Castle Dreams

One Castle — Gaming Hall

“Going to the toad-fling tomorrow?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Linda Barclay, pretty, blond, and blue-eyed — sorceress par excellence and general-utility magician — looked up from her bridge hand and regarded her partner, Gene Ferraro, with an expression of bemused hauteur. This reaction was something of a pose, a defensive posture, now almost automatic, against what she suspected was imminent more standard Ferraro wisecracking.

She said, “Am I going to the what?”

“Toad-fling,” Gene said, carefully aligning his cards as he studied them. “Good Will Turkey Shoot. World Cup Spitball Meet. Whatever they’re calling it.”

“You mean the All-Worlds Jousting Tournament?” asked Deena Williams, seated to Linda’s left. Turning her dark head slightly, she directed her next remark to the strange creature sitting directly across from her: a large, white-furred beast, who happened to be her partner in this rubber. “Your call, Snowclaw.”

“Snowclaw” was an understandable moniker in light of the creature’s long, icy-white claws. Unwieldy as they appeared, they in no way inhibited the casually deft sorting by suit of a hand of bridge.

Snowclaw gave a sarcastic grunt. “Who dealt this mess?”

“You always complain,” Gene said. “Every hand. Which leads me to believe, you clever beast, that it’s some kind of psychological stratagem.”

“Some kind of what?” Snowclaw heaved a sigh. “Pass.”

“Don’t think you’re putting anything over on anyone.”

“Toad-fling,” Linda said disapprovingly. “How cruel to toss helpless toads.”

“Nonsense,” Gene said. “Your regulation flinging toad is bred for the job. They don’t mind a bit. In fact, they live to be flung. It fulfills their purpose in life.”

“The SPCA should hear about this,” Linda said. “I have half a mind to report it myself. Three spades.”

“What’s this toad-flingin’ stuff, anyway?” Deena was curious to learn. “I thought it was knights on horses runnin’ at each other with spears. Pass.”

“Lances,” Gene corrected. “Well, I heard they’ve de-emphasized the traditional combat angle. Now it’s mostly track-and-field. Sort of a medieval Olympics — though they do still hold the joust. And a contestant still stands a chance of getting his neck broken. Four no-trump.”

“Or hers,” Linda said. “They have a woman’s joust, too. Four no-trump, Gene? You sure are adventurous today. Remember, we’re vulnerable.”

“Too late,” Deena said. “No takin’ back bids.”

“Going for the slam?” Snowclaw speculated. “Need a little danger, eh?”

Gene let out a breath. “It’s been so damned boring around here lately. I crave excitement once in a while.”

Snowclaw said, “I’ve been getting a little antsy myself, now that you mention it. Pass.”

“Speaking of adventurism. Maybe you’re not playing possum.”

“What’s a possum?”

Snowclaw looked capable of handling any excitement that might come his way. A cross between a polar bear and a bipedal cat, he had fierce yellow eyes over a snoutful of wicked teeth. For all that, his disposition seemed amiable enough.

There were other castle Guests in the Gaming Hall. At one chess table, Cleve Dalton and Lord Peter Thaxton had locked horns in an especially desperate endgame. They sat unmoving, eyes on the board. In another corner, Melanie McDaniel — russet-haired and freckle-faced — strummed a guitar, singing some Scots ballad or another. She played well, but her alto voice squeaked in the upper registers. Nevertheless, five listeners sat around her in cross-legged appreciation.

““All this, our South, stinks of peace,”” Gene said.

Deena frowned suspiciously. “Are you quotin’ poetry again?” She cocked her head toward Linda. “He’s quotin’ poetry again.”

“Right, but I wrote it,” Gene said.

“Liar,” Linda said casually.

“Oh, all right. It was actually penned by one of the immortal bards. A laureate among poets.”

When no one obliged, Deena reluctantly asked, “Oh, yeah? Who?”

“Geraldo.”

“Get out.”

“No, really. It was during his Futurist period. Your call, Linda.”

“Five diamonds.”

“One ace is all you have?” Snowclaw was amused.

“’Cept for the one up my sleeve, you stinker.”

Snowclaw chuckled. “We’ll just let you guys hang yourselves.”

“Goin’ for the slam,” Deena said. “You’re right, Snowy. We gonna watch ’em twist slowly in the wind. I pass.”

“Gene, why don’t you go off somewhere,” Linda said, “and get yourself into something? Take Snowy, go exploring. Pick a world, any world. After all, the castle has a hundred forty-four thousand of them.”

Gene leaned back and scratched his left thigh, tugging at the stretchable material of his green tights. “Hell, we’ve done that. Just last week we hiked off into that aspect with the ruined temples in a sort of jungle setting. Know the one I mean?”

“I know of several,” Linda said.

“The ones that look vaguely like Angkor. Through the portal near the stairwell to the King’s Tower.”

“Oh, that one. Anything interesting?”

Gene shrugged. “Ruins. Jungle. Great for archaeologists. Otherwise, it was pretty boring, and the mosquitoes were as big as hang-gliders.”

“I’m still itching,” Snowy said.

“After we came out of there,” Gene went on, “we tried a few more aspects. But they were washouts, too. Maybe we’ve explored all the interesting ones.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Linda said.

“Maybe I just need a change.”

“Why don’t you go back home for a little vacation? How are your parents, by the way?”

“They’re in Florida for the winter.”

“Go there.”

“Don’t care for Florida in the winter. Or the summer.”

“Go to California. You haven’t been there since —” Linda realized too late she was treading sensitive ground.

“Since Vaya threw me over to be a biker moll,” Gene said.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

“Oh, it’s all right. After all, she was a barbarian queen when I found her, [1] and after all attempts at civilizing, she reverted to type. I just hope she’s happy.”

“Do you think she’s still in southern California?”

“The club she joined is based in L.A., but she could be anywhere,” Gene said as he made a minute adjustment in the arrangement of his cards. “And who knows if she stayed with that particular fraternity of motorcycle aficionados.”

Deena asked, “When did you last hear from her?”

“I haven’t heard from her since that letter telling me she was dropping out of UCLA.”

“Maybe you should go look for her,” Linda said.

Gene scowled. “Whatever for? As I said, I hope she’s found happiness. As a tribal queen, she was used to being serviced by a cohort of husbands and male concubines. Mayhap a biker gang is just her cup of tea.”

“You sound just a little bitter,” Linda said.

“Do I? I’m not. Not at all.”

The binding continued, Gene calling with five no-trump, Linda telegraphing her two kings by Blackwood convention: “Six hearts.”

“Pass,” Deena said. “Your bid, Gene, honey. And just remember, there’s always another fish in the ocean.”

“I hate fish. Oh, what the bloody hell — seven no-trump.”

Linda rolled her eyes to the high-vaulted ceiling. “Gene, you shouldn’t have.”

Snowclaw chortled. “A grand slam! You’re never going to make it, good buddy.”

“Live dangerously, I say. What else have I got to occupy my time? Besides, it’s a verbal contract, and, as everyone knows —”

“Gene,” Linda said, “there’s no excuse for boredom. You live in Castle Perilous, which just happens to be the most interesting place in the entire universe — in the whole darn omniverse, or whatever you call the big thing that contains all the littler universes.”

“Multiverse.” Gene gave a tiny shrug. “Well, as the Bauhaus boys said, less is more … more or less.”

Snowclaw blinked. “Eh?”

“I never liked their movies,” Linda said.

“You should take up golf, Gene,” a new voice broke in.

The bridge players turned to regard lean, wiry Cleve Dalton, who was sitting back after making a move that had been prefaced by a good fifteen minutes of thought. Dalton had the face of a Yankee storekeeper and the manner of a high-end-billable-hour lawyer, though in his pre-Perilous life he’d been a literary agent.

Gene said, “But you guys gave it up.”

Dalton pointed to his opponent. “He did, not me.”

Deena asked, “You really swear off for good, Lord Peter?”

Lord Peter Thaxton looked up from the chess board. Dressed in a maroon smoking jacket with ascot, he was light-haired and distinguished-looking. Although he likely hadn’t seen forty yet, his face was the sort that might have looked middle-aged at twenty-five.

“I’ll never swing a mashie niblick again.”

“Or a brassie, or a cleek,” Dalton added.

“None of those items.”

“Lord Peter, you always hated playing,” Gene said, “yet you always let Mr. Dalton goad you into it.”

“No more,” Lord Peter said. “I shall not be playing golf again. Ever.”

“He means it,” Dalton said gravely, nodding. “Ever since he solved the Peele Castle murders, he’s been impossible.”

“Mr. Dalton,” Linda said, “you can surely find another golf partner.”

“Oh, I play a few holes with Rashid occasionally. But it’s just not the same. Half the fun was listening to his lordship swear.”

“I’m glad to have provided you with so many hours of amusement,” Lord Peter said dryly.

“You did, old boy. You did.”

“Though hereafter you’ll have to look elsewhere for fun and games, I’m afraid.”

“But I can still hear you cuss when I beat you at chess.”

“This one’s not over. Don’t take a henhouse census just yet, old man.”

“Merely a matter of time, milord.”

Lord Peter merely grunted as he studied the board.

“Well,” Gene said, “something will come along. Something always does. And then I regret that things aren’t boring any more. Meanwhile, I try to avoid boring myself and others.”

“You’re about as boring as a ten-car pileup,” Deena said. “Is that it, Mr. Bridge Wiz, or are we gonna have to go around with this nonsense again?”

“Yes, ma’am. Who leads?”

“I’m dummy,” Linda said.

“Then I lead,” Snowclaw said. He laid down the six of hearts.

“By the way,” Gene said, “where’s Incarnadine been lately?”

“Who knows?” Linda said. “As usual, he’s had business off in one of his many universes.”

“A finger in every cosmological pie.”

“For a king, he does get around.”

Melanie finished her Scots ballad, smiled at the applause, then launched into a Breton folk song.

The hand went badly for Gene and Linda. With Linda’s hand as dummy, Gene played a club to her queen and ran the jack of diamonds. He played cagily enough after that, testing clubs, running them, then testing hearts by playing his eight to the dummy’s queen.

He took every trick but the last. The defenders were one card too strong in hearts, Deena spoiling with her jack. The contract was blown.

“Rats,” Gene said mildly, throwing in his hand.

“You should’ve been content with the little slam,” Snowclaw said.

“Content,” Gene mused.

“You seem kinda troubled, chum.”

“Weltschmerz.”

“What’s that?”

Linda said, “Sounds German. Gene, you’re always using foreign words to show off.”

“Yeah, that’s me, your basic intellectual snob. You ought to hear me swear in Sanskrit.”

“Is that a town?” Snowclaw asked.

“You’re thinking of Scranton,” Gene said. “And I’ve uttered mighty oaths there, too.” Gene slowly got to his feet. “Well, I think I’ll take a walk.”

“Want some company?” Snowclaw asked.

“No, thanks, big guy. I think I want to solo this time. Got to do some thinking.”

“Suit yourself.”

“See you later, people,” Gene said in general farewell, waving as he strolled away.

Snowclaw watched him leave, then shook his massive head. “I dunno. I’m kind of worried about him. He’s been acting funny lately.”

“Cabin fever,” Linda said. “You hang around the castle too much, you get it.”

Melanie walked over. A steel string was dangling from her guitar.

“Busted my high-E,” she said. “I’ll have to go back home to find another.”

“No need for that,” Linda said. She sat back, crossed her arms, and closed her eyes. Something materialized on the card table — a small packet.

Melanie reached for it eagerly. “Bless my soul, a new guitar string!” In fact, she was not in the least surprised, having witnessed Linda’s materialization talents many times. “Thanks, Linda.”

“No problem,” Linda said, then yawned. Recovered, she asked, “Where are your kids?”

As if on cue, two bonneted nursemaids, each bearing a swaddled infant, entered the hall.

“Here they are!” Melanie said, running to meet them. She took one of the babies and carried it back to the table.

“Can you tell them apart yet?” Linda asked.

“Always could,” Melanie said, holding the infant up. “This one’s Rafe. Want to hold him?”

“Me? Sure!”

“Hey, I want one of those,” Deena said.

“Your own, or one of these?”

“Both, but for now, I’ll take this one’s brother.”

“You get Gareth. Here, Linda. Be sure to support his head. Like this, see?”

Linda gingerly accepted the precious burden. “Oh, he’s a heavy little rascal, isn’t he?”

Melanie took the other baby and went to Deena. “They’re both gaining weight fast.”

Deena expertly enfolded Gareth in her arms.

Linda tickled Rafe’s tiny dimpled chin. “Hey, there, kiddo.” Not yet cognizant of humorous gestures, Rafe was dismayed.

“Thank you!” Melanie called after the nursemaids as they left the room. To Linda she said, “They eat like lumberjacks. My boobs are always sore.”

“You’re lucky to have enough milk to breast-feed,” Deena said.

“Breast-feeding is best for babies if it’s possible. But it’s hard to nurse twins. By the way, where was Gene off to?”

“Nowhere in particular,” Linda told her.

“He’s been looking kind of depressed lately.”

“It really hasn’t shown until recently, but he’s been unhappy since Vaya ditched him,” Linda said. “He won’t admit it, but she was the love of his life.”

“She must have been something.”

“A real bombshell.”

With eyebrows arched appreciatively, Dalton said, “I’ll second that.”

“Ever since,” Linda went on, “Gene’s been traipsing through one castle aspect after another, trying to find something to take his mind off her. As I said, he’d never admit it, but it’s the truth.”

“When did he lose her?” Melanie wanted to know.

“Shortly before you came to the castle, I think it was.”

“I don’t understand you humans,” Snowclaw said.

Linda turned her head. “What don’t you understand, Snowy?”

“Mating. I mean, the way humans carry on about it.”

“How is it handled in your world? I don’t think I’ve ever asked before.”

“Handled?”

“How is it … uh, you know … done?”

Snowclaw shrugged. “Well, you just do it. It’s something that’s got to be done, and you just go out and get it over with, that’s all. And then you go back home and sleep for a week.”

“I see. Um …”

“Maybe that’s preferable,” Dalton commented. “No fuss, no hearts and flowers.”

“Maybe it’s the best way,” Linda said, “but it doesn’t sound like very much fun.”

“Fun?” Snowclaw said dubiously. “What does fun have to do with it?”

Linda began, “Well, you —” Then she thought better of it. “Uh, Snowy, maybe you’d better talk to Gene about this.”

“Anything you say, Linda. Actually, I’m not all that interested in the subject, if you want to know the truth.”

Dalton interjected, “Sometimes I think the subject isn’t worthy of all the attention that’s usually paid it.”

“Anyway,” Linda said, “I wish Gene would forget about the past. He’s been so glum lately he hasn’t been much fun at all. One thing he knows how to do is liven things up. When he’s in the right mood.”

“He’ll get over her,” Melanie said. “Just like I got over the father of these little joy-bundles.”

“You don’t still think of Chad?” Linda asked pointedly.

Melanie gave a wan smile. “Oh, every once in a while. Sometimes, at night, when the castle is quiet …” Melanie suddenly frowned. “You know, Linda, for months now I’ve been telling you all the secrets of my love life, and just now it suddenly struck me that I know zero about yours. Fair is fair.”

Linda snorted. “Me? What love life?”

“Oh, come on.”

“I’ve been ditched so many times I’ve thought of buying a backhoe.”

“I think you did mention a boyfriend once.”

“Yeah, I had one or two of those, and even a fiancé. But it all came to zilch zip.”

“I feel as though I’m eavesdropping,” Dalton said, eyes on the chessboard.

“I got no dirt to hide, no scandal,” Linda said. “Kind of wish I did.”

Melanie struck a pose. “Meanwhile I must struggle with the stigma of the Unwed Mother,” she said, giving the line a dramatic reading.

“Aw, nobody cares about that any more,” Linda said.

“I do. I still believe in marriage. Call me old-fashioned.”

“Like sex,” Dalton said, “and love, for that matter, marriage is beyond the realm of fashion. It’s a necessary institution. Always was, always will be.”

“You’re an old fogey, Mr. Dalton,” Linda said.

“My dear, you are quite right. And I glow with pride of it.”

Snowclaw asked, “Just what is marriage, anyway?”

There was an awkward silence.

Dalton began, “Well, it’s …”

There was a commotion in the corridor. Shouts, then murmuring voices.

“I wonder what’s up?” Linda said.

“I’ll go see,” Melanie said and hurried to the open door.

“Maybe it’s the excitement Gene was looking for,” Dalton speculated. “In Castle Perilous, you don’t have to wait very long for some.”

“I don’t like excitement,” Deena said nervously. “I like it when it’s quiet.”

Linda said, “I kind of get nostalgic for the calmer periods myself, sometimes, especially when the sludge starts hitting the whirling blades.”

“Yeah, I can do without that sludge stuff,” Deena said, scowling. “Ever since I come here it’s been flyin’. First it was the Blue Meanies invadin’, then it was demons, then crazy people comin’ out of mirrors scarin’ everybody.”[2] Deena shook her head. “I don’t need that.”

“It does get interesting around here at times,” Dalton admitted. “But it’s good for the circulation. Gets the blood racing. It’s always good to —”

“Hah hah!”

Dalton regarded his chess opponent, from whom the outburst had come. “What on earth has got into you?”

Lord Peter sat back, a triumphant smirk on his lips. “I moved!”

“Well, congratulations. What did you move?”

“Bishop to queen’s three. There. You’re in check.”

Dalton studied the board. “So I am.”

“You always manage to squirm out of it, but this time I’ve got you. You’re hemmed in on all sides. You must either move your king or take the bishop with the queen, but doing the latter will put your queen in jeopardy. And if you move your king, it’s only a matter of time before I corner you.” Lord Peter folded his arms and gloated.

“What a jam,” Dalton said appreciatively. “Quite a nice little trap you set for me.”

“And have just sprung mercilessly.”

“So you have, so you have. Unless …”

Lord Peter sat up. “Unless?”

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, if I take your king’s bishop with my queen’s, you’re in check … and — unless I’m entirely misapprehending the strategic situation — that’s mate.”

Lord Peter saw with horror that Dalton was right. “Impossible!”

“I would not kid his lordship.”

Lord Peter looked ill. “I think I’ll go to my room and blow my bloody brains out.”

“Here, here, that’s hardly called for. Besides, you’ll have the chambermaids all upset.”

Lord Peter thought it over. “You’re right, they’ll refuse to step into the place and there’ll be no end of mess.” He gave the matter more consideration. “I’ll throw myself off the King’s Tower.”

“Now you’re being reasonable.”

The giggling from Deena and Linda quickly faded as Melanie came running into the room. They saw the look on her face.

“Melanie, what’s wrong?” Linda asked uneasily.

“It’s the servants,” Melanie said grimly. “They’re saying something happened to Lord Incarnadine. Word came through from the aspect he’s in.”

“My God, what —?”

“They’re saying …” Melanie swallowed hard and tried again. “They’re saying he’s dead.”