Castle War! (28 page)

“Who says I did?”
 

“Well, it wasn't me.”
 

“Wasn't me, either.”
 

“Wait a minute. If it wasn't
you
...”
 

Both Incarnadines frowned and looked off.
 

“Holy hell. Another one.”
 

“Nothing to prevent still another mirror aspect forming. Or more.”
 

“I guess not. Which leads to some disquieting possibilities.”
 

“And here comes one.”
 

Another Incarnadine, this one in a fur coat and cossack hat, entered the dining hall surrounded by a phalanx of -3Guardsmen. He waved, shouldered past his men, and walked over.
 

“Greetings. Fancy meeting you guys here.”
 

“Yes, we were just discussing that very fancy,” the crown-wearer said.
 

“I suppose,” the bareheaded Incarnadine said, “you're about to stake a claim to this shack?”
 

“No, I just came in to see what the hell's going on. What's all the ruckus?”
 

“The lord of this castle's not around. Disappeared.”
 

“No, he didn't,” the crowned one said reproachfully. “Tell him the truth.”
 

“Oh, hell. When I found this mirror aspect I got a wild hair up my ass and stormed through. So did he, more or less at the same time.”
 

“Whatever for?”
 

“Like I said, a wayward follicle. Just an impulse.”
 

A chair came flying across the room, and the three ducked.
 

“Nothing like a good fight to work up an appetite.”
 

“I hear this castle's owner doesn't go for blood sports.”
 

“Yeah, I heard that, too.”
 

“So you just blitzkrieged your way through for the hell of it.”
 

“More or less.”
 

“One hundred forty-four thousand worlds wasn't enough for you.”
 

“You get bored, you know.”
 

“Yeah, we live too damned long.”
 

“Well, that's easily taken care of.”
 

“You want to go Waltzing Matilda with me? We'll see who—”
 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please. Enough of that.”
 

“Well, he threatened me.”
 

“Stuff it.”
 

“You stuff it.”
 

“Can it! And you call yourselves Incarnadine.”
 

“Who says we aren't?”
 

“Look, this mirror aspect stuff ... it can't be real.”
 

“
What
can't be real?”
 

“There's only one castle. Can't be more than one.”
 

“Why not?”
 

“Well, it just stands to reason. Besides, the way you're acting...”
 

“Who?”
 

“You two. Neither of you can be the real Incarnadine.”
 

“Get him. Let me guess. You're the genuine article?”
 

“Well, shit, I ought to know who I am.”
 

“Now, it occurs to me that we could all say that. It's like the problem of solipsism. I know I'm real, but who are all you robots?”
 

“Look, I don't want to start splitting epistemological hairs with you. Let's table that issue for now and face up to the possibility that we have a problem on our hands. We have a castle with thousands of aspects, each one of which can turn into a mirror of the castle itself—”
 

“And each of those mirror castles has 144,000 mirror aspects in
it—"
 

“And so on and so on, ad infinitum.”
 

“Ad absurdum.”
 

“Adirondacks. Yeah, it's a mess. What do we do about it?”
 

“Not sure we can do anything about it.”
 

“That's what I mean. The real Incarnadine would be furiously busy doing something about it.”
 

“Like you.”
 

“Well, I'm here.”
 

“So are we all.”
 

“Let's not get into that again.”
 

More combatants joined the fray. Tables overturned, and stale food went flying.
 

“Who was it that came up with the idea of cloning Snowclaw in the first place?”
 

“Who knows? What does it matter?”
 

“I suppose it doesn't.”
 

“See here. It seems we should do something.”
 

“Cast some sort of spell?”
 

“Yeah, but what kind of a spell would eliminate all the mirrors?”
 

“Whose mirrors would you be eliminating?”
 

“All of them.”
 

“But don't you see, that would blink all of us out of existence except one, the real one.”
 

“We're back to that again.”
 

“Well, not necessarily. We could each have our separate reality, our own pocket universe, independent of the rest.”
 

“Undoubtedly we do, but the notion of everything going poof is somehow unsettling to me.”
 

“All right, let's not do a poof. Then what do we have? Pandemonium.”
 

“Wait a minute. You're talking as if this poof spell were a foregone conclusion. Do you have such a spell?”
 

“Well...”
 

“Can you come up with one?”
 

“Frankly, not offhand.”
 

“Okay, then the poof idea is moot until we do come up with one.”
 

“That's how this castle's Incarnadine has us all beat.”
 

“How so?”
 

“There's something going on up in the lab here. I think they have a mainframe computer working on writing a spell.”
 

“Something I've always wanted to do—use a computer to do magic.”
 

“Apparently the owner here has gone a long way along that path.”
 

“Can we get in?”
 

“They have the place all tricked out with anti-intruder spells and I just haven't had the time to go up there and scotch them.”
 

“Maybe we should all take a crack at it.”
 

“I'm not sure our barging into something we know nothing about is such a good idea. They might be doing some good.”
 

“They might also make us all go poof.”
 

“That's a possibility. Anyway, I'm game. Want to go up and at least try to see what's going on?”
 

“Yeah, let's have a go.”
 

“Okay. But we really should—oh, God.”
 

“Hi, guys!”
 

The latest Incarnadine wore a black leather jacket, black T-shirt, jeans, and boots. He was smoking a funny-looking wrinkled cigarette. The room filled with -4Guardsmen.
 

“This is getting ridiculous.”
 

“Hey, I'm kind of enjoying it.”
 

“Is the kitchen open?”
 

“Oh, all the castle personnel are long gone. Hiding.”
 

“I'm starved.”
 

“Well, whip something up. You're a magician.”
 

“I can't eat it when I do it myself. It's no fun.”
 

“It'll do in a pinch.”
 

“You do it for me.”
 

“I'm no cook.”
 

“You're a magician! What does it matter?”
 

“It still takes talent.”
 

“True.”
 

“But about the laboratory business?”
 

“Tell you what, let's get together for lunch in the King's Hall first—I'm starved, too—and then we'll all go up to the lab together and see what's what.”
 

“That sounds like a fine idea. There's one problem.”
 

“What?”
 

“Tried to do any magic yet?”
 

“No, why?”
 

“The magic's subtly different here.”
 

“How can that be?”
 

“Well, there are a few differences among us. We're not identical.”
 

“True. So, you think working any magic here is going to be a problem.”
 

“Major magic at least. I think we're up to conjuring a good lunch.”
 

“Well, if that's true, we all might as well go home.”
 

“Let's have lunch first. Let the boys play, they're having a good time.”
 

“We've got to get rid of those damned white-furred critters!”
 

“And the yellow ones.”
 

“Them, too. Anybody got any ideas?”
 

“Without major magic, we're out of business.”
 

“Not necessarily. We ought to be able to compensate for the subtle factors.”
 

“This blasted computer stuff worries me. The owner here might be at a distinct advantage if and when he ever gets back.”
 

“Where is he?”
 

“Haven't been able to find out.”
 

“Then don't worry about him.”
 

“Okay, guys, let's go to lunch.”
 

“Forget about the King's Hall. We're not going to get any good food here in the castle. Let's head into the Nouvelle Provence aspect. There's a little café there that makes a great bouillabaisse. And the troubadours are superb.”
 

“We might not be able to get through. If you haven't noticed, many aspects are screwed up.”
 

“Not Provence. I had breakfast there.”
 

“Fine. Well, let's go.”
 

“Right.”
 

They all trooped out of the Queen's Hall. In the corridor outside they ran into another Incarnadine.
 

“Where're you people going?”
 

“Lunch. Want to come?”
 

“Who's buying?”
 

“Separate checks. C'mon.”
 

The new Incarnadine turned to his -5Guardsmen. “Go in there and kick some ass. I'll be back in a bit.”
 

“Very good, sire!”
 

Incarnadine trotted after his colleagues.
 

“Hey, wait up!”
 

 

 

 

Moor

 

“This is getting back to the roots of golf,” Dalton said. “Nothing like a moor to play on.”
 

“You're thinking of links land, along a seacoast. Nobody plays golf on a bloody bog.”
 

“I stand corrected. But it still seems I should be using a brassie or a cleek for this hole.”
 

The teeing ground was on a knoll above the moor. The land rolled from rise to bog as far as the eye could see. Purple-flowered heather grew all over, sedge and other grasses clumping in the marshy areas.
 

Dalton said, “Are we using the white markers?”
 

“Yes, unless you've turned into a scratch player overnight. Are you still keeping score in your head?”
 

“Yep. You're at—”
 

“Don't tell me, I don't want to know. Are we doing match play?”
 

“We're playing Nassau,” Dalton said. “I won the first nine.”
 

“Fine. Shoot.”
 

“I'd be handicapping, but it's hard to do without a score-card.”
 

“Forget the handicapping. This is a friendly game.”
 

“Of course.”
 

Dalton's drive went straight and true and landed in a bog.
 

“Still want that brassie?” Thaxton said mordantly.
 

“A two-wood's not going to do any good here, there being no true fairway.”
 

“All rough and no fairway. Interesting concept.”
 

“Get any sleep last night?” Dalton asked.
 

“Oh, some. Hard to get much with the bloody wind howling over the moor like a lost soul.”
 

“It put me to sleep.”
 

Thaxton drove deep and straight and wound up with a tall-grass lie.
 

“I'll need a sickle to get out of there.”
 

“Hope we don't get literally bogged down,” Dalton said.
 

They did. The sky was a thick leaden bowl and the land was dark and forbidding. Their spiked shoes sank into the wet peat. Dalton couldn't find his ball and lost a stroke. Thaxton hacked away at the grass with his seven-iron Ping Eye-2 until he could get at his.
 

“This is bloody preposterous.”
 

A demonic howl went up from the bogs to the east and made the hair on the back of Thaxton's neck bristle.