Castle Spellbound (18 page)

After a longish moment, he pressed it again. As he was about to do it a third time, a small wicket opened in the right-hand door and a strange-looking Guardsman poked his head out.

“Who is it?"

“Uh, my name's Dalton, and I—"

The Guardsman, who looked like some cartoon character, was annoyed. “Can't you read the sign?"

“I fell off the, uh ... What? Oh. That."

Only then did Dalton notice the neatly hand-painted sign on the wall to his right. In archaic script, it read:

DOORBELL OUT OF ORDER—PLEASE KNOCK

“Interesting."

The Guardsman's head withdrew and the tiny door closed.

Dalton knocked. The sound echoed inside.

After a while he knocked again. Just to be sure, he pressed the bell button a few more times.

Finally, there came clanking sounds from inside. The door opened a crack.

Another Guardsman, this one looking quite normal and not like something out of an old movie, peered out and registered recognition. “Mr ... Dalton, is it?"

Dalton said, “Yes. This is rather embarrassing, but I fell off the roof of the castle."

“Ye gods! Are you all right, sir?"

“Fine. The safety spell saved me."

“Thank the heavens! Come in, sir, come in."

The Guardsman admitted him.

Inside, Dalton looked up at the other side of the immense door. He could see no wicket nor even the suggestion of one.

“Very interesting."

“Sir?"

Dalton grinned at the gatekeeper. “Nothing.” He chuckled. “Never a dull moment in this place, is there? Not even a slightly dull moment."

The Guardsman shook his head sadly. “I'm afraid not, sir. I'm afraid not."

Between the Universes

“Well,” Melanie said, “where do we go from here?"

The interior of the
Voyager
was dark except for myriad tiny lights, many of them glowing a panicky red, on the instrument panel. The temperature had been pleasant at first, but now was rising into the uncomfortable range.

Luster and Dolbert were phlegmatically silent in the back seat. Nothing ever seemed to unsettle them.

“Actually, there's no direction in non-space,” Jeremy sard.

“What the heck is ‘non-space,’ anyway?"

“I dunno if I can explain. It's sort of like, well, actually it's an extra dimension over and above the four dimensions of normal space. Something like that. Only it's just one dimension. We're really not in it, just riding on it like on a sheet of ice. As long as we keep moving, which we are, we stay on that plane. If we slow down or stop, we drop through into normal space."

“Oh. But you said we can't get back to the castle."

“Right. Without the navigation system, the ship doesn't know what direction the castle's in. Get the picture?"

“I think. What can we do?"

“Well, first we have to get out of non-space, ‘cause non-space isn't such a great place to be for too long. So, we gotta drop back in somewhere."

“You mean drop back into real space? Like, where?"

“Well, that's just the thing. We aren't gonna know where until we drop in. It'll be some universe. I just hope it's not one of the weird types."

Melanie knew all about the weird types. She'd been stranded in one of them once. It was enough for her.

Jeremy was chewing his bottom lip.

“What's the matter?” she asked.

“I was just wondering if I should boot up Isis."

“Isis?"

“You never met Isis. She's a program."

Melanie was confused. “A program?"

“Yeah. Actually, a cross between a spell and a utility program. She's an artificial intelligence, and, I guess, a spirit of some kind."

“What kind of spirit?"

“I really don't know. It bothers me sometimes to think about it. But she's also a program, and I got her loaded into the ship's computer."

“I see,” Melanie said. After being reminded, she remembered hearing of Isis. Some spirit! A knockout brunette who was totally devoted to Jeremy and who made the female-shy Jeremy more than a little nervous.

“She always helps, but sometimes she gets a little bossy."

Melanie was about to reply, when a voice came out of a speaker on the instrument panel.

Jeremy, that hurt!

Jeremy's face flushed. “Damn it, I forgot that I have her programmed to automatically boot up with engine start. Sorry, Isis."

The voice said,
Well, you should be.

“I didn't mean it, honest. I appreciate your help. It's just that when someone makes a lot of suggestions I get kind of confused. Sometimes I'm better off just working on a problem myself."

I understand, honey. Really, I don't want you to feel that I'm here to boss you around. You're the user, darling, not me. I'm just a utility program.

“Heck, you're more than that. You're a person."

Thanks, baby. But I'm not much of one when I don't have my virtual body.

Melanie thought,
And I've heard it's one helluva great virtual body.

Jeremy said, “It's kinda cramped in here at the moment."

Oh, I don't take up so much space. Please?

“Uh ... okay. Sure. Just watch where you materialize."

Melanie wondered where in the cramped compartment someone could possibly “materialize” without landing on top of someone else.

Isis suddenly appeared, sitting in Jeremy's lap, her knees jutting sharply up over Melanie's. She wore a short black cocktail dress that exposed most of her long shapely legs. She was dark-haired, blue-eyed, and simply beautiful.

“Hi, honey!” She kissed Jeremy on the lips.

Jeremy blushed. “Hi, Isis. Nice to see you again. Uh, Isis, this is Melanie."

Isis smiled warmly at Melanie. “Hello, Melanie."

“And you know the Gooches."

“Hello, boys. Nice to see you again."

The Gooch brothers tipped their moth-nibbled baseball caps.

Luster beamed, “Pleasure's all ours. Miss Isis."

Dolbert cooed, bashfully averting his eyes.

“Now,” Isis said. “We have a problem, don't we?"

“Yup,” Jeremy said. “We sure do. Do you think it's hardware or software?"

“That's a toughie. We're going to have to figure that out first. If it's hardware, we may have to land somewhere to make repairs."

“That's always risky,” Jeremy said.

“True, but we might not have any choice. Drop the ship into normal space, Jeremy."

“If I can reach."

“Just put your arms around here, baby. I'm not ticklish."

Melanie thought.
This woman, or whatever she is, really knows how to handle men. Maybe she can teach me a few tricks.

“Okay,” Jeremy said, “I have it."

Isis giggled. “Do you really know what you have in your hand?"

“Ooops! Sorry."

Isis laughed as Jeremy's face got beet-red.

Oh, brother!
Melanie thought.

“Okay, we're through, or out ... or whatever."

“Would you like me to clear the view port, Jeremy dear?"

“Check."

The view port lightened from complete opacity to a dark neutral tint. Outside the craft lay blue sky and white puffy clouds.

“Looks normal enough,” Melanie remarked.

“Famous last words,” Jeremy said. “Usually right before the bug-eyed monsters come out of the woodwork."

“Looks like sky,” Melanie said, “not woodwork."

“Yeah, well, fine. Okay, Isis, you want to start checking things out?"

“Aye aye, Jeremy dearest. Let me swivel a little."

Isis turned toward the control panel. Jeremy grunted.

“Oh, am I hurting you, dear?"

“Nah, it's fine. Go ahead."

Isis began flipping switches and studying readouts.

“You could probably do this better without virtual body,” Jeremy commented.

“Not true, hon. A physical presence gives me an intuitive feel for the physical parameters."

“Oh. Not that I don't like your virtual body."

“I know you do, dear. And I know that you know it's not really all that virtual."

“Uh, yeah. Um."

“Don't be shy.” Isis turned her head to Melanie. “He's awfully shy."

Melanie nodded.

Isis resumed her scrutiny of the control panel.

“Shore wish we had our tools,” Luster said, “if we're gonna have t’ fix ‘er agin."

“They would come in handy,” Jeremy agreed.

“You can use the tools in the ship's emergency tool kit,” Isis said.

“What tool kit is that?” Jeremy asked.

“There is a very small compartment on the port side of the undercarriage, near the secondary positron generator,” Isis said. “That's it."

“Is that whut that is?” Luster said, surprised. “Ah opened that up oncet, and there was all these funny-looking rods and things in there."

“Well, they're tools for alien hands,” Isis said, continuing to work as she talked. “This ship wasn't built by human beings, you know."

“Wull, ah figgered that's whut they was, but ah don't rightly know iffen we can use ‘em."

“Unfortunately, Luster dear, they're all we have to work with."

Lester chuckled. “Wull, in that case, ma'am, ah figger we ain't got no choice but t’ try and use ‘em."

“That's the spirit, Luster. Oh, dear."

Jeremy said, “What's up?"

Isis clucked and shook her head. “I'm afraid it's a hardware glitch, Jeremy dear. We'll have to put down and make repairs."

“Rats. I hate it when this happens."

“Worse things could happen, Jeremy."

“We didn't even want to go out into the universes. We just wanted to get away from that nut stuff back at the castle. We wouldn't even have—"

“Major malfunction!” Isis was peering intently at a cluster of red lights that had just come on.

Jeremy tried to peer around Isis's head. “What now?"

“Jeremy, honey, we just lost the main graviton flux inducer."

“There's a backup, maybe?"

“Afraid not. This craft never had one installed."

Melanie asked, “What does a graviton flux thingee do?"

The craft began to pitch forward. The horizon crawled up the view port.

“A graviton flux inducer is the thing that generates the antigravity field,” Jeremy said. “And that's what keeps the ship up in the air."

Melanie's heart did a flip-flop. “And that means we're going to...?"

“Crash,” Jeremy said, scowling. “Boy, I
hate
it when this happens."

Keep —Lowest Levels

There was much clink and clash of steel against steel in the sitting room—or what was left of the sitting room. The fancy furniture lay overturned. Glass shelves were shattered, their objets d'art strewn over the carpet or smashed against stone. Tapestries lay trampled across the floorboards.

Gene swung mightily, connected, and sent his opponent's banged-up shield flying. Unprotected, the gladiator braced to parry Gene's next assault, but mistook a low feint for the real thing. For a penalty he lost his head, which Gene took off cleanly at the shoulders with one whistling cut.

The severed head left a bloody trail across a Persian throw rug before disappearing.

Gene looked over his shoulder in time to see Snowclaw skewer his adversary, who promptly disappeared.

Linda came out from behind an overturned highboy.

“Yuck! I know they're not real, but I can't stand the gore. I'm getting ill."

“It's not doing my stomach any good, either,” Gene said as he sheathed his weapon, “but the whole phenomenon is getting kind of shaky."

“Meaning what?"

“Meaning these guys didn't have much fight in them. Much weaker than the spooks I first tussled with."

“What do you think's going on? Spell exhaustion?"

“I think that's a good bet."

Linda nodded. “Stands to reason. All this magic, all so overdone. You reach a point of diminishing returns with any spell."

“Right. So maybe the whole shebang will just play itself out?"

“I dunno,” Linda said. “A weakened spell can go on for the longest time. It can still be a nuisance."

“I was just hoping we didn't have to go through with this. I'm tired as hell. You tired. Snowy?"

“No. Bored."

“Know what you mean. Okay, you want to try the next level down?"

“Might as well,” Linda said.

“Stairs?"

“Let's try an elevator. I think there's a shaft near here."

“Take a shortcut to the source of this nonsense. Right, let's be off."

They walked out of the sitting room and down the hall, threading through a thicket of activity. Variety had begun to evidence itself. The entertainment theme no longer prevailed. Strange and not-so-strange apparitions of many a flavor and stripe came into view. They passed a pair of sailors, a group of women in chadors and veils, several men in conservative suits carrying attaché cases, a motorcycle gang, a man and woman in khakis and pith helmets swishing butterfly nets, a troupe of clowns, six tonsured monks, half-a-dozen state militiamen, an overnight-message delivery woman, several used car salesmen in plaid sports coats, white bucks, and green trousers with white belts, several English bobbies, a tribe of Uzbeks, a gang of stevedores with grappling hooks, a bemedaled officer of the Woman Textile Workers Union of Novocherkassk, a male ballet dancer flouncing about with a nosegay of nasturtiums, a man in a tartan kilt dancing a strathspey, three whirling dervishes, a Maytag repairman, a pride of surgeons in green operating gowns, and a dozen fez-headed Shriners in search of a convention.

These were only the human representatives. Also scurrying about the hallways were orangutans, chimps, gibbons, lemurs, and one gorilla. Flitting through the air came birds of every description, from nuthatches to herons, from waxwings to hummingbirds.

“Hello, hello,” Gene said, greeting people amiably.

“Things are getting even more nutsy,” Linda said nervously. “Who
are
these people?"

“You got me. Hello, there! Nice day, isn't it?” A Tibetan monk passed, bowing. Following him was a Jain holy man, stark naked and distributing handbills.

Proffering one he asked, “You read literature?"