It seemed spacious after the porter's room and the tunnel, but Rod knew it could only be a hundred feet across. The keep bulged out into it, like a hugely fat tower. There were a lot of dead leaves and broken branches, of course, and mounds of humus in the corners, with weeds sprouting luxuriantly.
But not a single bird. Nor, now that Rod noticed it, a butterfly.
He wrenched his mind back to business, to suppress a shiver. "Where's this counterweight?"
"We have stepped over it." Magnus pointed behind him. Rod looked down, and saw a metal slab set in the stone; he'd thought it was a threshold to the archway. But now that he looked, he could see it was rust, not just brown stone, and that rings rose from its corners, rings that were fastened to huge links whose chains stretched up on the wall to disappear, over huge sprocket wheels, into the stone above the archway.
Now. Rod shivered.
Magnus was pointing up. " 'Tis so well balanced that the drawbridge doth need but a strong pull to let it down."
"Yeah—but the iron slab goes up then, and everybody coming in or going out has to ride under it."
"True." Magnus frowned, in an abstracted sort of way. "Wherefore did the Count not use iron balls again, and keep the gateway clear?"
"Nice question." And Rod had an answer, which was anything but nice. Not that he was about to say it, of course—and he decided, then and there, that Magnus was never going to touch that bar.
A caroling cry echoed above them.
Rod's head snapped up.
There, atop the gatehouse, perched his two younger sons, with his wife and daughter gliding down in lazy spirals on their broomsticks. He couldn't help noticing, all over again, that Cordelia had a full-sized broomstick now, not just a hearth broom, and wasn't much shorter than her mother any more.
Gwen pulled up beside Rod and hopped off. "Thou wert so long about it that we grew impatient." But he saw the concern in her eyes. "What kept thee?"
"Trying to figure out the drawbridge system." Rod noticed his two boys drifting down like autumn leaves. He shuddered, and hoped the simile wasn't apt.
"Is't so rare?" Gwen asked.
" 'Tis odd, at the least," Magnus answered.
Gwen turned to him, and her eyes widened. "How is't with thee, my son?"
"Well enough…"
"Is it truly?" Gwen set her broomstick against a wall and reached up to press a hand against Magnus's forehead. She stared off into space for a few seconds, then said, "Step to the wall, and touch the stones."
A crease appeared between Magnus's eyebrows, but he did as she bade. Rod "listened" to Gwen's mind, eavesdropping on the eavesdropper, as Magnus's hand touched rock.
A babel of urgent voices filled his ear, some conjecturing whether or not there would be a battle, some discussing how exciting it all was. Beyond them were the voices of soldiers bawling orders, and under it, surfacing and submerging, the sinister laugh they had heard in the midst of the thunderstorm.
"Away," Gwen snapped, and Magnus slowly took his hand from the wall, then turned to his mother with a troubled gaze. "Thou hast heard it?"
"Aye. 'Twas some peasant folk come into the castle for fear of a siege—and 'twas hundreds of years agone."
"He is a past-reader!" Gregory's eyes were huge.
"Magnus always gets to do things first!" Geoffrey grumped.
" 'Tis not fair!" Cordelia complained.
" 'Tis as like to be a burden as a joy," Gwen assured them, and turned to Magnus again. "Thou hast a form of clear sight, my son. I've heard it spoken of, yet never known a one who had it. Thou canst read the thoughts embedded in the stones, or wood or metal, by the anguish or joy of those who dwelt near them."
"A psychometricist!" Rod's eyes were wide.
Magnus turned to Gwen, trying to focus on her face. "Yet wherefore have I not noted this aforetime?"
"For that thou hast ever been in places thronged with living folk, whose thoughts did obscure any that came from stones."
"Sure it might not be part of the boy turning into a young man?" Rod asked.
"Mama did speak of strong feelings," Gregory pointed out. "Mayhap such thoughts stay not in stones, with lesser feelings."
Gwen nodded. "There is some truth to that—and I bethink me that this castle has seen many who were overwrought."
"And not pleasantly." Rod scowled. "Try not to touch anything, okay, son?"
"I will endeavor…"
"Then I'll give you some help." Rod turned to face the gatehouse. "We still have to get that drawbridge down, unless we're going to expect Fess to wait outside the whole time."
"Aye…" Magnus turned, his frown deepening, seeming to come into clearer focus.
"Gregory, help me. Just think of holding that chain up, when the time comes. Gwen, if you and the other kids would take the right-hand chain… ? Good. Now, everybody think hot at it." He glared at the bottom link, concentrating on it while the rest of his surroundings grew fuzzy. The link began to glow, first red, then orange, on through yellow into white, until finally the metal flowed. "Now," Rod grated, and the chain lifted a foot. Rod sighed and relaxed, watching the metal darken back down the spectrum as it cooled. He turned to look at the rest of his family, but their chain was just now yellowing. Rod glanced back at his own, saw it was ruby again, and told Gregory, "Okay, put it down now." The chain lowered to swing clinking against the wall, and Rod turned to add his bit to the right-hand chain. The metal flowed, the chain rose—and, with a low and rising growl of breaking rust, the huge old sprocket wheels began to turn. The growl rose to a grown, underscored by a furious clanking as the drawbridge fell away at the end of the tunnel, faster and faster, till its tip slimmed into the far bank of the moat. Hooves clattered on the wood.
"Careful, there!" Rod called, alarmed. "Those boards might be rotten!"
"The unsound ones fell to powder when the drawbridge dropped, Rod, and I can pick my way well enough around the holes." Then the clattering changed to thunder as Fess's hooves echoed in the tunnel, and the great black horse came trotting in.
The children cheered. Gwen glanced at Magnus, saw his face alight, and relaxed a little.
"Why is destruction the only thing I do better than the rest of you?" Rod grumbled.
" 'Tis for cause that thou hast come to it lately, husband, not grown to it," Gwen assured him breezily.
Gregory was staring at the huge bar buried in the stone. "We could have lifted it, Papa…"
"This was faster."
"Yet now we cannot draw the bridge up again."
"I know." Rod grinned. "Works out nicely that way, doesn't it?"
They spent the morning exploring the rest of the castle, and found a lot of dead leaves and branches blown in through the windows over the years. They also found a fair quantity of antique furniture, some of it still intact.
But not a single bird. Not even a rat or a mouse, for that matter.
"And never a one, through all these years." Cordelia looked up at the rafters. "How could that be, Papa?"
Rod shrugged. "They felt unwanted, dear."
"What was it that wanted them not?"
Rod avoided the question. "But look at the bright side—at least we won't have to set out traps. Or endanger a cat, either."
"Nay, Papa." Geoffrey corrected. " ' Tis the cat would endanger the rats."
"Not some of the rats I've seen—but there aren't any here. One advantage to ghosts, anyway." Rod had a brief, dizzying vision of an advertising sign: "Rid your house of those troublesome pests! Hire a haunt!" With, of course, a picture of a comical ghost shouting "Boo!" at a rat and a cockroach who were neck-and-neck in a dead heat away from the spook. Rod found himself wondering what to name the ghost? Buster? He shook his head and came back to the here and now.
"And none have dwelt here for two hundred years." Gregory gazed about him, wide-eyed.
"Not a living soul," Rod agreed. Strangely, there were no signs of squatters having moved in, or even having spent the night. On the
other hand, that would've been hard to do, with the drawbridge up—which raised the question of why it was still up. Rod had a mental picture of the last servants to leave, heaving hard on the lip of the bridge, and watching it rise slowly, riding up on its counterweight. Either that, or the last servant had decided not to leave. Rod shuddered at that thought, and hoped he never met the person.
It was a pretty basic castle—just a keep with a curtain wall, diamond-shaped in its ground plan, with watchtowers at north and south, the keep itself serving to guard the western point, and the gatehouse at the east. There were only three floors to the keep, the first being all one huge, open room fifty feet in diameter, and the second divided into several rooms, presumably family quarters. The third was piled with small catapults and moldering crossbows and rusty bolts—the upstairs armory, for aerial defenses.
"Enough!" Gwen clapped her hands. "If we are to dwell here, no matter how short a while, we must needs make the keep fit for dwelling. Magnus and Gregory, sweep and dust! Cordelia and Geoffrey, hurl trash out into the moat!"
Geoffrey whooped and set to it; heaps of leaves began to swirl out the windows. Cordelia glowered at a broken, old table, and it rose off the floor, cracked leg dangling, and drifted toward the window.
Magnus frowned. "Wherefore do they pitch while we sweep, Mama?"
"For that thy sister's the best at making things fly," Gwen answered, "and Gregory's well suited to kiting along the ceiling and beams."
"Yet Geoffrey and I…"
"Are chosen for these tasks, for reasons thou knowest well." Gwen said, with steel beneath her voice; then her manner softened. "I promise thee, thou'lt trade tasks when we go to another floor. Aid me in this, my son."
Magnus grinned. "As thou wilt have it, Mama. Wilt thou lend me thy broomstick?"
And away he went, sweeping up a storm; Rod wondered about the whirlwinds in it. He sighed with relief, and blessed his eldest—trying to put a broom in Geoffrey's hands was asking for a major confrontation, unless you went after him with a quarterstaff. Even then, the broomstick would probably beat the quarterstaff, and there wouldn't be much work done.
All went well for a good fifteen minutes; then Geoffrey remembered to grumble. "Wherefore must we clean?"
"Wouldst thou truly wish to dwell in so stale a mess?" Cordelia asked, with scorn.
Geoffrey started to answer, but Magnus cut him off. "Do not ask, sister—thou dost not truly wish to hear his answer."
Geoffrey flushed an angry red, but before he could blast, Gregory burbled cheerfully. "Mayhap 'twill help to banish the ghosts."
That gave Geoffrey pause. He cocked his head to the side, frowning.
"Real ghosts!" Gregory went on, his eyes shining. "I had thought they were but old wives' tales!"
"On Gramarye, old wives' tales can turn real, Gregory," Fess reminded.
Gregory nodded. " 'Tis a point. Are they true ghosts, or only some aspect of psi we've not met before?"
"So much conversation surely cannot increase productivity."
"Oh, thou art but a killjoy, Fess!" Cordelia scoffed. "How can we help but speak of so wondrous a thing as our very own haunted castle?"
"It is difficult, I know," the robot commiserated. "Still, you have been instructed to accomplish a task, and so much chatter inhibits your work."
"Then give us summat to quiet us," Gregory suggested. "Tell us more of our ancestors."
Fess was silent a moment; after thirty years of Rod's squelching him every time he tried to discourse on family history, it was a little difficult adjusting to the idea that somebody was interested again. Slowly, he said, "Gladly, children—but you had many ancestors. Of which would you like to hear?"
"That minor issue of which thou didst forbear to speak, yester eventide," Magnus said, too casually. "Papa did mention an ancestor who did seek to find a family ghost.''
Fess sighed. "You would remember that."
"Wouldst thou not also, under such circumstances as these?"
"I fear I would," Fess sighed, "yet I would prefer to gloss over it."
"Then speak of our ancestor who finished building the Castle Gallowglass!"
"D'Armand, Cordelia," Fess reminded.
"Aye, ninny!" Magnus jibed. "Canst thou not remember that Papa took the name 'Gallowglass' when he came to Gramarye?"
"Oh, forever!" Cordelia said crossly. "What matter if I slip in its usage now and again?"
"Great matter, if thou dost ever seek to discover thine ancestral home!"
"And which of us shall ever wish to leave Gramarye?" Geoffrey scoffed. "Cordelia hath right, for once."
"Once!" Cordelia squawked. Geoffrey grinned wickedly in answer. Magnus was silent.
"Well enough, then." Cordelia turned away and tipped her nose up, scorning Geoffrey. "Tell us of the ancestor who did finish Castle d'Armand."
"Which?" Fess almost seemed hopeful. "It was finished several times."
"Several?" Magnus frowned. "How long dist thou dwell therein, Fess?"
"From A.D. 3050, Magnus, till your father left home in 3542," Fess answered.
"Four centuries?" Gregory gasped. Geoffrey glanced at him in annoyance; he wasn't good with figures.
"Four," Fess confirmed, "which is most of the time that has elapsed since I was activated."
"But was it not a delight?" Cordelia demanded.
"On occasion, yes," Fess admitted, "but it just as often was not. It depended on my owner of the time."
"Thou didst esteem Lona highly," Cordelia said, "for thou didst build her castle for her."
"True, but I would have done so for any other owner who so commanded—and did, since that was only the first time Chateau d'Armand was finished. It was quite modest by Maximan standards, you see."
Geoffrey frowned. "I misdoubt me an her descendants could abide that."
"They had difficulty," Fess admitted. "In fact, her son and grandson each built an addition, but one that was dictated by her original plan, thereby finishing the castle a second and third time. Nonetheless, their neighbors' houses were far more grand. They were good souls, though, and envy did not bother them greatly."
"Not so their wives," Cordelia demurred.
"You have guessed accurately, Cordelia." Fess sounded surprised. "Yes, the wives found it quite difficult to accept such relatively modest quarters, the more so because they were themselves younger daughters of grander lords."
"Lords?" Magnus lifted his head, frowning. "I wot me an thou didst speak of factors and crafters. Whence came nobility?"
"By mail, Magnus, from the heralds of Europe. Maxima was, after all, a sovereign world, with its own government…"
"But thou hast said Maxima had no government."
"Not really, though I can understand how my remarks could have seemed to indicate that. Nonetheless, the Maximans did have some mutual means of coordinating logistics and resolving disputes, and they had annual meetings of the leaders of all the Houses."
Magnus nodded. "And if that assembly did declare the head of a household noble, who could contradict it?"
"Precisely. The Earl Mulhearn was the first to receive a patent of nobility, and the others followed in a rush. Your own ancestor, Theodore d'Armand, changed his first name to 'Ruthven' and applied to the Assembly for status as a duke."
Magnus whistled. "He saw no vantage in modesty, did he?"
"No indeed. In fact, Ruthven saw no point in anything that was not his own idea…"
"Tell us of him," Cordelia begged.
"Nay!" Magnus turned to her with a scowl. "I claim primacy. I wish to hear of the ancestor who sought a family ghost!"
"Thy chance hath passed." Cordelia turned on him. "You know Mama and Papa have told us…"
She broke off at the very credible imitation of a throat-clearing, and turned to Fess with a frown. Before either of them could say anything, the robot told them, "The distinction does not exist; it was Ruthven who wanted a spectre."
"Then we must hear of him!" Cordelia settl
ed herself for a long listen.
"If it is absolutely necessary…"
"Why dost thou hesitate?" Magnus frowned, puzzled. "What harm is there in telling us of him?"
"Ought we not to know of all our ancestors?" Cordelia demanded.
"There are some aspects of family history that should perhaps wait until you are more mature."
"Oh, pooh," Cordelia retorted, and Magnus concurred. "An we are old enough to have witnessed lords who have broke faith with their king and rebelled, we are old enough to know the truth of our own family."
"There is some merit in that, I suppose…"
"What fun is there in hearing only good of our ancestors?" Cordelia demanded.
"She speaketh truly," Magnus averred. "Wouldst thou have us believe our forebears were wax figures?"
"Oh, they were all quite human, Magnus. It is only that in some cases…"
"Some were more human than others?"
"You might say so, yes."
"Yet accuracy is of the greatest import," Gregory pointed out."
"Aye!" Cordelia leaped on it. "Is not the truth thy prime criterion?"
"No, frankly, Cordelia—in my program, loyalty to my owners is primary."
"Thy current owner will not mind thy speaking the truth of thy former owners," Magnus pointed out.
"There is some validity to that," Fess said reluctantly. He was remembering how Rod had taken him to task when he had poked around in the family library and learned some of the facts about those ancestors that Fess hadn't told him.
"And there is the matter of loyalty to thy future owner," Magnus added.
"Which will be yourself, since you are the eldest."
Magnus blithely ignored Geoffrey's glare. "Thus, thy present owner careth not, and thy future owner doth desire thee to tell. Ought thou not to speak?"
Fess capitulated. "Very well, children. But remember, if you find your relationship with the subject of this tale distasteful, that you required me to tell it.
"We shall not reproach thee," Cordelia assured him.
"But an archway at the base of a tower cannot stand, Ruthven.''
" 'Milord,' Fess," Ruthven said sternly. "I am noble now."
"But the Assembly…"
"The Assembly will no doubt grant my request at its next meeting. After all, it raised Joshua Otis to Marquis, only last week; it surely can have no reason not to bestow a like title upon me."
The Warlock's Companion wisoh-9 Page 15
