Castle War! (11 page)

She yelled, “Snowy, run for it!”
 

Snowy ran for it, and Linda dashed down the corridor, hearing Snowy's big feet coming up fast behind her. There was no sign of Gene. She sprinted to an intersection, looked both ways, and fled across it.
 

Snowy was close behind. “Where's Gene?” he yelled.
 

“I don't know!”
 

Running by an alcove, she caught sight of someone pressed up against the inside wall. It was Gene. She skidded to a stop and backstepped.
 

“Gene?”
 

Gene gave her a strange look.
 

Snowy scouted down the hall, then came back.
 

“Soldiers coming,” he said. “Can't tell if they're ours or theirs.”
 

Looking worried, Sir Gene peered out. “I suspect Incarnadine invaded in force. They'll be all over the castle, and they know it as well as we do.”
 

There was an aspect leading out of the alcove, one Linda didn't recognize. The world didn't look inviting: sand, rocks, and straggly bushes.
 

“We'll have to duck through a portal,” Linda said. “I don't particularly care for this one, but it is handy.”
 

Sir Gene gave it a sullen look. “I suppose we have no choice.”
 

Voices down the hallway, shouting orders.
 

“No, we don't,” Linda said. “Let's go.”
 

The three of them ran through to another world.
 

 

 

 

Golfing Hell

 

Thaxton was still damp from his dunking as he putted on the ninth green. The monstrous bird had dropped him over the water hazard. The height would have been enough to kill him but the gravity on this world was somewhat less than normal. He had survived the plunge, only having the wind knocked out of him. Dalton had fished him out.
 

The course had turned even more bizarre. Now there were lava pits instead of sand traps, geysers on the fairway, and sinkholes on the approaches. Smoke rose and flames leaped. The lava pits bubbled noisily, spattering hot goo.
 

The sky had turned dark. It didn't even look like a sky, but more like the vault of an expansive roof. The green was not grass but artificial turf of some kind.
 

Thaxton putted. The ball rolled straight until the last second, then veered off. It orbited the rim of the cup and spun away.
 

“Oh, blast.”
 

He had lost a stroke to one of the pits, and now he would have a short putt for a double bogey.
 

“Beastly luck I've been having.”
 

“That's the truth,” Dalton said. “It's not every golfer who gets carried off by a roc.”
 

“Is that what the thing was?”
 

“Well, it fit the description.”
 

“It could only happen to me.”
 

“You've done well. Twenty over par isn't bad, considering.”
 

They finished putting and picked up their clubs. Smoke and steam rose around them as they left the green to walk a narrow path between two rocky escarpments. Coming out on the other side, they saw the clubhouse.
 

“There, you see?” Dalton said.
 

“You were right.”
 

The place looked a little odd. It was shaped haphazardly, consisting of half-spheroids and other bulges, and had oval windows. A lava pond fronted it, spritzing liquid rock like a fountain.
 

They entered what looked like the lobby of a hotel. An assortment of strange creatures—variously clawed and scaled, fanged and furred—were sitting around on stuffed chairs reading newspapers.
 

“Well, it's not restricted,” Thaxton said.
 

“Where's the bar?”
 

“I'm famished. Let's drink at a table.”
 

“Fine. Let's see, that looks like the eatery.”
 

A somewhat demonic-looking creature, presumably the maître d'hôtel, met them as they entered the dining room.
 

“Two for lunch?” it said in a cultured, deep-throated voice. Its barbed tail twitched back and forth.
 

“Yes, please,” Dalton said.
 

“This way, gentlemen.”
 

“By the window, if you can,” Dalton added.
 

“By all means, sir.”
 

Their table offered a prospect of a large crater filled with bubbling pitch. Fire danced in the distance.
 

“Charming,” Thaxton said, sitting down. There were no other patrons in the room.
 

“Would you like to see the wine list, gentlemen?”
 

“Hmm. I was going to have a martini, but wine might go better,” Dalton said.
 

“I'll have a gin and bitters, easy on the bitters,” Thaxton said.
 

“Your waiter will be with you in a moment, sir.”
 

“This Château Avernus sounds good,” Dalton said. “Could you recommend a good year?”
 

“All vintages are good, sir. The climate where it's produced doesn't vary.”
 

“Sounds like a hell of a good vino to me. We'll have a bottle.”
 

“I'll tell the wine steward.”
 

“I could eat a horse,” Thaxton said.
 

“Or a roc, maybe?”
 

“God, no. Rather a tough old bird, wouldn't you think?”
 

“Maybe so. Well, I sort of like this course. How about you?”
 

“Oh, so-so. I've seen better. It certainly is different.”
 

“Unique, I'd say.”
 

“Tell me. Have you given any thought as to how we're going to get back?”
 

“Oh, we should be able to find the first tee again. That's where we came in.”
 

“The first hole is miles back,” Thaxton said.
 

“The first hole is always somewhere near the clubhouse.”
 

“But the place wasn't like
this
when we started. The first tee can't be anywhere near. Besides, it might not have been the first hole. How can you be sure this course has the regulation number of holes?”
 

“Why wouldn't it?”
 

Thaxton shrugged. “No good reason. Do you suppose the portal's still there?”
 

“It's occurred to me that it might have moved or disappeared.”
 

“Oh, that's occurred to you? Perhaps we might give it some thought.”
 

“Relax,” Dalton said. “I've been walking in and out of portals for years now. Never been lost yet.”
 

“There's always a first time, old boy.”
 

“Yes, I suppose there's always a first time. Come to think of it, though, I wouldn't mind being stuck on a golf course for the rest of my life.”
 

“God forfend.”
 

Another creature came up to the table. This one's scales were shinier and its horns longer.
 

“Hi, I'm Gamalkon, and I'll be your waiter today.” The creature handed out menus.
 

Thaxton ordered his drink. The waiter said, “I'll be back to take your orders,” and left.
 

“Interesting bill of fare,” Dalton said.
 

Thaxton looked it over. “What the devil ... ‘Filet of basilisk'?”
 

“Haven't had basilisk in a long time. Hmmm. ‘Cockatrice au vin—breast of cockatrice sautéed with wild mushrooms and fresh tender roots in a light wine sauce.' Sounds good.”
 

“Are you joking? This is abominable.”
 

“Broaden your palate, my friend.”
 

“Eat this rubbish and you'll have your palate broadened, all right. Into a death rictus.”
 

“Hmmm. I might try the luncheon special.”
 

“Where's that?”
 

“Up at the top.”
 

“Oh.” Thaxton's eyebrows shot up. “'Chimaera casserole—chunks of tantalizing chimaera with noodles and wild herbs in a rich cheese sauce'? Chimaera? You're actually going to—?”
 

“That or the barbecued harpy.”
 

“Good God.”
 

“Now, if you really want to experiment, the stuffed python ... but maybe that's a little intense for lunch.”
 

“By all means keep it light.”
 

The wine steward showed up, uncorked a bottle, and poured a taste for Dalton. Dalton breathed the bouquet, then took a sip and swished it around. Swallowing, he said, “A very playful little wine. Fruity.”
 

“Barbecued bleeding harpy,” Thaxton muttered, still vainly searching the menu.
 

“Leave the bottle,” Dalton instructed.
 

The steward filled Dalton's glass, then turned to Thaxton.
 

“Having wine, sir?”
 

“Hm? Later, I have a drink coming.”
 

The waiter returned with Thaxton's gin. Dalton ordered the cockatrice, with gryphon soup to start.
 

“And what will you be having, sir?” the waiter asked Thaxton.
 

“God, I don't know. Do you have ... do you happen to serve hamburger à la carte, by any chance?”
 

The waiter's red eyes rolled. “Yes, sir, we do.”
 

“Hamburger, then.”
 

“How would you like that done, sir?”
 

“Oh, I like my beef flamed to a turn. You shouldn't have any trouble doing that.”
 

Dalton said drolly, “Are you sure it's beef?”
 

The waiter said, “Our hamburger is ground from the freshest—”
 

“I don't want to know!” Dalton said, holding up a hand. When the waiter left he downed his drink in one gulp.
 

Dalton sat back. “Well, a few drinks and a leisurely lunch ought to put us right for the back nine.”
 

Thaxton gave him a skeptical look.
 

Dalton said, “Come on, buck up.”
 

“I'm all right. But I get the feeling that something's not right at the castle.”
 

“Yeah. That has occurred to me. But then neither of us could do very much to help.”
 

“As I recall, we played golf through the last crisis.”
 

“The invasion of the bossy blue critters. That was nasty. But, then as now, there was nothing for us to do. Neither of us can handle a sword. And magic is not exactly our stock-in-trade.”
 

“No, magic is definitely not my forte. Nor is golf, or anything else for that matter.”
 

Dalton stared out the window for a moment. Then he said: “You know, I don't think I ever asked you what you did back in the real world.”
 

“Did? Oh. Well, I managed some properties.”
 

“Real estate? I see.”
 

“Yes, I inherited a good deal of stuff, as a matter of fact. Properties, investments, stocks, that sort of thing.”
 

“Your family was well-to-do?”
 

“Well, yes, rather.”
 

“I never asked—are you, or were you, a member of the aristocracy?”
 

“Technically speaking, no. My grandfather was a baronet, but the peerage didn't come down to me. I did all the ‘U' things, though. Winchester, Balliol, the right clubs. All that sort of rot.”
 

“I hope you don't think I'm getting too personal....”
 

“We have spent a great deal of time together. Fire away.”
 

“What brought you to Castle Perilous? Mind telling?”
 

“Not much to tell. The wife was divorcing me. Nasty bit of business. Threatened a scandal if she didn't get what she wanted, which was nearly half the estate. I gave it to her, and then found out she'd been having an affair with her hairdresser. I didn't mind his being NOCD so much as the fact that he was a bad hairdresser.”
 

“NOCD?”
 

“'Not Our Class, Dear.' Anyway, they went off to Majorca and I was left feeling rather empty and used. It was more than that. My life seemed ... useless. Didn't have a very good feeling about it.”
 

Thaxton poured himself some wine. “To make a long story short, one night I'd drunk a bottle of claret and was starting on another, when I thought, why not just up and end it all? So I got out my grandfather's Webley, and loaded the thing up. Just then I noticed that the door to the conservatory looked rather strange. I put down the gun and walked in, and suddenly there I was inside a strange castle. When I turned around, the door was gone. And that's it.” He drank his wine. “Good stuff, this.”
 

“Good story, very typical,” Dalton said.
 

“Yes, I suppose it is all rather typical.”
 

“I just meant that all we Guests have experiences in common.”
 

“Undoubtedly. Getting back to the business at hand—isn't there
something
we could do?”