"Well, yes." Lona looked down, toying with her wineglass. "Actually, Dar, I was going to ask you if you could add on the northwest circular room. It isn't very large…"
"The one right next to our bedrooms on the plans?" Dar frowned. "Sure. What kind of product are you planning to develop in it?"
Lona actually blushed and lowered her eyes. "A product that would be very small at first. But it would grow. Fifteen years or so, but it would grow."
Dar stared.
Then he stood up and came around to take her hand. "Darling—are you telling me we can finally start a baby?"
She nodded, smiling up at him—and he was amazed to see her eyes fill with tears. "Yes," she whispered, just before her mouth was pre-empted.
An hour later, their breathing slowed down enough for Lona to heave a satisfied sigh, and for Dar to breathe into her ear, "Will you marry me now?"
"Uh-huh." Lona turned to him, nodding brightly. "I do think children should have that much security, at least."
"Security?" Dar pursed his lips and asked, carefully, "Does this mean you might be planning to stay home for a couple of years?"
Lona nodded, eyes huge and face solemn. "At least two years before I go kiting off to Terra again, Dar. I promise."
Cordelia sighed, misty-eyed. "I do so love happy endings."
"Yet was it truly?" Geoffrey said, frowning up at Fess. "Did she keep her promise, Fess?"
"Regrettably, she did not," the robot answered. "In practice, she could not—there was need for her to attend business meetings and speak with prospective clients."
Magnus asked, "Wherefore could her husband not have done so for her?"
"He was quite willing," Fess sighed, "but he lacked the gift for it, perhaps due to his earlier career as a teacher—he was obsessed with the need to tell the precise truth. He just was not as good at business as she was."
"Nor as good at aught else, from what thou sayest." Magnus added.
"Thus it seemed to himself, too. He died feeling that his life had been full and enjoyable, but insignificant."
"Papa hath said that all folk must find and know their limitations," Gregory said, "then seek to transcend them."
"It was Dar Mandra who first enunciated that aphorism, Gregory; it has been passed down from generation to generation of your family. But the operative word is seek. The attempt will surely result in better work than you would otherwise do, and may result in greater accomplishments—but may still fall short of your goal."
Gregory's eyes lost focus as he tried to digest that statement, but Geoffrey was still frowning. "Did the founder of our house, then, accomplish nothing with his life?"
"That depends on your definition of the term 'accomplish.' With his wife, he built a major company within the Maxima conglomerate, raised three children to become excellent citizens, and formed an enduring marriage that gained substance as it aged."
"Yet he did not create anything in his own right, nor invent or discover it."
"Only in that he had not found the answer to the question he had formulated, and did not realize that no answer may be an indicator of the correct answer. His son Limner, though, took that question and likewise tried to answer it: 'Why can physical objects be mapped into seven-dimensional space, when electromagnetic waves cannot?' He, too, failed to discover its solution, just as Dar had—but took the lack of an answer as an indicator."
Gregory asked, "What did Limner think it did indicate?"
"That perhaps electromagnetic waves could be mapped into seven dimensions; they only needed a different technique. Just as electromagnetic radiation was its own medium, the transmitter had to be its own isomorpher.''
Magnus looked up. "Yet 'twas Dar's thoughts, and the question they led to, that enabled Limner to discover that principle."
"That is so, yes."
"Then," Magnus demanded, "how can he be said to have failed?"
"He had not, of course—yet he felt that he had."
Geoffrey squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a shake. "A moment, I prithee—thou dost say he succeeded in some measure, but knew it not?"
"Precisely. Dar's feelings of failure were due to a fundamental misunderstanding of his own nature—he was not an engineer, like Lona, but a research scientist.''
"Oh, the poor ancestor!" Tears brimmed Cordelia's eyes. "To die feeling so, when 'twas not true!"
"Oh, do not pity him, Cordelia. He recognized his true success as a husband, a father, and a stalwart member of the community. In his old age, he counted accomplishments in scholarship and commerce to be relatively inconsequential, as indeed they were."
Gregory stared, scandalized. "Why! How canst thou say the discovery of new knowledge is of no consequence!"
"Only relatively, Gregory, only relatively. For Dar's measure of worth was in adding to the happiness of other people—and in that, he had succeeded enormously. Now hush, children. It is time to sleep. Tomorrow, we will begin to solve the mystery of the castle."
Chapter 6
The rain came down, and it hit with thunder. Rod jolted awake wide-eyed, lurching up on one elbow to stare at the ceiling. The only light was the soft glow of the will-o'-the-wisp Gwen had lit on Fess's saddle before they settled down. Rain roared on the tent.
"How long has it been going on, Fess?" Rod murmured.
"It began only ten minutes ago, Rod."
Then the whole tent-top turned bright with lightning, barely gone before thunder bellowed. Rod turned and looked down at his youngest, and sure enough, the little boy lay rigid, eyes wide, scared witless by the thunder but too proud to cry out.
"You know there's nothing to be scared of, don't you?" Rod said conversationally.
"Aye, Papa." Gregory relaxed a little. "The lightning will not hurt us, nor will a tree fall on us—we pitched our tent far from the branches."
"And lightning bolts are much more likely to strike a higher object, such as a tree or the castle. Yes." But Rod reached out a hand anyway, and Gregory's fingers seized on his like a little vise.
"Oh! 'Tis glorious," Cordelia breathed.
The whole tent flashed bright again as thunder slammed down at them. It showed Magnus and Geoffrey halfway to the door. Darkness struck, and Rod could just barely hear Geoffrey say, "I do so love a storm!"
" 'Tis grand," Magnus agreed. The gloom lightened, and the sound of the rain became even louder.
" 'Ware the rain." Gwen was sitting up beside Rod, facing the door. "Doth it come toward thee?"
"No, Mama, 'tis at the tent's back." Lightning flared with a thunder blast, and Rod saw the boys hunkered belly-down with their chins on their fists, gazing out, and Cordelia wriggling up between them.
" 'Tis right atop us," Gregory murmured. "There is no delay 'twixt lightning flash and thunder."
Rod smiled; ever the scientist! Well, if it let the boy share his siblings' pleasure, what harm? "Don't you want to look at it, too?"
Gregory looked up at him, then smiled. "Aye!" He turned and crawled toward the door.
Rod caught Gwen's hand and squeezed a little. She returned the pressure and murmured, "Why should they have the sight to themselves, my lord?"
"Hey, the family .ought to stay together, right?" Rod rolled up to his hands and knees. "After you, dear."
"What, durst I trust thee so?"
"Sure, the kids are awake. But let's go side by side, if you doubt me."
Gwen giggled and they rubbed elbows as they came to their feet and stepped over to join their offsprings. Lightning blazed as they came to the doorway, thunder crashing down around their heads. Rod looked up in time to catch the last sight of the tower tops in silhouette—and stiffened.
"Hist!" Geoffrey cried.
They all fell totally silent, ears straining.
" 'Twas not the last boom of the thunder alone," Magnus said.
"I hear a lass wailing," Cordelia answered.
Rod started to say what he'd heard, then bit his tongue and stared up at the unseen tower
with narrowed eyes. Gwen's hand tightened on his arm.
Gregory said it for him. "I do hear a man's laughter."
"Aye, and 'tis as wicked and foul a laugh as ever I've heard," Magnus agreed.
"I, too, hear it, my lord," Gwen murmured.
"He's gloating," Rod said softly. "I don't know what about…"
"The maid?" Cordelia guessed. "Doth he rejoice at having made her weep?"
"I mislike this castle," Magnus said, his voice hard.
Thunder tore at the stones, bleached white by the lightning.
When it quieted, Gregory asked, "Ought we go home, then?"
"Nay." Magnus said it even faster than Rod. "Whatever is here, we must face and banish it."
Thunder blasted them again, the next lightning flash following so hard on the first that it seemed one long, unbroken instant of light with only a flicker between. Then it died, and the afterimage danced before Rod's eye, confirming what he'd thought he had seen.
As the thunder faded, Cordelia gasped, "Was it a lass?"
"Mayhap." Geoffrey's voice hardened. "Whatsoe'er 'twas, it was long-haired and cloaked."
"Yet why did it plummet head-first toward the ground?" Gregory wondered.
"Because it was pushed, brother," Geoffrey answered.
"Or did it throw itself down?" Cordelia wondered.
"Whate'er 'twas, it was the fruit of wickedness," Magnus answered.
Rod could hear the anger in his voice, and said quickly, "Was, Magnus. Remember the was. Whatever happened there, however cruel or vicious, it was done two hundred years ago, not tonight."
"But how evil must it have been," Cordelia cried, "that the spirit must live through it again, and again and again, for two hundred years!"
"Then 'tis time it was finished." Magnus's voice was grim, with a determination Rod had never heard in it before. "Whatever lies within that stone pile, 'tis a fell, foul evil, and we must not let it stand."
Rod frowned down at his boy. He was right, of course—but where had this sudden determination come from? Magnus had never heard anything about Castle Foxcourt but its name, before tonight. He wondered further about it as the family settled down once again, but decided to say nothing to Gwen—yet.
"Wherefore doth it not now appear so grim, Papa?" Cordelia looked up at the walls of the castle, golden now in the morning light.
"Because it's dawn, dear, and everything looks better by the light of the day.''
"Then too, the rain hath washed it clean," Gwen explained, "as it doth with all. The sky is cleaner above, and mine heart doth sing within me to behold it."
"But we still have to get into the castle." Rod frowned up at the drawbridge. "There's the little problem of getting that slab of wood down."
"We must turn the windlass, Papa," Magnus said brightly. "Shall I?"
Rod turned to him. "What—do you think you can make it move without even having seen it?"
"Oh, aye, and next shalt thou bid a mountain come to thee!" Geoffrey jibed.
"Aye, sin that I know where it should be."
"Thou canst not truly, Magnus!" Cordelia stated.
Gregory didn't say anything; he just gazed up at Magnus wide-eyed. After all, if Big Brother said he could do it…
"Mayhap he can," Gwen suggested, "though even if he cannot, 'twill be good practice for him."
"Yeah, you need to stretch if you want to grow." Rod nodded slowly. "Okay, go ahead. It would save a bit of time."
Magnus frowned up at the drawbridge, his eyes losing focus. Gwen watched him carefully.
Rod glanced from Magnus to the castle, half-expecting the old planks to come rattling down. Just as a caution, he waved the other children back. They went, but with poor grace.
Magnus relaxed and shook his head in chagrin. " 'Tis no use—there is no response."
Gregory looked disappointed. Geoffrey's eye lit with vindictiveness, and both he and Cordelia started to say something, but Rod caught their eyes, and they stopped openmouthed.
"Still, 'twas good for thee to attempt it." Gwen stared at the castle. " 'Tis odd, though."
"So we do it the old-fashioned way." Rod replied.
"I shall!!"
"No, I am best at…"
" 'Tis my turn…"
"No!" Rod barked.
The kids fell silent, staring at him with truculence—but also with apprehension. He saw, and forced a smile. "I appreciate your willingness, kids, but there might be a bit of danger there—you know, rotten beams and falling rocks. I'm pleading seniority on this one—just me and Magnus."
"Wherefore doth Magnus go!"
"Magnus, thou dost cheat!"
"Wherefore not Mama?"
"Because," Rod said, "someone has to take care of you three."
"Fess can mind us!"
"Fess cannot stop you from following," Gwen pointed out. "Wouldst thou promise me not to go within?"
"Nay!"
"Then I bide here." Gwen gave Rod a sunny smile. "Go quickly, husband."
"With all dispatch. Let's go, son." Rod gazed up at the castle, but this time, he didn't really see it. His attention was on the unseen world, as he thought of pushing against the ground, away—and, slowly, drifted up to the arrow-slit at the top of the gatehouse.
"Thou didst promise all dispatch," Magnus reminded him, hovering in midair and leaning against the narrow window.
"All right, so I'm a slow old man," Rod grumbled, "just because I didn't have the good fortune to grow up using psi powers, the way you did. Come on, inside." He turned sideways and drifted in. It took a little shoving, though.
"Thou art hardly come," Magnus said, sliding in effortlessly.
Rod slapped his belt. "That's muscle, boy, not flab." He looked around, frowning. "Not so bad."
It wasn't. There was a slab fallen from the roof, and the morning sunlight coming through it and the arrow-slits, showed them a round room of old, mellow stone. The corners were filled with antique spiderwebs, and a broken table and bench stood near one wall. Except for that, the room was empty, with a few shards of crockery on the floor.
"Not anywhere nearly as bad as… What's the matter?"
Magnus's eyes had lost focus; he was turning slowly about the room, his face drawn. "I do hear voices, Papa."
"Voices?" Rod tensed. "What are they saying?"
"Naught… too distant… only some feel of loud talk, and soldiers' oaths…"
"Well, it's the gatehouse; there would have been soldiers here, so it's easy to ascribe it to them." Rod carefully ignored the chill oozing down his spine. "Probably just the wind playing a trick with the acoustics, son, like a whispering gallery."
"Dost thou truly think so?"
Rod didn't, so he said, "What bothers me is what I don't hear—or see."
That caught Magnus's attention. "And what is that?"
"Birds." Rod pointed up toward the rafters. "There's a dozen nesting places in this room, but not a single one is used—not even a trace that there ever was a nest."
Magnus looked around, nodding slowly.
"Come on, let's find that winch." Rod turned away toward the doorway. "High time we got your brothers and sister in here." And Gwen. Most especially Gwen.
The porter's room was empty, except for some more crumbled furniture. Shafts of sunlight pierced its darkness, from a row of slits along one wall.
"Well, that's why you couldn't turn the windlass." Rod looked around him as he stepped in. "No windlass."
"Aye… I thought at a thing that was not…" But Magnus had his abstracted air again. "Yet how did they make the drawbridge raise or lower?"
"Counterweights, probably. Let's go find the gateway." Rod led the way across the room, out into the passageway, and looked around. Light filled it, from the courtyard archway. "There!" He strode over to the great portal, closed now by the drawbridge, and pointed to a huge iron ball attached to a chain that ran up into darkness. "But there had to be an operating line, somewhere…"
"Yon." Magnus pointed.
Rod followed his direction and saw, centered above the gate, a huge pulley with a strip of something that might once have been rope hanging from it and looping over to the side, into a hole in the wall.
"Into the porter's room." Rod nodded. "Makes sense. Come on." He ducked back into the chamber they'd just come from and looked up at the front wall. The rope came through the hole, sure enough, and draped into a pulley like the one over the gateway. Only about four feet of it hung down, though, and on the floor under it was a mound of toadstools.
"Well, so much for the operating line. But how…" Rod broke off, frowning. "Wait a minute. The drawbridge goes higher than that pulley."
"Aye. 'Tis for the portcullis." Magnus stepped back out into the passageway and pointed.
Just below the central pulley was the top of the iron gate. Rod's gaze traveled over to the corner and traced the chain attached to it, following it down to the huge iron ball that rested on the ground. "Frozen open, fortunately. But then how did they work the drawbridge?"
"Yon." Magnus pointed up into the gloom.
Squinting, Rod could barely make out huge links that traversed overhead to run over great, rusty sprocket wheels in the back wall.
"Very sharp, son." Rod nodded. "Very good observation."
"It is not."
"Oh?" Rod peered at him, with a stab of apprehension. "This is definitely not your standard drawbridge. How're you figuring out what to look for?''
"I am not. I hear them."
"Them?" The stab twisted. "Who?"
"A murmur, a babble of voices—but among them is one telling another how to manage these devices.
Rod stared at him for a moment, not that Magnus was watching. Then he linked his mind to his son's. The rest of the room darkened even more about him.
"Dost thou hear?"
Rod shook his head. "Just a babble, like a distant crowd."
"Yet 'tis there."
"Oh, yeah, it's there all right. Where it's coming from, is another matter." Rod turned away. "Come on, let's figure out how to get that drawbridge down. I think we need your mother in here."
Magnus led him out through the archway and into the courtyard.
The Warlock's Companion wisoh-9 Page 14
