"Foresighted of you. Would you care for a spark?"
"Naw. It'd take too long." Rod glared at the end of the stick. After a minute, it burst into flames.
"You have learned well."
"Just practice." Rod held up the torch. "Let's see what's down here."
They came out into a narrow corridor—and Rod stopped dead. "Fess—there's evil here!"
"I am sure much wickedness was done here, yes."
"I mean now! I've never felt such malice!"
"I sense nothing, Rod."
Rod looked up slowly at the robot. "Nothing at all? Listen on human thought-frequencies."
Fess stood still a moment, then said, "Nothing, Rod."
Rod nodded slowly. "Then it's completely psionic."
"It would seem to be more intense than poor lighting and restrictive architecture could account for. Shall we leave?"
"Not until I'm sure what's here." Rod stepped ahead down the hall. "But I think we'll keep the kids out. I'll remind them what dungeons were for.''
"They were for storing foodstuffs, Rod, and other supplies the castle needed, especially those of military nature."
"It wasn't just potatoes they stowed down here, Fess." Rod steeled himself, then thrust his torch through one of the open doorways and stepped in.
"What do you see?"
"Damp stone walls." Rod frowned. "And a dirt floor, with several circular mounds about two feet across. And one open pit, the same size, with the dirt piled beside it."
"What is in the pit?"
"Apples. Or their mummies, anyway." Rod stepped back into the hall. "I give in. They did keep stores down here."
"Shall we forego the rest of the exploration, then?"
"Not until I've seen the whole thing. Come on."
There were six open doorways, one holding bundles of dust that might once have been arrows, another holding casks, and so on.
The the pool of torchlight showed doors.
Rod stopped, then stepped ahead with determination, but with his heart in his throat.
The doors had iron gratings in them, about a foot square. Rod thrust his torch through, but saw only empty shackles. He pulled the branch back out with a sigh of relief.
"Empty, Rod?"
"Yes, thank Heaven. Come on."
The final two doors showed dim light filtering down. "Must be at the side of the keep." In spite of the light, the feeling of evil intensified. Rod peered through the left-hand grating. His jaw hardened.
"What do you see?" Fess asked.
"I can recognize a few items," Rod answered. "There's a rack, and I'm pretty sure the coffin thing is an Iron Maiden."
"The torture chamber."
"Off-limits, especially for Magnus." Rod turned away. "Come on, let's go back."
"But you haven't investigated the last chamber, Rod."
"And I'm not going to, either—at least, not until after lunch. I'm pretty sure what I'm going to find there."
"What is that, Rod?"
"Let's just say that, if you're going to have a torture chamber for extracting information, you're going to keep the raw material close at hand—and apples aren't the only things that leave mummies."
After lunch, they went back to cleaning. Gwen and the kids set to work on the Great Hall, and Rod took the basement. He was right about the remaining cell—and even though it was two hundred years old, he handled what he found there with pity as he rolled it in their oldest blanket and set it on Fess's saddle for its last trip. He dug a deep hole far down the slope from the castle, and lowered the blanket down. As he started to throw the dirt back in, Fess said, "He was probably a Christian, Rod."
"She, I think."
"What evidence have you?" The robot sounded puzzled. "There is no clothing left, after all these years."
"Not even a scrap—but if that was a man, he had the broadest pelvis I've ever seen on a male. And as to his religion, you're probably right, and I'll ask Father Boquilva to come along on our next trip and say the funeral service."
"I wish you would say a few words now, Rod."
Rod looked up at the horse-head with a frown. "Odd of you to be so sentimental about someone you never knew."
"Humor me," the horse suggested.
Well, if there was one thing Fess was never without, it was a reason. Rod didn't ask—he just took the advice, and recited as much of the Twenty-Third Psalm as he could remember, added a few snatches from Ecclesiastes, and ended with a verse of the Dies Irae. Finally, he asked eternal rest and light everlasting for the soul that had inhabited the pitiful remains, and started shoveling.
On the way back, he asked, "Any particular reason why you wanted that?"
"Yes, Rod—to aid the spirit's rest."
Rod frowned. "You don't believe the ghost would come walking back in the middle of the night, do you?"
"I would not," Fess said slowly, "declare anything impossible, on Gramarye."
Rod tramped back in across the drawbridge, carefully avoiding the missing planks, crossed the courtyard, and went into the keep.
He had a pleasant surprise. He could scarcely believe it was the same room. There wasn't a speck of trash anywhere to be seen, and Gregory was just finishing dusting the last of the cobwebs out of the corners, high in the air, floating up near the ceiling. Their bedrolls were spread over mounds of pine boughs, and Cordelia was laying bowls and spoons around the edge of a picnic cloth. Magnus, Geoffrey, and Gregory were unloading bundles of logs and sticks next to the fireplace, where their mother stood over the great hearth, face lit by the flames of a small fire as she tasted something in a pot that hung from a crane. She twitched her nose, unsatisfied, put the cover back on, and pushed the cauldron back over the flames.
"Amazing! How did you manage this in only two hours?" Then Rod answered his own question. "No, of course—what's wrong with me? This is the kind of situation that does justify using magic, doesn't it?"
"Oh, nay, Papa!" Gregory said, eyes wide. "Such spirits as do slumber here, we have no wish to wake, an we can avoid it."
"Then how did you manage it?"
"With good, hard work," Gwen answered, with some asperity, "though I will own, 'twas somewhat faster to think at the trash, and make it fly itself out the window. Yet there was still a deal of sweeping and hauling to do, and thy children have labored mightily."
"As their mother has, I'm sure." Rod came and sat down by the fire. "You're going to make me feel as though I haven't done my share."
Gwen shuddered. "Nay. I think the chore thou hast done, was one none of us would have wished—though I think I should have stood by thee the while."
"It wasn't fit for you to see," Rod answered, "and Fess was company enough."
"Aye." Cordelia looked up. "He hath great experience of the surprises in castles, hath he not?"
"Not in the sense you mean, Cordelia," Fess answered. "However, as supervisor of the construction robots that built each stage of Castle d'Armand—I became somewhat conversant with the making and mending of castles."
"As well thou shouldst be, in light of all that Count Ruthven made thee do! Yet wherefore was he so churlish in his manner?"
Fess was silent. Rod had to explain, "It's called inbreeding, Cordelia—and since it could be construed as an insult to the family, Fess won't say anything about it."
"Not e'en an I ask him the question direct?"
"No—he'll just refer you to me. Count yourself referred," Rod turned to Fess. "Tell them what inbreeding is, would you?"
Fess rasped a sigh of white noise. "It occurs when people who are too closely related, have children, Cordelia."
"Thou dost speak of the law which saith first cousins may not wed?"
"Yes, and that second cousins should not. Oh, do not mistake me—when such a marriage occasionally occurs, it will not always result in great harm. But if first cousins marry first cousins for three or four generations, problems are likely to occur."
Cordelia asked. "Of what manner of problem
s dost thou speak?"
"Anything you can think of, Cordelia." Out of the corner of his eye, Rod was aware of Gregory listening, wide-eyed. "Birth defects of all sorts. Some of them don't show up until later in life, though—anything from a person being born without a limb, or with a weak heart, to having low ability to heal. One such boy was perfectly normal in every way—until he broke his legs, and they never healed properly, and wouldn't grow along with the rest of him."
"How horrible!"
"But the problems we're thinking of in your ancestor's case, were problems of the mind."
Cordelia lifted her head as understanding came. She turned to Fess with a beatific smile. "Such as behaving like a churl?"
"Well, that, too," Fell admitted, "though in Ruthven's case, I fear another aspect of inbreeding may have become obvious."
"He's talking about a drop in intelligence," Rod explained. "Not always, mind you—but even now and then is bad enough."
Magnus spoke up. "Dost mean we are heir to all these ills?"
"Oh, you kids are safe, thanks to your mother."
"Aye, for that I married thee."
"Well, true, there was some inbreeding on your side, too," Rod said, with a glance at his collection of espers, "but you had the good sense to marry me. I mean, someone from outside the gene pool."
"Thou hadst first said it best."
"Well, thanks. Of course, you had a bit bigger pool; there were a few hundred thousand of you. But the good citizens of Maxima all stem from thirty-two-thousand-odd ancestors, and have been cheerfully marrying each other for five hundred years."
"Then all must have some aspect of this inbreeding," Cordelia inferred.
"Yes, even if it only shows up as occasional ugliness—or not so occasional, in the case of a good many of my—" Rod coughed into his fist, "—female compatriots."
"Yet surely this was not true of all the d'Armands!"
"Fortunately, it only became fully evident in Ruthven's case," Fess agreed. "Both his sons, as I have told you, reacted to his excesses by becoming much more reserved, and cultivating their artistic sensibilities—though, I must admit, neither was extraordinarily high in mental capacity."
"Not really necessary." Rod shook his head. "What counts is the goodness of the person. We don't all have to be geniuses." He noticed Gregory's eyes suddenly glazing, and knew his words were sinking in where they were needed the most.
"And their children?" Cordelia prompted.
"They were noble in every sense of the word, Cordelia," said Fess, "and most of your ancestors have deserved the honorific. Some were frighteningly bright, some were amazingly simple, and most were more intelligent than they needed to be. Your grandfather was a most excellent gentleman, a truly good human being, intelligent and sensitive, in addition to being highly responsible, and caring deeply for his wife and children. It was an honor to serve him."
"Was he truly such a paragon?" Geoffrey seemed surprised.
"He was indeed."
"Why then, 'tis no wonder that our father is so princely a man." Magnus turned to Rod with a glint in his eye. "Or was it simply that thou wast reared in a castle?"
"I wasn't."
The children stared in surprise.
Then Gregory coughed and said, "We had thought thou wast reared in the Castle d'Armand, of which we have spoken."
Rod shook his head, smiling. "Not so, kids. Your grandfather was the second son of the current Count—and I'm his second son."
"The Count's eldest son inherited the title," Fess explained, "and the castle with it."
"They were Viscounts, though." Gregory corrected, "Thou didst say so explicitly, Fess."
"Yes, Gregory, but the third Lord d'Armand so far surpassed his grandfather that he was able to be of major service to Maxima, in its relations with Terra, and was therefore created Count. Your grandfather could thus be given the rank of Viscount, and a third of the family estates."
"Then where didst thou grow, Papa?" Cordelia asked.
"We grew up in the Grange, dear—just a big house, but roomy enough for my parents, my brother, and my sister. And, of course, for me."
"Your father somewhat understates the issue," Fess advised the children. "The house had twenty-two rooms, and most of them were quite large."
"Still, 'twas not a castle." Cordelia was severely disappointed.
"Oh, it was adequate." Rod leaned back, stretching. "More than adequate, in fact—but only because Grandpa was living with us."
"Thy father?" Magnus stared. "Was he not the Viscount?"
"No, my grandfather," Rod amplified.
"Then he was the Count himself." Geoffrey was confused. "Wherefore did he live in the lesser house?"
"He, ah, found it more congenial," Rod explained.
"Your father understates again," Fess assured the children. "Inbreeding and recessive genes caught up with my old master in his seventy-third year…"
"Also the realization that he was never going to get away from Maxima," Rod reminded. "He finally admitted that to himself.''
"That is mere conjecture, Rod, bordering on slander," Fess stated.
"It's conjecture based on all the advice he gave me, mostly to leave home as soon as I grew up."
"He did seem to regret his youthful decision to stay and take care of the family business," Fess admitted, "though that was also his responsibility. He was, after all, the heir."
"And how did these regrets affect him?" Magnus asked.
"He became—somewhat foolish," Fess answered.
Geoffrey cocked his head to the side. "Thou dost mean he went mad."
"Most would say that," Fess agreed. "Certainly, from his conversation, he was no longer fully aware of the real world, and had escaped into a fantasy realm of his own devising. He spoke of knights and fair maidens, of wizards and dragons. He believed himself to be chronicler of a royal court in a fantastic land."
"He was lots of fun to be with, though," Rod said quickly.
"Unless he decided that you were a monster of some sort," Fess demurred.
Rod shrugged. "Even there, he had very good judgement. After all, the Duchess of Malcasa was an old dragon."
"What did he do to her?" Geoffrey asked, eyes wide.
"Oh, nothing. Never hurt a soul, mostly because Fess was always there. That's why his successor gave us Fess, along with the Grange."
"There was also some mention of being 'outmoded' and some claim, on the part of his wife, that the only antiques that graced a house were furniture," Fess said darkly.
"Which applied as much to Grandpa as it did to you," Rod said quickly, "and I think you've disproved the 'outmoded' part a few hundred times since then. Starting as soon as the two of you moved in, in fact—you became very good at calming Grandpa down."
"I merely accorded him the respect that was due him, Rod."
"Yeah, and couched everything in the terms he was using." Rod turned back to the children. "Me, I thought it was a fun game. What was I—six? So if he said a bush was an ogre, I was ready to play along."
"Thou didst take pleasure in his company, then?"
"Oh, yes," Rod said softly. "Always."
"What was this fantastic land he did see?"
"The kingdom of Granclarte," Rod sighed, gazing off into the years of a childhood made magical by a childish old man. "I used to sit and listen to him for hours."
"Well, for half-hours," Fess amended, "though in a child's time-sense, the tales must have seemed longer."
"Longer? They never ended!" Rod turned back to the children. "He wrote some excellent stories in the process. They became instant best-sellers, after he died."
"After?" Cordelia asked. "Wherefore not whiles he lived?"
"He would not publish them," Fess explained. "He was quite insistent on the point. It was perfectly compatible with his delusion, I assure you. He was writing for the glory of the Courts of Granclarte, not for his own aggrandizement.
"Mad as a hatter," Rod sighed, "but a wonderful old ma
n." He gazed off into space, into the years of his childhood. "I used to sit on the floor in his study, listening to him tell me about the wonderful adventures of the knight Beaubras and his quest for the Rainbow Crystal. Of course, the voicewriter was picking up his every word. When I grew up, I found out that, after the Nanny-bot took me off to tuck me in, he'd sit up and edit it all. But it was wonderful to hear."
"What was the Rainbow Crystal?" Gregory demanded.
"In the story, it was sort of a master-key," Rod explained. "It could tie all the different sorts of magic together, uniting them to confound the evil sorcerer Maumains."
He smiled down at them. "Of course, in the real world, it was the big prism that hung in the middle of my mother's chandelier—but I liked it better his way."
"Aye," Cordelia breathed. "When may we read his books?"
"As soon as I can find a copy, dear. Unfortunately, I left them all about thirty light-years back."
Fess said nothing, but Gregory eyed him speculatively.
"Oh, why did he not endure till we could meet him!" Cordelia cried.
"I'm sure he wanted to," Rod sighed, "but he had a prior engagement. I hope he found Granclarte as he ascended. The Count was good enough to let us stay on in the Grange after he died, though—it was wrenching enough to be suddenly without Grandpa. Even made it pretty clear that my older brother Richard would inherit the place when Dad passes on, in his turn."
Magnus frowned. "And what wilt thou inherit?"
"Nothing." Rod smiled sadly. "There's nothing left over. All the houses are taken by my cousins, and all the family land, too—if you can call bare rock 'land.' Oh, there'll be a bit of money from my father—a goodly bit; he contributed quite a few designs to the family business, and invested the proceeds well and wisely, so he has made quite a sum on his own. But that's all."
"You did have an option, Rod," Fess reminded. "You could have taken a position in d'Armand Automatons, Ltd., and doubtless done quite well."
"Yeah, but a poor relation is a poor relation, no matter how cleverly it's disguised." Rod made a face. "Besides, Maxima was… boring."
"Oh, truly?" Magnus perked up. "In what way was it boring?"
Rod glanced at Fess out of the corner of his eye. Magnus caught it, and turned to the robot. "Wilt thou not tell me, Fess?"
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