground beneath his feet, Duncan realized, no longer had the even smoothness of a lawn. It was rough and humpy, covered by wild grasses and low-growing ground cover that rasped, as he moved, against h
is boots.
Somewhere, off in the distance, an owl was hooting, and in the hills above the castle mound a wolf howled mournfully.
The moonlight was bright, the moon a night or two from fullness, and to the south he caught a glimpse of the river, shining like a mirror.
Saved again, he thought, jerked out of the jaws of disaster by the most unlikely of events, the castle’s enchantment broken by the death of the last of those who had held it together. Cuthbert had committed suicide, whether intentionally or in a fit of insanity, there was no way of knowing. But it had been suicide. He had hurled himself from the balcony to the floor below.
Diane moved close to him and he put an arm about her, held her tightly. She leaned her head upon his shoulder.
“I am sorry,” he said. “Sorry that it happened this way.”
“I should have known,” she said. “I should have realized that one day Cuthbert would be gone and the castle gone with him. I guess I did know, way back in my mind, but I didn’t allow myself to even think of it.”
He stood, holding her closely, trying to give her the little comfort that he could, looking out beyond the canted standing stones to the fires that blazed along the slope.
“There must be a lot of them out there,” he said. “Snoopy told us he’d collect an army.”
“Duncan,” asked Diane, “have you seen Hubert anywhere?”
“No, I haven’t. He must be around. He was out there just a while ago with Daniel and Beauty.”
She shook her head against his shoulder. “I don’t think so. I think I’ve lost him, too. He was one with the castle.
He’d been here so long.”
“As soon as it is light,” said Duncan, “we’ll look for him. He may wander in before the night is over.”
“There’s someone coming,” Conrad said.
“I don’t see anyone.”
“Just the other side of the standing stones. Snoopy, more than likely. I think we should go out to meet them. They won’t want to pass beyond the stones. They know something’s happened, but they can’t know quite what.”
“There’s no danger now,” said Diane.
“They’d not know that,” Conrad said.
Fellowship of the Talisman Page 23