Castle Murders by JohnDeChancie


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Ordinarily an introduction or prolegomenon is expected to shed some light on the material it prefaces or introduces, enough so that the reader may find his way through an unfamiliar literary landscape. In the present case, however, this prefatory note to the work now known as The Eidolons of the King: Tales of Castle Perilous can serve only to delimit areas of shadow that shroud the work in mystery.

Particularly obscure is the question of its origin and authorship. To say that its provenance is mysterious is to put it mildly. To put the matter simply: the original paperbound volumes of the books of The Eidolons  cheap pulp paper, hastily glued bindings, garish covers and all  were found one day in the castle library, having been shelved among finely wrought leatherbound tomes of bardic sagas and epic poetry. No one knows who put them there.

Would that this were the only mystery! The deeper and more fundamental question, of course, is: Who wrote these books and how did their author come by his intimate knowledge of Castle Perilous? to say nothing of his apparent clairvoyance in producing these accounts of the storm of recent events that have raged round it.

Castle Perilous! At its very mention the heart skips a beat. For the benefit of the reader and especially for those castle Guests who seek a general orientation within these pages, it might do well to pause here and describe what the name evokes for we who make the castle our home.

For the castle itself is a mystery. Its very existence maintained from second to second by a transmutational spell laid long ago on a great demon, Castle Perilous is a magical construction. Its huge bulk  far more than what mortal hands could amass piling stone upon stone  bestrides a citadel commanding the bleak Plains of Baranthe in the Western Pale. The castle is a world in itself; but far more than that, it contains countless worlds.

Some explication is needed. As would any structure of its size, Perilous has innumerable doors and windows; but the anomaly is that some of these are portals to other worlds. Pass through any of the castles aspects, as they are called, and you cross into a strange new cosmos. There are exactly 144,000 aspects in the castle. Any resident or Guest of the castle can describe the sensation of wonder engendered when, after traversing gloomy hallways, one goes through an archway or alcove and steps out onto a vast savannah where herds of animals graze  or into a deep forest limned in cathedral light  or onto a desolate plain whereon sits a domed city under an alien sun.

But let us return to the controversy surrounding the authorship of The Eidolons.

Who is the man whose name is emblazoned (immodestly so, if I might add) across the covers of these paperbacks? Where does he live? As the language of these works is contemporary (if quasi-grammatical) English with lapses into pseudo-Elizabethan cant, one might well conclude that the author hails from the castle aspect known as Earth. But, truth be told, a thorough search of the appropriate reference volumes has failed to produce any mention of either the author or his works. Moreover, no trace can be found of the publisher whose name and address is printed on the verso of the title page! (There are attendant minor mysteries, of which we should make passing mention. The authors surname, for instance. What nationality is it? English, via Anglo-Norman? French? Anglicized Italian? The name is very possibly a pseudonym. And who are the individuals whose fawning endorsements are bruited on and about the cover? Presumably approving critics or admiring colleagues of the author, and we would be forced to conclude one or the other or both, were it not for the fact that no trace can be found of these people either. Phantoms all! Then there is the matter of the cover art. What sort of deranged soul could ? But let us set these relatively trivial matters aside.)

What, then, are we to make of all this? The only conjecture to acquire any currency has it that The Eidolons originated in a world that is a variant of Earth and one in which the castle is a fiction, not the reality we know. Here we tread disputed ground, for some hold that there are more than 144,000 universes. In fact, there may be an infinite number of them, of which the assortment provided by the castle is only a random and constantly shifting sample. Be that as it may, the conjecture that these books were generated in some backwater universe does not explain how they came to the castle, nor how they were written. Indeed, it makes the issue all the more obscure, for how could a stranger to the castle, a stranger even to the universe in which the castle exists, have produced these highly romanticized but essentially accurate accounts, even to describing the intimate thoughts and sometimes inexplicable actions of the master of Castle Perilous, Incarnadine, King by the grace of the gods and Lord of the Western Pale?

We can dismiss out of hand the notion that His Majesty penned The Eidolons, for he has categorically denied it.

Who then? A Guest? If so, why the secrecy? What is he (or she) hiding?

I have no answers to these questions, but, as Royal Librarian, I can here offer a somewhat different explanation for the origin of The Eidolons.

The castles library is an enigma in itself. Not a day goes by when the library staff is not surprised by finding some new wonder on its shelves, books that were not even suspected to exist. Marvelous books, strange books  even dangerous books. (One such describes the construction of a weapon so terrible that I cannot bring myself to describe its intended effects. Another provides schematics for an infernal device which, from what can be made of it, is intended for the express purpose of trapping a god. Which deity is to be bagged is not specified. Needless to say, these and other dismaying oddities have been sequestered in the Closed Stacks, where, if I have anything to say in the matter, they will remain indefinitely.) Where do these books come from? Not even Lord Incarnadine can say. He himself has added very few books to the collection. Thus, I am not beyond imagining that the library itself has magically generated The Eidolons. How? I know not. Why has it chosen to do so in such a peculiar idiom? I cannot fathom it. But the works exist, and that is enough for me. Their significance and importance cannot be questioned.

You hold in your hand a new edition of The Eidolons, painstakingly set in movable type from the originals, printed on vellum stock, and bound in fine-grained leather with gilt lettering and filigree. The text is faithfully reproduced without editorial emendation or gloss.

Read The Eidolons and wonder, taking with a grain of salt its melodramatic excesses. Written in an uneven style by turns breezy, serviceable, and sesquipedalian, these tales hew close to all the conventions of the popular romance, and are consequently guilty of the faults and foibles that go along with such fare. But minor narrative flaws can be ignored, as can the occasional textual solecism. (In the first volume, portfolio is used where folio is meant. A typo, or the result of the authors ignorance? We will charitably opt for the former, as folio does appear elsewhere.) It is the story, after all, that is of prime interest.

Above all, read the castle tales and enjoy them. The magic casements open; the perilous seas and all of Creation lie before you.

 Osmirik, Royal Scribe and Librarian


Foreword to the Fifth Volume

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Enigma upon enigma!

Initially only four volumes of the Castle Edition of The Eidolons were planned, for the simple reason that only four original paperbacks were found. Now, a fifth penny dreadful (Really  how long are these cheap books expected to last?  surely no more than a fortnight!) has appeared in its rightful place on the shelf next to its kin.

Curiously, the Preface to the first edition was reproduced in this new volume, thereby giving new life to the inside job theory of authorship. You may well imagine my chagrin at finding myself quoted on the back cover. Read the castle tales and enjoy!, indeed.

But what is absolutely mystifying  there are no words to express the emotion  is that this very Foreword appeared as well  paradoxically so, for I had not even begun to write it!

Yet here it is, written in an uncanny imitation of my own style, complete with expressions of my astonishment at finding it.

I will not begin an attempt at explanation. The librarian proposes, the library disposes!

Read on.

 Osmirik, Ryl. Scrb. & Lbrn.

Why the vaguely Yiddish usage? Incidentally, even this footnote appears in the original.


One

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Abelard, South Dakota

It was a stark and dormy night.

The campus was quiet. Northeastern State University wasnt the liveliest of schools, and it was Monday night, and it was snowing again, the wind howling out of the plains. Nothing to do but stay in the dorm and study.

There was enough on Melanie McDaniels study agenda. Deadlines were approaching: a paper for Philosophy 101 on Aristotles Ethics was due in three days, and one on Conrads Nostromo, for English 125 (20th Century British Novels), had been due three days ago. There was a calculus test tomorrow. Other stuff. But Melanie didnt feel much like studying. She didnt feel much like doing anything but fiddling on her computer.

Fiddling was what it was. Melanie was on-line via modem to the campuss computer bulletin board system, or BBS. Through it she was plugged into a worldwide network of amateur computer users called the CyberNet. The Net was a forum, a meeting place, for people who liked to gab about anything and everything. The discussions were grouped into topic-areas, with subjects ranging from current events to Star Trek to computer software. Melanie posted messages in many areas, but she particularly liked Woman Talk: The National Womens Forum, a cross between a slumber party and a backroom political caucus.

The cathode-ray tube of Melanies IBM clone displayed:

To: Melanie McDaniel

From: Cindy Thayer

Msg

Subject: Men again!

I second the emotion. Men are congenitally polygamous, as in Higgamus Piggamus. When WERE that way, were sluts. You cant win, kid. Sorry you lost him. But there are a lot of fish in that sea  except that theyre all kind of slimy and scaly. Keep your chin up. Bye!

Cindy



Origin: The Boardinghouse: Cooperstown, NY (1:398/276.9)

She looked out the window. Icy snowflakes ticked against the glass. Abelard was completely blotted out. Nothing was visible except an outside light in the quadrangle, a yellow halo in the darkness. She thought about Chad and about how the last thing he had said to her was that he needed space and that the relationship wasnt going anywhere and that he needed to be free of commitments in order to concentrate on getting through a tough term on his way to his economics degree. Maybe when he was through grad school and had his MBA hed be ready for a serious relationship.

Yeah? So then what was he doing now, impaled as he was on the claws of Nadine Borkowski? She was into him deep. Hed even cut his hair and sold his BMW motorcycle. She wasnt about to ride on the back of that thing, so what did he need it for? Yes, Nadine. Anything you say, Nadine.

Chad wasnt polygamous. He was just dumb. Dumb to fall for that domineering, scheming, lowborn, vile, deceitful 

She took a deep breath. So what? Shed lost him, and that was that. Did she still love him? Of course; he was terrifically good-looking and a lot of fun. But someone else had snared him, and Melanie was history. Life goes on.

Yes, she was still in love with him.

Melanie typed at the keyboard, telling the BBS to search for messages with the name McDaniel in the To: line. A pair popped up, and she keyed in the digits for the first one.

To: Melanie McDaniel

From: Fran DiMiro

Subject: Abortion

The Fundamentalists arent going to change tactics now. Sure, some recent court decisions have been going their way, but

Melanie squelched the message. Another go-around on the abortion issue. She wasnt in the mood for serious discussion right now. Besides, she didnt know how she felt about the issue any more. For years she had harbored the suspicion, unspoken and even unrealized until very recently, that if she were indeed ever faced with the decision of whether to have an abortion, she wouldnt be able to go through with it. Not because of moral qualms, but general queasiness.

Well, now she was faced with it. She was almost sure she was pregnant with Chads baby. You dont miss two periods and put it down to the whims of nature. Not if you knew your diaphragm had slipped off on at least one occasion. There was an outside chance that the missed periods were due to something else, but 

An abortion? She just didnt think she could go through with it. Funny how you could intellectually believe in a thing and not be able to accept it emotionally.

Without logging off the system, she left the desk and lay down on the bed to cry quietly for a while.

When she was done she got up and sat back down at the computer. She hoped The Blues werent returning: her depression. She had suffered with it off and on since her early teens, and had once been prescribed medication for it. Now, what with Chad and the pregnancy, a bad bout of The Blues was a danger.

Drying her eyes, she punched in the other message number.

To: Melanie McDaniel

From: Linda Barclay

Msg

Subject: Boyfriends

Melanie smiled. She liked Linda and had been exchanging messages with her for several months over the private channel of the system. Linda knew everything about Chad and about Chads straying off to Nadine. Melanie had been very open, spilling everything but the pregnancy. That was still top secret.

The body of Lindas message read:

You sounded pretty down in your last post. Did something new happen? I mean something BAD new? If so, tell me about it. Dont stew. I know youve heard it all before, but it isnt the end of the world when your boyfriend dumps you. Life goes on. Doesnt help, does it? Okay, but talk about it. It might stop hurting just a little bit. Post back soon. See ya.



Origin: The Castle BBS (1:897/675)

Melanie gave the computer instructions to boot up the wherewithal to post a message. The process was the computerized equivalent of writing a note on a piece of paper and thumbtacking it to a cork bulletin board, except that it was done with electrons, not paper and metal and cork.

To: Linda Barclay

From: Melanie McDaniel

Subject: Life

Youre right, Im not feeling very good. Its like whats outside tonight, just snow swrling around and darkness and lonliness. Sometimes i think i just want everything to go dark forever, and no more Melanie. I guess im in a pretty bad way. Hell. Damn. Know any good fourletter words? You cant say the F word on the Net or the moderator will come around and wjs

Her eyes filled with tears and she was blinded. By the time shed dabbed her face dry with a tissue she saw that she had inadvertently hit Control-s. The message had been Saved and posted on the system. Well, shed just kill it and start all over again  but then she shrugged. What the hell. Leave it. She didnt feel like BBSing any more tonight.

She was about to log off, when she noticed something blinking in the upper left corner of the screen. It was a prompt, and it read PRESS R TO READ INCOMING MESSAGE. Shed never seen anything like it before. Was the System Operator trying to talk to her on-line?

She hit R and the message spilled across the screen at 2400 bits per second.

To: Melanie McDaniel

From: Linda Barclay

Pvt Msg

Subject: Worried

No, you dont sound at all good. Something did happen. Tell me about it. Post back immediately. I can talk to you on-line. Please answer!

 Linda



Origin: The Castle BBS

Melanie was puzzled. All this time she had assumed that Linda was posting from a BBS far away in another city. It took days, sometimes weeks for a message on the CyberNet to negotiate the maze of interconnecting phone lines and reach its intended recipient, and the same length of time for an answer to get back. The Net was not a direct-communication system. That would cost a lot of money, and the Net was a nonprofit system. A bulletin board didnt work like that. It was slow; however, it was cheap.

But Linda was answering a message that Melanie had just posted minutes ago. That was impossible, if Melanie understood the way the Net operated. The only way it could happen was if Linda were sitting at the terminal of the universitys BBS computer over in the Student Union, just a block away.

But the messages Origin line had read The Castle BBS, not the Eagles Eyrie, the name of the university system. Melanie had never noticed a location tag for The Castle, but it had to be outside the university.

At the SELECT: prompt she hit R for Reply and TO: LINDA BARCLAY came up automatically. For Subject she hit the RETURNkey and the computer reproduced Lindas subject line: WORRIED. She began typing the body of the message.

I was surprised to get your message. Are you somehow patched through the Eagles Eyrie? How did you get my message so quickly? Anyway, Im sorry about that last post. Was feeling pretty rocky. But Im okay n

Suddenly the keyboard froze. She vainly jabbed random keys and hit RETURN,but nothing happened. Then:

CHAT:start

Hi, Melanie! Thought Id break in and talk on-line. Your message did worry me. How are you really feeling?

On the screen, the cursor had moved to a blank line. Melanie was puzzled. She typed:

Linda? Is that you?

Yeah, its me. Want to tell me whats going on inside your head?

How are you doing this? Are you on the university system?

No, but Im using a modem you wouldnt believe. It can do almost anything. Im on a direct line to your computer.

Wow, that really neat. I cant understand it, but its great. Anyway, your right, Im pretty down. But Ill be alright.

Excuse me if I dont believe that. Youre really sound depressed. Youre not thinking of doing something silly, are you?

Melanie thought about. She was indeed thinking of doing something. But what she typed was:

No, Ill be alreight. Excuse my typing

Youre putting up a good front, but arent you having suicidal thoughts?

Melanie sighed. No use to hide it.

Okay your right. How did you know?

How? Because Ive been there myself. But I sense something else wrong, something major. Care to tell me?

Well, there is something. Jeez, I dont know.

Are you pregnant?

Melanie was amazed.

Linda, do you have a cristal ball? Yeah, you guessed it. Im preggy.

Thats crystal. I dont need one to know who the daddy is, do I? The dork.

Chads not a dork. Hes immature and needs someone to tell him what to do and be a mother to him. I wasnt ready to do that.

Sorry. Have you told him?

No. Why complicate his life? It was my fault anyway.

It takes two to tango, kid. Well, have you thought about what youre going to do about it?

If your talking about abortion, I think ive pretty much ruled that out.

So, you either keep the baby or give it up.

I havent even begun to think aobut that. I guess Ill have to drop out of school.

Not necessarily, but you might want to do that just to get yourself together.

Yeah, Im so behind. I havent done a thing all term. I might flunk out.

Ever thought about getting away for a while, away from everything, just to clear your head?

Id love to be somewhere else, anywhere else. The Virgin Islands maybe. Hah! Great place for a woman in my condition. Sun, sand. Blue water. Id love it.

Well, I cant give you the Virgin Islands exactly. But youre welcome to come stay with us at the castle.

Whats the castle?

Its just what it sounds like. I live with a lot of people in a huge castle. Its fun. Wed love to have you.

Where is it?

Very near to you. In fact, you wouldnt believe how close it is. Want to hop over for a visit?

Sounds inviting. Maybe Ill take you up on it someday.

Why not now? We can come pick you up.

Melanie thought it over. What the heck. What else was she doing that was so important?

Tonite? Well  OK. Yeah, if its not too much trouble. Want me to wait outside the dorm? Im in Haberman Hall. Are you going to send a car? Hey. You guys arent terrorists or anything, are you?

Yeah, we hijack castles. We have a fix on you right now. You dont have to do anything. Just a sec.

The cursor blinked at her silently. She sat and waited for half a minute, then keyed:

Linda, are you still there?

Yep. Melanie, go to your closet and open the door.

Melanie frowned.

Huh?

Just go look in your closet. Youll be surprised.

Well, if you say so. This is really

Melanie didnt know what to say. She got up and went to the closet of the small dorm room and put her hand on the doorknob. Was this some practical joke, some jape designed to make her feel foolish? If so, it wasnt very funny, and it didnt seem like a thing Linda would do. But what else could it be?

She turned the knob and opened the door.

The closet was full of her roommates junk, just as before. No change.

So it was a joke after all. Melanie didnt understand.

Then she saw light coming from the rear of the closet and suddenly noticed that it looked as if the back wall had been torn out. Light was coming through from what she presumed was the room next door.

Melanie?

It was a womans voice, and one she didnt recognize.

Who is it?

Its me, Linda. Can we clear some of this junk out of the way?

Melanie shoved aside her roommates four winter coats  one of which was fox fur and very expensive  and revealed a smiling face.

Hi! Melanie? Im Linda.

Linda was pretty and blond and had large blue eyes. Her teeth were very white and even.

Hi, Melanie said. You were right next door all the time?

Not exactly. Is all this stuff yours?

No. My roommate ran off to Peru with a guy, an archeologist. She left all her stuff.

So you have the place to yourself, eh? Great. Want to come through?

Uh  okay.

Melanie shoved the tangle of clothes to one side and made an opening for herself, which she slipped through, ducking under the low shelf. She stumbled on a guitar case, and Linda helped her out the other side.

What was on the other side was not another dorm room. It was an immense chamber with a vaulted ceiling, filled with strange and wondrous things. The place looked like something out of a Frankenstein movie. Melanies gaze was torn between the huge machines resembling electrical transformers along the far wall and an arrangement of even stranger components in the middle of the floor.

Thats the computer Ive been working with, Linda said, pointing to the latter grouping. Its a mainframe.

A mainframe?

Yeah, but its different from your average computer. Works by magic.

Magic?

Yeah. Come over and meet Jeremy. Hes our computer whiz.

Linda led Melanie across the floor and around a U-shaped wall of instruments. Seated at a terminal in the middle was a thin young man in blue tights and a red tunic  he looked no more than sixteen years old.

Jeremy looked over his shoulder. You want to hold the portal, or can we let it float?

Linda turned to Melanie. Are you going to stay with us for a while? We can call the portal back any time.

Uh, sure. Yeah, Ill stay.

Break the spell, Jeremy.

Sure thing.

Jeremy jabbed at the keypad, looked at the screen, then sat back and swiveled around. Its broken.

Melanie looked back at the wall. The opening was gone, replaced by dark stone. She turned back to Linda, who, she now noticed, was dressed in black tights, pointed shoes, and an orange and white striped doublet. She looked like she was dressed to play Hamlet.

Linda, where are we?

Linda smiled brightly. Welcome to Castle Perilous.


Two

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Castle  Queens Dining Hall

The discussion had somehow gotten sidetracked onto music, having started out on the question of whether new inductees would benefit by a proposed formal orientation session. The upshot was No, and that had been the end of the matter.

Myself, I like classical, said the man everyone called Monsieur DuQuesne as he picked at a plate of clams in Mornay sauce. He was small and round-faced and wore old-fashioned round glasses. He was always dressed for the opera: white tie and tails. He was sociable, but no one knew much about him because he rarely spoke of himself.

So do I, Deena Williams said.

DuQuesne was mildly surprised. You do?

Yeah. Whats the matter? Dont you think my kind can like that stuff?

Its not that. Youve never said anything before.

Well, I do. Oh, I like the kind you can dance to, all right, but I think classicals good too.

Whos your favorite composer?

I listen to it, but I dont know much about it. I kind of liked that thing you were playin when I came to get you for lunch.

That was the Peer Gynt Suite, by Edvard Grieg.

Grieg, huh?

The dining hall was full. The Earth portal had been wandering lately and there were many new people from all over the world. Consequently, the table bore dishes representing many different kinds of cuisine.

Tall, curly-haired Gene Ferraro was sampling something he thought might be Balinese: rice, nuts, and vegetables in a ginger sauce. He chewed thoughtfully. Malaysian? Anyway, it wasnt bad, if you liked that sort of stuff. He swallowed.

Edvard Grieg, he said, was as fat as a pieg.

Deena Williams looked at him. You say somethin?

A man called Thaxton, light-haired and distinguished, was seated to Genes right. He certainly did. He said that Edvard Grieg was as fat as a pieg.

I heard him. Pieg? What the hells that?

Thin, balding, and middle-aged, Cleve Dalton was on Genes left. Theres a term for that sort of rhyme, but it escapes me.

Its called cheating, Thaxton said.

What brought on that bit of verse, Gene? Dalton asked.

Nothing. It just suddenly occurred to me that Edvard Grieg was 

Et cetera, et cetera, Thaxton said. Well, go on, man. Finish it.

Finish what?

The clerihew.

Deena looked offended. Cleri-what?

Thaxton said, At Balliol we used to improvise them at table.

Balli-what?

Oxford.

A man in Nigerian tribal dress seated next to Deena said, We used to do limericks at Trinity.

Thaxton said, I shouldnt be surprised at anything they do in Cambridge. He turned to Gene. Well?

Gene regarded the stone-ribbed ceiling for a moment. Then, stumped, he took another bite.

You dont start a clerihew without finishing it.

Oh, I do it all the time, Dalton said. Music? Lets see. Uh, okay. How about this: Gustav Mahler / liked to jump and holler.

Thaxton frowned. Its all very well to start something. Well, I suppose Ill have to do your dirty work. He took another bite of Steak Diane and chewed thoughtfully.

Right. Ive got it. He got up and recited:

Gustav Mahler

Liked to jump and hahler.

He wrote to perfection

The tune Resurrection.

Dalton scowled. Not what youd call inspired.

Thaxton sat down. You can do better, I suppose?

Maybe.

Many of the diners were in costume. Not all were medieval, some shading into the Renaissance and beyond. Gene was dressed in something out of Dumas or Edmund Rostand. On the table in front of him, a wide-brimmed hat blossomed with a white plume. He had taken to training with a rapier lately and had become quite the proficient fencer. He was good with almost any kind of sword. He was in fact the castles best blade-wielder, dazzling swordsmanship being his particular magical stock in trade.

Suddenly goosed by the Muse, he sat up straight. He blurted:

Edvard Grieg

Was as fat as a pieg.

He wrote Peer Gynt.

I sure wish he dynt.

Groans around the table.

Dalton picked up the plate with a roast chicken on it and set it in front of Gene. For that, you win the pullet surprise.

Thaxton said, For that, you ought to be taken out and shot.

One bullet through the head, please. Quick and clean. Except for a little blood and brains on the ground.

Very little brains, Im afraid.

Hey, Im eatin, Deena complained.

DuQuesne said, What are you up to these days, Gene? Youre dressed fit to kill, and something tells me that should be taken literally.

Snowclaw and I are staging a revolution in Arcadia.

I dont believe I know that aspect.

Keep, west wing, right next to the chapel.

Human world?

Yeah.

What do they make of Snowclaw?

Sheila tricks him out to look human. Shes good at that.

Thaxton said, Ive never understood why that beast doesnt hang about with his own kind.

I dont recall ever seeing Snowclaws kind in the castle, DuQuesne said.

Well, with the other nonhumans, then.

Gene said, Snowys always said that he basically likes the way humans smell. Reminds him of rotting blubber. He happens to like rotting blubber.

Where do the nonhumans hang out? Deena wanted to know.

They have their own dining hall, DuQuesne said. Havent you ever been there?

No. Where is it?

North forebuilding, near the Hall of the Kings.

The Hall of the Mountain Kings, perhaps? Thaxton said slyly.

DuQuesne ignored him. There are many other dining halls and Guest residences, you know.

Deena said, That I know. I ran into one the other day. All kinds of people in there I didnt recognize.

They would be Guests from human worlds other than Earth.

I kinda figured that.

They tend to keep to themselves. So do the nonhumans.

As do we, Dalton said.

Nerds of a feather, Gene mumbled.

Speak of the nonhuman, Dalton said.

Everyone looked up as Snowclaw came striding into the room with his huge broadax, blade wickedly gleaming, balanced across his shoulder. Snowclaw was an immense ursine-humanlike creature completely covered in fur of the purest arctic white. Yellow-eyed and sinewy, mouth ferociously toothed, Snowclaw was something you would not care to be politely introduced to in a clean well-lighted place, much less meet in a dark alley.

Hi, everybody! He came over to the table and threw the broadax down, knocking over a tureen of crab bisque. Oops, sorry.

Think nothing of it, Thaxton said, mopping his lap with a serviette.

Your spell wore off, Gene observed. Well have to stop by Sheilas world and get you fixed up.

So, Gene, Dalton said, you and Snowclaw are off to war and revolution. Who are you overthrowing? What sort of potentate? King, prince, sultan, pharaoh, what?

Im embarrassed to say that were aiding the royalists against an anarcho-syndicalist regime that came to power by revolution. The regimes been so monstrous and bloody that it makes a monarchy look utopian by comparison.

Im surprised there are any royalists left.

There are almost none in the country itself. Most of them are migrs in a neighboring state.

Well, it sounds like a good cause.

It does kind of recharge the old moral batteries, Gene acknowledged.

How do you feel about it, Snowclaw?

Snowclaw sat down. Dont know about that stuff. I just like it when the fur flies and the guts go splattering all over the place.

Energizing the ethical dry cells, as it were, Thaxton said.

Just then Linda Barclay walked in with Melanie in tow, Jeremy bringing up the rear. Introductions were made all around.

Deena asked, How do you like it so far, Melanie?

Fine, so far.

Wait till the creepy stuff starts happening.

Uh  like what?

Deena set her coffee cup down. Well, lets see. A while back we had the Blue Meanies invadin. Then the devils from Hell. But thats nothing compared to when the whole place goes crazy and the walls turn to rubber and things start shakin and shiftin around.

Dalton said, The castle has been unstable at times. And there are permanent areas of instability. But you keep away from those parts.

Oh.

Soon youll acquire a sixth sense about the place, and youll be able to find your way around. And depending on what your magical talent is, youll be able to use that to advantage as well.

Magical talent?

Linda explained, Most people acquire the ability to do magic when they get to the castle.

Most people, Gene said. Then there are the retards, like Snowy and me.

Dont listen to him. Genes the best swordsman in the castle, and Snowy can teleport.

Not very well, Snowclaw said. Last time I tried it I slammed myself into a wall and got knocked out for an hour.

You never mentioned it, Gene said. Thats strange.

It hurt.

Do you have to run to start teleporting?

No, I usually stay still and just think. Then I take like one or two steps, and Im where I want to go.

Then how did you wind up slamming into a wall?

You tell me.

Gene thought about it. You must have materialized inside the wall.

Linda flinched. Oh, my. Thats a terrible thought. Dont do it again, Snowy.

I wont. I never liked doing it.

Dalton looked at Melanie. Most peoples talents dont get them into trouble if they exercise a little discretion and watch what theyre doing.

Melanie nodded. I see. What will my talent be?

Oh, theres no telling. Anything from materialization to teleportation, to 

Dowsing, Gene said. Necromancy, palm-reading.

Not that stuff, Linda jeered.

Channeling?

Itll be something useful, Melanie.

Channeling is useful, Gene said.

Right.

I happen to channel a thirty-thousand-year-old high priest of Lemuria.

You do? Melanie said, a trifle awed.

Sure. On the astral plane hes thought of as a very wise being.

Dalton asked, So whats the name of this wise astral being?

Well, if youre just going to scoff, Gene said.

Sorry. Im asking nicely now. Who is he?

No, your skeptical vibes are queering my karma.

Oh, come on, Dalton mock-pleaded.

Only if youre sincere.

Im sincere. Whats the name of the entity you channel?

Murray.

Murray?

But he likes to be called Skip.

Melanie turned to Linda. Theyre kidding, right?

Theyre always kidding. Pay no attention to them.

Its going to be a while before I get used to all this, Melanie said.

You will, Dalton assured her.

After lunch, Linda said, Ill give you the Cooks tour.

Is it lunchtime? Melanie asked.

Well, its after nine P.M. Eastern, so maybe youre not hungry.

I didnt eat dinner because I didnt have any appetite, but Im kind of hungry now.

Try this cheese plate, Thaxton suggested. The Camembert is the real thing. And these truffles are authentic, if Im any judge.

I like this curried lobster, Deena said. You like curry?

Quiche? Dalton said, proffering a dish past Genes nose.

Get that wimp food out of my face, Gene said.

A thousand pardons.

We dashing, non-quiche-eating types stick to meat and potatoes. Gene pointed to Snowclaw. He, on the other hand, likes beeswax candles dipped in Thousand Island dressing. But, as they say, de gustibus non disputandum est, cha-cha-cha.

I like paraffin candles sometimes, Snowclaw said. It depends on my mood.

Gene noticed that Melanies green eyes had gone apprehensive. Im sorry. Didnt we introduce Snowclaw?

No, Melanie said in a small voice.

Melanie, I want you to meet Snowclaw, a friend of ours.

Hi, Melanie, Snowclaw said.

Hi.

Im not as scary as I look, Melanie.

Very nice to meet you, Snowclaw.

Same here. Reason I said that was that I noticed you werent looking at me.

I was a little scared. Im sorry.

Its okay.

Hes a pussycat, Gene assured her. Really. Tell her about your hobbies, Snowy.

My hobbies?

Yeah. Needlepoint, cloisonn, batiking  a real dweeb.

What the heck is batiking?

Melanie giggled nervously.

And a rabid birder, Gene went on. You can see him every morning out in the fen, field glass in hand, lusting for a glimpse of a chaffinch, or a chevroned waxwing, or even a partridge  a quail perhaps  nesting in the tall gorse.

Linda rolled her eyes. Gene, really.

Sometimes I dont understand a word hes saying, Snowclaw said, shaking his furry head.

Gene is our resident Wit, capital W, Linda explained.

Id append the prefix nit, Dalton said.

Resident twit, Thaxton suggested.

Thank you, thank you, Gene said, rising. With a sweeping gesture he put on his plumed hat. And Id love to continue this pleasant badinage, but we have a revolution to run. Left hand on the hilt of his sword, he turned to Snowclaw. Garscon?

Are you talking to me? Snowclaw said.

Allons, enfants de la patrie.

Wrong period for the costume, Dalton said.

M. DuQuesne sang, Le jour de gloire est  ar-ri-v!

Lets go, DArtagnan, Gene said, slapping Snowclaws shoulder in passing.

Snowclaw was still shaking his head. I dunno. He got up and shouldered his ax. Nice meeting you, Melanie. See you around.

Bye.

The two adventurers left the hall.

Theyre interesting, Melanie said.

Oh, decidedly so, Thaxton agreed. Theyre always up to something. I, on the other hand 

Youre as boring as I am, Dalton said. Lets go play some golf.

Oh, God, Thaxton said, with a hopeless look ceilingward.

Golf? Melanie said. Theres a course outside?

Theres a course inside, Dalton corrected. Theres not much outside but a four-hundred-foot drop to a desert.

Thaxton threw down his serviette. Well, if I must, I must.

Linda said, Mr. Thaxton, if you hate golf, why do you always give in and play?

For the simple reason that I have nothing else better to do.

But the castle has no end of worlds.

He gave her a wan smile. Yes, but you see, my dear, Id be in them.

Linda nodded glumly. I think I know what you mean.

Dalton thumped Thaxton on the back. Buck up, old man.

Oh, I dont want to give the impression that Im unhappy in Castle Perilous. I think its perfectly marvelous here.

Then lets get out on the links.

Right you are. Very nice to have met you, Melanie.

Same here. Have a good game.

Well, we shall certainly try.

All this time, Jeremy had been stuffing himself in silence. When the two golfers left, he leaned back and delivered a tremendous belch.

Excuse me.

That was really ignorant, Deena said.

I said excuse me.

Linda looked down at Melanies tattered jeans. Do you want me to whip up an outfit for you, or do you want to keep wearing those clothes?

Melanie tugged at her sweat shirt, from which the lettering NORTHEASTERNSTATEhad faded. These? Everybody else is wearing fancy stuff. Maybe I should too.

Do you want a dress, a gown, or pants?

Pants.

I think youd look good in shorts over tights. What color tights?

Uh, black?

You have green eyes. What if I go for a match?

Okay.

Fine. Stand up.

Melanie stood. What for?

Linda waved her right hand. Hows that?

Melanie looked down at herself. Gone were the sweat shirt, jeans, and white athletic shoes turned gray with grime. Instead, she was attired in forest-green tights, brown leather short pants, matching boots, and a thonged jerkin over a green puffed-sleeve blouse. Her old clothes and shoes lay in a pile at her feet.

How did you do that?

Magic. What do you think?

I look like Robin Hood.

Yeah, I 

Whats the matter?

With a sudden look of despair, Melanie slumped to her seat. I was just thinking, I have a calculus test tomorrow.

Well, we can always send you right back.

You can? Melanie thought about it. She shook her head emphatically. I dont want to go back. But what will people say about my just vanishing? And my parents ?

Linda said, It used to be that there was no way back from the castle, and people wound up as missing persons or listed as possible murder victims. But Lord Incarnadine reestablished the Earth portal, and now we have almost complete control of it. What we can do now is set up some kind of cover story to explain your absence.

What would I tell my parents?

That youre dropping out of school for a while and staying with friends, which would only be the truth. You could keep in touch with them by letter or phone.

You can phone from the castle?

With the castles mainframe, we can tap into any communication system in the world.

You can even fax a letter, Jeremy said.

Really? Melanie let out a breath. I guess I dont have any excuse not to stay.

No, you dont. Why dont you have a bite, and then well introduce you to Lord Incarnadine. Jeremy, have you seen him lately?

Last time I saw him he said something about going to his sisters garden party.

Princess Dorcas? Oh, thats right. Well, thats one party we cant crash. Maybe later. Go ahead and eat, Melanie.

Melanie pulled up the cheese plate and bit into a wedge of Camembert. She was hungry, and everything looked so appetizing. Dont feel guilty about stuffing yourself, she thought. After all, youre eating for 

She froze, a puzzled look on her small freckled face. By dint of some flashing insight, she was aware of what was inside of her, the small bud of flesh that had taken root in her uterus. She knew its structure and its potential, and she knew with a certainty that could only come with seeing with her own eyes. She did see it, somehow.

How? Was this sight of the unseen her talent?

A glowing smile spread slowly across her face.

Youre eating for three now.


Three

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Keep  West Wing

Ive got it.

Switching his golf bag from one shoulder to the other, Thaxton asked, Youve got what? He kept walking down the gloomy corridor.

A clerihew, Dalton said.

Give.

Okay, here goes.

Sergei Rachmaninoff

Turned his lights on and off.

An old Late Romantic,

He was really quite frantic.

Dalton looked at his golf partner. Well?

Thaxton lifted one eyebrow. Never cared much for Rachmaninoff.

Im asking for your opinion of my clerihew, sir.

Adequate.

They continued down the hallway toward a pool of light. When they reached it they discovered that the illumination came from an archway that led out into the open, affording a pleasant prospect of stately trees, lawns, sunshine, and shrubbery. A formal garden of hedgerows and flower beds was set in the midst of all this, and a party was going on in the middle of everything. Canopies had been set up, tables underneath laid with food and drink. Several dozen people in widely varying costumes were enjoying the affair, many servants attending. Music came from a small orchestra. A game of croquet (or something to do with balls and mallets) was in progress on a greensward beyond.

Whats all this? Thaxton said, stopping to watch.

I do believe thats Princess Dorcass family reunion.

Oh?

A servant told me about it. Most of Incarnadines family were invited. Cousins, uncles, Prince Trent, the whole crowd. The castle nobility.

Really. You rarely see them.

Most of them keep to their worlds. And they dont think much of Guests.

Ah, yes, Thaxton said. I suppose were N.O.C.D. to them.

Not our Class, Dear?

Right you are. Are they all related, do you think?

Most are, distantly, Dalton said, from what I understand. Theyre the remnants of the aristocracy that once ruled the Western Pale and its adjacent kingdoms. Hundreds of years ago, thousands, maybe, when the territory wasnt the wasteland it is today. Over the years they took up residence in Perilous, and most of them live in one aspect or another.

Thaxton hefted his bag. Well, were not invited.

Not hardly.

They walked on.

Wait a minute, Thaxton said. I feel one coming on.

Eh?

Thaxton cleared his throat, then versified as follows:

J. S. Bach

Liked to run amach.

His three-part invention

Caused much dissension.

Not bad, actually, Dalton said. Have you discovered, like I have, that theres no good rhyme for Mozart?

Thaxton considered the matter. Goats fart?

Not the most felicitous. Beethovens hard too, if not impossible.

We could change category. Or we could  whats the matter?

Dalton had stopped to peer into a small alcove to the left. A pair of stockinged legs was sticking out from behind the arch.

What have we here? Thaxton said.

They entered the alcove and found a man lying face up. Dark-haired and bearded, he was dressed in a blue fur-lined gown and long-skirted orange doublet. The gown was finely embroidered with gold thread. Everything he wore was very well tailored and looked expensive. Gold and enormous jewels ringed almost every finger.

The mans lips were blue, the face ashen. The eyes looked off into nothingness in a lifeless final stare.

Thaxton knelt over the body and took the right wrist. No pulse. He palpated the neck, then bent and put an ear to the chest. No heartbeat. Hes still warm, though. Must have died minutes ago.

Dalton went to one knee and looked at the face. What of, do you think?

Could be anything. He looks about forty. You couldnt rule out heart attack.

Theres no telling age with these castle people. Some of them are centuries old.

Quite right. And who knows if theyre susceptible to the usual medical inevitabilities? With lifetimes on that order, I would tend to think not.

But theyre not immortal, Dalton said. Its just a matter of time before nature catches up with them. He looked the body over. No bruises. No blood. Look at that jewelry. A thief wouldnt leave those. I suppose we could rule out foul play.

Thaxton scratched his chin thoughtfully. Then he said, Lets turn him over.

Should we touch the body?

We can always put him back. Get his legs.

They shifted the body to its side, then gently rolled it over.

Thaxtons eyebrows rose. Hello, hello, whats this?

Then again, foul play just might be the ticket.

A small rent in the fabric of the gown, a dark stain surrounding it, was located between the shoulder blades at a spot a little to the left of the middle of the back.

Knife wound? Dalton asked.

Stiletto, I should think. Lets get this overgarment off and see the wound.

They struggled to undress the limp body. Finding a matching hole in the doublet, they wrestled with that until they had exposed a white cotton undergarment, against which the bright bloodstain stood out.

Theres the entry point, Thaxton said, fingering the cloth. Not much blood. A thin dagger of some sort, thats certain. Deep thrust, right into the back of the heart. The attackers aim was bad, though. Probably just nicked the aorta, causing a not-too-fast leak. Slow enough to let the victim walk out of the party and back into the castle. He got this far before internal bleeding did him in.

The party? Is that where he came from?

Thaxton nodded. Have you ever seen him before?

Dalton shook his head. But he could be a Guest.

Perhaps. Has the look of nobility about him, though.

True. But do you really think he was attacked at the party? Didnt look like thered been any ruckus.

No, Thaxton admitted. If it was done there, it was a quiet job.

Why would he have come back to the castle?

Who knows? To get help?

Wouldnt he have told someone first?

Doesnt make sense, does it? Thaxton shook his head. I dunno, just a hunch. Maybe he was attacked here or nearby. Maybe he isnt one of the gentry. Well know soon enough.

Ill go fetch Tyrene, Dalton said, getting to his feet. You want to stay?

Golfs off for today, I should think.

Ill be as quick as I can. Be careful. The culprit could still be around.

Ill be on guard.

Dalton hurried off.

It was quiet in the alcove, too quiet. Thaxton had a rough time getting the body dressed again, but managed to return things more or less to the state they had been found in.

He got up and stepped back, viewing the body. He exhaled.

Right.

He began to search the floor around the corpse, widening his field of operations until he was back out in the hall. He found nothing, not even a drop of blood.

He went back inside and stood over the body, thinking.

Footsteps sounded out in the hallway. Thaxton looked over his shoulder.

A man in quasi-Renaissance dress went walking by. As he did he glanced into the alcove. He did a double take and halted.

You there, he said. Whats going on?

Thaxton turned his head to look down at the body.

I asked you a question, the man said as he came into the alcove. His gaze locked on the body. Ye gods!

Thaxton stepped aside.

After kneeling over the corpse for a moment, the man stood up and faced Thaxton. He was tall and black-bearded, like the dead man. He looked somewhat younger. His eyes were fiercely blue.

What do you know of this? he demanded.

Not very much, Im afraid.

When did this happen?

My golf partner and I found him not five minutes ago, Thaxton said, right where he is.

The man regarded Thaxton suspiciously for a moment, then turned around to view the body again, his chest rising and falling rapidly. What happened?

Im afraid I dont know that either. May I ask ?

The man gave Thaxton a sharp look. Yes?

Might I ask who this gentleman is?

The viscount Oren, of course!

Thaxton nodded.

The man turned his head again and said quietly, My brother.

You have my condolences, Thaxton said.

Thank you, Orens brother answered dryly. Did anyone see him take ill?

Im afraid I wasnt at the garden party.

Werent you serving? The man looked Thaxton up and down. Oh. Youre one of them. I should have known by the ridiculous costume.

Thaxton glanced down at his knickerbockers and saddle shoes, then coolly scanned the mans attire  a rehash of the viscounts but heavier on the embroidery.

I rather think thats a case of pots calling kettles, dont you?

The content of the remark sailed over the mans head, but not the implication. How dare you! Ill have none of your impertinence, do you hear? And you will address me as my lord.

Thaxton coughed quietly into his hand. Dont you want to examine the body?

Eh?

There may be clues. Thaxton added, My lord.

He understood. Oh, yes. Yes. The body. He began a motion to stoop, but halted. Run and fetch someone. Tyrene.

He is being summoned, my lord.

Ah. Good. He knelt, then looked up. What is your name?

Thaxton, my lord. And whom do I have the honor of addressing?

Arl. Lord Arl.

Thaxton watched Arl fumble with the corpses clothing. Might I suggest we turn the body to one side?

Thaxton helped him, lifting the body toward himself. When Arls eyes found the hole in the gown, they went round and wild.

Merciful gods!

He shot to his feet. Hes been murdered. My brothers been murdered!

So it would seem, my lord, Thaxton said. Frightfully sorry.

Arl looked helpless, confused. It cant be. It simply cant be.

Running footsteps came from the hallway. Breathless, Tyrene  Captain of the Guard  burst into the alcove, followed by two Guardsmen. He immediately went to his knees and examined the wound.

Gods, he said in a whisper.

Presently, Tyrene stood and faced Thaxton. Did you see anybody in the hall just before you found the body?

Not a soul, Thaxton said.

Arl was still standing over the corpse, unmoving.

My lord, did you see anybody?

Arl wrenched his gaze from his brothers body. No. I  no.

Was the viscount at Her Highnesss fte?

Yes, Arl said. It cant be more than a quarter-hour since I saw him there.

Did you see him leave, my lord?

No. No, I did not. I grew bored and left early. I was passing in the hall when I saw this man, here. And my brother  lying there. Dead.

My sincerest commiseration is yours, my lord, in this your hour of grief.

Arl nodded absently.

Dalton puffed into the alcove, halted, bent over and put his hands on his knees for a moment and breathed deeply. Then he straightened and leaned toward Thaxton. Just a little winded, he whispered.

Im sorry; I should have gone. Not thinking.

You seemed to have had the situation well in hand.

My lord, Tyrene was saying, can you give me any information at all concerning your brothers actions during the fte that would shed light on the question of who may have attacked him?

Lord Arl took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he said, I can tell you little. As you may know, my brother and I were not on speaking terms. We did not speak at the fte, nor did we associate. I saw him playing hedge ball. Then later I saw him sup with Lady Rilma. That was not very long before I departed. I thought Id left him at the fte.

My lord, did you see him speak or associate with anyone else besides his wife?

He was playing hedge with Lord Belgard and Lady Rowena.

Very good, my lord. My lord, if it be not too inconvenient, might we continue this line of questioning later? I must to the fte and inform Her Highness and the other guests.

Yes. Yes, by all means, Tyrene.

Thank you, my lord.

Two more people arrived: a young page, who carried a folded leather stretcher, and a gray-haired older man in a brown cloak. Although Thaxton had never availed himself of the mans services, he recognized Dr. Mirabilis, the castle physician. Thaxton wondered about the state of forensic medicine in the castle.

Obviously a dagger or other sharp instrument, Dr. Mirabilis pronounced after examining the body. Ill know more after I perform an autopsy, but Id say theres a good chance that the viscount died as a result of the wound. Theres been a great loss of blood, probably bleeding into the chest cavity. As I said, well know for certain later.

When can the autopsy be performed, Doctor? Tyrene asked.

Immediately. If you can have the body brought to the infirmary.

The body was lifted onto the stretcher. The page produced a sheet to drape the body, then he and one Guardsman bore the stretcher away.

Ill have my report messengered directly to you, Captain, the doctor said. Then he departed.

His Majesty must be informed immediately, Tyrene said. Was he at the fte, my lord?

He hadnt arrived by the time I left, Arl said. But Id heard he would be late. He looked away for a moment, then added, I will inform Lady Rilma.

I should be grateful to be relieved of that burden, my lord. Thank you.

Tyrene turned to Thaxton and Dalton. I wonder if you two gentlemen would mind accompanying me to the Formal Garden? I imagine His Majesty would like to hear from your mouth any testimony you have to give.

Certainly, Thaxton said. Dalton nodded.

Tyrene, Lord Arl, and the other Guardsman left.

Thaxton began to follow. Over his shoulder he said, Lets go, old boy.

What about the bags? Dalton said, pointing to the dropped golf clubs.

Well send a servant. Come on, man. The games afoot!


Four

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Conservatory

The concerto was drawing to a close.

The pianist was animated, beads of sweat at his brow. With masterly skill and artistry, he threw off a sparkling glissando that swept from the one end of the Bsendorfers keyboard to the other. The flurry of notes climbed high, coalescing into a cloud of rippling chords in five-beat rhythm, sounded first in the upper registers then repeated an octave lower.

Behind him, the orchestra rested for the cadenza.

There were no musicians.

There were, however, many instruments. All the traditional symphonic instruments of Western (Earth) music were represented  strings, woodwinds, brass, and percussion  but there was only one piece for each section: one violin, one viola, one horn, and so forth, except for percussion, which had the full complement. The instruments rested on chairs or tables or, like the contrabass and cello, were propped against the wall.

The cadenza finished on the highest G octave on the keyboard. Then, with a resounding chord in C major, piano and orchestra came in together, fortissimo, restating the main theme of the third movement, which had twice before been played voluptuously, rapturously. Now, for the final time, it unfolded with grandeur and majesty, yet was still charged with an uncontainable passion.

The piano alternated massive chords and syncopated accents to the orchestras melodic line.

Among the strings, bows bowed, held by invisible hands. Stops and valves depressed in the woodwinds and brass. Although there was only one of each kind of instrument, the sound was of a full orchestra. The conservatory reverberated to the climax of the concerto.

The main theme done, the pianist launched into technical pyrotechnics while the orchestra played staccato cadences, sharply banging out the finale. Complex stacked chords cascaded down the keyboard at a furious rate. An impossible display of virtuosity. The whirlwind of sound rose again into the rarefied reaches of the upper octaves before resolving with a crash into four final notes hammered out at the bottom of the keyboard.

Rachmaninoffs Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, Opus 18, was over.

The pianist sat back, took a cloth from an inner pocket of his doublet, and wiped his forehead.

He looked around the chamber. What, no standing ovation?

He waved a hand and the room erupted in tumultuous applause. He rose and bowed to the invisible audience. Turning to the orchestra, he raised his arms. The instruments rose from chair and table, standing on end. They all tilted forward in a comic semblance of a bow.

The soloist waved his hand again, and the applause cut off abruptly. The instruments settled back down.

Thanks, guys. You can sit this next one out.

He seated himself again, rubbed his hands, dried his palms on his purple gown.

Then he essayed the lugubrious opening bars of the Beethoven Pathtique.

A servant walked in.

Sire 

Incarnadine  liege lord of the Western Pale, and, by the grace of the gods, King of the Realms Perilous  was annoyed. He lifted his hands from the keyboard.

What is it?

Sire, your pardon for interrupting, but something of extreme urgency has come up.

Incarnadines fist pounded the keyboard. Merde!

Sire?

Dorcass party! I forgot! He scowled at the young page. Why didnt you remind me?

Sire, I was just about to when a messenger came from Captain Tyrene.

Oh. It had better be damned important. Wheres the message?

It was oral, Sire. I am to tell you that the viscount Oren was found dead inside the castle, a short distance from the Garden aspect. Murdered.

Incarnadine blinked. Did you say murdered?

Sire, I most certainly did.

I see. Incarnadine rose from the piano. Was the viscount at the party?

That is all there was to the message, Sire.

Id better get down there right away. Incarnadine took a few steps and halted. No, wait, I want to get changed first. Tell Tyrene to start his investigation immediately, on my personal authority. Tell him I have every confidence in him.

Yes, Sire.

Incarnadine hurried to the door, passing displays of musical instruments from hundreds of worlds. At the threshold he stopped.

Wait, another thing. Tell Tyrene that no one at the party is to leave the Garden aspect until I get there. That includes my sister.

Yes, Sire.

Have to keep them contained. Theyre a slippery bunch.

Out in the corridor, he made a right at the first intersection, walked a few paces to a stairwell and entered it.

He climbed six stories. On his way up to the seventh he was huffing and puffing.

Gods, Im out of shape, he mumbled.

He stopped.

Standing in the gloom of the stairwell, he thought the problem through while he caught his breath.

At length he said, Seems like cheating, though.

He continued up the stairs and exited at the next landing. Out in the hall he stood in front of a blank wall and said, I need an elevator.

In a moment, one materialized, a section of wall to his right transmuting into metal doors that parted to reveal the interior of a modern elevator. He entered, and the doors slid shut.

Family residence, he said to no one who could be seen.

The elevator rose, rumbling and humming.

His study was lined with books and filled with endless curios. Quaint astronomical gear occupied one corner, alchemists paraphernalia another. Maps and star charts covered areas of wall not taken up by books. There were several desktop computers in the room, and some of these were unusual. Instead of CRT screens, they had crystal balls.

He sat at the terminal of one of these morganatic marriages of the magical and the technological and tapped out a few commands.

The ball, mounted on a wooden base sitting on top of the computer, began to glow.

He peered into it, keyed in more commands, looked again. Shadows flickered dimly in the depths of the glass.

He kept at it until he saw something come to life. He watched intently.

After a good while he sat back and grunted. He hit a key and the light inside the ball faded.

Well now, thats interesting, he said abstractedly. Veddy, veddy interesting.

He sat for a time thinking, absently stroking his clean-shaven chin. His hair was long and light, and his eyes were brown this month. He had a habit of changing his appearance now and then. After three hundred years one could grow tired of ones looks. He refrained from transforming his face into something unrecognizable; that would confuse the servants and Guests. But he was wont to alter his hair and eye color slightly with a simple spell. Underneath he remained the same: dark-haired, blue-eyed, strong of chin, thin blade of a nose. Generally a good face; perhaps even a handsome face, disregarding that the brow was a little low and the chin a shade too prominent.

Handsome or not, he was a lord. The peerage had devolved to him down through thousands of years. But he was also a king, and for that regal title he owed an ancestor who had got the notion that the lord of Perilous, master of thousands of worlds, should have his honorific upgraded to something more impressive. So Incarnadine was King of the Realms Perilous, and actually did directly reign in several of the castles domains. He had a hand in the politics of a hundred worlds, interests in thousands more. The piano-playing had been time stolen from a full schedule.

No time now.

He rose and began walking toward the door, but something rang off in a corner, and he turned and moved toward it. The device was an old-fashioned telephone, the upright kind with a conical mouthpiece and detachable earphone. Behind it, though, was a television screen, and beside that was a small device that looked like an automatic answering machine. Before he reached the desk on which all this lay, a somber recorded voice was already on the line:

You have reached Castle Perilous. We cannot answer your call at this time, but if  and let me emphasize the if  you have some matter of great moment to impart, you may leave your name at the sound of the trump. On the other hand, if your call is being made on some contrived pretext, or, worse, is in the nature of an annoying solicitation, you run a grave risk.

He sat back down, propped a hand under his chin, and watched the screen. A form wavered on it, a face.

 we do not need storm windows, we do not need aluminum siding, we most certainly do not care to be the lucky winners in some transparently fraudulent giveaway scheme. Let me now enumerate and quickly describe the variety of calamities that could befall you should any of the above conditions obtain. You could be incinerated on the spot 

The image on the screen clarified and sharpened: a thin-faced man with glasses.

 colonies of fire-lice could suddenly infest your spouses 

He hit a switch on the answering machine and interrupted the recording, then unhooked the earpiece and put it to his ear.

Howland, Im here. Go ahead.

The man on the screen look relieved. I gotta say, that is one intimidating answering-machine message.

It screens out the bothersome calls.

No kidding. I was half tempted to ring off myself.

Glad you stuck it out. Whats up?

Well, its Tweel. Hes made his move, Im afraid. His dengs moved in on all our operations across the river  casinos, sporting houses, joy dens, wire parlors, everything.

A hostile takeover, eh?

I should say. All the upper-level managers were let go, and Tweels creatures installed.

Did he even try to make it legal this time?

Oh, sure. The stock transactions are on record. He acquired controlling interest in all the subsidiaries through the usual junk bond issue. Then he sent out his demons to do the actual dirty work and make it stick.

Any resistance on our part? We lose anybody?

Yes, two of our boys bought it. Curt and Tully. A little scuffle when they moved in on the Fifty-eighth Street sporting house. Curt was feeling a little protective of one of the girls when one of the dengs tried to take her upstairs.

Incarnadine shook his head. They had standing orders not to offer any resistance.

Curt was a hothead, but I cant say I blame him. The girl was screaming her head off. Not that I blame her, either. Anyway, it was pretty gruesome. Tully tried to help, and both of them  well, they had to practically shovel them into the morgue wagon.

They should have known better, but that doesnt make me feel any less awful about it. Incarnadine drummed the desk top with his fingers. So what does Tweel expect me to do, do you think?

Hit back with all you have.

What do you advise, Howie?

Well, as your counselor I have to advise you that if you do retaliate, well have a major war on our hands.

Incarnadine nodded. Thats inevitable.

Well lose a lotta people. And you cant kill a demon.

Who says?

Howland shrugged. Unless this boils down to a shoot-out between the two of you.

Is that what you think he has in mind?

I think hes setting something up like that. He knows you dont want all-out gang warfare. Hes got you.

So you figure hes calling me out.

Thats about the size of it, boss. Word has it that he holed up out in his place with extra guards ringed around it. He says hes waiting for you to make your move. Oh, by the way, I saved the worst for last. Hes got Helen out there.

Shes there willingly?

I dont know. Boss, you know hes got her spelled somehow. I really think he loves her. Always has. Funny. He could have almost any woman he wants. But he carries a torch for the only one who ever jilted him. I know she loves you. Maybe thats why.

I wouldnt be surprised. Anyway, so he says hes waiting for me?

Yeah, and hes claiming that hes the more powerful magician now. Says youre all washed up in this town. Howland pursed his lips and shook his head. Boss, we sure could use some dengs on our side.

You inevitably lose when you traffic in the Dark Arts.

Pardon me, boss, but it seems like were the ones whore losing at the moment.

It only seems like it. But what are you advising? Cutting some sort of deal? Give up Hellgate?

Cut our losses, Howland said. Get out with all the cash we can grab. We have areas of the city in which were a lot less vulnerable.

For how long? Tweel doesnt want any competition anywhere in the city.

Thats true.

So, how long do you think we can hold him off?

Howland shrugged. I grant you theres an inevitable time factor, but buying time isnt all that bad an idea for now. Besides, boss, I dont think we have any choice.

Incarnadine sat back. Maybe not. Howie, you go ahead and open up negotiations with their counselor. Stall them. Ill be at the Pelican Club inside of an hour.

What are you going to do, boss?

While youre negotiating, Im going to pay Tweel a visit out at The Tweeleries.

Are you talking alone?

Thats what Im talking. He wants a showdown, hes going to get one.

Youll never get near the place, boss. Hes got the boys out in force, extra dengs hes conjured up, trip spells, all kinds of devices. And that place of his is like a fortress.

The dengs are his trump suit. The rest is just dressing. And I can deal with demons pretty well. I happen to live inside of one.

You oughta know, boss. Ill be at the office if you need me.

Good. Take care, Howie.

Good luck, boss.

Thanks.

Incarnadine hung up and the screen faded to black. He let out a breath and shook his head.

Tyrene will have to handle it, he said. He got up and made for the door, but again was thwarted by the jangling telephone.

Things come in threes, he murmured.

The man on the screen had his back to the camera (of which there was none anyway, but no matter).

Incarnadine picked up the earpiece.

Yes?

Is this the castle?

Yes.

I was told to report.

I see. Where are you?

In the village. I dont understand why I was summoned, or what Im supposed to do.

Ah. Well, Im sorry, theres no one here who can answer your questions at the moment.

The man sighed. Its always like this.

Im so sorry.

It matters little. Shall I call again?

Its up to you. By the way, who shall I say phoned?

Call me K.

Uh, K., listen  again, my apologies, but were really up to our butts in alligators here.

I understand. Ill wait around here for a while, if you dont mind.

As I said, its up to you. Sorry to cut you off, but I have to run.

Goodbye, then.

Shrugging, Incarnadine hung up.

Trials and tribulations, he complained. But thats to be expected.

He ran for the door.


Five

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Library

There sure are a lot of books here, Melanie said.

You bet, Linda said.

The library was several stories high, spiral staircases communicating between levels. The second and third levels were galleries that looked out onto the main floor. The open stacks were on the ground floor, and they seemed endless. The place was as big as the biggest city or university library, if it wasnt a lot bigger. For all that, the place abounded with inglenooks and carrels and other cozy places to curl up with a good book. There were certainly enough books; most of them, however, were hardly what could be called light reading: ponderous tomes bound in ancient leather, formidable and daunting.

But not all.

Osmirik sat at a table with a stack of paperbacks in front of him. He was examining them one by one and making notations on index cards. A small-boned man with dark hair, he wore a simple brown cloak and soft black shoes with pointed toes.

Linda and Melanie came walking off the main floor and into the alcove where Osmirik was at work.

Hi, Ozzie! Linda said.

Osmirik looked up. Ah. Lady Linda, how good of you to drop by.

Just giving Melanie a tour of the library.

Only too happy to have you.

Melanie, meet Osmirik, the Librarian. Ozzie, this is Melanie.

Melanie smiled. Nice to meet you, Osmirik.

Osmirik had stood, and now he bowed deeply. The honor is mine, Mistress Melanie.

Whatre you doing, Ozzie? Linda asked.

Cataloguing some new  acquisitions.

Linda looked. Oh. More weird paperbacks, huh?

Yes. Not castle books, however. For that, we might be grateful.

What have we got? Lets see. Boy, they all look interesting.

Osmirik said sardonically, Interesting is an understatement. I was unfamiliar with this sort of literature until these books began showing up. They have greatly broadened my literary horizons.

Linda picked one up. Foundations Robots?

Deathless prose! Its use of allegory is on the order of pure genius.

She selected another and glanced at the cover. Whats cyberpunk? She tossed the book down. Well, if you say so. Me, I never read this kind of stuff.

I must confess that I, too, am at a loss as to what to make of them. But they have appeared here in the library. There must be some significance to that fact.

Are you going to shelve them?

Oh, yes. I have already instituted a paperback shelf. They will be catalogued and become part of the General Collection.

Can anyone use the library? Melanie asked.

All are welcome here, Osmirik said.

If you can find anything good to read, Linda said. Most of this stuff  pardon me, Ozzie, but most of its pretty off-the-wall.

Osmirik nodded. I must agree. But all of it is quite interesting. And useful, as far as the Recondite Arts are concerned.

He means magic, Linda explained.

Oh.

Yes, magic and other occult subjects are somewhat over-represented, Osmirik said. Given the nature of the castle, this is hardly surprising.

Lord Incarnadine does a lot of research, doesnt he? Linda said.

Oh, yes. And some of the castle nobility, as well.

Really? I rarely see any of those people in here.

Most send call-slips, and the books are delivered, though some do come personally to search the card catalogue. The Earl of Belgard is a not infrequent visitor. And  oh, yes, Lord Arl was here just this morning.

Dont believe I know either of them, Linda said. Well, were going to mosey on down to the natatorium. Melanie, do you feel like a swim?

Well, kind of. Sure, that might be nice.

Linda rubbed her neck. This morning I woke up with stiffness right along here. Maybe a soak in the hot tub will work the kinks out. Youll like the pool, its Olympic-size.

Melanie gave her head an unbelieving shake. Just how big is this place?

Uh, real big.

Osmirik asked, How much have you seen of our castle, Melanie?

Oh, the lab, the dining hall, the bedrooms, the kitchens, the ballroom 

And a few of the permanent aspects, Linda added.

Yeah, theyre something, Melanie said. Forests, mountains, deserts, every kind of place you could think of. Some of them are strange.

There are a lot of strange aspects, Linda agreed, nodding. And wild aspects.

Whatre those?

Ones that pop up out of nowhere. But were not in a wild area of the castle.

Do people live in these worlds?

Sure, some of them. There are a few that are deserted. Ruins and stuff. But some of them have people.

And you say Earth is one of these worlds.

Yup.

How come more people dont know about the castle?

Osmirik said, You have hit on an interesting point, Melanie. The fact is that not all may pass through these portals.

Really?

Thats what weve come to understand, Linda said. The portal may be there, but not just anybody can come through to the castle. It may be that not everybody can sense the portal.

You may consider yourself among the Elect, Osmirik said with a smile.

I guess I should, Melanie said. Sometimes I think Ive died and gone to a weird kind of heaven.

Nah, youre still alive. Come on, lets whip up a bathing suit for you. Or would you rather skinny-dip?

That sounds like fun.

Osmirik reddened slightly. It was very nice of you to visit, ladies.

Thanks, Ozzie. See you.

Osmirik watched them leave, then set back down. He picked up another gaudily covered paperback.

I Remember Rama, he said, shaking his head. Postmodernist, perhaps?

The water in the pool was warm. Melanie floated on her back and looked up at the immense skylight, a ceiling of glass held up by ribbed columns of stone. Sunlight streamed through it, and the bright blue sky beyond it was clear and pure.

The irregularly shaped swimming pool, fed at its farther end by a waterfall, was surrounded by a lush botanical garden. The tops of tropical trees brushed the skylight. The water wasnt chlorinated, and lily pads floated at one end of the pool. No Olympic facility was ever like this.

Melanie swam to the edge of the pool and waded up a stone stairway. She and Linda were alone in using the natatorium, but Melanie had a feeling that no one would have given their nudity a second glance. Linda lay on her back on a chaise lounge, eyes closed. Melanie dragged another chaise close and stretched out on it. Lacing her hands behind her head, she watched the waterfall and let the sunlight warm and dry her.

I feel so good, Melanie said.

I like it here, too. One of the few places in the castle where you can get some real sun. Besides the solarium. And one or two of the sitting rooms. Or six or seven.

I never heard of a castle with a glass roof.

Linda opened her eyes. You know, now that I think about it, that cant be the roof. Were in the castle keep, which is Lord knows how many stories high. But the natatorium is only six stories above the  Linda frowned. It doesnt make sense. There should be about forty stories above us.

They looked up.

Doesnt look like it, huh? Linda said.

Thats the sky.

Yeah. Well, it only goes to show you. Forget about anything making spatial sense inside the castle. It isnt laid out in normal space  whatever that means. But Gene says so, and hes real smart.

Im not going to try to figure it out, Melanie said. Its all too wonderful. It might disappear if I analyze it too much.

It might. I mean it all could just disappear. In the past it almost has.

Tell me about it.

Youll hear the stories in the dining hall. Jeremy still brags about how he saved the castle from the Hosts of Hell.

The Hosts of Hell, Melanie said with a shiver. Whoever they are, they sound scary.

They were. And the Blue Meanies. And the strange stuff that was going on when Gene and I first got here. I never did figure out what that was all about. A lot of it is fuzzy in my mind.

Fuzzy?

Yeah, Linda said, rising to one elbow. It all seems like a dream now. In fact, Incarnadine sometimes kids me that it was a dream. That it never really happened.

What never really happened?

Oh, its hard to explain.

Can you try?

Linda chewed her lip.

Melanie said, If you dont want to, you know, its okay.

Linda drew a breath and let it out. No, I guess you should know just how crazy things can get around here. When I first got here, I was lost. Then I met Gene and Snowclaw, and we wandered for days. Then  something happened. But maybe it didnt happen at all.

But what didnt happen?

The castle  disappearing. And this huge dragon  Linda seemed to look far away. More than a dragon. Some horribly evil thing, huge, monstrous. It killed. Men died, screaming. It was horrible. And the dragon took off into the sky. Me, Im back home, back on Earth, and its starting all over again, as if it never happened, and then the dragon comes back  Lindas stare turned inward, pensive.

Melanie was watching her, puzzled and concerned.

Linda grew aware of Melanies gaze. She smiled bleakly, then lay back down and sighed, shaking her head. Im not going to think about it. Ive tried before and never got anywhere.

Does it really bother you?

No, not really. The castle is a dream. Anything can happen, and does. You just have to live with that.

I can live with it, Melanie said. I can live with anything but facing the real world.

Sometimes this world is all too real. Like I said, theres a dark side. A dangerous side. It aint called Castle Perilous for nothing, honey.

You dont seem scared by it.

Well, Im not, now. At first I was. Very scared. Then I got my magic powers, and that scared the stuffing out of me. But after that I learned to use the powers and got good at it. Theyve saved my life on more than one occasion.

Melanie looked up at the sky again. How could there be any doubt that this world was real?

But what about the worlds through the portals? During Lindas guided tour Melanie had been reminded of going through a museum of natural history, passing by one diorama after another. Linda hadnt conducted her through any aspects, and Melanie wasnt quite ready to accept one more strange reality, let alone 144,000 of them.

They lay soaking up the sunlight. The long afternoon wore on. Everything was quiet except for the splashing of the waterfall. Scents of tropical flowers hung in the humid air.

Melanie had almost dozed off when Linda shook her and dumped a towel in her lap.

We have time to see the armory, the gaming room, and a few other places before dinner, Linda announced. Or are you tired yet?

No, just nodding, Melanie told her. Theres more to see?

Much more, but Im going to skip the rest of the tour bit. Youll have plenty of time to explore on your own when you get your sea legs. Besides, Ive got duties. There are a few more Earthies I might want to recruit. You could help with that.

Sure, anything I can do, Melanie said as she dried her long reddish-brown hair.

Good, but at this point you cant do much but be there and reassure people that theyre not going bonkers.

You know, I never thought that, not for one minute.

Well, just in case.

They both dressed and left the natatorium, which was adjacent to the gymnasium. The latter was a huge chamber with squash courts, dumbbells, Indian clubs, a duckpin bowling alley, and other strenuous opportunities.

Exiting the gym, they came out onto the landing of a great stairway that wound around a three-story-high court. They went down the stairs, talking and laughing. On reaching the second landing, they found a group of people standing there chatting, and one man turned and grinned amiably. Linda went to him, hugged him, and joined in the chatter. Melanie hung back and watched for a while, then went to the railing and looked out. Below was a fountain with a statue of a dragon spilling water from its mouth.

She left the rail and went down the hallway a short distance without finding anything of interest. On her way back she found light pouring through a wide doorway that she was sure had not been there before. There was no door, just an oblong taken out of the wall. How could she have missed it? Maybe the door had slid open.

She walked through and stepped out into a forest glade of huge oaks and beech. Birds twittered in the treetops. Little toadstools grew on a rotting stump to her right. Forest smells were strong. A brook ran through a ravine below.

She realized before long that this was an aspect, and a very pleasant one. The air was temperate, and bright sun played atop the leafy canopy overhead, sending shafts of light through to dapple the shade. She walked out farther from the aperture, then turned around to view it. The portal looked like a huge 3-D photograph standing upright. It was flat, like a screen, with nothing behind it. Yet within its depths the corridor was still there, in three lifelike dimensions.

She marveled at the sight, then turned away to stroll down a well-worn path.

She didnt get very far. Hearing Linda call her name, she turned back. When she reached the portal, Linda was standing on the other side, shouting down the hallway.

Here I am. Melanie took a few steps toward the portal.

Linda whirled and looked dismayed. Melanie, get out of there! Thats a 

Then Linda disappeared, along with the corridor and the castle.

Without warning, the upright oblong had vanished, closing off the hole leading back to the world of Perilous, and leaving Melanie utterly alone with birdsong and the soft rustling of leaves in the wind.


Six

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Formal Garden

The Earl of Belgard was indignant.

You mean to say were trapped here until His Majesty makes an appearance?

Tyrene nodded and gave an apologetic shrug. Im afraid those were his explicit instructions, my lord.

The earl mumbled something which Tyrene tactfully ignored.

Might I ask again, my lord  when was the last time you saw the viscount?

If it was not when we were playing hedge, I do not know when it was. And I must tell you I highly resent this line of questioning.

The earl was a tall man with a handlebar mustache, dressed in morning coat, striped trousers, and top hat. He carried a Malacca cane and wore a monocle.

My lord, I have been charged by His Majesty himself with the task of investigating the murder of the viscount, and I am acting in his behalf. I beg your cooperation.

All over the garden, lords and ladies sat idly by, waiting. They looked bored, nervous, and put out, all at the same time.

The earl took his monocle out. He rubbed it on the sleeve of his coat and re-fit it over his right eye. The lens was, Thaxton guessed, a double affectation. The earl probably didnt need spectacles at all. The monocle was extraordinarily good, though, for projecting pique.

The earl said, And I tell you I have nothing whatsoever of value to relate. My wife and I played hedge ball with the viscount, but as to the last time I saw him, I do not remember exactly where or when it was. I take little notice of trivialities.

Tyrene bowed slightly. Thank you, my lord. My apologies.

The earl huffed again and turned away.

Well, nothing so far, Tyrene said to Thaxton, who, along with Dalton, had been standing within earshot.

You have a few people yet to interview, Thaxton noted.

Quite a few, and if theyre all as helpful as the earl, Ill get nowhere and Lord Incarnadine will have me thrown in the oubliette for incompetence.

I doubt it. He realizes the problems involved. These upper-class types are a touchy lot.

Tyrene looked glum. I was exaggerating about the oubliette, but I hope His Majesty will be understanding just the same. Nobody here seems to have seen anything.

Perhaps there was nothing to see. But what do we have so far?

Naught, Im sorry to say, Tyrene replied. According to Princess Dorcas, the viscount arrived at precisely one o the clock, castle time. He talked with almost everybody, seeming in good spirits. He played hedge ball with Belgard, Lady Rowena, and Count Damik. He ate  quite a bit, as he has a good appetite  then, quite suddenly, he left the party and walked back into the castle.

Dalton said, Then its pretty clear he was murdered in the castle.

Which fact, Thaxton offered, swells the suspect list to something near infinity.

Aye, Tyrene agreed, with a pained expression. All too true.

And gives everyone here an ironclad alibi, Thaxton pointed out.

I dont know whether to feel relieved at that or to wish for some clue gainsaying it, Tyrene said.

A clue to the contrary would narrow things down a bit, Thaxton said. But we dont have a murder weapon, or even a good suspect, yet.

Has there ever been a murder in the castle? Dalton asked.

Not within recent memory, Tyrene told him. Gods be thanked, Perilous doesnt seem to attract the murdering sort. A few thieves now and then, but no cutthroats.

And since the viscounts jewels were left, we can rule out robbery as a motive, Dalton said.

Might you two have frightened the thief away? Tyrene asked.

Possibly, Thaxton said. But we would have seen him leave the alcove. Otherwise he heard us coming very far off. In that case, any self-respecting thief would have grabbed those rings.

Quite right, Tyrene agreed. Unless 

An aspect?

Yes, there is an intermittent aspect in that alcove. At least the castle registry lists one. The name eludes me at the moment, but the murderer could have escaped through there. If he knew the periodicity of the aspect.

Know whats on the other side?

Not offhand, but it can be checked. In any event, it might be beside the point. The murderer could have dragged the body into the alcove simply to hide it from view.

He didnt do a very good job, Thaxton remarked. We were just passing by.

I happened to glance in, Dalton said. Otherwise wed be playing golf now.

But where was the viscount bound? Tyrene wondered. He was walking in a direction opposite from the one hed have been going in had he been on his way home.

Thaxton looked over Tyrenes shoulder, and the captain turned, following his gaze, to find Princess Dorcas approaching.

Your Royal Highness, Tyrene said, bowing.

The princess was dressed in something like a sari, but even more colorful. She wore large gold earrings shaped like butterflies, several gold bracelets, and a heap of gold chain necklaces. A single diamond was somehow affixed to the middle of her forehead. She was a pretty woman, if somewhat overweight and, by consequence, somewhat matronly. Her hair was an almost-black and her eyes were large and very blue. The eyes had a penetrating quality, belied by an ever-present smile, which, though still present, was now not quite so wide or all-embracing.

Tyrene, any word from my brother?

No, madam. The messenger has not yet returned.

He must not mean for us to stay here forever.

I think not, madam, but I must await word.

Of course. The kings word is law.

I think it will not be long, madam. I sent word that, so far at least, there is no evidence to suggest that the murder was committed here in the garden.

Can you be sure?

My investigation will continue, of course, but as of now there is no prima facie reason to hold everyone here.

Im sure my brother had his reasons for ordering that no one leave the garden.

As am I, madam. But I think he will rescind that order.

The princess looked off toward the playing green. Of course, if the murder was committed here, the murderer might escape easily if he is let back into the castle.

If we had to track him through all 144,000 aspects, madam, I assure you, we would. He 

Or she, the princess interjected.

Of course  he or she would not escape.

But it would be a task, would it not? Tracking the culprit through Creation.

Aye, it would, madam. But were up to it.

Im sure you are, Captain Tyrene. Quite sure.

Thaxton had detached himself from the conversation and wandered over to one of the huge oak tables that must have taken six servants apiece to haul out from the castle. He surveyed the food. It was quite an ostentatious spread, even for the castle, all colorful garnishes and frills. A towering blancmange executed in scrolls and involutes stood in the middle, a single gouge taken out of it. For main dishes there was everything imaginable, from honeyed partridge to prime ribs au jus to whole suckling pigs mouthing apples.

He looked around casually before helping himself to a stuffed mushroom. Chewing briskly, he sauntered away from the buffet toward a long dining table on which lay plates that held the cold, half-eaten remains of an interrupted meal.

He almost bumped into Lord Arl, who was crossing from the right, looking at the ground.

Pardon, my lord, Thaxton said.

Arl nodded and moved on. Thaxton watched him. A young man of about eighteen, dressed in a costume matching Arls, came up to the lord and spoke. He looked like a younger version of Arl, without the beard, and when Arl put his arm around him, Thaxton assumed him to be the noblemans son.

Thaxton took a few paces forward and stopped.

He saw something on the ground and bent over to look.

He swallowed the mushroom. Hello.

There on the grass was a knife with plain wooden hilt and a narrow blade. A stiletto. The blade was encrusted with blood.

Hello, hel-lo. He straightened and looked toward Tyrene, who was still talking with Dorcas. He waved and caught Tyrenes eye. He and Dalton came walking over.

What is it?

Thaxton pointed.

Tyrene stooped and examined it. Ye gods and tiny pink salamanders.

Its a wonder no one saw it before, Dalton said.

And I wonder why, Thaxton mused.

Tyrene fished out a kerchief and picked the thing up by the blade.

I think we have our murder weapon, Dalton said.

Unless someone was paring their nails and slipped, Thaxton suggested.

That proves it, Tyrene declared. The murder was done here.

No, Thaxton objected. That only makes it likely that the murderer was here at some point to drop the weapon.

But why would he drop it here?

Could have been inadvertent. But Im just playing demons advocate, dont you know. Id say there was a good chance the murder was done in the garden, however unlikely it seems.

It does seem unlikely, Dalton said. If it was done anywhere here, it was a mighty stealthy job.

Ill grant you that, but I still stand by my statement.

What are you basing it on?

The murderer would hardly come back to the party with the murder weapon and drop it.

Nobody left the party, Tyrene said, except Lord Arl, and that was later.

No one was observed to leave the party, Thaxton corrected. But I dont think anyone did.

Well, this thing gets sent to Dr. Mirabilis straightaway. Well know soon enough if it was the murder weapon.

I was wondering  Thaxton said.

Yes?

Just what have you got in the way of  well, modern police methods in the castle?

Do the terms nanotechnology or DNA pattern identification mean anything to you?

Good Lord! That modern?

Well, yes. Dr. Mirabilis keeps quite up-to-date.

He keeps in close contact with Earth developments?

Earth? Oh, I doubt it. Earth is hardly the most advanced aspect in the field of forensic medicine. Or anything else, for that matter.

Chastised, Thaxton murmured, I see.

Not only can we positively identify the victim by the blood sample, but we can identify the murderer if he left any dead skin cells on the handle.

Dalton and Thaxton exchanged bemused looks.

Thaxton decided not to ask about fingerprints.

Tell me, why not use magic to identify the murderer?

Castle law, Tyrene informed him. No magic is to be employed in the investigation of a major crime or introduced as evidence in a trial resulting from such an investigation.

Really. That seems most enlightened.

His Majesty is a most enlightened man.

Oh, yes, Thaxton said. Yes.

Tyrene summoned a Guardsman, gave him the knife wrapped in the kerchief, instructed him, and sent him off.

Well, this is another hue of steed entirely, Tyrene announced. Ill have to send word contradicting my last word. I shouldnt have spoken so soon. Damn their eyes.

Dalton said, Whose?

My men. They were told to search this area thoroughly. And there it was, right under their drippy noses. Therell be many a black mark awarded, Ill warrant. And some promotions denied.

It was under all our noses, Thaxton said. I swear I walked past that spot, and I didnt see it.

No one did, Dalton added. He insinuated one saddle shoe into the grass. Grass is a little high. Maybe it got tramped down.

Likely so, Tyrene said.

Or it was dropped there just a short while ago.

Thaxton frowned. Isnt that the chair where the viscount was sitting just before he left?

Tyrene walked over to it. And Lady Rilma sat next to him, here. And you found the knife in this spot, directly behind the viscounts chair.

So, Thaxton asked, would the murderer come back and deliberately or accidentally drop the murder weapon at the very spot where his victim had been sitting?

Tyrene said, Then youre saying the murder was committed here, where the viscount supped with Lady Rilma?

Yes, thats more or less what Im saying. And the knife was dropped immediately.

Why was it dropped?

Dont know that, Thaxton admitted.

Tyrene reached a finger up to scratch his shoulder underneath his leather cuirass. Damn me. But Lady Rilma ?

Must have been looking the other way.

Dalton said, But with all these people around?

Thaxton sighed. No, it doesnt make sense, does it? But murder often isnt well thought out.

Oh? Dalton said, with interest.

Hardly ever. Ninety-nine percent of murders are done on the spur of the moment. Impulsive acts. Your locked-room mystery is a creation of fiction writers with overblown imaginations.

Really.

Wed better have a talk with Lady Rilma again, Tyrene decided. As much pain as it causes.

Lady Rilma was sitting in a canvas chair beneath a stately weeping willow, which was appropriate, because she was still wetting a white embroidered handkerchief. Three ladies attended her.

Tyrene approached. My lady, I realize 

Lady Rilma burst into full cry again.

Tyrene regarded the sky for a moment. Then he said, If I might have a further word with you, milady?

Sniffling, she nodded.

Is there something, anything, you can tell us about what happened shortly before your husband left?

Lady Rilma was wore a red wimple and little makeup. Her nose was long and her teeth were small and somehow feral-looking. She looked to Thaxton like a nun in a colored habit.

I told you, Rilma said. We were dining, quite pleasantly 

Alone?

Yes, as I told you.

Were you talking?

Yes. I cant remember exactly what about, but we were indeed talking, yes.

Did he mention that he was afraid of something, that he feared something would happen?

No.

Did he mention that he had had words with someone, some argument?

No.

Did he ? Tyrene scratched his head. My lady, did he ever at any time express to you the fear that someone might make an attempt on his life?

No. Lady Rilma was offered a fresh hanky and took it. She blew her nose loudly into it.

Now, what exactly happened just prior to the time your husband left?

Why, nothing, I told you. He just got up and left.

Did he say something?

Yes. He said, I must leave.

Were those his exact words?

Lady Rilma shrugged. I dont remember his exact words. He said, Im going or I must be going now, or something to that effect.

Could you tell me anything else that might be helpful. How did he look?

Look?

Did he look frightened or upset?

No. Lady Rilma honked into the hanky again, then thought. He did look  well, I dont quite know how to describe it. He did look a little  strange.

Strange? In what way, milady?

Lady Rilma inclined her head to one side, then the other. In a strange way. How else can it be put? He had a strange look on his face.

How strange? Slightly strange? Very strange?

Lady Rilma glanced heavenward. Gods! Yes, slightly strange, if you will.

I beg your indulgence, my lady. He gave you this strange look, then he said that he had to leave?

Yes.

At that point he got up and left?

Yes, he got up and left.

He said nothing else?

Nothing.

Tyrene looked off for a moment, halting a motion to scratch himself again. Yes, I see. I see. And nothing untoward happened up to that point.

No, nothing.

No one came up to your husband, no one approached?

Well, yes, someone did, but that was well before he left.

Who talked with him?

Count Damik.

And what did the count say?

I didnt listen. I was busy watching the hedge players.

The count and your husband exchanged words. How long did they talk?

A very short time, as I recall.

And you did not hear what was said.

I think I said that.

Sorry, milady, simply repeating for the sake of emphasis. Did anyone else talk to the viscount while you dined?

No. I dont recall anyone else.

Are you quite sure, my lady?

I think so. Wait a moment. Yes. Someone did approach before Count Damik. Lord Arl.

He spoke with the viscount?

No. He simply passed by and touched my husbands back, as if he wanted to get his attention. I thought it strange, since the viscount and his brother werent on speaking terms. Perhaps his touching him was simply accidental.

Tyrene slumped a little. Well, I shall trouble you no more, my lady. Thank you very much for your kind cooperation in this very difficult moment.

Lady Rilma sniffed again. Only too happy to oblige.

Tyrene bowed and began to walk away.

There was one other thing.

Tyrene halted. Yes, my lady?

He grunted. Just before he left.

He ?

Made a sound. I thought  She gave a tiny giggle. I thought he belched. But it was a funny sound.

What  pardon, milady, but what sort of funny sound? You say it was a grunt?

Yes, he just made this funny grunting sound and sat up straight suddenly.

Ah. Did you look at him when he made this sound?

No. As I said, I thought he belched. He does that. Did that. Ive often complained. She shook her head sadly. No matter.

And you didnt look at him.

No, not immediately. I continued watching the players, then I turned to look at him and he was sitting up straight. He usually slouches when he eats. And he was sitting up. He put down his fork, and that was when he gave me the strange look.

Then he told you he was leaving?

Yes. And he left. Got up and walked away. That was the last time I saw him.

When you heard this grunt, Lady Rilma  Tyrene said. Please think carefully now. Could there have been someone near your husband at that time?

I was looking in the other direction.

Yes, but did you hear someone?

No  wait.

Tyrene looked at Thaxton and Dalton with raised eyebrows.

Yes, Lady Rilma went on. I remember now. Someone was passing by at the moment. When I looked, he was walking between our table and the banquet table.

How close would you say he was the moment you first saw him?

Oh, about as far away as these two gentlemen here, she said, pointing to the two beknickered golfers.

And he was walking away from your husband?

Well, its hard to say. I thought he was just passing by.

Could he have been near your husband when you heard the viscount grunt?

Yes, I suppose he could have been.

Tyrene drew a long breath. And who was this person?

The kings brother. Prince Trent.


Seven

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Pelican Club

In an office on the second floor of a big nightclub, a huge vanadium steel vault door opened and a man stepped out. He wore a black dinner jacket with black bow tie, boiled shirt with onyx studs, cummerbund, striped trousers, and black patent leather shoes. A white carnation boutonnire adorned the jackets left lapel. His dark hair was slicked back, highlights glistening in the track lighting.

He looked sharp as a tack and twice as jaggy.

The office was lavishly furnished in blond wood and chrome, the floor a meadow of plush white carpeting. He sat at the expansive oval desk and reached for a silver box, from which he withdrew a cigarette. Lighting it with a silver lighter, he inhaled deeply. He shot smoke into the still air.

He lifted the receiver of a white desk phone and dialed three numbers. After waiting a moment he said, Im here. Whats up?

He listened.

Where? At the bar? Uh-huh. Who is she?

He nodded.

Right. Ill be right down.

He got up and went to a bar that fronted a mirror. Selecting a bottle of whiskey, he poured himself two fingers, then hit the stuff with a shot or two of seltzer. He swished the mixture around, then drank it off.

He put the glass down and took a look at himself in the mirror, angling his head one way, then the other. Satisfied, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

The piano player was on between sets, doggedly plugging away at standard ballads. Nobody was listening. There was a big crowd, and they were noisy, awash with drink, giddy with laughter. Wreaths of smoke hung in the air. Smells of liquor and perfume and cigarette butts. Ice tinkled, silverware rattled. Busboys bused, and waiters waited.

He came down the curving staircase slowly, one hand in his pocket. He paused midway, took the cigarette from his mouth, and surveyed the floor.

A woman waved. He flashed a smile and raised the cigarette hand.

A man shot his arm up. Johnnie!

He waved back. There were several tablefuls of people he knew. He came down the stairs and wound his way over.

The woman who had waved met him halfway. She had short dark hair and a pale complexion.

Dara, darling.

You big lug. Where have you been sequestering yourself?

Dont ask personal sequestions.

Ho-ho, youre fast tonight. Always the verbal quick-jabber, arent you? I like the way you handle your litotes, kid. Howd you like to fight for me?

Would I have to take a dive?

One and a half gainer into a dry witticism.

It seems to me I havent seen you around here lately.

Too fucking busy and vice versa, she said.

Still writing for the magazine?

On and off. Book reviews, the occasional casual, or the casual occasional. Not much, really. Mostly I drink and stare out windows.

Hows that novel coming?

I did three whole pages two years ago. Im a sprinter, John.

Some of those shorts of yours are superb.

Im blushing. But whats this some stuff?

He laughed.

She pecked him on the cheek. Everybodys here tonight, she said. Too many friends in one room is boring. Theres no one to talk about behind his back.

Im glad Im here.

You I say only good things about. Im going to apply some powder to this hooter of mine. See you later.

It will be my pleasure, Mrs. Porter.

Dont go sappy on me.

He walked over to a group of tables, recognizing many faces: Gerald and Izzy Goldfarb, Oliver Lebanon, Rafe Larimer, Geoffrey S. Katzman, Monk Calahan, Rupert Bartleby, Walston Alcott, and Ephraim Skye Fitzhugh and his wife, Selma, among others.

Hi, everybody!

John Carney, as I live and breathe, the rotund Walston Alcott said.

Dont hold your breath, Katzman said with acerbity.

No winter tan, Alcott said, scrutinizing Carney through small round spectacles. You werent in jail, so far as I know. Did you join a monastery?

No, Carney said. But I hid out in a big castle.

Ive heard youre having problems.

Thats why I came back, not why I hid out. Everybody enjoying themselves tonight?

Yeas all around.

Except for that funeral music, Jerry Goldfarb said, scowling.

You think you can do better? Carney scoffed.

Does a whale pee in the ocean?

Carney waved to the piano player, then pointed at Goldfarb. The piano player nodded and stopped, got up. Goldfarb dashed to the baby grand, sat down, and launched into a medley from his new show, jazzing it up with brilliant improvisation. He sounded as if he had four hands.

Youve got Goldfarb music for the rest of the evening, Izzy said. Free of charge. Enjoy.

I like a Goldfarb tune, Rupert Bartleby said. How about you?

I pay the Composers Guild a bundle every year, Carney said. Jerryll get his nickel.

But youre not getting the best part, Izzy said with a grin. The words.

Izzy, get up there and belt them out. Theyre your words.

Me? I should have a bucket to carry Jerrys tunes.

Im going to write a show, Oliver Lebanon said, and it will be vastly better than anything you two could scribble.

Ollie, youve a wicked tongue, Izzy said.

Well, Ive tried to lead a wicked life to match.

Skye Fitzhugh got up and spoke into Carneys ear. Theres one of Tweels dengs at the bar. With a woman.

Yeah, I know. Going over there in just a bit.

Your boys were afraid to tangle with it.

No, theyre under orders to take it easy, for now.

Right. What kind of woman would take up with an incubus?

Overhearing, Selma said, Didnt you know that dengs are supposed to be extraordinarily well-equipped?

Thats an old wives tale, Fitzhugh retorted.

Im an old wife.

Youre a kid. Youre not thinking of leaving me for a deng, are you?

I might, you never know. A woman likes to raise a little hell, too, now and then.

Have another drink, Selma.

I will.

Carney said, Dengs tend to use up women fast. An affair with one is life-shortening.

Short, Selma said, but sweet. Unlike the present one, which is just nasty and brutish.

Fitzhugh said, Selmas not as unhappy as she sounds.

Speak for yourself.

Skye Fitzhugh shrugged helplessly, sat back down, and tossed off his drink.

See you people later, Carney said. Have some business.

Dont sign anything in blood, Monk Calahan warned.

At least not without your agent, Geof Katzman said.

Carney waved casually and left, threading his way across the floor. He saw Tony Montanaro coming toward him.

Boss! Hey, you finally showed up. We got trouble.

Hows my nightclub doing, Manager?

S okay. Tweel cant move in on us here, though I bet hes gonna try.

Tony wore a white dinner jacket and a red bow tie. He had longish graying hair combed back with a part down the middle. For all the silver in his hair, he still looked young. His eyes were dark and his eyebrows almost met over his nose  but there was something delicate about his face, almost babylike.

Howie told me about Tully and Curt.

Yeah, that was nasty. But they shoulda known. When you mix it with dengs without magic backup, you might as well have your candeltto in your hand. Tony made a motion. You know what Im sayin?

I know whereof you speak. What else has been happening?

Things are happening all over town. Duke Holland got zotzed.

Tweel?

Words out on the street that thats who it was. Hes movin in on everybody, not just us. All over town, everybodys got trouble from Tweel.

Hes got the muscle. He feels he has to use it.

Hes got the dengs. Not too many bosses have a line to the real power.

Duke Holland had some pretty good voodoo going for him, Carney said. His protection spells were first-rate. Tweel must have moved up a notch on the infernal scale. Down, I should say.

Tweels dengs zotzed Hollands zombies. Holland wasnt exactly a great human being, but I feel sorry for the guy. He sells his soul, then he finds out too late he got rooked. Imagine setting up a protection circle, and then, there you are, looking like a big chichrool.

Embarrassing. Well, I guess we have to deal with our visitor.

Yeah, hes emptied out the bar, and hes running up a hell of a tab.

Ill deal with him. Hows the action in the back room tonight?

House has the odds, as usual. Business is good.

Fine. By the way, is Father Sealey here tonight?

Yeah, I think I saw him. Tony looked. Over there, by the bandstand. Hes got a cute little number with him.

Tony, do something for me, will you? Send to the bar for a seltzer bottle and have a boy bring it over to the fathers table.

Seltzer? Yeah, okay. But the father takes his hooch straight up.

I know.

Sure, boss, sure.

And after that, get out of the monkey suit and into street clothes. I want you to drop me somewhere.

Okay, boss. Ill get Andy to take over.

Carney crossed to the bandstand. Jerry Goldfarb was still banging away on the baby grand. A crowd had gathered around him, raptly attentive, some people singing along with the show-stopper he was currently into.

Father Sealey was entertaining a young lady. She was pretty  short brown hair, short gold lam dress.

John, long time no see, Father Sealey said, smiling, his bald pate shining in the pinspots. He rose and extended a chubby hand.

Hows it going, Father?

So-so. Im still without a parish, temporarily. The bishop still equivocates about assigning me.

He doesnt know what a good man hes toying with.

Thanks, John. But His Excellency and I differ on where the souls are, the souls that need saving. Theyre here, not in the churches. Old ladies in babushkas have their tickets stamped already. He waved around. Whereas these jokers dont know where the boat docks.

They just might have a boarding pass to Charons dinghy.

That might be true. John, may I present my niece, Shauna Sealey. Shauna, Mr. John Carney, the owner of the Pelican Club.

Hello, Shauna said with an engaging dimpled smile.

Hi. Carney took her small hand. City University?

Howd you know?

Lets see. Sorority. Omicron Upsilon Kappa?

Shauna was mildly amazed. O. U. Kid. You guessed it.

Majoring in  mathematics.

History. But I changed from math!

Your boyfriends name is Chuck, and hes in engineering. He likes football, and he gave you a huge stuffed teddy bear for your birthday, along with that gold friendship ring.

Fingering the ring, Shauna shook her head. You must be the magician they say you are.

Father Sealey laughed.

Carney said, Your uncle talks a lot about you.

Shauna reddened slightly. Youre a bit of a tease. She turned to the priest. But how did you know about the teddy bear? I never mentioned that.

Nonplussed, Father Sealey lifted his shoulders.

The boy arrived with the seltzer bottle.

Carney took it and set it down. Father, I wonder if youd do me a favor.

Over at the bar, Tony Montanaro was practically spitting into the dengs face:

I said, youre shut off. You hear? No more!

Whats it take to get a stinkin drink in this joint? The demons voice boomed deeply. He added a few choice profanities.

He  or, if you prefer, it  was about six feet six inches tall, massive frame swathed in a black gabardine suit with wide lapels. Black shirt, white silk four-in-hand. The face was strangely distorted; lantern-jawed, bony-browed, it was not quite normal, and the skin was tinted faintly green. For all that, there was something forcefully masculine, not to say compelling, about its looks. The ears were pointed, the only straightforwardly anomalous feature.

For you, deng-breath, its impossible. Now, move on out of here!

So thats how you treat your customers? How do ya like that, babe?

The babe was a small brunette with heavily lined dark eyes and full red lips. Despite all the makeup, she was attractive. She had on a black cocktail dress and was smoking a cork-tipped cigarette. After blowing smoke at Tony she said, Ive gotten thrown out of better places.

Whos throwing you out, honey? Tony said. You can stay. He goes.

Youre gonna haveta prove it, human.

Prove it? Whaddya talkin about, prove it? Get the dung out of your pointy ears, deng. I said youre shut off. No more hooch! You can sit there all night for all I care.

The deng swore again, this time obscenely and at great length and elaboration.

Watch that filthy hole you call a mouth, mister, Tony warned. There are ladies around.

The babe laughed.

You and what bunch of human pantywaists are gonna stop me?

Tony took a bottle of bourbon by the neck and raised it threateningly.

Tony.

Reluctantly, Montanaro put the bottle down and sidestepped away.

The incubus turned to the speaker.

So! Its the boss, at last. I was wonderin when you was gonna show up. Youre a little late. We got half the city already, and were gonna take the other half.

Carney took his station at the bar, about ten feet from the demon. He set the seltzer bottle on the bar.

The babe was between them. She turned to Carney, her dress hiked halfway up her thighs. A sly smile spread over her lips.

Not if I get to your boss first, Carney said. By the way, whos the young lady?

Velma, she said as she crossed her legs.

The deng laughed. Actually, hes expectin you. He wants to see you. Ill take you to him, if you wanna. Im nice that way.

Hi, Velma. Just to talk, I expect.

Yeah, a nice little chat. Cozy like. Couple of drinks. You two fellas ought to be able to talk this out.

Sounds lovely. I accept. But Ill get there on my own hook, thanks.

Hey, anything I can do to help.

You can help by leaving.

The deng was deeply offended. I offer to do you a favor, and this is the kinda hospitality I get. That stinks. The demon lifted his glass and dumped ice into its mouth, where large white teeth crunched it up. You stink.

Youre entitled to an opinion.

Yeah, and if I say all humans are cesspool runoff, Im entitled to that opinion, too.

By all means. But how about taking your opinions and your business somewhere else?

The deng chuckled. Everybody keeps sayin that, but I dont see no action. Onyx eyes took in the room. I like it here. Real nice place. Great. I think Im gonna stay. He reached into his jacket and brought out a hip flask. And I brought my own.

Leave now, Carney said, changing his intonation, or youll get hurt.

The demon guffawed. You? Gonna hurt me? This Id like to see.

Then get the dame out of the way. Or are you going to hide behind her?

Huh? The demon reached out. Okay, babe, move it.

With one easy motion he yanked her off the bar stool. She wound up sprawled on the floor with her skirt up over her buttocks, which were not inordinately hidden by brief black silk panties. She got to her knees and crawled off a distance, then sat up and turned around. She appeared neither offended nor hurt.

The deng lifted the hip flask to its lips and drank. Lowering the flask, it smiled toothily. Take your best shot, fart-face.

Flame shot toward the demon, originating from somewhere in Carneys vicinity. A ball of fire enveloped the dengs huge form.

It stood there burning, black smoke rising to the ceiling and pancaking out. The whole nightclub was silent except for the crackling. Burning scraps of fabric fell from the demons body, and black ash like dirty snowflakes floated away.

The flames died. Most of its clothes burned clean off, the demon calmly took another swig from the flask.

Velmas eyes had gone wide at the sight of the demons strange genitalia.

Tony Montanaro was on the other side of the bar with a .45 automatic in each fist. He leaned over the counter to look.

Hey, boss. Kinda handy to have a spare, aint it?

I dont think thats the exact function.

The demon threw the flask across the room, slid a forearm across its mouth. Naked and defiant, it laughed. What gave you the idea that fire was gonna give me any trouble?

Didnt think it would, Carney said.

Now its my turn, the incubus said, advancing.

Tony opened up with the .45s. Slugs bounced off the muscular green-tinged carapace.

Carney said, But I did sort of figure you wouldnt like this.

He picked up the seltzer bottle and gave the deng a spritz.

The water doused its chest and belly. With a suspiring hiss, steam rose instantly.

The demon stopped and howled, its darkened face contorted with surprise and pain.

What is that? it roared.

Holy seltzer. Another stream of carbonated water arched out and splashed.

The deng screamed and backed off. Carney advanced, continuing to hose his adversary down.

No! No!

Then get out.

All right!

The deng backstepped, then turned and hurried out of the barroom.

The Pelican Club gradually came back to life. The Goldfarb medley resumed, and low conversation filled the air. Glasses chinked. A woman laughed nervously.

Nice work, boss, Tony said, sweeping brass casings from the bar top.

Thanks. Carney went to Velma and helped her up. Her eyes looked a little glazed. He eased her onto a bar stool.

What were you drinking?

She looked at him and her vision seemed to focus. Sloe gin fizz.

A pink lady for the lady, Carney called to the bartender.

Thanks.

Was that a friend of yours?

Sort of.

He treated you pretty rough.

Hes a guy. All guys are bastards. Either that or theyre simps.

Bastards or simps. Quite a dualism. He lit her cigarette.

Thanks.

You a friend of Clare Tweel?

Oh, yeah. Real close.

Youre being catty.

He has a lot of friends. Lots of girls, too. Did you know he has a new one?

Really?

Yeah. Her drink came and she took a sip. Her name is Helen. Helen Dardanian.

For some reason Im supposed to be affected by this revelation?

She smiled. Im sorry. I dont want to make trouble for you. Youre nice.

Does that make me a simp?

Youre no simp. You took care of my date quick enough.

Then Im a bastard.

She giggled. A nice one.

Thats reassuring. Want a lift home?

Yeah. Thanks.

Where?

The Tweeleries.

Carney lifted the glass of neat Scots whisky that the bartender had set in front of him. Thats where Im going.

He took a healthy belt. It went down like the stock market on Black Whit-Monday.


Eight

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Jaundiced Aye

There was a crowd that night. There was usually a crowd at the Jaundiced Aye, and it was always the same mixture of adventurers, poetasters, bohemians, neer-do-wells, and spottily employed cavaliers. Thrown into this pot was the odd hooligan, and one or two respectable burghers seeking a bit of slightly disrespectable diversion. For there was always good cheer and camaraderie to be had at the Aye, to say nothing of all the uproarious jokes and japes. And there was never a shortage of improvised sonnets or witty epigrams, available from any thin-faced scribbler for the price of a tankard of ale.

The young man with the blond beard made his entrance into this milieu, sniffed the air  stale tobacco smoke, smells of fried fish and spilled beer  and wished he were elsewhere. Nevertheless, he entered the tavern and shut the door. He was dressed in the manner of a young gentleman  lace collar and cuffs, short-waisted doublet, trousers, boots with lace tops, and a proper hat. But he did not wear the costume well. Perhaps the problem was his slender frame, his narrow shoulders, or his oddly flaring hips. At any rate, he drew skeptical stares and the peremptory sneer or two.

All attention seemed to gravitate toward a pair of cavalier sorts at the middle table. One of them was huge, an anomaly in boot-hose nearly twenty-five hands tall, his head topped by a cloud of snowy white hair. The other was a youngish man who wore no wig.

Gathered around these two, a crowd of admirers hung on every word of the smaller of the pair, who had been regaling everyone with a tale of derring-do. Apparently it had all happened earlier that night.

Tell it again, Eugne!

Eugne waved disdainfully. It grows wearisome.

Again, please! How many of the Legates men vanquished?

A modest shrug. Twenty-eight  or nine. Thirty perhaps.

Between the two of you!

Imagine!

Eugne raised his mug to drink. It was nothing. He drank.

Nothing, he says! Nothing since Shem prevailed against the Ashkelonians with the thighbone of a ram!

The newcomer found himself an empty table toward the back. The barkeep eventually noticed and grudgingly came.

Mulled cider with cloves and cinnamon, if you have it, the young man said.

The innkeeper curled his lip. No spirits?

Oh, throw a shot of something in it, I dont care.

Anything to eat?

Nothing, please. Um, tell me. Who are those two, er, gentlemen that everyones gathered around?

Troublemakers, I call em, the barkeep said. Ragueneaus thugs will have their hides soon enough. I just hope it happens out in the gutter and not in here, where Ill have to clean up the mess. Cider. That all you want?

Yes, thank you.

The barkeep left. The young man looked around. He didnt like the looks of some of the patrons. Some of these looked as though they didnt particularly care for him.

Its not so much the heroic deed, one of the crowd of rowdies was saying, as the manner in which the deed was done. While composing a ballade!

A trifle, Eugne said. Something to occupy the mind so as not to let fear take hold. A simple trick.

Fear, bah! Hardly the babblings of a timorous versifier. Rather, the lays of a warrior-poet.

Recite it again!

Yes, wed like it again!

Especially that part about And as I end the envoi  lunge through!

Yes, yes, thats the best part!

Gentlemen, please. I grow weary. The hour is late.

Lord Snowden, you tell us, then.

The huge white-haired one shook his massive head. Hey, dont look at me. I dont know any poetry.

Tell us again how you killed three at one time. Forget the verse.

Well, okay. I took two and cracked their heads together, see. One of em was kinda little, so I used him like a blackjack and brained another guy.

Astounding!

Amazing!

Fantastic!

An astonishing story!

Eugne scoffed, Fantasy and science fiction. He exaggerates.

No, there were witnesses. Weve heard all the stories. You cant deny it, Eugne.

Please, a little less enthusiasm, I beg you.

The blond-bearded young mans cider was delivered, and he drank of it. It was bland and weak, and tasted like dishwater. He made a face and looked toward the bar, trying to catch the barkeeps eye.

Well, what have we here?

The young man turned and found two cavaliers standing over him.

Good evening, he said pleasantly.

One said to the other, A Northern type, I warrant.

Yes, it has the look.

Pallild and phthisic.

Yes, how pale his beard, his face.

Tell me, young popinjay, what brings your sort here?

Uh, just out for a drink  gentlemen.

The other looked to the one. It has a strangely lilting voice.

High enough to chant descants.

A coloratura, Ill wager.

A protg of the Legate, most likely. Hes a patron of the arts, you know.

Look, if you gentlemen will just leave me alone 

The one on the right screwed up his face. Might it be a citizen of the Cities of the Plain?

Thought I smelled salt and brimstone.

Well, see here, young Zeboimite, if that you be, take care to guard your tongue in this place. If Eugne and Snowden get wind of you, you might end up skewered in a way you had not bargained on, or stuffed into a firkin and set out as salt meat.

Or both.

The young man nodded. Yeah, Ill watch my step.

It would be wise.

They left.

The young mans eyes smoldered. Rotten macho creeps 

The poem again, Eugne! Please!

Eugne downed the rest of his muscatel. Oh, very well. But not the same poem. An improvisation from memory is your morons oxymoron. No, Ill improv new lines, afresh. And on a new subject.

Bravo!

Hear, hear!

Lord Snowden sat back and regarded the rafters.

Eugne mounted the table and drew his rapier. Putting one finger to his temple, he said, One moment, while I choose my rhymes.

Oh, brother, the young man murmured, rolling his eyes.

I have them, Eugne said presently. Now to begin:

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the  

Up yours!

Silence. Everyone slowly turned to look at the source of the outburst.

Eugne cast an imperious eye in that direction. Pointing, he said, Who  is  that  man?

One of the Legates catamites, weve surmised.

Does this creature have a name? Eugne asked.

The young man shouted, Baron Lyndon of the castle!

Baron Lyndon of the cas ? The wind spilled out of Eugnes sails. Uh  oh. Well, fine.

Eugne! Youd let the impertinent puppy live?

Forget it. Has a right to his opinion.

Unbelieving looks were exchanged amongst the audience.

The poem, then!

Yes, the new poem.

Where was I? Uh, yeah.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran  

Plagiarist! Throw the bum out!

The crowd was outraged.

Lord Snowden stood. Who is that?

Its a perilous night, Snowy!

Hey, I know who that is.

Someone shouted, Make mincemeat of him, Eugne!

Everyone out! Eugne shouted.

But, Eugne!

Leave him to us! Go on, get out. Come back later.

But Ragueneaus men 

Well meet you back here in an hour. Come on, guys, take a hike, okay?

Grumbling, the troop of cavaliers left. Soon the tavern was empty but for the barkeep.

The two men advanced on the blond.

Linda! Gene whispered. What are you doing here in that ridiculous get-up?

They dont let women in bars here. Think I wanted to come in drag?

You know, mens beards are almost never blond.

Yeah, so I found out. Jeez, it was almost impossible to get close to you guys. I chased you all over town, from one dive to the other.

Well, were on the Legates poop roster, so we have to keep on the move. Whats up? What the matter?

Its Melanie. She 

Melanie? Whos that?

Melanie McDaniel, the new Guest  at lunch? Remember?

Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry, go ahead.

She wandered into a wild portal and it closed up on her.

Damn. Thats tough.

It was my fault. I let her out of my sight.

What were you doing in a wild area?

We werent! The portal popped up in one of the safest parts of the castle.

Gene clucked ruefully. Well, its been known to happen. Even the stable areas arent one hundred percent.

And it had to happen to Melanie. Gene, weve got to do something. Thats why I took the chance of coming here. I had to talk to you. I feel so awful. What are we going to tell that poor girls parents?

Would they believe us? Nah, best to say nothing.

But we have to do something.

Like what? You know how the castle works, Linda. Wild portals can lead anywhere, any universe, and not necessarily one listed in the books. No telling where she wound up. That portal might never open again.

Gene, we have to take the Sidewise Voyager out and search for her.

Gene sat back and let air into his lace collar. Linda, thats going to be a problem, seeing as how the things wrecked.

But Dolbert and Luster say they can fix it.

Gene laughed mirthlessly. Those two. Theyve been fiddling with it for months.

Its not an easy job.

Ill say. The thing needs parts. Wherere they going to get em? That thing was built in a universe that Im not sure even exists in the ordinary sense.

Dolbert has been building some parts from scratch in the castle smithy.

I dunno, Gene said doubtfully.

Jeremy says Dolberts a mechanical genius.

Yeah, well, idiot savant he may be, but hes still an idiot. Besides, I wouldnt stake my life on Jeremys judgment. Hes somewhat of a cretin himself.

Thats not fair. Jeremys 

Forget it. Thats not the point. The point is travel in the Voyager is risky, even at best. What does Incarnadine say?

Linda looked downcast. Hes disappeared again.

Hed probably say the same thing.

Gene, please. Ill never forgive myself. Never. That poor girl is alone in a strange universe. She might be in danger right now. She might die, Gene.

Gene let out a long sigh. Oh, well. Trouble is my business.

But if youre afraid 

My dear, youre talking to a man who has laughed in the face of death, sneered at doom, and chuckled at catastrophe. Im petrified. But lets get back to the castle and see what we can do. Gene started to rise. Which, Im afraid  He sat back down.

Trouble?

Well, it so happens the portal is in the Legates part of town. The city is divided up between the kings regent, whos kind of weak in the power department, and the Legate Ragueneau. Local politics, its complicated.

What about the revolution you were talking about?

They had it without us. The peasants revolted and overthrew the Directorate. Got fed up with starving. But it turned out that Ragueneau was backing the regime because he was buying grain from them at bargain prices and selling it on the  but forget about that. Its real complicated, and anyway its beside the point. The point is, were on the Legates hit list, and his goons are out in force tonight looking for us.

Great. How are we going to get back?

I dunno. Hows your magic in this world?

Iffy. I cast a little number to keep my voice low, but apparently it wasnt very effective. Hows your swordsmanship?

Great, but Im not Superman.

Oh? What was all the bragging about?

Hey, Gene said with some embarrassment, we were just having some fun, okay?

Just a bunch of the guys out for a good time.

This isnt the twentieth century here. In fact its the 

Wed better go. We have to make a run for it.

Gene grunted. Right. You game, Snowy?

For a fight? You bet.

Guys, please! This isnt a game. We just have to make it back to the portal. The thing is to avoid trouble.

Its late, and therell be patrols.

Well have to duck in and out of alleys.

Yeah, do the stealth bit. Right. Okay, lets go.

Linda looked Snowclaw up and down. Sheila did a good job on you.

I hope I can last until we get back to the castle, Snowclaw said. Ive been feeling kind of shaky. Its rough being human.

Gene said, No kidding, Philip Marlowe.


Nine

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mill

She had wandered all afternoon without seeing signs of intelligent life, and when she found the dilapidated mill house she was overjoyed. She had begun to think that this world was uninhabited. The old mill, floorboards half-rotted, beams sagging, proved that it at least had been inhabited at one time.

It was dusk when she finished gathering enough tall grass to make some sort of mattress to lay over the plank flooring up in the loft. As bedding, she made do with two old gunnysacks. They were scratchy and mildewed, but when the chill of night came on, she was grateful for them.

Nocturnal chirping and twittering came out of the forest. The moon was out, outlining the small window above her and throwing an oblong of blue light on the floor. The wind played in the trees.

An owl hooted. She thought it was an owl.

She wondered about nonhuman worlds. Was this one? The mill looked human enough, but how could she know for sure?

She turned over and tried to fall asleep, unsuccessfully. A cricket trilled very near, then stopped. The old mill creaked and groaned.

She heard something, far off. She listened intently. The sound grew. It was a thumping  a stamping  the sound of hooves. They came nearer, nearer. They were right below the window. She froze, her heart bouncing against her breastbone.

The hoofbeats stopped.

Below, footsteps. Someone had come into the mill and was looking around. Something crashed. A male voice uttered an unintelligible curse. More crashing. Whoever it was went outside again, then came back.

She listened as more activity went on below. Gradually it subsided. Then everything was quiet again.

Someone sighed. Coughed. Cleared his throat. Then let out a long breath.

In a little while, she heard snoring.

Whoever it was, he sounded human enough. But she was still afraid. Highwayman? Rapist? Murderer? All of those, maybe.

She was afraid to relax her body, afraid to move a muscle. Her back ached, and her stomach churned.

She was worlds away from the existence she had known just hours ago. It seemed like years. The short time she had spent in the castle seemed like another life, and this, still another.

Was this all a dream? Yes. Shed be waking up soon in her room in Haberman Hall. There was a calculus test to cram for. Shed have a few hours to do it if she got up early enough. What time was it?

She felt her wrist. Her Phasar Quartz was still on her wrist. It had a night light. Slowly, she ducked her head under the sack and pressed the tab on the side of the watch.

The tiny digital readout seemed to light up the night.

:39 A.M.

Okay, the sun should be up by now. So how come it isnt?

No, she was not on Earth. She was somewhere else entirely. Where? The trees and flowers and plants had looked earthlike enough, but they were also different somehow. Shed seen no maples, but something that looked like an oak. That was it as far as her tree-knowledge went. The sun had looked like the sun, and she wasnt about to get up to look at the moon.

The crickets sounded like crickets. Some help there. Maybe this was Earth, but the past. No, Linda had said nothing about traveling in time.

She wondered if she would ever see her world again.

Through the window, the sky was gray. It was morning. She marveled that she had actually fallen asleep. How long had she slept? What about ?

She rolled over. A tall man was standing over her. She threw the sacks off and jumped to her feet.

The man sized her up. Apprehensively, she did the same to him.

He was young, about twenty-five, with a light beard and hazel eyes. He had on a hooded doublet and cape and wore high boots. A cross-hilted sword in an ornate scabbard hung at his left side.

He said something, and for some reason she understood him, though he hadnt spoken English. He had said, So you are a woman. You dress like a boy.

He eyed her up and down. Not a bad woman at that. Young. Run away from your parents?

No, she said. Then: Im lost. Can you help me?

The man frowned. He didnt understand. She couldnt understand why the comprehension was one-way.

A foreigner, eh? He took a step toward her, and she edged back against the wall.

He stopped, smiling. Youve got nothing to fear from me, he said. He had something in his hand. It looked like a brownie or a piece of sheet cake. He was offering it to her.

She took it. It smelled okay, and she took a bite. It was chewy and tasted like an oatmeal cookie with ginger and cinnamon. It was good. She smiled at him.

Yes, break your fast, because youve got to be on your way. My kindly half-brothers paladins are close on my heels, and they leave no unprotected woman unravished.

He laughed, more or less to himself. Why am I telling you this? You dont understand, and their having at you might be all the diversion I need to get clean away. I know they wont pass one like you by. You even have all your teeth.

She understood all of it. The language sounded like Scots, burred and broad-voweled, but with a hint of something like French in it. Anglo-Saxon? No, she remembered what that had sounded like; the prof for EARLY ENG LIT, as her class schedule printout had put it, was given to dramatic readings of Beowulf and other incunabula. This was different. Medieval French? Maybe, but she doubted it.

Come along, then. He went down the rickety ladder to the ground floor. She followed.

Outside, she watched him saddle his horse. The tack was of a type totally unfamiliar to her; it looked unwieldy and not at all comfortable. The horse was a chestnut mare and had a long flowing mane.

He mounted. Well, then, girl, its farewell. Id advise you to be on your way. Youre a pretty wench, and Id like you for myself, but I dont intend to be caught with my breeches down. God go with you.

Wait!

He halted. What is it?

Take me with you.

His brow lowered, but he appeared to understand. I think not. Much as Id like to have my bedding warmed, youd be a millstone round my neck.

Im lost. Please help me. I have no one else to turn to.

He scowled. What a strange tongue you speak. Sounds like a mallard in heat. Whereabouts do you 

He suddenly looked off, his expression tightening.

Damn them. They usually lie slugabed.

He turned back to her. He extended a hand.

Come on, girl. Hurry.

She clambered up and took a precarious seat on the animals rump, circling her arms around the mans waist.

The horse headed down the trail and away from the stream, first at a trot, then a walk, then breaking into a canter. She found the canter easier on her backside than the trotting. The horses hard bony spine knifed between her buttocks. It hurt. She wondered how long she could ride like this.

Hoofbeats behind. The man gave a quick look back, then heeled the horse into a full run.

They plunged headlong through the woods. Melanie held on desperately, but there was little riding experience in her background. She had no idea of how to maintain a seat on a mount, much less how to hang on riding tandem. She bounced and slid, shifted and recovered, not daring a look behind.

But she could hear the pursuit, their hoofbeats sounding on the beaten dirt of the trail, closer, closer still.

They rode up a hill, ran along the crest, then down into dense trees, branches whipping at them from both sides. Splashing through a brook, they mounted a shallow bank and came back onto the beaten path.

It happened when they tried to take the next steep incline. The horse hesitated at the bottom, then leaped. Melanie lost her grip and slid off, hitting hard, her head slamming against the ground. The rider kept going, not looking back.

She was stunned momentarily. When she lifted her head she saw three men on horses standing around her. She sat up.

Well, look what we have here, said the one with the dark beard and small eyes.

All three were in chain mail, their heads bare in the warm weather.

The three dismounted. Hes getting away.

He can wait. Besides, we can always say we killed him.

Hes right. Who will gainsay it?

Whos first, then?

I am, said the black beard, unstrapping his scabbard.

Two grabbed her. She didnt fight; she was still woozy.

Soon they had her stripped and spread-eagled on the ground.

The black beard was down to his knit tights, but something he saw made him stop.

Whats this? Looking back up the hill, he guffawed. The two other paladins released Melanie and got to their feet.

Melanie sat up and looked. The rider had reappeared on foot at the top of the hill, sword drawn, and was now slowly descending, his face set resolutely, as if confronted with an unpleasant but necessary task.

Laughing, the two casually drew their swords, waiting. The black-bearded one hurried to dress.

Without thinking about it, almost as though her body were obeying an inexorable law of its own, she crawled, naked, to the dropped scabbard. She slid the huge sword out, its two-edged blade oiled and gleaming. She stood. She approached the black-bearded one from behind, slowly raising the sword.

When she was directly behind him, she brought the heavy weapon down as hard as she could.

She was surprised by how deeply the blade cleaved the skull. Two geysers of blood erupted to either side of the wound. She let go of the sword as the man fell.

One of the other paladins turned his head and registered momentary shock. Then he advanced toward her menacingly. At the same time the rider began to charge down the hill.

The one coming at Melanie looked back. She turned and ran, but didnt get far. The paladin soon caught up, grabbed her by the hair, and whipped her to the ground. He raised the sword high to do the job.

Her penultimate thought, before the blade came down, was that she didnt have to worry about the calculus test.

Her last thought was for her two sons who would never be.


Ten

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Garden

Prince Trent was a striking man, hair the color of country butter, the blue of his eyes matching patches of sky among the puffy clouds overhead. He was dressed in a white tennis shirt with red piping, tan slacks, and gray suede shoes. He looked a young forty. His smile radiated charm.

I expected to see Sheila here, Dalton said.

Trent chuckled. My relatives are a little snooty. Sheilas a commoner, and, worse, a castle Guest. That puts her a notch or two below a scullery maid.

Trent was seated on the edge of a table, arms crossed, one leg casually dangling. He seemed totally indifferent to the fact that a murder had taken place.

I see. Too bad.

Oh, she didnt want to come. But I couldnt very well turn down my sister.

Tyrene said, Im reluctant to bring it up, sir, but did you not have a slight altercation with the viscount over this very matter?

Trents smile faded a little. Actually, yes. The charm came back again. Are you sir-ing me, Tyrene? When I was in the Guard it was Y. R. H., old fellow.

Tyrene smiled. That was many a year ago.

Yeah, too many. But I like to be called Trent, now. No Your Highness or even sir. Y.R.H. only if you must.

As you wish, Trent.

Tyrene waited.

Trent chuckled again. Im being evasive. You wanted to know about the run-in with Oren. Yes, I brought Sheila to a soire shortly after our marriage. Oren was among those who made it known that she was not welcome. Then the son of a bitch made a pass at her. Not a short screen, either. I mean a long bomb into the end zone. He practically tore her bodice off.

And you struck the viscount.

Yup. I let him have it.

And you challenged him to a duel.

No. Actually, it was he who challenged me.

I see.

It was later, and he was drunk. He told me that no man could strike him and live.

Is it not true that you answered with words to the effect that sexual assault was a crime punishable by death in any civilized world?

Trent eyed Tyrene at the level. Yeah, I said it.

Thaxton was sitting at the table eating a slice of blancmange.

That any good? Trent asked, turning his head.

If you like blancmange, Thaxton said. Pity to let all this food go to waste.

It is getting close to supper time, Dalton said.

Trent asked Tyrene, My brothers still out?

Yes, last word I had. He didnt tell anyone where he was going, which means he doesnt want to be reached.

He must have had pressing business. Or maybe he didnt care for Oren either, though I dont think the two ever associated much.

In any event, Tyrene said, his declining to make an appearance is putting me in a spot. I have explicit orders to bar anyone from going back to his home aspect until the king commands otherwise.

What are you going to do? Trent asked. Pitch tents?

Oh, theyd never stand for it. No, Peele Castle is where well spend the night.

Dalton said, Peele Castle?

Trent said, Its an old fortress about, oh, five miles from here, down by the shore. Sits on a cliff over the sea. Very picturesque. My brothers and I used to play there when we were kids. Talk about a long time ago.

Tyrene said, Itll be a hardship, but well make do. Ive already given orders to get horses up here, as some of the ladies are not up to walking.

Is the place habitable? Thaxton asked.

Oh, yes, Tyrene replied. Its been refurbished over the years. Its still sometimes used as a weekend resort. Completely furnished. But well have to haul supplies.

And the ladies toiletries and night-things will have to be fetched, Trent said.

Gods, yes. I have fifty servants fanning out to gather all the necessary stuff.

Thaxton wiped his mouth with a satin napkin and stood. He drank off a glass of champagne. That should hold me till dinner.

Youre presuming, Dalton said. Tyrene, theres no need for the two of us to come along, is there?

Tyrene said, I wish you would. Mr. Thaxton, here, has a sharp eye. Besides, His Majestys orders cover anyone connected with this affair.

Thaxton said, After all, we could have killed him.

Trent laughed. Two homicidal maniac golfers, in knickerbockers yet.

Oh, yes, you can bash a head in good with a niblick.

Sure, and I suppose you stabbed him with a tee.

Y.R.H., if I might reintroduce a note of sobriety, Tyrene broke in.

Sorry. Yes, by all means.

You say you have no specific memory of passing by the viscount and Lady Rilma at the moment, or shortly before the moment, that the viscount got up and left?

Well, no, not really. I mean, I must have walked by that spot once or twice, but I didnt see the viscount leave. Wasnt aware of him at all, really. And I certainly 

Trent looked off for a moment. Wait a minute. Now I remember. I did walk by there, and the reason that I recall it is that something flew by my head.

Flew by your head?

Yes. Something swished past. Dont know what it was. I thought it was a bird buzzing me. Didnt see anything.

What sort of sound did it make?

Not very identifiable. Just a fluttering. Or maybe it wasnt that, just a hiss or aswish. Maybe it was an insect. Therere usually dragonflies around the pond over there. It wasnt very obtrusive at all, and I really didnt take any notice of it.

Very interesting indeed, Tyrene said. Where were you exactly when this occurred?

Trent got up and walked a few paces out from the table, looked around, then sidestepped out a few paces more.

About here, he said.

Tyrene walked to him and looked back toward the table. So you were almost directly behind the viscount at the moment that this thing came past.

Almost. A little past him. Yeah, it seems so. I could be off a couple of paces, but this is more or less where I was at that exact moment. Im pretty sure that the thing whizzed by the back of my head.

And you have no idea what the thing was.

Well, now. Since Ive recalled this, several possibilities have come to mind.

Such as?

The obvious.

Tyrene nodded. A thrown knife, perhaps?

Yes. Even though a stiletto isnt a good throwing knife, the thought did occur to me, yes.

A stiletto is not a good throwing knife at all. But I suppose we must consider the possibility that it was thrown. Did you see anyone in a position to throw it?

Trent looked to his right. That hedge is man-high. Someone could have stepped out from behind there and done it.

Tyrene looked. Yes. Possibly.

Well, there you are. Thats what happened.

Tyrene looked doubtful. Why would the murderer take such a risk?

Unless he were an exceptional knife thrower.

Ah. And do you have such a person in mind?

Tyrene, Im rather hesitant about casting suspicions on anyone. Besides, I think you know who Im thinking of.

My apologies, Y.R.H. I just wanted to hear someone else vocalize it. Yes, I have someone in mind. But I have a problem. Why would the murderer choose to throw while you were in the way?

I may have been the target, Trent said.

I suppose we cannot rule that out.

Or he simply might not have seen me. I may have walked into his blind spot.

Also possible. But if it was this certain person I have in mind, only the second reason would apply, since the man is an old friend of yours.

Damik, Trent said. Yes, he and I go way back. Damn it, Tyrene, I said I didnt want to compromise anyone.

I have no reason at the moment for believing that the count was the culprit. His being an excellent bladesman does not instantly bring him under suspicion. There are many such among the inhabitants of Perilous and its environs.

Im glad you realize that, because Damiks no murderer.

There is no reason in all the universes to imagine that he is. In fact, I believe he was a friend to the viscount as well.

No accounting for taste.

Tyrene looked at the trampled grass. Yes. Well. Im very grateful to you for this interview, sir.

Only too glad to help.

Tyrene looked back toward the portal. Here be the horses. He heaved a sigh. And now, it devolves to me to inform these gentle lords and ladies, every Jack and Jane of them my better, that theyre all going to spend the night in the lockup. Gods have mercy.

Tyrene moped off.

Where is this castle? Thaxton asked.

Just follow the sun down to the sea, Trent said. Theres a bridle path that runs by on the other side of the pond. Takes you right there.

What say, Dalton, old boy? Ready to walk it? Its only five miles.

Oh, I suppose Im up to it. Im not much of a horseback rider.

Id join you gentlemen, Trent said, but Im waiting for my wife. I sent word to her, and she sent back that she was coming, hell or high water notwithstanding.

Are you going to take Sheila to Peele? Dalton asked.

If she wants to come. I dont give a damn what anyone thinks.

Well, I suppose well see you both there, Dalton said. Later.

Wouldnt miss the fun.

The two erstwhile golfers circled the pond, in which grew a profusion of pretty water plants. On the other side they found the bridle path winding through hedges and thickets of forsythia. Here and there were lilac trees, all blooming in endless shades of lavender.

How do you suppose they get horses up into the castle? Dalton asked.

Freight lift?

Have you ever seen a freight lift in the castle?

Cant say as I ever did, but that, as you well know, means nothing.

Right. More important, Dalton said, do you think Trent is still as hotheaded as he was reputed to be in his youth?

Which was about two hundred years ago, Thaxton pointed out. Who knows? Dont know Trent very well. He and Sheila dont come out of their island paradise much.

Myself, Ive never found him to be anything but the soul of civility. But castle legend has it that he once challenged Incarnadine for the throne.

Ive heard that. But thats all patched up, isnt it? Besides, whats it got to do with Trents being a likely candidate for the viscounts killer? That is what youre insinuating, isnt it?

Yup, Dalton said. He could have thrown the dagger, or simply slipped it in as he passed.

Odd way to do someone in, that, Thaxton ruminated. En passant, at a picnic, with people around.

Dalton said, And all because the guy made a pass at his wife.

Unless 

Hm?

Unless, Thaxton said, theres something more to it. Something more to the pass, that is.

You mean Sheila  and the viscount were ?

Well, that sounds unlikely. We both know Sheila. But we dont know the circumstances of the alleged incident. Long bomb into the end zone. If I know my American rugby thats serious business. Suppose it were more or less a rape?

Okay, I see what youre driving at, but we dont know what happened, and I dont see how we could find out. Trent is certainly not going to elaborate.

Yes. But sexual assault is a tad bit more serious than a pass, isnt it?

I would have to agree, Dalton said, smelling the lilac.


Eleven

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Necropolis

It was dark in the alley behind the Pelican Club, a single bare bulb glowing above the back door of the oriental restaurant next door. Kitchen fans blew food smells to blend with the reek of garbage. A rat skittered across the broken concrete of the pavement, stopped to sniff at an oily puddle, moved on.

Carney and Velma waited in the shadows, her hand on his arm. He was in topcoat and hat, she hatless in a dark seal coat. It was chilly, but there was no wind.

A car made the turn into the alley and approached. It was a long cream-colored sedan with flaring fenders, a continental kit on the drivers side, white tires, and a big front grille of gleaming chrome. The radiator cap was topped with a winged Nike.

The car pulled up behind the nightclub. Montanaro was at the wheel. Carney ushered Velma into the front seat and got in, closed the door.

So, boss, Tony said, where to?

Velmas place. Tell him where you live, Velma.

The Tweeleries.

Tony grinned. Boss, you either have some powerful mumbo jumbo workin for you tonight, or youve gone nuts.

Neither. But I figure the straightforward approach is best.

Youre just going to call him out, or what?

Actually, just going to call on him. Tweel likes to talk.

He likes to do the talking. Boss, I dont think its a good idea.

No, but its inevitable. Somethings up, and Ive got to find out what  what his game is. Whats eating him, maybe. Do you know, Velma?

Clare doesnt have anything eating him, she said. Hes an eater. He feeds.

Its a rough universe.

Yeah, yeah, she said, pulling out a cigarette. Can I smoke?

Sure, Tony said, as he slid the ashtray out of the dashboard. This baby has everything. He took the cigarette lighter out of the dash, flicked it. Flame danced, limning her rouged cheeks, her glistening red lips. She puffed. He put the lighter back and closed the door to its tiny receptacle.

She inhaled deeply, then let it out. Smoke billowed against the windshield. Yeah, its rough. There are the eaters, and those that get eaten. Clares an eater. She looked at Carney. You are, too.

How about me, babe? Tony wanted to know.

Youre dumb, but cute.

Lets see if I have this straight now, Carney said. There are bastards and simps, and the consumers and the consumed. Have I got it all now?

You got it.

Where do you fit in?

I just swim along with the current. Just swim along.

Okay, now you have a marine metaphor going. Big fish, little fish.

Big fish with big teeth, little fish with suckers. Thats pretty much it.

They pulled out onto Whiteway Boulevard, merging with the stream of late-night traffic. Crowds were just getting out of the darkening theaters, couples arm-in-arm on the sidewalks, still laughing at the gag lines, humming the tunes, occasionally pausing to window-shop. Drunks threaded in and out of the milling throngs. Beyond the canyon walls the many-footed city murmured in the neon night-mist, a monster stirring in its sleep

They gotta be tailin us, Tony said.

Carney gave a look back. Dont see anything yet.

Wait till we turn off. Boss, this is gonna be suicide. One, theyre gonna try to zotz us before we cross the river; two, if we do get into Hellgate, we get wasted before we drive a block; three, say you do get to the Tweeleries. They either let you have it at the check station, or they take you in and do it, maybe for Tweel to watch.

Drive to Mannys Garage first, Carney said.

Tony nodded slowly, then smiled. I gotcha. Change cars, huh? The smile faded. But theyll just wait for us to come out.

You drive in, drop me off. You take the new car and drive out with Velma. They wont follow you. Ill slip through the celebrity duck-out hole into Luckys basement. Ill go up into the restaurant and out the front door. You pick me up there.

Thats great, boss.

Nobody but Lucky and his celeb customers know about the hole. And Manny. And me, since I own half the joint. And Mannys employees. Carney chuckled. Now that I think of it, its not such a big secret. Still, it should work.

Its a little risky, but I like it, Tony said. He shrugged. Hey, you gotta take a shot, you know what Im sayin?

You pays your money and you falls on your face.

Tony laughed. Yeah, thats exactly what were gonna do if they tail me, maybe thinkin youre hidin in the trunk or some stunt like that.

If they do split up to tail you, what you do is 

Hey, boss, whaddya think, Im some kinda mamaluke? If they tail me, I drive around until they get sick of it. I lose em and then I come back for you.

Hey, you gotta some brains.

Tony cackled, then checked the rearview window. Hell, I see em already. Thats Seamus Riordans Durant Roadmaster. I can tell by the grille.

Seamus got first crack, Carney said. But he wont have time.

Tony turned right onto 43rd Street and went half a block before turning into a steep ramp under a sign that read MIDTOWN PARKING.

Down in the garage, Carney got out near the glassed-in office.

Park it. Get the new car and get over there as fast as you can. If youre delayed, when you pull up in front of Luckys, blink your lights. The doorman will let me know, so I dont have to stand out there waiting and maybe get spotted. Got it?

Got it, boss.

Manny will take care of you, or whoevers on tonight.

Check.

He closed the door and went into the office. The night manager was Billy Pinsk. Carney ordered a nondescript rental car.

Got just what you need, Mr. Carney. A Leland sedan, gray, no flashy stuff.

Tony Montanaros out there. You fix him up. Right now I need you to let me through to Luckys.

Doors unlocked, Mr. Carney. Always. You know where it is?

That door back there and to the right?

Thats it, Mr. Carney. Straight to the end of the corridor, you cant miss it.

Okay, thanks.

Dark back there, Mr. Carney. Watch your step.

Right.

He walked to the back of the garage, opened the steel door, and stepped through. It was quiet on the other side. He turned right and proceeded through gloom until he came to another door. It was ajar. He went through and followed a short corridor, came out among boilers and pipes, weaved through and around, then mounted a wooden staircase.

He pushed open the door at the top and let himself into Luckys kitchen. It was big, full of men in white aprons and hats working furiously at counter and stove. Steam mushroomed to the ceiling. The odor of chopped onions stood out among myriad others.

Nobody gave him a look as he walked through. He thumped through swinging doors and passed the mens room. He gave a fleeting thought to relieving his bladder pro forma, not really needing to, giving Tony a little time. But he was anxious and in a hurry.

He went to the front door by way of the smaller of the restaurants two rooms, not seeing anybody he knew.

Outside, he looked up and down the street. No Tony. The doorman asked if he needed a cab, and he shook his head. He stepped back under the sidewalk canopy and gave it three minutes, looking for signs of Tonys Leland or Riordans Durant.

Neither showed. He beckoned to the doorman, spoke his instructions, and handed the man a fiver.

Sure thing, Mr. Carney.

Just let Alphonse know. Ill be at my table.

Yes, sir.

Inside, after he had checked his hat and coat, Alphonse greeted him with a smile.

Your table, Mr. Carney?

Yes. I probably wont be staying long. Just enough for a drink.

Anything you say, Mr. Carney.

A waiter showed him across the main floor. On the way he saw a table occupied by the Bakunin triplets  Grumpo, Cisco, and Heppo  and two chorines, all in for a late bite after another performance of their long-running hit musical comedy, Have I Gotta Deal For You! He detoured over.

Cisco took his nose out of a racing form to say, Johnnie, sweetheart. It was always a little disconcerting to hear his normal voice, untainted by the put-on Latin accent of his stage and screen character. Hey, what do you say?

Grumpo smiled his lizard smile. Killed anybody recently?

Nobody. Havent zotzed a soul since, oh, itll be a year come Michaelmas.

Well, thats disappointing. Next thing you know youll be taking stray kittens home.

Heppos childlike grin was as wide as the bald strip that ran from his forehead almost to the back of his neck. Without his wig and makeup he looked like a garment maven or a bookkeeper, anything but the brilliant comedian he was. Hi, John, he said. Havent seen you in for lunch at the Penobscot lately.

Crossing foils with that Penobscot Forum crowd is tiring. I cant stay up late writing ad libs.

How do you think I feel sometimes, Heppo said, mixing with the literati? Me with an eighth-grade education.

They like you, Heppo.

Dara Porter says Im a rhinestone in the rough.

She knows her gems.

Rhinestones are a girls best friend, Grumpo said.

Me, Ill take the money, Cisco said. What do you think, John? I got a tip on a twenty-to-one long shot, a two-year-old filly in the fifth at Via Appia tomorrow. She has a terrible track record, but I got the word in training-runs she clocks like the wind. Crazy? or should I bet my wad?

Carney thought about it Yeah, its only a matter of time before she overcomes her skittishness. Put it all down to win, Cisco.

Hey, I will. Thanks.

Carney said, Grumpo, hows the new show coming?

Lousy.

What, with book by Geoff Katzman and music by Ira Bremen?

Its going to cost a fortune to stage, which means theyre not going to offer us any more money than were getting now. And I just bought a house. I need a raise.

Didnt you just film Have I Gotta Deal?

Yeah, but I already spent that money on the down payment.

Must be a terrific house.

It was a steal. They stole my money.

John, have a seat, Heppo said.

Actually, Im just waiting for my driver. He must have gotten a flat or something. Hes late.

Well, you got time for a drink, then. Sit down.

Carney dismissed the waiter and pulled up a chair. The two chorines smiled at him and he grinned back amiably.

Hear youve been having trouble recently, Grumpo said.

Nah, just a little misunderstanding, Carney said.

The Daily Times is billing it as the biggest gang war Necropolis has ever seen. Pictures and everything. It wasnt pretty.

I dont imagine. Still, theyre blowing it all out of proportion, as usual.

Yeah, they have the box office to think of, too, Grumpo said, phlegmatically munching the end of his cigar.

Strange things are happening, Cisco said. I got a friend in the mayors office says they havent seen him for two days.

Who? Carney said. The mayor?

Yeah. Nobody knows where His Honor is. They got no message from him, nothing. The papers are sitting on the story.

Interesting. But hes probably down in Palm Coast again with the phone off the hook.

A reporter I know says hes at the Tweeleries. On ice.

He and Clare are buddies. Or were.

Yeah, but I dont think this is friendly.

Food arrived, stacks of sandwiches and piles of cole slaw. Carney ordered a drink, and it came with lightning speed.

You want half my sandwich? Heppo offered. I can never finish these.

No, thanks, Hep. Carney looked at his watch. I cant imagine where my driver got to.

You need a lift? Cisco asked.

You have your car?

No, Cisco chuckled. Hey, I just asked you if you needed a lift.

You ought to work on that material. It shows promise.

Promises were made to be broken, Grumpo said. I have a car, John, and youre welcome to it, if you can get it back from the finance company.

Cisco snorted. Hes always kvetching about how hard up he is. Bullshit  hes rich.

Bullshit, Im rich.

Go on, youre rolling in it. Im the one with the sob story. I lost fifty grand at the track last year.

And that was after taxes, Grumpo said. You know, Morris 

The brothers (fraternal triplets) always called each other by their proper names.

 just the other day someone said you were dumb.

Yeah? What did you say?

I said, Hes shit.

Well, thanks, I appreciate it, Cisco said.

If you cant stick up for your brother, who can you stick up for?

Stick it up your ass.

Dont knock it if you havent  Grumpo turned to one of the chorines, who was convulsed. You can choke to death that way, honey. Spit that corned beef out.

She swallowed and gagged. Grumpo slapped her bare back.

Carney checked his watch again, then gave a glance back to the maitre ds station.

You seem a little nervous, John, Heppo remarked.

Maybe I am.

Well, take it easy. Youre among friends.

With friends like us, Grumpo said, he needs all the enemies he can get.

Dont listen to this guy. Momma always said his mouth would take him to the top, and then right back down again.

Momma didnt raise any mute children, except you.

I know my limitations. I cant talk for sour beans. Shoot a Moogie 

Heppo made a grotesquely comical face.

 that I can do. There was this guy below our place when we were kids, ran a fix-it shop. When he worked he screwed up his face like this. Heppo did it again. His name was Mort, but they called him Moogie, for some reason. Anyway, I been cashing in on him ever since.

An artist uses the material of everyday life, Carney said.

And a comedian buys his gags from a good gag writer, Grumpo said.

Grumpo, Carney said, your best gags are your own. In fact, youre eponymous for the quick retort. Grumpoisms.

Grumpo looked rueful. I wish I was a surgeon. Or a dishwasher. Anything but a professional wiseguy. He seemed to mean it.

The meal went on, the talk gravitating to show business. Carney decided to stay put for now, as he was reluctant to take a cab alone. Not because he feared an ambush  if one came it could be a litmus test by which to judge the possible outcome of the evening  but because the cabby might get hurt.

At some point, Cisco threw down his half-eaten sandwich. Lets get out of here. Its late and Im tired.

Spoken like a trouper, Grumpo said. Lets vamoose. John, youre welcome to share a cab with us.

Thanks, I will.

Grumpo picked up the check and looked it over. This is outrageous. John, if I were you 

Carneys fifty was already in the tray, and the sight of it spoiled Grumpos punch line. All he could do was grin awkwardly and say, Thats decent of you. Grumpo was not known as the worlds fastest check-grabber.

Outside, Cisco herded the girls into a cab and waved goodbye to them.

Im bushed, he said. Besides, I think theyre both virgins. Theyre from out in the Midwest somewhere.

Yeah, Virginia. Grumpo said.

No, from some farm state.

Arent they all? Virgins are a cash crop out there. They ship em all east to the Boulevard.

How about Studio City? Cisco asked.

Studio City? Virgins? Are you kidding? Grumpo appealed to Heppo. Hes gotta be kidding.

A cab pulled up. Carney had been vainly searching up and down the street.

Coming, John? Heppo said.

Yeah. Carney got in.

The cab pulled away, and Carney settled back, unsure of what to do.

Where are you going, John? Grumpo asked.

Hellgate.

Driver, Grumpo yelled. East Seventieth and Bennington, then over the river for this gentleman here. He turned around on the little flip-down seat. Well pay the fare since you were stupid enough to pick up the check.

Forget it. Hellgates a long way.

Well, if you insist, Grumpo said affably. I like arguing with this guy. You always lose to your benefit.

Cisco turned the conversation back to virginity and related matters, and was in the middle of a story about a sporting house up in Eindhoven with an employee whose specialty was something akin to fruit arrangement, when Carney spotted a gray Leland parked on the street.

She takes these pineapple slices see  Cisco was saying.

Stop here, driver, Carney called.

Sounds so good Id probably eat it myself, Grumpo said. Are you getting off, John?

Good night, boys.

Well, dont take any wooden Indians. Whatever that means.

Take care, John, Heppo said.

Carney got out and watched the cab move off. The street was quiet. He walked back to the parked sedan.

Tony and Velma were intricately entangled, his hand lost in her dress.

He tapped on the glass.

Tony jumped. He rolled down the window. Boss! Hey, we got tailed. They wouldnt quit, so I pulled over to wait em out.

Carney gave the street the up-and-down. Looks like they were convinced. You can stop the verisimilitude now.

When Carney got in, Velma was reapplying lipstick and Tony was wiping it off his face.

Sorry about that, boss, Tony said.

You could have phoned the restaurant.

I didnt want to leave Velma.

Forget it. But Im docking you a hundred out of your pay.

Tony was silent for a moment. He put away his handkerchief. Gee, boss, Im sorry as hell. I feel like such a fincchio. I really shoulda figured some way to phone.

I said, forget it. We lost them. Now lets get moving.

Tony started the car.

Velma gave Carney an enigmatic smile conveying a suggestion that she had meant to do some mischief and was delighted to have succeeded. But it was only a suggestion.

Go up to Dutchtown, Carney said.

Dutchtown? I thought we was going to cross the river.

Later. I need to get in the spirit.

Check.

The car moved off into the night.


Twelve

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ville-Des-Morts

The street was dark and deserted, decent people being in bed, sleeping or otherwise, at this time of night. There was, however, a fingernail-clipping of a moon that served to limn the cobblestones in a faint bluish light.

Linda, Gene, and Snowclaw kept to the shadows. They passed through alley after alley, sending gray ghosts of cats scurrying. Every so often they encountered a lighted window  someone sick, perhaps, or a literate citizen (in these neighborhoods quite rare) up with an absorbing book.

They did run across the odd person up and about, and twice, a group of rowdies. The rowdies they hid from, but in neither case did they suspect the passers-by of being members of Ragueneaus private police force.

They moved on through the old city.

We could go through the sewers, Gene suggested.

Yuck, Linda said. Do you know your way around down there?

Nope. But I thought it would lend the right note of romance. Orson Welles in The Third Man. Zither music, you know?

Right.

Wait. Gene stopped Linda with an outstretched arm. Snowclaw halted.

Voices up ahead. Gene motioned toward the mouth of an alley. With a light tread, they ran.

The other end of the alley gave onto a winding street. They turned left and proceeded until they heard more voices, these off to the left. They hurried.

They came running around a bend and into full view of three men talking in the middle of the square. They skidded to a stop.

One of the three walked toward them. You there! Lets see your papers. He wore, as did his mates, the telltale purple brassard of Ragueneaus auxiliaries.

Papers? Gene said innocently.

The man kept coming. Idiot! Your identification papers.

No need to get personal.

Eh? Whats your name? The mans right hand went to his sword hilt.

Jose Ferrer. And we dont got to show you no stinkin papers. Gene drew his rapier.

The man drew his weapon almost simultaneously, but backstepped until the other two arrived. Gene and Snowclaw went to meet them. Gene engaged the first man while Snowclaw, sans weapon, faced down the pair.

They didnt know what to make of him. Snowclaw kept advancing purposefully, and, momentarily intimidated by his size and his inexplicable behavior, the two men failed to stand their ground. Then one of them lunged for Snowclaws massive chest. The point made contact; the thin sword bowed into an arch, and the astonished attacker withdrew.

Ouch, Snowclaw said, stopping. He opened his shirt and examined his right pectoral. That broke the skin, darn it. He sprang toward the culprit. Now youre going to get it.

Both men dashed away.

Gene and his opponent were mixing it up rather well. Snowclaw stood by and watched imperturbably, but Linda gnawed a knuckle, giving a little shriek when Gene had to retreat from a killing lunge.

When the man realized he was alone, the fight went out of him. He backed off, looked over his shoulder, gave a weak, embarrassed smile, then turned and ran.

You guys are good, Linda marveled.

Get hurt, Snowy? Gene asked.

Nah. Theres only one or two spots on me that those pointy things can jab into, but they havent found em yet.

Amazing, Linda said.

Gene poked him. Snowy must have some kind of layer of cartilage under his skin. At least thats how I 

Running footsteps came from beyond the bend, approaching.

The threesome took off down the street. They made a left at the next crossing and followed a narrow street lined with buildings fronting on the pavement. The sounds of pursuit remained at their heels. They ducked into an alley, ran along it. Snowclaw collided with a pile of debris and made a racket. Linda stubbed her toe, suppressed a curse, and went limping along. Gene was first into the street on the other side, and looked to the right. Five of Ragueneaus henchmen came spilling out of a courtyard. Gene jumped back into the alley, snagged Snowclaw before he blundered out, and turned Linda around. She grabbed onto him.

Go back! Can you walk?

I think I broke my toe.

They worked their way slowly back up the alley. For all Snowclaws caution, however, he stumbled over the same pile of junk, raising as much racket as before.

I thought you could see in the dark, Gene growled.

Who ever said that? Something breakable shattered. Darn it, anyway.

Snowy, quit that!

Im not doing it deliberately! I cant see a thing.

In fact, Snowclaws eyes were designed to temper the harsh arctic glare of sun on ice and snow. The lenses of his eyes were like polarized sunglasses, and thus made for poor night vision.

A shadow appeared at the end of the alley.

You there! Stop where you are!

They turned and tried to run, but Linda could do little better than limp along. When they reached the other end of the alley, Ragueneaus goons were waiting to meet them.

Gene waded in, sword long since drawn, and engaged no less than three of the five. One grabbed Linda, but Snowclaw snapped his neck straightaway. The fourth goon tried to run Snowclaw through, but got his rapier broken in two and himself thrown through a window.

More of the Legates henchmen came rushing out of the alley like hornets out of a disturbed nest, in numbers more than even Snowclaw could effectively deal with.

By that time Gene had skewered one opponent and punctured anothers sword shoulder. Those two incapacitated, Gene took on two more, ran one through immediately and nicked the others forearm. He fought furiously, his blade whipping back and forth from one opponent to the next. Steel clashed and rang.

But it was no use. Eventually Gene was surrounded and the fight was over.

Gene lowered his sword. Snowy!

Snowclaw was busy with an experiment: Could a mans leg be stuffed into his own ear? Not easily, as it turned out. Seven other goons were desperately trying to restrain him.

What?

Give it up, Snowy. They got us.

Aw, heck. Snowclaw dropped his slightly rearranged victim.

One of the captors, presumably the leader, swaggered up to Gene and took the rapier.

Eugne de Prilleux, I presume?

Cest moi all over.

His Eminence, the Legate, craves the honor of your company, the man said with an ironic sneer. But on the morrow. For tonight, deluxe accommodations await you at the Tower of Tears.

Gene muttered, Yeah, I hear the Triple-A gave it five stars.

Take them away.

Gene heard gasps and turned in Snowclaws direction.

No longer did Snowclaw look human. In fact, he looked not unlike an upright-walking polar bear dressed in seventeenth-century costume. But of course he looked more fierce than any bumbling bear; no bear ever had such elaborate dentition or yellow eyes that glowed in the dark.

He growled. The goons backpedaled away.

Pay no attention to my friend, here, Gene said. His therapist says hes getting better.

Sorcerers! one of them said, quailing.

Snowclaw tore off his clothing and threw the rags aside. Boy, that feels better. He was a mountain of white fur.

A devil!

Not really, Snowclaw said. He held up one pawlike hand. Gingerly, he touched the middle of the palm with one finger. In an instant bone-white claws, two inches long and wickedly sharp, sprang from the ends of his fingerlike digits. But I like kicking a few butts now and then.

They all ran.

Gene picked up his sword and sheathed it. You had to go and spoil the fun.

Sorry, Snowclaw said.

Linda let out a windy breath. Oh, was I scared.

We would have figured out something, Gene said. Come on, lets get to the portal. Hows your toe?

Its all right. Just stubbed. Gene, whats the Tower of Tears?

Oh, a prison, with a very good apprentice-torturer program.

Get out.

No, its a sort of teaching hospital in reverse. Clients get personalized service.

Im not going to think about it.

I really am sorry, Snowclaw said, tagging after them.

The portal was in the crypt of a collapsed cathedral that had never been rebuilt. The stairs descended into darkness. Gene went to a nearby niche, slid out a stone, and took a candle and matches out of the cavity. He lit the candle, handed it to Linda, then slid the stone back into place. The threesome went down the winding stairwell single file.

Id stash a flashlight, but I worry about it being discovered, Gene said. Besides, batteries corrode. Never rely on a higher technology when a lower one will suffice.

They walked along a corridor with doorways opening off to burial crypts at either hand. Gene led the way into the third chamber on the right.

The far wall was pierced with a pointed archway, through which light spilled. They passed through it and entered Castle Perilous, stepping from one world to another as if it were nothing. And it wasnt much at all, as far as they were concerned.

Linda did an orchestra conductors flourish. Her seventeenth-century outfit vanished, replaced with her usual castle duds. Gone also was the blond beard.

Sheesh! Am I glad to get out of those. I wouldnt make a very good guy.

I wouldnt touch that line with a fork. Do you think Dolbert and Luster are up in the graving dock now?

They sleep up there. We should go up and see what gives.

Its only three floors. Lets take the escalator.

The escalators were a new feature, tricked up by Linda, Sheila, and a few other adept castle magicians. They seemed to be fairly permanent so far, subject only to minor fluctuations and uncertainties. The devices hummed and clanked satisfactorily, and they actually worked.

Even if Dolbert manages to get the Voyager running again, Gene said as they ascended, we still have the problem of locating Melanie.

We need the locater spell. Osmirik has it in one of his dusty books.

It works on Earth. No telling how effective it is elsewhere. Besides, she could be in any one of a million universes. It could take years to find her.

Then we have to come up with a spell that will locate her quicker. Thats all.

Gene had no answer.

They found their way through the immense castle with the ease possible only to veteran castle Guests. Still, it was a long walk to the lab.

On the way they heard something ringing ahead. They turned a corner to find a pay telephone on the wall.

Have you ever seen a phone in the castle before? Linda asked, amazed.

Cant say that I have, Gene said. Going to answer it?

Linda picked up the receiver. Hello?  Yes, it is  She listened for a moment, then said, Just a minute, please. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. Do you know anything about a Land Surveyor?

Land Surveyor? Nope.

Guy says hes the Land Surveyor and that he was sent to the castle.

Gene shrugged.

Uh, sir? Im sorry, but theres no one here who can help you at the moment  Yes  Uh-huh. Youre welcome. She hung up. I wonder what that was all about?

Who knows, Gene said.

When they arrived at the lab, Jeremy was at his work station as usual, typing away at the mainframe terminal.

Gene asked, Are Dolbert and Luster back in the graving dock?

They never come out, Jeremy said. I never see em.

Gene, Linda, and Snowclaw walked to the back of the lab and went through a large oaken door.

The chamber on the other side was immense, but not as big as the lab. The ceiling was the same arabesque of stone arches.

In the middle of the floor sat a strange bell-shaped object, a craft of some sort, up on jacks. There was an oval window in the hull; otherwise the silver-colored machine was smooth and featureless.

Two pairs of legs stuck out from underneath the craft, one pair a lot longer than the other.

Gene stooped. Hey, Luster?

Yo!

Uh, you got a minute?

Wull, ah reckon ah do.

Luster slid out and stood up. He was tall, wheyfaced, and thin. He wore filthy brown corduroy pants and work boots, and was shirtless except for the top section of his long underwear, which had originally been white, probably sometime early in the last decade. He wore a tattered, sweat-stained baseball cap of the style not seen since the last time Ty Cobb led the American League in batting. His irises were so pale they were almost indistinguishable from the white of the eye.

Hullo, Luster said, smiling. Maam, a nod to Linda.

Hi, Luster, Linda said.

Whut kin ah do for yall?

Gene said, Gee, Luster, we hate to bother you, but we kinda wanted some idea of when you guys think you can get the Voyager back on-line.

Say whut?

Uh, get it working again. Have any idea when?

Dolbert? You hear that?

A high-pitched cackling came from underneath the craft. It sounded at once derisory, ironic, and regretful.

Dolbert says he heard you.

Uh-huh. Well?

Dolbert? Gene wants to know when.

Chittering, with a hint of sarcastic skepticism.

Dolbert says it beats the livin bejesus outta him, Luster reported.

Linda sighed. Well have to do it by magic.

How? Gene asked.

Conjuring. Ill just conjure her.

Can you do that?

Never tried it. When Incarnadine was stranded last time, I was tempted. But this time I think Im going to try it.

Well, that brings up a lot of philosophical questions, Gene said.

Linda suddenly lost enthusiasm. Yeah, I know. For instance, will it be the real Melanie, or just some fake? Like most of the stuff I whip up.

Most of your stuff is pretty permanent, Gene said.

Yeah. Good thing, too. Imagine suddenly losing your clothes. Embarrassing. But that doesnt mean theyre real. Even if it worked, if I could conjure Melanie, I could never really be sure that the real one wasnt still off in a wild aspect somewhere, lost and alone.

Linda slumped to a wooden crate. Damn it.

Somebody in trouble? Luster asked.

Gene explained.

Wull, that shore is a pity. Hear that, Dolbert?

Sympathetic chirring.

Yeah, I know it. Dolbert says hes shore sorry, but he dont know whut all he kin do beyond whut hes doin right now.

Thats okay, Luster, Linda said. Im sure you guys are trying your best.

Dolbert slid out from underneath the Voyager and stood. He didnt look much like his brother. He was short and his eyes were darker. He wore no shirt under his bib overalls. His baseball cap was, if possible, even more rat-chewed and moth-eaten than his brothers. Grime covered him. His smile was wide and perpetual.

He guffawed and pointed to the crate Linda was sitting on.

Gene turned to Luster. What did he say?

He says maybe that new particulator we orderedll do the trick.

Particulator? Linda said, getting up.

Yup. We done ordered it in one of them whatchucall yore aspects. Lord Incarnadine told us it might be had there. And shore enough, it were.

Whats it do? Gene asked.

Danged if we know. Jus know that one thats in the Voyagers cracked.

Oh. And you think that might be the problem?

Could be. We replaced a couple parts so far. Dolbert even built one or two. They didnt do the trick. But this one jes might. Luster took off his cap, exposing a thicket of yellow hair. He scratched his head. Then agin, maybe not.

Gene asked, When do you figure you can install this gadget?

Dolbert?

Dolbert laughed and shrugged his narrow shoulders.

Luster said, Dolbert says there aint nothin standin in the way o doin it right now.

Gene dragged up another crate, this one empty. He sat.

Mind if we watch you doctors operate?

Dolbert giggled.


Thirteen

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seacoast

Peele Castle sat with its back to the sea atop a high chalk cliff. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, a fantasy of high towers and crenellated battlements. The sun declined behind it, throwing a sheen of reddish light over the water. Gulls wheeled in the evening sky, white against the darkening blue. Far out to sea, the dark stripe of a squall line edged the horizon.

Thaxton and Dalton sat on a knoll overlooking the scene.

Looks like bad weather coming in, Thaxton said.

Yup. God, isnt it picturesque?

It is that.

It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, Dalton recited. That a maiden there lived, whom you may know, by the name of Annabel Lee.

Keats?

Poe.

Oh, yes. American.

Heres the princess.

They both stood as Dorcas approached barefoot, sandals in hand.

Good evening, gentlemen. It was a nice walk, wasnt it? It seems were the first to arrive.

Couldnt pick a more charming spot to spend the night, Dalton commented.

Ive spent many a night in Peele, she said. When I was young we came here often. I spent whole summers here.

Are there any local inhabitants? Thaxton asked.

No. This land is deserted. The population disappeared long ago. Plague was the cause, its thought, though it happened so far back, no one is sure.

Pity. Its beautiful country. Reminds me of England a bit.

This world is a variant of Earth, and this land was very similar to England.

Dorcas looked landward across the grassy plateau. Here comes everybody.

A line of horse-and-riders was approaching, servants and others walking behind.

Your Highness, Thaxton said, may I ask about the jewel you wear on your forehead?

Yes, of course. It symbolizes the Interior Eye, the Eye of Yahura the Seer. It has to do with the religion of my adopted country, my husbands native land.

How interesting. Id like to hear more about it.

Certainly. Later, if you wish.

May I ask, maam, whether you knew the viscount well?

I knew him, his wife. I saw them at various affairs over the years. I couldnt say we were friendly. Still, its a terrible thing thats happened.

Oh, quite. Did the viscount have many enemies?

Dalton seemed uncomfortable. Im sure Her Highness doesnt 

I can understand your interest, the princess said, having discovered the body. It must have been a shock.

It was. I hope you dont find my questions too impertinent, maam, but, as you said, our curiosity is naturally very high. And our concern, of course.

As is everyone elses. The murderer must be brought to justice. He cannot be permitted to go free. The princess seemed to retreat into herself, her gaze deflecting momentarily. Then she looked at Thaxton. Yes. To answer your question, the viscount was not liked by many people. Whether he had enemies, I dont know.

Thank you, maam.

She looked toward the sea. I think Ill sit by the cliff and watch the sunset before I go in. I must meditate.

They watched her go down the knoll and walk toward the cliffs edge.

Odd.

What? Dalton asked.

When she said He must not be permitted to go free I got the distinct impression that she had someone specific in mind.

I sort of did, too, now that you mention it.

Their room was small but had a spectacular view of the ocean through casements of leaded glass. The servant, an elderly man with a shiny bald head, swung the panes out to let in tangy salt air.

Servants quarters, I suspect, Thaxton said, looking around.

Dalton said, Itll do. Hard to get used to an ordinary castle with limited space.

One bed, Thaxton noted, dubiously eyeing the not-quite-double bed.

I can fetch a cot, sir, the servant offered.

Oh, dont bother on my account, Thaxton said. One regrettable aspect of the current openness about things is that theres now something slightly questionable about two men occupying the same bed. Used to be no one gave it a second thought.

I remember, Dalton said. But I like to stretch out, and besides, I thrash in my sleep sometimes, or so my late wife used to tell me.

Ill tell one of the boys to fetch it right up, sir.

Thank you ?

Ruford, sir.

Thank you, Ruford.

Thaxton remarked, You were at the fte, werent you?

Yes, sir.

I suppose you saw nothing suspicious, either?

Ah  no, sir. I did not.

You didnt see the viscount get up and leave?

No, sir.

See anything happen right before that?

Ah  specifically what, sir?

Oh, anything that went on, for instance, between the viscount and his lady.

Ruford looked away. I did serve the viscount and Lady Rilma, yes, sir.

Did they talk?

Ruford seemed reluctant to speak.

Thaxton nodded. I realize Im asking you to talk about your employer 

Sir, I am not employed by the viscount. I am head of staff here at Peele.

I understand your reluctance. But this is important. Did Tyrene interview you yet?

No, sir.

Dalton said, Thaxton, maybe wed better wait. After all, its not our 

Hold off just a moment, old man. Ruford, Mr. Dalton and I are acting in an advisory capacity to the investigation. We will keep anything you say in strictest confidence.

Dalton gave his golf partner a strange look.

Ruford sighed. Very well, sir. Yes, I heard them speaking.

And?

They were arguing, sir.

About what?

I didnt hear all of it, sir, but the lady said something to the effect that he ought not to have done it right in front of her.

Done what?

Oh, dear. Rufords face reddened.

He was making improper advances?

Ruford raised his thin eyebrows. Yes, sir.

Thaxtons aside to Dalton was: Just a wild guess. Of Ruford he asked, To whom? Lady Rowena?

Yes.

Thats Lord Belgards wife?

Yes, sir.

While they were playing at hedge ball?

Yes, sir. I myself saw it.

And Lord Belgard, too, I presume.

Yes, sir, I suppose the lord did see it. He was right there.

Interesting. Under her husbands nose. And the viscount and Lady Rilma argued over this. She berated him?

She did, sir.

And what was his reaction?

He told her to be quiet. Then  he threw something at her.

He did?

Yes, sir. A wing of capon.

It struck her?

Yes, sir. In the face.

And what did she do or say?

Nothing, sir. She just got the palest look on her.

Pale? Was she afraid, do you think?

No, sir. It was anger, sir. The kind that drains the blood from the face and makes the lips waxen. That kind of anger, sir. Cold anger. She looked as though 

She looked as though what?

As though she were going to strike him back, sir. Only harder.

Did she make any attempt?

No, sir. None. She just sat there.

Did you hear or see anything else?

Im afraid not, sir. That is all I have to tell.

You didnt see Trent ?

Oh, please, sir. I saw nothing. Ruford cast his eyes to the floor. It is not my place to talk about the brother of the king.

In a court of law, youd be obliged to, Thaxton reminded him.

Yes, sir. I would. But not until then, and not until his lordship the judge puts the question, and I am bound by law and principle to answer.

I see. Well, thank you, Ruford. Thats all for now.

Youre quite welcome, sir. Ill see to the cot straightaway.

When the door closed, Dalton said, That was hard for him.

Well, servants, you know.

I do know that theres more than one mystery to all this.

Eh? Whats that?

You.

Me? Whatever do you mean?

Dalton sat on a hard-backed wooden chair. Ive never seen you like this. I cant fathom this amazing transformation thats come over you.

Just what amazing transformation is that, old man?

This is the first time Ive ever seen you  interested in something. Youre animated, youre involved. And you have the makings of becoming a damn fine amateur sleuth. Where on earth did you learn all that forensic medicine?

Thaxton chuckled. Im faking it, old man. I dont know all that much about forensic medicine or, for that matter, anything else. What I do know was learned out of murder mysteries.

Youre kidding.

Not at all. Used to read three a week sometimes when I was married. Not much else to do. Sayers, Christie, Chesterton, Bentley, the lot. And I was raised on Conan Doyle. Most fiction leaves me cold, but I love a good mystery. Gets the blood racing.

Absolutely amazing.

Detection? Hardly. All it takes is having no qualms about asking indelicate questions.

No powers of deduction? No keen eye?

Overrated. I certainly cant tell from a spot of clay on a mans boots that hes recently been in Lyme Regis or that his dog has beriberi or any of that Holmesian nonsense. But it doesnt take much to deduce that someone killed the viscount and that it was probably somebody at the party, who either threw a knife or stabbed him in the back and dropped the knife.

Dalton nodded. And now we know it could have been Lady Rilma.

Yes, she now tops the list. And it makes much more sense than the knife-throwing business. If the knife was thrown and it stuck deeply in the viscounts back, who pulled it out?

Dalton tried reaching to the middle of his back. I suppose he could have, though I cant imagine anything harder or more painful than pulling a knife out of ones own back. And  now, what I know about these matters you cant stuff a fleas backside with, and Ive read Sayers and everybody else  but dont people die when they get stabbed in the back? I mean, immediately? I was always under the impression it was a pretty quick thing. All of which is leading up to saying that it just might be that he was stabbed in the castle.

About murder, I only know what I see in films and read in novels, Thaxton said. But one thing I do know. Somebody stabbed the viscount as he sat eating, and then either deliberately or accidentally dropped the knife.

All right, but why drop the knife right there? Why not throw it in the bushes or in the pond? Why no attempt to dispose of something that could be traced?

Maybe it cant be traced.

Fingerprints?

Thaxton stared out the window. Something tells me that there wont be any fingerprints on that thing.

Why not, if Lady Rilma stabbed him, as you seem to be suggesting?

No reason at the moment. Just have a feeling itll be clean as a choir loft.

So you dont suspect Lady Rilma.

She could have wiped the knife before dropping it.

After stabbing him in a sudden rage? Maybe, but it doesnt sound convincing. Damn it. Dalton stood. Nothing about this business makes sense, and the biggest thing that doesnt make sense is that nobody saw anything. A brutal stabbing, right out in the open, in broad daylight, and no one saw a damn thing.

Thaxton was silent.

Dalton heaved an uneasy breath. Im hungry. They said dinner would be in an hour or so. No lunch. I should have grabbed something at the picnic. But 

Magic, Thaxton said.

Huh?

Thaxton turned. Magics involved somehow. I dont know how.

Well, thats interesting, because I was talking with Tyrene while you were off somewhere, about how this aspect doesnt have much magic in it. Or difficult magic, if any.

Nevertheless, I still think magics the key.

Anything behind that bit of brilliant deduction? And please dont say its elementary.

I wasnt going to. Well, old boy, lets take a walk, shall we? Look around the place.

Fine.

Well deal with alimentary matters later.

Shameful.

Peele Castle was interesting in a quaint way. The furnishings were in various styles, ranging from the very old to the merely antiquated. The place was a museum. Unicorn tapestries draped the walls, suits of armor stood in corners. It was in many ways much more homey than Perilous. Proportions were on a human scale. Rooms were not overpoweringly large, and there were enough comfy chairs, ottomans, carpets, settees, lamps, and trivet tables to make anyone feel at home.

The lords and ladies were being served drinks in the drawing room. At the sight of so many disgruntled and resentful aristocrats, Thaxton and Dalton demurred and sought refuge in the library.

Dalton browsed the shelves while Thaxton sipped sherry.

If only I could question them on my own, Thaxton mused. He clucked and shook his head. Not bloody likely.

Interesting books, Dalton said. They look more readable than Osmiriks stuff, though therere a lot of foreign  wait a minute, heres some English. Good God.

Thaxton broke out of his reverie. What?

Heres a book thats got to be mighty strange.

Eh? Whats that?

The Moswell Plan, by Dorcas Bagby.

Aside from the unlikelihood of running into the name Dorcas twice in one day, whats strange about it?

It shouldnt exist. I was a literary agent, but Im a bibliophile, too. I actually like books, especially obscure and interesting ones. This novels somewhat of a legend in the obscurity department. Matter of fact, I once tried hunting it down, and my assessment of the whole matter was that it was a hoax concocted by a young fantasy aficionado out in the Midwest. But here it be. I guess Ill be up tonight reading this.

Thaxton got up and looked over the selection. Most of the books looked old, and some were falling apart. He inclined his head and read the lettering on the spines.

Ever seen magic spelled M-A-G-I-E-K?

Dalton looked. Mageek?

Thaxton pulled the volume out. It was old but in good shape, its sturdy boards covered in fine leather. He opened it to the title page. In spidery print it read:

YE BUK OV MAGIEKAL DIVERSHYNS

beeng divers discorses on Ye emploiment ov wichrrye forr Ye delectashyn & eddifycashyn ov gentil fohkk

Ye athor beeng wone

Baldor o Ye Cayrn

Weird spelling but its English all right, Dalton said. I like wichrrye especially. Those capital Ys have a th sound. So its just the word the. I make the author out to be Baldor of the Cairn, or something like that. A cairn is a pile of Celtic rocks.

Thaxton thumbed through it. He found something of interest.

Not what you call page-turning action, but you can make it out, Dalton said, looking over Thaxtons shoulder. Whats it on? Parlor tricks?

Interesting, Thaxton said. Interesting. I think Ill be up reading, too.

A servant appeared at the door.

Gentlemen, dinner is served.


Fourteen

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dutchtown

Slowly, slowly run, O horses of the night.

Tony Montanaro glanced at the passing carriage and chuckled. They were almost out of the park and into the uptown district on the west side of the city.

Boss, I dont get it. What do they got up in Dutchtown that you need?

The seltzer trick is only going to work once. The old stuff gets stale eventually. I need something different, something new.

And youre going to get it off some melanzana?

Maybe. Well see.

They rolled out of the park and into uptown. The streets were still busy, a steady stream of patrons flowing in and out of the speakeasies. Expensive cars cruised the streets, pulling over now and then to engage tightly dressed women in conversation.

The majority of faces on the street were dark, but there was a substantial white representation. Some of the best clubs were in this part of town, and some of the very best music.

You know where the Djinn Mill is, Tony?

Yeah, I been there once or twice.

Tony wheeled left and slowed to let a group of laughing bar-hoppers cross. The place is always jumpin, he said.

Tony made a right, then a left. He drove straight for six blocks, then went left again.

I like Dutchtown, Velma said. I need a drink. Are we going to stop awhile?

Yeah, Carney said. Right here.

The Djinn Mills front was not imposing. There was no sign, just a green-painted door with a light over it. Tony pulled up to the curb.

Carney opened the door. Cmon, Velma. Ill buy you a drink.

Sure. She smiled prettily at him.

Tony, no disappearing act.

Dont worry, boss, Ill be close by. Take your time.

The peephole opened in the green door and a black face appeared.

Carney, John Carney. Is Biff Millington here tonight?

Evenin, Mr. Carney. Yessuh, I do believe hes here.

The door opened. Jazz came through, hot jazz, but served with a dollop of cool urban sophistication, a baked-Alaska of sound. They entered. A broad-shouldered, nattily dressed bouncer looked them up and down, smiled, and took a long drag on a rolled cigarette. Carney recognized him, and winked. The man nodded.

The maitre d said into Carneys ear, Hes in the back.

Smoke was a swirling fog in the main room. Fake palm leaves hung from the pillars, jungle vegetation abounded everywhere. The dance floor was large but crowded. The stage held a ten-piece band and King Elmont at the piano, doing a fast, syncopated rendition of Shake That Thing. The dance was a fast two-step. There were a lot of pale customers; the club catered to a largely white clientele, but there were some brown faces: celebs mostly, entertainers, along with prosperous Dutchtowners, the odd hood, and a politician or two.

They crossed the sea of tables. Friends and acquaintances shouted greetings along the way, their invitations to sit and drink reluctantly turned down.

He did stop to ask of one city councilman, Wheres Mayor Speranza?

The councilman shrugged. You havent heard the latest. Three councilmen are missing. Were all worried.

Tweel, do you think?

Thats whats on the grapevine. There were dengs all over City Hall today, hanging around, looking like they owned the place.

Maybe they think they do, now.

We gotta do something to clean up this town, the man said, lifting his bathtub-gin martini. He took a drink. He smiled. Present company excepted, John. If some ganglord has to run things, Id rather it be you.

Thanks for that vote of confidence, Stanley.

Delivering a reassuring pat on the shoulder, he moved on.

They crossed in front of the stage to get to the other side of the room. King Elmont took his left hand from the keyboard briefly, to wave. Then the hand dropped to sound an augmented ninth chord.

Is there anyone in Necropolis you dont know? Velma said.

Long ago I learned how to win friends and influence people. Read a book on it.

It must have been a good book.

The back room was busy, the craps table surrounded three-deep, the roulette even deeper. Blackjack dealers slapped cards down in front of the apprehensive players. Private poker games were over in one corner.

Stately, plump Biff Millington was seated at a green-felt table holding a pat hand, Caribbean cigar clamped securely between his teeth, one eye shut against smoke drifting back. His skin was a little darker than caf au lait. His suit was custom-tailored and his nails were manicured, the white carnation on his lapel so fresh it could have been cut moments before and rushed from the hothouse with sirens wailing. Slowly, one end of his lip curled up, then down. His was not the best of poker faces. But he made up in luck what he lacked in skill.

One dark eye found Carney.

Be with you in a minute, he said around the cigar.

I call, said the player beside him.

Straight, ten high, Millington said, showing him.

Damn!

I should have stayed in, said another player. I was working on a flush. But despairs my greatest sin.

Ego te absolvo, Millington said. Nil desperandum.

No capeesh. I flunked that subject, along with others.

Millington rose and picked up his cash. Gentlemen, deal me out.

Carney and Velma had taken seats at the bar. The bartender was setting a gin-and-tonic in front of Velma when Millington arrived.

John, nice of you to drop by.

They shook hands. Biff, meet Velma.

Velma flashed her small even teeth.

Hello, Velma. Thats on the house.

Hes paying.

Millington blew more smoke into the smoky air. Have a drink, John. On me. Then get the hell out.

Carney grinned. Still sore about that brewery in Melville.

I liked that little operation, and I didnt like having it salamandered.

Your insurance paid off. Business, Biff, just business. Nothing personal. The profit margin didnt allow our dropping prices to match the competition. It was either fold up our tents or carry out a preemptive strike.

Oh, I understand. Millington grinned back. I simply didnt like it.

Ill get, but first you might think about doing the unthinkable and helping me.

Millington laughed. Oh, you lead a rich fantasy life, my friend.

Dont rule it out just yet. Tweels dengs are muscling in on everyone in town. Somebody has to put a stop to it.

You, I suppose. Alone?

Its best. The other way would just kill off eighty percent of my boys. Id win that way, too, but itd be messy.

Youre mighty confident.

I cant be anything else. Half the battle is the approach, the frame of mind.

Millington nodded. True. Psychological considerations are paramount, especially in some sort of showdown. But I think youre overstretching yourself. Youre a hell of a sorcerer, but maybe not enough to go up against Hell itself.

Carney munched some peanuts. Funny the way you put that.

Am I hinting that Tweels dengs might be running him instead of vice versa? Yes, Im hinting. They seem to have an agenda all their own. Millington puffed thoughtfully on the long green cigar. In which case, its inevitable that theyll be calling the shots in this town. Because if Tweel cant control them, neither can you.

Maybe so, Carney said. But I think Ill take a shot anyway. I have some experience.

Millington was dubious. Where? When?

Another time, another place.

Uh-huh. Well, there is this longstanding rumor about you, a bit of latter-day folklore, which says youre from another world. Just what other world is vague. Are you telling me its true?

Im not telling you it isnt. But forget that. You really think its inevitable that theyll take over?

Millington frowned. I dont know. I hope not. But  not everyone can be big wheels. Some of us must be cogs. I know my limitations. I figure Im a little wheel at best. But tell you what, I will think about your proposition.

The dengs might shift gears and leave you spinning. If they run Necropolis, they wont need humans at the middle-management level. Or even lackeys. They have all the personnel they need. They are legion.

Millington regarded the ceiling, contemplating its painted stars and crescent moons.

You have a point, much as I hate to admit it. He let out a sigh. What do you want, John?

What spells are you using?

Millington chuckled. What fo you wanna mess wit colored, boss?

A fresh approach. An unusual angle. Unexpected.

Yeah. Millington chuckled again. Unexpected. Well, Im not going to let you tap into my connection, thats for sure. You learn my charms and its not just breweries on Great Isle that Ill be losing. But there are other consultants open for business around here. I can give you a name and an address.

Id appreciate it.

Millington took out a pen. Carney gave him a business card to write on. Millington thought first, then wrote.

I think thats the number. Anyway its on One Hundred Thirty-fourth Street next to a greasy spoon called Darbys Cafe.

Much obliged, Carney said, taking the card.

Youre quite welcome, sir. I have a game to get back to. Be well, and if I dont see you in here again, it will be too damned soon.

The big man wheeled around and walked off a few steps before stopping and turning his head to say, Oh, and good luck. He blended back into the crowd.

Thanks.

Nice music in there, Velma said.

Yes. Want to dance?

Love to. You have the time?

One spin around the dance floor on our way out. Finish your drink.

She downed most of it and gave him a serious look. You cant win against dengs. Who do you think you are? God?

There are those who cast out dengs in His name.

Stow the sermons, parson.

Not until I pass the plate. Drink up and lets get the hell out of here.


Fifteen

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Graving Dock

Hows it coming, Luster?

Gene was on his knees, peering under the bell-shaped craft.

Its comin, Luster answered. On his back underneath the Voyager, spanner in hand, he was wrestling with a stubborn lug-nut. Dolbert was helping, manning a crescent wrench.

Gene got up. He had changed from the garb of Cyrano to something befitting a NASA astronaut: a sky-blue jumpsuit with velcro-sealed pockets.

Jeremy said, At least the communications repairs are done. Well be able to keep in touch by modem.

Cant you rig voice communications some way?

Sorry, but theres only one channel.

What about using magic?

Jeremy scowled. Hey, sending data via modem without a phone line or a radio relay is magic. And getting the signal from one universe to another is big-time magic. Whaddya want, miracles?

Sorry.

Dont worry, well be in constant communication. Thats an improvement over the way weve done things in the past.

Linda was eating a sandwich at a table laden with luncheon food. She had switched outfits too, dressed now in a futuristic silver-lam two-piece utility suit with matching boots. The costume evoked 1930s-40s movie serials.

Snowclaw was sitting beside her, dipping citronella candles in ranch dressing. He had decided to try something new.

Arent you guys hungry? Linda called. Come and get it before it turns into pumpkins.

Gene came over with Jeremy. I guess I should eat, Gene said, sitting down. No telling when well get the chance next.

Linda said, Jeremy, what about the locator spell?

Osmirik sent one down, and I fed it into the Voyagers computer. Whether or not its gonna work, I dont know. But its like radar. You punch up the display on the screen, and when you see an echo, you know youre getting close to the target.

The target being Melanie.

Right. But of course, the problem is, whats the spell supposed to look for exactly? How is it supposed to identify the target?

Her old clothes arent enough?

I dont know what Im supposed to do with em. If this were just plain magic, I guess youd just throw an old sock into the brew, or something  like for a love potion or something corny like that. But were using a little bit of magic and a lot of technology. That makes it tricky.

We need a bloodhound, Gene said. Youd just let it get a whiff of the stuff and off itd go, sniffing away.

They all sat thinking. Then their gazes intersected.

Why not get a bloodhound? said Gene.

Yeah, Jeremy said. Could you whip one up, Linda?

A dog? Well, I can conjure almost anything. Ive cloned Gene and Snowclaw, but that was working with a known model. I dont even know what a bloodhound looks like.

Thats never stopped you before, Gene said. You can conjure stuff youve never laid eyes on.

Okay, but wait a minute. Say I do produce a bloodhound. Hows that going to help? We dont know what universe shes in.

Itd have to be a bloodhound with very unusual talents, Gene said. Hed have to be able to sniff out whole universes.

Linda shook her head. Thats a tall order. I dont know how Id program an ability like that into anything I conjure. The best I could do would be a standard bloodhound  whatever that is.

Gene ruminated. I seem to remember something about the castle having a hunt aspect.

A hunt aspect?

Yeah. Riding to hounds. Fox-hunting, for the gentry. If so, there has to be a kennel. Royal hounds. Now, theyd be your basic hunting hounds  there are number of breeds  but they could certainly follow a human scent.

But theyd still be just ordinary dogs, Linda said.

Yeah, I guess. Gene took a bite of the sandwich hed made. But theres a kernel of an idea here somewhere. We need a natural-born tracker. A hunter.

Jeremy said, How about Snowy?

Yeah, I can do that, Snowy said. But I dont even really know what the heck a universe is.

Yeah, thats no good, Gene said.

Besides, I have a cold.

Gene said, You get colds?

Sure. My nose gets all stuffed up and I cant smell a thing.

No kidding. Gene set down his prosciutto-and-green-pepper sandwich. What we really need is a psychic critter.

Why not just a psychic?

A human one? What, are we going to look for Elvis? You want the scoop on the next stage of Jackie Os love life?

It was only a suggestion.

There are castle people who have psychic powers, Linda said. What do you call what I do?

Real magic.

Whats the difference?

Theres a lot of difference. Besides, you said you cant conjure a human being.

But there might be someone in the castle who could help.

We need real tracking talent, not some self-styled psychic who makes a hundred wild guesses, of which one might luckily pan out.

Incarnadine could locate Melanie, Linda said.

Probably, but hes not around. Want to wait for him to come back?

No, Melanies in trouble. I can feel it.

Talk about psychic vibes.

No, I cant find her. My talents not that way.

Well, is there something you can remember about that wild aspect? What it looked like, anything to identify it?

It was just a dense forest, big trees. Looked like ordinary trees. It could have been Earth for all I know. Linda paused and thought. There is one thing. The way Melanie moved when I saw her. She seemed to be in an old silent movie. Jerky, fast.

Ah, a time-flow differential, Gene said.

Time-flow? Jeremy said.

Yeah. Might be that the rate that time flows in that universe is faster than the one here. Thats not so good. More time for her to get in trouble.

Great, Linda said, sounding discouraged.

But the differential doesnt appear to be too big, Gene said, wishing he hadnt brought it up. Shouldnt be a problem.

Anyway, Jeremy said, the Voyagers a time machine.

I guess it is, Gene said. It travels through all the dimensions, of which time is one. We might be able to adjust for any temporal displacement. Gene himself wasnt sure exactly what he meant or what such a remedy would entail.

Linda stared at the table. Boy, this is going to be fun.

Linda, I think our best approach, Gene said, is for you to conjure a psychic dog.

You dont believe in human psychics, but 

Hell, dogs are psychic. Everybody knows that. Besides, dogs I trust. Human con-artists, no.

Linda shrugged. Okay. This is getting even crazier than what usually goes on in this place, but what the heck. Lets give it a shot.

Linda stood and walked out from the table a few feet and stopped. Psychic dog. Right. She folded her arms and closed her eyes.

She stood motionless, her feet wide apart. The two men and Snowclaw watched. This went on for a longish minute. Nothing happened.

Linda relaxed and opened her eyes. This is going to be harder than I thought. She shifted her feet, then resumed her stance. Folding her arms again, she shut her eyes.

Dang it, anyway! Luster griped from across the room, frustrated by some recalcitrant grommet.

Linda rocked slightly back and forth. Gene, Jeremy, and Snowclaw didnt move. Nothing happened for about thirty seconds.

Then, with no fanfare, a huge dog materialized on the floor in front of Linda. It was lying down. Startled, it lifted its head, looked around, and sprang to its feet.

The animal looked to have a lot of sheepdog in its ancestry, but something had gone wrong. Its fur was a dirty white, splotched with great patches of black and rust-red in a crazy-quilt pattern. Its head was enormous and the ears were long and floppy. The right eye was brown and the other looked different; it was a little larger, and had green in it. A black ring circled the smaller eye. All in all, it was a clumsy, confused mlange of a dog, oversized and shaggy. It was male.

Its ears went down, and it hunkered and growled. Then it barked.

Easy, boy, Linda said.

Thats a psychic dog? Thats the goofiest-looking mutt Ive ever laid eyes on, Gene complained.

Aw, its cute. Sort of.

The dogs ears went up and its shaggy tail started wagging.

See? Its friendly! Linda knelt and petted it. Good boy.

Gene shook his head. That thing doesnt look like it could find its water dish.

Dont listen to him, boy. You know what you got. Youre super-psychic, right?

R-r-rowf!

Right! Linda laughed, rubbing its head. See, Gene? Its smart.

Gene came over and patted its back. A complete selection of fine carpet remnants. Well, it looks healthy. Hows that sniffer of yours, boy? Huh? Hows the old hooter?

Whorf!

Hmm. Its either a nautical dog or a Star Trek fan. Hows the world been treating you, boy?

R-r-ruff!

They both laughed. I guess it is pretty bright at that, Gene conceded. But possessed of powers far beyond those of mortal canines? Hardly.

Lets give him a chance, Linda said.

Whoof!

What do you think, Jeremy? Linda asked.

Thats the dumbest-looking dog Ive ever seen. But you never know. Ill go get Melanies stuff.

Snowy?

Snowclaw got up and came over. The dog sniffed curiously at his legs, but kept wagging his tail.

Gene said, He thinks youre human, Snowy.

He is dumb.

Hes giving you the benefit of the doubt.

What should we name him? Linda said.

After his species, Gene said.

Whats his species?

Canis goofus.

Goofus! Linda said, laughing. It fits.

Whoorf! Goofuss long pink tongue lolled out as he panted happily.

Jeremy returned bearing Melanies old clothes and shoes. He threw them down in front of Goofus. The dog sniffed the pile with interest. He barked, sniffed some more.

Looks like its on to something, Linda said. Find her, boy. Find her!

Goofus looked at Linda and barked again. He snorted and snuffled with more animation, tail wagging furiously, following a trail away from the pile. He walked a few paces toward the Voyager, stopped, looked at the craft, and barked.

Gene scratched his chin. Thats weird. Now, how could he know that?

Psychic dog, Linda said. Following a psychic scent.

Yeah. I take it all back, fella. You are obviously one special puppy.

Whar-r-r-rooff!

Well, whos going on this expedition? Gene asked. We cant all fit in that compartment.

Im going, Linda said.

You, me, Goofus, and Snowy?

I guess.

Gene said, Jeremy, you really should go. You have more experience piloting the thing.

I did it only twice. Anyway, the craft will be under the mainframes control at all times. Itll be much better than flying by the seat of your pants. At least I think it will work.

Good, because that crash course in piloting qualifies me to turn the thing on and off, and not much else.

Luster pushed out from under the craft and stood.

Wull, shes in.

Is it working?

Dont know. Aint turned her on yet.

Dolbert crawled out. He snickered as he wiped his hands on a grease-stained rag.

What do you think, Dolbert? Gene asked.

Dolbert laughed, then nattered unintelligibly.

Luster said, He says he shore wouldnt like to be the one to take er out.

Oh, now, thats encouraging. Ask him what he thinks our chances really are.

He kin hear you, Gene.

Sorry. Well, Dolbert?

Dolbert shrugged and chortled at some length.

Luster took his cap off and dabbed his brow with a checkered handkerchief that had seen better days  circa 1923. Dolbert says you got four chances. Slim, a Chinamans, a snowballs in the devils own wood stove, and Katie-bar-the-door.

Gene turned to Linda. You still want to go through with this?

Linda nodded emphatically. Yes, sir.

Uh-huh. Gene arched his eyebrows. Yeah.

Okay, Jeremy said. Im going to test all the systems, and then well be ready to try a trial run out into the interuniversal medium. Jeremy scratched his head. But first we have to figure how were going to use Goofus here. Ill have to think about that. Anyway, let me go do the tests.

Jeremy left.

What supplies do we need for the trip? Linda asked.

Food, water, a first-aid kit, maybe. We cant take much. Its a tight squeeze in there. In fact, I dont see how well fit with Snowy and Goofus together.

Id hate to stay behind, Snowclaw said.

Id hate it, too, Gene said. We could use you. Damn it, were all just going to have to exhale and sardine ourselves in.

Food, water, medicine, Linda said. Anything else?

Weapons.

You think?

You never know what youre going to run into when you go traipsing around in strange universes. Peace through superior firepower is a good creed to follow.

Okay, Linda said. She blinked. On the table.

What was on the table was an assortment of small arms: revolvers, automatic pistols, carbines, lightweight machine guns. There were also exotic specimens. Gene handled a strange-looking pistol with a flaring bell-end.

Laser? he asked Linda. Phaser?

I dunno. Try it out.

Gene looked at the thing. Hey, therere settings here. STUN, DISRUPT, BURN, and VAPORIZE. You gotta be kidding.

On second thought, dont try it. It sounds dangerous.

Have to test it. Its on disrupt so Ill leave it there.

Gene took a jar of pickles and cleared a space around it on the table. He stepped back ten paces and aimed. Linda and Snowclaw moved back a safe distance.

Nothing happened. Gene examined the weapon.

Oh, its on safety. He flicked a small tab and aimed again.

The pickle jar exploded into green mist. There was no debris to rain down; the smell of brine was the only thing left.

Hell, that ought to stop a rampaging bull elephant. One thats driving a tank even.

I cant imagine what vaporize does, Linda said.

Lets hope we dont have to find out. Now all I needs a holster and Im in business. Go ahead, alien creepoid, make my millennium. Gene made sinister faces.

Linda shook her head wearily. Gene, stuff a sock in it.

Sorry.


Sixteen

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peele Castle

The dining hall was uncomfortably quiet. A mood of apprehension hovered, the clink of silverware louder than the tones of hushed conversation. No one joked, no one laughed. A half-hogshead of wine was consumed.

The food was plentiful, mostly fish and fowl. The selection of wildfowl was especially cosmopolitan, including bittern, shoveler, pewit, godwit, quail, dotterl, heronsew, crane, snipe, plover, redshank, pheasant, grouse, and curlew. The catch of the day was turbot, baked with capers and lemon, but flounder, cod, pike, snapper, haddock, shad, and swordfish were available  broiled or baked with various garnishes  along with sturgeon, lobster, crayfish, oysters, herring, and shrimp. The only meat was wild boar with mint jelly. The soup choice was chicken consomm or julienne with asparagus tips. For dessert: fruit in abundance and variety, nuts, several kinds of fruit tart, cheeses, and an assortment of cakes, from hazelnut torte to raspberry-rum shortcake. Cognac and liqueur were served with chicory-laced coffee and herb tea.

The cooks tendered their apologies for the limited bill of fare, pleading short notice and Peeles primitive kitchen.

The lady Sheila Jankowski had arrived at Peele with her husband, the prince. Trent, Sheila, Dalton, and Thaxton dined together at a side table.

Sheila was red-haired and beautiful with a creamy complexion and bright green eyes. Her mouth was a trifle large but sensuous. She seemed in good spirits, but there was something anxious in her eyes. She was worried for her husband. She was also outspoken; at least she tended to be so in the company of Dalton and Thaxton, whom she considered friends.

It may sound terrible, she said, but if there was ever an's.o.b. who deserved it more, I dont know who it could have been, short of Hitler.

Or Stalin, Trent added. Everybody leaves out Stalin.

I guess that sounds awful, huh?

Sheila was looking at Thaxton. Weve been getting a progressively darker picture of Oren, he said.

You dont know the half of it. Trent told me you know about the run-in we had with him.

We know he assaulted you, Dalton said.

Well, he nearly raped me. Two seconds more and it would have been rape, but Trent walked in. The creep cornered me in the conservatory and it was like dealing with an octopus. I mean, first he was charming and everything, but then he got grabby, and then  well, it was just amazing. I couldnt believe he was doing it with all those people around. The guy was nuts. I knew he made a play for just about every woman he met, but I didnt think he was a maniac. I guess he thought Trent had married this hooker or something, because he just seemed to assume that I put out for anybody who asked. He was actually surprised when I resisted. What a creep.

Trent was staring into his soup.

Im sorry, darling, she said with a hand on his arm. Does it upset you when I talk about it?

No, not at all, dear. Its just that you wouldnt make a very good defense lawyer. He smiled. Forget it. Eat your fish.

Im not hungry. Sheila let go of her fork. I suppose I should shut my big mouth. Im just setting you up with a good motive.

Tyrene already has me at the head of his suspect list.

Well, hes crazy. Youre no murderer. What about it, guys? You dont think Trent did it, do you?

Never crossed our mind, Dalton said.

Trent chuckled. Ill bet. Okay, Ill come out and say it. I wanted to kill Oren, and I would have if Sheila hadnt put her foot down.

I told him I wouldnt stand for the dueling bit, Sheila said. I sure wasnt going to sit at home sweating, wondering whether my husband was going to come home in a pine box. No way.

She persuaded me to call it off, Trent said. Chicken out. And I was about to send word to Oren that I wouldnt be showing up for our little affair of honor, when we got a note from his second saying that Oren wanted a postponement, pleading illness. Well, there the matter rested. He never broached the subject again, and neither did I. For all I know he chickened out, but he was a pretty able duelist, so the excuse might have been genuine. However, he was aware that I was the better swordsman. In my opinion, I would have killed him.

If anyone wanted to kill him, it would be Lord Belgard, Sheila said. Oren and Lady Rowena had been having an affair for years. Im sorry, my big mouth again.

Tyrene has known it for years, along with everybody else, Trent said. But Belgard wasnt anywhere near Oren when the murder happened. If it happened when I walked past.

Weve heard that Oren made no secret of his liaison with Lady Rowena, Thaxton said.

Youre referring to his habit of playing grab-ass under Belgards nose? Trent said. Rowena and Oren did that all the time. She despises her husband and enjoys the hell out of showing him up a cuckold. Belgard never spoke up because he knew that in order to stop it hed have to challenge Oren, and he knew damn well that Oren would kill him. Belgard cant fence his way out of a paper sack. And hes a worse shot, so theres no help there either.

I suppose that makes Belgard a poor candidate for knife-throwing, Thaxton commented.

I dont know about his knife-wielding abilities, Trent said. Seems unlikely that he could have done it, but you never know.

Seems unlikely that anyone could have done it, or would have done it in all that company, Dalton put in, except that you heard the thing whiz past. That must have been the knife, and that means someone threw it.

Thaxton said, Trent, the way you described it, I got the impression it made quite a racket.

It was loud. And it didnt sound like a thrown knife. It didnt swish so much as it shooshed. By that I mean that it didnt sound as though it was rotating as it flew. This is just hindsight, mind you. I didnt give it any thought at the time. I just assumed it was a large bird or a bat or something. Or an insect, as I said.

Must have been traveling at a terrific clip, Thaxton said.

Thats occurred to me, Trent said. But who could have thrown it with such force?

I suppose theres no such thing as a knife catapult, Thaxton said. Something on the order of a crossbow, only propelling a knife or dagger?

Never heard of such an animal, Trent said. But there are any number of universes with stranger things in them.

But the culprit would have had to conceal the thing on his person, Dalton said. Or get rid of it quick. Stash it somewhere.

Tyrenes lads would have found it, Thaxton said.

They missed the murder weapon, Dalton said.

We all missed the murder weapon. Thaxton took a sip of wine. Still thinking about that.

It is a puzzling aspect of this case, Trent said, among others.

There are a lot of problems, Dalton said. Like, for instance, if the knife was thrown, who pulled it out and dropped it?

Maybe he was stabbed somewhere else, Sheila said. Im just going on what Trent told me on the way here. Couldnt someone have stabbed him in the castle and gone back into the garden and dropped the knife?

No one saw anybody leave the garden and come back in, Dalton said.

Maybe someone in the castle?

But no one strange was seen to come into the garden. If the murder happened in the castle, you have to explain how the murder weapon wound up in the garden.

What about a servant? Sheila asked.

Tyrenes questioned most of the servants, Thaxton told her. At the time Oren left the garden, all the servants who were serving at the party were in the garden. They were all busy as the devil. No one was seen leaving and returning.

Trent said, Suppose that sound I heard was a bird. Suppose there was no thrown knife. Lets say Oren gets a sudden urge to leave the party and gets up and walks off. Someone near the portal stabs him just as he walks through. Oren continues into the castle and dies a short way down the corridor. The culprit accidentally drops the knife near where the viscount was sitting. Just coincidence. Hows that for a scenario?

Fine, Thaxton said, except that no one saw anyone near the portal.

No one happened to be looking. It was luck, Trent said. Good for the murderer, bad for us.

Possible, Thaxton said. Possible. But the coincidence of the knife dropping at that spot strains credulity a bit.

Lady Rilmas testimony about hearing her husband grunt makes me think that something happened at that moment, Dalton said. In fact, Im almost convinced of it.

Sheila snorted. Shes another one.

How so, Sheila? Thaxton asked.

Another suspect. Trent, didnt you tell me that she once stabbed Oren?

Trent nodded. It was a good while ago. Rilmas unstable, always has been. Shes been in and out of institutions. And, yes, she did actually stab Oren once. In the arm, with a pair of scissors. Superficial wound. But she did it, all right. She was hospitalized for a time after that. She hasnt done anything like that since, though.

Nevertheless thats very interesting, Dalton said. So she could have heard him grunt in pain all right, but maybe shes just repressing the fact that she was the cause of it. Maybe it was a case of temporary insanity. That would explain the dropped knife and her not caring or maybe even not knowing about it.

Possible, Thaxton said. Youre thinking, old boy.

So, Trent said, sitting back in his chair. Im walking by, and this bird buzzes me. I dont see it, and I dont see Lady Rilma draw a stiletto and stab her husband, and nobody else sees anything either. Oren doesnt say a word to anyone, just gets up and leaves, dying with each step.

All four of them were silent for a moment. Trent sat up and resumed eating his soup, which had gone quite cold. He took one slurp, put the spoon down, and pushed the bowl away. He sat back again.

No, Thaxton said, it didnt happen that way. No.

But how did it happen? Sheila said.

No one knows. Thats what makes a good mystery. Which, in a book, makes for enjoyable reading. In reality, here and now, its frightful.

And frightening, Sheila said. To think the murderer is in this room. He or she is here right now, eating with us. And here we sit calmly.

My palms are sweaty, Dalton said.

You get that, too? Sheila asked. Ive always had a problem with sweaty palms. I get so nervous sometimes.

Here comes Tyrene, Thaxton said.

The Captain of the Guard came directly to the foursomes table and greeted each in turn.

May I join you?

By all means, Trent said, pulling out a chair.

Tyrene sat. Ive got Mirabilis report. It was a knife wound all right. The blade chipped a rib, penetrated the left lung, and just missed severing the pulmonary artery, making a medium-sized slit in it. Of course there was immediate hemorrhaging. But the rate of blood loss was slow enough to give the victim some time. There were signs of healing around the slit.

Healing? Dalton said. How can that be?

Magic, Tyrene said.

Magic?

Yes, healing magic, presumably cast by Oren himself. Here is what seems to have happened: When Oren realized that hed been stabbed, he did the sensible thing. Forthwith, he left the garden aspect, where his magic wouldnt work, and went back into the castle, where it would. Now, as far as I know, Oren was no magicians magician, but as a castle resident he knew some potent enchantments, as do we all. Healing and general health-preserving spells are common, and he doubtless knew a few. He must have magicked like mad as soon as he got into Perilous, summoning all his powers. And they were nearly sufficient. He almost succeeded. However, he knew magic alone couldnt save him. Immediate surgery was required. He must have known that his heart had sustained a mortal wound. So he took a gamble. He could have returned home and gone to a hospital there, but his aspect is a ten-minute walk from the garden aspect. Dr. Mirabilis office is just as far, and in any event the doctor is not equipped for major trauma surgery. There was a hospital close by, though, through the aspect in the alcove where you found him. He gambled in that he did not know whether that periodic aspect was open or closed at the time. He lost.

What aspect was it? Thaxton wanted to know.

Its called Klingsor, Tyrene said, and though its not technologically developed in most respects, it does boast excellent surgeons who do wonders with relatively primitive equipment. And the hospital near the aspect specializes in trauma surgery. Oren might have survived had he made it to that hospital. But his magic wasnt strong enough. The wound was too severe, and he lost too much blood too quickly. He lost consciousness, the healing process stopped, and he bled to death.

That explains why he left the party in a big hurry, Trent said, why he went back into the castle, and what he was doing in that alcove.

Yes, it does. And it puts to rest any notion that he was attacked inside the castle.

Any report on the murder weapon yet? Thaxton asked.

There were no fingerprints. The instrument was completely clean.

Thaxton nodded, smiling half in regret, half in satisfaction.

Its a common artifact, Tyrene continued, manufactured in the Helvian aspect, and its like must be sold in a thousand street markets in that world. Cheap steel, plain boxwood haft, brass hilt. The blade barely holds an edge, but it will do the job as long as no fancy cutting is involved. Perfect knife for stabbing.

If not for throwing, Thaxton said.

No, its not intended as a throwing knife, but it is balanced quite well, the only thing well-made about it. Its not entirely a stiletto, yet not quite a poniard.

So it could have been thrown? Dalton asked.

I suppose, Tyrene said. Though as of now I dont think it was. Someone stabbed the viscount at close range. That, I think, is certain.

No one asked the obvious.

But my investigation is far from over, Tyrene went on. I must interview anyone who could have seen what happened. And that means almost everyone at the fte. By the way, the blood on the knife matches Orens blood type. Theres no doubt it was the murder weapon.

Tyrene rose. I have a number of people to interview. If you will excuse me  Lady Sheila, Your Royal Highness. Tyrene bowed stiffly.

See you later, Tyrene, Trent said.

Gentlemen, Tyrene said, then left.

He just about came out and said he thinks I did it, Trent observed.

I think he suspects Lady Rilma more than you, Thaxton said.

Maybe Im just paranoiac. Trent turned to his wife. Are you through, darling?

I cant touch a thing. Im so upset by all this.

You really should eat something. No late-night snacks here.

She took a bite of snapper, chewed perfunctorily. Its gone cold, and Im tired, for some reason. Cant we ?

Good evening, Your Highness  Lady Sheila.

Trent looked up. Damik. Hello.

Thaxton and Dalton stood.

Trent remained seated. May I present Messieurs Dalton and Thaxton? Gentlemen, His Excellency, Count Damik of Ultima Thule.

The count clicked his heels and bowed his head. Gentlemen.

The two hapless golfers bowed.

Please, the count said, be seated. I do not mean to disturb your meal, but there is something I must tell you, Trent.

Sit down, Damik.

Thank you so much.

Some wine?

None, thank you. Ive dined.

Whats up?

Its about all this business, of course. Tyrene suspects me.

Whatever reason would he have?

Because of the succession squabble in Thule. Despite my pleas, Oren chose to throw his support to the House of Dou and against my allies and relatives, the Zoltans. He has  had  heavy investments in provinces controlled by the Dou clan. He chose to follow the dictates of his pocketbook rather than honor a friendship. On that basis alone, I am suspect. The fact that I also have an admittedly fetishistic love for knives and bladed weapons of every sort seems to be enough to condemn me out of hand.

Rest easy, my friend, Trent said. Tyrene doesnt really believe you did it.

He doesnt? I wish he would be so kind as to point this out to me!

The investigations far from over. Hes not even at the hypothesis stage yet in choosing his suspects. Sure, youre on the list. So am I. Hell, lots of people hated Orens guts.

I didnt! Thats the irony of it. I didnt hold his political decisions against him. He was a friend, though I will be the first to admit that he had many faults. But he was  he knew how to have a good time. He was a jolly fellow, sometimes.

Trent gave a half-shrug. I wouldnt know. We never socialized.

Yes, well, of course I understand completely why he was in bad odor with you. However, there is another disturbing fact that I wish to relate to you. I need advice.

Shoot.

The count looked one way, then another. Leaning forward, he said quietly, I know who the knife belongs to.

You do? Thaxton said, his eyebrows arching.

I saw this person purchase the weapon when last I was in Helvius. It was at an open-air market in the village of Fliebas. I shall not name this person. At least not yet.

You dont know that the weapon you saw being bought was the murder weapon, Trent pointed out. Those knives are pretty common. I had one like it once, long time ago.

Yes, but this was recently. True, my observation does not categorically establish the persons guilt, but this fact should be brought to light. I feel obligated to report it to Tyrene, compelled, if not by friendship for Oren, then by a sense of duty.

Then by all means tell Tyrene about it.

But  of course there is the inevitable odium attached to the act of informing.

I understand, Trent said. But you shouldnt let that deter you.

Yes, I suppose you are right. I must give some thought to this matter. The count rose, drawing Dalton and Thaxton to their feet.

Thank you very much for the advice, the count said to Trent.

Im sure youll make the right decision, the prince replied.

I think I shall retire early this evening. Gentlemen, the pleasure was all mine. Good evening, Your Highness  my lady.

Good night, Damik, Sheila said. Take care.

The count bowed deeply and left.

Id hate to be in his shoes, Sheila remarked. Especially if it was a friend I suspected.

I wish hed told us who it was, Thaxton said. But I suppose he couldnt go around making accusations, no matter how well-founded.

That knife is a very common make, Trent commented. No doubt the murderer chose it for that very reason.

No doubt, Thaxton said.

Trent suddenly got up. I forgot to mention something to Damik. Ill be right back. He walked out of the dining hall.

Conversation shifted to lighter topics while Dalton demolished a roast sage hen. He claimed that the sea air had sharpened his appetite. Thaxton was in the middle of telling a story about grouse-shooting in Dorset when a scream came from the anteroom of the dining hall.

Everyone rushed outside.

There, in the middle of the foyer, stood Princess Dorcas. At her feet lay Damik, eyes closed. Trent was standing close by, along with Lord Belgard and Lady Rilma. All seemed stunned.

Thaxton and Dalton got to him first. He was lying face up, a red stain marring his white blouse.

Dead? Dalton asked.

Thaxton took his hand from the counts neck. Quite. The knife went right through the heart.

Tyrene elbowed his way through the crowd. Thaxton stood up and stepped aside while the captain examined the corpse.

Dalton, old boy?

Dalton came to Thaxtons side.

What is it?

I just kicked something.

You just kicked something?

As I stepped back, I felt my shoe hit something, and I heard something clatter. I dont see a thing, do you?

Dalton looked around. Nothing for it to hide under. Are you sure?

Quite sure. What do you make of it?

Thaxton, old fellow, I dont have a clue.

Thaxton stared at the counts body.

I think I do, he said.


Seventeen

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Darbys Cafe

The greasy spoon was closed. A door at the side of the building gave onto stairs mounting to a landing, where three doors led to separate apartments. The stairs were dark, the bare light bulb over the landing burnt out.

No numbers, Carney said. Which one, Velma?

You got me.

The building was quiet except for the far-off sound of a radio playing. Soft dance music.

Carney picked the first door on his left and knocked.

Nothing happened for quite a while. Then came sounds of latches being thrown. The door opened a crack, the chain still hooked.

Dim light inside, a womans voice: Yes?

Does a Mr. Lemarr Hamilton live here?

Whore you?

Id like to engage his services, if hes not too busy.

He in bed.

I realize its late, but Im in a great deal of trouble. Mr. Hamilton can help me. Can you please wake him?

He dont do that stuff no more anyway.

I can pay well. As I said, the situation is very urgent. In fact, its a matter of life and death.

The eye on the other side of the crack was unblinking. The door closed momentarily. Then it opened wide. Carney and Velma went in.

A tall woman in her forties closed the door. She was tall and slim in a green flower-print housedress and worn slippers. She gave her visitors a distrustful frown. Go on through there, into the parlor, she said.

It was a railroad flat. They passed through the kitchen, then through another room where a blanketed form lay sleeping on a cot in the corner. There was a larger bed and several other pieces of furniture. Ragged holes marred the ceiling plaster, and water stains billowed across it. The place smelled of frying grease and mildew. Otherwise the apartment was well-kept.

They passed through a short corridor with a door. The back room had comfortable, if threadbare, furniture. Carney and Velma sat on the antimacassar-draped couch. They waited, looking at family pictures on the wall.

Presently an old man came into the room. He walked stooped, his gray head inclined, his eyes up and aware. He was thin, almost emaciated, dressed in baggy pants and undershirt, black wool socks with a hole in one toe.

He looked at his two visitors, unsmiling, then sat in the chair opposite.

You want somethin with me? His voice was strong, clear, belying his appearance.

Yes, Carney said. I wish to engage your services as a consultant in supernatural matters.

The old man studied him with penetrating black eyes. Yes, suh. He smiled. Yes, suh. I believe I know who you are. Cant say as I know the name, though.

John Carney. I run a couple of businesses in this town. Some people say Im pretty influential.

I believe they right. The old man leaned forward, elbows on his knees. What can I do for you?

I need the power.

They sat in silence for a while. The radio, far off, had switched to lively Latin rhythms.

Everybody need the power, the old man said. You got to have the power to live.

I need more. Im fighting something pretty big. I think you might know what it is. Theyve been in this town for a long time, and theyre growing.

Yessuh. I know it.

I want to fight them. I am fighting them, though not very effectively up till now. But give me an edge, the slightest edge.

Edge? The old man grunted. It aint nothin you can edge up on.

Perhaps the metaphor  I need what power you can summon. What you can generate and transmit. Whatever this power is, or whatever its nature, I might be able to work with it.

The old man straightened up slowly, then sat back. He let a long contemplative quiet intervene before answering: I cant transmit nothin. I cant generate nothin. It dont come like that.

Can you describe how it does come?

The old man shook his gray head. Aint no describin. Theres feelin. You got to feel it.

What is it?

The old man studied him for a moment. You not the man for it.

No?

No, suh. You not the man.

Is it the color of my skin?

Silence again. The old man looked off to his left, out a window that offered a view of darkness obscuring nothing worth viewing.

At length he leaned forward and spoke calmly but with underlying controlled emotion. Aint a matter of color. Matter of  experience. You born with a color, but every man, he live different. Do things different, different things happen to a man. He get to be different. He look at things his own way. No one can tell him, cause he know. It get into his blood and then he cant go back, he is what he is. It get to be part of him like it was his color, like he was born with it. A mans life aint like any other mans life. Its his own. Cant do nothin but live it his own way. He got his pain, yunderstand. Livin is pain. Dont matter nohow if he happy or he sad. Livin is pain. Each man got his own pain. You got to take that  work with it. Shape it up. Use it. Then you got somethin. But each man got his own. Aint no use tryin one man give it to another. Cant be give out. You got to keep it. You got to work with it.

The old man settled back in the easy chair again. His voice was soft as he said, I dont rightly know if you the man for it.

Im willing to learn, Carney said. I can pay very well. The Latin rhythms went on  tinny conga drums, maracas like rattling gravel. Suddenly, the music stopped. Quiet. A horn sounded outside.

Carney cocked his ear. He heard nothing. Velma had been sitting quietly. You mind if I smoke, Mr ?

No, I dont mind, miss. You go right ahead. Velma lit a cigarette, looked around for an ashtray. She found one on the end table.

You aint had enough pain, the old man said.

Maybe not, Carney said. I cant say I regret that, but there it is. There are other considerations, though.

Yes, suh. They other things. Maybe you got em.

I think I do. As you said, each man is unique. The singular circumstances of his existence mold the clay of his character, the stuff of his inner substance, and the curves and contours are all his own, like his signature or the cracks in the palms of his hands. Carneys grin was lopsided. Thats a fancy way of saying exactly what you said.

Mighty fancy.

There is a kind of pain that comes from seeing too much. Of living too much. Too long.

The old man nodded. I know. I know that for a fact.

Theres the pain that comes at the end of chasing down the wild possibilities until theres nothing left to surprise you. Of ringing the changes over and over until there are no more permutations, all the treble bob majors rung. A melody played once too often. Theres a sickly feeling that goes with that, maybe a tiny hint of regret. Anxiety, too. Youre facing the big Nothingness. Because what does it all matter at the end, when the end comes? It doesnt really matter what went on up to that point. I dont think it matters one whit. When youre faced with that yawning abyss  no, thats too dramatic. Think of finding your last cigarette crumpled, a crack in it. Think of walking through a fun house and coming out into a junkyard. Think of  but I think you know what I mean. You see? Pain is universal. There is only one kind. Because, as you said, living is pain. Its a struggle, from day to day, minute to minute. The heart works, pumping unceasingly, night and day, a complex machine beyond our comprehension. It sweats and strains and throbs, and if it muffs a rhythm, if it lets up for a second, we feel the life draining away from us. Were that close to it, one heartthrob away from oblivion. We eat and work and play, skating on the thin ice of contingency. One moment were gliding along as usual, the next, into the chill depths, from which there is no returning. Do you get what Im saying? The rub of it is that power, fame, or fortune wont ease up the pain one iota. Not even love will, which is another kind of pain. Were all inevitably alone with ourselves and with the awful realization that all of it means  nothing. Nothing at all. No matter what construction you wish to put on it, atheist or monotheist, nihilist or romanticist 

Carney took a breath. He settled back into the worn velvet of the sofa and fanned himself with his hat, smiling. Warm in here, isnt it?

Yes, suh. The old man smiled back. Yes, suh. He laughed, a low, dyspeptic cackle.

Then slowly, he rose and shuffled out of the room.

Velma crushed out her cigarette. She took out a small mirror from her purse and checked her lipstick, put the mirror back. She looked at Carney.

Whats he have that you want, anyway?

Maybe nothing. Maybe nothing at all.

I need a drink. She began the motions to light another cigarette.

Maybe our host will oblige.

He took the matches she was fumbling with and lit her cigarette. The flame danced in her eyes. She stared at him as she puffed. He reached across her to put the match in the ashtray.

You have a lot of character in your face, she said.

I paid for every line of it.

No, you do. You have a very interesting face. Did anyone ever tell you that?

Not in so many words.

I can tell about a person just by their face. Its all there. You can tell a lot.

What does my face tell you?

Its strange. Interesting. Youve done a lot, seen a lot. She took a long drag, blew smoke into the greasy air. Nobody really knows you. You keep it all inside.

He nodded. Ever work the carnival circuit? You have a good line of patter.

I mean it. You think Im kidding. I know you. I can see inside of you.

Maybe you can. He inclined his head toward the doorway. How does the old mans face read?

She looked off and shrugged. Old Tired.

Carney tossed his hat onto the table beside the sofa. It is kind of warm in here. Either that or Im having hot flashes.

The old man returned bearing a bottle and a cloth sack. He set the bottle down on the table. He raised the bag, fiddling with the drawstring until he had it open. He reached inside, felt around, and took out a darkly gnarled object and handed it to Carney.

Carney looked at it. It was some sort of root or twig, almost black, of a hardness not usual for wood or plant material.

High Johns root?

Uh-uh. No, suh. That be Black Benjamin. You cant hardly find that.

Really.

I spent a week in the woods, just sneakin up on it. You gots to sneak up on Black Benjamin. You turn around, you think you know where it is, and it gone, man. Gone. After I dug it up and brung it home, it just sit there and stew. It was maddern hell I dug it out. It dont wanta be out. It dont want no one'tsee it.

Its sentient, then. It thinks.

Yessuh. It knows. Got a mind of its own, Black Ben.

The old man rooted in the bag again and brought out a lump of a grayish substance. Carney took it. It was iron-heavy, and looked the part.

Just a guess. Meteorite?

Yessuh. Thats what they calls it. Sky iron. I found that forty  no, forty-five years ago. Just layin on the ground. Sittin there lookin up at me.

Nickel-iron, Carney said. Partially melted.

The old man rummaged again. He brought forth a succession of odd stones, various roots, sprigs of henbane and liverwort, a bit of bone  other talismans.

Carney examined each item and pocketed it. When there was no more, he said, Thank you.

But that all dont mean a damn you not in the spirit. You gots'tget in the spirit.

Carney picked up the bottle. The glass was old and dark. There was no label. He popped the cork and sniffed it.

I get you a glass.

No, dont bother. Carney sniffed, then took a long pull on the bottle. He swallowed and started coughing.

The old man smiled with satisfaction.

Jesus! Carney gasped.

The old man cackled.

Carney caught his breath. That went down hard. He looked at the bottle. It was about three-quarters full. Applejack? he asked.

Aint applejack.

Tastes like it, a little. Stronger. Apple brandy with hydrochloric acid, maybe. Damn.

You gots to drink it. A lot of it. The spirits what does it.

Yeah. Carney drank again. This time the stuff coursed down easier, like lava down the slope of a volcanic cone. He drank again; then one more time. His eyes were watering.

I think Im going to be in the spirit very soon.

It do you good.

Carney offered the bottle. Join me?

The old man shook his head. I aint the one for it, either. Too old. Too used up. I threw it all away. I didnt use it to no good at all. Cant use it no more. You got to be careful with it. It use you like you use it.

Oh, yes.

It turn on you, you dont watch out.

I can imagine.

Yessuh.

The old man sat back down on the easy chair. My granddaughter, he said. She need a job. Cant get no work.

What does she do?

She went to school. She gots some education. College. Scholarship.

Wonderful.

She quit. Took up with some friends. They take her out drinkin. All night sometime. She come home, sleep all day. She say she cant get no work. Aint nothin she wanta do anyway, she say. No good jobs for colored girls. Dont wanta make no beds or scrub no floors.

Can she write?

Yes, suh. Has a fine hand.

Yeah. I didnt mean quite that. Theres a position open in one of my companies here in Dutchtown. Importers. They need someone to write brochures and catalogues. A little college is all a person would need.

These people  they colored?

Yes.

The old man nodded. She might like that. She one smart little girl. She could do it.

Shell have to do her own typing.

She can do that too.

Castle Imports, East One Hundred Forty-fifth Street. Tell her to tell them I referred her.

The old man nodded. Thank you, suh.

Carney took another swig. The stuff was flowing smoother now. Im beginning to like this.

It get better and better.

Ill bet. Carney set the bottle down. I have to use your bathroom.

In the hall.

The bathroom door was ajar. He opened it and stopped. There, on the floor in front of the commode, lay a girl of about nineteen. Her head was wedged between the seat and the wall. She had vomited and missed the bowl.

Carney checked her. Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned.

The woman was standing at the door.

I dont put her to bed no more. She can stay there all night for all I care. She can live in there.

Carney picked her up. She was light, a soft bundle in a cerise cotton party dress, one shoe dangling.

He carried her into the bedroom and put her on the big bed. There was a quilt at the foot of the bed; he unfolded it and covered her. He looked at her face for a while. The girl was pretty.

Velma was standing behind him. He turned and she gave him his hat. She was holding the bottle.

Lets get out of here, she said.

He took out a wad of bills and offered it to the woman. She regarded him gravely, looked at the money, then took it.

Good night, Carney said, putting on his hat. Say goodbye to Mr. Hamilton for me.

The woman nodded silently.

Tony woke up when the car door opened.

Have your beauty rest? Velma asked, sliding in beside him.

Jeez, musta dozed off. He rubbed his eyes.

Carney got in and shut the door. Lets get over into Hellgate.

Tony watched Carney drink from the bottle. You come all the way up here to buy some bootleg hooch?

Yeah. Start the car, you dumb guinea jerk.

Chuckling, Tony turned the engine over. He was adjusting the choke when a car went past. Something made him lift his head.

Theres Riordan.

He gunned the motor, pulled out of the parking spot, made a U turn, and raced down the street, making the Lelands engine whine and roar. He tore around the corner, left, raced a block, careened right, and nearly collided with an oncoming cab. A horn blared. He swerved, straightened out and slowed, glancing into the rearview mirror.

I think we lost em.

Tony cruised for a block, then checked the mirror again. His eyes widened.

Madonn!

He floored the accelerator and the straight-eight Leland engine howled.

Wheres the hardware? Carney asked.

On the floor in the back!

Carney got to his knees and reached, couldnt get it, and tumbled into the back seat. He picked up the submachine gun and cocked it. He pushed Velma down in the seat, then rolled down the back side window and stuck the barrel of the gun out.

A green Durant Roadmaster was pulling into the oncoming lane to pass. Carney let it have a few rounds in the general area of its huge shiny grille.

There was an answering shotgun blast that shattered the rear window. Carney ducked, waited, then sat up. He pointed his index finger through the jagged hole in the glass.

Fire left his finger and enveloped the Durant.

The Durant slowed, flames dancing on its shiny paint. But the fire began to dissipate, rolling off and turning to smoke. The flames soon burned out, leaving the car untouched. The big car sped to catch up.

They got somethin workin, boss!

Yeah, so I noticed.

Tony tore right around a corner.

He slammed on the brakes, and Carney hit the back of the seat. Ahead, a huge truck was angled into the street, unloading, and blocking the way.

Out! Carney yelled. Run for it!

Tony reached into the back seat for the submachine gun, brought it out, opened the door, raised the gun and got off about twenty rounds before being cut down by a storm of bullets.

While that was happening, Carney opened the back door, rolled onto the pavement, crawled between two parked cars and hid behind one.

He heard advancing footsteps. He summoned power  and was amazed by how much was available.

Carney!

He recognized the voice as Seamus Riordans, who would have been Tweels capo de tutti capi had Tweel been Italian. Since he was not, Riordan was lieutenant hood, first under the demons.

Come on out, Mr. Carney. You cant win. The dengs got us fixed up so good you cant touch us. Come on out. We wont hurt the dame. Shes one of us.

Carney stood up.

Seamus Riordan, tall, tweed-jacketed and red-haired, stopped in his tracks when he saw the strange-looking long tube in Carneys hands.

Whatcha got?

Bazooka, Carney said.

Whats that?

Carney demonstrated, aiming at the Durant. The missile left the tube with a whoosh. By the time Riordan swiveled his head to follow it, the Durant had blossomed into a gorgeous red fireball. The concussion knocked Riordan down.

They didnt fix you up good enough, Carney said.

Riordan got to his knees, groped for his lozenge-magazined submachine gun, got it and raised it  but by that time Carney was there to kick it away. Carney then kicked Riordans solar plexus.

Not quite good enough, Seamus, me boy.

Another kick. Riordan groaned.

Were you sent to pick me up or kill me?

Pick you up.

Carneys foot found a softer spot near Riordans groin.

Riordan screamed, Kill you!

That answer was extracted under duress, but I believe you.

Carney went to Tony. Most of the bullets had found his legs, but a few had hit his chest. He was still conscious.

Madonn, Tony said. Im hit. It dont hurt, though. Funny. Always wondered.

Velma was on her knees on the front seat, looking down at Tony.

Carney asked her, You okay?

She nodded, then reached for something. She handed Carney the bottle. Saved it.

Carney took it and pulled out the cork. He tipped the open bottle to Tonys lips.

Drink a little.

Tony drank. He choked. Boss, that tastes like lighter fluid.

You get used to it. It might save your life.

The big Durant burned, thick black smoke coiling into the narrow band of sky between the tenements. Out of the sleeping city night, sirens approached.


Eighteen

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Voyager

It was a tight fit for two beasts and two humans inside the tiny craft. There were four seats, but they were small, obviously designed for nonhuman occupants. Ironically, the nonhumans were the most discommoded: Snowclaw spilled out of his chair, and Goofuss sufficed only for his tail and hind legs.

Jeremys voice came out of the intercom speaker. Okay, everything seems to check out. Were ready any time you guys are.

Were ready as hell, Gene said.

Yeah, whatever that means.

Were ready, Jeremy, Linda said.

Okay. Remember, no more voice communications once you get started, but my messages will be on the computer screen. The computer will be doing most of the piloting anyway. If contact is broken for some reason, the crafts automatic systems will kick in. So dont be too worried. I programmed it to do just about everything on its own.

Reassuring, Gene said. For some reason Chernobyl comes to mind  but, hey, this is an adventure.

Jeremy sounded a bit put out. A good  you know, like, attitude would help, Gene. A little respect for technology, maybe.

Gene tugged at his collar. Hey, its rough bein a computer, you know? You dont get no respect.

Very funny, Gene, Linda said sternly. Does everything have to be a joke with you? Cant you take one thing seriously? I mean, just for once?

Gene cringed. Eeep.

Im scared! I dont know about you. You always act so goddamned brave and macho. Sometimes  Gene, sometimes you really make me mad.

Sorry, Gene said in a flat voice. Okay. Jeremy. Let her rip. Dont bother with a countdown or anything. Thatll just make it worse.

Okay. Good luck, you guys. Be careful.

Yeah, we will.

It was quiet inside the craft except for Goofuss heavy panting.

Im sorry I snapped at you, Gene.

Forget it. Were all under pressure here.

Gene busied himself with checking instruments, most of which he didnt understand. The computer screen was a confusion of numbers and letters decipherable only to those fluent in hieratic computerese.

Gene turned to say something and bumped into Goofuss enormous head. Get your dog breath out of my face, Goofus.

As if he understood, Goofus scrunched back in his seat.

Good boy. God, this is nerve-racking, Ill tell you. Maybe we should have had a count 

A high-pitched whine filled the tiny compartment. Then the craft shuddered slightly.

The view out the view window disappeared, replaced by something difficult to apperceive: a murky, swimming nothingness, inchoate and devoid of feature.

Were off, Gene said. Were out in the interuniversal medium, I guess. The non-space between the universes. I hope this scheme works.

Im not even sure what the scheme is, Linda said.

Well, Im not crystal clear on it either, but somehow Jeremy reduced Melanies old clothes to data and fed them into the computer.

Howd he do that?

He faxed them. I dunno what he did. I think he just took two video shots of them, getting perspective parallax, combined those two signals into a 3-D image, and fed the results into the mainframe. So now the locator spell has something to work with.

Okay, Linda said, I think I understand that.

Youre one up on me. Anyway, what were going to do is this. Were going to riffle through whole bunches of universes and let the spell sniff at each one. If Melanie shows up in any of them an alarm will sound. When that happens, we enter that universe and Goofus tracks her down. Got that?

Got it.

Simple and straightforward. And highly implausible.

The whine of the crafts engines increased in pitch. The Sidewise Voyagers occupants felt a barely perceptible sensation of thrust.

Okay, here we go.

There appeared outside the viewport a flickering montage of rapidly changing scenes, similar to the effect produced by a motion picture film in which each frame is a discontinuous and separate image  or by a slide projector gone berserk. Each image appeared only long enough to persist in the human (and probably nonhuman) visual apparatus, a fraction of a second at most.

They sat and watched. Nothing else happened for a good while. At the top of the computer screen an intelligible message appeared  ALL SYSTEMS GO, GUYS.

Gene gave up trying to make sense of the instruments and sat back. Well, this could go on forever, since there are an infinite number of universes. Or variations on the same universe.

Which is it? Linda asked.

I dunno. I think the latter. Look at this stuff. Each universe has a world, a planet really, in it, right underneath us. There may be universes in which there isnt a planet, or maybe no planets at all. But if thats true, we havent run into one yet. I guess what we would be seeing would be empty space.

Its hard to make anything of that jumble out there, Linda said. It goes by so fast.

Yeah. Its like were skipping across the surface of the big pond of space-time, skipping like a stone, touching but not really entering the water.

Theres not much feeling of motion.

No. Howre you doing, Snowy?

Snowclaw said, Im fine, except I got a cramp in my leg.

Gene shifted a little. Is that better?

Snowclaw moved his leg. Yeah, thanks.

Well, at least the thing works, Linda said.

Seems to be working.

Flashing red lights appeared on the control panel.

Whats that?

Gene peered at the instruments. I dont know.

More warning lights appeared, flashing ominously. Soon the whole panel looked like an eight-alarm fire.

Gene, are we in trouble?

Uh  yeah. Massive systems failure, it looks like. Either that or theres a sale at Kmart.

Is Jeremy still in control?

The computer screen was blank.

Looks like we lost contact. Were on our own.

Outside the craft, the flickering had stopped. A vast red sky was the main feature. Below was an ocean edged by a thin strip of beach. The whole scene was suffused with red light.

Are we going to crash? Linda asked.

The ground was slowly getting closer.

No, this thing becomes an aircraft when it enters a universe. Theres enough left of the control system to land us, it looks like.

The craft settled slowly, but not slowly enough to avoid landing with jarring bump. The whine of the engines died, and there was quiet.

Gene exhaled. Well. Thats that. Unless we can fix this thing, here we stay.

Where are we?

They looked out. Something very unusual was in the sky, a great swollen sphere of redness, bathing everything in its dim light.

A red giant, Gene said.

Whats that?

A stage in the evolution of some stars. They get real big, losing brightness and energy. It could be our sun a couple of billion years from now.

Were billions of years in the future?

Some future, somewhere. Gene sat back and folded his arms. In any event, were stranded.

Oh, no.

Linda?

What?

Im scared now.


Nineteen

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle by the Sea

I was talking to Baron Delwyn when I heard someone groan behind me, the princess was saying to Tyrene.

Yes, the baron said. He was a small man in knee breeches and hose. It was Damik. Actually he was just passing by. I saw him. He walked behind Her Highness, stopped, seemed to be about to go back the way hed come, then groaned.

He bumped into me, Dorcas said. He turned around with this awful look on his face, clutching at his chest. I saw blood where he was touching. Then he collapsed.

Baron, you saw no one near him? Tyrene asked.

Well, there were a dozen people milling about out here after dinner. But I didnt see anyone near him when he fell.

And you were faced the other way, Your Highness?

Yes. I didnt see a thing until Damik backed into me.

Who was out here at the time? Tyrene asked the group of lords and ladies in the foyer.

Lord Arl looked around first before answering. I was one, he volunteered. Although I went into the library shortly before it happened.

Tyrene said, My lord, did you see anything suspicious?

Such as?

Did you see anyone near the count?

Well  I hesitate to direct suspicion at anyone.

My lord, there has been a murder committed. Someone stabbed the count. Someone here, in this room.

Trent said, I was talking to him. Out here in the hall. I suppose theres no denying that he left me just moments before he collapsed.

And where were you when he did, Your Highness? If I might ask.

Sheila, disturbed and distraught, was standing at Trents side, her arm in his. He pressed her hand reassuringly. Right there, near the door to the dining hall. Right where I spoke to Damik.

And what, sir, were you doing at that exact moment?

Just standing there thinking. Thinking about what Damik had just said.

Sir, which was?

That he was going to go to you with the name of the person who owned the dagger.

He was ?

He claimed he saw someone recently purchase a dagger similar to the murder weapon. He told this to Thaxton, Dalton, myself, and my wife.

I see.

Baron Delwyn said, He told me as well. In fact, he seems to have told a number of people. Lord Linwold remarked to me just an hour ago that Damik had told him the same thing. Seems he was disturbed about this and didnt know what to do.

Tyrene nodded. So. This is very interesting. Count Damik was privy to potentially damning information regarding the identity of the murderer, and now hes dead.

Thaxton and Dalton were standing off to one side.

Dalton leaned over and whispered, They were all in a position to stab him. Trent, Belgard, Rilma 

And a cloud of witnesses standing about, none of whom saw anything, as usual.

Well, this murderer seems to have some tricks up his sleeve. Dont forget your hypothesis about magic. Hypnosis, black magic spells  Dalton thought. Invisibility?

An invisible murderer, Thaxton said. Now that would explain a lot.

Yes, Dalton agreed. It would. If it werent for the fact that theres no magic in this aspect.

Who says there isnt?

Everyone watched silently as Guardsmen bore the body away.

When they were gone, Tyrene turned to face the assembled group. I will do all further questioning in private, my lords and ladies, he announced. But in the morning. There is a storm gathering, and it looks to be an ominous night. There is a murderer loose in the castle. I suggest you all retire to your rooms and bolt your doors. Good night to you all, and may your respective deities, whosoever they may be, forfend any harm.

The group broke up and dispersed, almost all ascending the wide staircase that led to the level where most of the bedrooms were.

Tyrene came over to Thaxton and Dalton. At least there will be no more murders tonight. Im going to post guards at the doors of all the prime suspects.

Ah, you have a list, Thaxton observed.

And a short list it is, Tyrene replied. Unlike those in mystery romances.

I should say not, Thaxton said. Just under a dozen suspects is de rigueur.

Thank the gods thats not our problem here, Tyrene said. I cant say that Im close to a solution of these crimes, but things are becoming increasingly clear.

Such as? Thaxton asked.

That this is a relatively simple matter made obscure by deliberate obfuscation, if not outright lying.

How so? Dalton asked.

Gods, man. Cant you see? Theyre all covering up for someone! Murders committed under their noses, yet no one sees a thing. A likely story! Oh, theyre thick as thieves, this lot. Theyd rather see the culprit go scot-free than break their damnable code of discretion. Scandal is the worst thing they can imagine.

Dalton said, We were discussing the possibility of some supernatural means.

Dont think it didnt occur to me. I suspected thaumaturgical homicide right off, but have since discounted it. There are a thousand dark spells designed to do a man in, and this lot knows em all, Ill wager. But, you see, each is a magician himself, and can employ forfending spells to ward off a hex or a curse or a dozen other eldritch evils. Theyre all well versed in these matters, let me assure you. Which is why the simplest method is all the more effective. Its unexpected.

Thaxton said, And you think the murderer is counting on the silence of his peers to keep his identity concealed?

Damik did much soul searching about revealing even circumstantial evidence, Dalton pointed out. Though he decided in the end to do it.

So Trent says, Tyrene acknowledged. But he may be lying.

Wouldnt Trent lie the opposite way? Thaxton asked, and say that Damik wasnt going to tell?

Possibly, Tyrene said.

In any case, I find it unlikely that Damik would announce to a group that included the murderer himself that he knew who the murderer was.

Damik was like that, Tyrene responded. Very given to subtleties and devious ploys. It may have been his way of giving Trent notice, yet providing witnesses if anything should happen to him, which in fact it did.

I see, Thaxton said. But I find it difficult to imagine Trent a murderer.

You didnt know him in his youth, Tyrene told him. Admittedly that was quite a spell ago, even as Perilous time is reckoned, but he was one hotheaded young buck, quick to anger, quicker to pick a fight. Ill admit Ive seen him change, and he was an exile on Earth for the longest time, which might have worked some ameliorative influence on him 

Earth isnt exactly the most peaceful of places, Dalton pointed out.

Be that as it may. He has changed for the better in some respects, but Im old enough to know that pards may change their spots yet still be pards.

Leopards, Dalton supplied to Thaxton. Poetic usage, as a lot of castle lingo is.

Yes, leopards, I beg your pardon. But you take my meaning, Im sure. Tyrene scratched himself, which Thaxton had by then put down to nervous habit. If only these were a pack of your common cutthroats. I could order a strip search and turn up the second murder weapon in a trice. We werent so lucky the second time. No one left a knife lying about for us to 

Tyrene had turned his head as he spoke, and now froze. Thaxton and Dalton followed his astonished gaze. Something was lying near the base of the far wall.

Ye gods! Tyrene breathed.

They went running to it.

Damn me! Tyrene said, kneeling to examine it. He was mortified.

The knife lying on the floor next to the wainscoting was a twin of the first murder weapon.

Thats what you kicked, Dalton said to Thaxton.

Whats that? Tyrene asked, looking up.

Thaxton told him.

So it was there all along. But how is it no one saw it before?

It was invisible, Thaxton said.

Damn me. Tyrene clucked and shook his head. So it was magic.

I think so, Thaxton said. But were no closer to finding out who did the magic.

True, Tyrene conceded, but the light grows ever brighter.

Invisibility certainly explains why no one saw anything, Dalton remarked. There was nothing to see.

At least not in the murderers hand, Tyrene said. You might tend to dismiss or forget seeing someone do this  he made a fist and brought it up against Daltons chest  if it looked like a jape or a friendly tap.

Again, though, theres a problem, Thaxton insisted.

Whats that? Tyrene asked.

Why would the murderer drop his weapon at the scene of the crime? For the second time?

The captain ruminated before answering. Ordinarily, I would say, simply to get rid of it as quickly as possible so as not to have it turn up in a search. But they all know I wouldnt and couldnt ask them to submit to such an indignity. Tyrene scowled. I simply havent a clue as to why the knife was dropped.

Neither do I, Thaxton said. As of now, anyway.

Tyrenes brow lifted sardonically. I trust youll apprise me of any sudden revelations.

Ill be sure to, Thaxton said dryly.

Tyrene picked up the knife. I suppose it wont do any good to test it for prints. Im not going to get a messenger through that storm out there, anyway. It can wait till the morrow.

No prints, Dalton said, shaking his head. I cant recall any of the prime suspects wearing gloves.

Aye, but Ill wager any purse itll be clean, as before. Mayhap the trick was done magically, Tyrene declared. Damn me again. Im hoist by my own petard.

Well, Thaxton said. I suppose there is nothing left to do. Everyones locked doors by now.

I suggest you gentlemen do the same, the captain told them. And Ill take my own advice. Im fagged out, truth be told. This nasty business has sapped me. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense.

As though of hemlock you had drunk? Dalton asked.

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains. Tyrene yawned. I crave your pardon, gentlemen. I must to bed. He turned and walked off, waving. Until the morrow, then.

Good night, Captain, Thaxton said.

These people have such poetic speech, Dalton observed, marveling.

It was a dark night of Sturm und Drang.

Lightning split the sky, revealing the desperate sea as it dashed itself against the rocks below. Rain pelted the castle, and wind wailed over the ramparts. Between flashes, the sea was gray green, suffused with a strange luminescence, boiling and churning.

Dalton came away from the window and sat back in the stuffed chair. He picked up The Moswell Plan and resumed reading.

Thaxton lay in bed, absorbed in Magiekal Divershyns.

They read as rain spattered the diamond-patterned windows and thunder rolled across the coast.

There came a knock at the door.

Who the devil could that be? Thaxton said, making to get up.

Ill get it, Dalton said, rising.

Dalton turned the huge key in the lock, threw the bolt, and opened the heavy oaken door, its wrought-iron hinges creaking.

Good evening, Mr. Dalton.

Princess Dorcas. Your Royal Highness, please come in.

Thank you. Im so glad youre still up. I had no wish to disturb you.

Not at all.

Dorcas came into the room, smiling. Thaxton was already on his feet.

Your Royal Highness, what a pleasant surprise, he said.

Youre wondering why Im up and about, Dorcas began.

Well, maam, its not the wisest thing to be doing with the murderer about.

The murderer has already tried to kill me, she said, and failed. There will be no second attempt. That would be too risky. I think the murderer realizes now that I wont reveal what I know.

The two men looked at each other.

Thaxton said, Maam, if I might be so impertinent as to ask, what do you know?

The identity of the killer.

Dalton coughed, recovered, and said, Wont you please sit down?

Dorcas sat in the stuffed chair. Please, gentlemen, be seated.

Dalton dragged up the hard-backed chair. Thaxton sat on the end of the bed.

You say you know who the murderer is, Thaxton said. May I ask how?

Dorcas smiled. That will take some explaining. She glanced at the book beside the reading lamp on the table. Ah, I see youre reading my book.

Oh, thats your copy?

No. I wrote it.

Daltons eyes went wide. You wrote The Moswell Plan? Youre Dorcas Bagby?

That was the pen name I chose, yes. You see, I really dont have a surname, so I took the name of my landlady. I was living in England at the time. Most of our family have spent a good deal of time there, getting educated. Trent, Incarnadine, all of us. Oh, there is the family name of Haplodie, but that sounds so strange, and in fact its a gens name, a clan name, not a proper surname. Anyway, writing the novel was something to pass the time while I spent a summer in Kent with friends of the family. It was a short-lived phenomenon. The urge to write never came over me again.

Dalton said, Well, I can tell you that Im enjoying it immensely, and its an especial joy to be actually reading it after so many years of hearing about it.

Its known? Dorcas asked.

Mostly by reputation. But it is known.

Im elated. Id thought the book consigned to obscurity. Its long been out of print. The publisher is no longer in business.

Are you sure this isnt your copy?

No. Where did you find it?

In the Peele library.

I didnt know there was a copy here. Well. Dorcas sat back. And now, I suppose you want me to explain how I can claim to know who the murderer is? Very well, Ill tell you, though you might not believe me. Its very simple. I saw guilt on the persons face.

A flash of lightning threw diamond patterns across the room, and a loud report shook the windows.

And the person knew it when I looked. We locked eyes, both aware of the others thoughts. It lasted only a second, but it was as if we had spoken for an hour. This happened very shortly after we were informed of the viscounts death. I knew then that I was in danger.

Sounds as though it was a frightening experience, Dalton said. Would you explain in more detail how this ability of yours works?

It is the Eye of Yahura, the Interior Eye. With it one can look into ones own soul, and into that of others. Its the soul, of course, that radiates from the eyes and communicates emotions to other people. Most people assume its the face and the facial muscles, but of course the face can move very little. With the Eye of Yahura its possible to see even deeper, down to the seat of the emotions, and there read the state of the samra, or soul-substance, which remains hidden and is not usually revealed by the eyes, except in the case of certain holy persons.

Were you born with this ability? Dalton asked.

No, not at all, though I was a fairly adept castle magician until I gave up that school of magic and adopted another entirely. I learned it partly from my husband, the Diktar of Sagrapore, and partly from a very wise and holy woman by the name of Bassara Ulani. I studied for several decades before becoming proficient.

Very interesting, Thaxton said. What do you intend to do with this knowledge  of the identity of the murderer, I mean?

Nothing.

Why?

My brother Incarnadine is wise. He made a law which prohibits a person from being charged with a crime based on information obtained from divination, necromancy, clairvoyance, or any paranormal means. The law is a very vital protection of human rights. It prevents the abuse of magic and gives jurisprudence an objective basis. Imagine if someone could be charged, tried, convicted, and even executed on the word of some clever and malicious charlatan. Or on the false evidence of a real magician. It is unthinkable. That is why my revealing the murderers identity would do no good whatsoever. I have no evidence on which to base such an accusation, and nothing but evil would come of it. That is why I must remain silent. I think even the murderer realizes that now.

You remained silent even though your life was in danger, Thaxton observed. Remarkable. Tell me this, maam, if you please. Count Damik is dead. Youre saying that the murderer meant to kill you instead?

Yes, that I also read on the murderers face. I am sure the killing of Damik was somehow a mistake.

If Damik was stabbed, which looks certain, how could it have been a mistake?

Dorcas shook her head slowly. It puzzles me, too. But I am certain the murderer meant to kill me, not Damik. The murderer touched me.

He  or she  touched you?

Yes. On the back. Just one finger, lightly, in passing. I thought the person wanted to speak to me, but no, not even a look. Just a touch. It was the touch of death. I could feel it. It was like the touch of a corpse. Cold, unfeeling.

How long before Damiks murder did this happen?

Just moments. Perhaps forty-five seconds. A minute at the outside.

And somehow, Thaxton prompted, Damik got in the way.

Yes. But I dont understand how. I know it was magical, and that the knife or the dagger was somehow incorporeal, or 

Oh, it was corporeal all right, Dalton interjected. It was just invisible for a little while.

I see, Dorcas said. Of course. And the dagger was thrown?

Possibly, Thaxton said. Thats what we dont know.

Your Highness, Dalton said, why have you come to us?

Dorcas smiled. For sympathy. I had no one to share this with. My husband is recuperating from an illness and couldnt come to the fte. I couldnt go to my relatives; theyre distrustful and might think me trying to stir up trouble. Theyd rather see the whole matter dropped. Murder doesnt disturb them so much as the adverse reflection on the family. Also, I had a feeling about you two gentlemen.

What sort of feeling? Thaxton asked.

That you knew even more than Tyrene. That you were closer to getting to the bottom of this than he was, as good a man as Tyrene is and as good as his intentions are. I wanted to be close to you, to reassure you that you were on the right track, although I cant give you any guidance whatsoever. All I can do is lend you my emotional support. And, finally, youre Guests. Guests seem to have special talents, sometimes. I find that fascinating.

Dalton said, Youre talking to two very untalented Guests, magically speaking. I can levitate about an ounce of weight, if I set my mind to it. Thaxton  Thaxton, old boy, exactly what can you do?

Not a bloody thing, Im embarrassed to say.

Dorcas said, Oh, I think you have great untapped potential. Youve simply never explored it.

Thaxton was surprised to hear it. You dont say?

Dalton yawned. Excuse me. Its way past my bedtime, Im afraid.

Oh, Im keeping you up. Im so sorry.

Let us walk you back to your quarters, Thaxton suggested.

Would you gentlemen consider letting me stay here for the night? Id feel much better.

Of course, Thaxton said. Youll take the bed, Dalton the cot, and I can curl up in the chair.

Oh, no, I wouldnt put you out. I intend to go into bramhara sleep, and thats usually done in a sitting position. She got up and sat back down with her legs in an improbable knot under her.

However do you do that? Dalton wondered.

Dorcas wrapped her arms around her upper body so tightly that she seemed to be trying to touch her hands together behind her back. This is the position of bramhara sleep.

Thaxton said, Uh  which is?

An alternative state of consciousness in which being is contingent upon discretionary choice, not imposed by ontological fiat.

Oh, that.

It is a restful state as well as being contemplative and transmaterial. I often go into bramhara during times of emotional stress. Ill be fine right here on this chair, gentlemen. Please just ignore me.

Dalton rose and went to the cot. He picked up the nightshirt that Ruford had laid out for him. He held it up. I ought to have a sleeping cap with this. Ill go into the bathroom to change. But one more question, Your Highness.

Certainly.

How do you keep that stone on your forehead?

The Eye? Very easily. Dorcas unwrapped her arms. Cupping her hand in front of her face, she tilted her head down. After a second or two, the diamond dropped into her hand. She held it up. Just a common diamond. I tune my body so that there is a natural affinity between the organic element of which it is composed, carbon, and the carbon which makes up a great deal of my body. The two naturally attract. She tilted her head back so that she was looking directly at the ceiling, then placed the diamond on her forehead. She held this position for about five seconds, then slowly brought her head back to the perpendicular. The stone stayed put.

Remarkable, Dalton said, shaking his head. Absolutely remarkable. He went into the bathroom and shut the door.

If you dont mind, Im going to stay up a bit longer and read, Thaxton said.

Please do anything you wish, Dorcas said, and went into position again. Her eyes closed.

Thaxton lay on the bed and picked up the book.

Dalton was dreaming of a woman, a beautiful woman. She wore a white gown, a thin chemise, and was walking barefoot at the surfs edge, the breakers washing up the smooth packed sand to wet her feet. The sky was blue between white puffy clouds. She was coming toward him, sea breeze blowing the thin cloth of the gown tight against her well-formed body. She was smiling. This was her kingdom, this kingdom by the sea.

Dalton!

Huhhh?

Dalton, old boy. Wake up!

The woman, the sky, the sea  all faded away.

Dalton opened his eyes. Thaxton was bending over him, hand on his shoulder.

Thaxton shook him again. Are you awake?

Good God, Thaxton, what is it?

Thaxton was excited. Ive got the solution, old boy. I know how the murder was done. And if I can get a messenger through to the castle, we may be able to find out just who the murderer is.

God, I hope I see her again, Dalton said.

Eh? Get up, old boy. We must go see Tyrene.


Twenty

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St. Valentines Hospital

They wouldnt let Carney into the emergency room no matter how much persuasion magic he worked, so he had to be content with word from a sympathetic nurse that Tonys condition was stable. They would operate in the next hour to get the slugs out. Tony had a good chance of pulling through.

He went back to the waiting room, where Velma was smoking and reading a two-year-old copy of Liberty magazine. He beckoned and she put out the butt, got up and came to him.

How is he? she asked.

Hell pull through. This stuff  he patted the neck of the bottle in his coat pocket  probably helped.

Is it helping you?

Im as high as a Mass at St. Peters. Lets get out of here.

Hey, Carney.

Carney turned. It was Detective Sergeant James Mack Duffey of the Necropolis P.D., smiling a coldly cynical smile, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his baggy brown wool pants.

What can I do you out of, Sergeant?

Want to take a look at your future?

Sure. Whaddya got?

We got Duke Holland for you. Or should I say, somebody got him? Good.

I thought he was dead.

Hes been on his way to Hell for the past five hours. Thought you might want to pay your respects. After all, hes a colleague of yours.

Lay on, Mack Duffey.

Duffey led him down the hall. A uniformed cop, standing guard outside a door, let them into small examination room and closed the door. Velma stayed outside.

There were two more cops in the room, along with a plainclothes clerk with a steno pad, scribbling away in shorthand. Holland lay on a gurney, shirtless, his upper body ventilated with bullet holes. Carney wondered how he could still be alive. But he was. He was talking continually in a low, breathy murmur. The stenographer seemed to be trying to take down every word.

Delirious, Duffey said. Hes been gabbling away like that for hours.

Cant anything be done? Carney asked.

Nah. The docs say its only a matter of time.

They came up with that prognosis all by themselves, eh?

Duffey guffawed. They didnt need no coachin.

Carney laughed mirthlessly. Whats with the steno?

Evidence.

Carney nodded. Can I try talking to him?

Be my guest. But youll get nowhere.

Carney approached the gurney. Hollands head shifted slowly from side to side. Dried blood caked his lips. His eyes were glazed, his sight on sights unseen. On and on he droned, the words slurred together, almost unintelligible.

Carney moved closer. He bent over the dying man, turning his ear toward those cracked lips:

 Well, you know or dont you kennet or havent I told you every telling has a taling and thats the he and the she of it. Look, look, the dusk is growing! And my cold chers gone ashley. Fieluhr? Filou! What age is at? It saon is late. Tis endless now senne eye or erewone last saw Waterhouses clogh. They took it asunder, I hurd thum sigh. When will they reassemble it? O, my back, my back, my bach! Id want to go to Aches-les-Pains. Pingpong. Theres the Belle for Sexaloitez! And Concepta de Send-us-pray! Pang! Wring out the clothes! Wring in the dew! Godavari, vert the showers! And grant thaya grace! Aman. Will we spread them here now? Ay, we will. Flip! Spread on your bank and Ill spread mine on mine.

Carney straightened, backed off.

He was a big man, Duffey said, with underlying satisfaction. Look at him now.

Dont rejoice so loudly, James.

Duffey opened the door for him.

Velma was engaged in casual flirtation with the door guard. She saw Carney, and rounded it off nicely with a smile and a squeeze of the cops big biceps. The cop grinned droolingly.

Carney took her arm and guided her down the hall, except she should have been guiding him; he wobbled like a loose wheel.

How is he doing? she asked.

Not bad for a guy with no education, he said.

The Leland had bullet holes in it but still worked. Carney turned east, toward the river. The hole in the back window sucked out all the heat the heater threw at them, but the flow warmed them a little. Carney drank as he drove.

Well wreck if you keep doing that, Velma said.

Possibly.

You could at least offer me a drink.

Powerful stuff, Velma, honey.

I can take it. I can swill any kind of booze.

She took the bottle and had a swig. She choked, and sprayed all over the windshield.

He laughed, taking the bottle.

What  is that stuff?

A little saint remover, my darling turpentine, eye of newton, denatured spirits, a little o this an for a that.

Its awful.

Oh, it be, it be. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been coold a long age in the deep-delved earth. Havin a good time. Yessuh.

Velma fanned the fumes away from her mouth. What bathtub did that come out of? Thats not liquor, thats poison.

Why, hell, woman, its full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, with beaded bubbles winking all over the bloody brim. He belched. Scuse me.

She laughed. Youre drunk.

Yes, maam. Ah is drunkern a skunk sunk in a sump. Smashed to smithereens, colleen. I gots the spirit!

God, are you drunk. You didnt seem so potted in the hospital.

I was like unto a fern. But I was a-workin a sober spell. A straightening-up spell. A sorites of sobriety. But now its gone, gone. Now I drunk, man.

You sound like that old codger.

He the man with the power. What power? The power of 

He had to make a hard right to get onto the bridge. He just made it, swerving the Leland crazily.

Hey, take it easy, Velma said. Good gravy!

Good night. Good night, good night, Irene, Ill see you in my dreams, wetly.

Watch it. Theyre still looking for you.

Oh, they seek me here, they seek me there. Those demons seek me everywhere.

Theyre not through with you yet.

Am I in heaven, am I in heck? What do I need with all this dreck?

Youre not drunk. Youre looney.

La lune, la lune, keep a-shinin in jejune. Oh, they wont bother me again. They know Im coming to pay a visit. Why waste energy? If the mahatma cant come to the mountain, then the mountainll come over the moon, and the dish ran away with the spoon.

Im cold, Velma said.

Dont worry. Sumer is icomen in. Lhoude sing couscous, or maybe shishkebab. Hey, what can I do to warm you up, babe?

Youre one to talk.

Whaddya mean?

I had you pegged as one cold fish.

Youd rather hot crabs?

How come you havent made a pass at me?

Was it expected?

Youre a guy, she said.

Oh, were back to that again, are we? Do the bastards make the passes? I guess, huh, cause the simps simper. Or is it the big fish? Oh, such a beeg feesh.

Guys only think of one thing.

Monists, all. I myself am of that stripe, but a fecal monist. Know what that is?

Uh-uh.

Thats the philosophical position that everything is shit.

Thats right. For the birds.

Turd thou never wert. Okay, Ill make a pass.

They were across the river. He veered right and bumped up onto the curb, bumped down again. The car screeched to a halt. He pulled back the hand brake and shut off the motor.

Im a simpering bastard, but I hope Im acceptable.

He took her in his arms and their mouths met. Her tongue was as quick as Dara Porters, but smoother, less sharp. His hands went a-roving, and the moon was still as bright. She was soft, yielding, eager, and warm.

We can go to my place, she said, her breath hot on his face.

I thought you bunked at the Tweeleries.

Only sometimes. I have a place in Hellgate. Put your hand there. Right there.

Ah, Come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures pr  

She stopped his mouth with hers.

A time later he went on,   Ae fond kiss, and then we sever  flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless  

He stopped and pulled away. He shook his head and it seemed, to his dismay, to rattle.

Whoa! Ye gods! This is working up to be one monster of a spell. Ive never seen its like. Id as lief never see it again. But  on the other tentacle, a mans gotta do what a mans gotta do, do. He popped the cork and took a drink.

Give me that, she said, grabbing the bottle away from him. She took a pull, and it went down successfully. Her eyes bulged.

Smooth, huh?

She gasped. Yeah. She took another.

You got yo mojo workin now, babe.

Cmere, you beeg feesh.

She drew him to her and they sank together into the depths, while the Lethe flowed softly by, dark and deep in the night.


Twenty-one

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World

The star that was the sun hung, bloated and swollen, in a dusk-red sky. A billion years ago it had been small, yellow, and hot. Now it was a ruddy monster giving off little light compared to its former compact self. Nor did it have much heat to give, but its immense size brought its surface closer to the planet. The air was temperate.

The green sea looked as it had looked five billion years ago.

They walked the beach and found something unusual lying in at the edge of the surf. It was large and looked dead. Its shape was indeterminate. It had tentacles on one side, claws or hooks on the other. Its body was flat, except toward what amounted to a head, where it bulged. The skin looked like leather here, blubber there. The color was a mottled blue-green. There were two eyes in the head, and a third, perhaps malformed, on the hump behind the head.

Goofus sniffed at the creature, barked once, and sat in front of it.

Gene, its really gross.

It would probably have thought us pretty damn homely. But that means little to me. Im no relativist, aesthetic or otherwise. I say thats ugly, and I say to hell with it. Gene walked on up the beach.

I feel kind of sorry for it, Linda said. Dying alone in this place, at the end of the world.

I wonder if its good to eat, Snowclaw said.

Snowy! Dont be disgusting.

Well, Im hungry.

Youre always hungry.

And that looks like blubber to me. Parts of it, anyway.

Yuck. Well, have a nice time. Cmon, Goofus.

Snowclaw stalked the animals length and breadth, eyeing it.

Nah. He walked away.

Linda looked back over her shoulder. Goofus?

Goofus was still planted in front of the thing. He looked expectant, as if waiting for his master to give a signal.

What is it, Goofus? Linda walked back, Snowclaw following.

Goofus barked.

He must sense something about it, Linda said. I wonder what.

Maybe its still alive.

Do you think?

It looks dead, but you can never tell about big sea critters. I know. I hunt them.

That looks like a mouth, there. Maybe that slit there is a nose. Sort of. Nothings moving.

You know, Snowclaw said, something tells me it is alive. Just barely.

Oh. Did you see it move just then?

Goofus got up on all fours and barked.

I think it did move, Linda said. I wonder if we can do anything to help it. She cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled, Gene!

Gene had wandered back to the ship, which had come to rest on dry sand a little way up the beach. Gene waved and yelled back, Just a minute! He climbed inside the Voyager.

Whats that? Snowclaw said.

Something had extruded from the creature: a metal rod looking not unlike a radio aerial.

Linda put both hands up to her cheeks. Oh, my! Could this be a machine?

The end of the rod unfolded into a wire mesh disk. The disk rotated slowly until it was aligned with the Voyager.

God, I hope thats not a weapon, Linda said.

You want me to rough it up a little?

No! Snowy, dont do anything.

Goofus barked and sat on his haunches again, watching the thing intently.

One of the eyes on the creature blinked.

It is alive! Linda exclaimed. But I dont understand the aerial. Is this thing animal, vegetable, or mineral?

Maybe a little of everything? Snowclaw ventured.

A high wave came in and washed over Lindas pretty silver boots. They were watertight. Do you think its trying to communicate with us?

Gene came running from the ship.

Hey, theres something going on with the computer. Its going nuts. He saw the communications dish. Now what the hell is that?

We were asking the same thing, Linda told him. I think it wants to establish contact.

Well, apparently it has, at least with our computer. The screens jumping with activity and I cant make head or tail of it. And this looks to be the cause of it all.

What do you think it is, Gene?

Looking at the thing afresh, Gene gave it a clinical scan. Some sort of intelligent, seagoing life form. Doesnt look anything like a dolphin, but those flaps back here might be fins of some kind. Lessee  eyes, breather holes, and thats gotta be the mouth, although its kind of on the small side. Maybe it doesnt eat much. And of course, your basic telecommunications link, standard on any sentient creature.

Is it sick, in trouble, what?

Prolly both. Beached, like a sick whale. Very like a whale, only smaller.

I wish there was something we could do.

Like? I wish we could help, too. But  Gene raised his arms in despair.

Maybe if we pushed it back into the ocean.

Id say the thing weighed something on the order of two thousand pounds, avoirdupois. Besides, its obviously an air breather, or itd be dead already. Likely has lungs and gills.

I still wish we could do something.

Aside from comforting it, theres little. But of course, were assuming 

The creature emitted a whistling sound. It started in a high pitch, then descended until it became a rush of air.

That sounded so sad, Linda said.

Yeah.

What were you saying?

I was going to say that were only making assumptions here. For all we know, the thing is in the middle of a proper and natural life function, like spawning, or something. Or its just sunning itself after a swim. Who knows?

I think its sick, Linda said. Goofus knew right off.

Im not going to argue with Goofus. The critter looks terrible enough.

The whistling sound came again, this time varying in pitch. It wandered up and down the chromatic scale, then settled in the middle registers. The creature started to modulate the sound, and something like a voice began to emerge from all the piping. It was doglike at first, which elicited another woof from Goofus, but then it became less feral and, while not exactly human, began to sound like something that could form words, though none came.

This went on for a long time. Snowclaw grew bored and strolled up the beach, sniffing for quarry. Gene left the strand and went to examine the strange trees that grew inland. They were gnarled bonsai-like little things with pink leaves.

Linda sat and listened. Every once in a while she thought she heard something that sounded like an effort to speak.

Finally, after about a half-hour, she heard, quite clearly, Ablomabel.

She stood up. Excuse me? she said.

Ablomabel.

Could you say that again?

Ablomabel?

Oh. Okay. Linda touched her chest. Linda.

Vinah.

Linda.

Vin-dah.

No, Lin-da  Linda. Linda Barclay.

Lin-dah-baleee.

Yeah, sort of. Pleased to meet you.

She coached it along, and at the end of a few minutes she was rewarded with, Lin-DAH bar-CLEE.

Right. But its more Lin-da BAR-clee. Never mind how its spelled. Okay, your name is Ablomabel. What are you?

What  are  you?

Oh. Are you asking me a question?

Ask-ing you a ques-tion.

Gee, youre coming along fine. That was a good sentence.

Thank you.

The voice was almost human.

You want to know about me, Linda said. Im a human being. Im from the planet Earth.

Ear-r-th.

Yes.

Ear-r-th. Yes.

And I and my friends came here in that craft over there. The one youre communicating with. But I guess you know that.

The creature said, I know. I know. I know everything in computer. I am of it with.

Then you know pretty much all there is to know about us. Theres a lot of information in that computer.

Much data is giving.

Gene had returned in the middle of the conversation.

Linda, are you giving bootleg Berlitz courses again?

Ablomabel, this is Gene. Gene, Ablomabel.

So I am pleased meeting, Gene, you, the creature said.

The pleasure is all mine. Tell me, does Ablomabel have any meaning in your language? Gene asked.

Yes, meaning title of leader of  thought-process-change group?

Ah. A scientist? Philosopher?

Yes! the Ablomabel said. Meaning much the same, yet different, I am thinking about.

Linda said, Ablomabel, are you feeling ill? What are you doing here?

The Ablomabel answered, There is an ending. I am coming to shore, to home, once again, last time. Then ceasing to function. Ending. Death.

Thats terrible. Is there anything we can do?

There is an ending to all, the Ablomabel said. I am fatigued, weary. Long time with sickness. And old, very old. There is no one left, I fear that. No one reports. I am last, I think. Then, I die, I think. I came here to see again the sun, which dies.

Thats so awful, Linda said. Are you sure theres nothing we can do?

I am sure, thank you, please. But glad is in my mind for meeting my new friends. I will stay longer, not die yet.

Oh, please dont die. You must have a lot to tell. Can you tell me, do you live in the sea?

Yes, my kind is sea-living.

How long has your kind lived in the ocean?

Very long time, since when the Yvlem decreed there should be living in the sea again after long time deadness in the sea. Many  years ago, eons, long time.

Gene asked, You obviously have technology, and it seems to be part of you. Are you part machine?

The Ablomabel answered, All living who does, are parts of machines, in part machine, and machine parts. Comprehend this?

I think I understand. Cyborgs.

Indeed, there are machines who are living as well.

So you have robots, cyborgs, but no living things that arent either one of those?

Small organisms, some plants, yes.

How long has civilization been on this planet?

Many long time. Cannot say with exacting. Since the sun was young.

Billions of years, Gene said. Thats incredible.

Permitted asking you questions? the Ablomabel said.

Shoot. I mean, of course. Go ahead.

Where is it you are coming from?

I think youll be able to understand this. From another universe.

Yes, that has been thought, but nothing done in this matter. Another universe. Your machine. You built it?

No, Gene said. I found it. A long-forgotten race of beings built it.

They were indeed great beings, I think.

They were pretty remarkable. Unfortunately, their machine doesnt work very well. It ceased to function. Thats why we are here. We cant leave. Were stranded.

This is very unfortunate in the way of bad luck, the Ablomabel said. Have been attempting to repair the craft?

Have been attempting, Gene said, but no luck so far. Our resources are limited. Tell me, can you possibly help?

Gene, Linda scolded. Ablomabels dying.

Already have sent message to machine city not far from this place, the Ablomabel said. Alerted to the possible trouble and help to be lending.

Thats decent of you, Gene said. Machines, you say?

Yes, they still live and are active. They say they will come to help. But do not hope this much. Your machine in the nature of strangeness is great, I think.

Yeah, you cant get parts. A real lemon. The warranty expired, and everything went.

Detecting irony.

Youre detecting it. I mean to say that the craft has never lived up to expectations as far as successful operation is concerned. It was an experimental design. Do you understand? All the harder to fix, consequently.

Understand. But is it permitted to attempt?

Gene nodded. It is permitted, and thank you very much.

The Ablomabel said, I am fatigued. Conversation has depleted my energy reserves. I will, permission granting, rest awhile and not speak, until the machines arrive.

Linda said, By all means. Take a nice nap. Dont tire yourself.

The wire mesh communications dish folded up, and the rod retracted into the creatures skin. The opening that received the whole affair closed up.

They had a picnic lunch on the beach. Snowclaw had collected an assortment of shellfish. Finding none edible he complained of hunger.

Try this, Gene said, handing him a ham salad sandwich.

Snowclaw took it and popped it into his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed. Great, he said. Now what else can I breathe?

Sorry, Snowy. But you ate all the stuff we brought for you.

Canned fish. Great, but I need fresh stuff or my fur starts to fall out.

Theres the ocean, Gene said. He handed Snowclaw his gun. Go out and shoot some fish.

Linda said, Gene, there may be sentient creatures out there. Shellfish are one thing, but Snowy eats whales and like that. But he cant do it here. It wouldnt be ethical.

Shes right, Snowclaw said. Id probably get sick eating this stuff. Im tired. Im going to sack out.

Snowclaw stretched out on the sand, crossed his ankles, and closed his eyes.

The long red afternoon wore on. The green sea went on rolling in and out. All was still. No birds flew, no insects buzzed. Nothing crawled on the beach. For the most part, it was a dead world. Yet, in its way, it was beautiful.

Gene, how come the suns not going down?

The planets tidally locked. No rotation.

You mean its always like this?

Yeah.

How sad. How sad to see a world end.

Yeah. I think Ill take a nap, too.

Linda rested her head on Genes shoulder.

Gene, do you think well ever get back?

I dont know. It doesnt look like it.

She watched a high thin cloud drift toward the sun.

Gene, Im glad were together.

Yeah.

Linda stared at the watercolor sky. Presently, she closed her eyes.


Twenty-two

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peele  Dining Hall

The lords and ladies had grudgingly assembled, rousted out of their beds in the early morning hours. Vehement protest was still being voiced when Tyrene arrived with Thaxton, Dalton, and Dorcas.

Weve not had our breakfast yet, complained a bewhiskered and indignant baronet.

My lords and ladies, Tyrene announced, I humbly beg forgiveness for this inconvenience, but we have arrived at what we think is a solution to the murder of the viscount Oren, and, perforce, to that of Count Damik.

A hush fell over the assembled nobility.

Tyrene continued: We have been up all night with the working out of this solution. Much traffic has passed between the two castles, Perilous and Peele, and between the raindrops, as twere. What we would ask you to witness is in the nature of a demonstration. Ordinarily, for any other criminal case, we would hold off presenting this evidence until the preliminary hearing. But the nature of this evidence is so extraordinary and of such subtlety that I wish to reveal it here this morning. My reasons are twofold. One, a person of quality is involved. It has been so long since a scion of a noble house has been brought up on capital charges that I wish this individuals peers to be impressed with the strength of the prima-facie case, so that there is no feeling that we are merely casting about for a suspect, hauling in the first hapless fish to be netted. Two, I believe the evidence to be forceful enough to dissuade a lord magistrate from releasing this individual on his own cognizance after arraignment but prior to a hearing, as is the custom when the defendant is of high noble station. I have no doubt that, were this custom followed, the suspect would flee through a well-chosen castle aspect, where decades might go by before justice prevailed. I hope I have made myself clear.

Tyrene surveyed the room, as if to acknowledge anyone who would pose a question. No one did.

Very well, my lords and ladies. I shall now turn these proceedings over to the individual by dint of whose unflagging determination and incisive intellect the case was cracked. I am speaking of Mr. Thaxton of the castle.

A murmur went up, borne on a note of surprise mixed with no little displeasure.

Thaxton strode forward. My lords and ladies. What you are about to see is a demonstration of magic. Now, I well realize that, as castle inhabitants, you regard magic as a commonplace on the order of toast and tea or the Monday wash. But this magic is unusual in that the feats we will perform here this morning are among the few that are known to be possible in this aspect, this world. And they are, at first, not very impressive as magical tricks go. But bear with us, please. I should like at this time to beg the assistance of one of the castles leading adepts, a person whom you all know, Her Royal Highness, the princess.

Dorcas stepped forward.

Thaxton held up something shiny. I have here in my hand a coin, a shilling, which Ive been carrying in my pocket for a good while now, not having any place to spend it. Im going to ask Her Highness to make this coin invisible.

Thaxton gave Dorcas the coin. Dorcas held her right hand palm up and placed the coin in it. She brought her other hand down on top of it and stretched her arms out. Then she began to speak some strange words, a few sentences. When she was done, she held her stance for a moment longer, eyes shut.

She took her left hand away. The right was, apparently, empty.

No one seemed impressed.

Mere legerdemain, someone said.

Dalton came to her, bearing a small cast-iron pot with a metal handle such as would be found in the castle kitchens. He held it below the princesss outstretched hand.

Dorcas slowly tilted her right hand. Something in the bucket clinked.

Mild surprise was evinced. Dalton shook the pot and it rattled dutifully. Thaxton reached his hand and seemed to pick something up. He held his hand up.

As you can see  rather, as you cannot see, the coin is invisible. He poised his hand over the pot, and the pot clinked again. Thaxton repeated the action. He then picked the invisible object out of the pot again.

My lord, if you would be so kind?

Uncertain, Lord Arl looked around, touched his chest and said, Are you addressing me?

Yes, my lord. Please take this coin so that everyone knows no sleight-of-hand was involved.

Reluctantly, Lord Arl came forward. Thaxton handed him nothing.

Arl took the non-thing and hefted it. He nodded. I feel it. Its invisible all right. He handed it back to Thaxton.

Thank you, my lord. Now, Her Royal Highness has told me that she did not put so great a charge on the coin as the instructions call for. Consequently, it should become visible very shortly.

Thaxton knelt, tilted his hand. There came the unmistakable sound of a coin clinking against the stone floor and settling into a spin. The sound eventually stopped.

Thaxton rose and stepped back, his eyes on the floor. The crowd edged closer.

It took about a minute. Suddenly, the shilling appeared on the floor.

Thaxton picked it up and pocketed it. He looked over heads and made a motion.

Two servants moved a table to the back of the room, and the crowd shifted, clearing a way to it.

Thaxton took a handful of something from another servant. I have here about half a dozen common tavern darts, he said, holding them up, borrowed from the Peele Castle recreation room. On the far wall  there, in front  we have placed a target such as could be found in any pub in half a hundred worlds.

Dorcas approached the circular target, reached out, and touched the center ring with her right index finger. Then she accompanied Thaxton to the table, which stood about forty feet away.

Dorcas took a seat at the table. Thaxton handed her a dart. She took it and laid it on the table in front of her. She then began to trace complex patterns above it with both hands. This done, she picked it up with her left hand and gently stroked it with her right.

I bid thee fly, and strike where I laid my touch.

She handed it to Thaxton. He took it, faced the target, made a few peremptory motions, and threw.

Forty feet away, the dart struck the target dead center.

Dorcas was already working on a second dart. Her preparations done, she gave it over to Thaxton. This time Thaxton faced in the opposite direction and threw the dart over his shoulder.

The dart flew with amazing and quite unjustifiable speed toward the round corkboard target, thunking squarely into the inner ring, tight against its mate.

The crowd by this time was quite impressed.

Thaxton took another prepared dart. He faced the target this time, and simply held the dart between thumb and forefinger. He relaxed the pressure of his fingers and the dart jumped from his hand, streaking to the target with astonishing speed.

Thaxton threw the fourth dart toward the left wall. The darts curving trajectory led it inevitably toward the front of the room and the target. It struck the bulls-eye with a solid thud.

Thaxton said, My lords and ladies, what you have seen is simple parlor magic. Real magic, to be sure, not sleight-of-hand or illusion, but  nevertheless  quite trivial. The spells employed came from a book.

Dalton handed it to him.

They come, in fact, from this arcane tome, my lords and ladies. The Book of Magical Diversions by Baldor of the Cairn. This copy comes from the Peele Library, and Im told its been there for generations, quite conceivably dating to the time when the castle was occupied by the aboriginals of this aspect. I am also informed, by qualified scholars, that the book originated in this world, and is in fact the only volume extant dealing in the magic here. As you have no doubt by now guessed, these two spells  the Coin Invisible and the Charmed Dart, could be combined into something quite deadly.

A wave of murmuring realization spread through the assembled nobility.

Yes, I think you all see what Im driving at. Some adaptation would be necessary, but the two innocuous spells you have just seen could be cobbled together into an effective assassination spell. A malevolent spell of black magic.

Thaxton set the book on the table. Of course, the question is, who did the thing? Lets tick off a list of qualifications which any suspect must have. First, he or she must be an adept magician. That would include a large portion of the population of Castle Perilous. But the degree of skill would have to be rather high. High enough to exclude the average magician, which would eliminate most of the castles Guest population except for a very few, but would include most if not all the castle nobility. And as no Guests were present at the princesss fte, we must cross them off the list entirely. No, only members of the castles noble families would qualify.

Thaxton began walking the perimeter of the circle of noble men and women who had gathered round.

Its clear were still not very near the point where the identity of the murderer becomes obvious, for this book has been sitting on the shelf in the Peele library for centuries. Anyone could have read it, anyone here. But perhaps it would be helpful to find out who read it recently, or who could have read it recently. And for that we need another book. Peele Castles guest book.

Bearing a folio1 volume, Ruford pardoned his way past his betters. He handed Thaxton the book.

As you know, Thaxton continued, its customary for Peele guests to sign in and check out, hotel-style, so that charges for food, servant wages, and overhead can be assessed. Lets take a look at those who recently stayed at Peele, shall we?

Thaxton opened the book. And we find something very remarkable. The half-dozen most recent guests include three individuals who have or had a motive to commit the murder. Lady Rilma, for one. Thaxton stopped in front of her. It that not true, my lady?

Lady Rilma drew herself up. This is an outrage. She glowered at Tyrene. I will not be browbeaten by this barbarian upstart.

But you did read the book, my lady, did you not?

I certainly dont remember.

We have testimony from one of the chambermaids. She remembers seeing the Baldor book lying on your night table.

The word of an illiterate chambermaid !

Who happens to be doing graduate work in magic at the University of Thule. Shall I have the young lady come down and give oral testimony? Tyrene has her deposition already.

Lady Rilma seemed about to explode. All right! Yes, I read the book. Of what significance is that?

None, my lady, except that you hated your husband. He was malicious, boorish, ruthless, and cruel beyond belief, in addition to being an incorrigible philanderer.

How dare you!

True or not?

Gods! Rilmas gaze fell to the floor. How can I deny it? Its true, all too true. Yes. There is not a person in this room who does not know that I hated Oren. Enough to kill him? Yes! Gods, yes. On one occasion I even tried. He laughed at me when I picked up the scissors. He turned away  and I struck. Had he not been wearing that thick leather hunting waistcoat, I would have stabbed him in the back. But all that was exposed was his arm. If Id had the presence of mind, I would have opened the scissors and slit his jugular.

Yes, Thaxton said. And the fte, when you said you heard your husband grunt with pain and surprise, could the reason really have been because at that moment you plunged an invisible dagger into his back?

I did not do it.

You had a dagger in your possession. True?

Yes, concealed in my bodice.

You saw Oren make improper advances  however acceptable to or even encouraged by the recipient  improper advances to Lady Rowena. You knew this would happen at the fte, because it always did when your husband and the lady met at any gathering. It happened again. You then prepared the dagger, made it invisible 

Yes, I did. Yes! I was going to use the spell. But not for him! I didnt kill him!

No? Then who was the spell intended for?

Lady Rilma pointed across the room. Her! That woman!

Lady Rowena paled, her hand going to her throat.

Yes, her! She was just as responsible for my constant humiliation. Even more, because she could have protested, and he would have listened to her. But she had to play the hussy in front of her husband! That vile vixen! It was she I wanted to kill.

But you didnt.

No.

You didnt take the spell any further. Why?

Lady Rilma wobbled. One of the lords assisted her to a nearby dining chair, into which she slumped.

Her voice was low. Because the monster would have succeeded in corrupting me completely. He was vile, he was bestial. But if he had driven me to kill, he would have won over me. His victory would have been complete. Through the grace of the merciful gods, I realized this, and I did not go up to Lady Rowena and lay the targeting touch on her. I put the dagger away. Not even when Oren threw the capon wing at me did I take it out again, though anger flashed through me, as it did whenever he struck me.

Thaxton walked away from her, turned. But the spell would not have worked, my lady.

Rilma was slow in answering. No?

No. There was no way to work the flying-dart spell using a dagger instead of the dart, as it is written in this book. Your Highness, would you explain why?

Yes, Dorcas said. An assassination spell is malevolent magic, sometimes called black, but of course color has nothing to do with it. These parlor tricks are innocuous magic, sometimes called white magic. The latter employs the cooperation of playful spirits, benevolent spirits. Sprites, pixies, wraiths, call them what you will. They will do the bidding of any magician who has the skill to guide and direct them. But a black spell requires the command of a malevolent spirit. The spells in this book are not of this variety. You can render a dagger invisible, but you cannot do harm with it. The flying-dart trick will not work if the dart is directed at a human being.

Thank you, maam, Thaxton said. So you see, Lady Rilma, you were in no danger of committing murder, unless you had actually attacked Rowena or your husband in the old-fashioned way.

Thaxton continued walking the grim circle of suspects, witnesses, and innocents.

So, it would take quite a good magician to work up a new spell, in an aspect that didnt admit of much magic. This would take a bit of research. Research that you were in the habit of doing  Lord Belgard.

Belgard took out his monocle, rubbed it on the sleeve of his morning coat, and fit it back in. I wont stand for this.

You do a lot of reading in magic, dont you, my lord?

And what of it?

Very dangerous magic.

Sometimes. Purely a scholarly interest.

Oh? Then why did you purchase a Helvian dagger? You neednt deny it. Tyrenes plainclothesmen traced the knife by the tiny initials of the smith carved into the boxwood handle. Not usual in a cheap item, but some craftsmen have pride all the same. The vendor sold that particular type of dagger to several people, but he remembered your monocle. Again I ask you, my lord, why did you purchase the weapon?

Belgard looked around, huffed, and said, I simply bought one, thats all.

So it was you Count Damik saw buying the dagger.

Belgards shoulders fell. Yes.

And he, being a knife fancier, asked you why you wasted your money on such inferior merchandise.

Yes. He did say that.

And what was your answer, my lord?

Belgard summoned his ruffled pride. I didnt owe him an answer, and Im damned if I owe you one.

Could it have been because you were contemplating just such a spell as Her Highness described, an assassination spell to do Oren in at the fte, and you wanted to do it with a common knife that would be hard to trace, a cutlery version of what is known in my world as a Saturday night special?

No! I had no such intention.

You could have read the Baldor book.

Never clapped eyes on it.

And there are no witnesses to your having done so, my lord. In that youre quite safe. But the Perilous library has records of dozens of books on magic which you took out on loan.

What of it? Lots of people do research on magic. Belgard sneered. Even chambermaids.

Yes, but not everyone has a motive for killing. You did. Youve been stewing in hatred for years. And Oren was eminently detestable. He was a rotter, a scoundrel, and a villain. To say nothing about tupping your wife 

You bastard! Belgard swung his Malacca cane, which Thaxton neatly sidestepped. Belgard lost his grip and the cane went clattering across the flagstone floor.

So sorry, Thaxton said calmly.

Yes! Belgard screamed. Yes, I hated him, and I would have killed him, once I perfected my spell. And it is a guided dagger spell, but nothing like the childs play you seem to think Id toy with. No, Ive been working on mine for years. It was designed to foil all his protections, all his defenses. Its effective over great distances. I can even cast the spell in my home aspect and have the dagger travel  invisibly  through the castle and into Orens aspect. Its a masterpiece, and it would have worked, if Id had the time to perfect it. But cast it here? In this aspect? Nonsense! Why? I never saw that book of yours. I dont care how long its been in the Peele library. I never set eyes on it!

Thaxton walked away. No, I dont think you did, my lord.

Thaxton kept stalking. He stopped in front of Trent, who was standing hand-in-hand with his wife.

Trent grinned. And this is the point in the scene in which the murderer blurts out a confession, right? All right. Means? Youre looking at one of the best magicians in the omniverse, if I do say so myself. Motive? I would have killed the son of a bitch eventually, either in a duel or some other way, for molesting my wife and attempting to sodomize her. The man was a mad dog and should have been put out of his misery years ago. There is no end of victimized servants  he had a taste for teenage upstairs maids especially  who can attest to that. And he wasnt content with just rape and involuntary deviant intercourse as the statutes put it. He usually added beating as a lovely little fillip. Opportunity? I could have thrown demons at him at any time, defenses or none, and Tyrenes men would have found his body parts artfully arranged around his billiard room. But Inky would have gotten wind of it and would have been pissed off at me. So, as far as the murderer is concerned, whoever he may be  all I can say is, there but for the grace of the gods go I. Yeah, I confess to intent. But I didnt kill him. Somebody beat me to it.

Thaxton strolled on. Be that as it may. There is another name in the Peele guest registry. And the name is one that hasnt been bandied about very much, if it was on the suspect list at all. Why do you think that is  Lord Arl?

Because theres nothing to connect me with the crime, Arl said mildly.

Oh, but I beg to differ, my lord. You have a reputation as a competent magician.

Hardly in Trents league.

No, but a good one. And you have been known to research in the library.

Arl laughed. I must say, this is turning into quite a charming little witch hunt. Am I suspect merely because of my bookish ways? Have something against intellectuals, do you?

Very clever ploy, my lord, turning the tables like that. Admirable. But it so happens this matter has much to do with reading habits. You did a lot of browsing in the Closed Stacks, where the eldritch and pernicious tomes, as Osmirik likes to call them, are kept. Isnt that true?

As did Belgard, Trent at one time or another, and any number of other people. Dangerous books are fun, after all.

Jolly good fun, but you happened to give close attention to a particular book of black magic, the ironically titled Flowers of Forgetfulness. It is in fact a book of spells to do people in, isnt it? A book of assassination spells.

Never chanced across it, so I cant say.

Never read it?

Cant say that I have.

I see. Isnt it interesting, though, that this book contains a Flying Dagger spell that is similar in form to the Charmed Dart spell.

Does it? How interesting indeed.

Yes, quite. And one very amenable to adaptation. It could easily  given that the practitioner was skillful enough  easily be combined with the dart spell and made to work in the Garden aspect.

Really.

Yes. And the spell in the Flowers book explains another puzzling aspect of this case. Namely, who pulled the knife out and dropped it? The answer is: it pulled itself out. Would you like to know how, my lord?

Ill bite.

Because the Flying Dagger spell is designed to return the dagger to the assailant after the deed is done. Neat trick, that. No murder weapon to trace. The dagger travels stealthily to the target, strikes, wiggles some to cause more damage  twistin the knife, dont you know  yanks itself out, and returns as sneakily as it came. But in the viscounts case, that part of the trick didnt work, not completely. Your Highness, would you be good enough to explain to his lordship?

Certainly, Mr. Thaxton, Dorcas said. When spells are combined, as they often are, there is always some difficulty with parts of the component spells canceling each other out. That is probably what happened in this case. The dagger succeeded in extricating itself from the body of the victim, but at that point the spell misfired, and the dagger fell to the ground, inert, the spirit freed from the task of returning it to the assailant.

Arl regarded Thaxton frostily. Why did you think I wouldnt know about spell misfires?

I beg your pardon, my lord. Just trying to be thorough.

In any event, it makes no difference, Arl said, because I neither read the book nor cast the spell.

Lets return to that in a minute, my lord. When I happened to find the dagger, just before I did, I almost ran into you. Could you have been looking for it?

Hardly.

You thought the spell had failed when you didnt get the knife back. It should have dropped harmlessly at your feet. Even though the dagger could not easily be traced, you would have felt safer finding it before the invisibility part of the spell failed as well. Isnt that right?

No.

But you were unable to find it. It was invisible. You couldnt understand what happened at first. In fact, when you followed Oren out, you were wondering if the spell had worked at all, werent you?

I was leaving the party. Thats all.

You saw Oren get up and leave, and you couldnt see the dagger or what it had done, so, beside yourself with anxiety and curiosity, you followed your brother and discovered me with him in the alcove. You knew you had succeeded, but you still didnt understand about the dagger not being in him. At some point you must have realized that the knife had worked its way out but dropped, and when I nearly bumped into you, you were searching for it. And would have found it, were it not for the bad luck of my seeing it first. Perhaps you did see it first, but decided not to be the one to turn it up. Does any of this strike your fancy, my lord?

None of it. None of its true.

Then why, my lord, did you touch your brother on the back?

When?

Why, shortly before the dagger struck.

I dont remember.

Lady Rilma remembers it quite distinctly.

Shes balmy. Always has been.

I believe her. And you also touched Princess Dorcas on the back, shortly before you let a second dagger fly, at her. Is that not correct, my lord?

No! Its a lie!

Thaxton turned to Dorcas. Your Highness, have you any objection to swearing before a court of law that Lord Arl touched you on the back shortly before Count Damik was murdered?

None whatsoever, Dorcas answered. It would only be the truth.

Laying the touch, Thaxton said. Part of the spell. Part of the killing spell. I have the feeling that Lord Belgards spell is a tad more sophisticated. No need for the touch. Different targeting apparatus entirely. Right, my lord?

Entirely! Belgard answered.

Yes. Yours, Lord Arl, was a bit technologically backward, taken from a very old book. Your spell was effective up to a radius of no more than fifty yards. But in the Garden aspect that wasnt a problem. Plenty of hiding places. In the lilacs on the other side of the pond, for instance.

A lie. Lies! Fabrications!

Anyway, Thaxton went on, you tried to murder the princess for the simple reason that she knew that you were the murderer. We wont go into how she knew. Lets say she had a strong suspicion, which you knew about. You had to eliminate her, but, again bad luck. Damik just happened to walk behind her at the crucial instant, and he took the knife. He was a friend of yours, too.

Yes, he was.

And you killed him  quite accidental, this killing.

Youre insane. Tyrene, Ive had enough of this!

Lets get back to the book for a moment. You were less adept than Belgard magically, but quite the cagey plotter. Belgard took his books out on loan. You didnt. You didnt want anything in the library records. So you did all your reading in the library.

To coin a phrase, so what?

But the books were in the closed stacks, and to get to them you had to fill out a call-slip, including the title, author, and call number. We have such a call-slip for the Flowers book, in your handwriting.

Nonsense. I throw those things away. They come back with the book. Theyre not kept.

True. But you slipped up. You used one as a bookmark and left it in the book when it was returned. We have it, my lord.

Which proves nothing! You have nothing but circumstantial evidence! This is an outrage and I wont tolerate it a moment longer.

But theres a witness.

What? Arls voice went cold. What did you say?

An eyewitness  or in this case an earwitness, who, among the lilacs and forsythia, heard you chant, I bid thee fly, and strike where I laid my touch, the exact incantation of the Charmed Dart spell. It was a young servant who was in there sneaking a smoke. Naturally, the boy didnt make his presence known. He was, as my American friends put it, goofing off. When you left the lilac grove, the boy saw you. He has so testified.

Arls face had grown pale. Gradually, the color returned. He took a vast, despairing breath. I suppose its no use. Yes, I did it. I cobbled up the spell. It went wrong, I followed Oren out to see what the deuce had happened, saw you, saw that I had succeeded.

And you were appalled by what youd done, werent you?

Yes, at first. The sight of him, actually dead by my hand  it shook me. But he deserved to die. Everyone knows that.

But why did you kill him, my lord? Mind telling us? That we didnt know, and still dont. Namely, the motive.

Arl smiled. I did it for my son.

Your son?

Yes. Oren was childless, no descendant to take the peerage. But I heard that lately hed been grumbling about having a barren wife and no offspring. What with Rilma having attacked him, he had legal cause to divorce her. I was afraid of just such a development. In fact, Id always wondered why he hadnt got rid of her sooner. Finally, after years of agonizing deliberation, I resolved to act before it was too late, before he sired a legitimate son. With Oren dead, the viscountcy would devolve to me, and thence to my firstborn male offspring when I die. It was the only thing I could have given my son. As everyone here knows, I lost most of what little I had to harebrained business investments in partnership with Damik. The peerage was to be my only bequest to my son. To give him a starting point a notch above the crowd. Thats all. That is why I did what I did. My motive was unselfish.

Thaxton said, But you were quite prepared to kill, and in fact did attempt to murder, an innocent person  the princess.

Yes. I was convinced she knew what Id done. Were I caught out, the peerage would of course not be transferred to me or to my son. No peerage can be passed by dint of assassination.

I see.

Tyrene was there with two Guardsmen.

Im afraid youll have to come with us, my lord, Tyrene said.

Yes, of course.

Thaxton stopped Arl with a touch. Pardon, my lord. One more thing. You know, you were quite right. The case against you was purely circumstantial. With a good barrister you might have gotten off.

What hanged me?

Your own admission, my lord.

Eh? What about the young servant?

Thaxton shrugged, deeply apologetic. A bluff, my lord. A mere bluff. In fact, this whole proceeding was a bluff. We had no ironclad case against anyone. The case against you was strongest, but still completely circumstantial. We concocted this little melodrama purely in the hope that someone would blurt out a confession. For no other reason would we have put Trent, Belgard, and especially Lady Rilma through this agony.

And I blurted, Arl said with a wry smile. Very clever, Mr. Thaxton. Very clever indeed. You are to be congratulated.

Thaxton bowed his head. Thank you, my lord.

They led him away.

Chastened and silent, the assembly of noble men and women left the hall.

Dalton wore a look of utmost awe. He came up to Thaxton.

Thaxton, old boy, Ill never insist that you play golf with me again. Tennis from now.

Up yours, Osmirik.


Twenty-three

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The Tweeleries

Clare Tweel was a big, well-proportioned man who wore suits tailored to every bulging muscle  the one he was wearing now being no exception. Of a tasteful gray tweed, it was stitched and tucked to accentuate the V-shape of his body. He stood by the fireplace sipping sherry and watching Helen Dardanian put another record on the phonograph.

You seem to like string quartets, he said.

When theyre not quintets or trios, she said, setting the cactus-needle stylus down on the shellac record. An adagio movement began, dark and sombre.

Not exactly romantic, he said.

I dont feel very romantic, she said, prisoner that I am.

Its temporary.

You only have twenty minutes left.

Ill think of something at the last minute. I usually do. Come sit by the fire.

She came over and sat on the Louis XIV settee. She wore a knee-length wine-colored frock with a fashionably low waistline. Her hair was blond and unfashionably longish, eyes a robins-egg blue. Her face had a lofty, classic beauty, and her legs were long and shapely, turned on the lathe of a master craftsman.

He sat beside her and handed her a glass of wine. She took it. He raised his glass.

Lets drink to my damnation.

She raised hers. Damn you, anyway.

He chuckled and drank.

She took a sip. I must say, youre taking it rather well.

If you gotta go, you should go with style. No screaming. Dont let them drag you. Walk tall.

Think you can do that?

He shrugged. Maybe. Well see.

Is there any way of getting out of it?

Demons dont renegotiate contracts.

I think its appalling. I cant imagine you feeling anything but a numbing terror.

Oh, its scary to contemplate. But I signed the agreement. There were certain terms, certain conditions and obligations. And now, its time to fulfill my part of the bargain. Cant say that I havent had fun while it lasted.

But the price  its awful.

That comes with the territory.

Speaking of which, theyll pretty much have your territory when youre gone.

Yes, they will. But that wont be my problem.

Their territory will be most of Necropolis, if not all of it.

John Carney can probably hold them off. For a while at least. He sat back. But lets not talk about him. Lets talk about us. Theres not much time left.

What about us?

Is there any future?

But you have exactly  nineteen minutes of future left.

As said, I usually think of solutions at the last minute. We had something going once. I wanted to see if there was any chance of picking it up.

She shook her head. Whatever could you be thinking of?

Of us. Together. As we once were, in love.

I liked you, Clare. Admired you. Very much. You have it all, you know. Good looks, riches, intelligence, power. You even have a sense of humor. At times, youve shown tenderness. Theres not much more a woman could ask for.

And yet ?

She stared into the fire. Theres something missing.

Nobodys perfect.

She laughed. Sounds ridiculous the way I put it, doesnt it? I suppose it doesnt make any sense. I suppose I should love you.

His eyes were serious. Did you once, Helen? A year ago?

I suppose  Clare, these words. Admire, like, love. I can never get the meanings crisp and sharp. They seem to smear over into one another.

Love is special. A unique entity. Discrete and indivisible. Monadic. It has some special properties, philosophically speaking.

Its an intellectual thing?

No, of course not, but the mind is engaged in some way.

What is it, Clare? Do you think love can redeem you? Save you?

Possibly. Maybe not. But what could make Hell a heaven? Not to reign, but to love. What are hellfire and brimstone to the flames of passion?

You really mean it, dont you?

Of course. Physical pain? That means nothing. It can be ignored. But an eternity of regretting that I never loved, was never loved? Thats unendurable torment.

She looked at him for a long moment. Clare, I dont know what to say.

He put down his glass, took hers, set it down, and took her in his strong arms. Their kiss was long and involved.

She broke it off and caught her breath. Clare, I dont think I can help you.

Dont feel obligated. Doesnt work like that.

Clare, I do. I do feel obligated somehow.

Marry me, Helen.

Marry you?

Yes. Be my wife. Be with me forever.

Clare, I wont go to Hell with you.

You couldnt. They wouldnt take you. Your beauty would be an affront to them. Not just your face  your soul.

Clare, this is 

Say yes, darling.

Darling  seventeen minutes.

Forget about that. The J.P. is just down the road. He can be here in ten minutes. Besides, the dengsll grant me a grace period.

Odd way to put it.

They will. They like gestures. Theyll enjoy stoking a bridegroom into the coals, fresh-plucked from his brides tender embraces.

God, Clare, thats awful.

He kissed her again. This time their embrace lasted longer. Her body aligned with his and pressed against him, her right leg up over both his. He stroked her thigh lovingly, longingly.

Ill marry you, Clare, if you think itll help. God, its the least I can do.

Dont do it for that reason.

What do my reasons matter?

He gently pushed her off and got up.

Its him, isnt it?

Who? she asked.

Carney. You still love him.

She frowned. I wasnt even thinking of him.

Im not blaming you, Helen. But it has to be full and free, without let or hindrance. No encumbrances.

I said Ill marry you, Clare. I meant it.

I believe you. But 

A resounding crash came from the far pan of the mansion. The floor shook momentarily. Shouts and exclamations outside.

God, what was that?

Stay here, he said, striding out of the room.

Once out the door, he ran down the wide hallway, and took the steps three at a time.

On the ground floor he followed his ears through the immense house until he found the source of the commotion in the ballroom.

A gray Leland sedan had crashed through the big French windows, taking a part of the wall with it. The crumpled hood was inside the room, as was the drivers door. John Carney was struggling out. There seemed to be a shimmering aura surrounding him. It was prismatic, colorful, but faint.

Tweel was astounded. John! Nice of you to drop by.

Happy New Year! Merry Martinmas! The blessings of Bran be on you.

Tweel threw his head back and laughed.

Carney found the bottle under the front seat and upended it in his mouth. He drained it and looked forlornly upon its emptiness. To the lees. Finished. No more. Nevermore. The nectar of the dogs.

Of the dogs?

Tastes like dog urine. But smooth. He threw the bottle to shatter against the wall. Frater ave atque vale. Give my regards to olive-silvery Sirmio.

Tweel chuckled. John, youre polluted.

Aye, that I be. But do I wake or sleep? That is the question.

You look wide-awake to me. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?

I gotta take a piss. I mean my wisdom teeth are doing the backstroke. You got a facility?

Yeah. Indoors, too. Down the hall 

Wait a minute. Help me with her, will you?

Who you got in there?

Boss!

A man with a submachine gun poked his head through the hole in the wall.

Boss, he crashed the gate! Like a maniac! He tore through the garden, ripped up the lawn  we couldnt stop him. Our damn guns wouldnt fire for some reason!

Tweel said, You think hed come here with his hand inside his fly?

The damn car had sparks and stuff comin off it! You want I should let him have it, boss?

Heel, boy. Ill handle this.

Okay, boss.

Carney was struggling with the not-quite-conscious Velma, trying to lift her out of the car. Tweel helped. They got her upright, and Tweel stooped, letting her fall over his back, and picked her up in a firemans carry.

Tweel patted a well-rounded buttock. Nice to see you, Velma.

Carney said, You told me, I wanchu to find Velma for me, so I did.

You found her all right. Come on upstairs. Helens here. We can have a party.

I always hew to the party line. Wherere the dengs, by the way?

Theyre around somewhere. Whats going on, John? Is this a social call, business, you selling insurance, what?

The time has come, old Walrus-breath, to speak of many things. Like, what the hell is going on with you and the dengs?

Oh, theyre calling in my marker.

Yeah? I thought so. When?

Midnight. It was twenty-four years ago tonight.

Carney looked at his watch. Stopped. Whats the time?

Not too frigging much. Come on, we have time for one drink.

Tweel walked, Carney weaved, out of the ballroom.

In the hall they ran into Fioretto Roberto Bobby Speranza, spat-shoed and dapper as ever. His ski-jump nose was a little red, but he was essentially sober.

Your Honor! Carney said.

I wanna tell ya, these dengs are murder, Bobby said. You go to one of their parties, and youre so happy to get home youre glad you went. Ba-boom. Rimshot. But seriously, folks.

Carney said thickly, Hell of way to treat a mayor of a great metrotopil  metropopol  a big town.

Oh, youre pumpin ethyl tonight, boy, Mayor Speranza said. Did you drive here or wash in with the tide? Youre sloshed.

And I intend  excuse me  to get a lot sloshter.

Whew, that breath is dynamite! Id buy you a drink, but its a clip joint and youd only disappear at closing time.

Im not that kind of girl.

Speaking of cured ham, Bobby said, gently poking Velmas rear with his cane. Velma?

She has a wooden leg, only its solid, Carney said.

Clare, seriously now, Bobby said, when the hell are they going to let me out of this upholstered cesspool?

Bobby, you got me, Tweel said, shrugging Velma. No, actually, the dengs got me. For keeps.

They really going to cash in your chips, huh? Well, take plenty of weenies to roast.

I think they roast other stuff down there, Tweel said. What can I say, Bobby? Theres nothing I can do.

They got half of the city council here. Any more and well have a quorum and send out for pizza.

It never was your town, Bobby.

Shit, I know that. But damn it, being the mayor should count for something.

Didnt you get to cut the ribbon when they opened the sewage treatment plant?

Oh, and I still have wet dreams about it, but I mean, seriously 

Its their town now, Bobby, Tweel said, moving on.

They can have it! Just let me go home and get a shower, fcrissake! Bobby watched them walk away. Im tellin ya, its murder. Im going to refer the whole thing to my lawyer. He needs a good laugh.

Whistling, twirling the cane, Speranza strolled off down the resplendent mirrored hallway.

Howd he get elected, anyway? Tweel said. I cant figure it.

Didnt you buy that last election?

Yeah, and I cant for the life of me figure out why.

As they rounded a corner, a deng leaning against the damask wall straightened up and took a toothpick from his mouth.

The Boss wants to see youse.

Tell Ashtaroth I have a date with him at midnight, not before.

The deng smiled toothily. You dont got much time. The smile drooped. Now. Drop the broad.

Drop dead, Tweel said.

The deng looked at Carney. You too.

Im otherwise engaged, thank you.

Come on. I wanchu to meet a guy.

Well, if youse insist. Whos this Ashtaroth anyway?

The Boss.

Come on, Tweel said. Hes commandeered my office.

Tweels office was an expanse of blue-and-gold deep-pile carpeting and red leather furniture. A well-dressed deng sat behind the polished walnut desk. His eyes were soot-black, his tie whiter than a sacramental host.

Come in, boys, Ashtaroth said, cigarette in hand.

Tweel laid Velma down on the couch.

John, nice to see you, the demon said, smiling.

Carney approached the desk. Have we met?

The deng said, We have mutual friends. Can I get you a drink?

Yeah, as a matter of fact, before I stuff you back into the stinking hole you came from.

Is that any way to respond to an offer of hospitality?

Deng, your leathery ass is heather, and I got Heathcliffe revving up the combine.

Ashtaroth puffed impassively. Really. Youre pretty drunk.

Things are not what they seem. I want you and your minions out of here in one minute, starting now.

Ashtaroth plucked the cigarette from his bloodless lips. Hey, who do you think youre talking to?

Carney reached across the desk and grabbed a lapel, pulled the huge body forward and took the other lapel, brought the dengs face close to his. Sparks flew from the points of contact.

WHO THE FUCK DYOU THINK IM TALKING TO, FUCK FACE? THE FUCKING WINDOW?

Astonished at Carneys strength, the deng desperately tried to detach himself. Carney pushed him away and sent him tumbling over the executive leather chair.

The deng rose, slapping at the tiny flames that had sprung up on the lapels of his shiny gabardine suit. Youre dead. I dont care what kinda hocus-pocus you got working, you are one dead cookie, pal.

Carney lanced a finger at him. I want you out of here, out of this town, and down your hellhole, pronto, or youre going to regret it.

The deng came around the desk and strode toward the door. Get bent. I take no orders from you. Okay, so we cant get no leverage this time, but were taking him  and theres nothing you can do about that. We got a contract!

Ashtaroth left, slamming the door.

You guys didnt seem to hit it off, Tweel said.

Chemistry, you know.

Yeah. Shit, what am I gonna do? Tweel sat and passed a meaty hand through his shiny black hair.

Now you worry. Twenty-four years ago you didnt worry so much.

What can I say? I was a fool. The power, the glory, the shining chrome on the pussywagons, it blinds you.

Oh, dont make me puke. You got a brain, why didnt you use it? You knew you couldnt win.

Tweel held his head in his hands. I know, I know. Jesus Christ Almighty.

Too late for that stuff. Boy, you really got your tit caught in a wringer this time.

What can I say, Inky? Im basically an asshole.

Id say you were an anal opening of the first magnitude. An assholes asshole. Not only that, you didnt R.S.V.P. Dorcass invitation.

Shit, I forgot. Tell Mom Im sorry, okay?

You tell her when you get back to Perilous.

Thats a laugh.

Dont worry about it. Theyre only local demons.

Their Hell is one of the best in the omniverse, I hear. Exquisite refinements. Really, they are very good at what they do.

Hooray for them.

Uncle Inky, what the hell am I going to do?

I dunno. I gotta take a piss first, then 

Ah, enough of this puling, Tweel rose. I want to see Helen before they take me. He picked up Velma again easily.

Carney said, Is there a bathroom on the way?

Helen was staring into the fire, empty wineglass in hand, when she heard the door open.

John!

Hi, Helen. I need a drink or a place to pee, or both, in any order.

She got up and hugged him. Its so good to see you.

Nice to see you. They drag you here?

Sort of. I wanted to come. I knew he was in trouble.

Hes in a pile of trouble.

Is Velma okay?

Yeah, one ruby grape of Proserpine and she was out like a light.

Why are you here, John?

To save this jerks butt.

Oh, John, can you do it?

I dunno. I feel its possible.

She looked up. John, theres something like faint flame dancing around your head. She drew back from him. In fact, around your whole body.

Aura. You read auras?

Nope. Whats it mean?

It means Im cooking with gas. I dont know what the hell it means, but I feel good. I feel positive. I sense the vibrations. Ive been getting more fiber in my diet. Got that drink?

Theres wine.

Carney reached for the bottle and took a drink. Excuse me, he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, but I have to keep a certain blood-level up.

John, youve been drinking. You never drink, very much.

Dutch courage.

Theres going to be a fight?

Theres gonna be a battle of epic proportions. Dionysus meets Godzilla, plus selected foreshortened subjects. I wish I could get you out of here.

Three minutes, Tweel said, staring up at the clock. He looked extremely worried.

You have to do something, John, Helen said.

Take it easy. Want a drink?

No. She sat on the settee. He asked me to marry him.

What was your answer.

I said yes. It was a qualified yes, though.

Do you love him?

Thats always the question, isnt it? Its a question I can never answer. I wonder if I can love anybody.

You can if you love life. Existence.

Maybe I dont, she said. Im frightened of life sometimes.

Arent we all, sometimes. Videlicet, the present moment.

Maybe I dont love life.

Well, you can learn. But this is hardly the time for deep discussion. Carney took another drink, then looked at her. What are you thinking of?

Being back home, in Illinois. Sometimes I get homesick.

What did you do to support yourself back there?

I worked in a cracker factory. Nights, I sang in speaks. Real dives. In one of them the dancers went bare-breasted.

Cracker factory?

Yes, snack foods, that sort of thing.

What did you do?

I was a taste tester. But I quit to come here.

He took her chin. Was this the face that munched a thousand chips and spurned the topless bars of Illinois?

Thats me.

All is gross that aint you, Helen.

John. She kissed him tenderly.

He said, One kiss from you and Ill be Methuselah.

Two minutes, Tweel said, his eyes still on the clock. Beads of sweat had appeared on his brow, tiny drops, a film of worry and fear.

The house began perceptibly to shake.

Carney said, Sit tight and try not to be scared. He patted her hand.

He got up and paced the room, now and then lifting the bottle to his lips. He examined the paintings, the expensive vases, statuary, and other objets dart.

One minute. One minute to live. O gods. Uncle Incarnadine, save me!

Stay calm, kid.

Earthquake tremors shook the house. Paintings fell from the wall, vases toppled, and shelving collapsed, spilling fine limited editions all over the floor. Furniture began an eerie dance, shifting positions.

Carney lifted Velma off the couch and brought her to a corner of the room near Helen. He beckoned to Helen and had her sit in the corner, holding on to Velma. He moved a heavy Chippendale highboy in front of them.

Thirty seconds! Gods save me! I dont want to die! I dont want to burn in Hell forever!

Tweel was on his knees before the clock, fists at the sides of his head, his eyes shut against the terrible moment about to come.

To the sounds of cracking boards and splintering wood, the floor split down the middle, creating a wide chasm into which rugs, furniture, and lamps plunged. Flames leaped from the abyss. The hole went down to the basement and farther, into a deep pit that was the source of the searing fire. Smoke and sulfurous fumes rose.

Carney threw the wine bottle into the hole. He stood at the edge and unzipped his fly.

Tweel was still on his knees, staring with horror into the Avernean depths, mouth agape. The flames lit his terrified eyes, but he could not avert his gaze from what was in the pit.

Oh! Is it ugly! Oh, close it up, close it up!

The smoke and fire coalesced into a form hideous beyond description, but its human lineaments were discernible.

The ugly thing jabbed a taloned finger at Tweel.

You, shit-breath! Get your ass down here, now!

A pale yellow stream arched past the things face.

Hey  what the bleeding blazes ?

Carney stood in blissful relief, emptying his bladder into the internal conflagration.

You, there! Just what in Hades do you think youre doing?

Carney said. When you gotta go 

Thick clouds of steam began to rise from the hellflame below. They billowed to the crumbling ceiling and filled the room.

Now, just a damned minute. You just cant go whipping it out and whizzing wherever your fancy pleases. People live down here!

Yeah, theyre going to be all upset about a little pee water. Spoil their day, it will.

Thats not the point. The point is you dont casually piss on somebodys property. What if I came over to your game room and took a dump on your pool table?

Carney grunted pleasurably. You know, when its like this, after holding off so long, its almost as good as an orgasm. Know what I mean?

The steam roiled up in puffy white clouds, obscuring the fiendish apparition. Carney continued his evacuation, playing the stream in fancy filigrees across the chasm.

At length, he was drained to the dregs. A few last spasmodic spurts, and he was done. He repacked himself and zipped up.

It took a while for the steam to clear. The flames were gone. Nothing was in the pit but sooty, steaming rock, reeking acridly.

The apparition was partially dispersed, but still had voice.

Son of a bitch! Itll take a thousand years to restart those furnaces! If they start at all! We might have to replace them!

Easy installments, no payments till spring.

Okay, pal, we got your name, and we know where you live. You think youre big stuff? Well, think again. This wont be the last time this abyss gapes before you.

Abyssinia.

The infernal specter vanished. Faint smoke rose from the pit, carrying a smell like a four-mile-wide kitty-litter box.

Tweel staggered to his feet. He came to the edge of the abyss and looked down. Theyre gone. Theyre really gone. He looked up. You did it, John. You pissed on the flames of Hell. It was epic. Homeric!

Have any more wine?


Twenty-four

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

City at the End of Time

A gargantuan caterpillar-like machine had arrived and disgorged from its hatches hundreds of lesser machines: robots, drones, and automatons of every description. Big and small, they converged on the Sidewise Voyager, invading its interior, crawling on the hull, attaching probes and contacts, and generally taking its measure. Then, having reached a consensus on what was ailing the craft, the visitors set about trying to fix it. Tool attachments spun on the ends of mechanical arms, and busy sounds came from within and underneath the crippled ship. The area around the Voyager swarmed with antlike metallic workers engaged in countless auxiliary tasks, moving to the music of beeping diagnostic instruments.

Gene, Linda, and Snowclaw had wakened to Goofuss barking and the sounds of the commotion. Fascinated, they watched the goings-on.

The Ablomabel had returned also. Antenna up, the dying being monitored the progress of the robot work force.

They are saying there is chance of success, the sea-creature said.

Encouraging, Gene said. Have they ever worked on anything like the Voyager before?

All machines are alike in certain respects, perhaps, the Ablomabel said. Being that they are of the same class.

If youve seen one youve seen them all. Well, as far as road service goes, these guys sure beat most service stations. They look very organized. What do they do when theyre not helping strangers from another dimension?

They do not do much, the Ablomabel said. The time is long past when they were needed. Now, just maintenance every few centuries.

The work continued. An occasional flash lit up the undercarriage of the ship.

To pass the time, the Ablomabel related the story of his life, describing the seagoing civilization of which he was the last representative. He outlined the history of his race and its cultural, social, and technical development, and tried to fill his visitors in on the last days of the breakup of that culture and its eventual lapse into a moribund state. He also tried to give them some idea of the history and fate of other varieties of intelligent life on the planet. At one time there were thousands, if not tens of thousands, of different but peacefully coexisting races and subraces  all, it seems, the product of technologies that abetted the proliferation of artificial and semiartificial life forms. This glorious pluralism was in the past, however. Now the world was depopulated, almost lifeless.

The trouble for Gene, Linda, and Snowclaw (and perhaps for Goofus, for he seemed to find the narration interesting as well) was that most of the Ablomabels story was hard to understand in detail.

 it was then that the Yvlem decreed the laws of Nyah Lyeh, and the Weem protested, yet they were not so much uncooperative as shifting paradigms in the manner of Gel Minap-Tev, yet they eventually achieved Yow-Negarah. At the same time, factions within the Humenathylathuiopuhthem demurred, wishing to curry favor with the Yvlem, yet not wanting to assume the onus of Slagg-Gefeen.

At the end of it, the Ablomabel heaved a sigh, and fell silent.

That was interesting, Linda said. Thank you, Ablomabel.

I am only too happy to have obliged, replied the Ablomabel, whose English had improved markedly in just the last half-hour.

Is there any chance that your race can get reestablished some way? Linda asked.

I am afraid that the reproductive machines of the Hblutmen are not capable of being re-vohmed easily, and the task is beyond my poor powers.

What about the machines helping?

Ah, but their doing so would precipitate an ethicophilosophical quincunx. Such a step would invoke the Imperative of Nexial Periphrasis, if I am transliterating correctly.

Oh. Uh-huh. I see.

They all waited silently, watching the sea roll in and roll out under the huge red sun.

At last the machines made their report.

They say that the craft is now functioning, the Ablomabel announced, relaying the message. They estimate the chances of further malfunction to be within the parameters of acceptable risk.

Meaning its damned dangerous, Gene said. But thats okay. Well be going now.

Oh, Ablomabel, Linda said.

Yes, the Ablomabel returned, sadness is in my primary pumping unit as well.

But we cant just leave you here. You helped us. You saved our lives.

What else could an intelligent being have done under the circumstances?

A lot of nasty, heartless stuff. But you didnt. You helped.

Only too happy. Only too happy, was all the Ablomabel could say.

Linda hugged the creatures massive head.

Goodbye, Ablomabel.

Goodbye, Linda Barclay. Goodbye, Gene Ferraro, Snowclaw, and Goofus. May you live to see the cosmos reborn in the coming time of the holy Bunya Vree-Gel.

You too, Gene said. So long. Thank the machines for us.

They, also, are glad to have been of service. They left the Ablomabel to his long, peaceful dying at the edge of the sea.

The lights on the control panel were all green. The craft hummed reassuringly.

Gene snapped switches, pressed buttons. The lights on the panel reconfigured. The engines began to whine and whir.

The flickering montage began again. Thousands of universes flashed momentarily into being, then were gone. Gene darkened the viewport somewhat to make the flickering less hard on the eyes.

Time passed inside the tiny craft. Goofus stood watch while Snowclaw slept snoringly. Gene and Linda played tic-tac-toe on the computer screen, then chess, then Nintendo Super Mario Brothers (Jeremys doing).

This is fun, Gene said, but that music can drive you nuts.

Watch out for those crawly things. Theyre  whoops! Youre dead.

Damn it. You know 

Goofus began to howl.

Goof? Whats the matter?

A high-pitched beeping sounded.

Hey, thats the alarm! Gene yelled. The locater spell.

Outside, the flickering had stopped. Below was a green, forested world.

Shes in this universe, Linda said.

Yeah, but where is the question.

Goofus was barking excitedly, thrusting his head between Lindas and Genes shoulders.

Hey, Goof? Take it easy, okay?

Goofus seemed to want to jump through the viewport.

I guess were on the right track, Gene said.

The craft cruised at an altitude of about a hundred meters, following a winding stream below. Here and there, verdant early summer wheat fields showed evidence of intelligent and probably human habitation.

Goofus turned his head to the right and barked. Gene banked the craft accordingly and came about to the new heading.

See anything? Gene asked.

No. Wait a minute! There are some guys  There she is! Gene, I see her! Uh-oh.

What?

She may be in trouble. Gene, land quick.

Okay, but Im not good at this.

Gene sent the Voyager into a power dive and leveled off at the last moment. The craft settled gently in the middle of a clearing.

Hey, not bad for a tenderfoot pilot.

Lets get to her quick!

With difficulty, they all spilled out of the craft.

Which way? Gene said. I lost my bearings.

Follow Goofus!

Oh, yeah.

Goofus led them a merry chase through woods, down an incline and up a hill, following a beaten path. Eventually Goofus lost his pursuers and disappeared into the brush.

Gene, hurry!

Im coming, Im coming.

They came out of the woods onto a rutted road, where they beheld a strange sight. Goofus was trying to chew the sword arm off a chain-mailed knight. The man was writhing on the ground near a naked Melanie, who just sat there watching. Nearby, two other knights lay bloodily dead, while a third man, sword in hand, stood idly by, observing the scene with detached curiosity.

Linda dragged Goofus off his victim. The man groaned, holding his mangled arm.

Phasers on stun, Gene said, pointing his futuristic weapon at the man. The gun went voomp and the man fell over unconscious. A green cross was emblazoned on the white tunic that covered his suit of mail.

Just for insurance until we find out whats going on, Gene said. Shoot first and ask Christians later is my motto.

Linda brought Melanie her clothes.

Hi, there! Gene said to the man who was watching. Theres a Federation law against interference, but, hey, screw it!

He saved my life, Melanie said, pulling on tights. Or tried to, anyway. And he doesnt know me from Adam.

Is that why hes eavesdropping?

Melanie, what happened? Linda said.

Oh, these are the days when knights were bold, I guess. They were going to rape me and this one tried to kill me. Whos the dog belong to?

Thats Goofus, and he found you, Linda said.

Thanks, Goofus.

Whoorrrrff!

I thought Id never see you again, Melanie said.

You thought! My God, I was sick with worry. You were my responsibility.

I guess stepping into that aspect was dumb, huh?

You couldnt have known, and I should have kept my eye on you till you did know.

Hey, this guys head is split like a melon, Snowclaw said.

I did that, Melanie said soberly.

You? Linda was amazed.

Never in a million years did I think I could ever kill anyone. But I did.

Well, you did a pretty good job, Snowclaw assured her.

Ill have to live with it for the rest of my life.

Decent again, Melanie went up to the stranger who had come back for her.

You didnt have to come back. You risked your life for me.

He had no trouble understanding. Aye. Ive been known to do stupider things. He sheathed his sword. But alls well that ends well. Ill trust your friends to take you home. Ill not ask what far country you or they come from. Tis all been passing strange.

She kissed him on the cheek. Thank you.

He smiled. Be well, girl. And dont leave home again without a husband or some man to look after you.

He turned and walked back up the hill. Melanie watched him go. Then she called out to him. Whats your name?

Im called Baldor. Baldor of the clan Cayrn. Fare thee well, pretty maid!

Linda found Gene pointing his gun at a tree. He fiddled with the setting and aimed again.

Gene, Linda said, what are you up to?

I gotta see what vaporize does.

Dont destroy a tree just to 

A plume of wispy smoke wafted out of the barrel of the weapon. It billowed into a faint cloud and dissipated quickly.

What the shit is this nonsense?

You wanted vapor, you got vapor, Linda said, laughing.

Probably hair spray. Or deodorant. He holstered his weapon. Lets beam the hell offa this jerkwater planet.

Right, Captain.

We need an ending, here. Wheres Gene Roddenberry when you need him?


Twenty-five

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castle Perilous  Apothecary

In rumpled evening suit with black tie undone and hanging, the King of the Realms Perilous came walking in, holding an ice bag to his head.

Ramon!

No answer. He bellowed again, wincing. Ramon!

Ramon the apothecary came out of the back room. Whats the big emergency?  Oh. Your Majesty. What can I do for you?

You can shoot me or give me something for this headache. Its killing me.

Cant you whip up a spell?

If I had any pharmaceutical spells handy Id whip one up, but as you can see, Im dying. Besides, what Im hung over with, magic cant touch. Now, can you get cracking?

Ramon raised his pale eyebrows. Well, you dont have to shout.

Move, Ramon.

Yes, Your Kingship. Ramon went back into his cubicle. There he rattled bottles and retorts, put pestle into mortar and pestled something, then poured something which bubbled and fizzed. He came out carrying a beaker of fizzing, bubbling stuff.

Drink this off, he said.

The king took it and downed it.

Gods, thats awful.

Itll work.

The king gave back the beaker. Thanks, Ramon. See you later.

Ill put it on your bill.

Yeah.

He held the ice to his head all the way up to the castles Administrative Offices.

He came through the door to find his secretary typing away. The secretary jumped to his feet.

Sire, youre back! There are a hundred matters 

Just the important stuff, Tremaine. Im dyin.

Whats amiss, Sire?

The king went through to his office. My frigging head, thats what. What have you got?

We must review the case of the Advocate General against Lord Arl. That is the most important. Then there is 

Wait a minute.

The king took a seat at his desk. Behind him, a cinquefoil window opened onto an aerial aspect of a huge modern city.

First things first. Draft a letter of commendation to Tyrene and his detectives. They did a good job of basic legwork. And, lets see  oh, yeah. Thaxton.

He cracked the case, Sire.

So I was told. I was suspicious of Arl, but I wasnt sure, because when I scanned the scene of the crime I couldnt see a thing. I knew magic was afoot, but I wasnt sure Arl was up to it. Anyway, Thaxton really surprised me. Lets give him a peerage.

What? I mean, Sire, we cant 

Why not? Make him a duke.

Duke?

Duke.

Duke of what?

Duke  duke  Duke of Earl.

Tremaine sputtered, Duke  Duke ?

Duke of Earl, the king repeated.

Sire, I really dont think we have a slot available for a duke.

No? Okay. Forget the peerage, just give him a fancy title. Uh  make him a lord.

Very good, Sire.

The king swiveled around to look out the window. Gods, my head. Leave me alone for a minute. He watched the clot of traffic on the streets below. Oh, Tremaine?

At the door, Tremaine said, Sire?

Dorcass boy Clare? Hes back. Send him down to the stables for six months. Punishment detail.

Yes, Sire.

Half a year of shoveling shit ought to straighten that foul ball out. Uhhh, my head.

Very good, Sire.

Tremaine shut the door, silently mouthing, Duke of Earl?


Twenty-six

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Gaming Room

The whole gang was on hand, talking, laughing, gaming.

The windows opened to the castles real world, and mullioned glass doors led out to a balcony that provided a spectacular view of the Plains of Baranthe, now steeped in the light of a full moon.

Thaxton and Dalton were playing chess. So were Gene and Goofus. The chess pieces were big enough for Goofus to get a good but delicate grip on them with his teeth.

Gene castled. Goofus moved his queens bishop up for a daring gambit.

M. DuQuesne looked on with amazement. That is one intelligent animal.

I dunno about that, Gene said. Hes only beat me once.

Dalton looked up at his partner. You suspected Arl from the very first, didnt you?

Yes. The first thing he said when he saw the body was, What do you know of this? Not What happened? or How did he die? Subtle difference, there, and at first I thought I might be imaginin things, but I got the feeling he knew more than he was telling.

Remarkable. I wonder what his fate will be.

The rope, I suspect.

You think?

If they dont give him a bloody medal. Oren was a monster. No ones going to be mournin the blighter.

Still, murder is murder.

And murder will out. Out, damned spot and all that sort of rot. And a bit of O theyre hangin Danny Deever in the mornin.

I must say, youve a cheery outlook on this sort of thing.

Oh, well, it was a bit of fun, and we all had a jolly good laugh. Actually, old boy, I owe it all to you.

Eh? Hows that?

Well, if it hadnt been for Dorcas Bagby, I wouldnt have found Baldor of the Cairn next to her in the Bs.

Message for Mr. Thaxton!

A young page rushed to Thaxton had handed him a wax-sealed envelope.

Thanks, mlad. Thaxton looked at the seal. The kings signet. Well, I wonder what 

Everyone crowded around as Thaxton read the note.

Dalton drummed the table with his fingers. Well? For pitys sake, Thaxton.

Thaxton said, Seems Im bein elevated to the peerage.

Really!

Thats wonderful, Linda said, pecking his cheek.

Congratulations, Gene said. What rank?

Lord.

Is that high?

Oh, I dont really know. Its not a rank in itself, I dont think. Its a rather general title. It comes with no estate, so its nothin more than an honorific.

You mean Ill have to call you Lord Thaxton from now on? Dalton said.

Well, as theres no hereditary title or estate, the usual custom is to use the given name.

You know, Dalton said, this is extremely odd, but I dont know your given name. If youve told me, Ive forgotten.

Its Peter.

So your title would be Lord Peter?

Thats right, old man. But dont feel obligated to use it. Im not one for puttin on airs.

Dalton eyed him at an angle. Any reason why youre suddenly dropping your gs?

Am I?

Dalton moved his knight. Check. And, I believe, mate.

Thaxton surveyed the board. So it is. Good game, old man.

Really. Now, usually you get good and mad.

Do I? Sorry. Well, I need a bit of air.

Out on the balcony, Thaxton breathed deeply. The air was cool, fresh, unpolluted. It was a balmy spring night. The moon  bigger and with different markings than Earths  hung like a beneficent smiling face in the sky. The castle was spread out below, vast and mysterious in the moonglow.

Leaning against the balustrade, Thaxton laughed into the night.

Bloody marvelous.


Twenty-seven

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Administrative Offices

In the streets below, traffic was approaching gridlock. It was a typical day in the big city. Strangely enough, in all the days since hed moved into this office, hed never bothered to find out what city it was, though it had always seemed to him that it looked a lot like 

The intercom buzzed.

Yeah?

Call on line one.

Who?

A man who says hes the Land Surveyor?

Rats. Okay, Ill take it.

He picked up the phone.

Hello?  Yeah, this is the castle  yeah  uh-huh  uh-huh  no. No, Im sorry. Look  yeah  yeah  Look, Franz, can you?  Yeah  yeah  yeah  Hold it a minute  Wait, let me give you some advice.

He glanced down at the hopelessly clogged traffic, then leaned back in the swivel chair.

Franz? Get a ife.

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