The Warlock's Gambit (2 page)

A
rthur awoke, screaming, and shot off the couch in the Smoking Lounge. He had no idea what time it was; the lights were turned down so low they were almost off.

“Arthur, lad, what the devil?” Vassalus’ stately voice, like a British radio host, called from his post beside the door.

“My mother — I saw her — she was a companion — she left — and the warlock …”

Had it been a memory, or just a dream? It had felt so real.

“Yes?” Lexi prompted. She stood and arched her back in a cat stretch. A yawn muffled her normally smoky, Hollywood starlet voice. “What about him?”

Morgan sat up on the couch across the room and groaned. “What the heck is going on?”

Arthur didn’t respond. Without putting his boots on or grabbing his rayguns, he rushed out of the Smoking Lounge, crossed the now safe-to-travel Grand Hallway, and threw open the door to the Armory. Vassalus and Lexi chased after him, followed by Valet and Arms.

Even though both servitors had been wounded in the battle to clear the Grand Hallway, they still insisted on guarding Arthur and Morgan. Of course, since they couldn't talk and had no faces, insisting meant that they either shook their heads or ignored Arthur’s requests altogether. Luckily, their injuries weren’t too bad, and they were healing fast. Vassalus and Lexi had taken some nasty wounds fighting wraiths, but they were healing even faster, and ought to be fine in a couple of days. Cook was pretty banged up, and Waiter had been gravely wounded. They were recovering in the Smoking Lounge. They’d all had one solid day of rest already, but could use several more.

The Armory’s narrow hallway always reminded him of an old WWII bunker, or maybe a battleship, like the one Arthur had seen on a school field trip. But right now, all he cared about were the glass cases lining the walls. There were seven cases on the left side and six on the right, one each for the Multiversal Paladin and his twelve companions. Of course, Arthur only had Morgan. Theirs were the only ones illuminated; the rest were so dark inside that you really couldn't see what was in them. With all the danger they’d been in, he’d given no thought to the other lockers.

Arthur started with the first one on his right, the case labeled COMPANION #12. The glass doors didn’t have any handles, but whenever he touched the locker that stored his gear, the door automatically swung open. Arthur touched his hand to the door. The interior didn’t light up, and the door didn’t open.
I’m the Multiversal Paladin, and it won’t open for me?
He put his face so close that his nose touched the glass, but he still couldn’t see inside it.

“Arthur, what’s the matter?” Lexi said as she burst into the Armory along with Vassalus, Arms, and Valet.

Not responding, he went to the other side and tried the locker for Companion #11, but it wouldn’t open or reveal its contents either.

“Are you looking for something?” Vassalus asked.

He went to Companion #10’s locker, saw nothing, and groaned. “Yes, I am.”

Arms walked past him as Lexi said, “What are you —”

Morgan stormed into the Armory and spat a word at Arthur that would have gotten him three days of detention or his mouth washed out with soap.

“Goodness, Morgan,” said Vassalus. “Do you eat with that mouth?”

She shrugged unapologetically.

“Probably kisses her mother with it, too,” Lexi sniped.

“I would — if she wasn’t dead.”

Arthur didn’t know how to respond to that, and apparently no one else did either. He glanced at Morgan and the others, then returned to his search.

“Arthur, what
are
you trying to do?” Morgan asked with exasperation. “And why?”

“I’m trying to find my mother’s gear … to see if the dream I had was something that actually happened.”

“It was most likely just a dream, darling,” Lexi said, “a dream that recalled some random things from your past.”

Light poured out of the locker for Companion #2, and Arms, who was now standing in front of it, gestured toward it. Arthur hurried over. He touched the glass door, but it didn’t open. That didn’t matter, though. Inside sparkled the silver cloak his mother had worn, hanging alongside the circlet with the ruby and her special gloves. All the normal companion gear and armor was there as well.

“It was real,” he muttered. “Morgan, I saw my mother in the dream, and this was what she was wearing.”

She stepped up and whistled. “Wow, that cloak is amazing.”

“It lets you turn invisible if you put the hood up. I think you have to keep still too, though.” Arms gave him a thumbs-up, which was always his way of saying yes. “Each glove can project an energy knife, while the circlet makes these rays that can mesmerize your enemies.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t remember any of this until the dream?”

He shook his head. “It wasn't just a dream. It was a specific memory of … well, I think it was the last time I saw her. I was really young, and she, my mother, hit me with the rays from her circlet. She told me if nothing else, I would one day remember that afternoon and her telling me that she loved me. I didn't remembered any of it until today.

“My mother was going off on a mission, deep undercover. She was afraid she wouldn’t make it back. My father was there, too, and he had his sword, Bright-Cage. I saw him use it — he was amazing. I’m nowhere near as powerful as I should be. I can’t even do a fraction of what he could. He fought the takaturio like we did
plus
five other monsters in the Training Room. And he
toyed
with them; they were nothing to him. When he had to quit fighting suddenly, he summoned this giant, glowing triskelion in front of him. It flashed once, and the creatures were turned back into smoke instantly.”

Morgan turned to Arms. “Is that possible?”

Arms gave a thumbs-up, and Valet nodded.

“Wowza,” Morgan muttered.

Arthur put his hands on the case and peered inside. This was the closest he had felt to his mother in a long, long time. He had always thought about his dad more, just because for so long he had thought his dad might come back for him while his mother couldn’t. Everyone had told him she had died.

“You know what’s weird,” he said, furrowing his brow, “I don’t remember my mother’s funeral.”

“Well, you were really little, right?” Morgan said.

“I was three, maybe almost four, so you’d think I’d remember at least a little something about it. I’ve never been to the cemetery, and Grandma has never mentioned it.”

“Well, if your mother was killed on another planet while undercover,” Vassalus said, “then your family might not have a body to bury.”

“But how would they know she was dead?” Arthur asked. “They didn’t know anything about the Manse. Grandpa Nelson might’ve. Mother said he knew a little bit about what was going on, and he seemed to know something about the device over my heart. But the others didn’t know anything. What could my father tell them to convince them my mother was dead but that there was no body to bury?”

“What did they tell you she died from?” Morgan asked quietly.

“Rock-climbing accident.”

“Huh,” she replied. “That really doesn’t make a lot of sense. But maybe you just don’t remember the funeral, and your grandparents couldn’t bear to talk about it.”

“Maybe … Arms, Valet, do you guys know anything about this?”

Both shook their heads. Of course, they didn’t. The Manse’s memory had been wiped clean after Arthur’s father had died, and the Aetherian who powered the Manse had died just getting it to Arthur. So the servitors had all just been rebooted to clean slates. All they knew was how to do their jobs.

“I wonder if that was her last mission … if that’s when she died …”

Morgan touched one of the cases, but it would neither light up nor open for her, either. “If your mother had a cloak that could turn her invisible, and a mind control gem, that stuff would be super useful. Why can’t we use it, too?”

Arms approached her and gestured for her to take off her gloves. She did, and Arms gave them to Arthur. Though they were tight, he managed to slip them on. They didn’t glow or hum. He pressed the gems together to activate the force field, the same way Morgan did, by putting his wrists together, but nothing happened — nothing at all.

“So,” Morgan said, “they’re attuned to a specific wearer, and the Manse figures out which set of gear is appropriate for a companion?”

Arms gave a thumbs-up.

“Huh,” she replied. “Why does it work like that instead of … wait, never mind, you can’t talk so you can’t really answer that, and even if you did, it might not make sense, and then I’d just be irritated about it.”

Lexi giggled, and while Morgan shot her a dirty look, Vassalus looked away, almost certainly suppressing a laugh.

Now that Arthur felt certain it was a real memory, and the excitement of remembering,
really remembering
his parents wore off, the shock and horror that had woken him came rushing back. Chills rushed along his skin, and his heart began to race. As the truth sank in, Arthur’s knees buckled, and he sat down hard on the floor. Morgan knelt beside him, an unusually comforting gesture for her, and said, “Arthur, you’re shaking. Is it … is it about your mother dying?”

He shook his head. “There was another person there — that day, with my parents. A man they trusted with their lives … a man they trusted to look after me. He was nice. My mother called him my uncle and I sat in his lap. He said he would protect me if anything ever happened to my parents. He
swore
he would. They believed him.”

“Who, Arthur?” Lexi asked, rubbing her head along his arm and settling in beside him, trying to comfort him.

“His name was Kjor and … and he’s the warlock in the Inner Sanctum.”

“The warlock?!” Morgan said. “How can that be?”

“I — I have no idea.”

“Are you sure it was him?” Vassalus asked.

“Certain. I recognized his voice, but didn’t figure it out until the end of the dream — that’s what woke me up. I saw him, and he was an alien with slate blue skin and no earlobes, and at the end, he spoke directly into my mind.”

“What if the dream was the warlock playing with your mind, like before,” Morgan suggested. “Maybe he pulled up some forgotten memories and used them against you.”

“Maybe,” Arthur admitted. He doubted it though. The dream had felt so real. “But what would be the point? I think he'd save his tricks till we fought him.”

“You know, maybe he was a good guy, and then something went wrong with him,” Morgan said.

“I don’t know,” Arthur replied. “I just don’t know anything.”

Lexi stood straight up and puffed her whiskers out demonstrably. “Well, I know one thing — wait, I know two things. First of all, you both need a good breakfast, and a shower wouldn’t hurt. You stink. And second, it’s time we got some answers to our questions. Let’s start exploring the rest of this Manse and see what we can find out on our own. There are bound to be other things here that can help us.”

“Alexis, my dear,” said Vassalus, “I think you just listed three things.”

“I most certainly did not,” she countered, starting an argument that was likely to go on for some time.

S
till feeling unsettled, Arthur trudged out of the Armory with the rest of the group. He couldn't help wondering: if his parents’ friend Kjor — he was pretty certain that part at least was an actual memory — really was the warlock, what did that mean? Had he betrayed them? Or had he turned bad later, after they were already dead?

“Wow!” Morgan stopped so suddenly that Arthur stumbled and nearly fell over Lexi to avoid running into her. Morgan hated being touched, and he expected her to snap at him, or at least glare, for getting so close. But she was too busy gaping at the Grand Hallway.

The long hallway certainly was grand: from the polished floors and mahogany walls to the cathedral ceilings. Ornate lanterns lit the space and made the golden doorknobs sparkle. Along each wall, about every twenty feet, stood a door with a golden plaque on it. Glittering white statues sat in niches, and huge tapestries and paintings hung along the walls. At the far end was the Inner Sanctum and the warlock.

But it wasn't like they had never seen the Grand Hallway before. Then Arthur noticed what exactly had captured Morgan’s attention. He followed her gaze up and up and up to the soaring ceiling. Detailed mosaics covered the spaces between the arching supports. Each one showed a different scene featuring a Multiversal Paladin and their companions. Some were epic battle scenes, but some were clearly treaties and celebrations. As Arthur moved, the light glinted off them, making them seem alive.

“Wow!” Arthur said, echoing Morgan’s exclamation.

After their last battle, when they had cleared the Grand Hallway of shades and wraiths, they had looked around briefly. But they had been too exhausted, beaten to a pulp, and worried about Lexi, Vassalus, and the servitors to pay much attention to the details or explore any of the rest of the house. After doctoring their injuries as best as they knew how, they had gone to the Kitchen, searching for food. They had found peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (and in Morgan’s case, just peanut butter, since she thought mixing the two was a travesty) waiting for them on the Kitchen counter, and inside the fridge was a pitcher of lemonade and two old-fashioned, glass bottles of Coke.

After eating, they had crashed in the Smoking Lounge and slept the rest of the day and through the night, till late the next morning. No one had had the energy to do more than tend their wounds, fix more sandwiches, and nap the next day. (They found bread, peanut butter, and chocolate bars in the pantry, and there was jelly in the fridge with more drinks. Otherwise, the Kitchen was completely empty of food.)

Not even the desire for a proper bed had motivated them to venture out into the rest of the Manse. Today, however, would have to be different, even if all he wanted was to just sleep, eat, and sleep some more.

Looking over his friends, Arthur realized that the numina and servitors had all healed remarkably fast. He could tell Morgan felt better, too. And thanks to his dream, Arthur was restless and ready to learn more. But like Lexi had said: they needed to eat breakfast.

Shoes and weapons came first, and they’d left those in the Smoking Lounge. All of their gear was neatly organized in one of the comfy chairs. Arthur suspected Valet of doing that. He vaguely remembered dropping his things in a heap on the floor next to one of the couches. Even the alien books they had gotten off the bookshelves had been tidied away. Waiter was still sprawled out on the pool table. His awful wounds weren’t bleeding silver blood anymore, but they still looked bad. At first, Arthur had been afraid Waiter wouldn't make it, but he seemed to be getting better. None of them knew for sure what happened if one of the servitors died.

Arthur grabbed his shoes and went over to check on him. “Doing better?”

Waiter tried to shrug. Arthur had a hunch that Waiter was feeling depressed, or maybe frustrated. It was nearly impossible to read someone who didn’t have facial features.

Arthur slipped on his shoes. “Anything I can do for you?”

Waiter shook his head slightly.

“Let Valet or Maid know if I can, okay?”

Waiter nodded. Though the servitors couldn’t speak out loud, they could communicate with one another telepathically, if they were in the same room together.

Arthur buckled on the belt which had his raygun holsters, and then looked to Cook, who was sunk deep into one of the armchairs in the back of the room. “You okay?”

She straightened up and nodded curtly.

The huge Dining Hall, with its thirty-person table set with fine china and delicate crystal, its chandeliers and tapestries, seemed a lot less imposing now that they'd seen the Grand Hallway in its full glory. Morgan immediately headed for the door to the bathrooms on the other side of the room. They were currently only using the girls’ bathroom. The boys’ bathroom still had shades in it and, since the dark-heart wasn't visible from the doorway, anything they killed would just regenerate till they destroyed the gem. But the shades couldn't get through the glowing triskelion guarding the doorway, so while getting rid of them shouldn't be all that difficult, it wasn't a priority.

Cook limped in behind them and waved for them to wash up. The rotund servitor wore a fresh apron and hairnet, but the scars of their recent battle were still visible. The paring knives, spoons, spatulas, and rolling pin on her tool belt rattled and clanged with every awkward step on her injured leg. (Though, as they had discovered, her weapon of choice in a fight was an iron skillet.)

“Cook!” Arthur was surprised to see her up and about. “You didn’t have to get up.”

She made shooing motions towards the bathrooms.

“It's okay. You don't need to fix us anything,” Arthur told her. “We can get food for ourselves. You should be resting.”

But she shook her head demonstrably and disappeared into the Kitchen. She didn’t bother asking what they wanted. Poor Waiter wasn’t here to take their orders anyway.

After he washed up, Arthur took his seat at the head of the table, and Morgan sat in the chair to his right. Lexi hopped up on the table, but jumped back down when Vassalus growled at her. As soon as he turned to look elsewhere, Lexi stuck her tongue out at him. Morgan rolled her eyes, and Arthur suppressed a laugh.

“I guess we’re going to get whatever Cook feels like making for us,” Arthur said.

“She knew I didn’t like jelly on my peanut butter sandwiches,” Morgan said, “so I trust her.”

Taking Waiter’s place, Valet brought the food out to them: bowls of cereal (bran with raisins for Arthur and without raisins for Morgan), toast and strawberry jelly, orange juice, and strips of crispy bacon. They tucked in, and only as he ate did Arthur realize just how hungry he was.

After finishing her steaming cup of English breakfast tea, Morgan glanced at her iPhone. That required a lot of twisting it one way and then another, since the screen was shattered. “It’s 10:30 AM now. We should get started. Where do you want to go first?”

“You know,” Arthur said as he drained the last tea from his cup, “we never went up the stairs to the loft in the Great Room. Let’s start there.”

Morgan took two steps into the Grand Hallway before stopping short. Arthur nearly ran into her — again. This time he tripped over Vassalus and barely managed to catch himself on the doorframe. Vassalus gave him a disapproving look that reminded Arthur of an older, stuffier version of Morgan’s stare.

Morgan stalked across the hallway and stopped with her hands on her hips in front of … a new servitor. “Who are you?”

This servitor was definitely a girl, and a young one. She had wavy black hair and was wearing a black dress with a white apron over it and a frilly white cap. The dress was … well … really short, with a puffed out skirt and a fitted top. Like the others, she was featureless and seemed to be wrapped up in bandages. She had an assortment of feather dusters and two cleaning rags tucked into the copper bucket on the floor beside her.

She was mopping the floor, but paused to curtsy to Arthur.

“That would be Maid,” said Vassalus.

“Where’d she come from?” Morgan asked.

“Must’ve appeared in the hallway after the battle,” Lexi said. “I guess she’s been out here cleaning and we just didn’t know.”

Arthur wondered who had decided to make Maid look like … this … because, except for the bandages and the lack of a face — which was kind of creepy no matter what — she was … well, she was wearing a French maid outfit.

“Wow, her skirt's almost as short as yours, Morgan.”

Morgan spun around and looked at him as if he were nuts. “My skirt is
not
that short!”

“Um, yes — it is.”

“Arthur, it's school regulation! And you know it!”

The length of Morgan’s skirt was something all the boys in their class were aware of.

“Morgan, school regulation is within three inches of the knee. You’re not even close. Honestly, I can't believe you haven't been busted for it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t get busted — not since fourth grade. I make straight A’s and
never
cause trouble. Unlike you, I don’t bring attention to myself.”

“Your parents don’t say anything about it? Wait!” Arthur jumped on the half-muttered admission with a grin. “What happened in fourth grade?”

“Didn’t you hear me, moron? No negative attention. I mind my business and fly under the radar. You should try it sometime.”

“Um …” Arthur's mind spun as he tried to figure out how she had turned the conversation around on him — and dodged his question. Weren't they supposed to be talking about her skirt?

Before he could think of anything smart to say, Morgan rolled her eyes and marched off towards the Great Room.

Arthur glanced at Lexi for help, but she just gave him the cat version of a shrug. And Vassalus refused to meet his eyes. So he trudged after her, assuming the skirt issue was over. He was wrong.

Morgan paused before opening the door to the Great Room. “You don't like my skirt?”

“Um … I do.” It came out halfway between a statement and a question.

Morgan narrowed her eyes. “You do?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You don't think it's weird?”

“Well, yeah. But in a good way.”

“Do you think my skirt is too short?”

Arthur sighed. “Morgan, I think your outfit is awesome. Let’s leave it at that — okay?”

She chewed at her lip a few moments. “Yeah, okay.”

Arthur pushed open the door, and Morgan stepped through the foot-wide, glowing triskelion that still guarded the room. Arthur smiled. This room was the only one in the Manse that he actually remembered. It reminded him of something out of a castle and felt comfortingly familiar. Tapestries draped the stone walls, and an enormous, multicolored rug covered the wood floor. Maid had a lot of work cut out for her in here. Dust coated the high-backed chairs, overstuffed couches, plump ottomans, and coffee tables spread throughout the room. Cobwebs hung in the corners and on the massive chandelier, giving it the look of a cloud of raindrops suspended in midair. Gaslights flickered on the walls, making everything warm and cheery despite the dust.

Directly across from the entrance to the Grand Hallway was the only door that led out of the house: the Door To Many Worlds. Above that door was a red light and a green light. When the green one was lit, they could open the door and step out onto whatever world they had come to. When the red one was glowing, like now, going outside would mean stepping into empty space … or, as Lady Ylliara had called it, the Song Between the Verses. Either way, stepping out now while the light was red would get them killed.

Fires roared in the giant fireplaces on each side of the Great Room. Over one mantel hung the enormous head of a strange, emerald-green insect creature with yellow eyes and fur-covered antlers. A shield hung over the other mantel. The sword Arthur had borrowed to fight the shades when they first got there was again hanging below the shield. He’d dropped it fighting the takaturio in the Training Room. Valet or Arms must’ve put it away. Which was fine; the sword couldn’t hurt the shades at all.

Staircases, one to each side, led to a high loft above the door to the Grand Hallway. Arthur had noticed the loft when they had first entered the Manse, but there hadn’t been any reason to go up there then. Arthur and Lexi went up the staircase on the right side, while Morgan, with Vassalus taking point, methodically marched up the left side, scanning everything. The loft was deeper than he had expected. Little café-style tables that could seat two each stood near the edge of the loft, just far enough back that you couldn’t see them from down below. Fresh daisies puffed out of vases on the tables. Squat, leafy trees in giant clay pots dominated the spaces between the four doors along the back wall.

“Fresh flowers?” Morgan said, with a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Arthur shrugged. “Maybe they’re fake?”

Lexi jumped up and sniffed one. For a moment, Arthur thought she was going to eat it. “No, this is a real flower.”

“I suppose the Manse magically creates them,” said Vassalus.

It didn’t matter to Arthur. He looked at the rooms. Each door had an identical gold plaque that simply read: GUEST SUITE.

Shaking her head, Morgan groaned. “This place doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“It’s a small cottage outside and a mansion inside. What did you expect?”

“I expected internal consistency. The arrangement of the Training Room and the Armory was already straining that, but I thought maybe I had missed something. But this — if there are rooms behind those doors, then the loft would jut out into the Grand Hallway. But we know it doesn’t, because it would be kind of obvious with those cathedral ceilings in there.”

“Maybe the rooms are above the Grand Hallway’s ceiling …”

She shook her head. “We’re not that high up. I counted the steps. So much for my theory about the inside of this house just being a pocket universe designed to fit a large house inside of a small one.”

Arthur shrugged and stepped up to one of the guest suites. He grabbed the doorknob, but Morgan slammed her hand against the door, stopping him from opening it.

“Wait.” She tapped her wrists together; the gems on her power gloves struck one another; her shimmering force field activated. She had to keep her forearms up and mostly together to maintain the energy shield. The more she separated her arms, the larger the force field became, but also the weaker. If she were to spread her arms too far apart, the shield would disappear. “Okay. I'm ready.”