Castle Spellbound c-7

by John Dechancie

  Snowclaw looked down. "Yeah? You mean that green stuff?"

  "Snowy, don't!" Linda yelled, then scolded. "Gene, are you trying to make me sick again?"

  "Just trying to be helpful."

  "Behave yourself. Let's get back to business. What are we going to do when we get to the basement, if we can make it?'

  Gene shrugged. "See what's what?"

  "What do we do about the `what'?"

  "At least we can report to Incarnadine, tell him whatever the what is."

  Linda nodded. "Okay, that sounds feasible. Because we're not going to be canceling this crazy spell, if that's what it is."

  "You still think it's a spell gone bad?"

  "Yeah, that's what it looks like. Somebody who didn't know what he was doing started something he couldn't finish."

  "Or knew what he was doing and wanted to cause trouble."

  "Well, he succeeded."

  Gene threw a pebble into the pond. "I don't know, nothing's really happened so far. Actually, it's been kind of fun to watch."

  "It won't be fun if the spell keeps going, which is exactly what it's going to do if somebody doesn't cancel it."

  "What can happen?"

  "The castle will become uninhabitable, that's what can happen."

  "Oh. Anything else?"

  "That's not enough?"

  "I see what you mean."

  Linda went on. "It'll become so clogged with crazy stuff that no one will ever be able to get in there and douse the spell. And if, as I suspect, this nutty thing is tapped into the castle's power, which is almost infinite… Get the picture?"

  Gene watched a ripple reflect from shore and go outward again. "Hm. Never thought of that. All the worlds could be in danger."

  "Now you're catching on."

  "'Chapter Twenty-one, In Which Our Heroes Once Again Save the Universe."'

  "You got it, keed."

  "Punny thing is, where the hell is Incarnadine?"

  Linda said, "You know, it's only been a few hours since the confusion started. He could have stepped out for something, intending to come right back."

  "Right. If only the goofy stuff had begun just a tad earlier. He could have just snapped his fingers and tidied up the whole mess."

  "God, I wish." Linda's shoulders fell. "I don't want to go down into any spooky basements."

  "Do not be afraid, my dear," Gene said, doing a passable Bela Lugosi. "Those screams are merely the howling of the wind."

  Linda frowned. "Gene, don't start with me. I hate spooky stuff, you know that."

  "Why, I wasn't starting anything, my dear," he went on, now into his best Boris Karloff. "The basement is merely where I conduct my experiments in cell division and growth. What? You say you've never seen a spider that size? Why, the little devil must have gotten loose-"

  Linda stared him down. "Gene," she said warningly.

  "I'll stop. Thing is, I don't think we'll make it."

  "To the basement? Why not?"

  "The congestion is increasing geometrically the farther down we go."

  Linda nodded glumly. "Yeah. Well, we have to try."

  "We'll need your magic in there."

  "No problem. I can create a shield."

  "The old magical force screen."

  "But it'll make maneuvering harder."

  "Always some dues to pay for magic," Gene said.

  "True. Well, shall we give it a go?"

  "Once more into the dumpster, dear friends." Gene got up. "Let's get moving."

  Snowclaw had pulled up a major portion of the grass at the edge of the pond.

  "Not much to this stuff," he commented, "but it is tasty. Specially the little dab of mud that comes up from the bottom."

  Linda's face soured. "Snowy, you're making me ill."

  "Sorry. I'm hungry."

  "Snowy, you're always hungry."

  "'The sedge has withered from the lake,"' Gene said. "'And no birds sing."'

  "Where?" Snowclaw said, looking around eagerly.

  "You leave those poor birds alone, Snowy," Linda reprimanded. "We're going now."

  "I'm going to be starving in a little while."

  "I'll whip up something for you in the castle," Linda assured him. "Come along, Snowclaw."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Linda started walking up the hill.

  When she'd gotten halfway up, Snowclaw asked, "Are most human females as bossy as Linda is sometimes?"

  Gene put a finger to his lips. "Shhh. You are treading very dangerous ground, my friend. Not PC, if you get my drift."

  "Huh?'

  " `Into the valley of death rode the six hundred,' and all that."

  "What?'

  "Let's go."

  "Oh. All right."

  Scratching his massive white head, Snowclaw followed Gene up the hill.

  ARENA

  The arena shook with the roar of the crowd. Howls of blood lust resounded. The crowd was average for a Saturday night. On the sandy floor at the base of the vast circus, several contests were going on. One, not properly a contest, involved lions attacking helpless victims. Another featured a clash of cavalries, horses neighing and rearing amidst the rising dust of battle. Still another pitted charioteers against spear-carrying men on foot. The former were winning.

  Thorsby regained consciousness and sat up. He looked out across the arena, then swung his feet over the edge of his divan.

  He tried to get up. He couldn't quite make it and sat back down heavily.

  "Is something wrong, great Caesar?"

  "Eh? Uh, no. I've had enough. I'm heading up."

  "Why, O Magnificent One?"

  "I've a bleedin' headache. And besides that, I've seen everything."

  "A thousand pardons if I contradict the divine Caesar, but you have seen nothing yet!"

  Thorsby looked bleary-eyed at the houri who had entreated him. "Oh? I'd like to know what else there is. I've gobbled all the grub, guzzled all the grog, did all the naughty bits. Wonderful, wonderful, but, really…"

  "What is it, Divine One?"

  "Well, you know…" Thorsby chuckled. "It's all a spell, really. Just a conjuration. Means nothing, all hocus pocus, don't you know. It was all a bit of fun, but we really have to be getting back to work. Matter of fact, I do think we're in serious trouble already. Where the blazes is Fetchen? Fetchen!"

  "Methinks, Divine One, thou knowest not the true trouble thou'rt in."

  Thorsby got unsteadily to his feet. "Fetchen, old boy? Now, where did that rascal get to-"

  Thorsby's face collided with a massive naked chest. He stepped back and looked up. The owner of the chest was an immense figure in a turban, voluminous pants, and long pointed slippers. The man (if that is what he was) stood with his sinewy arms folded, one hand grasping the haft of an immense scimitar, its wicked curving blade upraised and gleaming.

  "Going somewhere?" the man asked pointedly.

  Thorsby took another step back. "Uh, well, yes. More or less. Time to cancel the spell."

  "Cancel the spell?" The huge man shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

  "Oh?" Thorsby's voiced squeaked. He cleared his throat. "Why not?"

  "We get this chance very seldom. We shall not miss it."

  "Chance for what, exactly?"

  "To come out into the world. To be alive. Very tiresome simply to exist as potential, with no actuality."

  "Oh. Yes, well, I'm afraid that can't be helped, old boy. You'll have to go back into your bottle or lamp or whatever. The whole lot of you, in fact. It was a bit of fun, but-"

  "That will not happen, great one."

  Thorsby made an effort to gather himself together. "See here. You're forgetting who the magician is, who's in charge of this whole charade."

  "That is not forgotten, master. But these obligations are not one-sided. By giving us unlimited license, you have opened a door that is not easily shut."

  Thorsby nodded. "I see, I see." He looked around. "Well, we'll just have a look at that grimoire. Aroun
d here someplace…" Thorsby got down on his knees and searched.

  "You won't find it, master."

  "Eh? I won't?"

  "No."

  "Oh. Well." Thorsby rose and dusted off his hands. "Then we'll throw a general cancellation spell on the whole affair and see what happens."

  The turbaned man ran a thick finger delicately along the blade of his scimitar. "Master would not want to do that."

  "And why not?"

  "Because master would not get the second word out of his mouth if he uttered the first."

  The turbaned man grasped the curving sword in both meaty hands and swished it about viciously.

  "Does my master understand the full import of my words?"

  Thorsby took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yes. Quite."

  The turbaned apparition smiled. "Meanwhile, your every wish will be indulged. Does my master wish anything?"

  "A drink."

  The man held out his hand. A goblet full of purple liquid appeared on his palm. He extended his arm toward Thorsby. "A drink for my master."

  Thorsby took the goblet and drank. His eyes widened. "Why, this is super. Super! I've never tasted wine like iis. It's… well, I can't believe it, but it's better than the other stuff!"

  "Only a foretaste of what is yet to come. I bid thee, sit, I divine Caesar. Disport thyself!"

  "Enough of the Caesar bit, please. Let's go back to sultan, or caliph, or shah, or something. All this spilling of guts is making me queasy."

  "Your slightest whim is graven in stone, great and wonderful master!"

  Thorsby lay back down on the divan. He drank, and marveled again at the taste of wine.

  Then his face lapsed into a worried frown.

  "Grosmond is going to be ever so pissed off at us," he said.

  WAR ZONE

  Kwip flattened himself against the turf as more artillery shells fell in the vicinity of the clearing, not far away. He had been under fire once or twice before, but had never experienced the terror of these weapons. The explosions pierced his ears like crossbow bolts and the concussion was almost enough to knock him senseless.

  Nevertheless he clung to consciousness until all was quiet once again.

  When he thought it safe, he rose slowly. Now, to find the portal.

  He was sure the magic doorway was very near. As best he could surmise, it lay directly across the clearing from where he had crouched in the underbrush, hiding from the lionthe lion which had never materialized. He had been walking straight back across the clearing when the bombardment started.

  But the portal was nowhere in sight.

  Was it possible that he could have got turned about widdershins? In that case, the portal would be directly across from where he was right now. But he could not be sure. No telling which way he had run.

  The clearing was slightly oval, its border lacking distinguishable features. The shelling had put him in a dither; he was now completely disoriented. Perhaps if he crossed again-but he feared renewed shelling. He resolved, therefore, to keep to the wood, which offered some protection against the blasts.

  Kwip drew his sword.

  He made his way through the underbrush, keeping as close as possible to the edge of the clearing, yet still leaving a margin of safety. He ducked under low branches, pushed through tangles of vines and weeds. It seemed to be late spring here. The smell of wildflowers was in his nostrils, though he couldn't see any, not at the moment.

  He tripped over an exposed root and stifled a curse. All was quiet; not even the birds had recovered their composure. No insects buzzed. He stopped, squatted, and peered out into the clearing. Lumps of raw, red clay had been thrown up by the explosions out of deep craters. He'd have to watch himself when and if he crossed again.

  He moved on. At length he stopped again, now totally befuddled. Where was that confounded portal?

  There came to his ears a strange whirring sound, and he could not for the life of him imagine what could be making it. He thought of a great metallic bird.

  He was astonished when such a creature landed in the clearing. Well, "creature" it may have been, in a manner of speaking; it flew and had stubby wings and spindly legs or supports. It was made of some sort of metal, though a metal painted in stripes of brown and green. Yes, a strange thing to behold; but he was well aware that it was an infernal machine of some sort. It looked wickedly destructive, bristling with rods and other projections-armaments of some kind, he guessed.

  The thing settled into the clearing, the shush-shush of its whirling blades strangely quiet. Its engines whined softly. Kwip had seen depictions of similar craft in books in the castle library. This specimen looked to be of a higher species. It was bulbous in parts, yet sleek and supple elsewhere. It had short wings, and the engines appeared capable of rotating from vertical to horizontal. He had never seen this particular craft depicted, but had seen its progenitors.

  A hatch on the craft's side opened and metal men spilled out. Soldiers.

  Kwip was astonished again. Were these human beings or mechanical men? They were completely encased in metaldappled, like the craft, in a strange mix of brown and green hues-from helmet to shoes. Yet they did not clank and lurch about; they moved as men, with but a faint hissing noise accompanying their movements. Six of them fanned out from the craft to take up defensive positions in a circle about it. They swung their weapons back and forth warily, on guard. Kwip could only imagine the coldly efficient eyes which lay hidden behind the dark glass that fronted their helmets. If indeed they had eyes at all.

  The defensive circle widened, each soldier advancing radially. One was coming directly at Kwip, who now felt himself on the prickly horns of a dilemma. If he retreated, it would be into unknown territory, one torn by war. If he moved toward the clearing and the portal, he would be discovered and possibly shot.

  He gave thought to retreating a safe distance and waiting for the invading troop to reboard the craft and fly away. But there was risk in that course of action as well. What if this lot were engaged in reconnoitering? They might be scouting the area in search of a suitable site for a camp. Unsettling thought, that. He'd never gain access to the portal. He would be stranded here, possibly forever.

  No. Only one thing to do. Make a mad dash for it across the clearing, cutting cater-corner. They would no doubt fire at him, but Kwip prided himself on his fleetness of foot. He would at least have a sporting chance, he thought.

  Suddenly, on the far side of the clearing, a sizzling bolt of fire erupted from one of the soldiers, emanating from the barrel of his arquebus, or whatever it was. The bolt hit the trees, sending flames skyward.

  Kwip gulped. Perhaps he would not have a sporting chance after all.

  Nevertheless, he was determined to make the attempt. But in what direction should he run? What was his destination to be? He scanned the circuit of the clearing, to no avail. He could detect neither hide nor hair of the portal, that elusive doorway back to the castle and relative safety (if a lion did not devour him immediately upon his arrival!). The soldier nearest him was still advancing, and the time was at hand for a decision. Kwip thought hard and furiously. No, he'd have to retreat. If the portal had not vanished, it was probably directly behind the strange craft. In that case a mad dash would be foolish. Truth be told, without knowledge of the portal's exact whereabouts, a mad dash would be silly in any case.

  He turned to beat a retreat and found himself on a narrow path, little more than a rabbit trail, that led away from the clearing. Creeping along on all fours, he followed it.

  A voice-amplified by some means-barked behind him. Suddenly the heat of fire seared his back.

  They were shooting at him! The trees bordering the clearing were in flames.

  He got up and ran, wondering how he had been seen. But who knew with what wizardry these demons augmented their inhuman senses?

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a stone corridor. He skidded to a stop.

  The portal! It had been h
ere, behind him, all the while. At that moment he remembered running a short distance through woods before coming out into the clearing. Scatterbrained fool!

  He sprinted back along the rabbit trail. As he did, he saw the soldier enter the woods and take aim at him. He made a wild dive for the opening.

  He tumbled through the portal and back into the castle, ending up on his back on the flagstones. He jumped to his feet and ran to the nearest intersecting hallway and hid behind the corner.

  He peeked out.

  The soldier was framed in the portal, seeming to peer within, weapon at the ready. Then he walked off, only to appear again and shake his head. There was confusion in his manner. Apparently, to Kwip's great relief, the soldier-or this diabolical machine that took a soldier's form-could not perceive the portal.

  Kwip was safe.

  Something poked him in the back and he jumped and whirled about, sword raised and ready to strike.

  "Put that thing down, you crazy fool!"

  It was the woman of color, Deena Williams, and her sometime paramour, Barnaby Walsh. Kwip exhaled and sheathed his sword.

  "Jumpy, ain't he?" Deena asked of Barnaby.

  "You ought not surprise a man like that," Kwip warned.

  "Some trouble up ahead?" Barnaby asked.

  Kwip looked toward the portal. The soldier walked by again, still oblivious to the phenomenon in front of him: a doorway to another world.

  Kwip shook his head. "None now, but you don't want to go through that aspect."

  "We been duckin' in and out of aspects for the last couple hours," Deena told him. "Hidin' from all this garbage goin' on."

  Kwip nodded. "Which I've been doing as well." He suddenly remembered his abandoned booty and looked wildly about.

  Over Barnaby's shoulder he saw the glint of gold. He ran for it.

  It was a gold drinking cup; as he picked it up he caught sight of a necklace lying on the stone not far way.

  The stuff was scattered all over, kicked by dancers, nuzzled by lions, punted about by marching feet. Gods knew how wide an area it had been strewn over, all lying there, waiting for anyone to pick up.

  Kwip began searching, dashing around frantically, scooping things up, hurrying to the next item. Another necklace, a sapphire ring… a chalice… a bracelet…