Bride of the Castle

by John Dechancie

Hochstader eyed it calmly. “That probably won’t work in here.”

  “I wasn’t going to use it.” Max tossed the weapon on the counter of the work station. “You don’t care about your twin?”

  “He wasn’t a twin. He was a reflection. Besides—” Hochstader 108 put his stockinged legs up on the counter.

  “I’m the real Jeremy Hochstader.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  the huge chapel was empty save for a few servants sweeping up. The guests had departed, as had the priests and the choir. The altar held innumerable candles, all now snuffed out, wax drippings frozen and hard.

  The bride, dressed in white, sat alone on the steps of the altar. The veil and the bouquet lay at her feet.

  Melanie came walking across the great stone floor. She approached Linda cautiously.

  She asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Sure.”

  “This is absolutely . . . I mean, it’s absolutely terrible.”

  “I’m relieved.”

  “What?”

  Linda grinned. “I’m relieved Gene didn’t show up.”

  Melanie was incredulous. “You are? But really, when it looked as though he wouldn’t show, we should have called it off.”

  “Nah. I wanted to go through with it. There was a good chance he would have showed up in time.”

  Melanie frowned skeptically. “You’re not at all upset?”

  “Oh, I’m good and ticked off at Gene. I’m going to punch him.”

  “He deserves it.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t mean to hurt me. He’s just that way. Got tied up in some war or revolution, something big and important, and he couldn’t get away. He may even be in trouble.”

  “Oh.” Melanie sat on the steps. “Well, when you put it that way . . .”

  “I’m still going to deck him. He shouldn’t have left in the first place.”

  “What a rotten thing. I’d be upset as hell.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Gene’s going to take a verbal licking from everybody, especially Deena. I get to play the injured party, and the wedding is off indefinitely, and that suits me fine.”

  “Really? You’ve finally decided that getting married is a bad idea?”

  “Not in principle,” Linda said. “With Gene, it just might be a bad idea. Besides, something else has come up.”

  “Oh? What?”

  Linda smiled slyly.

  Melanie said, “Uh-oh. Someone else?”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case—Uh, I guess I’m not going to get it out of you, huh?”

  Linda, still smiling, shook her head.

  “I thought so. Congratulations, I guess. Anyone I know?”

  Linda kept up an enigmatically self-satisfied smile.

  “You can’t even tell me that? Someone off in some aspect, maybe?”

  “Let’s just say he’s a very important man.”

  “Great. Good for you. I hope you’re happy.”

  “I am. I’m his official mistress.”

  Melanie’s green eyes went wide. “What? Oh. Official, eh? I’ve never—Wait a minute, I guess I have been someone’s official mistress. What am I talking about? Sure. But, you mean, like official official?”

  “Oh, the title is only half-serious. But a mistress is a mistress. Let’s face it, that’s what you are when you sleep with a guy with no assurance of his making an honest woman out of you.”

  “What a phrase,” Melanie sneered. “Anyway, I guess you’re right. The rat.”

  “He’s not a rat. He has responsibilities, that sort of thing.”

  “Yeah, they always do. So, you love him?”

  “I can’t help but. If you knew, you’d understand.”

  Melanie shrugged. “I thought I loved Chad. And I’m glad I had his twins, but . . .”

  “I haven’t seen your kids in ages, come to think of it.”

  “They’re at day care mostly. You should see the place. It’s literally a palace. They love it.”

  “I’ll have to drop by there someday. Anyway, you were saying?”

  “About Chad? I used to think I loved him, but—You know, it seems like so long ago. As if I was a child then. I guess I was. Done a lot of growing up since. He was a dork, Chad was. A big, bumbling, goofy dork of a guy—nice, but not very interesting. Just your basic . . . you know, guy.”

  “Sure.”

  “Yeah. And that was that, and that was then, and this is now, and . . . I don’t know exactly what I’m trying to say.”

  “I do,” Linda said. “What you’re trying to say is that you have one life and you live it, you take it one day at a time. You fall in love, maybe, and if you’re lucky it’s nice. If you’re not, not.”

  “Simple,” Melanie said, nodding.

  “Yup. That’s life. What it’s all about.”

  “So, you really love this new guy.”

  “Yes. You really couldn’t find a better one.”

  “No?”

  “No. You couldn’t possibly. He . . . he’s the top. He’s like Superman.”

  “Holy heck. You fell in love with Superman?”

  “Call me Lois Lane.”

  “Wow. Hope I get to meet him someday.”

  Linda snickered.

  Melanie said, “I do know him?” Melanie began to think furiously.

  “You’ll never guess in a million years,” Linda said.

  Melanie narrowed her eyes. “Is he married?”

  “Yes.”

  Melanie nodded cynically. “I get it. Mistress. Boy, that’s rotten.”

  “You mean I’m rotten, for doing dirt to his wife.”

  “No, that’s not what I—”

  “But you should have said it. It’s true. I’m a homewrecker. The Other Woman. But hell, I think—I don’t know for sure, but it’s probably true—I think he has many women. And wives. All over the place.”

  “No kidding. He—” Melanie did a take. “Huh?”

  “Never mind, kid. I love him, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “If you say so.” Melanie furrowed her brow in thought.

  “Sure is a big church,” Linda said abstractedly.

  “Yeah. Listen, tell me this. You mean if Gene had showed up, you would have married him?”

  “Of course.”

  Melanie began to reply, but decided against it. After a moment she said simply, “Oh.”

  A noise came from the vestibule of the chapel; a strange and incongruous sound, given the location, the clopping of horse’s hooves. The girls looked up in curiosity and puzzlement.

  A magnificent white stallion burst out onto the floor, running full tilt toward the altar. The girls remained seated, transfixed at the strange sight. At the last second the rider reined the horse in and skidded to a stop. The animal reared, neighing its dismay. Then it stamped its feet, snorting angrily.

  The rider was Gene, dressed in furs and leather. He dismounted.

  “You’d better have a good excuse,” Linda said.

  “We were captured by barbarians,” Gene replied.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “It happens to be true. Anyway, I’m here,” he said. “Where is everybody?”

  “Left,” Linda said. “The wedding was supposed to be two hours ago.”

  “You should have waited. Really, I fully intended to show up on time, but ran into a pack of bandits on the way back from Orem. That’s the capital city. We besieged it, and . . . well, it’s a long story.”

  “I’m sure,” Linda said.

  Gene took a deep breath and looked around. “Place is deserted. Did anyone show up?”

  “Sure.”

  “Inky?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh. Well, then . . .”

  “Gene, you really shouldn’t have left when you did.”

  “Honest, Linda, we had no choice. Snowy and I were just lounging around, and over the hill comes this horde, this . . . it was amazing. You should have s
een all the—”

  “I’m sure you have a good excuse, Gene,” Linda said wearily. “You always do.”

  “Hey, listen, Linda, I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “I know.”

  Gene was amazed. “You know?”

  “Yup. It’s okay.”

  “It’s okay?”

  “Sure. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “No, it wasn’t. We literally got carried away. I mean, we could have come back sooner, an opportunity presented itself now and then, but there was an empire at stake, and a civilization. We had to save it.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do?” Gene sat on the steps. “I must say, you’re taking this awfully well.”

  “What else can I do?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Yell at me a little.”

  “What good would it do?”

  “None, I’m afraid. I’m incorrigible.”

  “You are. You’re a big overgrown kid.”

  Gene looked sheepishly contrite. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “So.” Gene rubbed his hands together nervously. “Shall we reschedule?”

  “Let’s talk about it later.”

  “Oh. Sure, sure.”

  Linda stood up. She waved both hands, and her wedding dress disappeared, replaced by shorts, tights, boots, and blouse.

  “Whew, glad to get out of those duds. Gene, come here.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  Gene went over to her. Linda balled her fist and hit him a good one in the stomach.

  Gent went Whoof! and doubled over.

  “Sorry, but I had to get that off my chest.”

  Melanie looked away, laughing.

  “I guess—” Gene bent over again until he finally caught his breath. “Guess I deserved that.”

  “You certainly did. And if you hit me back, I’ll turn you into a toad.”

  “I wouldn’t hit you back, you know that.”

  Melanie had to laugh. “You two are so silly together.”

  “Aren’t we?” Linda said. “Ike and Mike. Frick and Frack.”

  “Who’s that?” Gene said, pointing.

  “Hm? Oh, that’s Rance.”

  Rubbing his stomach, Gene watched the newcomer stroll toward the altar.

  “Say, he looks familiar. Maybe it’s his getup.”

  Melanie said, “Yeah, it’s kind of in the same period as yours, sort of. Only more refined.”

  “He is a nobleman,” Linda said. “Or said he was. Warlord, something like that.”

  “Hello!” Gene called.

  Rance brought his gaze down from the ornately carved rafters. He assessed the person who addressed him, then advanced.

  “Greetings,” Rance said.

  “I’m Gene. Gene Ferraro.”

  “A pleasure, Gene Ferraro.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “Listen, just seeing you like this, for the first time, an idea occurred to me.”

  Rance arched one eyebrow. “You don’t say?”

  “Yes. Do you have any executive experience?”

  “I don’t quite know what you—Well, I suppose I do. Yes, in running my estate, Corcindor. And then there’s my family’s seat in the Council of Lords.”

  “Great,” Gene said. “I know of a job opening. Interested?”

  “Well . . . actually—”

  “We can talk. Have you dined yet, Rance?”

  “Why, no.”

  “Would you care to? We can discuss this.”

  “I would be honored, Gene Ferraro.”

  “Call me Gene. You see, there’s this empire, the Empire of Orem. Now, a little while ago my army took the place and we . . .”

  The two men walked away, talking business.

  Linda sighed. “Well, that’s that.” She turned around, “What a beautiful horse.”

  Melanie had gone to it and was now rubbing its sleek neck. “Isn’t he a stunner?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Linda said. “Yeah, he sure is.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “confound it!”

  Outside the windows of the study, the storm was abating, and light limned bare trees against the eastern sky. A last peal of distant thunder sounded. The wind died down.

  Dalton looked up from the book he was reading. “Eh?”

  Thaxton was seated at a rolltop desk. Papers littered the floor.

  He ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Not a clue. Not one clue anywhere in all the earl’s papers!”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Oh, blimey, I don’t know . . . a recently changed will, insurance policies, anything! But everything here is routine. No recent large amounts of cash withdrawn from his account, no cashed-in policies, not a jot or a tittle of anything the least bit suspicious in all this rubbish. Just a few gambling markers, but I can’t read this signature.”

  “Give it up, old bean.”

  “What? Never. I know I can crack this case. Simply a matter of time.”

  “How much time? After all, this isn’t the Castle. We’re strangers here. We know nothing of this culture, for all its familiar aspects.”

  “I know this world rings a change or two on merry old England, but surely not that much of a change.”

  “You don’t know that,” Dalton said. “We haven’t been here long enough to make the judgment.”

  “Nonsense. I feel completely at home—” Thaxton let a sheaf of papers drop to the floor. “That is, if it weren’t for all these damned murders. Curious, most curious.”

  “Sure is,” Dalton agreed. “And that’s why I think we’re in one of the nightmare aspects. You know, one of the funny ones.”

  “Stuff and nonsense.”

  Dalton said, “Lord Peter, these people are mad. You can see it in their eyes. And there’s something fishy about this place.”

  Thaxton sat back in his swivel chair. “You mean something’s gone wrong with the Castle again?”

  “Maybe. But we know that aspects tend to get a little strange sometimes. Something goes awry and you find yourself in some wacky universe that makes no sense. That’s why I keep saying that we should just cut and run, without further delay. We might never get back.”

  “I think you’re being an alarmist, old boy,” Thaxton said. “Of course things are a bit eerie here. Four murders in a row. Can’t deny that’s a bit out of the ordinary. But it does happen now and then.”

  “Who says Sir Laurence’s murder is the end of it?”

  “Oh, I doubt there’ll be more. They have every available man from four counties surrounding the place.” Lord Peter yawned. Recovering, he said, “They should call Scotland Yard, is what they should do.”

  “How do you know there’s a Scotland Yard?” Dalton asked. “Come to think of it, has anyone mentioned London, that you can recall?”

  Thaxton considered it. “Surely somebody did. I can’t recall specifically—”

  “There might not be a London. Could be some other capital city.”

  “Bosh. I’ll ask Motherwell.”

  Dalton raised his thin eyebrows. “You’ll ask him what?”

  “Eh? Well, I’ll ask him what the name . . .” Thaxton brooded. “Well, I’ll just ask—” He was stumped.

  “See what I mean?”

  “There has to be another way.” Lord Peter snapped his fingers. “The library! There must be books, maps, an atlas.”

  “Now you’re using that keen detective mind of yours.”

  Thaxton took a dim view of this. “Oh, please.” He rose.

  Just then the door opened and Motherwell stepped in.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. I see you didn’t get any sleep either.”

  “Not a wink, I’m afraid,” Thaxton said.

  “Who could? Anyway, I’ve gathered everyone in the conservatory for a parley. I’m determined to get to the bottom of this business.”

  “I’ve been giving the case much thought,” Lord Peter said.

 
“Splendid, Lord Peter. Have you arrived at any conclusions?”

  Thaxton rubbed his chin. “I have some . . . well, what I’ve got is an assortment of theories.”

  “More than I’ve got,” Motherwell admitted. “This case is a puzzler, no doubt of that. Not ashamed to admit I’m over a barrel. Any help will be appreciated.”

  “We’ll be right in, Inspector,” Dalton said.

  The inspector left, shutting the door quietly.

  Thaxton gave his friend and fellow Castle-dweller a bleak but plucky smile. “Well, old man, what do you say? Shall we have a go at it, or are you still for duckin’and runnin’?”

  “You’re doing the g-dropping thing again,” Dalton said with annoyance.

  Colonel Petheridge, Amanda Thripps, Mr. Jamie Thripps, Daphne Pembroke, Geoffrey Ballifants, Mr. Horace Grimsby, and Mr. Clarence Wicklow sat in chairs arranged in a circle. Blackpool and the rest of the manor house staff—Thaxton was amazed at how many of them there were and how few he’d seen before—stood in a clump by the big glass doors. Among them was the gamekeeper, Clive Stokes, a large, unkempt man with a shock of blond hair.

  Seated in, and handcuffed to, a hardback chair off by himself was Shriman Vespal, looking haggard and gaunt, dark circles under his darker eyes. His frown was one of deep disapproval and injured self-righteousness.

  “I’ve gathered you all together,” Motherwell said, “in order to get to the bottom of all this business. There is a killer loose, and one of you is that killer. And frankly, I’m baffled. I’m convinced you’re all in on this. All of you! But I’m stymied. I’m a native here, however. I may be too close to things for my own good. I know each and every one of you, either personally or through reputation. But I wonder what an objective eye would see. I wonder how you would all look to a total stranger. We have such a stranger in our midst. Our new neighbor. Lord Peter Thaxton.”

  “I was under the impression,” said Mr. Jamie Thripps, “that the Throckmortons bought the Durwick place.”

  “Never you mind your impressions, Mr. Thripps,” Motherwell said. “Lord Peter? Have you any observations to make?”

  “If you don’t mind, Inspector Motherwell.”

  “Don’t mind at all,” Motherwell said. “I’ve half a notion to run the lot of them in.”

  Lord Peter rose and began to walk the half-circle of suspects, dressing each one down, sizing him or her up.