Bride of the Castle

CHAPTER TEN

"I THOUGHT YOU SAID you knew where the party was." Cleve Dalton peered down a long, deserted corridor.

"Thought I did."

"Apparently you don't."

"Apparently I misunderstood. I was sure Gene said Arcadia."

"Well, we looked into Arcadia."

"I wonder if he meant Arctogaea, or said it and I misheard."

Thaxton said, "Damned if I can keep all these aspect names straight."

"They're aren't very many that have names."

"Oh? Isn't there a book somewhere that names them all and notes their various characteristics?"

"Yes, the Book of the Castle, in several volumes. But I was talking about names everyone's familiar with."

"I see." Thaxton looked about. "Well, where is this Arcto-something?"

"Arctogaea. It's in another part of the castle. East wing of the keep, I think. That seems a long way to go, though."

"Why don't we try it? The walk won't kill us."

Dalton gave the matter some thought before saying, "Maybe they chose it because Linda could work especially good magic in it."

"Sounds reasonable."

Dalton nodded. "Yeah. On the other hand… "

"Up to you, old man. Confound this bloody maze."

"I sometimes get lost myself, after all this time. Okay, let's check out Arctogaea."

They walked back the way they had come. The halls were deserted, silent. The high stone walls led on and on, corridor after corridor, room after room. Castle Perilous was a daunting maze to all but the most seasoned castle-dweller.

Thaxton loosened a button on his red smoking jacket, a garment he wore perpetually. Dalton usually wore slacks, loafers, and an old shirt. At one time he had been in the habit of gadding about the castle in medieval costume, but gradually fell out of the habit over the years.

They walked, noting aspects along the way. Nothing unusual presented itself: here a windswept plain, there a fenny heath. All were perfectly good worlds for exploring, but not for picnicking.

Thaxton interrupted a conversation about the imminent wedding when he spied something to the right. "Hello, what's this?"

"Something interesting?"

"Thought I saw a dancing girl."

"Oh? Through there?"

They peered into the aspect. Stately willows, cloud-hung skies, bright sunlight. A large dwelling-a manor house, perhaps-stood beyond a line of poplars. To the right, across a weedy lawn, stood a small section of woods.

"Charming," Dalton said. "A scene out of The Wind in the Willows."

"Eh"

"Children's stories."

"Oh. Sir Richard Burton, wasn't it?"

"Good Lord, not Burton. I forget the author, as a matter of fact. Anyway, where are the dancing girls?"

"I'm sure I saw some veiled harem beauty doing the hoochee-coochee," Thaxton said. "Unless it was my imagination."

"Your imagination is perfectly capable of it, as is mine."

"Well, shall we go in and take a look-see? Can't do any harm."

"I don't know. If we're wrong, inhabited aspects can be dicey."

"We'd just be stepping in for a look round, old man. First sign of trouble, we'll nip right out."

"Okay, I'm game."

"Stout fellow."

They stepped over the invisible dividing line between the castle and this strange new world-but it did not appear so strange to Thaxton, nor very new. In fact, the place seemed familiar.

"By God, looks like parts of Surrey, where I was brought up."

"Really?"

Thaxton continued his survey as he walked. "On second thought, it resembles Leicester. A bit, anyway."

"Maybe we've discovered another portal to Earth," Dalton ventured.

"Could there be more than one?"

"Never heard of that, but anything's possible in the castle."

"Well, in that case," Thaxton said, stopping suddenly, "we should go back."

"Why?"

"Someone might recognize me. It would be awkward."

A loud report came from over the trees, somewhere off to the right.

"Trouble?" Dalton wondered.

Turning toward the source of the fire, Thaxton shook his head. "Perhaps someone's out for game?"

Another shotgun blast confirmed his conjecture.

"Well," Thaxton said, with some satisfaction. "Well, well."

"Deep subject," Dalton said. "You're right, we'd better vamoose."

"Let's not be too hasty," Thaxton said.

"I thought you said-"

"Halloo!"

"Oops, we've been spotted." Dalton turned toward the woods.

A man in tweeds had just crossed the treeline, coming across the lawn. He held a shotgun and was advancing toward the two interlopers. His manner, however, did not appear menacing. In fact, he seemed friendly.

"Hello, hello! Can I help you in any way?"

"Just passing by," Thaxton said. "Heard the shooting."

"Much shooting, not much to shoot at, I'm afraid," the man said. "The grouse are bloody wise today, excuse my French. Hello, there. Petheridge is the name. Colonel Petheridge."

"Thaxton, here. And this is Dalton."

Petheridge shook hands with both, warmly. "Out for a stroll, are you?"

"Yes, rather. Do you own this place?"

The man, portly, with a thatch of white hair sticking out from under his tweed cap, laughed good-naturedly. "Not likely. This is Festleton's place. Lord Festleton."

"Ah. Lord Festleton."

"Yes. You're visiting, I take it? Wait half a minute. Thaxton. Didn't you just buy Durwick Farm?"

"Well, actually…"

"I'd heard Throckmorton. Thaxton, is it?"

"Thaxton's the name."

"Pleased to meet you, Thaxton. Well, we're neighbors, then. I'm just up the road from Durwick."

"Uh, seems so," Thaxton said.

Petheridge swung his gun barrel toward the manor house. "Yes, that's Hawkingsmere, the Festleton place. George Huddersmarch, Eighth Earl of Festleton. The resident pukka sahib, don't you know. I do believe those were his shots you heard. In fact, I was just going out to tell him…"

A woman's scream rent the chill air.

"What the deuce!" The colonel exclaimed, whirling about.

"We'd better see about that," Thaxton said.

The three men ran off into the woods, Petheridge leading the way. They wound through brambles and thickets. Dalton's sweater caught on a branch, and he fell behind. Thaxton evened up with Petheridge, but held back. Petheridge seemed to know where he was going.

They came out into a clearing, and there in the middle sprawled a prone figure, a man in a green tweed hunting suit, his face hidden in the loam. Near him stood a woman in a strange outfit, ostensibly Oriental. She had her hands clutched together and both pressed against her mouth, as if to stifle any further screams.

Petheridge walked unsteadily toward the fallen man, breathing hard. "By Jove!"

Thaxton reached the unmoving figure and squatted to inspect. He felt for a pulse.

"I'm afraid…"

"Good god, is he dead?"

"Yes, Colonel, he seems to be. I think we should turn him over. Don't think it will disturb anything."

"By all means, Thaxton."

Thaxton turned the body over. A shotgun was exposed, as was an extensive bloody wound in the dead man's chest. "Tripped," Colonel Petheridge said. "Tripped up and fell, and the gun discharged. What bloody luck!"

"I doubt it," Thaxton said.

"Eh? You doubt it? Good Lord, man. Why?"

Thaxton bent to peer at the wound. "No powder burns to the suit, none on the shirt. None at all. Shot pattern's too scattered for point-blank range, I'm afraid."

"That can't be. Must be some explanation. Good heavens, Lady Festleton-"

Petheridge went to the woman, who looked about to faint. He put down his gun and gathered her into his arms. She began to cry.

"What on earth were you doing out here, Honoria dear?"

"I–I… "

"There now, don't speak, there's a good girl. Let's go back to the house. Come along."

"George… somebody's killed George… Oh… oh… oh…"

"There, there. Come along, my lady. Come right along." Dalton, after having lost his way in the underbrush, finally arrived at the scene on the run. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the clearing, then walked warily toward Thaxton, who was still examining the body.

"Oh, no," Dalton said.

"Murder," Thaxton said. "This is getting to be a habit."

"'Fraid so, old man."

"Look, we'd better not get involved in this."

Thaxton looked about. Other people, hunters all, were entering the clearing. "A bit late for that. Do you think we'd get far if we ran?"

"You have a point. But let's duck out at the earliest opportunity. After all, we were just passing by-"

"You there!" called one of the approaching men, brandishing his hunting weapon in a not-so-friendly manner. "What the devil is going on?"

"Bit late for duckin' out," Thaxton said.

"Here we go again," Dalton muttered.