Castle Perilous

Keep — Elsewhere

“We’re lost again,” Snowclaw said.

“Tell me something new.”

Gene scratched his head and looked around. They had followed a spiral stairwell down to this, a spacious airy room with numerous window alcoves. An Oriental rug covered the flagstone at the far end of the room, and on it were positioned various pieces of furniture — a divan, a few straight-back chairs, two low tables. A sideboard set against the wall held several wrought-iron candelabras bearing the stubs of burned tapers. The alcoves were set at even intervals along the right wall; a single flush window was cut into the far wall, and to the left, an arched doorway led through to the descending spiral of another stairwell.

Gene said, “Linda, do you remember Dalton saying to go right at that first landing? Or was it left?”

Linda stepped past him, following Snowclaw toward the windows.

“I’m sure he said right. And we went right. That’s all I’m sure of, though.”

“Damn. Well, maybe we just keep following the stairs. But it seems to me we should have come to that grand ballroom by now.”

Yawning, Gene walked to the far end of the room and flopped down on the divan. He yawned again and keeled over on his side.

“Tired,” he said quietly, closing his eyes.

Snowclaw said, “Hey, Gene. Come look at this.”

Gene’s eyes popped open. “What?” He cranked himself up and shuffled over to the alcove into which Snowclaw and Linda had squeezed themselves. They were leaning out of the narrow Gothic window and looking up, Linda bending and ducking her head under Snowclaw’s outstretched arm. Gene craned his neck, couldn’t see a thing, so he stepped back and went into the next alcove. He looked out.

There was nothing above but clear sky. Hundreds of feet below, waves crashed onto black rocks at the foot of a shear cliff. There was nothing below the window. Gene gasped and put his arms out, bracing himself against the stone jambs. The window was suspended in air, floating a few feet above the edge of the cliff. The angle was disorienting; the window was canted vertiginously forward, unnaturally raising the horizon ahead. The whole world out there was cockeyed. Gene stepped back and turned around. The room was level, just as before. He looked out again, trying to adjust to the strange perspective. Nearby, other craggy promontories rose from the water like the heads of sea monsters. He bent and looked out. The dark band of a squall line edged the horizon. Between it and the rocks, about a mile out to sea, a long, high-masted ship tacked through choppy waters, its sails billowing, a voluminous spinnaker blooming off the prow.

“Hey, this is weird.”

“You said it,” Snowclaw agreed. “Look at that thing.”

“What, the ship?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“What would you call it?”

“I dunno. A floating city.”

“Huh?” Gene leaned out as far as he dared and glanced around. “Where?”

“Up there. You mean you can’t see it?”

Gene looked up. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Great White Stuff! Gene, how could you miss it?”

“Where? I don’t see anything but that sailboat out there.”

“Sailboat. What sailboat out where?”

“That yacht, or whatever you call it. Out to sea.”

After a pause that contained much bafflement, Snowclaw said, “What sea?”

“What …? Now, wait just a minute …” Gene left the window.

“Where in the world are you looking?” Linda asked as Gene came into the first alcove.

“Move over, Snowclaw.”

“Sorry.” Snowclaw edged aside for him.

The three of them looked out.

This window opened onto a different world. A drop of only a few feet ended on the grassy slope of a high hill. Below was a valley through which a tree-lined stream meandered. The day was bright and sunny, a stiff breeze stirring the tall grass.

“That’s what we were talking about,” Snowclaw said, pointing up.

Gene looked.

It was a city in the clouds, moving slowly and majestically across the sky. The main structure was a lens-shaped silver disk at least a mile in diameter, studded top and bottom with clear bell-shaped bubbles that housed complex structures within them. The silver disk gleamed brilliantly. The city had come out of a bank of puffy clouds, and now its leading edge cut into another. Gene watched as the clouds enveloped it. The city soared through and began to exit into a clear patch of blue-violet sky.

Gene shook his head slowly. “I’ve never …” He shrugged.

“Yeah,” Snowclaw said. He looked at Gene. “Now, what was that about a sailboat?”

Still transfixed, still awed, Gene delayed answering for a moment. Then he said, “Huh? Oh.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “You better go look for yourself.”

Snowclaw left the alcove. Linda stayed, leaning her hip against the windowsill and absently resting a hand on Gene’s shoulder.

“Beautiful,” she murmured. “I wonder who they are and how they came to build such a thing.”

“And how the hell they did it,” Gene said. “Your genuine antigravity-type flying city. My God.”

“Or is it magic, I wonder?”

“Great White Stuff!” came Snowclaw’s shout from the next alcove. “Linda, you’ve got to see this.”

Gene continued to gaze at the airborne marvel until Linda’s squeal drew him away from the window. He walked past his companions and went into the third alcove down.

Here, again, was a totally different vista, this one of a vast desert of yellow sand wind-combed into furrowed dunes. Dark needles of rock poked up here and there, throwing stark shadows across the sand. Huge winged creatures — they were too big and too strange-looking to be birds — wheeled in a sky washed out by a searing, blue-white sun. With great batlike wings they soared on rising thermals, circling, searching. For some reason Gene didn’t think the object of the search was something that had died.

The next window looked out on forested mountains, and the drop to the ground was over a hundred feet.

The three of them began running from alcove to alcove — there were fifteen in all — oohing and ahing, yelling for each other to come look at this or that. There was another seascape, this one of an ocean washing a bone-white beach under a sky of bilious yellow. And another forest, though the vegetation was unearthly, funguslike and strangely colored. There were mountain views, wide aspects of parched wasteland, nightmarish landscapes with odd-colored skies, pleasant vistas of scenic countrysides. One window looked out into almost total blackness — nothing out there but a vague suggestion of looming shadows.

When Gene went back to catch one more glimpse of the flying city, it was gone. He noticed that the window was slightly higher over the hilltop now. These aspects, it seemed, were not entirely stable.

He left the alcove and went to join Linda on the divan.

Snowclaw sat with one leg up over the arm of a carved wooden chair, still musing over what he’d seen. “Crazy,” he said, shaking his head, massive white brow creased into a frown.

“Yeah,” Gene agreed. He sat down heavily.

Linda said, “I was wondering why every time I looked out a window, things looked different. I thought it was just because the castle was so big.”

Gene said, “You’ve run into this before?”

“Yes, but the castle was under me when I looked out. Not like this, floating along up in the air and all. I would have totally lost my mind.”

Gene considered it. “That might mean that the castle itself exists in other worlds. But not in all of them. Like the one we come from, for instance.”

“No big castle in my world either,” Snowclaw said. “Leastwise, none that I know of.”

“But it’s only under siege in one of them,” Gene said. “So far as we know.”

“We know nothing,” Snowclaw muttered. “We can’t even find our way to the pisser.”

“What was it we’re supposed to be looking for?” Linda asked.

“The armory,” Gene said. “Dalton suggested we might need weapons.”

“Oh. I’d like some clothes. It gets cold here sometimes, and this thing …” She plucked at her T-shirt disdainfully.

“Yeah, I’d like to get out of this monkey suit,” Gene said.

Smiling toothily and rubbing his white pelt, Snowclaw said, “I’m rather attached to this coat.”

Linda giggled. “It must keep you really warm.”

“Yeah, too warm for this climate. I should begin to shed some of it soon, though, if I stay here much longer.”

“Unfortunately,” Gene said, “it looks as though we’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

Linda’s face fell. “Yes. It is unfortunate, isn’t it.” She stared moodily into her lap. “I don’t know how long I can last before I go completely to pieces.”

“Sorry, Linda. I didn’t mean it to sound as if we’d never get out. If anyone thinks we’re going to stay lost in this funhouse on a permanent basis, they have another think coming. I intend to find a way back home. Somehow.” He reached and gave her shoulder a playful shake. “So buck up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m scared shitless myself.”

“Want a Valium?”

“Huh? Are you still conjuring those things?”

“I haven’t taken it yet,” Linda said. “I’m debating.”

“If you think you need it, go ahead.”

Linda looked at the white pill in the palm of her hand. She closed her fist over it. “I don’t think I will … just yet.”

“Good.”

“I could use a drink,” Snowclaw said.

“Alcohol, you mean?”

“I don’t mean snow melt. I’ve been looking for a drink ever since I came into this place. Didn’t care for that smelly flower water they had upstairs.”

“What do you drink usually?”

“It’s called shrackk. Made from the blubber of a big land mammal.”

“Something like a seal?”

“What’s a —” Snowclaw regarded the ceiling with a look of mild surprise. “Yeah, I guess I do know what a seal is. Or at least I know what you mean. Right, it’s sort of a seal but with big teeth and claws. Pretty dangerous if you let one corner you. They can be outrun pretty easily, though. I hunt ’em. That’s my trade.”

Gene asked, “Is there civilization where you come from?”

“Oh, sure. I make it into town about two, three times a year. I sell my pelts, get drunk, kick some butts, rip a few heads off, generally have a good time.” He snorted sarcastically. “And lose all my money and wind up strapped again.” He yawned and snapped his massive jaws shut. “What a life. What a life.”

“Sounds like a colorful occupation,” Linda commented.

“It’s a living.”

They rested awhile, then left the room to continue down the winding stairs.

They reached a landing and went out into a hallway. Turning right, they walked for a while before coming to an intersecting corridor. To the left a short way down was a doorway spilling light. They went in.

“I don’t believe we found it,” Linda said.

Looking like a museum, the room was filled with ancient and odd-looking military apparel. Suits of mail hung upon wooden dummies, suits of armor stood by themselves. The walls were festooned with shields of various shapes and sizes. At the far end of the room was an opening and a counter. Behind the counter stood an elderly man dressed in a red-hooded shoulder cape. He was smiling, leaning on the counter with hands folded.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly.

“I guess this is the armory.”

The man nodded. “It is, sir. And I am the armorer.”

“Uh-huh.” Gene glanced around. “Do we just take what we need?”

“If you wish, sir. However, I am available to serve you should you need assistance. If you desire a weapon, I must fetch it from the storeroom.”

“Oh.” Gene knocked a knuckle against an iron breastplate. “Thanks.” He stepped over to examine a shield emblazoned with a particularly interesting coat-of-arms.

“Do you have any clothes?” Linda asked the man.

“I’m afraid I have nothing but military apparel, which would hardly befit a gracious lady such as yourself.”

“Oh. Do you know where I could —”

“I think you’d be wanting to see the seamstress, my lady.”

“Oh, good. And where —”

“I’m afraid her shop is a long way from here. It’s on the other side of the keep, on the twentieth floor of the Queen’s Tower.”

“Oh.”

Gene came back to the counter. “I want a sword,” he said. “And a knife.”

“A sword … and a knife.”

“Uh, yeah.”

The man sighed. “Would you have any idea as to the type of sword or knife you’d be wanting?”

“Well …”

“There are many varieties, you know. All lengths and sizes, all used for various and sundry purposes.”

“Well, I sort of want a general … you know,sword.”

“A sword befitting a general?”

“No, no. Your average all-purpose, general-utility thing.”

The man frowned. “Hmmm.”

“Something about yea long.”

“Ah, a longsword. Two-edged, then?”

“Uhhh … yeah. Two-edged.”

“Two-handed or one-handed haft?”

Gene shrugged. “Whatever. Two-handed.”

“Cross hilt or decorative?”

“Um.” Gene crossed his arms and rubbed his chin.

“I might not have the decorative in a two-hand-hafted longsword, come to think of it. One moment, sir, and I will look.”

The man went back to a row of free-standing shelves, returned with a huge sword and laid it on the counter. “Will this do, sir?”

“Holy heck.” Gene picked the thing up, grasping the haft with both hands. The sword was heavy and unwieldy, almost impossibly so, and about half again as long as it needed to be. He glanced at the elaborately wrought hilt and laid it back on the counter. “You have anything a little easier to handle?”

“Many things. Perhaps a shortsword would better suit you.”

“Yeah. What do you have?”

“Many kinds.”

“Uh-huh.” Gene shrugged. “Like … what?”

“Well, there are two-edged shortswords and one-edged shortswords. There are swords of various curvatures and of various blade widths. There are swords used for hacking, and there are those more suitable for thrusting at one’s enemy. And, of course, there are swords suitable for both. There are blades of various tempers and degrees of strength. There are broadswords and sabers, court swords and backswords. We have rapiers and épées, we have falchions and scimitars. There are swords with cup hilts, cross hilts, decorative hilts, basket hilts, and hilts molded to the individual hand.”

“Uh —”

“There are ceremonial swords, calvary swords, infantry swords, swords for infighting, and swords to keep a distance. Now, as far as knives —”

“Hold it.”

“— there are many different kinds. We have various styles of dirk and dagger, stiletto and poniard —”

“Hold it! Look, all I want is a sword about that long.”

“Are you sure a sword is what you want, sir? It may be you’d be better off with an ax or mace.”

“No, a sword.”

“A morning star? Perhaps a good, heavy club.”

“A sword.”

The armorer took a deep breath, folded his hands and smiled pleasantly. “And what kind of sword would you be wanting, sir?”

Gene’s shoulders slumped. “Morning star?” he said weakly.

“A spiked ball affixed to a short chain which is in turn attached to a handle.”

“Oh, yeah. No, I don’t think so.”

“A lance, then? Or a pike?”

“Umm …”

“A halberd, perhaps? Or a broadax?”

“Well —”

“Could you use a spear?”

“Spear?”

“I would, however, have to know if you intend to use it for throwing or for thrusting.”

“Not a spear, for crying out loud. I want something that I can fight with. Something that’ll do some damage.”

“Do some damage.” The armorer thought it over. “Perhaps an ax, then. Would you like to see one?”

“I guess.”

“Broadax, poleax, or taper ax?”

“Oh, boy.”

“Do you want something that will unseam a man from nave to chaps, or simply wound him mortally?”

“I —”

“This …” The armorer turned and walked off, then returned bearing a large ax with a long wooden handle. “… is a broadax.”

“Look, could you show me a couple of different swords?”

“Certainly, sir. What kinds would you like to see?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

Snowclaw, who had been browsing the room, stepped up to the counter. He picked up the broadax, looked it over once, raised it with both hands and crashed it into the countertop directly in front of the armorer, who shrieked and danced back just in the nick of time. The ax cleaved the counter in two, continuing down to split the boards underneath almost to the floor.

Snowclaw wrenched the ax out and examined the blade, running his thumb delicately over it. He looked at the armorer sharply. “This’ll do for me. How about taking care of my friends, and we’ll be on our way.”

Face paling, the armorer nodded. “Yes, sir. Anything you say.”

“And get some clothes for the lady, here.”

“Immediately, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Do it.”

“I will fetch the seamstress. She will be glad to come.”

“Fine. And if you don’t come back, I’ll come looking.”

The armorer swallowed. “I shall return at once, sir.”