The Warlock's Companion wisoh-9

by Christopher Stasheff

  At the top of the stair, a small chamber opened on either side of the hallway, very much like the ones below. Magnus stepped into the one on his left, concentrating and touching the stones. " 'Twas another lady-in-waiting dwelt here—the Countess kept two near her in the night. This damsel…"

  He broke off, for the air was thickening in the corner, beyond the torch's pool of light.

  The Gallowglasses held their breaths, their eyes wide.

  The keening started before the form had become clear; Gregory clapped his hands over his ears. Then she drifted there before them, the same young lady they had seen in the great hall below, wailing in fear and terror.

  "Damsel, what affrights thee?" Magnus cried, stepping forward and reaching out.

  Rod thrust out an arm, blocking him.

  "Thou dost!" the girl wailed. "Go, get thee hence! Leave me in peace!"

  Rod started to talk, but Magnus beat him to it. "I cannot, for thy pain is mine, and when thou dost feel agony, a blade doth twist in mine heart! Nay, speak! Tell me why thine unquiet spirit still doth walk, and I will set it aright!"

  A glimmer of hope glowed in the darkness that was her eyes, but she moaned, "Thou canst not, for I did not roam these halls till thou didst come to wake me! 'Tis thou, and thou alone! But for thee, I'd not have walked!"

  Magnus's head snapped up, and he fell back a pace, staggered—but Gwen stepped forward and asked, very calmly, "Canst thou truly say thou hast lain quietly?"

  The girl's face contorted, and her hands came up to her cheeks as she wailed once again, a wail that soared up and up until it rang in their ears, then twisted and was gone, and the room lay empty about them.

  They straggled back to the Great Hall, a very glum and silent crew, with glances out of the corners of their eyes at their brother, whose face was thunderous. Gwen stepped up to the hearth, stirred up the coals, tossed on a handful of kindling and blew it alight, then put on larger sticks and a log.

  Then she turned back to her son.

  "Be not heartsick, my lad. We know ghosts have walked this castle for two hundred years. 'Tis not thou who hast brought her unending misery."

  "But how can she speak of my waking her!" Magnus burst out.

  "Thou art a stone-reader," Gwen answered, "and a thought-speaker, and a crafter. The traces of her unquiet spirit may have kindled thy mind into bringing her forth from the stones.''

  Magnus looked up, appalled—and Rod lifted his head with dawning understanding.

  "Yet why she?" the boy burst out. "Why she alone? Why she, and none of the others who dwelt 'midst these rough stones?"

  "For that 'twas only she did live through agony so sharp as to leave traces so strong they could be conjured forth. Where others have left only some lingering touch that thou canst read, her feelings were so deep as to bring her once more before us."

  "Call it hallucination," Rod said softly, "but you're also a projective—and once you could see her, anyone near you could, too; you put the picture into their minds."

  "But I know the craft of that, Papa, and 'tis not a thing to be done unawares! It doth take intensity of thought, and some strength!"

  "You did it when you were a baby," Rod said evenly. "We had to keep you away from witch-moss, because anything you were thinking about, took form."

  "Yet there is no witch-moss here!"

  Rod shrugged. "You can't be sure of that. And even if it isn't, your mind is thoroughly capable of projecting a hallucination into other people's thoughts."

  "I have never done so before!"

  "You've never encountered a stimulus this strong before, either." Rod forbore to mention that most of the strength might have come from Magnus's feelings toward the ghost-girl, but he exchanged glances with Gwen, and she nodded. First love can do wonders.

  Magnus's face crumpled. "Then 'tis I am to blame for her misery?"

  "No!" Rod said, full-force. "The misery was caused by someone else, and I have a sneaking suspicion he's lurking about, just panting to be hallucinated, too—so try not to hate him too hard; it might help him."

  "Yet she would have slumbered, had I not come within!"

  "I have a notion she has waked a few times in the past," Rod said evenly. "I doubt that you're the first psychometricist to come in here in the last two hundred years. You remember how boys like to prove their courage by spending the night in a haunted house? And who would be most likely to do that? I have a notion that any time you hear about a haunting anywhere in Gramarye, you've had a latent psychometricist who doesn't know what he is."

  Magnus's gaze was fastened on Rod; the boy was drinking in the words, hungry to believe.

  "Besides," Rod said, feeling uncomfortable, "if you hadn't triggered her walking, I probably would have."

  "Thou?" Magnus stared, then whirled to his mother. Gwen nodded, gaze fast on him. "Thy father hath waked ghosts aforetime, son." She turned to Rod, and couldn't help a smile. " 'Twas not long after we met."

  Rod couldn't stop the smile, either. "No, it wasn't, was it?"

  He turned back to his son. "I did something rather stupid: I went for a stroll in the haunted section of Castle Loguire—alone."

  "Wherefore wouldst thou have committed such folly?" Cordelia's eyes were huge.

  "Because I didn't believe in ghosts. But I saw them, all right—and I was scared hollow, till Fess figured out their trick. And mind you, I wasn't the first to see ghosts there—that part of the castle had so strong a reputation that nobody lived there any more. And the same is probably true here—I have a notion that this isn't the first time this spectre has waked, though she may not remember the others as more than a dream. I'd bet that psychometricists are more common here than she led you to believe."

  A bit of color was coming back to Magnus's face now. "Yet her cries of anguish, and the wicked laughter we all heard last night, whiles the storm did rage…"

  "When we weren't even inside yet. Right." Rod nodded. "Either you have a lot more range than we thought, or the ghosts linger once they're roused. Of course, all the electricity in the atmosphere might have had something to do with it."

  Magnus paled again. "Dost think they may talk to one another when we living are not by them?"

  "Interesting thought," Rod agreed, "but a pretty useless one, for our purposes. If they do, how can we tell, since we're not here to hear it? If a tree falls in the forest, but there's no one near to hear the noise, did it make any sound?"

  The junior Gallowglasses exchanged glances, which could have meant that it was a good question that would require thought, or that Papa was being silly again.

  "No matter how she hath been raised." Magnus banished the question with a wave of his hand, and Rod's heart leaped; if the kid could put it behind him, he'd been lifted past it. "Wherefore would she wish me to go, rather than asking mine aid, as she did before?"

  "I don't think it was your help she was asking for." Rod rubbed the bridge of his nose. "More likely reliving a scene from the days of her life."

  "And as to bidding thee go," Gwen answered, "she may have wished to hide her shame from the world."

  "What shame?"

  Gwen spread her hands. " 'Tis hidden yet. Naetheless, when a damsel hath been hurted deeply, she will oft wish to be alone until her wound hath healed."

  "Definitely," Rod agreed, "and that's not exclusive to women. It can take a long time for a man to heal, too."

  Magnus frowned. "Dost thou speak from conjecture, or from knowledge?"

  "Doesn't matter," Rod said, "since the important question is really not how we've waked her, but how we can help her to find rest again."

  Magnus's gaze drifted. "Aye—that is the nubbin…"

  "Then," said Gregory, "we must first learn why she is unhappy."

  "Back to where we left off." Rod smiled. "So tomorrow, we'll search the castle and grounds and see if we can find any more clues. But I don't think we can do too much more tonight." He lifted a hand to stifle Magnus's protest. "You're tired, son, and not
at your most perceptive any more—and if any of the rest of us have this particular gift, we don't have it as strongly as you. We need to get what rest we can. Come on, back to bed." And he stepped over to lie down on his pallet. Gwen smiled gently at the children, then went to join her husband.

  Reluctantly the children followed suit, and lay still in the firelight.

  "Mayhap," Cordelia offered, "we ought not to meddle in this affair at all."

  "Nay, we must!" Magnus protested loudly.

  "Softly, softly, son," Gwen called. "I do not think we can worsen matters for the lass, Cordelia, and we well might help. Yet her affairs aside, there's some small matter of our own interest."

  Geoffrey looked up. "Why, how is that?"

  "I do not mean to dwell in a house where ghosts do wander in the dead of night, to disturb our sleep," Gwen said, with finality.

  "An excellent point," Rod agreed. "You're right in this, Cordelia—that if it didn't affect us, we should probably mind our own business."

  "Nay, even then, we ought to seek to alleviate the poor damsel's suffering, out of simple humanity!" Cordelia cried.

  "Thought you were the one who was saying we should back out. Well, since we're all agreed, we'll consider ways and means—and let's sleep on it, shall we?" He rolled up a little more tightly.

  Slowly, Magnus lay tense but quiet again.

  The hall was still, and a branch popped in the fire.

  Cordelia tossed and turned, unable to sleep, even when the low, even breathing of her mother and brothers, and her father's snoring, told her that she alone remained awake.

  The thought was frightening. There was a small sound, somewhere in the great room, and she lifted her head to peer around, eyes wide, heart hammering.

  She saw only the forms of her sleeping family, and the dark silhouette of the great black horse, standing watch over them. Its eyes glistened in the firelight, ever vigilant.

  Cordelia felt relief; she wasn't completely alone in her wakefulness. Very quietly, she slipped out of bed and came over to the robot. Fess lifted his head at her approach. "Lie still, Cordelia. Sleep will come."

  "I have need of talk." She twined her fingers in his mane.

  "Your charms avail you nothing, Cordelia—I am made of metal."

  "I shall try the mettle of a man, when I am grown." She managed a small smile at her own feeble jest. "Speak to me, that I may sleep."

  "Am I so boring a companion as that? No, do not answer. Tell me what you would have me speak of.''

  She said nothing, only set to work making a plait in his mane.

  "Of love, of course," Fess answered, with a sigh. "You are, after all, a young maiden."

  "Aye. Wouldst thou, mayhap, recall Papa's manner when he first was moonstruck? Was he as Magnus is, this night?"

  "Cordelia!" Fess reproved, in his softest tone. "I have told you before that your father's experiences are entirely confidential, and that it is for him alone to breach that confidentiality, not I."

  "Oh, thou didst not even know when the Archer did smite him!"

  "How should I, when I am only a thing of iron, with no feelings? How might I recognize romantic love?"

  "Thou dost know it by its signs."

  "Signs that can be hidden, with self-control. I will tell you only this: that when humans do suppress such evidence of love's coming, they cease to know clearly when they are in love."

  Cordelia looked up, frowning. "Why, how couldst thou know such a thing?"

  "I have studied humankind for five centuries, Cordelia. Go, now, and let your fancy play with the notion."

  She smiled, taken with the idea. "Why, that I shall. I knew thou wouldst know cures for wakefulness, good Fess." And she turned away, going back to roll up in her blanket.

  Of course, Fess did recognize the signs of infatuation, and remembered that the young Rod d'Armand had been worried because it had never happened to him. But Fess had seen the reason clearly, when he looked at the belles of Maxima—so he had not been surprised with the quickness of love's striking, once Rod left home. He remembered, with the clarity that only comes from permanent changes in the electrical patterns of molecules. It had been a time when Rod's joy and pain had been so clear to see that Fess was, for once, quite glad he had no emotions of his own. Rod's had been bad enough. Oh, yes, he remembered…

  Chapter 10

  The lander jarred with a thud and a clash. Rod waited, excitement beginning to well up under his sadness at leaving home. The wall-patch next to the hatch glowed green. Rod opened it and stepped through into his new life.

  The welcoming committee was a stocky man in a uniform too tight around the waist and a three-day beard on his jowls. "A rich boy!" he groaned. "With a private robot—preserve us! And shall I roll out a red carpet for you, me lord?"

  "Not a lord," Rod said automatically.

  "Well, ya know that much, at least," the man grunted. "But ya need a bit more, swabbie. When ya walked through that hatch, ya became the lowest of the low, boy. And close it behind ya!"

  Rod turned, sure that he had. Yes, the hatch was dogged.

  The jowly man pushed past him to check, and gave a reluctant growl. "Well, it's good enough."

  Rod knew it was a lot better than "good enough." People who grow up on asteroids become very used to hatches—by the time they're eight. But all he said was, "Thank you, sir."

  The man's eyes narrowed. "Ya got that part right, too." He looked distinctly unhappy about it. "Well, 'sir' it is, to anyone ya see. I'm Albie Weiser, Second Officer of the good ship Murray Rain, and you have the lowest rating aboard. Anything you see, you 'sir,' because there's no one aboard who's lower than you—and ya salute a senior officer!"

  Rod snapped to what he hoped was "attention" and touched his forehead.

  "No, no!" Weiser seemed relieved as he reached out to boost Rod's arm and crank his wrist. "Elbow up, so your arm's parallel to the deck, and turn yer hand out t' face me!"

  Rod clenched his jaw to keep from saying "ouch."

  "Right enough, then," the officer growled. "Now, come on and see this berth y've signed on for." He pushed off against a wall and glided down the passageway, glancing back just once—to make sure his new charge was following, Rod supposed. He looked very disappointed, and Rod's spirits sank. Was he really doing that badly? He swallowed hard and plucked up his courage, resolving to become the best recruit Weiser had ever seen.

  Fess followed, drifting silently in null-G. A bit less naive than Rod, he realized that Weiser had been hoping the young man would prove horribly clumsy in free-fall. Apparently the second officer hadn't realized that growing up on an asteroid, however large and however well provided with artificial gravity in dwelling areas, would still afford a young man a great number of low-G situations, and free-fall sports.

  He was also aware that being faultless, when people were actively seeking faults to belittle you for, could prove dangerous.

  They filed down a metal passageway, over the foot-high sill of a hatch, down a clanging ladder, and down a darker passageway. Rod's spirits sank with the altitude.

  Then the hallway opened out into a large chamber filled with vague lumpen shapes, walls divided into metal boxes. Pipes festooned the ceilings, and the floor humped up into ridges here and there.

  Weiser turned and pointed to a rectangular outline in the corner, about eighteen inches wide and three feet high. "There's yer locker. And there—" He pointed to a larger rectangle inscribed on the wall, "—is yer berth."

  Rod stared at it in dismay, and the mate sneered, "What did ya expect for an engine wiper on a freighter—a stateroom with a private bath?"

  "Oh, no, no! It's just that, uh, I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

  "Stow your duffel, swabbie, and report to the engineer!" He looked at Fess with disgust and grunted, "Private robots, yet! Where're ya going to store that, laddie?" He gave Fess a slap.

  "Hey, careful! He's an antique!"

  "Oh, is he, now? And maybe I should dust
yer china fer ya, too!" The mate swatted at Fess, and the robot stepped aside easily—a twentieth of a second was a quick punch for a human, but a long time for a computer. "Stand still when I'm swinging at ya!" the mate roared, and slammed another punch at the robot.

  "Sir," Fess said as he dodged, "I have done nothing to merit your…"

  "Hold on, now! That's my robot!" Rod leaped in, grabbing at the mate's arm. Weiser turned to aim a punch at him, and Fess darted forward to interpose himself between Rod and the mate's fist. Then he tried to dodge Weiser's kick, protesting, "I have done…" and went stiff as a board. The mate's kick caught him in the hip joint and sent him crashing against the wall.

  Rod saw red. "You bastard! You made him have a seizure! And then when he was defenseless, you…" He couldn't finish; he leaped at the mate, swinging…

  Swinging completely around in a circle and crashing into the wall. As he slid toward the bottom, a calloused hand grabbed him by the jumpsuit and yanked him upright. The jowly face loomed over him, mouth curved in a grin and vindictive satisfaction in the eyes. "The first thing ya must learn, swabbie, is to never talk back to a senior officer!" The calloused hand shot out, clenching into a shotput fist, and crashed into Rod's jaw.

  Rod was only dizzy for a few seconds; then he was struggling up to his hands and knees and lurching over to grope at the base of Fess's skull for the circuit breaker. He pushed, and the robot sat up slowly. "Whatddd… didddd AAAeee…"

  "You were defeated in a gallant attempt to save me," Rod rasped. "Sorry I got you into this."

  "Thhhuh ffaullltt iz awwl…"

  "All Weiser's," Rod grunted. "That bastard was doing everything he could to pick a fight. Help me up, will you?"

  Slowly, the robot climbed to its feet, then reached down. A hard hand grasped Rod's arm, helping him up. "How… how long were we out?"

  "I have been unnn-ckon-shus form… no morrrre than… threeee minutes."

  Rod gave his head a shake, blinked, and managed to see that Weiser wasn't there. "He didn't have to do that…"