The Dastard (30 page)

“Oh, sure--blame it all on me, dummy!”

There were definitely aspects of her personality that did not lend themselves to easy association. He wondered again whether he had been like that, when he had been without a soul. He rather feared he had. But right now he just wanted to get them safely out of here and back to the company of the two other princesses, who might be able to help. Because it was clear that Princess Melody needed her soul back, even if she didn't think so.

“I think we should find our way back to the castle,” he said carefully. “And talk with your sisters.”

“Oh, who cares about them? I want to have some fun.” She paused, her eyes flicking from his bare body to her own. “And it seems we are ready for that. Let's see if there's a good bedroom in there.”

“No, Melody! We mustn't dally.”

“Which way do you mean that?” she asked eagerly.

He realized that his statement had more than one interpretation. Her reaction was opposite to what it had been before she lost her soul. “Both ways! We must not do anything untoward, and we must get back to your sisters.”

“Untoward!” she said. “That's the first time I've heard it called that. Now I'm going in to find a bedroom, because I don't want to lie down on this garbage. You can join me for a great time, or you can go to hell.” She whirled around, her greenish hair flinging out, and walked to the front door of the house. The effect was electric; he wanted very much to join her, but his conscience forbade it. She was not herself, without her soul, despite her loveliness. The irony was that now that he had a soul, he was capable of selfless love, and he was feeling it increasingly for her. For the princess as she could be, when complete.

Still, he could not let her enter that dreaded house alone; there was no telling what horrors lurked therein. So he ran after her.

She yanked open the door. It groaned. She stepped inside. He followed closely.

They were in a dark hall. Then there came an eerie glow, so they could see that it led to an interior chamber. They walked down it, and every floorboard creaked. The Dastard did not like this place at all, but Melody walked right on.

He realized that in the realm of dreams, nothing was real. It was all appearance and emotion. So a person could be horrified or terrified, but could not be physically hurt. Evidently the princess had realized that, so was proceeding without fear. That was not necessarily wise. After all, the things the harpies had wanted to do to them both could have been permanently emotionally damaging even if they weren't actually physically real.

A ghost loomed up before them. It was in the form of a pirate man, with a horrendous scar across his ugly face. “Boooo!” he cried in prescribed form.

“Oh, go stuff yourself up your nose!” Melody snapped at it, brushing on by.

The ghost was taken aback. He looked at the Dastard. The Dastard shrugged; as far as he could tell there had been no defect in the performance. “Sorry,” he murmured. “She's just not in the mood.”

Not perfectly reassured, the ghost faded out. The Dastard couldn't blame it for being disgruntled.

They came to the inner chamber. This turned out to be huge. In fact, it looked bigger than the whole house from the outside. But in the realm of dreams, such things were commonplace. After all, the whole house was theoretically inside the stomach of a sea monster. The chamber was a ballroom, with an enormous chandelier shedding weirdly colored light on the spacious empty scene below.

Music started, and ghostly couples coalesced, dancing gracefully. The men were in black suits with long tails; the women were in flowing dresses that flung out when they whirled. They all looked quite competent. The overall effect was beautiful. The Dastard realized that it was the soul that enabled him to appreciate that beauty; he would not have cared about its elegance, if he even noticed it, before getting re-souled.

“There's a stairway on the far side,” Melody said. “Come on.” She started across, walking right through a ghost couple. Obviously she was not picking up on scenic elegance.

There was a sighing scream, and the music stopped. The couples faded. The chandelier dimmed and went out. The two of them were left in an almost completely dark chamber.

“Spoilsports,” Melody muttered, pausing. “Well, who needs you? All I want is a bedroom and a naked man.” She took a step forward.

And screamed. She had stepped into a hole. The Dastard leaped to catch her as she fell. He hauled her back to the firmer floor near the hall. She halfway tumbled into his arms, panting with alarm over her narrow escape. Even in its disarray, her body was sleek and smooth and delicious.

“You're all right now,” he said reassuringly.

“Get your hands off me, jerk,” she snapped.

He let her go. Appreciation, too, seemed to be a function of the soul. He was learning a lot about soul properties, now that he had one and she did not.

If everything in the dream realm was illusion, why had she almost fallen into the pit? Maybe the fall was illusion too, but still terrifying.

He squatted and reached forward across the floor. The boards were twisted, and there was indeed a hole there--one that had not existed before. How could that be?

“Make some light, dunderhead.”

He hummed, thinking of light, and it came. Now the full specter of the chamber was revealed: The floor was mainly a pit into which the floorboards had long since fallen. There was a glisten of water showing below the tumbled wood. There was no safe way across. The walls were festooned with cobwebs, and the chandelier looked as if it was about to drop into the pit. The illusion had not been the pit, but the ballroom floor.

“I think we had better leave this house before it collapses on us,” he said.

“No. I came here for a bedroom, and I will have it. The ghosts had no trouble getting around.”

“The ghosts aren't real.”

“Neither is this whole house! If they can use it, so can we.”

He was uncertain of the validity of her logic, but did not wish to quarrel. “Maybe if we showed them some respect--”

“Respect! For ghosts?!”

“Well, it is their house. We are merely visitors here.”

“What do you want to do--dance with them?”

She was being sarcastic, but it gave him a notion. “Yes, maybe we should join them in their dance. To show that we appreciate their ball.”

“Give me strength,” she muttered disdainfully. But then she performed another emotional reversal. She was good at that. “Well, then, let's get with it, oaf.” She held out her arms, dance fashion.

The Dastard could have wished for a more appealing invitation, but reconciled himself to the situation. He stepped into her embrace, setting his right arm carefully around her slender waist and taking her right hand in his left, in the classic ballroom dance position. For the first time in his life, he was glad the centaur tutors had made him learn that form. As he did so, the music resumed, the chandelier illuminated, and the ghostly dancers reappeared. They whirled across the intact floor, their extending shadows making artistic patterns across the walls.

The living couple moved out onto the main floor, dancing carefully. As they did so, ghostly costumes appeared on them, and they were clothed. He wore a tailed suit and dancing shoes; she wore a flaring gown, tiny slippers, and a sparkling diadem in her hair. The Dastard felt strong and competent and graceful. Princess Melody became a softly supple woman, embracing him, absolutely beautiful.

They were ideally matched. Their steps were perfectly timed, their feet touching the polished floor just so. They moved among the other dancers in a serene pattern, weaving their way through the sublime tapestry of the dance.

He studied her face, appreciating the lines and planes of her beauty. She had become part of the ghostly splendor, and if he had not yet fallen completely in love with her, he realized he was getting there.

Her face turned to his face, and her exquisite eyes met his. This scene was enchanting, and she was enchanting him. He tried to fight it, but was powerless to resist so divine a tide.

“Kiss me,” she murmured.

He bent his head down, and their lips approached each other. They touched, and the glory of that contact radiated out to transform his being. He seemed to be floating.

When he regained his sense of position, they were on the far side of the ballroom. “The stairs,” she whispered.

Oh. Yes. He danced her to the side, and into the alcove that was the stair landing. But when they stopped, the scene began to fade. The decrepit house faded into view.

“Dance, dope!” she said urgently. That rather spoiled the mood. She was making nice only to fool the ghosts, just as he had made nice in the past only when he wanted something he couldn't get any other way. He had a lot to answer for, these past four years.

They danced in place, at the foot of the stairs, and the scene returned in full pomp. Then they incorporated the stairway into their dance. He lifted her to land two steps up, then leaped to join her. They twirled in place, then repeated the process, ascending. The main dance on the ballroom floor continued; the ghosts didn't mind where they were, as long as they danced.

The second floor was well appointed, with a carpeted hall and fine old pictures on the walls. They danced on down to the nearest door, opened it, and found an ideal bedroom. They danced in, and continued their dance beside the bed.

“You are a handsome man,” she said, smiling.

“Thank you.” He knew he wasn't.

“And smart.”

“Why are you complimenting me?”

“I want to have some fun with you before I leave you for other entertainments.”

She was being as brutally honest as he used to be, not from any sense of integrity, but because she didn't care about his feelings. She didn't care what was right or wrong or moral, or for him. This was just a passing thrill, and of a type he could not ethically accept. “We must get out of here.”

“Not yet.” She let go of his hand and began to draw down the gossamer décolletage of her gown.

He was awfully tempted, but he knew she would never be doing this if she had her soul. “No--we must leave now.”

“I think not.” She drew the neckline down farther, uncovering rather more than was seemly. The odd thing was that the effect was more startling than her full nudity had been before. Clothing had magic, and it wasn't limited to panty magic.

“We have to,” he said desperately. He knew that the only way to stop her was to get her out of here. He had developed a notion how to accomplish that--if it worked.

She shrugged. “All right.” She let go of him and danced in place.

He hardly dared feel relieved. He knew she could not be trusted. “Then let's go right now.”

She reached down to catch the hem of her gown. “How do you propose to do that?”

“I think I can use your magic to conjure us to the next setting, as we leave this one. With your cooperation we can return to the castle.”

She hoisted the hem, showing a dainty knee. He had resisted that sight before, but now she was concentrating, and the lure was much stronger. “Really?”

“Yes. All we have to do, really, is wake from our mutual dream. That can't always be done from inside the dream, but I think in this case--”

Suddenly she lifted the dress up to her waist, showing her ghostly panties. But he was already turning away, having anticipated this mischief, so managed to avoid being freaked out. He clamped his eyes shut, turned back, and lunged for her. He wrapped his arms around her slender torso.

“Well, that's more like it,” she said. She thought he was overcome by desire to signal the stork with her. Actually that was something he very much wanted to do, but he was managing to suppress the urge. She embraced him in return. “Now just carry me to the bed, and--”

He started humming, concentrating on Castle Maidragon. He carried her toward the bed--then beyond it, toward the window.

“Now wait a minute,” she protested. “That's not the bed.”

“We're leaving the scene,” he said, standing before the window. “We can jump out, and--”

“Oh no you don't!” she cried, struggling. “First we're getting our clothes off, and--”

He tickled her. She screamed, being super ticklish, as an innocent princess had to be. With luck, she wouldn't remember in time that she was no longer innocent. Her arms flailed wildly. He resumed humming, then leaped through the window, carrying her along.

They landed in the hallway outside the Factor's door. The Dastard was on the floor, with Melody on top of him, their arms and legs hopelessly entangled. They were back in their original clothing.

“Well now,” she said. She shifted around so that she could kiss him. “This may be as good a place as any to do it. There's no garbage here.”

“No!” he cried. “You have to stop this! You wouldn't do it if you had your soul.”

“But I don't have my soul,” she replied in a reasonable tone. “So it's all right.” She yanked down her blouse, half stunning him with another naughty glimpse. Had his eyes focused on both halves of her flesh, he would have been gone.

He scrambled up, staggering, and managed to turn his back before succumbing. “I won't look at you.”

“Then I'll just have to open that door again,” she said.

“No!” He turned, trying to catch her and stop her, but she hoisted up her skirt and freaked him out with her panties. His eyes glazed over, blinding him; all he could see was a blaze of mounded green.

She embraced him again. “One last chance, Das.” She kissed him.

“No!” he cried a third time, though it was all he could do to force the word out.

“Then the hell with you.” She let him go and walked away. She was going for the door, and he was unable to recover fast enough to stop her.

“Harmony!” he called. “Rhythm! Stop her. Abolish the castle!” Did they hear him? Did they know what was going on?

Then the castle began falling apart. The hallway collapsed, but the stones that fell on them lacked substance; they were becoming cloudstuff, then dissipating. Soon they stood in the forest, and the girl Becka was emerging from a pile of misty rubble.

“We couldn't interfere while you were in the comic strip,” Harmony began.