Castle Spellbound

CELLAR

The storage room had increased again in size. It was now a capacious chamber in a grand palace.

The place was resplendent. Colorful, voluptuous frescoes covered the walls; palm fronds drooped from hanging gardens. Water splashed happily in a dozen fountains. Exotic birds preened and fluttered in their gilded cages, filling the air with delightful song.

Everywhere was the glint of gold, the sheen of fine marble.

Eunuchs stood guard between high columns with flowerpetal capitals. Exquisite tapestries hung from the ceiling; fine rugs of intricate design adorned the walls and cushioned the marble stairways.

The main floor, a vast expanse of travertine, was filled with dancers, singers, musicians, and entertainers of every stripe: animal acts, acrobats, jugglers… and so forth and so on-hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, leaping and somersaulting and vocalizing and running in circles. Elephants trumpeted, dogs yipped and walked on hind legs.

Sword swallowers consumed their wares, fire-eaters ate and spat flame.

Comedians of every sort cavorted: clowns, harlequins, midgets, grotesques, slapping and kicking and tumbling and goosing.

All this activity raised quite a din, making it difficult if not impossible to hear any of the twenty-seven orchestras; nevertheless, these played doggedly on.

The immense chamber had several levels, and on a dais above the main floor two potentates reigned supreme over the proceedings. They were attended by scores of female servants, most of whom wore little or nothing at all.

King Thorsby rose on one elbow and stared glassy-eyed at the throng on the floor below. He was very drunk. "Wh… whassat?"

"Pardon, Your Greatness?"

"I said, wha's all that…?" He belched, then waved his arm vaguely. "Out there."

"The entertainment, Great One."

"Oh. That's still going on?"

"It will go on as long as you wish, master and lord."

"Well, it's…" A great belch again escaped him. "Blast. It's grown a bit hoary, it has."

"Master?"

"It's boring. Do something else."

"We will do anything you wish, Great King and Ruler."

"Splendid. I need a drink."

A drink was offered. Thorsby took a long draught. "And what is your wish, master?"

Thorsby wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his satin toga. "Eh?"

"What is my master's wish?"

"I'll bite. Oh, my wish. Yes, well… let me see. Uh, Fetchen? Fetchen, old boy."

Fetchen surfaced from under a sea of bodies. His lips were stained purple, his face smeared with pulp and juice. Thorsby's eyebrows arched. "Whatever are you doing down there?"

"We're having a fruit-eating contest."

"Jolly good. I say, Fetchen, old boy, what do you fancy in the way of further diversion?"

"I've about got my hands full."

"Understood, old darling, but all this lot needs something to occupy their time."

Fetchen tilted a wineskin into the ripe air and drank. Done, mouth scrubbed on a nearby thigh, he said, "Let's have gladiators."

Thorsby brightened. "Capital idea! Splendid thinking, old darling. Yes, nothing like a bit of blood sport to set the old ticker racing. Right! You heard His Imperial Decadence. Let the games begin!"

The attending houris chorused: "Let the games begin!" And indeed they did.