Castle Spellbound (12 page)

She shrugged. “Any future?"

He shrugged in turn. “Dunno."

“Should we have an affair?"

Gene chuckled. “What a question."

“I'm serious."

“You really want my opinion?"

“Yes."

“No."

“We shouldn't?"

“Probably not,” Gene said. “We make a good team. We've gone through a lot together. Maybe we shouldn't complicate it."

Linda's shoulders fell a little. “Maybe not."

“Are you relieved or disappointed?"

“Don't know, really."

“Are you hurt?"

“Hurt? No, not at all."

“I like you, Linda."

“And I like you. Guess I was being silly."

“No. Oh, hell. Linda, I think you're attractive."

“You do? You've never said so."

“No, guess I never have said so. Seems to me that the subject simply never came up. But it's true. I've always thought you were attractive. The thing is..."

“What?"

“I've always thought of you as ... above it all."

“Above what?"

“You've always seemed ... What am I trying to say? Uninterested, aloof from anything so mundane as romance."

“Really?” Linda was amazed.

“Not true?"

Linda thought about it. “Call it hibernation. I was just in a dormant state. You're forgetting the psychological wreck I was when I arrived here."

Gene thought back. “You're right. I'd quite forgot."

“So now maybe I'm better. Or thought I was. Ready for romance. But that's out of the question."

“Hey, I never said it was out of the question."

“What did you say?"

“Well, you asked me if I thought it was a good idea for us to ... you know."

Linda smiled. “You know?"

“You know, do that thing."

“Sleep together. Gene, you're almost blushing."

“Don't be silly, my dear. We men of the world—"

“You are blushing! You must have taken up with a dozen women since I've known you."

“What? You're dreaming! And as far as blushing is concerned, I'm blushing because you're trying to make me blush. Stop that!"

Linda giggled. “Sorry."

“Okay, well ... What the hell were we talking about?"

“Having sex."

“Good God, woman! This isn't a proper conversation, not at all, not at all."

“Prude."

“Besides, ‘sex’ in that usage is a misnomer, you know. ‘Sex’ means gender, not coitus."

“You should go on
Jeopardy
."

“Well, it's true."

“Fine. Anyway. So you didn't rule it out, but you don't think we should."

“That's more or less what I said."

Linda nodded. “Okay, I can live with that, I suppose."

“Wait a minute. What do
you
think?"

“What's it matter what I think if you don't think it's a good idea?"

“Because the fact that it might not be—I say
might
not be—such a good idea doesn't have anything to do with my maybe wanting to do it."

“So your answer is maybe?"

Gene crossed his ankles and leaned back. “Maybe."

“Your answer is maybe, or maybe your answer is maybe?"

“It may be that maybe is my answer."

“God, talk about playing hard to get."

“Who's playing hard to get? All I said was—"

“You said maybe maybe."

“Maybe maybe?"

“Not just one maybe. Double maybe."

“No, what I said was—"

“I don't believe this,” Linda said. “The
woman
is supposed to play hard to get."

“Well, these are the nineties. The gay nineties."

“Don't be silly. Maybe you're right, though."

“Right about what?” Gene asked.

“About us not being compatible."

“I didn't say that."

“You didn't? But you said we'd be no good together. Maybe that's true. For one thing, you're six times brighter than I am."

“Oh, please."

“No, really. Sometimes you're so bright you blind me. You're witty and charming. You're absolute greased lightning with a comeback, and you always know the right thing to say—"

“Give me a freaking break."

“Listen to me. Sometimes I can't keep up with you."

“You listen to me,” Gene told her. “One of the reasons I like having you around is that you let me
be
bright and charming and oh-so witty. People are different depending on who they're with, you know. If I'm charming when you're around, it's only because you bring that out in me."

Linda looked at him for a moment before she said, “That's a nice thing to say."

“It's true."

“Thank you for saying it. But you do intimidate me sometimes."

“Sorry, don't mean to."

“I know it's not intentional."

“Last thing I want to do is intimidate you. Some other people, yes. So, you think this is major problem between us?"

Linda shook her head. “No, I'm not saying it's a major problem."

“A minor problem?"

“Uh, well, maybe."

Gene said, “Lots of maybes in this conversation."

“Yeah. Seriously, I don't want to give the impression that I think there are these major barriers between us. Just ... well, what I'm saying is ... uh..."

“What are you saying?"

“What are
you
saying?"

“What I said."

“Which was?"

Gene thought about it. “I need to think about this a little bit more."

“There's hope?"

“Are you hoping there's hope?"

“Are you?"

Gene laughed. “This is like a poker game."

“How so?"

“Playing close to the vest. We don't want to tip our hands."

“Maybe we're both afraid of being hurt,” Linda said.

“Maybe we're both bluffing?"

“Could be. Maybe we should leave it at that."

“More maybes."

“Yeah.” Linda suddenly yawned. “Oh, excuse me."

“You want me to take a nap?"

“I'd love to."

The noise level jumped and startled them both.

Gene glanced at both entrances. The magically created doors were gone.

“You're doing your disappearing act well these days,” he commented.

“I don't make anything disappear,” she said. “I just make the spell weak, and when it fizzles, the thing I conjured just vanishes."

“Oh, is that how you do it? Neat. You want to rest more?"

“No, let's get to the bottom of this. We have to."

“Okay. But I hate to—"

A large, well-muscled man came bursting through the archway. He wore the visored steel helmet and greaves of a gladiator and carried a shield, but his chest was vulnerably bare. Seeing Gene, he raised his short-sword and charged.

Gene leaped up and drew in time to parry the man's lunging thrust. Stepping deftly aside, he tripped his assailant and laid the flat of his sword sharply across the man's bare back.

The man yelled and went tumbling. But he was quick to recover, get to his feet, and charge again.

Gene and the gladiator fought. The shield was an advantage, but Gene was by far the abler swordsman. In short order Gene had the man backed into a corner, and slashing two-handed with his larger and superior weapon, reduced the shield to a battered and dented plate.

Linda, watching from behind the couch, let out a tiny scream when Gene found an opening and thrust his sword home.

Grimacing, the man dropped both shield and sword to grasp the blade that had buried itself deep in his abdomen.

“Thou hast conquered, comrade,” he gasped.

Gene withdrew the bloodied blade as the man fell. The gladiator drew one last breath.

Then he disappeared.

“That's a relief,” Gene said, looking at his sword, which was no longer bloody. “Didn't think he was real, but he sure put on a good show."

“Gene, if he'd killed you..."

“
Morituri te salutamus
. I sure as hell wouldn't disappear. I'd stay right there, deader ‘n a doorstop."

Two more gladiators spilled into the sitting room, swords clashing, shields banging. Gene ran and leaped over the couch.

“We'd better get out of here,” he told Linda.

Another pair of fighters, engaged in mortal combat, came in through the opposite entrance. Both pairs ignored Gene and Linda, who began backing out of the room.

“As long as there's an even number of combatants,” Gene observed, “we won't be attacked. But the loose guys are going to be a problem."

“Do you want to head back up?"

Gene shook his head. “No, my sword magic gives me the advantage. We have to see what's behind all this. You want to hide out somewhere while I go below?"

“Of course not. I want to be with you."

“Right. We do make a great team."

She took his hand. “Let's go, teammate,” she said, leading him cautiously out into the confusion of the hallway.

Stairwell

“What's the matter?” Dalton called back over his shoulder. “Getting winded, old boy?"

Below, Thaxton was slow to mount the next few steps. “Nothing of the kind. Just feathering back a bit to conserve strength."

“Only five more stories to the top."

“Right."

Thaxton took two steps at a time to catch up, winding his way up the spiral stairwell. But when he reached the spot where Dalton stood waiting, he wilted.

He sat and heaved a weary sigh. “Gadzooks."

“You should get more exercise, old fellow. Play a little golf now and then."

Thaxton sent a withering look upward.

“Or whatever's your pleasure,” Dalton amended.

Thaxton said sarcastically, “Golf is not my pleasure, as I'm sure you know."

“Sorry. Ever been up to the roof, by the way? Or the high battlements, I should say."

“No,” Thaxton said. “Have you?"

“Once. Magnificent view. Plains, snow-capped mountains. Beautiful."

“I'm sure."

“Truly. But strange, disorienting in a way."

“How so?"

“Well,” Dalton said, “we know there are about eighty stories to the keep. But from outside, it doesn't look it. I mean, the castle is huge, massive. But the keep looks to be only about thirty to forty stories at its highest point. Which makes it towering compared to earthly castles, but not exactly the World Trade Center either."

“Really. Can't say I'm surprised, though."

“No, the castle does tricks with interior space."

“Indeed."

“Ready?"

“A bit longer,” Thaxton begged.

“No problem."

“How old are you, Dalton, old boy?"

“I'll be sixty-six come October eleven."

“Really. I must say you're in jolly good shape for an old blighter."

“Why, thank you. Strikes me that I never asked you the same question."

“Fifty-one, old boy. Fifty-one bloody years, and I feel every one of them in every bone in my body.” Thaxton looked up. “Please don't bring up exercise again."

“Never!"

Thaxton looked glum. “Some people don't age well."

“Guess not."

Hauling himself upward with great effort, Thaxton said, “Remind me again what we're doing this for."

“To see if the source of the invasion is outside the castle."

“Don't they have lookouts?"

“The lookouts were pulled from their posts when the ruckus started. Tyrene needed every reinforcement. Tyrene delegated me to go up and see if anything's out there."

“Oh. I see."

“Don't expect to see much. Looks like an interior problem. Damned castle magic gone awry, like so many times before."

“Oh, yes,” Thaxton said. “So many times."

They resumed climbing the helix of the stone stairwell. Every third turn brought round an embrasured window, but the narrow aperture offered a limited view. The windows let in some daylight, however.

They had encountered anomalies on the lower levels: comedians spouting routines to anyone who'd listen, Oriental jugglers, and so forth; but the apparitions had petered out at about the sixtieth floor.

At last they came to the highest landing and a stout oak door set into the curving wall. Dalton opened it and went through, Thaxton following. They came out into brisk open air and a maze of high, windswept parapets.

“Good Lord."

There was a lot to see. First, the castle itself. They found themselves on a walkway running along the keep's battlements. The castle keep was eye-defying in its complexity, bristling with hundreds of towers. Below lay a maze of walls enclosing more walls, marking off wards and barbicans and a thousand different cloisters and courtyards. Parapets capped the walls and ramparts. Enclosing the keep itself was a concentric network of curtain-walls and bastions, each higher and more formidable than the last, until the outside wall was almost as high as the keep itself. Castle Perilous was an impregnable fortress, vast and enigmatic.

All that was left bare of the citadel on which the castle stood was a narrow ledge of rock surrounding everything. A thousand feet below that ledge lay the barren Plains of Baranthe, a snow-capped mountain range rising on its western extremity.

Gathered in all at once, it was a breathtaking view. But there was more to see.

Gossamer displays of light emanated from the keep and the entire castle. Some contained vague images: faces, human figures, various forms of animals and objects. Like auroras, these phenomena flickered and fluttered. Diaphanous birdlike images arose and flapped their way skyward before disappearing. Nothing was sharply defined; all possessed a ghostly quality.

Hovering above all this was a vague shape, gradually taking form, seeming to preside over everything. It might have been a face.

“What the devil's all this?” Thaxton wanted to know.

“Anybody's guess,” Dalton said, looking up. “What do you make of that up there?"

Thaxton looked at it. “Looks like a bloke in a turban."

“Strange. Seems to be smiling at us. Unnerving."

“Yes. Uh, perhaps we should..."

“Definitely has something to do with what's going on in the castle,” Dalton ventured. “But what, I don't know."

“Neither do I. Well, shall we be off, then?"

“Let's see what this is all about,” Dalton said, venturing farther along the walkway.

“Uh ... well, if you insist."

They walked cautiously, keeping to the middle of the walkway, Thaxton casting periodic nervous glances downward. The way was not nearly wide enough, as far as he was concerned.