by Terry Brooks
“The touch of your hands lends it direction,” Questor said suddenly.
Ben stared down at his hands as they gripped the gunnels. “My hands?”
“The boat, like the castle, is alive. It is called a lake skimmer. It responds to the touch of those it serves. You are now foremost of those. Will it to carry you and it shall do so.”
“Where shall I will it to carry me?”
Questor laughed gently. “Why, to the front door, High Lord.”
Ben gripped the gunnels and conveyed the thought silently. The lake skimmer sped swiftly across the dark waters, leaving a white swale in the wake of its passing.
“Slowly, High Lord, slowly,” Questor admonished. “You convey your thoughts too urgently.”
Ben relaxed his grip and his thoughts, and the lake skimmer slowed. It was exciting, having use of this small magic. He let his fingers brush softly across the smooth wood of the gunwales. It was warm and vibrant. It had the feel of a living thing.
“Questor?” He turned back to the wizard. The sense of life in the lake skimmer bothered him, but he kept his hands in place. “What was it you said before about my healing the castle?”
The fingers of one hand came up to rub the owlish face. “Sterling Silver, like Landover, is in need of a King. The castle fails without one. Your presence within the castle renews her life. When you make her your home, that life will be fully sustained once more.”
Ben glanced ahead to the spectral apparition with its dark towers and battlements, its discolored stone walls and vacant eyes. “What if I don’t want to make her my home?”
“Oh, I think you will,” the wizard replied enigmatically.
Think whatever you want, Ben thought without saying it. His eyes stayed on the approaching castle, on the mist and shadows that shrouded it. He expected at any moment to see something with fangs appear at the windows of the highest tower and to see bats circling watchfully.
He saw, however, nothing.
The lake skimmer grounded gently on the island banks, and Ben and Questor disembarked. An arched entry with raised portcullis stood before them, an open invitation to be swallowed whole. Ben shifted the duffel from one hand to the other, hesitating. If anything, the castle looked worse close up than it had from the ridge crest.
“Questor, I’m not sure about …”
“Come, High Lord,” the wizard interrupted, again taking his arm, again propelling him ahead. “You cannot see anything worthwhile from out here. Besides, the others will be waiting.”
Ben stumbled forward, eyes shifting nervously upward along the parapets and towers; the stone was damp and the corners and crevices a maze of spider webs. “Others? What others?”
“Why, the others who stand in service to the throne—your staff, High Lord. Not all have left the service of the King.”
“Not all?”
But Questor either didn’t hear him or simply ignored him, hurrying ahead, forcing Ben to walk more quickly to keep pace. They passed from the entry through a narrow court as dark and dingy in appearance as the rest of the castle and from there through a second entry, smaller than the first, down a short hall and into a foyer. Misty light slipped through high, arched windows, mixing with the gloom and shadows. Ben glanced about. The wood of the supports and stays was polished and clean, the stone scrubbed, and the walls and floors covered in rugs and tapestries that had retained some of their original color. There were even a few pieces of stiff-looking furniture. Had it not been for the gray cast that seemed to permeate everything, the room would have been almost cheerful.
“You see, things are much better inside,” Questor insisted.
Ben nodded without enthusiasm. “Lovely.”
They crossed to a door that opened into a cavernous dining hall with a huge tressel table and high-backed chairs cushioned in scarlet silk. Chandeliers of tarnished silver hung from the ceiling; despite the summer weather, a fire burned in a hearth at the far end of the hall. Ben followed Questor into the hall and stopped.
Three figures stood in a line to the right of the dining table. Their eyes met his.
“Your personal staff, High Lord,” Questor announced.
Ben stared. The staff consisted of a dog and two large-eared monkeys—or at least two creatures very like monkeys. The dog stood upright on its hind legs and wore breeches with suspenders, a tunic with heraldic insignia, and glasses. Its coat was golden in color, and it had small flaps for ears that looked as if they might have been tacked on as an afterthought. The hair on its head and muzzle made it appear as if it were half porcupine. The creatures that looked like monkeys wore short pants and leather cross-belts from waist to shoulder. One was taller and spindle-legged. The other was heavy and wore a cook’s apron. Both had ears like Dumbo and prehensile toes.
Questor motioned to Ben, and they moved forward to stop before the dog. “This is Abernathy, court scribe and your personal attendant.”
The dog bowed slightly and looked at him over the rims of the glasses. “Welcome, High Lord,” the dog said.
Ben jumped back in surprise. “Questor, he talks!”
“As well as you do, High Lord,” the dog replied stiffly.
“Abernathy is a soft-coated Wheaten Terrier—a breed that has produced a good many champion hunting dogs,” Questor interjected. “He was not always a dog, however. He was a man before he was a dog. He became a dog through a rather unfortunate accident.”
“I became a dog through your stupidity.” Abernathy’s voice was very close to a canine growl. “I have remained a dog through your stupidity.”
Questor shrugged. “Well, yes, it was my fault in a way, I suppose.” He sighed, glancing at Ben. “I was trying to disguise him and the magic made him thus. Unfortunately, I have not as yet discovered a way to change him back again. But he does quite well as a dog, don’t you, Abernathy?”
“I did better as a man.”
Questor frowned. “I would have to dispute that, I think.”
“That is because you must find some way to justify what you did, Questor Thews. Had I not retained my intelligence—which, fortunately, is considerably higher than your own—I would undoubtedly have been placed in some kennel and forgotten!”
“That is most unkind.” The frown deepened. “Perhaps you would have preferred it if I had changed you into a cat!”
Abernathy’s reply came out a bark. Questor started and flushed. “I understood that, Abernathy, and I want you to know that I don’t appreciate it. Remember where you are. Remember that this is the King you stand before.”
Abernathy’s shaggy face regarded Ben solemnly. “So much the worse for him.”
Questor shot him a dark look, then turned to the creatures standing next to him. “These are kobolds,” Questor advised Ben, who was still struggling with the idea that his personal attendant was a talking dog. “They speak their own language and will have nothing to do with ours, though they understand it well enough. They have names in their own language, but the names would mean nothing to you. I have therefore given them names of my own, which they have agreed to accept. The taller is Bunion, the court runner. The heavier is Parsnip, the court chef.” He motioned to the two. “Give greeting to the High Lord, kobolds.”
The kobolds bowed. When they straightened, their mouths parted to reveal rows of sharpened teeth behind frightening smiles. They hissed softly.
“Parsnip is a true kobold,” Questor said. “He is a fairy creature who has chosen open service to the household of a human rather than a haunting. His tribe is one of those that drifted out of the fairy world and stayed. Bunion is a wight, more a woods creature than a domestic. Generically, he is a kobold, but he retains characteristics of other fairy creatures as well. He can pass through the mists as they, though he cannot remain. He can cross through Landover with the swiftness of the fairies as well. But he is bound to Sterling Silver in the same fashion as Parsnip and must always return.”
“For reasons that man and dog can only surmise,” Aber
nathy interjected.
Bunion grinned at him blackly and hissed.
Ben pulled Questor Thews aside. It was with some effort that he managed to conceal his irritation. “Exactly what is going on here?”
“Hmmmmm?” Questor stared back at him blankly.
“Read my lips. If I’m understanding all of this correctly, the King of Landover lives in a dungeon and is attended by a menagerie. Are there any more surprises in store for me? What have I got for an army—a herd of cattle?”
The wizard looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, as a matter of fact, High Lord, you don’t have any kind of army at all.”
“No army? Why is that?”
“It disbanded—more than a dozen years ago, I’m afraid.”
“Disbanded? Well, what about retainers—workers, servants, people to look after things in general? Who does that?”
“We do—the four of us.” Questor Thews made a sweeping gesture back to Abernathy and the two kobolds.
Ben stared. “No wonder the castle is dying. Why don’t you bring in some more help, for God’s sake?”
“We have no money to pay them.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have any money? Don’t you have a royal treasury or whatever?”
“The treasury is empty. There isn’t a coin in it.”
“Well, doesn’t the throne tax in some fashion so that there should be money?” Ben’s voice was getting louder. “How did Kings pay for anything in the past?”
“They taxed.” Questor glanced angrily at Abernathy, who was shaking his head in amusement. “Unfortunately, the taxing system broke down some years ago. Nothing has been paid into the treasury since.”
Ben dropped his duffel and put his hands on his hips. “Let me get this straight. I bought a kingdom where the King has no army, no staff but the four of you, and no money? I paid a million dollars for that?”
“You are being unreasonable, Ben Holiday.”
“That depends on whose shoes you’re standing in, I’d say!”
“You must be patient. You have not yet seen all that there is to see nor learned all that there is to learn of Landover. The immediate problems of taxes and retainers and an army can be solved once proper attention is given to the finding of the solutions. You must remember that there has been no King in Landover for more than twenty years. Since that is so, you must expect that not all will be as it should.”
Ben laughed without humor. “There’s the understatement of the year. Look, Questor, let’s get to the heart of the matter. What else should I know about being King of Landover? What other bad news have you got to tell?”
“Oh, I think that is about the worst of it, High Lord.” The wizard smiled disarmingly. “We will have time enough to discuss it all later, but I think a bit of dinner is in order first. It has been a long day, a long journey, and I know that you are tired and hungry both.”
Ben cut him short. “I am not that tired or that hungry, damn it! I want to know what else you’ve been …”
“All in good time, all in good order—you have your health to consider, High Lord,” Questor intoned, ignoring him. “Parsnip will prepare our meal—the castle’s magic still keeps her larder well stocked—and while he is doing so, Abernathy will show you to your rooms where you may wash, take a change of clothes, and rest a bit. Abernathy, please escort the High Lord to his bedchamber and see that he has what he needs. I will be along in a while.”
He turned and strode from the room before Ben had a chance to object further. Parsnip and Bunion exited as well. Ben was left staring at Abernathy.
“High Lord?” The dog beckoned to a spiral staircase that wound upward into the castle dark.
Ben nodded wordlessly. He was obviously not going to learn anything more for the moment.
“Lay on, Macduff,” he sighed.
Together, they began to climb.
It proved to be a rather healthy trek. They climbed numerous stairs and followed half a dozen shadowed halls before reaching the appointed rooms. Ben spent most of the time lost in thought, pondering the unpleasant news that he was a King without any of the trappings, that he was Lord over Castle Dracula and not much else. He should have been paying closer attention to where he was going, he chided himself when they finally arrived, if for no other reason than to be able to find his way back again without help. He had a faint recollection of stone-block floors and wooden-beamed ceilings, of oak doors and iron fastenings, of tapestries and coats of arms, of muted colors and the discoloration of the Tarnish—but not much more than that.
“Your bath chamber, High Lord,” Abernathy announced, halting before a heavy wooden door carved in scroll.
Ben peered inside. There was an iron tub with clawed feet and scrolled sides filled with steaming water, a tray with soaps, a pile of linen towels, with a change of clothing and a pair of boots stacked on a stool.
The bath looked inviting. “How did you manage to keep the water hot all this time?” he asked, wondering suddenly at the steam.
“The castle, High Lord. She still retains something of her magic. Food for the larder, hot water for baths—that is about all she has strength enough left for.” Abernathy cut himself short and started to leave.
“Wait!” Ben called suddenly. The dog stopped. “I, uh … I just want to tell you that I’m sorry that I acted so surprised that you could talk. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“I am quite accustomed to it, High Lord,” Abernathy replied, and Ben didn’t know if he meant the rudeness or the surprise. The dog peered at him from over the rims of his glasses. “In any case, though I am recognized everywhere within Landover as a major curiosity, I doubt that I will prove to be the biggest surprise that you will encounter.”
Ben frowned. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning that you have a lot to learn, and the lessons are likely to be rather astonishing.”
He bowed perfunctorily, backed through the door and closed it silently behind him. Ben’s frown deepened. That last comment sounded almost like a warning, he thought. It sounded as if Abernathy was advising him that the worst was yet to come.
He brushed the matter from his mind, stripped off his clothes, lowered himself into the tub of water and lay back blissfully to soak. He remained in the tub for the better part of the hour that followed, thinking over all that had happened to him. Oddly enough, the focus of his concern had shifted completely since his arrival in Landover. Then, his concern had been with whether or not what he was seeing and experiencing was real or induced by clever special effects and the ingenuity of modern science. Now, his concern was with whether or not he should be here at all. Questor’s revelations about the condition of the kingship were disheartening at best. He had paid a million dollars for a throne that commanded no retainers, no army, no treasury, and no taxing program. He found himself more inclined to accept that Landover was indeed a world apart from his own, a world in which magic really did function, than to accept that he had purchased a throne that commanded nothing.
Still, he wasn’t being entirely fair, he chided. He had paid for a throne, but he had also paid for the land—and the land seemed to be exactly as advertised. Moreover, he had to expect that after twenty years with no King sitting on the throne, Landover’s monarchy was likely to be floundering somewhat. He couldn’t reasonably expect that a working tax system, a standing army, a body of retainers, and a full treasury would survive twenty years of no King. Matters would quite naturally get out of hand after a while. It was logical that there should be some work required of him to get things moving again.
So what was he worried about? When measured against his initial expectations, Landover was far more than he could ever have hoped for, wasn’t it?
But Abernathy’s veiled warning and his own doubts nagged at him nevertheless, and he could not seem to set the matter to rest. He finished his bath and climbed from the tub, toweling dry. The water in the tub had stayed an even temperature the entire time he was bathing. The room felt comfortabl
e as well—even the stone of the floor was warm against the soles of his bare feet. There was an odd sense of vibrancy in the air, as if the castle were breathing …
He cut short the thought, unwilling to pursue it further just then, and began to dress. He pulled on stockings, some loose undergarments that fastened together with stays, a pair of forest green breeches with ties and a belt, and a loose fitting cream tunic with loops that slipped over metal hooks. The makeup of the ensemble seemed strange to him—the whole of it free of the buttons, zippers, Velcro fastenings and elastic bands that he was accustomed to—but the fit was good and he felt comfortable dressed in it.
He had just finished pulling on the pair of soft leather boots and was wondering what had become of Abernathy when the door opened and Questor appeared.
“Well, you seem rested and refreshed, High Lord.” The wizard smiled—rather too broadly, Ben thought. “Was the bath satisfactory?”
“Quite.” Ben smiled back. “Questor, why don’t we cut through all this bull, and get …”
“This what?”
“Bull.” Ben hesitated, searching for a better word. “Smokescreen.”
“Smokescreen?”
“The social amenities of Kingship, damn it! I want to know what I’ve gotten myself into!”
Questor cocked his head thoughtfully. “Oh, I see. How would it be if I were to show you exactly that?”
Ben nodded at once. “That would be fine. That would be wonderful, in fact.”
“Very well.” The wizard turned and started from the room. “Come with me, please.”
They exited the bath chamber and passed back into the hall. Questor took Ben deep into the castle where a pair of massive scrolled doors opened into a tower well with a staircase that spiraled upward into shadow. Wordlessly, they began to climb. When they had reached the landing at the head of the stairs, Questor had Ben press his palms firmly against a crest of the medallion’s image of castle and knight that was graven into a massive oak and metal-bound door seated in the tower wall. The door opened soundlessly, and they stepped inside.
They were in a small, circular room. The wall before them opened halfway around from floor to ceiling into clouds of mist that swirled past the towers of the castle as they rose darkly against the coming night. A silver guardrail on stanchions curved at waist height across the opening. A silver lectern was fastened at its midpoint. Ben looked at it momentarily, then looked at Questor. The room had the appearance of a speaker’s platform designed to permit royal addresses to whatever audience could be found in the clouds.
