Too Many Curses (22 page)

Everything took a turn for the worse. It was one thing to destroy the castle, but to open the Door was to invite terrible calamity. Perhaps, Nessy mused, even destroy the world. She didn't know that for certain, but that Margle had feared the Door and Tiama, a living death, felt a connection spoke of its immeasurable dangers.

"Come along, Nessy. I haven't all night."

"Yes, madam."

Tiama cast a hard glare. Again, Nessy struggled with a touch of defiance, but she was just a kobold. She bowed her head.

"Yes, my mistress."

Nessy, who excelled at cleaning, cooking, and tending monsters but was woefully inexperienced in defeating dark wizardesses, could think of nothing else to be done. And all the fallen heroes and villains within the castle's walls were no match for Tiama either. There was no choice available to her. No choice. And no hope. Not for her. Not for the castle. And quite possibly, not for the world.

News of Tiama's claim on the castle spread quickly and, as in any community confronted by such a threat, gatherings sprang up to discuss what should be done. There were dozens of impromptu meetings where spirited fears were shared and plans of action debated. The debates were little more than shouting matches. The meetings produced little more than quiet dread and not-so-quiet terror. Foreboding filled the castle from the top of its tallest tower to the depths of its blackest catacombs—even in the shadowy corner of Nessy's room.

Perched on her cot, Sir Thedeus struggled to maintain order over the chaos of dozens of roaring voices.

"We're doomed!" shouted a cloud.

"Doomed!" agreed a spider on the wall.

"Oh this is terrible!" howled a rat. "I told you this would happen!"

"Quiet down, people!" shouted Sir Thedeus.

A doll with blue yarn hair gasped and fainted.

"Is she okay?" asked the toad prince.

"Who cares? We're all going to be slugs anyway," said the rat.

Nonetheless, the toad hopped to her side. "Are you well?"

The doll wiped her button eyes. "It's just too much to bear. I wasn't meant to live such a life as this."

"I can see you're clearly a lady of fine breeding," agreed the toad. And then he belched loudly enough to startle the gathering. It fell quiet.

The toad prince frowned. "Excuse me. My stomach hasn't been well of late."

"See how well your stomach fares when you've become a slug!" screamed the rat.

Again, there arose the clamor of voices.

"I heard the wizardess plans on feeding us all to her zombie army," said the cloud.

"I didn't know she had a zombie army," said a shadow flickering on the wall.

"They always have a zombie army."

"What a bunch of nonsense," said the rat. "She's not going to feed us to zombies. She's going to transmute us to slugs. Mark my words."

"I'd heard she was going to feed us to a dragon," said the shadow.

"Someone told me it was a sea monster," said the mouse.

"The last rumor I'd caught spoke of a Titan she keeps in her basement and that she was going to put us all in a huge pot and boil us up for his soup."

"I'd heard a giant slug," said the rat.

"Rather obsessed with that slug business, old boy," said the spider.

The rat glared.

While everyone else speculated on what their horrible fate might be (which mostly entailed debating what kind of monster they would be devoured by and how the meal would be prepared), Sir Thedeus sat on the bed, having abandoned his quest for order.

"It's no use, Echo. Not a one of these wankers will be any help."

Echo didn't reply right away, and for a moment, he thought she'd left.

"There must be something we can do," she finally said. "What about that magic sword? It killed a hellhound, didn't it?"

"Aye, but the hound was a mere beast. I dunna see meself killing Tiama in the few minutes the sword affords me. And we still have to wait a whole day for it to recharge itself before I could even try."

"When it comes to slaying wizards without the use of magic swords, the element of surprise is essential," said the monster under the bed. "Most wizards are still mortal, after all. Stick a knife in their back, and they'll perish just the same as anyone."

"I dunna think this witch can be surprised," said Sir Thedeus. "And I'm not at all certain she is mortal. Even if she were, how are we supposed to kill a thing we canna touch?"

"You could throw something at her. Like a big, pointy rock."

"I dunna see that working."

The monster shrugged, jostling the cot. "It's worth a try, isn't it? Of course, even if it did kill her, she'd probably rise from the grave. Wizards have an annoying habit of doing that. But it could gain us time to think of something better."

"None of us could throw a heavy rock that far," observed Echo.

Sir Thedeus measured his thin arms and scowled. But he at least had arms, which was more than poor Echo had.

"You could prop it over a door," proposed the monster. "Then she opens it, and with some luck, it crushes in her skull. Should keep her down for a day or two at the very least."

"Prop it over a door?" Sir Thedeus scrunched his nose. "Ye canna kill a powerful witch with a practical joke. Why dunna we wait until she falls asleep and put her hand in some warm water while we're at it. Or shortsheet her bed."

The monster under the bed sank lower into the darkness. "I'm just brainstorming here. I don't see you coming up with anything better."

Sir Thedeus sighed. Loath as he was to admit it, the plan was the best he'd heard so far.

"I don't think Nessy's ever going to read to me again," whined the monster.

"If only we could get her away from Tiama," said Echo. "Nessy's always the one that comes up with the plans. She'd know what to do."

"Aye, she's a bright lass, but we canna rely on her forever." He glared at the bickering assembly. "We're supposed to be heroes, and not one can come up with a decent strategy. Bloody useless, the lot of us."

"You haven't really given the rock idea a fair chance," said the monster.

"I'm not a hero anyway," Echo added. "I'm a poet."

Sir Thedeus paced from one end of the cot to the other. "Well, I suppose you canna help but be useless then, lassie."

Echo snapped, "If I had a body, any body of any sort, I could be very helpful."

"Aye, ye could dash out a sonnet or two that would be sure to leave the witch trembling in fear. I've yet to see a witch that could stand against a rhyming couplet and a labored meta phor."

"Just because you're frustrated, that doesn't give you the right to be insulting," said the monster.

Sir Thedeus snarled but checked his anger. He wasn't mad at Echo. Her curse was more limiting than most. He was, underneath it all, quite disgusted with himself. As a man, he'd faced every challenge with martial prowess, strength, and courage. As a bat, all he had left was the courage.
He didn't know how to solve a problem that he couldn't just stab until it died.

"Echo, I apologize if I've offended ye."

"Don't worry about it. This is hard on all of us. But my meta phors aren't labored. Except for maybe one poem where I compared love to a kangaroo. I was going through my marsupial period. Dreadful batch of work then."

Sir Thedeus spread his wings and prepared to take flight.

"Where are you going?" asked Echo.

"To find a big, pointy rock. Coming along, lass?" He flew away.

"Wait for me." She floated after him invisibly.

"Good luck," said the monster under the bed.

The rest of the assembly continued their spirited discussion, and the monster was tempted to get up and find someplace quieter. But he was so very comfortable under Nessy's bed, having gotten settled in, and he didn't want her to have any trouble finding him when she came back, as he hoped she would. He closed his three gray eyes and sank deep in the darkness until their squabbling was little more than a distant chatter. He felt around for his books, caressing their covers. There were so many still unread. He clutched a thick one he'd just found that he was certain would be wonderfully entertaining, even though he hadn't seen the cover yet.

Meanwhile, outside the cot in the glow of torchlight, the debate raged. Only the toad prince and the rag doll were
not involved, having slunk away from the main body to share a conversation.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you." She coyly averted her gaze, and it was very difficult to be coy with button eyes. "And how are you, sir? Does your stomach still trouble you?"

The toad frowned. "It's improper to discuss such things, m'lady."

"Nonsense. It's plain you are a born gentleman, and your discomfort is my discomfort."

"Then I am undoubtedly the most fortunate toad prince in this or any other accursed castle."

The doll brightened. Her stitched mouth stretched in a smile as wide as was proper around a fresh acquaintance. "You're a prince?"

The toad puffed out his chest proudly. "Firstborn son and heir to the throne of Neria by the Sea. And you, m'lady?"

She curtsied. "Princess of Ario of the Shire."

"Princess of Ario?" He hopped twice for joy then regained himself. "This is wonderful news. I was sent to rescue you, my princess." He held up his flippers. "Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned. Still, I've never given up hope. Love always finds a way. But why aren't you in the hall of paintings with the other royalty?"

"Margle said there wasn't enough room for another portrait. So he made me a rag doll, thinking it ironic in some fashion, I suppose." She fussed with her yarn hair and
brushed the lint from her green dress. "I must look a mess. Oh dear, oh dear."

He hopped forward and took her hand. "On the contrary, your inner beauty shines through any shell that might strive to contain it."

She giggled.

"It is I who should be embarrassed." He croaked.

"No, good sir, you are certainly the handsomest figure of a toad any rag doll of a princess has ever had the privilege of being rescued by."

He stared deep into her button eyes. "Speaking of which, I've always heard that a kiss of true love can break a curse."

"As have I."

It occurred to neither that they'd just met, and that true love was perhaps expecting too much. For this prince and this princess were raised in a very traditional fashion, and knew the royal etiquette of love at first sight which taught quite plainly who they were supposed to love and how strongly.

"But is it proper for us to kiss so soon?" asked the doll.

"If it is improper, then so be it. I've searched too long not to claim the reward due me. With your permission, of course."

"Granted, my prince."

He puckered his wide mouth and leaned closer, but before their lips could meet, his stomach groaned, and he belched long and loudly and fragrantly.

"Oh, dear." He put a flipper over his mouth.

"It's fine. I don't have a nose."

He smiled. "Truly, you are a forgiving soul." He tightened and burped again, expelling a bit of fire this time.

"Are you certain you're feeling well, my prince?"

"It's nothing," he groaned bravely. "Just some indigestion. I'll be fine. I'll be—"

His chin puffed out. His body contorted. And he noisily vomited up a bit of bile and a small firefly. The sound was so loud and painfully disgusting as to bring all other discussion to an end.

The firefly shook the bile from her wings. Her tail flared a bright crimson. She glanced about the room.

"Hello, what do we have here?" Her eyes glinted, full of demonic mischief. "I claim this castle and all the damned souls within it."

The rat chuckled harshly. "You're too late. Someone else has already claimed it."

"She's going to feed us to a zombie legion," said the shadow.

"Mob," corrected the parrot.

The demon rose in the air. Her wings beat louder than a stampede of antelope. "We'll just see about that."

The toad prince convulsed as he vomited once again. Only this time, he didn't stop with one firefly. This time, he spewed forth a great swarm of them. Hundreds upon hundreds poured from his mouth. They filled the chamber with fire and cold, cruel laughter. Every other creature, screaming, dashed off in all directions, and the demon chased after
them, leaving the chamber mostly deserted. Only the toad, the rag doll, and the monster under the bed remained.

"I hate demons," said the monster.

"You stayed," said the toad prince. He smiled, too weakened to do anything else.

"I shall always remain by your side, my brave prince."

"About that kiss, my princess"—he belched painfully—"perhaps it would be best if we put it off a while."

Nose or no nose, the doll heartily agreed.

Decapitated Dan howled with laughter. He did this quite regularly, for while he was very mad he was also a jolly fellow. Still, it was the former quality that kept away visitors, and Dan had to find his own amusement. This wasn't always easy for a skull, but he'd always lived mostly in his own head. He laughed for reasons all his own at little jokes only he heard, which even he couldn't always claim to understand. This joke, however, he understood perfectly well.

"It's time, isn't it? Oh ho, wonderful, wonderful."

Mister Bones had grown accustomed to Dan's rants, his strange little monologues. But these conversations weren't always as one-sided as it appeared. For madness and magic were strange bedfellows, and not every voice Decapitated Dan heard was a figment of his insanity.

The castle talked constantly. Only Dan was perceptive and deranged enough to decipher its booms and groans, its creaks and moans. Even then, the castle didn't always make
sense, mostly because it was a very large thing with a very large soul and a very complicated mind. Dan caught only portions rumbling through the kitchen on their way to complete thoughts. It was like a thing in the shadows that couldn't be seen except for a small bit of color here and there that strayed into the light, trying to put together an ocean-sized puzzle with only a handful of pieces. But on occasion, the castle found focus for its colossal, rumbling will, and when it spoke—its many voices and hungers as one united desire—Dan understood.