Castle for Rent (17 page)

“There won't be any destruction, Deems. Not unless Inky chooses to detransmogrify the castle."

Deems sat up. “Gods. Do you think he would?"

“Undoing the spell that maintains the castle and then immediately recasting the spell would be the optimum solution for him. In the process, everything and everyone in the place would ... well,
vanish
for want of a better word. No one really knows what happens. In any event, it would be a new shuffle of the deck. Recast the spell, transform the demon back into a castle, and everything reverts to what it was before any of this started.” She took a sip of wine. “Of course, there is one problem. All of that is vastly more easy to say than to do. He was lucky once, a year or so ago. I don't think he'd risk it again. He'll see the wisdom of compromise. Eventually."

“You must open the gateway for him."

“No! Let him stew a while longer yet. We have to convince him we mean business."

“What if he breaks through on his own?"

“If he does, we take him into custody. It's that simple."

“Nothing is simple with old Inky, Ferne. You ought to know that."

“Oh, I know. I know."

Deems sat back and stared moodily into his glass. “If you would have suggested to me that we would have to deal with the Hosts, I would never have gone along with this. I would have taken Inky's side—gold or no gold—and would have fought you tooth and nail."

“I realize that,” she said. “But that's not what happened. Is it?"

Deems fell silent for a long spell. Then he took a deep breath. “Damn me.” He drained his glass in one gulp. “I've been a bloody fool."

“It's a little too late to back out, Deems dear."

“I've got to talk to Inky."

“No! You can't reach him."

“The Projector."

“I wouldn't advise it."

“Advise me no advice, woman.” He rose, crossed to the table that held the Projector, and began fiddling with the device's control panel.

“Deems, Deems,” she said in mock lament. “The Projector merely channels a spell and gives it form. The operator has to provide the mental energy."

“I know there's a simple spell that sets up the device. Then it's merely a matter of calibrating—"

“Yes, you can find a book of standard utility spells—in the library. Your problem is fighting your way through hordes of invaders to get there."

Deems stopped fiddling and thrust his fists against his hips, glaring at his sister. “Damned meddling bitch!"

“How
dare
you speak that way to me."

“I'll speak any way I bloody well—” He broke off. Brow lowered, Deems eyed her as if seeing both her and the situation anew. “You never meant to bargain with Inky, did you? You want to keep him out of the castle. Do away with him entirely, if you have to. Isn't that true?"

Ferne settled back in the recliner and lifted the glass to her lips. “And if it is?” she said quietly.

“But...” He threw out his arms helplessly. “But you can't hope to prevail against the Hosts by yourself! Surely you don't think yourself the equal of Inky as a magician. No one is. He's the master of Perilous! Only he can tap the castle's deepest source of power."

“Because he's a man?"

Deems was brought up short. “Eh? Because he's a—? Well ... yes!” He shrugged expansively. “I
suppose
."

“You suppose."

“This is ridiculous! Females may succeed to the throne only in the absence of a suitable male heir apparent. You know that as well as I do. What of it?"

“That is the tradition. But it has no bearing on who may tap the castle's power. You silly men have simply got to realize—"

Deems silenced her with an upraised hand. “Stop confusing the issue! I see now what you've done, and why you did it. This was all a scheme to divide the family, clearing the way for your bid to power. You haven't the least intention of sharing power—with Inky, or me, or anyone else! You want all of it!"

“I deserve it,” she said. “I'm the only one who's not afraid to use it."

“But surely you realize that the Hosts don't mean to share with you, either!"

“I don't know about that. They have certain ambitions, but they can be placated for the time being. Pacified."

“Appeased, you mean?"

Ferne's blue eyes turned to ice. “I needed allies, powerful allies! Who was I to turn to? You? Trent? Or maybe my fat cow of a sister."

Deems grunted. “Dorcas is the best one of a bad litter."

“Pig shit. I needed allies, and I found them."

“Not yet. Not while they're still ensconced in their hellhole."

She laughed, throwing her head back.

Appalled, Deems regarded her. “What in the name of all the gods...” Understanding bloomed on his face. Paling, he brought his hand to his throat. “The gods be merciful. Woman, tell me you haven't already unbuttoned them."

She continued laughing and he knew.

Ashen-faced, he sat down and stared at the floor. When he spoke, his voice was empty. “Inky's the only card you hold. He's the threat you're holding over them. The threat that Inky will return and detransmogrify the castle."

“And I have him bottled up,” she said, still giggling. “Corked.” She burst into another bout of laughter.

“It was the security spell on the Hosts' portal that you undid first,” Deems droned on. “One of the oldest in the castle. One of Ervoldt's spells. No wonder Inky was concerned. No wonder he raced off to earth to find Trent. Trent specialized in ancient magic. Inky probably needed his advice. Doubtless Inky suspected Trent of having done it, but in any event he had to confront him."

Recovered from her mirth, Ferne regarded her brother with raised eyebrows. “Deems, this new pastime of yours may prove your undoing."

“Eh?"

“Thinking. You've done so little of it in your life. This much exertion all at once ... Well, it can't be healthy.” She took another sip. “Anyway, you're wrong in all the details. Details are important, Deems."

Deems slowly rose and crossed to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself another glass of sherry, retired to the leather throne again, and sank into it.

Suddenly he bolted upright and set his glass down on a side table. He fixed his sister in a penetrating stare. “Here's more thinking for you. If the Hosts have had access to the castle for—how long?—six months? If they've had time to send out scouts, or agents, or whatever, may they not now be on Earth trying to do Inky in?"

“I doubt it."

“You doubt it? Great gods, woman! You mean to say the possibility exists?"

“Well, yes. Before I stabilized the Earth portal, it was free for anyone to use, if it could be located. But why would the Hosts send agents to Earth?"

“To keep an eye on you, of course! Tell me, are any of your servants at your Earth residence?"

“Of course, some of my bodyguards. Their job is to keep Inky from—"

“Listen to me. Have you hired any new servants within the last six months?"

She thought. “Yes. Those bodyguards, in fact.” Suddenly Ferne became motionless, a strange light in her eyes. She stared off for a moment. Then she shrugged, and drank the last of the sherry. “I suppose the possibility
does
exist.” Smiling sweetly, she held out her glass. “Do be a dear and fetch me more wine."

 

 

 

Temple

 

“Try it again,” Gene said.

Linda put out her hands and closed her eyes. A china plate with a hamburger on it materialized on the stone floor of the temple.

Gene picked the hamburger up and bit into it, tasting it clinically. “Better than the last one,” he pronounced. “Edible, but still not what you'd call gourmet."

“It's getting a little easier,” Linda said. “But I doubt if I'll ever be as good as I was in the castle."

“Well, that goes without saying. The castle is a huge power source."

Sheila said, “Let me see if I understand this. You're saying that this world is one in which magic works. Right?"

“Right,” Gene said.

“But it's not the same kind of magic that's in the castle?"

“Right again. Different universe, different laws."

“But you say you're slowly getting used to this different kind of magic."

Linda answered, “Sort of. But, again, it's not going to be the same as back in the castle. Everything is
real
easy there. Maybe too easy. We got spoiled."

“At least we won't starve,” Gene said, holding up the half-eaten hamburger. Then he looked over at Snowclaw, who was sleeping on the narrow stone bench near the wall. “But that doesn't solve all our problems."

“It doesn't solve any of them,” Linda said. “We can't stay here."

“Right,” Gene said. “So, I say we try it."

“I'm not up to it yet,” Linda said. “If I can't conjure a hamburger right, how the heck could I do a portal?"

“Well, let's look at it this way. There are an infinite number of possible hamburgers. Now, an
haute cuisine
, gourmet, taste-treat kind of hamburger is going to be pretty hard to find out of all those others. But there's only one portal to the castle from this world. One. It shouldn't be hard for you to find it and fetch it here. You follow?"

Linda giggled. “Gene, you always have a strange way of looking at things. I don't think I find things and fetch them. I just whip ‘em up and they appear."

“No, I think you
do
find things. How else can you explain your ability to conjure things you've never seen before? Like the first time you whipped up food for Snowy, food that you'd never imagined, let alone set eyes on. What I think you do is this. You send out feelers or sensors into interuniversal space and locate stuff. Then, somehow, you pull the stuff in."

Linda looked dubious. “How do I know where to find what I want?"

“I don't know. I'm not saying this is the actual way it happens. It's just one way to think about it. Skeptical-rationalist that I am, I can't bring myself to believe that you create something out of nothing. It must come from somewhere. There must be a law of conservation of ... whatever. Mass, energy, you name it, even in magical universes. What you do is merely find stuff and transport it. It takes energy, and the castle supplies that. But the amount of energy you'd need to create something even as small as a quarter-pound hamburger would be stupendous!
E
equals
mc
squared—you know?"

“Yeah, I think I get you. But what's going to supply the power here?"

“This temple, maybe. You said you could feel it. It's a different kind of power. Think of it this way: the castle's AC, but this world is DC. Actually it's probably better to say that they're both AC, but not in phase—but forget that, forget that. Do you get the drift?"

“Gotcha,” Linda said.

“I understand it,” Sheila said. “I think you ought to go ahead and try, Linda."

“I'm game,” Linda said.

Gene got up and searched the stone floor. “I saw some markings over here. Yeah, here's one of them. See this circle?"

“There's another over there,” Linda said.

“Yeah, there are four of them, positioned around the altar. From what I can glean from the murals, four priests stood in those circles when they conjured the portal."

“If that's what they did."

Gene threw out his arms. “Hey, look. What do we have to lose?"

“Famous last words."

“It'll work, it's gotta. What I'm proposing is this. There are four of us. We each stand in one of these circles, and we all do our best to conjure together. It might work if we try to reproduce as many aspects of the conjuring ceremony as we can."

“Can't hurt."

“Wait a minute,” Sheila said. “I hope you don't expect any magic from me. I know I don't have any."

“You never can tell,” Gene said. “It usually sneaks up on you."

“Well, okay. It can't hurt."

“Yeah. You know, it is starting to sound like famous last words. But we gotta try it. Okay, everybody. Sheila, wake up Snowy, will you?"

Sheila did, and Snowy woke up with a start. Snarling, he lashed out with one arm. Sheila ducked, narrowly missing having her head taken off.

“Whew! Is he better after he's had his coffee?"

“Sorry, Sheila,” Gene said. “He's suffering pretty bad in this heat."

“Oh, it's all right. He didn't mean it. Did you, Snowy?"

Snowclaw rubbed his eyes. He growled again, then groaned and got up.

“How are you feeling, big fella?” Gene asked.

Snowy made a gesture that said, “
So-so.
"

As best he could, Gene tried to explain what they were about to do. Snowclaw seemed to understand.

They all took their positions. Silence fell in the temple. Outside, distant hooting calls echoed in the jungle, punctuating a wider, greater silence. Dripping water plop-plopped somewhere off in a dark corner of the ruined building.

Sheila felt a warm rivulet of sweat trickle down her back, but she didn't dare scratch. Everyone looked deadly serious, and she didn't want to break the mood. She remained skeptical about the whole enterprise, but did her best to concentrate, calling up images of the portals she had seen. There hadn't been very many, and there wasn't very much to visualize except for a hole in the air, which was a difficult concept to grasp, much less visualize. She tried thinking of the castle and how much she wished she were back there. Not because she liked the place, but because the castle seemed one step closer to the world she had lost.

But was that the way she really felt? Part of her wanted to go back home, but another part was curious about the castle itself. She had found new friends there, people who shared some of the same personal problems. Everyone had been friendly so far, for the most part. But that wasn't the entire explanation for her attraction to the place. Where else in the world—in the universe? (or universes?)—would one be likely to meet a wide variety of beings, intelligent beings,
who were not human
? She felt privileged, somehow, to have met Snowclaw. She hadn't seen many other nonhumans besides the Bluefaces, but she'd heard enough to have been struck by the wonder of it all.