Castle Kidnapped

by John Dechancie

  “Or a net,” Trent mused.

  “That'd be hard."

  “You braid vines, strips of sapling, make rope. Then you make a net. Hard? You bet, but South Sea islanders do it all the time."

  “Think I'd look good in a sarong, or maybe a grass skirt?"

  “You look fine the way you are now, but we'll be needing clothes sooner or later."

  “I was cold last night,” she said. “A little bit, until you covered me."

  “Only proper thing to do under the circumstances. We'll have to find a source of fresh water, of course, but right now I don't see any reason why we shouldn't move to this side. Better food supply, shelter from the open sea, inland route, and other advantages, probably, that I haven't noticed yet. We'll put our house up on that knoll over there. Be a good observation point."

  She laughed. “You've got this all figured out, don't you?"

  He shrugged. “We must make do, somehow. We might be here for a spell."

  “I'm glad we're together, Trent."

  He gathered her in and held her close.

  “I'm extremely glad of that myself. Cold again?"

  “No, just hold me. Tight."

  He did, then they lay down together on the soft bed of the beach.

  Long Island

  Chico's was busy that night, the dance floor a scrummage of writhing humanity. Snowclaw couldn't get over the noise in the place. It had taken some getting used to. He didn't quite understand what all the thumping and screeching was about, though he knew it had something to do with music. And the dancing was completely incomprehensible. Snowy took it to be some complex courting ritual. But what did the flashing lights have to do with anything?

  It didn't matter. His job was to look after things. Check for proper dress; no jeans, no tennis shoes, no generally sloppy outfits. Chico's had to be a “class act,” was Nunzio's way of putting it. The other host, Dave, checked the little cards that the young ones held out that supposedly proved they were old enough to be admitted to these adult doings.

  Snowy's proper job was throwing the drunks out. That had only happened once since he started. A bartender refused to serve a customer who had glugged a little too much swill, and the customer got a little rowdy. (Interesting sidelight here: the bartender was actually worried that the guy might go out and wreck his metal wagon and get real ticked off at the bartender for giving the guy exactly what he was screaming for—more swill!) Snowclaw had followed directions to the letter. First he was polite, then firmly insistent. When that didn't work, he picked the guy up, carried him out into the parking lot, and threw him in the dumpster.

  That was pretty funny, Dave had told him, but basically it was overreacting.

  Snowy didn't know about that. The guy had been pretty nasty. Besides, all that happened was the little creep got his pride wounded. Snowy wouldn't think of actually hurting any of these hairless humans. They were all so soft and squishy.

  For all of that, though, they were feisty little devils. Like the guy he threw out, coming back with a policeman in tow, demanding that Snowy be arrested. The policeman heard Snowy's story, then told the guy to forget it. Then the guy started giving the cop all kinds of grief, so the cop and his partner beat the compost out of the little twerp and threw him in their metal wagon, which he didn't have to drive.

  Feisty little devils.

  Oh, he forgot the one incident where the female threw a glass of stuff into her mate's face. Something about the female walking into the place and finding this guy cavorting with another female in a dark corner. She got upset at this behavior. Why, exactly, Snowy didn't know. Apparently humans were supposed to keep to one mate at a time. But, then, what were all these females doing out on the floor making sexual movements with all these different males? He'd seen females doing it with male partner after male partner, and vice versa. Snowy didn't understand, but he supposed there was some rationale behind it all. He didn't expect it to make any sense, and in any event he didn't care much.

  The apartment above the joint was uncomfortable until Dave showed him a way to turn the heat off. Dave had done it, but had given Snowy a funny look.

  “The heat really gets to me,” Snowy explained. “I come from a cold place."

  “Yeah, but it's February, f'crissakes. Where you from, the North Pole?"

  “Nope."

  “Where, then? Canada?"

  “Uh ... yeah, Canada."

  “A Canuck, huh? Glad to have you in the USA. C'mon, I'll show you how to work the videotape. You like porno flicks? Nunzio distributes them."

  Now, these were interesting. He had always wondered about the mechanics of it. Basically the same, except that the male didn't keep the eggs for a while, like back home. Well, actually, there weren't any eggs to speak of. There was just sort of doing it, and that was it. Ordinarily he didn't like to criticize, but the male's equipment being exposed all the time like that—that was dumb, it seemed to him. And dangerous! Amazing. Funny, too, was the fact that there didn't seem to be any particular time of year for this sort of stuff. Everybody just rutted away like crazy, no matter what the weather. At the drop of a snowshoe.

  Different world, different ways of doing things. That was the way you had to look at it. It didn't bear thinking about too much. Besides, he had other problems.

  Like contacting Linda, somehow. He knew how to work a telephone now, but he didn't have a number to call. As for begging help, he couldn't very well ask too many questions, or he'd be thought mighty strange, if he wasn't already. Somebody had told him, “Dial Information,” and had given him a number, but that was no help at all.

  “What city?"

  “Um ... I don't know. I've been there, but I really don't know where it is."

  “Sorry, sir, I have to know what city."

  “Well, what cities are there?"

  “Pardon, sir?"

  “What cities do you have?"

  “Sir, I can check the New York metropolitan area for you."

  “Yeah, okay."

  “What name?"

  “Linda."

  “Last name, sir?"

  “Oh. Uh, Bar ... Bar something. Barkey. Bar-kay."

  “Spell that?"

  “What?"

  “Can you spell that for me, sir?"

  “I don't know what that means."

  “One moment, sir.... Sir, checking the New York metropolitan area, I find no listing for a Linda Barkey, or Bar-kay. I do have an L. Barcus on West Forty-seventh Street in Manhattan."

  “No, I want Linda. Uh, never mind. Thanks."

  Click.

  Well, that was that. Of course, he could just start walking again, but that sure as heck wouldn't do much good. Halfway House was a good hike, he knew that.

  And most of all ... Great White Stuff, was he hungry!

  Human food just didn't make it. He could eat the stuff, but ... gods, it was like eating water. Nothing to it, no taste.

  It would be a real embarrassment if someone caught him guzzling drain cleaner and eating bath soap, as he had taken to doing of late. The soap was nothing, but the drain goop packed a real punch. Good stuff.

  Dave had looked real puzzled when Snowy came home with a grocery bag filled with paraffin wax candles and ten bottles of Thousand Island dressing. That got Snowclaw worried.

  But apparently there wasn't any real cause for concern, because Dave told him that Nunzie had a new job for him.

  “There's a truck with contraband goin’ to Pittsburgh. You're ridin’ shotgun. Nunzie likes you. Thinks you're doin’ real good."

  “Uh-huh. Okay."

  “Yeah. Don't worry, it's a milk run. Cigarettes, that's all it is."

  “Yeah?"

  “Yeah. They come up from the South. You know, without tax stamps on ‘em? Then we ship ‘em all over. We make two hundred percent profit. Even at that, it's peanuts, really, but it's part of the family business."

  “Uh-huh."

  “Yeah. If you do good, Nunzie might put you on with the cash c
rop shipments. You know, the coke, the smoke, and the poke?"

  “Uh-huh."

  Dave smiled and thumped him on the back. “You're okay, Snowy. A little strange, but okay."

  “Uh-huh."

  Castle

  “Man, I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this place,” Jeremy said, walking with Linda down a dim corridor. He had no idea where he was.

  “Sure you will. It took me a couple of months before I got to know my way around. But when I did, everything was fine. The place feels like home now."

  In passing, Jeremy peered into a dark embrasure and got the vague sense that something big and sinister stood watching within. Of course, he got that feeling all the time around here. When would he stop jumping at every shadow? Back in the real world, it could always be said that there was really nothing to be afraid of. A dark place was just that, a dark place. Here, though ... wow. There were spooks here. Real ones.

  “I don't know,” he said. “I think it's gonna take me a long time."

  “Fiddlesticks. You'll be a veteran in no time, with your talent—whatever it is."

  “Yeah, I wish I knew what it is, too."

  “Did you guys try running spells through your computer?"

  “No, we never got that far. It sounded interesting, though. The funny thing is...” He heaved his shoulders.

  Linda looked at him sideways. “Yeah?"

  “Well, it's weird. I just keep getting these strange feelings when I run programs. You know, just fooling around, like I usually do. Trying different things."

  “What kind of feelings?"

  “I can't put a name to them. I feel ... good. No. Well, powerful. Like I can do anything. All sorts of new possibilities. It just feels good.” Jeremy scratched his head. “I can't explain it."

  Linda pursed her lips and gave a knowing nod. Then she said, “Sounds like something's brewing, all right."

  They had almost come to the wide arched entrance of the Queen's dining room.

  “Geez, how did you find your way back?” Jeremy asked.

  “Just a sixth sense you get. Hungry? I don't know what else there is to do, not until—"

  “Lady Linda?"

  A servant approached. It was a young page.

  “Hi!” Linda said. “Are you new around here?"

  “Yes, milady. Lord Incarnadine wishes to see you."

  “Boy, that was quick. Lead on."

  “This way, milady."

  “C'mon, Jeremy."

  The boy led them down a long hallway, then up a flight of stairs. When they reached the landing, there came a high, insistent beeping, as from some electronic device.

  “What's that?” Linda said.

  “Huh?” Jeremy looked down. “Hey. It's my computer."

  He knelt, cracked open the case, and flipped up the readout screen.

  “Hey."

  “What does it say?” Linda asked.

  “It reads ‘Extreme Danger.'” Jeremy looked up. “What's going on?"

  “You're asking me? It's your gizmo."

  Bewildered, Jeremy shook his head. “It's not supposed to do that. I had it shut off. And besides, there's nothing running except the operating system, and that's—” He closed the case. “This is getting too weird."

  Linda looked around. “Tell the truth, I'm getting a strange feeling, too."

  They both looked at the page.

  “Where are you taking us?” Linda asked him.

  The page appeared a trifle edgy. “To Lord Incarnadine, milady."

  “Where is he at the moment?"

  “With the chamberlain, milady."

  “In Jamin's quarters?"

  “Yes, milady."

  “You look worried about something. Are you sure you're not fibbing?"

  “No, milady. I mean, yes, milady!"

  Linda chewed her lip, then said, “I can't believe you. Something's wrong, and I want to know what it is."

  The page's eyes darted about in desperation.

  “Well?” Linda said. “I'm waiting."

  The page spun round and dashed away, vanishing into darkness, his footsteps echoing.

  Jeremy whistled. “What got into him?"

  Linda's forehead creased into a worried frown. “I should have made him talk."

  “How?"

  “Conjured a dozen monkeys to tickle him to death. Set nasty spiders and things all over him. No end of ways.” She sighed. “But he's just a kid, and I couldn't do it."

  “Should have,” Jeremy said. “He was lying through his teeth."

  “I know. Something's up.” Linda fingered the handle of the dagger that hung from her belt. “Jamin. I wonder if he knows—?"

  The floor began to heave, and they both dropped to ride out the disturbance. This time, however, the convulsions did not want to stop.

  The walls became rubbery, shivering and quaking. The ceiling dropped, and the corridor changed dimensions. The stairway dematerialized, replaced by a vaulted chamber with no outlet. Partitions appeared out of nowhere, sliding down and rising back up again like backdrops in a theater.

  Gradually the convulsive transformations ceased. Linda got up cautiously, then brushed off her tunic and the knees of her tights.

  “That was bad. Worse than before."

  “Yeah,” Jeremy said in awe. His throat had gone completely dry. He coughed and swallowed hard. “What's happening?"

  “Whatever the problem is with the universes, it's not getting any better."

  “What universes are we talking about?"

  “The universes of the castle. I'm not the one to ask about all that. I've never really understood it.” Linda thought for a moment. “Well, yes, I do understand it, but intuitively, I guess. Something's wrong with the delicate balance between the universes. Since the castle is the focal point, it's feeling the worst of the effects."

  “What do you mean by ‘focal point'?"

  “That's what's even harder to explain, but I suppose I mean that since the castle's connected to all these different universes, it's like a hub, the center of a big wheel. It's bound to be affected by what happens out on the rim."

  “Okay, I get it. Funny that this place would be the center of the universe."

  “Universes."

  “Whatever."

  Linda took a deep breath, then looked around. “But we have an even bigger problem."

  “Oh, God. What?"

  “Didn't you notice that everything is different, rearranged?"

  “Yeah. So?"

  “So. The stairs are gone. We have to find a different way downstairs. Let's go."

  They went, but fifteen minutes later they had failed to locate another stairway. For the first time in a long time, Linda was lost in the castle.

  “I don't believe it,” she said. “I can't get a fix on the Guest Wing."

  “The Guest Wing. Is that where the dining room is?"

  “Right, and where all our sleeping rooms are. I've lost my sense of orientation. The castle must be undergoing drastic changes."

  “What are we gonna do?"

  “I've been through this before. The castle was a much wilder place when I first got here. Don't worry, I'll get my bearings back."

  “But for now we're lost, right?"

  “Right. Take it easy. You really can't get lost in the castle. You just keep walking, and..."

  They kept walking, finding little but acres and acres of nondescript castle architecture.

  Finally Linda sat on a stone bench and took off her boots, rubbed her feet.

  “Damn it, I'm getting mad."

  Jeremy slumped to his haunches and leaned his back against the dark stone.

  “We be lost now,” he said.

  Linda gave him a sour look. “Thanks for clarifying the issue."

  Jeremy shrugged.

  Linda looked him over. “How old are you?"

  “Why?"

  “Just asking."

  “Twenty-three.” Jeremy raised a hand. “I know what you're gonna
say. You're gonna say I look fifteen."

  “Well, maybe seventeen. Nothing wrong with looking young. I wish I looked seventeen."

  “How old are you?"

  “You're not supposed to ask, but I just turned thirty. Over the hill."

  “I thought you looked pretty old."

  “Gee, thanks."

  “No, I didn't mean you looked bad."

  Linda rolled her eyes. “Forget it."

  “Sorry."

  “You know, I think yours is a maturity problem, not so much looks. You act fifteen."

  “Hey, I apologized, okay?"

  Linda put her boots back on. “Let's get moving."

  “Where to? Why don't we just stay put? We're bound to run into someone."

  “Wrong. There are parts of the castle where nobody ever goes. You could wait forever and not see anyone."

  “But—"

  “Don't argue. If you want to stay here, fine."

  Jeremy sighed and cranked himself up. “No, I'm coming."

  An hour later, they were still lost. They had passed many a side chamber, some bare, others furnished. In one of the latter they stopped for a rest, and Linda magicked a picnic basket full of gourmet viands.

  “Might as well have some fun,” she said, opening a tub of beluga caviar.

  “What else is in here? What's this stuff?"

  “Read the label."

  “Pattee dee ... what's that?"

  “Pâté de foie gras. Goose-liver paste."

  “Yuck! You got something to eat in here?"

  “Such as? I can conjure anything."

  “Anything? A baloney sandwich is what I could go for."

  “What low taste. Mustard?"

  “No, mayonnaise, lettuce, American cheese, and dill pickle. Uh, please."

  “There it is."

  “Huh? Wow.” Jeremy reached out for the plate that had appeared on the table. On it lay an attractive arrangement of sandwich wedges, pickle slices, and olives, all trussed up with toothpicks and nestled on a bed of leaf lettuce.

  “How the heck do you do that?” Jeremy demanded.

  “It's a gift. It's the castle, actually. Anything to drink?"

  “Yeah! How about a thick, creamy—"

  A tremendous clap of thunder sounded.

  “Uh-oh.” Linda stood up and looked around fearfully.

  A tremendous shock wave hit, knocking them both down. Then the floor tossed them about like salad. The walls and ceilings turned into something positively fluid. They ran like melted wax, gobs of stuff dripping down.