Too Many Curses (16 page)

He lay beside her as if for a casual nap, but kept his eye slyly trained on the mouse hole. He could wait. The hint of dawn was offered by one of the castle's rare windows. This one was small, with iron bars, but it allowed enough sunlight during the days to keep the flower from dying.

"Did it ever occur to you that the mice you eat could very well be accursed folk much like yourself?" asked Rose.

"Certainly. In fact, I place the chances of such as roughly a hundred to one. So really, it's not very likely that I would be devouring more than an ordinary rodent."

"And what if it's that hundredth mouse that ends up in your belly?"

"A good gambler plays the odds when they fall in his favor." He narrowed his eyes so that he could appear to be sleeping, but his gaze remained on the mouse's refuge. "And a cat has to eat. It's not as if I'm cruel about it. I don't bat the poor thing about and play with it. I just crush its neck and gobble it down."

Rose twisted on her stem to shake her bud. "My, aren't we a merciful sort."

There arose a great rumble from one end of the hall. Fortune covered his eyes with his paws. "What's going on now?" He was quite annoyed, for the noise was sure to scare away his dinner. If he hadn't known a bowl of milk was waiting for him this morning, he'd have been terribly disgusted.

"Something's coming." Rose turned her petals in one direction and leaned forward on her stem. "Noisy, isn't it?"

Fortune perked up his ears. The rumble echoed through the bricks. It traveled up his paws and vibrated his fur on end. He hid in the darkness behind her pot and thought himself invisible again.

A gray fog poured toward them. Its movement was slow and ponderous as if it were having to dig its way through the air. The rumble of its motion was akin to boulders being split by lightning. The mist drifted to the window with a clatter, and stone materialized over the small crack to the outside world.

"Hey, I need that!" shouted Rose. "I barely get enough light as it is."

The fog reached down and swirled around the sunflower. Fortune backed away, hackles raised.

"What are you doing?" she said. "Help me!"

He was at a loss as to what he could do to stop the fog. As a cat, few choices were available to him. A low growl rolled from Fortune's throat. Instead of deterring the fog, it spurred it forward, reaching out to him. He turned and dashed off, hoping perhaps to lure it away. The fog didn't chase him. Its icy touch grazed and numbed his tail, but he quickly outdistanced it. Not so quickly as he expected, having to drag some inexplicable extra weight. He waited in the darkness, ears perked, whiskers twitching. Soon the rumble faded away.

Fortune glared at the tip of his tail. The last inch was a lump of granite. Frowning, he went back to check on Rose. The once tall and delicate sunflower was now a block of stone. There was little indication of her shape left. He spotted a protrusion here and there that reminded him of her leaves. Beside her were scattered, here and there, lumps of rock, bricks of odd shapes. They left a trail down the hall.

He swished his tail. Or tried to. The rock made effective swishing impossible. It ungracefully scraped against the stone floor.

"Nessy," he thought aloud. "She'll know what to do."

He headed on his way, his stone tail dragging behind him.

Nessy wasn't surprised to wake to a fresh day of new troubles. She would've been astounded if it had been any other way. She didn't find it as bothersome as she would've imagined, and this lack of personal distress troubled her. She couldn't stomach the notion of adjusting to chaos, finding it acceptable. It was contrary to both her duty and her nature. She spent a thoughtful minute analyzing any possible lessening in her standards, but when the allotted minute passed, she set aside such examination and focused on her new day. Had Nessy been even a shade more self-involved, she would've seen this as undeniable proof that she was as sensible and efficient as ever. She might've also realized that her calmness stemmed from a quiet confidence in her ability to handle these new situations. But this same unassuming confidence kept her from understanding this truth. No one saw themselves as they truly were, and even practical Nessy wasn't an exception to this rule.

Her first stop, before even getting her breakfast, was The Purple Room. She stood silently in the empty prison. Light filtered through the doorway, and she took stock of the hundreds of tiny ashen piles. She was unsure what to make of it.

Sir Thedeus, who'd recovered from his devouring and regurgitation the night before, clung to her shoulder. "Do ye think the creature could've done all this with just a lump of coal?"

"I think there is nothing so predictably unsafe as a demon given what it wants." She frowned, although she didn't really know why. But in the back of her mind, in some obscure, underdeveloped, dishonorable corner of her personality, she felt a twinge of guilt for keeping her bargain.

The nurgax, sensing her internal conflict better than she did, licked her twice with his great, sloppy tongue to comfort her. Nessy smiled and scratched under its muzzle. Its leg stamped rhythmically.

"Maybe the dark creature perished in its escape attempt," said Sir Thedeus.

"It would be wiser to assume she didn't." She rubbed some gray powder between her fingers and sniffed it. It smelled of burnt flesh.

"Perhaps it has left the castle entirely."

Nessy would've liked to believe that, but there was a spell on Margle's castle that prevented casual departure. Powerful enough to hold a demon, she presumed. The demon hadn't escaped its prison yet. Merely found a larger cage.

"A demon lord loose in the castle," said Sir Thedeus. "I can think of nothing more dangerous, lass."

"What about the dark wizardess that carries death in her fingertips?" asked Fortune. "Or a small infantry of unmanned armor roaming the halls? Or a noisy fog that turns things to stone?" He thumped his heavy tail against the floor. "Not to mention the hellhound or the countless other horrors that walk these halls that we've all gotten used to but are nonetheless still quite dangerous."

"Ach, what a mess we've found ourselves in."

When Nessy thought about it, there seemed to be a greater pattern to all of this. But she couldn't see it clearly, only sense it in the vaguest manner. She wished she knew more of magic. Then she might be able to connect it together. Or not. Perhaps her desire for order was so great that she saw design in anarchy. Perhaps the castle was falling apart around her, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

Before this concept could become too unpleasant, she had already moved on to more pressing concerns. Most important of these was Tiama the Scarred. She went to check on the wizardess only to find the guest room vacant.

Melvin of the Mirrors, still wearing Tiama's form, apologized. "She didn't do anything all night. Just stood there, staring into the fire. Then, just before dawn, she got up and left. But not before she trapped me in this reflection, in this mirror somehow." He leaned against the glass. "You have to get me out of here. It was bad enough to be
hostage of a thousand looking glasses, but only one will drive me mad."

"I'll look into it," she promised, but it was not at the top of her priorities.

"This just keeps getting worse, lass."

On the contrary, Nessy didn't think they could get much worse. Whether Tiama roamed about alone or escorted, it didn't make her any more dangerous. She could still take the castle anytime she wanted once she discovered Margle was dead and there would be no way to stop her.

Nessy considered letting the wizardess have the castle. It wasn't the place it'd once been, and Nessy was beginning to doubt she could manage it. She'd been its keeper, but Margle had been its cruel master. Nessy wasn't nearly so menacing. In truth, she wasn't menacing at all. Without the threat of some wizardly wrath, the castle seemed to have grown defiant, ill-behaved, and downright discourteous. Tiama could easily instill some fear into it, and she might have a position available for Nessy too. Or the wizardess just might kill Nessy. But it wasn't the risk of death that kept Nessy from offering Tiama the castle.

She wasn't ready to give up on it yet. Nessy had never believed that fear and respect were the same thing. Nor did she believe that the castle's manners were beyond redemption, for although her accursed home was mostly bad it was at least a little bit good. She hoped it would be good enough.

Nessy, Fortune, and Sir Thedeus spread out to ask any
nearby inhabitants if they'd seen Tiama pass by. None had. It was as if she'd walked out the door and simply vanished. Not an impossibility for a wizardess of Tiama's reputation.

"Maybe the witch got bored and left," said Sir Thedeus.

But the suggestion was just as unlikely as it had been with the demon.

"She wouldn't leave without seeing Margle," said Nessy.

"Do you think she's invisible then?" asked Fortune. He cast his gaze about.

Sir Thedeus fluttered in the air in small circles. "She could be anywhere." He landed high on the wall. "She could be right beside us."

Nessy said, "I don't see why she'd bother. None of us pose any threat to her. Only Margle. And I doubt an invisibility spell would have fooled him." For a moment, she regretted referring to her master in the past tense with the remote possibility an unseen presence might indeed be listening. But she dismissed it as an irrelevant slip. Margle's death wasn't a secret that could be kept much longer. Especially if Tiama had suspicions.

Until Nessy knew otherwise, she accepted that she must rely on several assumptions. Tiama was still in the castle, still unaware of Margle's death, still waiting to meet him. If any of these were incorrect, then there was nothing she could do to save the castle. But she saw no reason to abandon her plans just yet. First among them was a healthy breakfast. It was going to be a busy day. So busy, she reckoned,
that she couldn't allow herself the luxury of enjoying the meal undisturbed. She collected Yazpib the Magnificent for consultation as she ate.

Mister Bones had her breakfast prepared, as always. Decapitated Dan sat quietly on the spice rack, as he usually did during the morning. But his lipless mouth spread in a devious, morbidly joyful grin. She appreciated his silence, but she didn't think it good that he had nothing to say. A short rant would've brought some much appreciated predictability to her disordered world. But Dan just sat there, chortling to himself.

Sir Thedeus, still unsettled by the notion of an invisible wizardess, kept to high perches. He nibbled on an orange Mister Bones was nice enough to peel for him. Fortune lapped at his bowl of milk while the nurgax slurped its own generous serving of ham and eggs.

Yazpib knew immediately what the noisy gray fog must be. "Gorgon haze. It's not so difficult to create. One part basilisk blood, two parts death orchids, four parts volcanic ash. Pour in a copper cauldron, mutter a few incantations, simmer for an hour. Any decent alchemical apprentice could whip up a batch."

"Can it be destroyed?" asked Sir Thedeus. "Can the petrification be reversed?"

"It's practically irreversible after a week, but if we catch it soon enough, it shouldn't be very difficult. How big a cloud was it?"

Fortune paused to lick his lips. "Hard to say. I didn't see
the whole of it. But it sounded as if there were a lot. And there were dozens of bricks left behind."

"The haze turns even the air to stone," explained Yazpib. "No matter. It'll be easy enough to brew up an antidote with Nessy's help."

Nessy asked, "But why is it here?"

The others stood quiet, unsure of the question. Except the nurgax, which rubbed Mister Bones's legs for another serving, and Decapitated Dan, who still snickered.

"Everything in this castle is here for a reason," she said. "Everything is here because of Margle."

"Obviously, lass. But I dunna see what ye are getting at."

"Margle." She tapped her fork against her dinner plate thoughtfully. "It's all Margle."

"Well, he was mad, Nessy lass. Ye canna make sense of a wizard's desires. No offense intended to ye, Yazpib."

"None taken." But Yazpib's fluid darkened with slight annoyance.

"He may have been mad," thought Nessy aloud. "But there was logic to his madness. Every person cursed to dwell within these walls is here because they earned Margle's wrath. Every monster and horrible creature in the bestiary had some sort of value to him. All the gold, jewels, and treasure are desirable to others and so to Margle as well. Even I'm here because he needed someone to look after things."

Yazpib's brain bobbed as he contemplated. "I think I understand what you're getting at. My brother's motivations
were remarkably simple. Revenge, greed and ego. Those were everything to him. Even as a child. Vengeance on those who wronged him, however slight the wrong might have been. Possession of everything of any value or anything that someone else might value. And proving himself better than everyone."

Fortune picked up the conclusion. "But this gorgon haze, it's nothing special. Having it proves nothing of his skill. So it must be here for vengeance. But vengeance against a sunflower that he's already taken vengeance upon?"

Nessy smiled. The pattern was beginning to take shape in her mind.

"It's not Rose."

Fortune cracked his stone tail. It remained thoroughly unswishable. "Me, then?"

"It's not you either. Not you alone." She leaned back in her chair and breathed a sigh of relief. Things were starting to make sense. Not everything, but that even some of it did eased her mind. "It's all of us. Margle wants vengeance on all of us."

"But why? I had nothing to do with his death."

"But Margle must've surely reasoned that this sort of thing might happen one day. The whole castle is filled with his enemies, all of which despised him and would've liked nothing better than to see him dead. And there are a thousand other dangers in these walls. Even the very castle itself hated him. Margle had no friends. Not in this world, nor the next, and especially not in this household. As powerful
and arrogant as he was, even Margle's ego must've allowed for the possibility that he could perish, most likely in this very place, at the hands . . ." She glanced to Sir Thedeus. "Or wings and fangs of one of his enemies."