Castle Kidnapped c-3

by John Dechancie

  Jeremy was scared. So deeply scared that he would do anything …anything to get out of this. Out. He wanted out.

  He realized that he was already standing on the slippery terra-cotta tile of the wall, staring down into the alley, the hard, unforgiving bricks of which lay eight full stories below. He teetered forward. Could he do it?

  He could, if he closed his eyes. Doing so, he stepped off the roof into thinnest air, still holding the computer.

  He hit immediately, and he didn’t understand. He hit hard, but not as hard as he should have. He should have been a sack of shit and bones lying in the alley. But here he was … somewhere else.

  Where the hell was he? He sat up and looked around. He was in a hallway, in a building, somewhere. Not his apartment building. He was sitting on a gray flagstone floor, the tan case of the little Toshiba lying upside down about two feet from his right hand. The corridor walls were of dark stone. He craned his head around. Behind him, the corridor ran in semidarkness to its vanishing point. What was in front of him was the problem: the top of the apartment building, only he couldn’t figure out how it could be there. Beyond his out-stretched legs the corridor extended a few more feet to a stone arch. But through the arch … well, there was the roof of the apartment building. Only it was canted kind of crazily, tilting to the right and sort of away. The angle was goofy. So, where the hell was this place?

  The yellow-shirted cop appeared, peering over the wall. He seemed to be searching the alley below. Jeremy stared at him, but the cop didn’t see him at first. Then the cop did. He looked, then squinted. He blinked a few times, then looked again, right at Jeremy.

  “What in the name of —?”

  Then the roof and the building and the cop were gone, replaced by a view of a long, dim corridor.

  Silence.

  Jeremy rubbed his eyes and looked again. Nothing changed. Here he was in a place that looked like a church, or maybe a castle. And he had no idea of how he had got here. None.

  His mind a total blank, he sat for a long spell before reaching for the computer and slowly getting to his feet. His rear end hurt, but it wasn’t bad. He hadn’t hit his head, he was pretty sure. Wherever he was, it was very quiet. He listened. Nothing. No voices, no heavy policemen’s footsteps. Nothing.

  He turned away from the stone arch and began walking very slowly down the long, dark hallway.

  Three

  Queen’s Ballroom

  Sheila Jankowski wasn’t worried yet, but she was getting there. Gene was now two days overdue. The guards posted at Halfway House, on the other side of the Earth portal, were reporting no sign of him. And no phone calls. But that didn’t mean much; you never knew when Gene would get the yen to ramble. Usually he satisfied his wanderlust in the castle. Inside Perilous there was no end of worlds to explore (well, actually there were exactly 144,000 of them, but let’s not quibble). Earth was a world, too, though, and was in fact one of the castle’s worlds. So, if he was off exploring, he was still doing it inside the castle. To be technical about it.

  But that made Sheila feel no better. Gene still should have reported in.

  She let her gaze wander to the huge chandeliers all aglow with hundreds of candles. She sighed. Best to take her mind off Gene for a while. Worrying would do no good. Just listen to the music, watch the people dance.

  It was the annual Servants’ Ball, a Castle Perilous tradition, and this year the organizing committee had invited some of the castle’s Guests. Traditionally the lord of the castle and his family were invited, but Lord Incarnadine had been away for over a year. (No one was worried. The servants were used to their liege’s prolonged absences; one of the elderly chambermaids could remember a ten-year disappearance; but that was who knew how long ago.) So in Incarnadine’s stead, some of the more prominent Guests were invited, including Gene, whose official title was now Honorary Guardsman and Knight Errant Extraordinary.

  “Good evening, milady.”

  Sheila turned to find the castle chamberlain — Jamin by name — bowing in front of her.

  “Good evening,” Sheila said.

  Jamin straightened up, smiling broadly. He was a middle-aged man with wispy red hair and twinkling eyes. “I pray her ladyship is enjoying herself this night?”

  “Oh, yes. Wonderful. You people have done such a good job. And thanks ever so much for inviting us. We’re very honored to be included.”

  Jamin again bowed deeply. “It is you who do us the honor, milady.”

  “Oh, no,” Sheila protested as the musicians struck up another number. It was nice music, Sheila thought. Sort of medieval-sounding, but then again not quite like anything she had ever heard before. Not that she was an expert in musicology.

  Jamin said, “Beg to inquire, milady — might I have the honor of this dance?”

  “Huh? Oh, sure!”

  She was not at all sure she could do any of these dances. The steps looked fearfully complex. It was all orchestrated, somehow, like a square dance.

  Laying a hand on Jamin’s proffered arm she said, “If you don’t mind clumsy old me. I just might step all over your toes.”

  “It’s simple, milady. Allow me to show you.”

  Jamin executed what looked like a simple box step, with one or two side steps thrown in.

  Sheila tried it. “Well, I don’t know,” she said. “But if you’re willing, I’m willing.”

  “’Twill be my delight, milady.”

  Maybe a little magic would help, she thought. Wriggling her right finger she cast a facilitation spell that always worked well inside the castle.

  Jamin took her in his arms and they began to dance.

  Sheila did the best she could, and apparently she wasn’t doing badly. They whirled across the dance floor amidst the crowd and the music and the candleglow.

  “Marvelous, milady!” the chamberlain beamed.

  Sometimes it was all too much for Sheila. Being treated like an aristocrat, being called “your ladyship,” living in a fairy castle, a dream world, to say nothing of all the magic, the mystery — it was just too much. When would she wake up to find that she had never left her empty, overmortgaged house in Wilmerding, Pennsylvania? When would she come crashing back to reality? For clearly this was not reality as she knew it. It couldn’t exist, this world that she had stumbled into a year or so ago.

  Could it be a year already? Of course that was reckoning by castle time. Who knew what relationship castle time had with Earth time? Or maybe there was no relationship at all. Castle Perilous, it was said, was timeless.

  The tempo changed, slower now. She could see the musicians’ strange instruments. Some looked like recorders, some like lutes, but others were multisegmented affairs, made of wood, set about with stops and valves. A few looked like nothing she could describe.

  “Pardon the intrusion, old boy, but may I cut in?”

  She turned her head to see Cleve Dalton tapping Jamin on the shoulder.

  Jamin bowed graciously. “By all means, sir.”

  “Thank you, Jamin,” Sheila said.

  “Milady.” Jamin backstepped, still bowing.

  She began dancing with Dalton, another man in his middle sixties. Dalton was tall and very thin and had a deep, resonant voice like a radio announcer’s. The smooth voice contrasted with the rawboned, homely face.

  “Obsequious old coot,” Dalton remarked out of Jamin’s earshot.

  “I think his manners are charming,” Sheila said.

  “I like the old rascal myself. But I hope I don’t prick any bubbles if I tell you he’s notorious with the chambermaids. They call him Jamin Three-Hands. Quite the roué, that one.”

  Sheila shook her head. “Doesn’t fit. He seems like such a nice man.”

  “No such animal, nice men. We’re all predatory, my dear.”

  “If you go by the one I was married to, maybe.”

  “Divorced? Too bad. I never had the misfortune. Lost my Doris a while back. After thirty years of living together, it was almost
unendurable.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “But I survived.”

  “Mr. Dalton, what did you do back in the real world? I never asked.”

  “Literary agent. Did it for years, and pretty successfully, too.”

  “That sounds so interesting.”

  “It was, it was. Some of my clients became very famous. I could mention names. For instance, there was James —” Dalton shrugged. “But who cares, here in the unreal world? What possible bearing could it have? That was in another country, and besides …”

  “That’s unusual.”

  “What is, my dear?”

  “To find a Guest who was successful and happy in his former life.”

  “Well, you see, I retired. Sold the business, sold the house in Connecticut, and moved to California. Bought a nice little condo outside San Diego. I was all ready to settle comfortably into retirement when I had a heart attack.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “I came through it, but it caught me up short. I discovered I was really desperately unhappy and alone. Then, one night while recuperating at home, I found that my broom closet had an extra dimension I had never imagined it could have.”

  Sheila smiled. “And you stumbled into Castle Perilous, just like the rest of us.”

  “Precisely. All our stories are essentially the same. Haven’t heard an interesting variation in years.”

  The dance number ended, and the crowd applauded. The musicians stood and bowed, then reseated themselves and began another tune.

  Sheila said, “Uh-oh, I don’t know if I can dance to this one.”

  Dalton counted the beats on his fingers. “I do believe that’s nine-eight time. Or is it nine-four?” He grinned. “Maybe we’d better sit this one out?”

  “Maybe we’d better.”

  “Some refreshment?”

  “Yeah, sounds good.”

  They left the dance floor and joined a group of guests near the buffet table. Sheila surveyed the amazing assortment of food. The cooks had really outdone themselves.

  “Having a good time, Sheila?” a man named Thaxton asked.

  “Great,” Sheila said, spooning goose liver onto a club cracker, “but I’m still a little worried about Gene.”

  “Best not to fret overmuch. I imagine he’ll be along anytime now.”

  “I know, I know. But he should have called. He really should have.”

  “In any event,” Dalton said, “Gene can take care of himself.”

  “Greatest swordsman in half a dozen worlds,” Thaxton said. “And a damn fine tennis player, too.” He smiled bleakly. “Can bloody well beat me, that I can tell you.”

  “You and your tennis,” Dalton scoffed.

  “You and your golf,” Thaxton retorted.

  “Golf’s a civilized game.”

  “And tennis isn’t, I suppose? I’d like to know by what criteria —”

  “Golf is slow. That is my sole criterion.”

  “Bosh.” Thaxton noticed Sheila’s abstracted stare. “Something wrong, my dear?”

  “Hm? No, not really. Well — it’s just that on the day Gene was supposed to report in, the portal disappeared for about ten minutes.”

  “Really? Is that significant?”

  “Hard to say. As everyone around here knows, portals are touchy things. They come and they go, even when they’re supposedly under magical control, like the Earth one. But it kind of worries me.”

  “But you say it re-established itself quickly?”

  “Yeah, maybe it wasn’t gone even ten minutes, but …”

  Two more Guests joined them, a small man with a pencil-thin moustache — Monsieur DuQuesne — and Deena Williams, a young black woman.

  “You all eatin’ again?” Deena chided.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Thaxton said. “I haven’t gained a pound since I fell in, and that’ll be three years ago come Michaelmas.” He added with a grin, “One of the many benefits of this place.”

  DuQuesne said, “I’ve often wondered whether the food is real at all. After all, it’s all done up with magic, every bit of it.”

  “It has to be real,” Sheila said. “Or we’d all starve, wouldn’t we?”

  “It may be ordinary food transformed,” Dalton said.

  “Sounds logical.”

  Deena searched about. “Where’s Snowclaw?”

  Thaxton looked pained. “Good Lord, don’t tell me they invited him.”

  “They sure did.”

  “For heaven’s sake, why?”

  “‘Cause he’s a good friend of Sheila’s, I guess.”

  Thaxton’s expression changed quickly. “Terribly sorry, Sheila. I quite forgot.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. Snowy can be a little difficult at times.”

  “I rather like having him around,” Dalton said. “He’s a good man … uh, person to have on your side in a scuffle.”

  Thaxton looked into his drink. “Yes, well, you’re absolutely right.”

  “Speak of the devil,” DuQuesne said.

  On the dance floor, the crowd was parting. Through the breach stalked a seven-and-a-half-foot-tall, white-furred creature. The head looked small on the huge body, but was actually massive, combining feline and ursine features in a horrific, ferocious meld. Great curving fangs gleamed within its snout. Its general form was humanlike. The hands were near approximations, save for their wickedly sharp, bone-white claws. Its fierce eyes were yellow. With a huge battle-ax slung across its right shoulder, the beast approached the group of humans standing near the buffet table.

  “Hi, everybody,” Snowclaw said. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “That’s okay,” Sheila said. “Want something to eat?”

  “Does akwallkark defecate in the ocean? What d’you say, Thaxton, old buddy?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Thaxton murmured, backstepping.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” Snowclaw said, surveying the spread of comestibles. A scowl creased his face. “Same old stuff. Well, heck.” He reached out and snared a roast sage hen, brought it to his nose and sniffed. He snorted, then ripped a huge bite out of the thing. Bones crunched as he chewed. “Not bad, actually.” He tossed it back onto the table. “Not great, though.” He reached for the floral centerpiece.

  “Snowy, not that!” Sheila admonished.

  “Sorry, Sheila. Thought it was food.”

  “There really ought to be something here you could eat. They should have —”

  Servants approached, bearing a large copper tub filled with congealed greenish mush. After clearing a space, they set it on the table before Snowclaw.

  “Now you’re talking,” Snowclaw said, scooping up a handful of the stuff. He ate with much gusto and more noise.

  Dalton noticed that Snowclaw was drawing stares from the dance floor. “Was Snowclaw the only nonhuman Guest invited?”

  “Looks like,” Sheila said. “They all know him, even if they’re afraid of him.”

  “Well, I think the fact that they did invite him says a lot about how much they respect you.”

  Sheila made a deprecatory gesture. “Really.”

  “Really. You’re one of the most powerful magicians ever to make an appearance in the castle, so they say. Second only to Incarnadine himself.”

  “Oh, come on,” Sheila said, blushing slightly.

  “You helped save the castle during that last little contretemps we had here, and they know it.”

  “Well, it’s a gift.”

  A page stepped up. “Pardon, Lady Sheila, but the guards at Halfway House report that someone wants to speak to you on the … speaking device.”

  Hope sprang to Sheila’s face. “The telephone? Is it Gene?”

  “Sorry, milady. They did not say.”

  The earth portal was on this same floor of the castle keep and about a five-minute walk from the Queen’s Ballroom. Sheila knew the way, but the page insisted on escorting her even though this was one of the most stable areas of the castle. Sheil
a acquiesced, holding up the hem of her long gown and tripping along as best she could.

  The portal stood at the arched mouth of what had been a small alcove. Now the arch was a doorway leading into the living room of a large country estate — and another world: Earth. The room was luxuriously furnished and had a stone fireplace. A huge window-wall looked out onto expansive grounds and a distant prospect of forested mountains.

  The Guardsmen, dressed in local mufti, came to attention when Sheila entered the room. She went directly to a side table and picked up the telephone receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Sheila? It’s Linda.”

  “Hi! Have you heard from Gene?”

  “You mean he hasn’t shown up yet?”

  “No. Where are you?”

  “Still in California. Listen, I’ve been calling Gene’s parents’ house and I don’t get any answer. So I figured he either went somewhere with them or went back to the castle.”

  “Well, he didn’t make it here, and he didn’t call.”

  “Uh-oh. I’m worried.”

  “So am I, a little. But he’s got to show up. I hate to think of it, but unless something happened to his plane —”

  “There’s been no news about any plane crashes,” Linda said, “so forget that. I checked with the airline and they say he boarded the plane in Los Angeles.”

  “Well, then I guess he’s okay. He probably did go somewhere with his folks.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a pause. Then Sheila said, “You know what? I don’t believe it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “And another thing,” Sheila said. “Two, actually. The portal fluttered two days ago. Disappeared for a few minutes.”

  “It’s done that before.”

  “Never for more than a few seconds. According to the sentries, this was like for at least ten minutes. The second thing is that the servants are reporting a new Guest wandering around. A kid, they say, and he looks like he’s from Earth.”

  “Hm. If so, it means the portal did some flying around before it stabilized. You better find this kid and make sure.”

  “Linda, do you think —?”

  “What?”