Bride of the Castle (12 page)

“You mean, we just randomly . . .?”

“Yeah, just pick a universe, any universe. Come on. Let's go back to the lab.”

“But searching for it like that could take forever!”

“Time is subjective,” Max said. “By the way, do you know a good mantra?”

 

 

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

it was a long trip back to zin.

After two days the cart's right wheel came apart. Benarus hammered it back into lopsided shape; then he and Rance proceeded slowly and painfully on their way, the iron sky-stone making a heavy load.

It had stormed most of the first two days, a cold wind pushing a cold stinging rain out of the north. Lightning crackled around them, barely missing Benarus on several occasions.

On the third day out, the rain ceased and an infestation of flies began. Biting flies. The bites first itched like mad, then turned infectious and began to ooze pus. Following close on the flies'heels, as it were, came gnats, swarms of them. They went for the eyes, mostly.

On the fourth day, the mule died. Rance and Benarus took turns hauling the cart. It was backbreaking labor. Benarus pulled a shoulder muscle and spent the night whimpering.

Late on the fifth day they crossed high mountains and came down into the valley of Zin. There mosquitoes attacked, huge mosquitoes the size of moths. These monsters were allied with fire ticks, stinging chiggers, and more gnats, of a variety that liked to fly up the nostrils and nest. The ground crawled with army ants. There was an infestation of toads this year in Zin, and these added to the nastiness. Harmless they were, except if accidentally touched. The toads'skin secreted poisons that produced a suppurating rash. Benarus managed to persuade several toads to leap up against his bare legs. (His pants had been ripped when he had blundered into a rock-strewn defile concealed by overgrowth.)

On the sixth day, Benarus stumbled over a boulder and broke a toe. His left foot bound in rags, he stumped along while Rance dragged the cart.

At last, they reached their destination, the stepped pyramid at the edge of the desert.

Rance let the yoke drop. “Well, we made it, all right. Could have been worse. Something really dreadful might have happened.”

Benarus, covered with sores and lesions, his foot throbbing, gnats plying their stinging trade routes in and out of his eyes, gave him a skeptical look.

“For instance?”

 

He found Bruce lying against a wall in the crypt with the never-ending inscription. He stooped to pick it up, brandished it, then returned it to its long-empty scabbard.

Ah. You have returned. This is unusual.

“I simply can't get enough of your hospitality,” Rance informed the disembodied voice that emanated from the gloom.

So happy to accommodate you. Who's your friend?

“Benarus, meet . . . Sorry, I never did learn your name.”

Mur-Raah. King Mur-Raah. You can call me Murray.

“Benarus? . . . Get away from there!”

Benarus was examining the fine bronze door to the inner tomb. “What? I was just—”

“Don't go near that door, and whatever you do, don't try to force it.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Benarus said as he crossed the crypt. “By the way, who are you talking to?”

Rance was puzzled. “You can't hear him?”

“Hear who?”

Rance opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. “We'd best get started. If you see a huge scary red thing with eyes that glow in the dark, don't worry. It only nibbles your toes.”

Benarus regarded him silently for a moment. Then he turned away, shaking his head wearily.

“Like flies to manure. I don't know what it is about me that attracts ‘em.”

 

It was hours later when Benarus finally finished inscribing a magical device on the stone floor of the crypt. It was elaborate and complex. Pentacles nested within circles, which in turn were subsumed by larger designs. A web of crisscrossing patterns covered the flagstones.

“You'll stand there,” Benarus told Rance, pointing to a circle near the center of everything. The partially melted mass of the sky-stone sat amid a reticulated pattern that Benarus had marked off in one corner: a power grid, with the power of the stone feeding the whole device.

“What's this other, smaller circle over here?”

“Just part of the pattern. Now, let me see . . .”

This is all very interesting, but, I'm afraid, entirely futile.

“Why so?” Rance wished to know.

I'm no magician's magician, but I know enough to tell that the potentialities are all wrong here. This spell simply will not abrogate my curse. When I curse ‘em, they stay cursed.

“Doubtless so, but this spell is not intended to abrogate any curse.”

Oh? Then what, may I ask, is its purpose?

“To make you sweat.”

Dead men don't sweat.

“Wait awhile.”

Benarus was looking at him curiously.

Rance said, “So, I'm to stand in the larger circle?”

“Yes, and don't let your feet go outside the lines. No telling what would happen.” Benarus bent to light a brazier. Flames leaped up, and the smell of incense came to Rance's nostrils.

Rance asked, “Are we ready?”

“Ready as we'll ever be. Unless I forgot something.” Hands on hips, Benarus looked over his handiwork, which almost entirely covered the stone floor. He nodded. “Not a bad job if I do say so myself. Yes, everything seems to be in its proper place. No connections missed, nothing botched. Take your station.”

Rance walked out into the maze of patterns and stood in the larger circle.

He asked, “You're quite sure the spell will do what it's supposed to do?”

“Sure enough. Now, for the incantation. Good thing I know a little of Zinite magic and a few of the less obscure rituals.”

Benarus rummaged in a satchel and came up with an old book bound in tattered leather. He set it on the floor, opened it, and paged through until he found something.

“Ah, here we are. Now, to begin.”

Benarus started chanting in a tongue that Rance recognized as one of the priestly dialects of ancient Zin.

Well, we'll soon see if your friend's spell has any efficacy at all.

“You may be in for a surprise.”

“Be quiet!” Benarus admonished.

Sorry. You still won't tell me what this is all about?

“No,” Rance whispered. “You might queer it.”

Well, that's what I intend to do, unless you tell me what it is you're trying to accomplish. I can't very well let anyone prance in here and muck about with magic.

“I am to be transported to another world.”

Really? How novel.

“A world where your curse will not be effective. At least, that's the theory.”

I
confess that I can't offer any evidence to refute it. The spell may work. Which means I must somehow prevent your companion from executing it.

“You really do know how to treat guests.”

It's a gift. Stand by to be mutilated beyond recognition.

“Oh, you're too kind.”

“I said shut up!” Benarus growled. “You're spoiling my concentration! If I muff even a word or two, something vile is likely to happen.”

“Something vile. On the order of, say, this great shambling beast that now approaches?”

“What great sham—? Ye gods.”

Meet Krak, my manservant. Well, he's really not a man.

The thing called Krak was large, hairy, and had red glowing eyes, but it was indeed manlike in that it walked on two legs, at the extremities of which were two clawed feet. Its face was like that of a bat, its mouth fearfully fanged to coordinate with the razor-sharp talons of its claws. All in all, the beast resembled the get of an unholy union between an ape and a giant rat.

“Such a beast never lived!” Benarus yelled.

Oh, it's just something I threw together out of rat carcasses and a dead human or two, all stuck together with bat shit and dried puke. Charming, isn't he?

“He has his good points, I'm sure,” Rance allowed.

Krak advanced from the shadows and passed near the power grid. A large spark leaped from the sky-stone and struck the beast, enveloping him in a crackling cloud of energy. Krak struggled, but was trapped. He roared in frustration.

“I had an idea we'd be attacked,” Benarus said. “So I added protective measures.”

“Good idea,” Rance told him. “Now, trip the spell.”

“The invocation is done. The spell will trip of its own accord in but a few seconds. Enough time to do what my conscience bids me. I must tell you something. This spell is designed to transport you to a point on the globe directly opposite this one.”

Rance's eyes widened. He took a step forward. “What? Not to another world?”

“Stay in the circle! If you move you'll be cast into oblivion!”

“What about those other worlds?”

“There are none! Purest fancy. And if they exist, I certainly don't know how to get you to any of them. I do know that if you move out of the circle you'll be transported in an arcane direction.”

“Arcane direction? What does that mean?”

“It means one perpendicular to all the dimensions of the world we live in.”

“How could that be?”

“Never mind. I designed this spell to transport you to the other side of the world, and me safely back home.”

Benarus limped to the small circle and stood inside it, a triumphant smile on his lips.

“You fraud!” Rance snarled. “You hoodwinked me!”

“Need I remind you that I was coerced?”

He does have a point.

“Shut up, demon! All right, Benarus, but I'd rather take my chances here than be transported to some gods-forsaken hinterland on the backside of creation.”

Rance moved out of the circle.

“Don't do it! The spell will trip at any moment!”

At that moment Krak broke free of his magical bonds and lunged.

Rance drew Bruce and hacked at the thing. The sword seemed to disappear inside it, burying itself deep into the matted fur. In fact, Krak seemed to be composed of not much but dried hair and a few bones. The fur flew and the bones rattled to the floor.

Rance stood over an unmoving pile of debris on the stones. He blew fur away from his face.

A bluff, as you can plainly see
, the voice said.
Ah, well . . .

“Get back to that circle before it's too—”

But it was already too late.

 

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

the wedding rehearsal was not going well. In hushed tones, the members of the wedding speculated that the groom's absence was having its effect on the bride, thus affecting the general mood. No one knew where Gene had gone, nor was there any word when he would return. Snowclaw was missing, too, and that was in a sense reassuring, for the two were probably together; but at the same time it was a clue that he and his human pal might be off on some adventure.

It was, to say the least, an inappropriate time for them to be off on an adventure.

“Let's have the flower girls split into two columns, each going off in opposite directions when they reach the altar.”

Linda was looking off into the choir loft. She turned to Melanie McDaniel, who had made the suggestion. “Huh?”

Melanie said with wry grin, “You're not all here, Linda.”

“Sorry. What were you saying about the flower girls?”

“Two columns. Wait—let's keep them in one column, and when they reach the altar rail, one girl goes right and the next goes left, and so on.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what. Two columns, or one?”

“I don't care. One?”

“Okay,” Melanie said, making a note on her clipboard. “One column, and they alternate directions.”

There were no pews in the chapel. Seats would be brought in for the wedding, but for now the wide stone floor was bare. With a flip of her hand, Linda conjured a bunch of chairs and sat down in one. A few of the members of the wedding party sat down. Most kept to talking in little groups.

Melanie sat, too. “Your heart's not in this. Let's postpone the wedding until Gene gets back.”

“I won't postpone it,” Linda said firmly. “If he doesn't get back, he doesn't get back.”

“Okay,” Melanie said evenly. “Anything you say, Linda.”

“He'll be around,” Linda said. “Gene's not a Castle beginner. He can take care of himself.”

“Well, he has three days,” Melanie said. “But it's just strange that he didn't say anything about where he'd be going.”

“Does he ever say anything when he and Snowy take off?”

“Sure. Sometimes.”

“Well, this time he didn't,” Linda said. “I'm not worried.”

“Sorry, Linda, I'm not trying to cause you any anxiety. Sure, Gene can take care of himself, and Snowy's indestructible. He probably got himself into a serious project, another revolution or something. And if I know Gene, he'll be out of it soon. He never stays long in any one aspect.”

“Right,” Linda said.

“But, if by chance the two of them get themselves into a tight situation, they could be delayed.”

“Gene'll be here for the wedding,” Linda insisted.

Melanie shrugged. “Fine with me.” She made another notation on her clipboard.

“Let's cut the rehearsal short,” Linda said, standing. “I'm tired.” She sighed. “I'm always tired, these days. For some reason.”

“But we haven't got to the recessional,” Melanie reminded her.

“Oh, to hell with it. After the ceremony, who cares what happens? Everybody gets up and leaves, and that's it. We'll wing it.”

Melanie lifted her shoulders again. “Okay. You're the dictator.”