Castle Perilous (16 page)

Gene saw the great tail sweeping around at him and threw himself flat on the floor. The thin whiplike tip whistled inches over his head. He got up and ran.

The thing charged at Snowclaw, who had begun running in a wide arc back toward it. The beast ran a curving course to intercept, but at the last possible second Snowclaw executed an impossible pivot and leaped in the other direction, making a lightning-quick swipe with the ax. He raced back to the other end of the chamber. The beast did not follow. It turned slowly. Another incision gaped wide, this one running straight across its throat.

“No food?” it gurgled, its visage registering a faintly perplexed expression. It took three unsteady steps forward, then collapsed with a floor-shaking thud and lay unmoving.

Gene and Linda were peeping out from behind the stanchion of the arched doorway.

“You okay, Gene?” Snowclaw asked.

Gene stepped out. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You were lucky. You wouldn't've had a chance against that thing.”

“I know. You were . . .” Gene shook his head in wonder. “Incredible.”

“Aw, it was nothing. I've tackled worse than him.”

“Fantastic.”

“I'm a hunter, you know.”

Gene looked at Linda, then hugged her, burying his face in her blond hair. Linda hugged him back.

They parted, and Gene said, “I almost couldn't move. I was totally petrified.”

“Who wouldn't have been?”

Gene scowled. “I'm going to have to be quicker if I want to stay alive.”

“Don't worry about it, buddy,” Snowclaw said.

“I should have done something, thrown my sword at its face and run . . . something. But I just stood there like a wimp.”

“It happened so fast,” Linda said.

Gene grunted and looked immensely displeased.

“Talk about fast,” Snowclaw said, staring at the far end of the chamber.

The portal was gone. The wall had reappeared, and with it the doorway leading out of the chamber.

 

An hour later it was “lunch time,” and Linda whipped up another spread. She was getting very good at it. She not only conjured an assortment of coldcuts and salads, but materialized a buffet table to serve it on.

“Hey, this is nice, Linda,” Gene said as he scooped linguine salad onto his white china plate. “Ice sculpture's real nice.” He cocked his head toward the carved swan with swanlings in tow.

Linda looked thoughtful, then said, “You know, I think I've seen this layout somewhere.” She snapped her fingers. “My cousin Terri's wedding reception!”

“Congratulations. Snowclaw, don't eat with your hands.”

“Who's going to care?”

“The bride's family will get the wrong idea.”

Linda frowned. “No, if it were Terri's wedding, then there'd be a champagne fountain. Maybe it was the rehearsal dinner.” She chewed her lip.

“Linda,” Gene said, “it hardly matters. Eat something.”

She sighed. “I guess you're right.”

“What's this pink Jell-O-looking stuff here?”

“Pink Jell-O stuff.”

“I mean, is it — ”

A shout echoed down the corridor. They froze and listened. It came again.

“Sounds like somebody yelling for help,” Snowclaw said, his furry white ears cocked.

They raced toward the sound. After making a few false turns, they came to what would have been an ordinary furnished room were it not for the wedge of botanical garden that someone had plopped in the middle of it. And in the middle of the riot of vegetation lay Jacoby.

“Quick!” he yelled at them. “It's got me! I can't control it!”

Gene alone made it to him after cutting a path through the dense undergrowth. Linda and Snowclaw had gotten tangled.

Jacoby was lying on his side. “My feet,” he said hoarsely.

Gene looked. Shiny green vines were wrapped about the man's ankles. He drew his sword, followed the vines away from Jacoby's legs, and began hacking. He heard a high-pitched scream of pain.

Gene was horrified, thinking he'd cut Jacoby. But the scream hadn't come from Jacoby.

“You bitch! How dare you cut me!”

“Huh?” Gene froze, sword in the air. The voice seemed to come from a thick, rough-barked tree stump that sat amid a nosegay of attractive flowers nearby.

“How would you like someone cutting and sawing at you?”

“What? Well, I'm sorry . . . hey, wait a minute.”

“Just don't think you can come waltzing into my territory and pull any of your two-legged tricks! Mobile lump of meat! Your shit smells!”

“No need to get abusive. Let go of this man here, and I'll stop chopping.”

“Cut them!” Jacoby screamed. “The portal may close!”

“Come on, now, let him go.”

“I'm hungry!”

“Jesus Christ. Shades of Little Shop of Horrors.”

For God's sake,” Jacoby shrieked. “Hurry!”

Hideous screams issued from the tree as Gene brought his sword down in a series of quick chops that left one thick tentacle-vine intact. He took a measuring swing, then brought the sword down mightily. The end of the blade hit something hard and the sword dropped from his hand, but the vine had been severed.

“Okay — whoops!” Something pulled Gene's feet out from under him and began dragging him away. Jacoby struggled to his feet.

“Gimmie the sword!” Gene yelled, but Jacoby turned and ran.

Gene grabbed the ropy tentacles that had entwined themselves about his ankles. He tugged, and they tugged back.

“You'll do, two-legged cutie! Thought you were smart!”

“All I need in my life is a gay bougainvillaea, or whatever you are.”

“I'll eat you slowly, feet first, and no anesthetic! I can be cruel!”

“I'm not into . . . domination,” Gene grunted, straining against the plant's incredibly strong pull. The tree stump was very near. Gene watched in fascination as the bark split down the middle and became rubbery, expanding to form a huge pulsating cavity lined with rows of wicked spikes. If the situation hadn't been so absurd, he would have been afraid.

Suddenly Snowclaw was above him, savagely chopping at the stump. The horrid mouth closed up. After an agonized scream the voice wailed, “All right, all right! I'll let you go! Please don't hurt me!”

The vines retracted and Gene got to his feet. Snowclaw gave the thing one more hack, opening up a diagonal gash that immediately began to bleed bright pink sap.

“Owwwwww! I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it!”

Gene retrieved his sword, and he and Snowclaw struggled back to Linda, who was having her own problems. Vines had also snared her; however, these were thin stringy ones covered with tiny thorns that had gotten hopelessly snagged in the material of her outfit.

It took some time to chop her out. Finally they did. Holding Linda between them, they bulled their way back through the pie-shaped slice of jungle.

Jacoby had collapsed in one of two stuffed chairs beside the fireplace, fanning himself with a hand. He was breathing hard and wheezing.

“Asthma, you know,” he said. “I nearly passed out. I . . .” He straightened up. “Frightfully sorry I couldn't help.”

“Yeah,” Gene said ironically, sucking on a bleeding finger.

“Oh, my God, this place is going to drive me crazy,” Linda said, collapsing into the other chair. She looked herself over. “Look at these scratches all over my arms!”

Jacoby said, “I think it was Nietzsche who said something to the effect that the person who grows bored with his life should risk it. He must have had this place in mind.”

“It's certainly not boring!” Linda laughed. “How I wish it were.”

“Come now, it's not all that bad.”

“You like it here?”

“Oh, immensely! I wouldn't live anywhere else — though I must admit that recently things have been getting a bit more dicey. Has something to do with the siege, I should think.”

“Any late word on what the situation is?” Gene asked.

“There are reports that the invaders have entered the keep. I haven't heard anything beyond that. It's sometimes difficult to get reliable information. We've not seen any of them in the Guest area, but it's only a matter of time, I suppose.” Jacoby seemed suddenly to have recovered. He got up and went to Linda, took her hand. “Are you sure you're quite all right, my dear?”

“Sure, they're just scratches. How about you?”

“Capital.”

“What happened, by the way?”

“Oh, it was nothing, just my own pigheadedness, I'm afraid. I was sitting here dozing when that business materialized. I ignored it, but then I wanted to get to the loo, and the damn thing just wouldn't go away, so I thought I'd risk crossing to the other side. Damned if it didn't trap me.”

“It's a funny portal, two-sided like that,” Linda said.

“I've seen its like before,” Jacoby said. “Sort of like a wedge of space instead of a flat plane. Comes in crosswise, I suspect. Of course, I don't actually know — ”

With a quiet pop, the jungle disappeared. Nothing remained on the bare stone floor but scattered dirt and a few odd leaves.

“So much for that,” Jacoby said. “Linda, my dear, I shall be forever in your debt.”

“Me? Those guys got you out.”

“Yes, of course.” Jacoby glanced at Gene. “Thank you.”

“Don't mench.”

“You're a woman of great courage, my dear.”

“Oh, right.”

“You give yourself so little credit. Have you had lunch?”

“Well, it was sort of interrupted.”

“The dining room's just down the hall.”

Gene stamped his foot. “All we did was wander in a big circle. Damn!”

“I'd be delighted if you'd join me,” Jacoby said.

“Well, sure,” Linda said. “What do you say, guys?”

Gene shrugged.

“C'mon, Snowclaw,” Linda said, hooking her arm in his. “I'll rustle up some ribs for you.”

“Y'know, there's this other dish I like,” Snowclaw told her. “It's made out of rendered blubber flavored with a little fish oil, and then you take some fish meal, see, and you mush it all up . . .”

Gene watched the three of them cross the room. He sighed, slid his sword into its scabbard. “Yeah,” he said sardonically. He moped after them.

With some puzzlement he suddenly remembered what Jacoby had screamed.

I can't control it. . . .

 

 

 

Keep — Lower Levels

 

Osmirik squinted, peering through the darkness ahead.

“Another blind passage, my lady. I think.”

A soldier held a lantern high, and light fell on the stone wall that formed the corridor's dead end. He approached it and ran his hands along the dark stone, searching for any hidden seams or openings. He looked back at Osmirik and shook his head.

Osmirik nodded gravely. He turned and said, “Yes, another one.”

Melydia emerged slowly from the shadows behind him. “No matter. We draw ever closer.” She halted.

She stood holding the L-shaped ends of two long metal rods. The rods were parallel, pointing straight ahead. She turned her body to the left. The rods moved with her at first, then resisted, rotating in her loose grip back to their former positions. She turned the other way, and again the rods swung to the front.

“The force that attracts them grows stronger,” she said.

“Aye, but is the source accessible? Mayn't it be underground?”

“I doubt it. The Spell Stone is part of the castle.”

“A foundation block, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. But we will be able to see it.”

“Her ladyship is so sure.”

“Yes. I have labored years, and have rung the changes on every conceivable variation. I am sure.” She lowered the rods. “Let us go back to the last turning and start again. I felt the proper direction was to the left, but overrode my better judgment.”

“As Her Ladyship pleases.”

The military escort led them back. There were nine left out of the original eleven. One man had wandered blithely into an attractive aspect and had fallen into a hidden pitfall. The portal had closed before anyone could get to him. Another had died fighting a venomous python that had dropped from a chandelier in a dining hall.

Back at the branching of the corridors, they trooped down the left leg of the Y, Vorn's soldiers leading, Osmirik and a servant with another lantern behind them. Melydia, flanked by two armed guards, followed with arms outstretched, the instruments in her hands attuned to mysterious, unseen forces. Bringing up the rear were three more servants bearing parcels.

But that passage, too, led to a dead end.

Osmirik sighed. “Ever closer, yet never there.”

By lantern light Melydia's face was limned in shades and shadows. “We shall not fail.” She handed the rods to a young servant, then looked around. “No torches in this passage, nor in the other one. I did not notice it till now — why, I knoweth not. In truth, we've not seen one since we left the dining hall.”

“Absolutely correct, my lady,” Osmirik said. “I did remark on it, but did not think the fact significant.”

“The last dead end we encountered — was it also unlighted?”

Osmirik reflected, then said, “No, my lady.”

Melydia frowned. “Hellish place. Neither rhyme nor reason to it.”

“Aye.”

“But it will not stand beyond tomorrow.”

“Will things go that quickly, my lady?”

“Yes, if we find the Stone soon.”

Osmirik was silent.

“And we will,” she added.

They walked back along the passageway.

“I must charge the rods again,” she said.

“They grow weak?”

“Not yet so weak as to be useless, but soon.”

“The recharging spell will take time.”