The Warlock's Companion wisoh-9

by Christopher Stasheff

  He almost made it to the door before an elbow-glove hooked out to snag him, with a hand inside it. The hand tightened, and Rod's eyes bulged; she'd hit a pressure point—accidentally, surely. He turned, forced a sickly grin. "It's been a wonderful ball, Lady Mulhearn."

  "Oh, but it's scarcely begun!" Lady Mulhearn turned back toward the ballroom, keeping a firm hold on his arm. "Surely you can't leave yet. Your dear mother would think my soiree a crashing bore, if you were home before three."

  "I wouldn't think of it! I'll find a quiet bistro."

  "Excellent! I have one in the Florida room. Or perhaps you wish to join the gentlemen at cards."

  Somehow, Rod wasn't in the mood for five-card draw. "Really, milady—I have to be in before midnight."

  "Posh and poppycock! Your parents would be ashamed of you, if you didn't last past one!"

  "But I have a headache. Absolutely splitting, I tell you. It's a sinus vacuum! It's a migraine! It's…"

  "Stuff and nonsense!" Lady Mulhearn turned to the nearest robot. "An analgesic for the young gentleman, Fadey!"

  The robot pressed a button at its waist; two pills fell into its hand. It held them out to Rod as it popped open its chestplate and pressed a button. Water gushed, then stopped, and it took out a foaming glass.

  Rod gulped the pills and reached for the water. He almost spat it out; it wasn't water, it was a potion. "Lady Mulhearn, please…"

  "You'll be right as rain in two shakes." To emphasize the point," Milady shook him. "Now, a mild card game in dim lighting, and you'll feel fine."

  "But I have to run home! My cactus plant needs me!"

  "What for?"

  "I forgot to water it before I left…"

  "No matter; you can call your robot and have him do it. Fadey!"

  The robot snapped off its hand and held it out. The thumb held an earphone; the forefinger had a mike.

  Rod waved away the handset, feeling a surge of panic at the reminder of Fess. "Lady Mulhearn, my deepest apologies, but I really must leave now! Any longer, and it'll be too late!"

  "Too late?" the lady demanded. "Too late for what?"

  "To find my glass slipper!" Rod cried, twisting his arm free and all but running for the door.

  He gained the hatchway and stepped into his car with relief. Out with ignominy, maybe—but out!

  He saw the freighter's lander alone, still joined to the terminal by the boarding tunnel. Well, not quite alone—just inside the clear plastic of the tunnel stood a solitary, gleaming figure, a duffel bag slung over its shoulder.

  "Good old Fess! Faithful to the end!" Rod brought the car in right beside the old family robot, pressed the button that matched position and sealed lock to lock, then jumped to the hatch and pressed the pressure plate. The ramp checked for pressure and opened, and Rod leaped out. "Thanks, Fess!" He caught the duffel bag off the robot's shoulder.

  "Lander for freighter Murray Rain will lift off in five," the nearest loudspeaker announced in a brazen voice.

  Five what? Rod wondered, then noticed what Fess held on his other arm. He dropped the duffel, ripped off his coat and tossed it to Fess, followed by his frilled front. He grabbed the loose broadcloth shirt off Fess's other arm, tugged it on, and reached for the jacket—then froze, as he realized who was standing in the shadows just behind Fess.

  The Viscount stepped forward into the light with a gentle smile. "You could at least have told me, son."

  "Who did?" Rod snapped out of his trance with a glare at Fess.

  "I must fulfill my duty to my master, Rod," the robot said, with a tone of apology.

  "Yes, he really must; that's how he's made," the Viscount said. "Don't blame him, son; his prime loyalty is to me; he doesn't have any choice but to do as his program dictates, and he knew I'd want to know you were leaving."

  "Fess, I can never trust you again!"

  "Oh, of course you can, son—when you're his owner. Then, he'll be as fanatically loyal to you as he now is to me."

  Rod tossed his head impatiently. "That's thirty years away, at least, Dad, and it's Dick who will inherit… Wait a minute. You said when I'm his owner!"

  "As you will be, from this moment. Fess, I hereby give and bequeath you to my younger son, Rodney. Serve him as you have served me—and, from this day forth, obey no commands but his."

  "But Dad, I can't take him along! I'm spacing!"

  "Every crewman is allowed baggage, son, and you have only one small pack. I think you'll find that Fess masses no more than your allowed luggage. And he can fit into whatever kind of storage space they give you."

  "I hate to ask him to fold up like that, but… Wait a minute! You're talking about him going with me on that freighter!"

  "That is what I had in mind, yes. I know I have to let you go your own way—but I can at least make sure you're as well protected as possible."

  "You're letting me go? You're not going to try to make me go back?"

  "Make you go back? Son, you don't know how many times I've wished I'd jumped a freighter when I was your age! Oh, I'll miss you, and I'll miss you sorely—but I want you to go, while you're still young and still can! Godspeed!"

  "And Godspeed to you, too, Dad." Rod threw his arms around his father in a bear hug. After a second, the older man returned it.

  The lander hooted, and Rod stepped back, alarmed to see tears in his father's eyes.

  "Go with God, son—and God go with you. May the wind be ever at your back, and may you find your heart's desire."

  "Thanks, Dad," Rod husked. "And may yours find you. Stay well."

  "I'm lifting," the lander squawked. "Through the hatch now or never, kid."

  And, suddenly, Rod found he didn't want to go, after all—but his father turned him around, and walked with him, quick-step, toward the airlock. "Now, don't forget where your handkerchief is, and don't forget to write—and don't forget Fess."

  "I won't, Dad—or you. Ever." Rod turned back to wave, but the hatch was closing, cutting off his view of his father, and of Maxima.

  Fess stepped back beside him as the hatch closed. "You are my master now, boss Rod sahib. Command, and I will obey."

  Rod stood very still, the reality of the situation coming home to him.

  Then he turned, slowly, with a spreading grin. "Well, just for openers—stop calling me 'boss.' "

  "And thou never hast since?" Cordelia asked.

  "No, Cordelia, though I did call him 'milord' unless he specifically ordered me to do otherwise."

  "It's not really legitimate," Rod growled, "or it wasn't, until Tuan ennobled me here."

  "But it did remind you of your heritage, Rod, and of the conduct becoming your station."

  Gregory frowned. "Yet thou dost not call him 'lord' now."

  "No, Gregory. When we landed on Gramarye, your father gave his usual order to call him only by his name as long as we remained here—and as you can see, we have not yet left."

  "Nor shalt thou." Gwen came over to latch on to Rod's arm.

  "Not while you're here," Rod answered with a grin.

  The children relaxed, almost imperceptibly, and Cordelia asked, "Hast thou enjoyed having Papa for a master, Fess?"

  "Cordelia," the robot answered, "it has been a blast."

  Chapter 9

  All was quiet, except for the distant calls of night-birds wafting through the windows. There wasn't even the rustle of a mouse searching for crumbs. Moonlight crept in through a tall slit window, drifted across the floor, and was gone.

  It was only a slight sound, but it grew quickly to a wail that tore at the heartstrings.

  The Gallowglasses shot bolt-upright, staring about them. Rod reached out and caught Gregory to him; Gwen hugged Cordelia. Rod clasped Geoffrey's shoulder, felt a slight quivering.

  Then he saw Magnus.

  The boy sat still, every muscle taut, staring at the apparition.

  She was beautiful, even now, with her hair disheveled and her face contorted with terror. She was pale as moonlight on
snow, her garments a cloud about her. "A rescue," she moaned, "a rescue, I beg of thee! A rescue, good souls, from this monster who hath chained me here. I prithee…"

  Suddenly, her gaze leaped up to fix on something above their heads, and her fists came up to her lips as she began to wail again, voice rising to a scream that seemed to pierce their temples. Then she leaped, shot toward them…

  And was gone.

  Bitter cold chilled them, then faded. The last echo of the scream rang into nothingness.

  In the silence, Rod heard Cordelia sobbing, and white-hot anger flared in him, against the thing that could so terrify his child.

  But what thing was it? He looked behind him, but only darkness was there.

  Light was the one weapon against it. He pressed Gregory into Gwen's arm and turned to blow on the coals, laying kindling on them until flame licked up. He put on a heavier stick, glared at it to give the fire a boost, laid a log on, and turned back to his family.

  They seemed to thaw in the warmth of the fire, but not much.

  " 'Tis well now, daughter—'tis well," Gwen murmured. "What e'er 'twas, it is gone."

  Cordelia gasped, bringing her sobs under control.

  But Rod saw Magnus still tense, eyes gazing off into darkness. Rod concentrated, listening, and could hear distant, mocking laughter echoing into stillness far away.

  Magnus relaxed a trifle, and his eyes came back into focus. " 'Tis gone, as much as 'twill ever be."

  "Oh, I don't know." Rod's eyes narrowed. "I think we might be able to make it a little more permanent than that."

  Magnus stared at him, shocked. "We are no priests, to exorcise spirits!"

  "No, we're fighting wizards. Expert espers, where I come from—and every form of magic we've encountered on this planet has been psionic, in some way or another. Why should ghosts be different?"

  Magnus's stare held; he almost whispered, "Dost mean we can lay this spectre to rest?"

  Rod shrugged. "It's worth investigating."

  "Then we must! Whatsoe'er we can do, we shall! The lady is in peril dire—e'en now, past her death, she doth bide in terror! Howsoe'er we can aid her, 'tis vital!"

  The other children stared at him, startled, and Gwen seemed very thoughtful; but Rod only nodded, flint-faced. "Let's learn what we can, then. First we need to know who she was, and what happened to her."

  "Who she is, Papa!"

  "Was," Rod grated. "She's dead, son, no matter whether or not you can see her! She died two hundred years ago!"

  Magnus stared at him, but Rod held his stony gaze, and the boy finally relaxed a little. "Was," he agreed. "Yet she is still in torment. How shall we learn?"

  "As to that, you're the only research tool we've got," Rod said, "but the rest of us are going along; no splitting this family at night in this castle!"

  "Never!" Cordelia shuddered.

  "What! Wouldst thou search now, husband?"

  "But we must, Mama!" Magnus cried. " 'Tis only at night they are so strong! By day, we might learn no more than we already know!"

  Gwen stared at him, surprised.

  "Were you thinking of drifting back to sleep?" Rod asked.

  Gwen shuddered. "Nay, I think I shall not slumber now till dawn bringeth light! Wherefore should we not wander these halls? We have conned them already—and can we see worse than we have?"

  "It's possible," Rod allowed, "so let's keep our torch with us." He turned to pull a branch out of the fire. "You remember that ball-of-light spell you used when we first met?"

  "Aye, husband." Gwen smiled ruefully. " 'Twas due to ghosts' work then, too, was't not?"

  "Yeah." Rod nodded. "I think I'm beginning to understand how that happened now. Well, lead on, stone-reader."

  Magnus stepped away in front of them, frowning, then reached out to touch the wall. He stood still a few seconds, then drifted toward the stairway, fingertips brushing rock.

  The other children followed. Behind them, Fess clopped into movement.

  Rod hung back to murmur in Gwen's ear. "Any question as to the nature of the malady, Doctor?"

  "Not a doubt of it," Gwen answered softly. "She is a beauteous lass, though a spectre, and he is in love, as any young man might be."

  "Yes." Rod nodded. "I'm relieved, really."

  "I, too. I feared he might be so distraught that he'd try to join her."

  "Kinda my thought, too." Rod gave her a sardonic smile. "Fortunately, he's young enough to still be sufficiently scared of girls so that he's more apt to sublimate than to woo. Well, let's follow where love leads, dear."

  "Have we not always?" she murmured, but he'd slipped behind her, and didn't hear.

  The stairway hadn't seemed nearly so long by daylight. But they toiled up, following the curve as they went. Fess's hooves rang loudly in the stairwell. Rod turned to him, glaring. "You don't have to make that much noise, you know."

  "True, Rod, but I do not think you would truly wish me to move silently behind you, on such an occasion."

  "A point," Rod admitted. "The more noise, the fewer spooks. But can I hear myself think?"

  "Do you truly wish to?"

  At the top, Magnus stepped away from the wall, frowning and looking about him.

  "Lost the scent?" Rod asked.

  "Nay, yet 'tis quite faint. And I bethink me there's more to her tale than she herself."

  Rod nodded. "True. There's also the thing she's afraid of."

  "Let us seek through all." Magnus stepped over to the nearest doorway, pushed the door open wide, and stepped in, reaching out to touch the wall.

  Cordelia had managed to slip back to her parents. Now she whispered into her mother's ear. "What hath him so beset?"

  Gwen smiled at her, amused. "Why, lass, what dost thou think?"

  "That he's besotted," Cordelia said promptly. "Is it thus boys behave, when they're lovestruck?"

  "Aye, till they finally come nigh the lass. Then pursuit halts awhile."

  Cordelia smiled. "Let us hope this light-o'-love doth not give encouragement."

  "Any lass must, if the lad's not to flee," Gwen said. She stopped in the middle of the chamber to look around. It was perhaps twelve feet square, walls bare stone except for a tapestry hanging on one wall. The room held a bed, a small table, a stool, and a chest.

  "Standard medieval furnishings." Rod reached out to the tapestry, then thought better of it. "Do you suppose this thing would crumble if I touched it?"

  "I would not chance it," Gwen answered.

  "A knight dwelt here." Magnus's voice was a sigh, a breeze. "A knight, and his lady wife. They were goodly, and content with one another—though toward the end of their tenure the knight was oft upset by the Count's son."

  "Upset?" Rod said. "Why?"

  Magnus shook his head. "All manner of wrongdoing—and the knight was on his guard to prevent such malfeasance."

  "Had they no children?" Cordelia asked.

  "Aye, and they were oft in this chamber, though they slept elsewhere."

  "Elsewhere" turned out to be the room next door, and there was a similar suite across the hall for another knight and family. Magnus stayed in it only long enough to ascertain its nature, not even touching the walls, then came out.

  "So the married knights took it in shifts, to attend on their lord." Rod looked about the chamber, musing. "How many did you say were in here in a year?"

  "Four, to each suite—each to a season."

  "And all were on edge, toward the end, because of the Count's son." Rod nodded. "We'll probably find a dormitory for the bachelors, outside the keep. What kind of people lived here after the heir became Count?"

  "The single knights thou hast spoke of, though they but slept here. There is small trace of their presence, and that only for their more—earthly pleasures." Magnus's face hardened. "Most of their wenches were willing, yet I do sense summat of women's fear and pain."

  Cordelia began to look angry.

  "I'm beginning to see why the place was abandoned." R
od turned away, face dark. "What else is on this floor?"

  They went out, and turned into the next chamber. Their torch was burning down; Rod plucked a mummified stick from a wall sconce and lit it. It burned brightly but quickly.

  The room held only a single bed, a washstand, and a chest.

  "A gentle-lady dwelt here." Magnus's voice seemed to come from a distance. "She did wait upon the Countess till she was wed; then another took her place, till she in turn wed"

  "Probably several of these rooms; usually more than one lady-in-waiting at a time."

  Magnus nodded. "The last dwelt in some apprehension, for the Count's son had grown to young manhood, and had an eye for the lasses. He had no scruples as to his manner of attaining their favors—though he feared his father's wrath."

  "Did this damsel leave the castle free of him?" Cordelia asked, eyes thoughtful.

  Magnus nodded. "She wed, and went—and none dwelt here after."

  "Wherefore?"

  "I know not." Magnus turned to the door, moving like a sleepwalker. "Let us seek."

  He drifted on down the hallway, fingertips brushing the wall, and turned into the next chamber.

  But it was exactly like the one before; the memories were of different women, but held no new information. So it was with the third, and the fourth—though the last lady-in-waiting of that chamber had been importuned by the heir, who had become quite unpleasant when she refused. She had managed to break away; the young man had pursued her, but had been brought up short by one of his father's knights, who had rebuked him soundly and reported the incident to the Count, who personally took a horsewhip to his son. Nonetheless, the lady asked permission to return to her parents, and the Countess granted her request.

  Cordelia frowned. "I begin to have some notion of the cause of this spectre's misery."

  "I, too." Gwen wasn't smiling.

  "No more rooms on this floor." Rod stood at the end of the hall, glowering around at the doorways and the slit-window in the end wall. "Back to the stairs, folks."

  Gregory went first, being the lightest, followed by Geoffrey, then Magnus. They were going up in order of ascending weight, with the levitators first. "Just in case the masonry isn't what it once was," Rod explained. But he insisted on bringing up the rear.