Castle Perilous (17 page)

“You needn't remind me,” she snapped.

“I merely wish to — ”

“I know what is your wish, and I know what you are about. You have had ample warning, Osmirik.”

“I have. I grow weary of it.”

“You are impertinent?”

“Your pardon, my lady.”

Osmirik thought, Could she know?

He said, “Her Ladyship must know that I seek only knowledge, and that my scholarly interest in these proceedings is keen enough.”

“You show great interest in scholarly minutiae, yet ultimate knowledge seems to hold no attraction for you.”

“I beg your leave to differ, my lady. It does.”

“So? Do you realize the magnitude of the advance represented solely in the spell that charges the rods?”

“I do, my lady. If you recall, I rendered some preliminary incantations from the ancient Tryphosite.”

“So you did, and so acrawl with scholar's glosses were they that I could barely read them.”

“Merely a desire to be thorough, my lady. There were many questionable passages.”

“No doubt.”

“I do understand that the spell taps some fundamental force.”

“Aye,” Melydia said. “Likely the fundamental force of the universe itself.”

“Natural philosophers have long speculated that the universe is reducible to only a very few forces. Do you think there is but one?”

“I am not a natural philosopher, scribe. I seek only practical knowledge. But, yes, I think there is but one, and the Spell Stone is its focal point. He who controls the Stone controls all.”

But you do not seek to control the Stone, Osmirik thought. You seek only to undo the control of another. That way lies madness, and perhaps death for us all.

His thoughts were interrupted by exclamations among the guards ahead.

“What is it?” Osmirik called, but then he saw. They had not yet arrived at the branching, but here was another corridor leading off to the right, this one lined with jewel-torches. It had not been there before.

“We're in luck, my lady,” he said.

“Send two soldiers down there and see if it leads anywhere.” She turned to the young servant, a boy of about fourteen. “Give me the rods.”

The lad fumbled in a leather pouch, handed one rod over, then searched the pouch again. “Your Ladyship, they were both in here. . . .” He rummaged frantically.

“How is it possible? I just now gave them to you.”

“Your Ladyship, I — ”

She struck him across the face. “Little fool!”

“I did not hear it drop, my lady,” Osmirik said. “I fancy we all would have heard it on this hard stone.”

She shook the boy. “Then where is it?”

“Your ladyship, I don't know!”

“I will go back and look, my lady,” Osmirik said, taking a lantern from another servant.

Osmirik had searched back almost to the dead end when Melydia called him. Echoing down the corridor, her voice was indistinct, and he stopped to listen.

“Osmirik! Come! The little fool had it dangling from the strap on the pouch, Goddess knoweth how.”

Osmirik walked back. By the time he got there, Melydia and the rest were already a good way down the newfound corridor. He took one step to follow and almost broke his nose.

The opening had closed in an instant. Aghast, he stood within kissing distance of a featureless stone wall.

 

 

 

Keep — Middle Levels

 

“I thought you were an old hand around here,” Gene complained. They hadn't been able to find the dining room, or anything else.

Jacoby was either nonchalant or was putting up a good front. “I'm experienced enough not to be concerned when this happens now and again. Don't worry, my dear boy. They say if you just keep walking, eventually you'll find the Guest's living area. It occupies a central position in the keep, and all paths somehow lead to it.”

“Yeah, but we wandered for days before we gravitated back there,” Gene said.

Abruptly annoyed, Jacoby stopped and looked around. “I could swear I walked just a short way down the corridor from the dining hall. We must have made our mistake coming out of that sitting room. It must have been left instead of right.”

“Our mistake?”

“Sorry, mine.”

Linda said, “Gene, I don't see how you can blame Mr. Jacoby for getting lost when we've — ”

“Okay, okay,” Gene said curtly. “But we're still in dangerous country — and he doesn't have a weapon.”

“Don't worry about me, young man. I can take care of myself.” Jacoby sniffed the air. “You can usually smell the dining room. I don't. My only regret is that I'm getting hungrier by the minute.”

“That's no problem,” Linda said. “Want me to conjure up something?”

“Conjure . . .?” He smiled. “Of course. Your materialization talents. Coming along nicely, are they?”

“Take a look.” Linda folded her arms and twitched her nose.

It was the buffet table again, this time complete with champagne fountain. “I thought it was Terri's wedding reception,” she said.

Jacoby was impressed. “Remarkable. Large-scale materialization.” He moved to the table and spooned goose-liver paté onto a club cracker. He took a bite. “Splendid.”

Gene sat down on a carved stone bench and looked disgusted.

“Aren't you eating?” Linda asked him.

“Lost my appetite.”

Jacoby helped himself to everything in sight and sat down heavily next to Gene. He held the overburdened paper plate in a way that made it appear to be resting flat atop his immense potbelly. Gene snorted and got up. Jacoby eyed him, toadlike, munching a leg of fried chicken.

Gene walked over to Snowclaw, who was scooping gobs of sticky green porridge from a cast-iron pot and shoveling the stuff into his mouth.

“Want a taste?” he asked Gene, offering a handful.

“Uh, no thanks. Looks good, though.”

“Come on, you wouldn't touch this stuff with a harpoon. I was just kidding.”

“Yeah.”

“What's the matter, chum? You look a little depressed.”

“I guess I am. Looks like we'll never make it out of here.”

Snowclaw shrugged. “Those're the breaks. Can't say it isn't interesting here, though. Lots of adventure.”

“No complaint on that score.”

“Too damn warm, though. Look at me. I'm shedding already.” He ran his clean hand up and down his arm and came away with loose fur. “See?”

“You got humans where you come from?”

Snowclaw reflected. “Now, I've heard stories of creatures more or less like you. But the way I hear it, they're hairy and they live in trees. Kinda nasty too. Why?”

“Well, if you were unfortunate enough to share your world with the hairless variety, they'd probably hunt you for your fur. That's high-price material you got there. Finer than sable.”

“Huh,” Snowclaw said. “You don't say.”

Gene scowled. “Boy, I'm in a lousy mood.”

“Cheer up,” Linda told him through a mouthful of tuna salad.

“Yeah, Gene,” Snowclaw said. “We'll get out of here somehow. You shouldn't give up.”

“You're right. I'm letting things get to me.” He turned and cocked an eye at Jacoby. “And people,” he added.

Happily stuffing himself with fettuccini Alfredo, Jacoby appeared not to have heard.

“Now, Gene, don't be unkind. Mr. Jacoby — ”

“Jesus,” Gene said.

Linda did a take. “Huh?” Then she turned to see what Gene and Snowclaw were staring at. When she found it, she dropped her paper plate.

They were all gawking in Jacoby's direction. He stared back quizzically. “I say, is there something — ”

He turned his head and saw the human hand growing out of the wall beside him. He lurched to his feet, the contents of the plate splatting on the hard stone floor. “What the devil?”

The hand grew an arm, then a shoulder. Then a head came popping through the wall. It was a dark-bearded man with dark eyes and a wary expression. He looked, edged back when he saw Snowclaw, then recognized Jacoby.

“Your pardon, sir. I did not mean to intrude.”

Jacoby exhaled windily. “You gave us a devil of a fright, but no matter.”

Kwip stepped out from the wall. “An eternity of pardon.”

“It's nothing. I see you've found your talent.”

“Aye, I'm damned to ghost through walls like the dead. But damn me twice if spirits can get hungry. . . .” His gaze locked on the buffet table.

“Some angel food cake?” Gene offered.

 

 

 

Keep — Deep Levels

 

the soldiers were tired, the servants exhausted. Melydia had called for a rest here in the dank lower regions of the castle. She was far from hungry, but knew she needed sustenance, so she took two biscuits and a flagon of water, found a niche with a seat-high ledge, sat down and ate. As she did, her eyes searched the shadows around her. Shapes swam within them, shapes she knew were side-effects of her spell-enhanced strength and endurance. But they were emblematic of the many minds and spirits whose presence she sensed. The castle swarmed with them, their many emanations echoing within her head. She could make little sense of it all — occasionally a voice or a thought would enter her mind unbidden, then just as quickly leave. Most of the time what she heard was nothing but faint background noise, which she could ignore. But as she neared the Spell Stone, the din grew increasingly loud.

But there was something else. Something unusual was happening. She thought she heard a voice, a single voice calling out above the noise. Calling . . . perhaps to her. She could not quite make it out, but the voice had been growing more and more distinct.

She put down her half-eaten biscuit and closed her eyes, threw her mind open to the tumult.

. . . a faint buzzing . . . a sense of loss, of dread . . . boredom . . . hunger. Fear, stark fear. Merriment. Music . . . somewhere . . . she told me that just to get my goat, but by God she'll . . . dreaming, falling, sleep and death — hide, hide, hide . . . a great bell tolling somewhere, far off — a sense of times past — the smell of mint and angel spice . . . WHO SEEKS ME? — the roar of the sea — near? where? . . . get away quickly! . . . voices, echoes, the sound of water dripping . . . WHO SEEKS ME? WHO SEEKS TO BREAK MY CHAINS? . . . a shadow falls with the sound of velvet against desire . . . footsteps in the darkness — the yowling of some fearsome beast . . . WHO ARE YOU, YOU WHO FOLLOW A PATH THAT TENDS TOWARD THAT WHICH HOLDS ME? . . . WHERE ARE YOU? SPEAK TO ME. SPEAK —

“Who calls?” Melydia shouted.

I hear you. Is it you?

“Who calls me?” Her whisper held an edge of fear.

I know not who I am. I thought you would tell me.

“How can I tell you if I do not even see you?”

I suppose you are right. Alas.

“Where are you?”

Where? The word has little meaning.

“How can that be?”

I know not. I know so little. I sense that I exist, yet I contain so many existences within me. They are not part of me, however.

Melydia stood, sudden understanding flashing in her eyes. She knew. She had not thought it possible.

“It is I who seek you,” she said. “It is I who want to set you free!”

I have found you. Please tell me — what are you about?

“I endeavor to find the Spell Stone.”

Ah. The name resonates. It is . . .

“That which holds you in bondage.”

I feel it is true. But where . . . ?

“You do not know its location?”

I sense you. . . . I also sense . . .

She waited.

Yes . . . yes. I perceive a relationship, between you and the thing.

“Can you tell when I get closer?”

Yes. I think so. Yes.

“Then you can help me.”

This I will do. You are my liberator.

“I am. The more you help me, the more you hasten the hour of your liberation.”

I have sensed your coming for some time.

“I have been long in seeking.”

Because of you I will soar again. Again I will scale the cold heights, feel the air above the earth, see the black skies and the burning sun. . . .

“Yes, you will.”

I will destroy . . .

“You will destroy my enemies.”

I . . . ?

“Yes. In return for my labors on your behalf, you will do my bidding.”

Ah. A bargain. Is this not what it is called?

“It is. Agreed?”

I sense I have no choice.

“None.”

Then . . . we are agreed.

“Good. Abide. I will call thee when I need thee.”

I obey.

She turned and walked back down the corridor to where the servants and soldiers were still taking their meal. When she saw their faces, she stopped. They were all staring at her, bewildered, fearful.

They had heard only her voice. She thought: Belike they think me mad.

“I am in contact with the demiurge whose embodiment is the castle itself,” she told them. “I command it. With its help, we will find the Stone.”

This seemed to allay their fears — or perhaps plant the seeds of new ones. No matter, she thought. They will all die soon.

She was hungry now. She asked for and was given bread, a slice of cheese, a hank of dried, salted meat. She returned to her niche to eat.

 

 

 

Keep — Upper Levels

 

osmirik was near exhaustion, but kept climbing. The smell of books grew ever stronger. He knew the library was on one of these high floors. The smell had led him up here.

He had first noticed his peculiar new power shortly after he had become separated from Melydia, a happenstance he regretted not the slightest. In fact, his intention was to stop her. Only the knowledge available in the castle's library could help him. At first he had despaired even of finding a way back to the invading army's staging area, but as he'd wandered blindly, the unmistakable smell of books — must, dust, and old parchment — had come to his nose and would not leave. He had always loved the smell, of course. At one point on the lower levels the odor grew quite strong. He followed his nose into a bedroom with a bookcase holding a few volumes of forgettable lyric poetry.