Castle for Rent (16 page)

Another impact came, and the Mercedes began to fishtail. Trent countersteered and straightened out. Again, the demon semi lunged forward, but this time Trent whipped extra power out of the car's already overtaxed engine and pulled away.

“Steer for me, Inky!” Trent shouted. “I have to have my arms free!"

Incarnadine leaned over and grabbed the wheel with both hands. The car swerved just as he took control, and he fought to bring it back into line. At his left ear he heard Trent chanting a complex and mostly unintelligible incantation. Trent's fingers worked off to either side, moving in precise patterns.

The road underwent a sudden and quite unexplainable transformation. It changed color, from murky, half-seen gray to bright yellow. It also widened considerably, somehow acquiring a multicolored canopy like the roof of a tunnel. Streamers of color flowed past, along with geometrical shapes and strange designs.

Trent laughed triumphantly, taking back the steering wheel. “Shades of Stanley Kubrick!"

“Who?"

Incarnadine craned his neck and looked out the rear window. The truck was still tailing but had dropped back. As he watched, it continued to fall behind. Wherever the Mercedes was going, the truck either could not or did not want to follow.

Incarnadine looked ahead and whistled his admiration. “Neat trick, little brother. What do you call this?"

Trent flipped a palm over. “A shortcut. The tricky part is getting back to normal reality."

“Are we ready to do that yet?"

“Not quite. Enjoy the show."

Incarnadine sat back and watched the play of light, color, and pattern. Brilliant shapes raced out at them from an incandescent night, flowing past with ever-increasing speed. There was no longer a road now, just a long tunnel of reticulated luminescence. At its distant vanishing point, somewhere out near infinity where all the glowing lines converged, a brilliant starburst of light coalesced. It grew and increased in intensity. Incarnadine got the impression that it was getting closer.

“See that light?"

“Yes,” Incarnadine said. “What is it?"

“I've never driven long enough to find out. Want to?"

“I would, under other circumstances."

“Right. Where's the demonic eighteen-wheeler?"

Incarnadine looked. “Nowhere in sight."

“Okay, hang on."

The tunnel of light faded gradually until at last the mundane turnpike again rolled under the wheels of the Mercedes. The terrain had flattened out somewhat. Clearly they were on a different section of the road.

“Good job, Trent. I liked your shortcut."

“And here's the exit. State Route 711, right?"

“I'm not sure I like the numerological implications."

Trent turned off the highway, gradually slowing on the long, curving exit ramp. The toll booths lay up ahead, on the other side of the overpass.

“There it is,” Trent said, looking to the left.

The monster semi rolled by on the highway beneath, screeching its frustration. Incarnadine watched it come out the other side of the underpass and go hurtling down the road, a shiny black juggernaut trimmed in glistening chrome.

It rolled about a thousand feet down the turnpike before vanishing in a burst of crimson flame.

 

 

 

Keep—Family Residence

 

The room was full of antique furniture representative of many periods. On the walls hung ancient tapestries depicting stag hunts, tournaments, battles, and other manly pastimes. Many a quaint and curious artifact lay about: there were weapons, articles of military apparel, inscribed drinking cups, medallions, and other mementos, all prominently displayed in glass-fronted cabinets.

Ferne stood in the middle of the room at a table, upon which sat a most extraordinary device. It was large, taking up most of the tabletop, and in the main consisted of porcelain cylinders, glass spheres, copper tubes, and other less readily identifiable components. A small plate of frosted glass rose from the works inside a copper frame. The device was in operation. Blue sparks crackled within the glass spheres, and faint multicolored aureoles enveloped a few of the other components. The glass plate glowed with a milky light.

Ferne was bent over the device, twisting dials and knobs on a control panel. She studied a quartz gauge, noting the fluctuations of the small needle within. She adjusted a control until the needle stabilized, then threw a toggle switch.

The screen came to life with the images of three individuals sitting behind a long narrow table. They appeared human, and wore gray suitcoats over black turtlenecks. Their faces were pale and thin, and their eyes were cold, hand, and black. Short dark hair grew above their high foreheads.

“Your Royal Highness!” the middle individual beamed, smiling. “So nice of you to visit us."

“I am pleased to see you all,” Ferne said. “May I sit down?"

“By all means, Your Highness. In fact, we beg your forgiveness for sitting in your presence, but we didn't—"

“You needn't apologize,” she said, sitting down. “You doubtless know that this device merely projects my image."

“Of course. But it has been quite some time since anyone communicated with us in this manner."

“Quite so. I can't speak for my family, but know I haven't used the Universal Projector since I was a youngster."

“We remember. A most curious device."

“Yes. My ancestors mainly used it to bring wayward vassals into line. A sudden apparition in the night was usually enough to reduce any strong-willed underling to a compliant mass of jelly."

“One can well imagine. But why rely on a mechanical contrivance to effect such a purpose?"

“The device is not quite mechanical. It works by tapping interuniversal forces, which, as you know, are the source of all magical energy. But it makes unnecessary all the usual appurtenances and folderol—talismans, chanting, gestures, and the like. Long-distance image projection requires subtle spellcasting. This instrument facilitates the process greatly. The device is quite ancient, though, and is somewhat crude. But it does work."

The middle one smiled warmly. “In any event, we are always glad to talk with you, regardless of the means used."

“Thank you. May we now proceed to the main order of business?"

“Certainly."

“I assume you received my last communication."

The one on the left spoke. “Yes, Your Royal Highness. We have given your proposal a great deal of study."

“And?"

The individual on the right answered. “We find much of merit. We regret to say, however, that the terms are not entirely satisfactory."

Ferne's dark eyebrows curled down. “If I may ask, what specifically is not to your liking?"

“Well, there are a number of specific issues,” the middle one said. “But we think it safe to say that the question of sharing power is the main stumbling block."

“Ah.” Ferne nodded. “I had a feeling it would be."

The one on the right said, “Generally speaking, we do not feel that the rewards specified are commensurate with services rendered."

“You want more worlds under your exclusive control."

“Actually,” the middle one said apologetically, “to be very blunt about it, we think that your offer was totally inadequate. Of course, we would be willing to negotiate on the final number, but we were thinking orders of magnitude higher."

“No doubt,” Ferne said. “But I am afraid I can't budge from the terms of my offer. There is only so much power I'm willing to relinquish."

“But there are so many worlds. Surely you can't be thinking of administrating them all on your own."

“Of course not,” Ferne said. “Not even a tenth part of them, nor a hundredth. My imperial ambitions are quite limited. This sharply distinguishes me from my brother, who has never had any imperial ambitions at all. I think him absurd. Surely an instrument such as Castle Perilous deserves better use than to serve as a hostel for vagabonds and beggars. Hardly fitting for what may be the most powerful artifact in the whole of Creation."

“We quite agree,” the individual on the left said. “That is why we feel that such a resource must be shared. This has long been a bone of contention between your family and us. As for ourselves, of course, we have no ‘imperial ambitions,' as you put it. We seek only to impose a benevolent order. The state of the universes is chaotic in the extreme. We merely wish to establish a semblance of rationality."

“Oh, I quite agree with those sentiments,” Ferne said. “The universes are in a dreadful mess, and so is the castle. And the unfathomable thing about it is that this has been the case ever since the castle came to be! Apparently the will to power runs weak in my family."

“We would not agree. Your family has jealously guarded its power, and its secrets, for generations."

“Guarded its power, yes,” Ferne said. “Maintained it, yes. But used it? No. Absolutely not. What I seek to establish is merely a measure of ... well, of
intestinal fortitude
. And it's high time someone tried."

“We seem to agree on a few general principles, at least,” the middle individual said. “Surely this can provide a basis for working out our differences."

“Perhaps, but time is running short. The invaders will very soon consolidate their hold on the castle."

With a casual shrug the one on the left said, “From your description of them, we don't think they will be much trouble."

“Do not underestimate them."

“We believe we haven't, Your Royal Highness."

“Very well,” Ferne said. “You are the best judge of your abilities. And I am quite sure they are considerable. Also, do not underestimate me. I am fully aware that there is a good deal that remains unspoken between us."

The three individuals exchanged glances. “Such as?” the middle one asked.

“Many things. True intentions, motivations. Desires and goals. Also circumstances. For instance, I am aware that what I am seeing now is not your true appearance. I have also gotten the impression in my dealings with you that your world or your society is not composed of individuals, but is in reality a single mass entity of some sort. I am not sure of this, but it remains a possibility in my mind. I remember asking you about this very point long ago. Whenever I pressed for an answer, I got only evasions."

“There is of course a perfectly logical explanation for many of your doubts and reservations,” the one on the right said. “Our universes differ widely in many respects. In fact, the differences are profound enough to greatly hamper mutual understanding."

“Doubtless so. I'm sure a mere mortal could never understand beings such as you."

“Forgive our saying this, but your terminology is somewhat inappropriate."

“Is it? Only you would know. But let us return to concretes. In return for the privileges I have accorded you, you will aid my brother Deems and me in our fight to take back our family stronghold from the invaders who have usurped it. If we are successful, I am willing to provide you with exclusive access to a few hundred universes of your choice. You will be free to do what you want with them. That is the sum and substance of my proposal. Do you accept or not?"

“In principle, yes,” the middle individual said. “However—"

“That is all I am willing to offer. I am afraid I am not disposed to negotiate any further."

The three were silent for a moment. Then die individual in the middle said, “We will have to confer and give you our answer at a later date."

“I want it in an hour."

“We need time to—"

“I want your answer in an hour,” she said tightly.

There was a pause. Then: “As you wish."

“I will call you."

She flipped the toggle, and the images faded. With some effort, she rose from the chair.

The far door opened and Deems came in.

“Did you communicate with them?” he asked, walking over.

“Yes,” she said.

“Are you ill? You look peaked. Let me get you some refreshment."

“Thank you. Negotiating with them is draining. Don't you remember how it was?"

Deems went to a small cabinet and took out a bottle of sherry and two glasses. He filled both glasses and gave one to Ferne, who had seated herself on a recliner. “We all toyed with the Hosts of Hell at one time or another. Fascinating lot. Hideously dangerous, of course, which made them all the more alluring to the young and disgruntled. Yes, I well remember their incessant attempts to seduce one of us into letting them out of their hellhole.” Deems sighed disconsolately. “And I suppose they've finally succeeded."

“Had they accomplished it when we were children, they would have overrun the castle."

“And would have taken control of Creation."

“Perhaps, although I think it's possible to overestimate them. They are powerful, but surely not godlike."

“Be that as it may, I hope you and Inky can control them, as you claim you can. There'll be hell to pay—quite literally, I should imagine!—if you're mistaken."

“You worry too much, Deems. You always did."

“What if Inky doesn't give in? Do you really need him?"

“No, not really. I think I have a few things over on Inky these days. Though his cooperation would make things a little easier, I admit."

Deems looked at her askance. “Why do I have trouble believing you?"

She laughed. “Don't be silly. I've told you everything. You have no reason to doubt me. Besides, what do you care about all this? You'll get your gold, one way or another."

Chewing his lip and looking dissatisfied, Deems sat down on an ancient thronelike chair and threw one chain-mailed leg up over the armrest. “Don't think I don't care about Perilous."

She laughed scornfully. “Deems, you've never cared for anything but drinking, wenching, and the occasional brawl."

“I don't deny that, but it doesn't mean I'd suffer lightly the destruction of my family's ancestral home."