Castle for Rent (23 page)

Abruptly the apparition disappeared.

Trent said, “They really do fear you."

“Of course,” Incarnadine said as he finished up the spell. “Their only hope was to take me out—here, in this world, where I was handicapped."

“Will it be necessary to push the castle through another magical transformation in order to get rid of them?"

“No, not with all the modifications I made when I recast the transmogrification spell. I can now draw all the power I want without the risk of blowing the spell by overloading it. Which was always a limitation, as you know. I installed a circuit breaker, so to speak."

“Nice touch,” Trent said. “But we have to get you back inside the castle before you can tap any of that power."

“Not necessarily. Not if what I've been working on for the last few days proves fruitful."

“What's that? I thought you were trying to summon the portal."

“I gave up on that fairly quick. It was obvious someone had it nailed down. No, I came up with a gimmick that might allow me to tap castle power by means of an inductance effect through interuniversal space. I say might, because it hasn't worked so far. But now the portal is close at hand, and that might make a difference. I'm going to try it, anyway. I'll disconnect from your system first. Cover me."

“Go ahead,” Trent said. “And good luck."

As Incarnadine made movements with his hands, things sprang into existence in the hayfield and in the general vicinity of the manor house. Swirling pillars of fire blazed up. Hordes of sword-wielding monsters charged. Various airborne improbabilities commenced their unlikely maneuvers. The sky opened up and began to rain fire and brimstone, and fingers of lightning jabbed at the earth.

“They're really slinging the crap now,” Trent said edgily. “Everything they have, it looks like. This isn't going to be easy, Inky, castle power or no."

“Piece of cake, Trent old fellow,” the King of West Thurlangia said as multicolored pyrotechnics spewed from his fingertips.

 

Hand in hand with Deena, Barnaby stumbled up the stairs. Darkness above. He reached a landing, turned, and kept climbing. He didn't like this option, but the demon had come from the basement, and he didn't relish going down there. He and Deena had to hide out somewhere, and the ground floor was out, having erupted into a melee soon after the lights had gone out.

They reached the top of the stairs and a long hallway, along which a few doors were set. Barnaby tried the first and found it locked, as was the second, but the third, which lay at the end of an L, opened onto a dark, sparsely furnished bedroom. They went in and closed the door.

“I'm hidin' in here,” Deena said, sliding back the closet door. It was a walk-in closet, quite spacious enough to be considered a small room. Barnaby rolled the door shut, and they stood in darkness with their arms around each other.

“I don't know if I like this,” Deena said.

Horrible noises came from the first floor: shouts, exclamations, the sounds of furniture smashing, and the odd demoniacal howl.

Barnaby eased the closet door open and looked out. The rectangle of the bedroom window flashed incessantly as the battle raged outside.

“Still shootin' out there?” Deena whispered.

“I don't think it's shooting, exactly,” Barnaby said. “I don't really know what the hell it is. We couldn't be on Earth, because nothing like this goes on there."

“How do you know?"

Another voice in the closet said, “Can't you people see I'm busy in here? Damn inconsiderate!"

Deena tried to climb Barnaby like a ladder. Barnaby toppled backward into a tangle of clothes and coat hangers.

A match was lit and put to a candle. The form of a squatting demon became visible in the far end of the closet. Beneath its haunches the carpet had been rolled back, and a pentagram, executed in precise chalk lines, was inscribed on the oak flooring underneath.

It was a different sort of demon from the one they had seen before. Smaller, and having a somewhat rounder head, its coloring was a ghastly, cadaverous gray. Purple wormlike growths festooned the right side of its face, and festering sores afflicted its hide at various locations.

Its humanlike face registered extreme pique. “You think this is easy with all these distractions?” it demanded to know. “
You
try to cast an effective spell with all this commotion going on. And then if something screws up, it's
your
ass is on the grill. Try working under those conditions! And you just come waltzing in here without so much as knocking! Unbelievable!"

“Sorry!” Barnaby said after spitting out one end of a feather boa. He tried to get to his feet.

“Barnaby!” Deena screamed, pounding on his back. “Let's get outta here!"

“Capital idea!” the demon agreed.

It took some doing. The sliding door was stuck, caught on some debris. Finally Barnaby succeeded in rolling it back, and he and Deena crashed through into the bedroom along with a shower of hangers, peignoirs, shoe boxes, and other paraphernalia.

“I'm complaining to my union about this,” came a muttering from the closet. “Just you wait and see!"

 

Downstairs, Sheila huddled behind a sofa, calmly shifting lines of force with the power of her will. There were lines that ran crosswise—north-south (magnetic fields?)—and lines that ran perpendicular, east-west, and she had no idea what those were. All she knew, in this early stage of her understanding of Earth's magical forces, was that allocating power was a matter of shifting those lines around. Of course, what she really didn't understand was the power source that seemed very near. She couldn't fathom why there would be such a strong one so close by. She knew now that certain points of the Earth's surface, certain features of the landscape, contained great power, and she sensed quite a few of those out there, somewhere, but this nearby power source was different. Anyway, she was tapping it, too. Probably badly, very inefficiently, but she was getting power from it.

She seemed to be able to see what was happening in the living room, even though she had her eyes closed. Snowy and Gene were each battling a demon, the second demon having appeared shortly after the first one had revealed itself. Snowy and Gene were doing fairly well. They would be dead in an instant if Sheila were to stop helping them, feeding them the magical energy that transformed them into superhuman (in Gene's case; super-whatever in Snowy's) swordfighters.

Whoops! Another demon. Better do a Linda and split off ... Snowy. Yeah, split off Snowy into twins. Wait. Was that demon another demon, or a doppelganger? If it was, it was a good one, so no matter.

By the way, where was Linda? Still hiding behind the settee; good. She was out of this, no magic at all. What about the others? The one with the beard was fighting. The small guy, the librarian, was—in the library! That guy really liked books! But there were others. A guy and a black girl? Sheila couldn't get a fix on them.

A fourth demon? Good Lord. Well, now she'd have to split Gene off, too.

 

They approached the house, firing continuously at unnamed and unnameable things which attacked from every quarter. A troublesome phenomenon was developing off to the left: thin, glowing tentacles like animated garden hoses snaking through the grass, trying for encirclement. Incarnadine tried bearing to the right, but two filaments met in front of him and completed the circle. Sheets of flame rose to form a dome of fire around the brothers. Incarnadine halted. He shouted a six-syllable word twice, the first time in a normal pitch, the second in falsetto. The dome broke apart, boiling away into pink smoke.

“Nice work!” Trent called. “Hey, I think it's going to be all ri—"

Trent leaped over the rapidly widening crack in the earth that had opened at his feet. Smoke and fire issued from deep within the chasm. The crack branched off and clove the earth near Incarnadine, who leaped to the right, then did a hop, skip, and jump over a series of smaller lateral fissures that gaped in front of him.

Then the earth settled down, and the brothers continued their advance.

Streamers of scintillation had begun forming in the air around the house. They did not look particularly dangerous to Incarnadine, and he decided they were probably by-products rather than defensive phenomena, but he kept glancing at them occasionally as he walked and fired, mindful that they could develop into something.

 

As he swung his sword again and again. Gene wondered why his castle-bred skills were still with him, here, on Earth. He was thankful that they were. He would have been reduced to cold cuts otherwise.

Gene parried a wicked crosswise cut, sparks shooting off his blade. He riposted with a lunge, then feinted to the demon's right side. He whirled, did a backflip, landed on his haunches, and slashed at the demon's legs, cutting them neatly in two at the knee joints. The body toppled over an upturned chair.

Gene lurched to his feet in time to beat off a lunge by another demon. He backtracked, steadied his footing, then parried three quick cuts, riposting to his opponent's head. He feinted to the thorax, then quickly jabbed at the eyes again. The demon backed off.

Snowy's sword was like the blade of a whirling fan. He was up against two opponents and holding his own.

He was thinking of how hungry he was.

 

“Somethin's happening out there!” Deena said, peeking out the dormer window.

They had found a relatively demon-free spare bedroom. Barnaby rose and looked out the window. It was hard to describe what was going on. There were two arenas of special interest: one, what was happening out in the field in back of the house; two, what was gathering around the house itself. The latter involved sparkling auroral displays that fluttered like sheets hung out to dry in a high wind. As he and Deena watched, the phenomenon grew more intense, partially blocking their view of the strange battle that raged in the backyard.

Barnaby sank to the bed. “I can't watch anymore. Is the door locked?"

“Yeah. No, let me check it."

Deena returned. “Yeah, it's locked. I—what the
hell
are you doin'?"

“I'm tired,” Barnaby said as he turned down the bedding. “I'm going to try to get some shut-eye."

“You gonna what? You're crazy!"

Barnaby crawled between the covers. “What else is there to do? We can't get out of here. We might as well die in bed as anywhere else. Besides, if I'm dreaming all this, maybe I'll wake up."

“Well, move over."

Deena climbed in with him. They looked at each other, then pulled the covers over their heads.

 

“Singularity vortex!” Trent yelled over the noise of battle.

“Yeah!” Incarnadine agreed. That was what the sparkling streamers that had enveloped the house were beginning ominously to look like. The flux of magical energies in and around the house and its environs were starting to warp the fabric of normal spacetime. If the process continued, the house would drop right out of the continuum, possibly taking the portal along with it. Incarnadine wasn't sure exactly what would happen to the portal, but it would be nothing good; of that he was certain.

“We have to get in there,” Incarnadine shouted, unsure of being heard. A six-legged, three-horned quasi-rhinoceros charged at him. He sprayed it with green fire; the thing fissioned into six smaller animals. He laid down a blanket of fire over these. Result: three dozen reduced-scale replicas, all maniacally bent on goring him in the ankles. They continued to replicate and reduce in size, Zeno's paradox coming into play. They would keep halving the distance to their target, but never reach it. Incarnadine stepped out of their path.

There was less and less to do. Another antique aircraft circled overhead, but was not quite so magically well constituted as its predecessors; its motor sputtered, then died, and the craft fell out of the night, crashing into the formal garden on the house's east side.

More monsters, these looking a bit threadbare: another reject from a Japanese sci fi flick; a dozen more hackneyed horrors from central casting; something that looked from the waist up like Lon Chaney's werewolf, but was web-toed and scaly in the other direction. It blew up very nicely. A second anomaly shambled toward them, looking for all the world like a gorilla wearing a vintage deep-sea diving helmet. Whatever movie it was from, it didn't get very far.

There came a lull in the action.

With a weary sigh, Trent sank to one knee. “Man, I'm bushed.” He chuckled. “Getting old."

“I think we've just about broken their back."

Trent surveyed the field of battle, now empty. “No, they have something left."

“I'd be willing to bet not. That last salvo had spell exhaustion written all over it."

“Maybe so. We'd best make a run for the house now before that vortex—” Trent reconsidered. “Hell, maybe we don't want to get to the house. I'm not sure I can deal with any continuum disturbances."

“I'm fairly sure I can,” Incarnadine said. “Let's move."

Trent got up. “Whatever you say. You seem to be running the show now."

“I still need your help. Got your second wind?"

“I'm on my fifth, I think. I've lost count. You know, that inductance gimmick really—"

The earth began to shake, and thunder rolled across the meadow.

“Oh, hell,” Trent said. “Here comes the finale."

The thunder reached a crescendo, then a brilliant flash lit up the countryside.

All Hell came at them. Incarnadine looked out across the meadow and saw the Hosts of Hell in full battle regalia, arrayed to meet the foe. There were fiends, demons, hobgoblins, imps, and incubi of every description. Some sat astride great horned beasts of battle, some rode fantastic metal engines. Most charged on foot, screaming bloody mayhem.

Incarnadine flamed the first wave. They went down easily enough, but there were simply too many of them. He prepared himself for death, reciting the first lines of the Prayer of Leave-taking.