Castle Perilous Read online

  But there was something else. Something unusual was happening. She thought she heard a voice, a single voice calling out above the noise. Calling … perhaps to her. She could not quite make it out, but the voice had been growing more and more distinct.

  She put down her half-eaten biscuit and closed her eyes, threw her mind open to the tumult.

  … a faint buzzing … a sense of loss, of dread … boredom … hunger. Fear, stark fear. Merriment. Music … somewhere … she told me that just to get my goat, but by God she’ll …dreaming, falling, sleep and death — hide, hide, hide … a great bell tolling somewhere, far off — a sense of times past — the smell of mint and angel spice … WHO SEEKS ME? — the roar of the sea — near? where? …get away quickly! … voices, echoes, the sound of water dripping … WHO SEEKS ME? WHO SEEKS TO BREAK MY CHAINS? … a shadow falls with the sound of velvet against desire … footsteps in the darkness — the yowling of some fearsome beast … WHO ARE YOU, YOU WHO FOLLOW A PATH THAT TENDS TOWARD THAT WHICH HOLDS ME? … WHERE ARE YOU? SPEAK TO ME. SPEAK —

  “Who calls?” Melydia shouted.

  I hear you. Is it you?

  “Who calls me?” Her whisper held an edge of fear.

  I know not who I am. I thought you would tell me.

  “How can I tell you if I do not even see you?”

  I suppose you are right. Alas.

  “Where are you?”

  Where? The word has little meaning.

  “How can that be?”

  I know not. I know so little. I sense that I exist, yet I contain so many existences within me. They are not part of me, however.

  Melydia stood, sudden understanding flashing in her eyes. She knew. She had not thought it possible.

  “It is I who seek you,” she said. “It is I who want to set you free!”

  I have found you. Please tell me — what are you about?

  “I endeavor to find the Spell Stone.”

  Ah. The name resonates. It is …

  “That which holds you in bondage.”

  I feel it is true. But where …?

  “You do not know its location?”

  I sense you … I also sense …

  She waited.

  Yes … yes. I perceive a relationship, between you and the thing.

  “Can you tell when I get closer?”

  Yes. I think so. Yes.

  “Then you can help me.”

  This I will do. You are my liberator.

  “I am. The more you help me, the more you hasten the hour of your liberation.”

  I have sensed your coming for some time.

  “I have been long in seeking.”

  Because of you I will soar again. Again I will scale the cold heights, feel the air above the earth, see the black skies and the burning sun ….

  “Yes, you will.”

  I will destroy …

  “You will destroy my enemies.”

  I …?

  “Yes. In return for my labors on your behalf, you will do my bidding.”

  Ah. A bargain. Is this not what it is called?

  “It is. Agreed?”

  I sense I have no choice.

  “None.”

  Then … we are agreed.

  “Good. Abide. I will call thee when I need thee.”

  I obey.

  She turned and walked back down the corridor to where the servants and soldiers were still taking their meal. When she saw their faces, she stopped. They were all staring at her, bewildered, fearful.

  They had heard only her voice. She thought: Belike they think me mad.

  “I am in contact with the demiurge whose embodiment is the castle itself,” she told them. “I command it. With its help, we will find the Stone.”

  This seemed to allay their fears — or perhaps plant the seeds of new ones. No matter, she thought. They will all die soon.

  She was hungry now. She asked for and was given bread, a slice of cheese, a hank of dried, salted meat. She returned to her niche to eat.

  Keep — Upper Levels

  Osmirik was near exhaustion, but kept climbing. The smell of books grew ever stronger. He knew the library was on one of these high floors. The smell had led him up here.

  He had first noticed his peculiar new power shortly after he had become separated from Melydia, a happenstance he regretted not the slightest. In fact, his intention was to stop her. Only the knowledge available in the castle’s library could help him. At first he had despaired even of finding a way back to the invading army’s staging area, but as he’d wandered blindly, the unmistakable smell of books — must, dust, and old parchment — had come to his nose and would not leave. He had always loved the smell, of course. At one point on the lower levels the odor grew quite strong. He followed his nose into a bedroom with a bookcase holding a few volumes of forgettable lyric poetry.

  But now he knew he was on the right track. If a library could have a scent, he was hot on it like a hound with its snout to the trail.

  Other smells came, most of them unfamiliar. His olfactory sense had sharpened to an astonishing degree. It was apparent that books were not the only things he could seek out, if he wished to. This newfound talent entailed the ability to sniff one’s way to anything desired. Everything around him had an identifiable smell — this table, that tapestry, here a candle, there a sconce. Everything, anything. It was odd, and somewhat disconcerting, but less so than he would have thought. None of the odors were overpowering or especially bad. Some were quite pleasant. And if he wished, he could ignore them all.

  He proceeded down the empty corridor warily, but not inordinately concerned for his safety. He had passed numerous aspects, ignoring them. Strange eyes had regarded him out of shadow; he had walked on. He was possessed of a sense of mission. There was little time, and the situation grew more dangerous by the hour.

  Light ahead, coming from a doorway. He looked in. The room was pleasantly furnished, and he considered stopping to rest, but decided against it. He strode on to the next door, which was closed. He put his ear to it first, heard nothing. Then he grasped the handle and pushed.

  Music, laughter, noise. He beheld a room full of strangely dressed people, most of them standing in little groups and engaged in animated conversation. The general mood seemed festive. He smelled alcohol. The music was loud, harsh, and discordant. The room’s appointments were odd, and beyond the huge windows a vast and brilliantly lighted city sprawled endlessly. The sight took his breath away.

  “Isn’t the masquerade tomorrow night?” The voice belonged to a young man seated by the door.

  “Hall costume,” a young woman sitting beside him remarked.

  “Hall costume? Jeez, I’ve got a lot to learn about these things.”

  They both looked up at him curiously. The young man’s gaze was drawn to the corridor behind him.

  “Hey, I thought that was the connecting door to the other suite,” the young man said. “Where’s that —”

  Osmirik closed the door and continued down the corridor. But he stopped. Something made him go back and cautiously open the door again.

  Nothing but a dark, empty room.

  The next door let into another bedroom, and the next was locked. He knew the library was near. The smell of learning was pungent in his nostrils. He ran to the next oaken door.

  Here! The door flew open onto a vast room of books. He leaned against the doorjamb, taking deep breaths and casting his eyes about the huge chamber. He straightened up and went in, closing the door behind him.

  The silence was deep, yet it was the sort of restful, contemplative silence befitting and peculiar to a library. He saw no one immediately about the main floor, and as he walked through the open stacks, he looked down each aisle, finding no one.

  He stopped. How was this place organized? In all his years, even those he had spent at university, he had never seen this many books in one place. It was a hundred times as big as any other library in existence. He had not thought there could be this many
books in the world. Obviously the librarians here, if any, had a method of keeping track of what was where. It would almost be a necessity. But what? And where?

  He heard footsteps and looked to his left. Someone was walking along the far aisle. He moved down the aisle he was in, paralleling the other’s path. At length he reached the end of the stacks and stopped, looking out over an area occupied by reading tables. He watched the end of the far aisle.

  A tall man emerged, wearing a simple brown cloak. He walked past the tables, stopping at one end of a long cabinet with hundreds of small drawers. He searched, then chose a drawer, opened it and riffled through the stacks of pasteboard cards contained therein.

  Osmirik had heard of a card catalog, but the only one he knew of was far away in the library of the Imperial University, in Hunra, the capital city of the Eastern Empire. Osmirik had never been there.

  He stepped out and approached the stranger.

  The man seemed to sense a presence long before he could have heard Osmirik’s careful step. The man turned and smiled. “Greetings,” he said.

  Osmirik stopped. “Are you the librarian?”

  The man took a moment to consider the matter before saying, “Yes, sir. Can I be of any assistance?”

  “You can. I wish to see what you have on the subject of demonology.”

  For a brief moment the man fixed him in a penetrating gaze. Then he said, “Of course, sir. This way.”

  He led Osmirik into an aisle running between the end of the stacks and a row of carrels. They walked along until they came to a winding stairwell, which they mounted to the first gallery. As they moved along a railed walkway, Osmirik surveyed the expansive floor below, his wonder renewed. The librarian stopped in front of a tier of shelves.

  “Now, as far as demonology is concerned, the main titles are here. However, there are more in a special section for oversize folios, located on the first floor. There are not many of those, and I will fetch them for you. As you can see, there is not much overall. It is a subject for which field research can be problematical.”

  “I quite understand.”

  “There exist many excellent works of a theoretical bent, but I must warn you that they are far from definitive.”

  Osmirik regarded him. “Oh? Are you versed in the subject?”

  “I would like to believe so. I have for years been engaged in research along those lines.”

  “Indeed? I would be grateful for any assistance you could give me.”

  “I am at your service, sir.” The man bowed.

  “Thank you. Would you fetch those oversize portfolios for me?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  The librarian left, and Osmirik scanned the shelves. He was amazed. There were works here he’d only heard of, volumes of surpassing rarity. He chose one, an ancient work on demoniacal taxonomy. He opened it and carefully leafed through.

  He’d best get to work. He picked two more books and carried them to a nearby table, sat down and began to study.

  Presently he was aware of the librarian at his side.

  “Yes?”

  “The oversize portfolios, sir.”

  “Put them here.”

  “Yes, sir. You might also be interested in this work.”

  He held out what looked like an ancient scroll. Osmirik took it and read the title. It was written in an unusual form of hieratic Lutonian with which Osmirik was quite familiar, having done his thesis in the history of the Lutonian Empire.

  He was astounded, and in an awed murmur said, “The Book of Demons!” This work was not only rare; most eminent scholars were convinced it was no longer extant. Indeed, there were some scholars who claimed the book was merely a legend.

  “Where …?”

  “Yes, an exceedingly arcane work. I have read it.”

  Osmirik was incredulous. “You have?”

  “Yes. I hope you will find it useful. I did to some extent.” The librarian looked off. “But it did not tell me exactly what I needed to know.”

  “I see,” Osmirik said, his voice barely audible.

  The librarian sighed and looked down at him. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “Ah … no.” Osmirik managed to smile. “You have been very helpful.”

  “Only too happy, sir.”

  The librarian turned to go, walked a few paces away, then stopped and turned slowly around. “There is one more thing, sir.”

  Osmirik looked up. “Yes?”

  The librarian’s features suddenly took on familiar lines. Osmirik realized that he had been avoiding looking at the man’s face, for a reason he could not fathom. Now, with a suppressed gasp of surprise, he recognized the man standing before him.

  “Tell Melydia that I wait for her,” Incarnadine said.

  Flabbergasted, mouth agape, Osmirik stared at Incarnadine’s back until the tall man strode out of sight.

  Keep — Upper Stories

  Kwip poked his head into the wall of the corridor then withdrew it. “Another hallway on the other side of this,” he said. “But little else.”

  “We’re getting more and more lost,” Linda said.

  “Not possible,” Gene said. “You can’t go beyond being utterly, hopelessly lost, which is what we were to begin with.”

  “Aye, true enough,” Kwip observed, while debating with himself whether to slip away or stay with his new-found companions. He had tagged along because he needed food, and now that he had almost a full backpack — Linda had conjured one for him along with the preserved food he’d asked for — he was ready again to strike off into far parts of the castle. But he was having second thoughts. Wandering alone was perhaps a bit too dangerous.

  He came to a decision. He’d stay with the group for now and bide his time. He didn’t like the thought of dividing booty five ways, but if by chance they should find the treasure room, the question would likely boil down to how much one person could carry. He did not doubt that fabulous wealth lay behind the building of such an edifice as this.

  Unless the buggers squandered everything building it, he thought ruefully. Which might indeed be the case.

  “How about the other wall, Kwip?” Gene asked.

  Kwip moved to the opposite wall, stopping a nose’s length away. He touched his forehead to the cold stone for the barest moment. Then his head disappeared into the wall, half his body following.

  “Wow, that’s the strangest thing,” Gene said. “I wonder what it feels like?”

  Kwip extricated himself and shook his head. “Merely a large room with naught in it.”

  “Could you possibly get stuck halfway in?” Gene wondered.

  “A disquieting notion,” Kwip said. “I’d as lief not think on it.”

  “Yeah.” Gene cast a glance up the hallway. “Well, hell. I guess we should just keep walking this way.”

  They moved on.

  “Can you breathe when you’re, you know, inside a wall?” Gene asked.

  “No. I can draw breath, but none comes.”

  “Do you feel anything? I mean —”

  “Tis not a sensation to be described easily,” Kwip said. “There is some resistance, but not enough to impede me. There is a musty, stuffy smell, some slight dizziness … More I cannot really say.”

  “Huh,” Gene said thoughtfully.

  They came to a large chamber with corbeled walls and plentiful alcoves. In one corner, however, an open door led out to bright daylight.

  Gene said, “That doesn’t look like a portal.”

  They filed through and came out onto a high terrace with crenellated battlements. Gene looked over the edge. The drop looked to be about eighty stories. Turning and looking up, he saw that there weren’t many more stories above. He turned back and took in the view.

  “Not as high as the World Trade Center, but just as heart-stopping.”

  “I don’t like heights,” Linda said nervously.

  “Neither do I, but look at this place. It’s so complex, it’s hard to take in all
at once. Look at all those concentric walls and towers and things.”

  Jacoby said, “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

  “Twas wizardry built this,” Kwip said under his breath.

  “I think those are people moving around down there,” Gene said. “At the foot of this main building here, the one we’re in.”

  “Aye, the keep.” Kwip shaded his eyes and looked. “An army. The besiegers.”

  They spent a good ten minutes sightseeing, then went back inside.

  “Well, at least I have a sense of the boundaries of this place,” Gene said. “It isn’t endless.” He sat on a stone bench. “What we have to do is head downstairs.”

  “We’ve tried that before,” Snowclaw said.

  “Yeah, I know. But we have to try again.”

  “Okay,” Linda said. “Say we make it down all that way. Say we find an elevator. We find the front door, we get out. What do we do then?”

  Gene shrugged. “At least we’ll be out of this madhouse.”

  “But what’s out there? A strange world we couldn’t possibly live in.”

  “Exactly,” Jacoby said from the leather armchair in which he’d ensconced himself. “My boy, you’ve a lot to learn. You must rid yourself of any notion that your being in this castle is a predicament that needs getting out of. The task at hand, inasmuch as we don’t know what our position will be vis-à-vis the besiegers, is to try to maintain what we have here.”

  Gene looked at him sourly. “You’re saying that I don’t know how good I have it.”

  “Precisely.”

  “So we all stay in this Gothic funhouse until we either get eaten by slime creatures from another dimension or go bananas. Is that it?”

  “Hardly. One simply makes the best of one’s situation.”

  “I still say we should try to find an exit. If there’s a way in, there’s a way out.”