Castle Kidnapped c-3

by John Dechancie

  Next up, huge warbirds, attacking from the rear. These he outraced, sending the Voyager into a fast climb, leveling off, then diving in a sharp banking turn to the right.

  Leveling out below, he found himself over one of the fan-like complexes at the base of the ebony spire. Picking out a likely spot to land, he set the craft gently down. He checked the instruments, put the craft on standby, and got up from the uncomfortable pilot’s seat.

  He opened the hatch and peered out, sniffing. There was air here, and strangely enough, oxygen, but the attendant fumes were overpowering. He cast a protective envelope over himself, driving out the noxious odors. He stepped outside and closed the hatch. There was not much to see except a jumble of rooftops and the towering edifice above. He looked up.

  “‘Childe Roland to the dark tower came,’” he murmured.

  Warbirds circled above, faint light glinting from their golden armor-scales. They would not attack him here.

  Flickering light off to his right. Turning, he beheld streamers of fire that coalesced into the shape of a gigantic demon. The eyes of the thing were difficult to meet. In them glowed white-hot malevolence, a consuming hatred. The thing spoke.

  “Welcome to your doom. You were unwise to come here. This place was devised to bestow eternal pain on all those who enter, and none who enter may leave. Abandon all hope, mortal.”

  He scowled back. “Let’s cut the shit and get down to business,” he said.

  The thing regarded him silently for a moment, then it gestured with one taloned hand. “Behold,” it said.

  Hosts of lesser demons approached, hopping from roof to roof toward him, bearing swords.

  The sword he materialized was about eight feet long, most of it bright, fiery blade. He swished it about for a moment and listened to the crackling sound it made. Bringing it to the ready, he waited for the first wave of warriors to reach him.

  The sword exploded. When the smoke and fire cleared, all the warrior demons lay dead, their carcasses littering the rooftops.

  He smiled up at the big one. “Surprise.”

  The thing howled its dismay, then hurled a globe of fire at him.

  He brushed it aside. “Look, this is silly. You can’t use interstitial power in your own world. You realize that by now, don’t you? You can only transfer it to another universe, like mine, where you’ve been up to no end of shenanigans.”

  Enraged, the demon yowled again, shooting lightning bolts and other fancy stuff.

  These he ignored. “Don’t you understand? When there’s too much magic, nothing makes any difference. This whole thing” — he gestured expansively — “your entire world, nothing but a nightmare, a fever dream. A chimera.”

  The thing screamed in pain, clutching at its breast. Then it exploded in a burst of glitter that swirled and dispersed in the foul winds.

  He sighed. Spying a cavelike entrance in a humped projection on the roof, he moved toward it. Not letting the darkness within deter him, he entered the administration complex of Hell itself.

  Thirty-seven

  Lab

  Nobody made an effort to move for a long while. Finally Gene struggled to his feet and limped to Vaya. She still lay huddled against the wall, but her eyes were open.

  “My God,” Gene said.

  He took her hand, and she sat up. Her skin was its normal light brown, and the burns had completely disappeared. She examined herself, running a hand over the smooth, unblemished skin of her arms and her long, perfectly shaped legs. She looked up at Gene and smiled.

  “The gods have granted me new life,” she said.

  “Yeah, they sure have.” Gene suddenly spun around. “Jesus, Linda.”

  He ran to where her body had been thrown. A tangle of wire covered her, and Gene gently cleared the mess away.

  Linda rolled over and sat up. She blinked and said, “What hit me?”

  “Linda, are you okay?”

  “Yep.” She got up with Gene’s help. “Incarnadine must have thrown something around us, just in case. Lucky thing, too.”

  Jeremy was already up and about, disgustedly kicking through the debris.

  “Well, this place is done for,” he said.

  The lab was a shambles, a total loss. Most of the machinery lay in smoking heaps. The great coils had toppled, but one metal sphere still hung aloft, swaying disconsolately, its once-mirrored surface now blackened and dented.

  Strangely enough, the materialization platform was intact.

  Gene helped Vaya up. Linda eyed the strange woman, sizing her up as women are wont to do to one another on occasion.

  “What I want to know,” Gene said, “is who the hell is responsible for all this. Who kidnapped me?”

  “The same person who did it to Sheila, Trent, and Snowy, and tried for me and Jeremy,” Linda said.

  “Who?”

  “Jamin.”

  Gene was astonished. “Jamin?”

  “I don’t know how or why, but Jamin has something to do with it. His little plan for us didn’t work out. But the earthquakes hit, and we didn’t get a chance to confront him.”

  “Let’s do that right now,” Gene said.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Incarnadine?”

  Gene glanced toward the platform. “Maybe we should. But we don’t all have to go. You stay here and look after Vaya.”

  “No, I’m coming with you. Jamin’s a powerful magician.”

  “Okay, fine. Jeremy?”

  “I’ll wait for him,” Jeremy said, rooting through the mess. “By the way, did anyone see my computer?”

  A plaintive beeping came from the ruins. Jeremy kicked a battered instrument panel out of the way, stooped, and fished out the laptop. The computer was intact, though a little scuffed and dirty.

  The readout screen showed, SOMEONE GET THE NUMBER OF THAT NUCLEAR WARHEAD.

  “I will come with you, my husband,” Vaya said.

  Linda raised her eyebrows. “Husband? Gene, are congratulations in order?”

  “Uh, well …”

  Linda nodded. “Well, congrats, if it fits.”

  “Let’s talk about that later. I want to get to the bottom of this right now.”

  A far-off rumbling sounded.

  “Think we can make it?” Linda said. “You missed all the fun we’ve been having here.”

  “We’ll make it,” Gene said, then stopped and looked down at himself. “Uh … Linda, can you —?”

  “Oh, I think the loincloth is cute. But is it the custom for the groom to wear more than the bride?”

  “Linda.”

  “Sorry.” She waved her hand, then inspected Gene’s usual attire, a modified Guardsman’s uniform: leather cuirass, breechclout, hose, and high boots.

  Gene brandished his sword. “Great. Okay, let’s go.”

  “If the castle’s still in a turmoil,” Linda said, “then Jeremy has to come with us.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see. Let’s go, Jeremy.”

  “Right.”

  WAIT! THE LOVE OF MY LIFE IS PINNED UNDER THAT RUBBLE!

  “We’ll put her back together later. Or him, or whatever it is. I’ll help, I promise.”

  YOU MARVELOUS MAN.

  “Feh,” Jeremy muttered.

  The castle was indeed still in a turmoil, and the laptop’s stabilization program helped. Still, the going was rough. The castle’s stone blocks had turned the consistency of cheese, fracture lines like spiderwebs running through them. Floors bowed, and ceilings drooped.

  When they reached the servants’ wing, however, they encountered an area that was obviously under magical control. It so happened that Jamin’s quarters lay nearby.

  Gene pounded on the door. “Jamin! Open up!”

  “Do you think he’s in there?” Linda asked.

  “Where would he run to? Besides, his best spells are probably set up here.” Gene pounded again. “Let’s go, Jay baby. The jig is up.”

  A muffled voice on the other side said, “Go away.�
��

  Linda said, “Let us in, Jamin. We want to talk to you.”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  Gene sheathed his sword. “Okay, Jamin. You asked for it.” He turned to Linda. “Scare up an ax for me.”

  One appeared in his hand instantly. “Stand back,” Gene said.

  It was hard work. The door was oak, three inches thick.

  “You want a speed-up spell?” Linda asked.

  Gene wiped sweat from his brow. “Now you tell me.”

  “Sorry.”

  Gene became a whirlwind, and the door flew to splinters in no time.

  “Jeremy, you stay out here. Watch the door and look after Vaya.”

  Jeremy eyed her up and down. She was a head taller. “Uh, yeah.”

  Gene kicked in what was left of the door, and he and Linda charged in.

  It was a spacious chamber, tastefully appointed. Numerous objets d’art from many worlds lay about, and tasteful paintings bedecked the walls.

  Jamin stood in the middle of the room, his eyes fearful yet defiant. The young page — the one who had summoned Gene and all the others — sat at a table to one side, idly playing solitaire.

  “How dare you intrude,” Jamin said, glaring.

  “You have a lot to answer for, Jamin,” Gene said.

  “And why should I answer to the likes of you?” His thin lips formed a sneer. “Common as clay. You wander into this great house and get treated like royalty. Vagabonds! Ruffians! Subhuman rubbish.”

  “It’s been boiling inside you for years, hasn’t it, Jamin?”

  Jamin gritted his teeth. “It rankles. Oh, it rankles.”

  Gene drew his sword. “Well, at last the motivations are getting an airing out. This explains some of it.”

  Linda asked, “What did you hope to gain, Jamin?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Jamin sniffed.

  “Try me.”

  “No, thank you,your ladyship. Despite that ludicrous title, I regard you as nothing more than a common strumpet.”

  Gene lunged forward.

  Jamin backstepped quickly. “Vasagaroth, help!”

  The page boy laid down a card. “Too late,” he intoned. His voice did not sound boyish.

  Jamin struck a wizardly posture, hands poised to cast a spell.

  Linda said, “Jamin, I’m warning you. Make one move and you’re dead meat. I mean it.”

  “I have great powers now,” Jamin said, trembling.

  “Not without him,” Linda said, pointing to the page.

  “Vasagaroth, please!”

  The page calmly laid another card down. “No can do, Jamin. The pipeline just went dry.”

  Gene sidestepped toward the table. “What’s your story, kid? Who put you up to this?”

  “Screw off, asshole,” the boy said over his shoulder.

  “Whoa, are you out of line,” Gene said. “I’m going to have to teach you some manners. And a little about cards. You’re playing a red jack on the red queen.”

  The page spat at Gene’s feet. “I said screw off.”

  “Gene, easy,” Linda said.

  “Just who is this little pustule?” Gene demanded.

  “Why don’t you challenge him and find out?” Jamin said, grinning slyly.

  “Any way you want to play it, human,” Vasagaroth said casually.

  “Both of you are coming with me,” Gene said.

  “And where might we be going?” Jamin asked pleasantly.

  “To the Donjon, to await the King’s disposition of your case. C’mon, let’s go. That means you, punk-breath.”

  Gene laid a hand on the page’s shoulder. The boy’s arm came around sharply and knocked Gene’s away. He stood.

  “Time for the masquerade to end,” he said.

  Gene stepped back, sensing what was about to happen. And it did.

  The page boy’s skin turned gray, then white, and began to puff up horribly, as if pushed out from something growing inside. A hairline crack appeared along the boy’s cheek. As it widened, it revealed a glowing red surface underneath.

  Gene and Linda had witnessed this process before, but it was no less startling in reprise. The boy’s skin fell away in limp shards to reveal the luminous demon-body hiding within. Inexplicably the thing grew as it shed its bogus human form. When the last of the camouflage had fallen away, the crown of the creature’s horned head topped off at no less than seven and a half feet. A long, curious sword then came into being in its left hand.

  Its voice shook the rafters. “Human, you will die horribly!”

  Gene swallowed hard. “Tell me how it can be fun.”

  The demon lunged and nearly decapitated Gene with one stroke. Gene backed off, happening to catch a glimpse of Jamin’s gloating grin.

  The demon charged, chasing Gene around the room. Gene backed up against a love seat and fell over it, scrambled up, and backstepped. The demon kicked the piece of furniture out of the way and advanced, sword whistling as it swung.

  “My magic doesn’t work on him!” Linda shouted.

  “Speed me up!” Gene begged.

  “Something’s wrong. Jamin’s blocking!”

  “Exactly right, little hussy.” Jamin said. “Now let’s see how your champion swordsman does against the Hosts of Hell.”

  Thirty-eight

  Central Bureaucracy — Ministry of Pain

  “You are holding my sister here,” he told the demon clerk behind the counter. “I want her.”

  The clerk was a gnarled, hunched-over creature with cadaverous gray skin that looked like wet rubber. Suppurating yellow sores afflicted one side of its bald head.

  It looked up with pained, bloodshot eyes. “Your name?”

  “You know my name.”

  “I must have your name, sir, to complete the proper forms.” The creature brought forth a thick sheaf of official-looking papers.

  He materialized a broadsword, swung, and struck the thing’s head from its body. A fountain of pink goo erupted from the neck as the carcass fell beneath the countertop.

  Almost immediately another clerk hobbled out from behind a partition. The creature looked a perfect match for the one who had just been granted early retirement.

  The thing smiled at him. “And how may I help you, sir?”

  His shoulders slumped. “I wish to see your superior.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but my superior will be in a meeting for the rest of the day.”

  “Then I wish to speak to his superior.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, I do not have an appointment.”

  “Very sorry to say that the deputy minister is out of town. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes. As the saying goes, take me to your leader.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I wish to speak to the controlling entity, the central mind.”

  “Ah. That is a very tall order, sir.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes, indeed, sir. You’ll have to make an appointment.”

  Incarnadine’s blade swished round again. This time, blue ichor flowed from the truncated neck.

  A third clerk stepped out from behind the partition.

  “I’m afraid you have the wrong department, sir,” it said. “Go down this hall, turn right, follow the corridor, and it’s the third door on your right. However, they might be out to lunch at the moment. Now, if you prefer to put your request in writing …”

  The thing babbled on, its voice dwindling as he stalked away.

  The walls were not straight here. There wasn’t a right angle in the place. The corridor twisted and bent. Every so often he passed another counter with another blandly smiling clerk behind it. The place was dim and stifling, and silence choked the air like a miasmal fog.

  He was hours in the place. There seemed no end to it. He knew Ferne’s location, but could not get there. He gave up and got new bearings. Finding stairs, he began a descent of miles. Progressively darkening gloom env
eloped him. Eyes like glowing coals monitored his progress, peering out from the crannied walls. The character of the place changed, became cavelike. Following a downward-spiraling tunnel, he increased his pace to a jog. The tunnel leveled out, debouching into an immense chamber. In the middle of the floor was a deep pit which emitted a pulsating light.

  He walked to the edge, looked down, and beheld the mind-shattering creature that dwelled therein.

  [Finally we meet, human.]

  The voice was a whispering in his mind.

  He nodded. “Finally.”

  [You find it painful to behold me as I really am.]

  “Somewhat, I must admit. My apologies.”

  [None needed. Can your mind contain that which I am?]

  “I am not sure,” he answered. “Your nature is rather … exotic.”

  [Indeed. And to me, it is you who are strange.]

  “No doubt. In any event, your end is at hand.”

  [So be it.]

  “You have no regrets?”

  [Can one regret one’s nature, one’s being? Can one regret the ineluctable mechanisms of existence?]

  “I have no answer for you. I can only say that I regret ending the existence of any intelligent entity.”

  [Why? Non-Being is implicit in Being itself.]

  “Your equanimity comforts me, to some extent.”

  [I am glad.]

  “One thing, though. You knew you would lose in the end.”

  [Of course.]

  “Yet you persisted.”

  [I grow weary. There must be an end, and I could not see one…. Why are you astonished?]

  “It’s true, then. You are alone here.”

  [Utterly. I cannot remember when I was not alone.]

  “There were never others of your kind?”

  [Unthinkable ages ago, perhaps. I do not remember.]

  “But there must have been others.”

  [So you say. As I have said, I know naught of this, and care less.]

  “You speak of existence, yet you loathe it.”

  [With every mote, with every granule of my being.]

  “Why, then, did you not end your life?”

  [With this hatred in me still burning? Impossible.]

  There came something like a long sigh.

  [Enough. I shall speak no more. Do what you must.]