“I take it you’ve heard the name,” Jacoby ventured.
“Hm?” Kwip turned to him. “Your pardon, sir. Yes. Yes, I have.”
“Oh,” DuQuesne said. “You’re a local, then?”
“I am not sure I take your meaning, sir.”
“Do you hail from this land?”
“This land? I think not. But in truth, I don’t know where I am. Neither do I know how I came to be here.”
“Well, that’s nothing new,” Jacoby said. “You’re a proper Guest, I should think.”
“But you’ve heard of this place?” DuQuesne pressed on. “Castle Perilous?”
Awed, Kwip looked about the dining hall. “Yes. Indeed, I have. Not for years have I heard its name, but I have heard it.” He stared abstractedly at the far wall for a moment. Presently he resumed eating, slowly.
“Then you very well could be a native of this land — this world,” DuQuesne said.
Kwip reached for more bread. “I require time to think on these things, sir. Perhaps you could tell me — how is this land called?”
“It’s known as the Western Pale.”
Kwip searched his memory, squinting one eye. “I have never heard of it.”
“Well, neither had I,” DuQuesne said, “until I blundered into this place. None of us had.”
“And none of us,” Jacoby put in, “had ever heard of Castle Perilous. But you, my friend …”
Kwip nodded. “Aye, heard of it I have, but only in story and legend.”
“Indeed,” Jacoby said.
“In truth. Long ago my mother’s sister used to … spin me tales of Lord Incarnadine in his enchanted Castle Perilous.”
DuQuesne put down his wineglass and leaned back. “I see. This is very interesting. I don’t believe we’ve encountered this before.”
Jacoby asked, “No one has come from a world in which Castle Perilous was merely a legend?”
“I don’t believe so. Roger, have you ever run into this?”
The thin, dark-haired man seated across from DuQuesne smiled and rubbed his aquiline nose. “Castle Perilous is a legend in our world.”
Jacoby leaned forward, frowning. “You don’t say?”
“I do. It’s an Arthurian tale, a routine damsel-in-distress epic. Gareth and Linette are the protagonists. Gareth, I believe, was Sir Gawain’s brother.”
DuQuesne said, “Oh, of course. Yes, Gareth and Linette.”
“Now, as I remember,” Roger went on, “in that tale the besieger of Castle Perilous was Sir Ironside, the Red Knight.”
“Doesn’tincarnadine mean the color red?” asked the young man to Roger’s left.
Roger smiled again. “You’re right, Tom, it does, but I think we can attribute that to coincidence. Frankly there aren’t many aspects of the tale that correspond with the situation here. But I’m no expert, and there are lots of legends about enchanted castles. There very well may be a yarn that more closely resembles this dream we’re living.”
“Ah, yes,” DuQuesne said wistfully. “It does all seem like a dream sometimes, does it not?”
All agreed.
Jacoby looked at Kwip. “How did you happen to come here?”
Kwip swallowed. “It was … quite by accident.”
“That’s what everyone says.”
Kwip halted a motion to reach for his wineglass. “You doubt me?”
“Don’t be so touchy. By that I meant that almost everyone here essentially blundered into the castle, and some can’t even describe how it happened. The usual story is something about a wall disappearing, or a door suddenly materializing where none was before. That sort of thing.”
Kwip nodded. “I see. Yes, my story is very like that.” He bowed his head. “An eternity of pardon, sir, for mistaking your meaning.”
“Think nothing of it.”
Kwip smiled. “To speak the truth, it happened to me in this wise: I was visiting a friend, a man of quality who owns a large and very fine house. A number of my comrades were there as well, and I am afraid we imbibed to excess. I excused myself and went to find the privy … or a garden wall against which to relieve myself — forgive my vulgarity, but I must confess I was somewhat overburdened with drink. I wandered a while, in and out of unfamiliar rooms, and finally found myself in what looked like the nether portions of a great castle or fortress. And in truth, I was here. I found a stairway and began to climb. That was when strange things began to happen.”
DuQuesne nodded. “A familiar story.”
“Well,” Roger said, rising, “I’m off to the library.”
Jacoby asked him, “Been making any headway on the translation problem?”
“Not much, and I haven’t found a Guest who can cast an instantaneous translation spell. Something tells me that a talent like that is going to be mighty hard to come by. But I still like working on the problem the old-fashioned way. Keeps me busy.”
“Do let me know if you have any success,” Jacoby said. “I’d be immensely interested.”
Roger chuckled. “Yes, I dare say you would be.”
“Oh, the questions I’d love to have answered about this place,” DuQuesne said. “Good luck, Roger.”
“Thanks,” Roger said as he left.
Kwip had sated his hunger and slaked his thirst. His mind now turned to other things; rather, it returned to his present task, which was to find whatever booty there was to be had in this place. The next task was finding a way back whence he had come. That one was the most problematical. He did not yet know where he was. He had barely begun to grasp the notion that he had been transported to another world. Best to keep his mind on matters he could handle, for the moment at least. He would take each task in its turn.
Others were rising to leave. He bid farewell to DuQuesne and to the young man named Tom. He looked about and found himself alone with the one called Jacoby, who was smiling a smile not unlike a cat’s, if a cat could smile. Then Jacoby spoke.
“They say that the treasure room in Castle Perilous is as big as a shire and filled to the rafters with gold, silver, and the finest jewels.”
Kwip took a slow drink of wine before answering, “Indeed?”
“They say. They also say the biggest jewel is the Brain. Heard of it?”
“In truth, I have not.”
“No? The Brain of Ramthonodox? But then, you’ve only recently arrived.”
“That is true.”
Jacoby swished cold coffee about in his cup. “Everyone who comes to Castle Perilous acquires certain magical powers, the nature and strength of which vary from individual to individual. Know what yours are yet?”
Kwip refilled his glass. “I am not sure I understand you, sir. You say these powers are gained by virtue of one’s mere presence here?”
“That is the only explanation. You’ve acquired no sudden new talents, then, or any hint of such?”
“No.”
Jacoby’s smile broadened. “You will.”
“I see.”
“I hope yours are helpful.”
“Sir?”
“In your further adventures.”
“Thank you. Aye, it would be a boon.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ve not given it much thought. As you said, I have only recently arrived.”
“So you have. We shall talk later, perhaps. After you’ve become more accustomed to this place.”
“It would be an honor, sir.” Kwip rose with Jacoby and watched him leave. When he was alone, he pushed the wineglass away and sat back. He had not much cared for Jacoby’s tone, nor for the man himself. In this castle there was much to be wary of.
Kwip grunted. But that was true of many places. Kwip had traveled widely in his life and had seen many things. Many wondrous things. Surely this castle was the most wondrous yet, but it was still an abode of men, as well as monsters, and Kwip thought he knew men rather well.
He’d take monsters any day.
Elsewhere
Linda was still in
a snit over Gene’s ribbing her.
“Oh, come on,” Gene complained as they walked back to the portal, “I was only kidding.”
“You’ll be sorry. I’m going to conjure one of those things and have him tear you into beef jerky.”
“Well, now, that would be overreacting just a tad, don’t you think?”
“And then I’ll make you eat its brains — oh, I’m getting sick just thinking about it. That was the grossest thing I ever saw.”
“The most fantastic, too, I’ll bet.”
“You said it.”
The portal was where they’d left it, unchanged. Gene stopped, tugging on a handful of Snowclaw’s silky fur to get his attention. “Hold it a minute. I think we should come up with a plan of some sort before we go back in there.”
Linda looked around, found a tree stump, brushed it off and sat. “Shoot.”
“Huh?”
“What kind of plan? A plan for what?”
Gene scratched the stubble under his jaw. “Well, a plan of action. Some systematic way of searching for a way out.”
“Sounds great. Where do we start?”
Gene took a deep breath. “Beats the shit out of me.” He sank to his haunches, picked up a twig and made vague markings in the dirt. “Damn. If only we had an inkling of where to start.”
“Mr. Dalton doesn’t seem to think there’s a way out.”
“He said he likes it here.”
Linda looked around. “Yuck.”
“He meant the castle.”
“Double yuck.”
“Yeah. Hell.” Gene tossed the twig away. “We need answers. Nobody seems to have any.”
“Somebody has to.”
“The people who live in the castle might. Not any of the Guests, but the natives. The big cheese wheel who runs the place … what’s his name?”
“Lord Incarnadine.”
“Him. He should be able to tell us something. What we have to do is find him.”
Linda sighed. “I’ve heard he’s very hard to locate.”
“It can’t be impossible. He’s the owner, he should be around somewhere. We’ll get him and make him give us some answers.”
Linda shrugged.
“Yeah, I know. Fat chance. What do you think, Snowclaw? Oh, I forgot. He can’t understand —”
Snowclaw had been staring off into the brush. Suddenly he sprang forward and ran off the trail, broadax raised, disappearing behind an expansive broad-leafed shrub. There came a frightened squawk along with thrashing noises from behind the bush. Then Lummox came dashing out of cover. He scampered up the trail, saw Linda and Gene, squawked again, and ran off into the jungle.
“Snowclaw!” Linda admonished. “That poor little thing —”
“I don’t think he knew it was Lummox. Snowclaw …? Oh, hell, let’s get back into the castle so we can understand him.”
“I knew something was there, watching us,” Snowclaw explained when they had crossed the boundary. “Didn’t know it was that little lizard fella. Sorry I scared the compost out of him.”
“We should go back and find him,” Linda said with concern. “He could get lost.”
“We’re lost ourselves,” Gene said, then shrugged at Linda’s disapproving frown. “Oh, all right. Let’s go back.”
Linda’s expression changed to regret. “I’m sorry, Gene. As if we don’t have enough to worry about. It’s just that he looked so frightened. Sort of reminded me of myself.”
Gene gave her a little hug. “You’ve been great. You have a lot more courage than you give yourself credit for. Besides, you’re also Superwitch.”
“That’s me.”
“Conjure us up something to eat,” Snowclaw said.
“You hungry again?” Gene said incredulously.
Snowclaw poked him lightly in the ribs with one partly retracted white claw. “Listen, skinny. You hairless types might be able to keep going on a few nibbles now and then, but you don’t run a mighty engine of destruction like yours truly on birdseed.”
Gene rubbed the spot where he’d been poked. “Anything you say, big guy,” he said. “Anything you say.”
“Just kidding,” Snowclaw said. “But I do have an awful big appetite. Can’t help it.”
“You got it!” Linda said brightly. On the floor at her feet was a platter of kwalkarkk ribs.
Snowclaw sniffed. “Smell that shrackk sauce. Thanks, Linda.”
“You did that pretty easily,” Gene remarked.
“I seem to have gotten the hang of it, haven’t I?” she said. “It’s easy once you know you can do it. Once you accept the fact that you can do the impossible.”
“Superwitch strikes again.”
“Ta-daaa!” She scowled. “Hey, smile when you say that, buddy. How about ‘Supersorceress’?”
“Sure.” Gene was thinking. “The first time you did it, back at the armory — how did you manage to materialize something that you’d never seen before? Snowclaw’s ribs, I mean.”
“I really don’t know.”
“Snowy, do they taste like the real thing?”
Snowclaw grunted through a mouthful of meat and bone. “Best … I ever tasted,” he managed to get out.
“Well, maybe I’m picking up thought waves from Snowy,” Linda ventured.
“Which makes you a telepath as well.”
“Wow. I really don’t know.”
“Do you have to visualize, picture the thing you’re conjuring?”
“No. I just wish for it, and it’s there.”
Gene nodded. “That’s really something.”
Linda said, “What do we do now?”
Gene slapped the hilt of his sword. “Find a way out.” He noticed that Linda was looking off abstractedly.
“What is it, Linda?”
“I wonder if anyone’s discovered I’m missing.” She looked at Gene. “I’m a Missing Person, you know. Officially. So are you.”
“Yeah. My parents will be wondering how I could have disappeared inside the USX building.”
They were silent for a moment, thinking, walking along the dim corridor. Snowy had gone up ahead. He stood at the intersection of two hallways and sniffed in one direction, then the other.
He turned and said, “Which way, guys?”
Keep, Upper Levels
Kwip had been lost for hours; he didn’t think he could find his way back to the dining hall. But that was no loss, as there was nothing back there but suspicious eyes. He had no wish to conduct his business under their gaze. His hand went to the rucksack slung across his back. He had found it in a storeroom, and had filled it with enough victuals to last three days, five if he rationed them. He’d worry about finding more food when they ran out.
He was walking down a wide hallway with rooms opening off to either side. Most of the rooms were bare, a few sparsely furnished. Some had windows, and some of these looked out on strange vistas. Kwip had stopped to look occasionally. Lately he had not. Even the exotic can, in time, become mundane.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, Kwip thought. So huge a place, so empty, so useless. Why had its builders gone to the trouble?
A furnished room! Kwip hurried inside. It was a spacious bedroom with all the appointments, a grand room fit for a woman of high station. He flung open the armoire and tore all the fine gowns from their hooks, looked them over, tossed them aside. He went to a chest of drawers and rifled through it, finding nothing but more women’s things, all lace and fluff and silk. At the foot of the canopied bed he knelt to examine a leather trunk with a simple but effective lock. He stood and kicked the trunk, then grabbed one side handle and lifted. He could barely move it. He drew his sword and attempted to pry off the brass hinges at the back. He soon gave it up and tried prying the latch in front. For some reason it popped open easily.
There was nothing in the trunk but stones, and Kwip had the sudden suspicion that he had again become the butt of someone’s little joke. He glanced about nervously.
Presently he sigh
ed and surveyed the room. There were other pieces of furniture, but he had no desire to continue the search.
He sniffed, smelling the sea.
He moved to the window, and a little of his original sense of wonder came over him. This aspect was suspended only a few feet above the open ocean. Whitecaps necked the windy surface, and the glare of sunlight danced on its waters. No land in sight. He looked out briefly, the salt spray hitting him; then he turned to go. But something made him turn back. Looking out again, he noticed it. The window was descending at a slow but steady rate. He stood and watched, estimating that window and waterline would meet within a very short time. He couldn’t conceive of what would ensue when they did, nor did he want to find out. He left the room.
There were no more rooms after that. The hallway continued for what seemed like a league, with no end in sight. After walking a good quarter hour, he stopped and thought of going back. Perhaps he had been to hasty.…
He heard a distant rumble. More battle sounds? No. He turned and looked back down the corridor.
Apparently the unthinkable had happened. A gray, churning mass of water was rushing toward him.
He ran, knowing he couldn’t outrun it, dashing on in the blind hope of finding a stairway, preferably one leading up, or a room with an aspect he could duck through and escape. Anything would do for the moment, anything but this endless corridor. The view ahead was not encouraging. The hallway continued its interminable way to an infinite vanishing point.
With the waters roaring at his heels, he saw an opening in the wall ahead and put on a burst of speed. It was a stairwell! — one that began on this level and led up. Jubilantly, Kwip dashed into it.
It went up two flights and dead-ended into a blank stone wall.
“Gods of a pig’s arse! Not again!” He halted, stumbling, then turned to regard the gush of water that had followed him up the stair.
He took a deep breath and contemplated his end. “Aye, so this is it.” Perhaps it was meant to be. He had escaped the hangman’s noose, only to die by water in a castle of dreams.
Ah, well, he thought. As good a way to die as any.
He backed against the wall as the water foamed up to the landing. He watched it rise until it filled the truncated stairwell and began lapping at his boots. By the time the water’s level had reached his knees, however, its rate of climb had slowed. Hope yet. But it was fleeting. Presently the flood tide began to rise rapidly again, reaching his groin, then his waist, his chest, his neck …
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