Castle Murders

Twelve Ville-Des-Morts

The street was dark and deserted, decent people being in bed, sleeping or otherwise, at this time of night. There was, however, a fingernail-clipping of a moon that served to limn the cobblestones in a faint bluish light.

Linda, Gene, and Snowclaw kept to the shadows. They passed through alley after alley, sending gray ghosts of cats scurrying. Every so often they encountered a lighted window ― someone sick, perhaps, or a literate citizen (in these neighborhoods quite rare) up with an absorbing book.

They did run across the odd person up and about, and twice, a group of rowdies. The rowdies they hid from, but in neither case did they suspect the passers-by of being members of Ragueneau's private police force.

They moved on through the old city.

"We could go through the sewers," Gene suggested.

"Yuck," Linda said. "Do you know your way around down there?"

"Nope. But I thought it would lend the right note of romance. Orson Welles in The Third Man. Zither music, you know?"

"Right."

"Wait." Gene stopped Linda with an outstretched arm. Snowclaw halted.

Voices up ahead. Gene motioned toward the mouth of an alley. With a light tread, they ran.

The other end of the alley gave onto a winding street. They turned left and proceeded until they heard more voices, these off to the left. They hurried.

They came running around a bend and into full view of three men talking in the middle of the square. They skidded to a stop.

One of the three walked toward them. "You there! Let's see your papers." He wore, as did his mates, the telltale purple brassard of Ragueneau's auxiliaries.

"Papers?" Gene said innocently.

The man kept coming. "Idiot! Your identification papers."

"No need to get personal."

"Eh? What's your name?" The man's right hand went to his sword hilt.

"Jose Ferrer. And we don't got to show you no stinkin' papers." Gene drew his rapier.

The man drew his weapon almost simultaneously, but backstepped until the other two arrived. Gene and Snowclaw went to meet them. Gene engaged the first man while Snowclaw, sans weapon, faced down the pair.

They didn't know what to make of him. Snowclaw kept advancing purposefully, and, momentarily intimidated by his size and his inexplicable behavior, the two men failed to stand their ground. Then one of them lunged for Snowclaw's massive chest. The point made contact; the thin sword bowed into an arch, and the astonished attacker withdrew.

"Ouch," Snowclaw said, stopping. He opened his shirt and examined his right pectoral. "That broke the skin, darn it." He sprang toward the culprit. "Now you're going to get it."

Both men dashed away.

Gene and his opponent were mixing it up rather well. Snowclaw stood by and watched imperturbably, but Linda gnawed a knuckle, giving a little shriek when Gene had to retreat from a killing lunge.

When the man realized he was alone, the fight went out of him. He backed off, looked over his shoulder, gave a weak, embarrassed smile, then turned and ran.

"You guys are good," Linda marveled.

"Get hurt, Snowy?" Gene asked.

"Nah. There's only one or two spots on me that those pointy things can jab into, but they haven't found 'em yet."

"Amazing," Linda said.

Gene poked him. "Snowy must have some kind of layer of cartilage under his skin. At least that's how I ―"

Running footsteps came from beyond the bend, approaching.

The threesome took off down the street. They made a left at the next crossing and followed a narrow street lined with buildings fronting on the pavement. The sounds of pursuit remained at their heels. They ducked into an alley, ran along it. Snowclaw collided with a pile of debris and made a racket. Linda stubbed her toe, suppressed a curse, and went limping along. Gene was first into the street on the other side, and looked to the right. Five of Ragueneau's henchmen came spilling out of a courtyard. Gene jumped back into the alley, snagged Snowclaw before he blundered out, and turned Linda around. She grabbed onto him.

"Go back! Can you walk?"

"I think I broke my toe."

They worked their way slowly back up the alley. For all Snowclaw's caution, however, he stumbled over the same pile of junk, raising as much racket as before.

"I thought you could see in the dark," Gene growled.

"Who ever said that?" Something breakable shattered. "Darn it, anyway."

"Snowy, quit that!"

"I'm not doing it deliberately! I can't see a thing."

In fact, Snowclaw's eyes were designed to temper the harsh arctic glare of sun on ice and snow. The lenses of his eyes were like polarized sunglasses, and thus made for poor night vision.

A shadow appeared at the end of the alley.

"You there! Stop where you are!"

They turned and tried to run, but Linda could do little better than limp along. When they reached the other end of the alley, Ragueneau's goons were waiting to meet them.

Gene waded in, sword long since drawn, and engaged no less than three of the five. One grabbed Linda, but Snowclaw snapped his neck straightaway. The fourth goon tried to run Snowclaw through, but got his rapier broken in two and himself thrown through a window.

More of the Legate's henchmen came rushing out of the alley like hornets out of a disturbed nest, in numbers more than even Snowclaw could effectively deal with.

By that time Gene had skewered one opponent and punctured another's sword shoulder. Those two incapacitated, Gene took on two more, ran one through immediately and nicked the other's forearm. He fought furiously, his blade whipping back and forth from one opponent to the next. Steel clashed and rang.

But it was no use. Eventually Gene was surrounded and the fight was over.

Gene lowered his sword. "Snowy!"

Snowclaw was busy with an experiment: Could a man's leg be stuffed into his own ear? Not easily, as it turned out. Seven other goons were desperately trying to restrain him.

"What?"

"Give it up, Snowy. They got us."

"Aw, heck." Snowclaw dropped his slightly rearranged victim.

One of the captors, presumably the leader, swaggered up to Gene and took the rapier.

"Eugéne de Périlleux, I presume?"

"C'est moi all over."

"His Eminence, the Legate, craves the honor of your company," the man said with an ironic sneer. "But on the morrow. For tonight, deluxe accommodations await you at the Tower of Tears."

Gene muttered, "Yeah, I hear the Triple-A gave it five stars."

"Take them away."

Gene heard gasps and turned in Snowclaw's direction.

No longer did Snowclaw look human. In fact, he looked not unlike an upright-walking polar bear dressed in seventeenth-century costume. But of course he looked more fierce than any bumbling bear; no bear ever had such elaborate dentition or yellow eyes that glowed in the dark.

He growled. The goons backpedaled away.

"Pay no attention to my friend, here," Gene said. "His therapist says he's getting better."

"Sorcerers!" one of them said, quailing.

Snowclaw tore off his clothing and threw the rags aside. "Boy, that feels better." He was a mountain of white fur.

"A devil!"

"Not really," Snowclaw said. He held up one pawlike hand. Gingerly, he touched the middle of the palm with one finger. In an instant bone-white claws, two inches long and wickedly sharp, sprang from the ends of his fingerlike digits. "But I like kicking a few butts now and then."

They all ran.

Gene picked up his sword and sheathed it. "You had to go and spoil the fun."

"Sorry," Snowclaw said.

Linda let out a windy breath. "Oh, was I scared."

"We would have figured out something," Gene said. "Come on, let's get to the portal. How's your toe?"

"It's all right. Just stubbed. Gene, what's the Tower of Tears?"

"Oh, a prison, with a very good apprentice-torturer program."

"Get out."

"No, it's a sort of teaching hospital in reverse. Clients get personalized service."

"I'm not going to think about it."

"I really am sorry," Snowclaw said, tagging after them.

The portal was in the crypt of a collapsed cathedral that had never been rebuilt. The stairs descended into darkness. Gene went to a nearby niche, slid out a stone, and took a candle and matches out of the cavity. He lit the candle, handed it to Linda, then slid the stone back into place. The threesome went down the winding stairwell single file.

"I'd stash a flashlight, but I worry about it being discovered," Gene said. "Besides, batteries corrode. Never rely on a higher technology when a lower one will suffice."

They walked along a corridor with doorways opening off to burial crypts at either hand. Gene led the way into the third chamber on the right.

The far wall was pierced with a pointed archway, through which light spilled. They passed through it and entered Castle Perilous, stepping from one world to another as if it were nothing. And it wasn't much at all, as far as they were concerned.

Linda did an orchestra conductor's flourish. Her seventeenth-century outfit vanished, replaced with her usual castle duds. Gone also was the blond beard.

"Sheesh! Am I glad to get out of those. I wouldn't make a very good guy."

"I wouldn't touch that line with a fork. Do you think Dolbert and Luster are up in the graving dock now?"

"They sleep up there. We should go up and see what gives."

"It's only three floors. Let's take the escalator."

The escalators were a new feature, tricked up by Linda, Sheila, and a few other adept castle magicians. They seemed to be fairly permanent so far, subject only to minor fluctuations and uncertainties. The devices hummed and clanked satisfactorily, and they actually worked.

"Even if Dolbert manages to get the Voyager running again," Gene said as they ascended, "we still have the problem of locating Melanie."

"We need the locater spell. Osmirik has it in one of his dusty books."

"It works on Earth. No telling how effective it is elsewhere. Besides, she could be in any one of a million universes. It could take years to find her."

"Then we have to come up with a spell that will locate her quicker. That's all."

Gene had no answer.

They found their way through the immense castle with the ease possible only to veteran castle Guests. Still, it was a long walk to the lab.

On the way they heard something ringing ahead. They turned a corner to find a pay telephone on the wall.

"Have you ever seen a phone in the castle before?" Linda asked, amazed.

"Can't say that I have," Gene said. "Going to answer it?"

Linda picked up the receiver. "Hello?… Yes, it is…" She listened for a moment, then said, "Just a minute, please." She put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Do you know anything about a Land Surveyor?"

"Land Surveyor? Nope."

"Guy says he's the Land Surveyor and that he was sent to the castle."

Gene shrugged.

"Uh, sir? I'm sorry, but there's no one here who can help you at the moment… Yes… Uh-huh. You're welcome." She hung up. "I wonder what that was all about?"

"Who knows," Gene said.

When they arrived at the lab, Jeremy was at his work station as usual, typing away at the mainframe terminal.

Gene asked, "Are Dolbert and Luster back in the graving dock?"

"They never come out," Jeremy said. "I never see 'em."

Gene, Linda, and Snowclaw walked to the back of the lab and went through a large oaken door.

The chamber on the other side was immense, but not as big as the lab. The ceiling was the same arabesque of stone arches.

In the middle of the floor sat a strange bell-shaped object, a craft of some sort, up on jacks. There was an oval window in the hull; otherwise the silver-colored machine was smooth and featureless.

Two pairs of legs stuck out from underneath the craft, one pair a lot longer than the other.

Gene stooped. "Hey, Luster?"

"Yo!"

"Uh, you got a minute?"

"Wull, ah reckon ah do."

Luster slid out and stood up. He was tall, wheyfaced, and thin. He wore filthy brown corduroy pants and work boots, and was shirtless except for the top section of his long underwear, which had originally been white, probably sometime early in the last decade. He wore a tattered, sweat-stained baseball cap of the style not seen since the last time Ty Cobb led the American League in batting. His irises were so pale they were almost indistinguishable from the white of the eye.

"Hullo," Luster said, smiling. "Ma'am," a nod to Linda.

"Hi, Luster," Linda said.

"Whut kin ah do for y'all?"

Gene said, "Gee, Luster, we hate to bother you, but we kinda wanted some idea of when you guys think you can get the Voyager back on-line."

"Say whut?"

"Uh, get it working again. Have any idea when?"

"Dolbert? You hear that?"

A high-pitched cackling came from underneath the craft. It sounded at once derisory, ironic, and regretful.

"Dolbert says he heard you."

"Uh-huh. Well?"

"Dolbert? Gene wants to know when."

Chittering, with a hint of sarcastic skepticism.

"Dolbert says it beats the livin' bejesus outta him," Luster reported.

Linda sighed. "We'll have to do it by magic."

"How?" Gene asked.

"Conjuring. I'll just conjure her."

"Can you do that?"

"Never tried it. When Incarnadine was stranded last time, I was tempted. But this time I think I'm going to try it."

"Well, that brings up a lot of philosophical questions," Gene said.

Linda suddenly lost enthusiasm. "Yeah, I know. For instance, will it be the _real' Melanie, or just some fake? Like most of the stuff I whip up."

"Most of your stuff is pretty permanent," Gene said.

"Yeah. Good thing, too. Imagine suddenly losing your clothes. Embarrassing. But that doesn't mean they're real. Even if it worked, if I could conjure Melanie, I could never really be sure that the real one wasn't still off in a wild aspect somewhere, lost and alone."

Linda slumped to a wooden crate. "Damn it."

"Somebody in trouble?" Luster asked.

Gene explained.

"Wull, that shore is a pity. Hear that, Dolbert?"

Sympathetic chirring.

"Yeah, I know it. Dolbert says he's shore sorry, but he don't know whut all he kin do beyond whut he's doin' right now."

"That's okay, Luster," Linda said. "I'm sure you guys are trying your best."

Dolbert slid out from underneath the Voyager and stood. He didn't look much like his brother. He was short and his eyes were darker. He wore no shirt under his bib overalls. His baseball cap was, if possible, even more rat-chewed and moth-eaten than his brother's. Grime covered him. His smile was wide and perpetual.

He guffawed and pointed to the crate Linda was sitting on.

Gene turned to Luster. "What did he say?"

"He says maybe that new particulator we ordered'll do the trick."

"Particulator?" Linda said, getting up.

"Yup. We done ordered it in one of them whatchucall yore aspects. Lord Incarnadine told us it might be had there. And shore enough, it were."

"What's it do?" Gene asked.

"Danged if we know. Jus' know that one that's in the Voyager's cracked."

"Oh. And you think that might be the problem?"

"Could be. We replaced a couple parts so far. Dolbert even built one or two. They didn't do the trick. But this one jes might." Luster took off his cap, exposing a thicket of yellow hair. He scratched his head. "Then agin, maybe not."

Gene asked, "When do you figure you can install this gadget?"

"Dolbert?"

Dolbert laughed and shrugged his narrow shoulders.

Luster said, "Dolbert says there ain't nothin' standin' in the way o' doin' it right now."

Gene dragged up another crate, this one empty. He sat.

"Mind if we watch you doctors operate?"

Dolbert giggled.