Castle for Rent

by John Dechancie

  “See that light?”

  “Yes,” Incarnadine said. “What is it?”

  “I’ve never driven long enough to find out. Want to?”

  “I would, under other circumstances.”

  “Right. Where’s the demonic eighteen-wheeler?”

  Incarnadine looked. “Nowhere in sight.”

  “Okay, hang on.”

  The tunnel of light faded gradually until at last the mundane turnpike again rolled under the wheels of the Mercedes. The terrain had flattened out somewhat. Clearly they were on a different section of the road.

  “Good job, Trent. I liked your shortcut.”

  “And here’s the exit. State Route 711, right?”

  “I’m not sure I like the numerological implications.”

  Trent turned off the highway, gradually slowing on the long, curving exit ramp. The toll booths lay up ahead, on the other side of the overpass.

  “There it is,” Trent said, looking to the left.

  The monster semi rolled by on the highway beneath, screeching its frustration. Incarnadine watched it come out the other side of the underpass and go hurtling down the road, a shiny black juggernaut trimmed in glistening chrome.

  It rolled about a thousand feet down the turnpike before vanishing in a burst of crimson flame.

  Keep — Family Residence

  The room was full of antique furniture representative of many periods. On the walls hung ancient tapestries depicting stag hunts, tournaments, battles, and other manly pastimes. Many a quaint and curious artifact lay about: there were weapons, articles of military apparel, inscribed drinking cups, medallions, and other mementos, all prominently displayed in glass-fronted cabinets.

  Ferne stood in the middle of the room at a table, upon which sat a most extraordinary device. It was large, taking up most of the tabletop, and in the main consisted of porcelain cylinders, glass spheres, copper tubes, and other less readily identifiable components. A small plate of frosted glass rose from the works inside a copper frame. The device was in operation. Blue sparks crackled within the glass spheres, and faint multicolored aureoles enveloped a few of the other components. The glass plate glowed with a milky light.

  Ferne was bent over the device, twisting dials and knobs on a control panel. She studied a quartz gauge, noting the fluctuations of the small needle within. She adjusted a control until the needle stabilized, then threw a toggle switch.

  The screen came to life with the images of three individuals sitting behind a long narrow table. They appeared human, and wore gray suitcoats over black turtlenecks. Their faces were pale and thin, and their eyes were cold, hand, and black. Short dark hair grew above their high foreheads.

  “Your Royal Highness!” the middle individual beamed, smiling. “So nice of you to visit us.”

  “I am pleased to see you all,” Ferne said. “May I sit down?”

  “By all means, Your Highness. In fact, we beg your forgiveness for sitting in your presence, but we didn’t —”

  “You needn’t apologize,” she said, sitting down. “You doubtless know that this device merely projects my image.”

  “Of course. But it has been quite some time since anyone communicated with us in this manner.”

  “Quite so. I can’t speak for my family, but know I haven’t used the Universal Projector since I was a youngster.”

  “We remember. A most curious device.”

  “Yes. My ancestors mainly used it to bring wayward vassals into line. A sudden apparition in the night was usually enough to reduce any strong-willed underling to a compliant mass of jelly.”

  “One can well imagine. But why rely on a mechanical contrivance to effect such a purpose?”

  “The device is not quite mechanical. It works by tapping interuniversal forces, which, as you know, are the source of all magical energy. But it makes unnecessary all the usual appurtenances and folderol — talismans, chanting, gestures, and the like. Long-distance image projection requires subtle spellcasting. This instrument facilitates the process greatly. The device is quite ancient, though, and is somewhat crude. But it does work.”

  The middle one smiled warmly. “In any event, we are always glad to talk with you, regardless of the means used.”

  “Thank you. May we now proceed to the main order of business?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I assume you received my last communication.”

  The one on the left spoke. “Yes, Your Royal Highness. We have given your proposal a great deal of study.”

  “And?”

  The individual on the right answered. “We find much of merit. We regret to say, however, that the terms are not entirely satisfactory.”

  Ferne’s dark eyebrows curled down. “If I may ask, what specifically is not to your liking?”

  “Well, there are a number of specific issues,” the middle one said. “But we think it safe to say that the question of sharing power is the main stumbling block.”

  “Ah.” Ferne nodded. “I had a feeling it would be.”

  The one on the right said, “Generally speaking, we do not feel that the rewards specified are commensurate with services rendered.”

  “You want more worlds under your exclusive control.”

  “Actually,” the middle one said apologetically, “to be very blunt about it, we think that your offer was totally inadequate. Of course, we would be willing to negotiate on the final number, but we were thinking orders of magnitude higher.”

  “No doubt,” Ferne said. “But I am afraid I can’t budge from the terms of my offer. There is only so much power I’m willing to relinquish.”

  “But there are so many worlds. Surely you can’t be thinking of administrating them all on your own.”

  “Of course not,” Ferne said. “Not even a tenth part of them, nor a hundredth. My imperial ambitions are quite limited. This sharply distinguishes me from my brother, who has never had any imperial ambitions at all. I think him absurd. Surely an instrument such as Castle Perilous deserves better use than to serve as a hostel for vagabonds and beggars. Hardly fitting for what may be the most powerful artifact in the whole of Creation.”

  “We quite agree,” the individual on the left said. “That is why we feel that such a resource must be shared. This has long been a bone of contention between your family and us. As for ourselves, of course, we have no ‘imperial ambitions,’ as you put it. We seek only to impose a benevolent order. The state of the universes is chaotic in the extreme. We merely wish to establish a semblance of rationality.”

  “Oh, I quite agree with those sentiments,” Ferne said. “The universes are in a dreadful mess, and so is the castle. And the unfathomable thing about it is that this has been the case ever since the castle came to be! Apparently the will to power runs weak in my family.”

  “We would not agree. Your family has jealously guarded its power, and its secrets, for generations.”

  “Guarded its power, yes,” Ferne said. “Maintained it, yes. But used it? No. Absolutely not. What I seek to establish is merely a measure of … well, of intestinal fortitude. And it’s high time someone tried.”

  “We seem to agree on a few general principles, at least,” the middle individual said. “Surely this can provide a basis for working out our differences.”

  “Perhaps, but time is running short. The invaders will very soon consolidate their hold on the castle.”

  With a casual shrug the one on the left said, “From your description of them, we don’t think they will be much trouble.”

  “Do not underestimate them.”

  “We believe we haven’t, Your Royal Highness.”

  “Very well,” Ferne said. “You are the best judge of your abilities. And I am quite sure they are considerable. Also, do not underestimate me. I am fully aware that there is a good deal that remains unspoken between us.”

  The three individuals exchanged glances. “Such as?” the middle one asked.

  “Many things. True intentions, motivat
ions. Desires and goals. Also circumstances. For instance, I am aware that what I am seeing now is not your true appearance. I have also gotten the impression in my dealings with you that your world or your society is not composed of individuals, but is in reality a single mass entity of some sort. I am not sure of this, but it remains a possibility in my mind. I remember asking you about this very point long ago. Whenever I pressed for an answer, I got only evasions.”

  “There is of course a perfectly logical explanation for many of your doubts and reservations,” the one on the right said. “Our universes differ widely in many respects. In fact, the differences are profound enough to greatly hamper mutual understanding.”

  “Doubtless so. I’m sure a mere mortal could never understand beings such as you.”

  “Forgive our saying this, but your terminology is somewhat inappropriate.”

  “Is it? Only you would know. But let us return to concretes. In return for the privileges I have accorded you, you will aid my brother Deems and me in our fight to take back our family stronghold from the invaders who have usurped it. If we are successful, I am willing to provide you with exclusive access to a few hundred universes of your choice. You will be free to do what you want with them. That is the sum and substance of my proposal. Do you accept or not?”

  “In principle, yes,” the middle individual said. “However —”

  “That is all I am willing to offer. I am afraid I am not disposed to negotiate any further.”

  The three were silent for a moment. Then die individual in the middle said, “We will have to confer and give you our answer at a later date.”

  “I want it in an hour.”

  “We need time to —”

  “I want your answer in an hour,” she said tightly.

  There was a pause. Then: “As you wish.”

  “I will call you.”

  She flipped the toggle, and the images faded. With some effort, she rose from the chair.

  The far door opened and Deems came in.

  “Did you communicate with them?” he asked, walking over.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Are you ill? You look peaked. Let me get you some refreshment.”

  “Thank you. Negotiating with them is draining. Don’t you remember how it was?”

  Deems went to a small cabinet and took out a bottle of sherry and two glasses. He filled both glasses and gave one to Ferne, who had seated herself on a recliner. “We all toyed with the Hosts of Hell at one time or another. Fascinating lot. Hideously dangerous, of course, which made them all the more alluring to the young and disgruntled. Yes, I well remember their incessant attempts to seduce one of us into letting them out of their hellhole.” Deems sighed disconsolately. “And I suppose they’ve finally succeeded.”

  “Had they accomplished it when we were children, they would have overrun the castle.”

  “And would have taken control of Creation.”

  “Perhaps, although I think it’s possible to overestimate them. They are powerful, but surely not godlike.”

  “Be that as it may, I hope you and Inky can control them, as you claim you can. There’ll be hell to pay — quite literally, I should imagine! — if you’re mistaken.”

  “You worry too much, Deems. You always did.”

  “What if Inky doesn’t give in? Do you really need him?”

  “No, not really. I think I have a few things over on Inky these days. Though his cooperation would make things a little easier, I admit.”

  Deems looked at her askance. “Why do I have trouble believing you?”

  She laughed. “Don’t be silly. I’ve told you everything. You have no reason to doubt me. Besides, what do you care about all this? You’ll get your gold, one way or another.”

  Chewing his lip and looking dissatisfied, Deems sat down on an ancient thronelike chair and threw one chain-mailed leg up over the armrest. “Don’t think I don’t care about Perilous.”

  She laughed scornfully. “Deems, you’ve never cared for anything but drinking, wenching, and the occasional brawl.”

  “I don’t deny that, but it doesn’t mean I’d suffer lightly the destruction of my family’s ancestral home.”

  “There won’t be any destruction, Deems. Not unless Inky chooses to detransmogrify the castle.”

  Deems sat up. “Gods. Do you think he would?”

  “Undoing the spell that maintains the castle and then immediately recasting the spell would be the optimum solution for him. In the process, everything and everyone in the place would … well, vanish for want of a better word. No one really knows what happens. In any event, it would be a new shuffle of the deck. Recast the spell, transform the demon back into a castle, and everything reverts to what it was before any of this started.” She took a sip of wine. “Of course, there is one problem. All of that is vastly more easy to say than to do. He was lucky once, a year or so ago. I don’t think he’d risk it again. He’ll see the wisdom of compromise. Eventually.”

  “You must open the gateway for him.”

  “No! Let him stew a while longer yet. We have to convince him we mean business.”

  “What if he breaks through on his own?”

  “If he does, we take him into custody. It’s that simple.”

  “Nothing is simple with old Inky, Ferne. You ought to know that.”

  “Oh, I know. I know.”

  Deems sat back and stared moodily into his glass. “If you would have suggested to me that we would have to deal with the Hosts, I would never have gone along with this. I would have taken Inky’s side — gold or no gold — and would have fought you tooth and nail.”

  “I realize that,” she said. “But that’s not what happened. Is it?”

  Deems fell silent for a long spell. Then he took a deep breath. “Damn me.” He drained his glass in one gulp. “I’ve been a bloody fool.”

  “It’s a little too late to back out, Deems dear.”

  “I’ve got to talk to Inky.”

  “No! You can’t reach him.”

  “The Projector.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “Advise me no advice, woman.” He rose, crossed to the table that held the Projector, and began fiddling with the device’s control panel.

  “Deems, Deems,” she said in mock lament. “The Projector merely channels a spell and gives it form. The operator has to provide the mental energy.”

  “I know there’s a simple spell that sets up the device. Then it’s merely a matter of calibrating —”

  “Yes, you can find a book of standard utility spells — in the library. Your problem is fighting your way through hordes of invaders to get there.”

  Deems stopped fiddling and thrust his fists against his hips, glaring at his sister. “Damned meddling bitch!”

  “How dare you speak that way to me.”

  “I’ll speak any way I bloody well —” He broke off. Brow lowered, Deems eyed her as if seeing both her and the situation anew. “You never meant to bargain with Inky, did you? You want to keep him out of the castle. Do away with him entirely, if you have to. Isn’t that true?”

  Ferne settled back in the recliner and lifted the glass to her lips. “And if it is?” she said quietly.

  “But … ” He threw out his arms helplessly. “But you can’t hope to prevail against the Hosts by yourself! Surely you don’t think yourself the equal of Inky as a magician. No one is. He’s the master of Perilous! Only he can tap the castle’s deepest source of power.”

  “Because he’s a man?”

  Deems was brought up short. “Eh? Because he’s a — ? Well … yes!” He shrugged expansively. “I suppose.”

  “You suppose.”

  “This is ridiculous! Females may succeed to the throne only in the absence of a suitable male heir apparent. You know that as well as I do. What of it?”

  “That is the tradition. But it has no bearing on who may tap the castle’s power. You silly men have simply got to realize —”


  Deems silenced her with an upraised hand. “Stop confusing the issue! I see now what you’ve done, and why you did it. This was all a scheme to divide the family, clearing the way for your bid to power. You haven’t the least intention of sharing power — with Inky, or me, or anyone else! You want all of it!”

  “I deserve it,” she said. “I’m the only one who’s not afraid to use it.”

  “But surely you realize that the Hosts don’t mean to share with you, either!”

  “I don’t know about that. They have certain ambitions, but they can be placated for the time being. Pacified.”

  “Appeased, you mean?”

  Ferne’s blue eyes turned to ice. “I needed allies, powerful allies! Who was I to turn to? You? Trent? Or maybe my fat cow of a sister.”

  Deems grunted. “Dorcas is the best one of a bad litter.”

  “Pig shit. I needed allies, and I found them.”

  “Not yet. Not while they’re still ensconced in their hellhole.”

  She laughed, throwing her head back.

  Appalled, Deems regarded her. “What in the name of all the gods … ” Understanding bloomed on his face. Paling, he brought his hand to his throat. “The gods be merciful. Woman, tell me you haven’t already unbuttoned them.”

  She continued laughing and he knew.

  Ashen-faced, he sat down and stared at the floor. When he spoke, his voice was empty. “Inky’s the only card you hold. He’s the threat you’re holding over them. The threat that Inky will return and detransmogrify the castle.”

  “And I have him bottled up,” she said, still giggling. “Corked.” She burst into another bout of laughter.

  “It was the security spell on the Hosts’ portal that you undid first,” Deems droned on. “One of the oldest in the castle. One of Ervoldt’s spells. No wonder Inky was concerned. No wonder he raced off to earth to find Trent. Trent specialized in ancient magic. Inky probably needed his advice. Doubtless Inky suspected Trent of having done it, but in any event he had to confront him.”