Castle for Rent

by John Dechancie

  But he really had to know, didn’t he?

  “Have him come up.”

  He sat down and closed his eyes again, preparing himself, until the door chimed.

  The express man was young and looked innocuous enough.

  “Hi! Mr. John Carney?”

  “You got ’im.”

  The express man shoved the package toward him. It was heavy and he had to use both hands to accept it. Heavy enough to be books.

  “Just sign here, sir,” the man said, proffering a clipboard and pen.

  “Just a minute.”

  He turned, walked into the apartment, and laid the package on the dinette table. As he did, he heard the door close behind him. The computer began to beep frantically.

  He whirled in time to see the delivery man drawing a large-caliber, silencer-tipped revolver. He dropped behind the dinette table just as the hit man fired, the bullet thunking into the package. He crawled behind an easy chair, then leaped out, diving toward the door of the darkened bedroom. The next two shots chipped wood from the doorframe above his head as he sailed through.

  He crawled to the far end of the bed and remained on the floor.

  Then, reaching into a place that was not exactly a place, which lay in a direction that was not quite up or down or to or fro, he summoned the thing that he found there, and it came forth. From what time or space or continuum the thing had come, he neither knew nor cared.

  It stood above him, a mass of gleaming metal trimmed with strips of black synthetic material. Its arms ended in huge steel claws, and its head was a clear bubble housing whirling sensors and flashing probes. Thin, many-colored lines of light danced in crosshatch patterns on the walls of the dim bedroom, shifting and changing as the device took readings and measurements. In less than a second it was ready to move.

  It clanked around the bed and rolled through the doorway into the hall.

  There came a yelp, then another muffled gunshot and the spang of a bullet ricocheting off metal.

  “DESTROY,” the mechanical thing stated, raising its arms. The claws swung to one side and dangerous-looking rods protruded from the cavities within the arms.

  “No!” he shouted from the bedroom.

  “I’m leaving!” the express man shouted.

  There came the sounds of hasty retreat. Then the front door slammed.

  “NOT DESTROY?” was the query with a slight note of disappointment.

  “No. Scan premises for enemy.”

  “SECTOR CLEAR.”

  He came out from the bedroom. The machine was already fading.

  “WILL NOT BE REDEPLOYED?” the thing asked.

  “Return to post,” he ordered, which it was doing, anyway.

  It was gone in the next instant.

  He locked the door, slid the dead bolt, and affixed the chain. He retrieved the package. The books he had ordered were in it, one with a deformed slug inside that had bored clear through to page 457, which began a chapter titled “Incantations Useful in Interdimensional Quantum Transformations.”

  He went into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of fresh-brewed coffee.

  Library

  Osmirik carried the heavy folio up the stairs to his favorite carrel, which was tucked into a vault on the first gallery. He liked the spot, snugly surrounded as it was by his favorite things, namely books; but now it would afford him safe haven in more than a spiritual sense. That is, it would if all his hastily made plans worked out. He meant to take advantage of one of the castle’s architectural peculiarities. If all else failed, an exit lay close by, should the need for such arise.

  Arise it doubtless would, and soon. The invaders would hardly overlook the castle’s library, surely the largest depository of learning in this world. If they coveted the castle’s secrets, only its library could provide the key.

  What Osmirik sought was the key to fight the invaders, and that could only be found in certain ancient texts contained in this library and this library alone. This huge folio was one such text, a work written by Ervoldt, the ancient Haplodite King who had “built” Castle Perilous — or, to be more accurate, had caused it to be created, some three millennia ago.

  He sidled into the narrow carrel. Sighing, he sat down and opened the leather-bound volume, which in gilt lettering bore the simple title Ervoldt, His Book. The language and script in which the work had been written was called Haplan, which he had diligently studied since beginning his tenure as chief librarian at Castle Perilous, almost a year ago to the day. (The post had been vacant for fifty years before he took it up.)

  He turned to the first page, and his former wonder was renewed. This was no codex, no painstakingly handwritten work of a copyist. This was a printed text, which would not be surprising were it not for the fact that it was over three thousand years old. The beautiful vellum paper was not even yellowed. Printing had not existed three thousand years ago, nor three hundred — except, obviously, in Castle Perilous, by whose magic all manner of things was possible.

  The author’s prefatory material was short. In fact, it was rather blunt:

  Ye who scan this Book be well advised; that its Scribe be no Man of Poesy, nor Aesthete given to Niceties of Phrase. For Such and their Ilk I care not Pig Leavings. I set down the Words as they come, as they are needed for their appointed Tasks, and as I see fit; no more or less do I set down. For I, Ervoldt, King by the Grace of the Gods, have a Story, and I will let nothing bar the way of its Telling. I will leave out nothing of Substance. Neither will I embellish. What is ugly, I will render ugly; what is beautiful needs little by my Hand. I will tell what I must, and no more, and when the Telling is done, I will be done. If any find Fault with this, or me, I say read another Book, and be damned.

  Somewhat brusque, but to the point, and possessing a certain admirable muscularity of phrase. But Osmirik had no time for literary criticism. His task was to glean practical knowledge from this work, not to judge its author’s prose style. Moreover —

  There came a loud crashing from below. Osmirik jumped up, left the vault, and went to the rail of the gallery. Below, the huge main room was as deserted as before — nothing but row upon row of open stacks with a few tables interspersed — but now he could identify the source of the noise. Someone was trying to break through the massive oak of the front doors, which were bolted and barred from the inside. Very likely the invaders were on the other side.

  Another crash, and Osmirik saw the doors shake. He dashed back to his nook and drew out the parcel that he had laid inside. It was crammed with victuals, enough to last him days. A chamber pot lay underneath the table, along with a supply of candles and some blankets.

  He stood and ran his hand along the back of the stone ribbing that formed the inside arch of the doorway. Finding a small block of wood there, he pressed it. There came the rumble of sliding stone. He stepped back as a massive stone barrier slid across to seal the vault off like a tomb. Osmirik exhaled and listened to the silence. This small chamber was one of hundreds used to store rare volumes of inestimable worth. It also made an excellent redoubt for a librarian.

  The vault was completely dark. Cursing himself for not doing it before, he sought candle and flint wheel. At length he managed to get a flame from the wheel, lit a candle, and stood it in its sconce on the table. The tiny chamber filled with yellow light. The flame of the candle guttered. The place was well ventilated. He would be fine here, for a while. He had light, air, food, and books — and he could catch a few winks under the table. No one could find him, no one would bother him, not even the Hell-begotten blue demons.

  Now, all he had to do was discover what particular hell had begotten them.

  Keep

  Gene stepped over the body of another castle Guardsman. He had lost track of how many they had encountered.

  “The Bluefaces are everywhere,” he said to Linda. “It’s a well-organized and coordinated attack. Meticulously planned, too, I’ll bet.”

  “What should we do?” Linda asked.
>
  “Leave the castle. Have any preferences as to what aspect we dive through?”

  “Oh, any nice place with trees and grass, I guess.”

  “Trees and grass? How about a source of food? Remember, when you leave the castle, your magic stays here. No more whipping up quick meals with a wave of the hand.”

  “That’s going to be somewhat of a problem.”

  They continued down the hallway cautiously, Gene in the lead and Snowclaw bringing up the rear. Sheila tagged close to Linda, whose hand she occasionally sought when danger neared. Linda didn’t look as scared as Sheila was. But then, Linda was used to this place. Sheila didn’t understand how anyone could get used to a nightmare, but she was more than willing to stick close to anyone who could.

  They walked on a little farther until they came to a crossing corridor, at which they stopped. Gene poked his head around the corner.

  “It’s clear.” As he took a step forward, grunting sounds came from far down the hall to the left. Gene backstepped hastily, bumping into Linda. “Company coming!” he whispered.

  They backtracked to an empty alcove and crowded into it. Sheila squeezed in next to Snowclaw, noticing how smooth and silky his fur was.

  The rumble of heavy running feet sounded. Gene knelt, peered around the corner, and saw Bluefaces streaming through the intersection of the corridors.

  “There must be thirty of ’em. No, fifty.”

  The thunder of footsteps receded, diminishing to distant echoes.

  Gene took a breath. “They must have invaded with a force in the thousands. They’ve probably already taken over key points in the castle.”

  “We don’t have much of a chance,” Linda said.

  “Not unless we find an acceptable gateway soon. If this keeps up, we might have to take the next one we run across.”

  “I’d invite you all to my world,” Snowclaw said, “except that it’s pretty darn cold there, and you hairless types might not take to it. Besides, the portal’s on the other side of the castle.”

  “I’d put up with the cold,” Gene said. “The more unattractive the world, the less chance the Bluefaces might be interested in it.”

  “Maybe so,” Snowclaw said. “Well, you’re all welcome to stay in my shack for as long as you like. I wouldn’t mind the company.” He scratched his belly absently. “We’d be a little crowded, though.”

  Gene said, “Snowy, I’ve always wanted to see your world, but I’m going to keep it as a last resort.” Gene leaned against the wall and scratched under his cuirass. “Damn it, all the best portals are in the Guest areas, which is where most of the invaders are going to be hanging out, of course.”

  “The one with the golf course is nice,” Linda said. “And the little dinosaur-humanoids are friendly.”

  “Primitive,” Gene said, shaking his head. “Hot, and dangerous. Outside the little resort area, it’s pretty rough out there in the jungle. And the Bluefaces will be all through there, I bet.”

  “And we saw them on the picnic world,” Linda said. “So much for that.”

  “We must have looked into hundreds of portals since we’ve been here. There are 144,000 of them in the castle. Try to think of one that we can hide out in for a while.”

  “Well, there’s the one with the forest and the waterfall.”

  “Same problem, it’s near the Guest area.”

  “Right,” Linda said. “I’ve always liked the one that sort of looks like a Japanese garden.”

  “Ditto.”

  “Oh, you’re right. Well, how about — ?” Linda was stumped.

  “Now, there was one with a little village nearby with nice sorts of native people. Little pale people with big golden eyes. They’d gladly put us up for a spell, I think. Damned if I can remember where the hell the portal was, though.”

  “I remember!” Linda said.

  “Shhhh! Keep your voice down.”

  “Sorry. I was just thinking of one. It’s not too far from here, if I recall. It’s near the castle armory, and —” Her face fell. “Oh, dear.”

  “The armory’s probably the first objective the Bluefaces took, along with the Guard garrison. You have to remember —”

  Sounds of approaching footsteps came from the direction in which the Blueface troop had marched.

  “They’re coming back,” Gene said. “Come on!”

  They ran. At the next intersecting hallway, they took the right branch, running a spell until they came to a stairwell. This they descended one level, where they found quiet.

  “Hell,” Gene complained. “Look, we need to think, and plan. Let’s get to someplace where we can do it, like Snowy’s world. There, at least, we won’t be bothered, and we can come up with some answers.”

  “Will we be able to get back into the castle?” Linda said.

  Gene thoughtfully rubbed me stubble on his chin. “Good point. The castle’s a big place, but maybe they have enough troops to block every portal. No telling.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  Gene shrugged. “Keep moving until we find a good aspect, jump in, and hope the Bluefaces won’t follow us.”

  “Back to square one,” Linda said. She thought awhile, then said, “How about we hide out in the wilder parts of the castle?”

  Gene looked dubious.

  Sheila asked, “What do you mean, Linda?”

  Linda squatted and leaned against a pillar. “Well, some parts of the castle are stable, like the Guest areas. You know, like where the dining hall is? Around there. But other parts of the castle aren’t so stable.”

  “In fact,” Gene said, “they’re absolutely crazy.”

  Sheila nodded. Crazy. If what she’d already seen of the place was sane … Ohmygawd.

  “And dangerous,” Gene added. “But on second thought, not quite as dangerous, maybe, as what we’re facing here.”

  “Maybe not,” Linda agreed. “I think it might be worth the risk.”

  “Isn’t there some way of … you know, leaving the castle?” Sheila asked. “Just going outside, the regular way?”

  “There’s not much out there,” Gene said. “We’ve been told that most of the people who live in these parts stay in the castle. I don’t blame them. It’s pretty bleak.”

  “Oh.” Sheila slumped against the cold stone of the wall.

  Grunting voices came from the right.

  “Let’s move,” Gene said calmly.

  They ran from the voices, but made it only a short way down the corridor before hearing echoing footsteps ahead. They took the left branch of the nearest intersection, sprinted to the next crossing, stopped, and looked both ways before going on.

  Voices behind them, now voices in front again. They backtracked and went left, ran and then dashed right, only to hear the flapping steps of flat, webbed feet everywhere they turned.

  “It’s no use,” Gene said, stopping for breath. “Linda, you gotta use your magic. We have to go either up or down in a hurry.”

  “Stairs?”

  “No, something faster!”

  “What? I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t be mechanical, like an elevator or something.”

  Grunting sounds came from the left, then, after a moment, from behind.

  “Think!” Gene whispered hoarsely.

  Linda closed her eyes. A soft popping sound came from behind Gene, and he turned to look. A neatly cut hole had appeared in the stone floor. A shiny brass pipe, about three inches in diameter, ran from the ceiling down through the hole.

  “A firehouse pole?” Gene shrugged. “Hey, why not? Let’s go.”

  Gene was first. He slid out of sight quickly, and Linda followed.

  “Let’s go, little girl,” Snowclaw urged gently.

  Sheila leaned out, grabbed the pole, and jumped, locking her legs around the slippery brass shaft. The drop was heart-stoppingly fast, and only frantic contractions of her leg muscles finally slowed her. Despite her best efforts, she landed hard on her buttocks.

  Gene dr
agged her up. “Again,” he ordered Linda.

  “Again?”

  “Down another floor. Can’t you hear them up there?”

  Linda whipped up another pole as Snowclaw dropped down and corroborated, “They’re coming!”

  They all slipped down the new fire pole. This time Sheila was determined to land on her feet, and she did.

  “Again,” Gene said.

  They dropped four levels in all before Gene realized it was useless.

  “They’re simply following us down,” he said. “We’re just not thinking, gang.”

  Linda said, “Then we’re sunk. I can’t make things disappear.” She blinked, then smiled. “But I can make a ladder!”

  The hole appeared, as before, but this time a wooden ladder angled up from it. They clambered down one by one. On the lower level. Gene and Snowclaw slid the bottom of the ladder across the flagstone until the upper end slipped out of the hole above. The ladder clattered to the floor.

  They repeated this procedure three more times before coming to a quiet level.

  Gene looked up. “Linda, I want you to conjure a sort of thing that looks like a drain stopper, but made out of heavy stone, one just big enough to plug that hole up there.”

  “A drain stopper?”

  “Imagine a big heavy thing like a stone mushroom, with the stem plugging the hole.”

  “Got you.”

  The bottom of the plug fit neatly flush with the ceiling.

  “Good job. I don’t think they’ll be able to lift that thing very easily.”

  “Great idea, Gene,” Linda said.

  “Should have come up with it sooner. But when you’re on the run, it’s hard to be creative.”

  “Man, you gotta think fast in this place!” Sheila said breathlessly.

  “Even more so, down here,” Gene told her. “Stay close, and watch your step.”

  “What’s down here?”

  “Expect the unexpected.”

  “Like … what, exactly?”

  Bright daylight flooded the corridor. Sheila whirled and beheld what looked at first like a movie screen, except that the images were three-dimensional. Then her mind made the connection that this was some sort of opening that had suddenly appeared. Through the rectangular portal lay a short expanse of white beach, leading to foaming breakers. The surf was close, very close. In fact …