The Warlock`s Companion

Chapter 6

The rain came down, and it hit with thunder. Rod jolted awake wide-eyed, lurching up on one elbow to stare at the ceiling. The only light was the soft glow of the will-o'-the-wisp Gwen had lit on Fess's saddle before they settled down. Rain roared on the tent.

"How long has it been going on, Fess?" Rod murmured.

"It began only ten minutes ago, Rod."

Then the whole tent-top turned bright with lightning, barely gone before thunder bellowed. Rod turned and looked down at his youngest, and sure enough, the little boy lay rigid, eyes wide, scared witless by the thunder but too proud to cry out.

"You know there's nothing to be scared of, don't you?" Rod said conversationally.

"Aye, Papa." Gregory relaxed a little. "The lightning will not hurt us, nor will a tree fall on us—we pitched our tent far from the branches."

"And lightning bolts are much more likely to strike a higher object, such as a tree or the castle. Yes." But Rod reached out a hand anyway, and Gregory's fingers seized on his like a little vise.

"Oh! 'Tis glorious," Cordelia breathed.

The whole tent flashed bright again as thunder slammed down at them. It showed Magnus and Geoffrey halfway to the door. Darkness struck, and Rod could just barely hear Geoffrey say, "I do so love a storm!"

" 'Tis grand," Magnus agreed. The gloom lightened, and the sound of the rain became even louder.

" 'Ware the rain." Gwen was sitting up beside Rod, facing the door. "Doth it come toward thee?"

"No, Mama, 'tis at the tent's back." Lightning flared with a thunder blast, and Rod saw the boys hunkered belly-down with their chins on their fists, gazing out, and Cordelia wriggling up between them.

" 'Tis right atop us," Gregory murmured. "There is no delay 'twixt lightning flash and thunder."

Rod smiled; ever the scientist! Well, if it let the boy share his siblings' pleasure, what harm? "Don't you want to look at it, too?"

Gregory looked up at him, then smiled. "Aye!" He turned and crawled toward the door.

Rod caught Gwen's hand and squeezed a little. She returned the pressure and murmured, "Why should they have the sight to themselves, my lord?"

"Hey, the family .ought to stay together, right?" Rod rolled up to his hands and knees. "After you, dear."

"What, durst I trust thee so?"

"Sure, the kids are awake. But let's go side by side, if you doubt me."

Gwen giggled and they rubbed elbows as they came to their feet and stepped over to join their offsprings. Lightning blazed as they came to the doorway, thunder crashing down around their heads. Rod looked up in time to catch the last sight of the tower tops in silhouette—and stiffened.

"Hist!" Geoffrey cried.

They all fell totally silent, ears straining.

" 'Twas not the last boom of the thunder alone," Magnus said.

"I hear a lass wailing," Cordelia answered.

Rod started to say what he'd heard, then bit his tongue and stared up at the unseen tower with narrowed eyes. Gwen's hand tightened on his arm.

Gregory said it for him. "I do hear a man's laughter."

"Aye, and 'tis as wicked and foul a laugh as ever I've heard," Magnus agreed.

"I, too, hear it, my lord," Gwen murmured.

"He's gloating," Rod said softly. "I don't know what about…"

"The maid?" Cordelia guessed. "Doth he rejoice at having made her weep?"

"I mislike this castle," Magnus said, his voice hard.

Thunder tore at the stones, bleached white by the lightning.

When it quieted, Gregory asked, "Ought we go home, then?"

"Nay." Magnus said it even faster than Rod. "Whatever is here, we must face and banish it."

Thunder blasted them again, the next lightning flash following so hard on the first that it seemed one long, unbroken instant of light with only a flicker between. Then it died, and the afterimage danced before Rod's eye, confirming what he'd thought he had seen.

As the thunder faded, Cordelia gasped, "Was it a lass?"

"Mayhap." Geoffrey's voice hardened. "Whatsoe'er 'twas, it was long-haired and cloaked."

"Yet why did it plummet head-first toward the ground?" Gregory wondered.

"Because it was pushed, brother," Geoffrey answered.

"Or did it throw itself down?" Cordelia wondered.

"Whate'er 'twas, it was the fruit of wickedness," Magnus answered.

Rod could hear the anger in his voice, and said quickly, "Was, Magnus. Remember the was. Whatever happened there, however cruel or vicious, it was done two hundred years ago, not tonight."

"But how evil must it have been," Cordelia cried, "that the spirit must live through it again, and again and again, for two hundred years!"

"Then 'tis time it was finished." Magnus's voice was grim, with a determination Rod had never heard in it before. "Whatever lies within that stone pile, 'tis a fell, foul evil, and we must not let it stand."

Rod frowned down at his boy. He was right, of course—but where had this sudden determination come from? Magnus had never heard anything about Castle Foxcourt but its name, before tonight. He wondered further about it as the family settled down once again, but decided to say nothing to Gwen—yet.

"Wherefore doth it not now appear so grim, Papa?" Cordelia looked up at the walls of the castle, golden now in the morning light.

"Because it's dawn, dear, and everything looks better by the light of the day.''

"Then too, the rain hath washed it clean," Gwen explained, "as it doth with all. The sky is cleaner above, and mine heart doth sing within me to behold it."

"But we still have to get into the castle." Rod frowned up at the drawbridge. "There's the little problem of getting that slab of wood down."

"We must turn the windlass, Papa," Magnus said brightly. "Shall I?"

Rod turned to him. "What—do you think you can make it move without even having seen it?"

"Oh, aye, and next shalt thou bid a mountain come to thee!" Geoffrey jibed.

"Aye, sin that I know where it should be."

"Thou canst not truly, Magnus!" Cordelia stated.

Gregory didn't say anything; he just gazed up at Magnus wide-eyed. After all, if Big Brother said he could do it…

"Mayhap he can," Gwen suggested, "though even if he cannot, 'twill be good practice for him."

"Yeah, you need to stretch if you want to grow." Rod nodded slowly. "Okay, go ahead. It would save a bit of time."

Magnus frowned up at the drawbridge, his eyes losing focus. Gwen watched him carefully.

Rod glanced from Magnus to the castle, half-expecting the old planks to come rattling down. Just as a caution, he waved the other children back. They went, but with poor grace.

Magnus relaxed and shook his head in chagrin. " 'Tis no use—there is no response."

Gregory looked disappointed. Geoffrey's eye lit with vindictiveness, and both he and Cordelia started to say something, but Rod caught their eyes, and they stopped openmouthed.

"Still, 'twas good for thee to attempt it." Gwen stared at the castle. " 'Tis odd, though."

"So we do it the old-fashioned way." Rod replied.

"I shall!!"

"No, I am best at…"

" 'Tis my turn…"

"No!" Rod barked.

The kids fell silent, staring at him with truculence—but also with apprehension. He saw, and forced a smile. "I appreciate your willingness, kids, but there might be a bit of danger there—you know, rotten beams and falling rocks. I'm pleading seniority on this one—just me and Magnus."

"Wherefore doth Magnus go!"

"Magnus, thou dost cheat!"

"Wherefore not Mama?"

"Because," Rod said, "someone has to take care of you three."

"Fess can mind us!"

"Fess cannot stop you from following," Gwen pointed out. "Wouldst thou promise me not to go within?"

"Nay!"

"Then I bide here." Gwen gave Rod a sunny smile. "Go quickly, husband."

"With all dispatch. Let's go, son." Rod gazed up at the castle, but this time, he didn't really see it. His attention was on the unseen world, as he thought of pushing against the ground, away—and, slowly, drifted up to the arrow-slit at the top of the gatehouse.

"Thou didst promise all dispatch," Magnus reminded him, hovering in midair and leaning against the narrow window.

"All right, so I'm a slow old man," Rod grumbled, "just because I didn't have the good fortune to grow up using psi powers, the way you did. Come on, inside." He turned sideways and drifted in. It took a little shoving, though.

"Thou art hardly come," Magnus said, sliding in effortlessly.

Rod slapped his belt. "That's muscle, boy, not flab." He looked around, frowning. "Not so bad."

It wasn't. There was a slab fallen from the roof, and the morning sunlight coming through it and the arrow-slits, showed them a round room of old, mellow stone. The corners were filled with antique spiderwebs, and a broken table and bench stood near one wall. Except for that, the room was empty, with a few shards of crockery on the floor.

"Not anywhere nearly as bad as… What's the matter?"

Magnus's eyes had lost focus; he was turning slowly about the room, his face drawn. "I do hear voices, Papa."

"Voices?" Rod tensed. "What are they saying?"

"Naught… too distant… only some feel of loud talk, and soldiers' oaths…"

"Well, it's the gatehouse; there would have been soldiers here, so it's easy to ascribe it to them." Rod carefully ignored the chill oozing down his spine. "Probably just the wind playing a trick with the acoustics, son, like a whispering gallery."

"Dost thou truly think so?"

Rod didn't, so he said, "What bothers me is what I don't hear—or see."

That caught Magnus's attention. "And what is that?"

"Birds." Rod pointed up toward the rafters. "There's a dozen nesting places in this room, but not a single one is used—not even a trace that there ever was a nest."

Magnus looked around, nodding slowly.

"Come on, let's find that winch." Rod turned away toward the doorway. "High time we got your brothers and sister in here." And Gwen. Most especially Gwen.

The porter's room was empty, except for some more crumbled furniture. Shafts of sunlight pierced its darkness, from a row of slits along one wall.

"Well, that's why you couldn't turn the windlass." Rod looked around him as he stepped in. "No windlass."

"Aye… I thought at a thing that was not…" But Magnus had his abstracted air again. "Yet how did they make the drawbridge raise or lower?"

"Counterweights, probably. Let's go find the gateway." Rod led the way across the room, out into the passageway, and looked around. Light filled it, from the courtyard archway. "There!" He strode over to the great portal, closed now by the drawbridge, and pointed to a huge iron ball attached to a chain that ran up into darkness. "But there had to be an operating line, somewhere…"

"Yon." Magnus pointed. Rod followed his direction and saw, centered above the gate, a huge pulley with a strip of something that might once have been rope hanging from it and looping over to the side, into a hole in the wall.

"Into the porter's room." Rod nodded. "Makes sense. Come on." He ducked back into the chamber they'd just come from and looked up at the front wall. The rope came through the hole, sure enough, and draped into a pulley like the one over the gateway. Only about four feet of it hung down, though, and on the floor under it was a mound of toadstools.

"Well, so much for the operating line. But how…" Rod broke off, frowning. "Wait a minute. The drawbridge goes higher than that pulley."

"Aye. 'Tis for the portcullis." Magnus stepped back out into the passageway and pointed.

Just below the central pulley was the top of the iron gate. Rod's gaze traveled over to the corner and traced the chain attached to it, following it down to the huge iron ball that rested on the ground. "Frozen open, fortunately. But then how did they work the drawbridge?"

"Yon." Magnus pointed up into the gloom.

Squinting, Rod could barely make out huge links that traversed overhead to run over great, rusty sprocket wheels in the back wall.

"Very sharp, son." Rod nodded. "Very good observation."

"It is not."

"Oh?" Rod peered at him, with a stab of apprehension. "This is definitely not your standard drawbridge. How're you figuring out what to look for?''

"I am not. I hear them."

"Them?" The stab twisted. "Who?"

"A murmur, a babble of voices—but among them is one telling another how to manage these devices.

Rod stared at him for a moment, not that Magnus was watching. Then he linked his mind to his son's. The rest of the room darkened even more about him.

"Dost thou hear?"

Rod shook his head. "Just a babble, like a distant crowd."

"Yet 'tis there."

"Oh, yeah, it's there all right. Where it's coming from, is another matter." Rod turned away. "Come on, let's figure out how to get that drawbridge down. I think we need your mother in here."

Magnus led him out through the archway and into the courtyard.

It seemed spacious after the porter's room and the tunnel, but Rod knew it could only be a hundred feet across. The keep bulged out into it, like a hugely fat tower. There were a lot of dead leaves and broken branches, of course, and mounds of humus in the corners, with weeds sprouting luxuriantly.

But not a single bird. Nor, now that Rod noticed it, a butterfly.

He wrenched his mind back to business, to suppress a shiver. "Where's this counterweight?"

"We have stepped over it." Magnus pointed behind him. Rod looked down, and saw a metal slab set in the stone; he'd thought it was a threshold to the archway. But now that he looked, he could see it was rust, not just brown stone, and that rings rose from its corners, rings that were fastened to huge links whose chains stretched up on the wall to disappear, over huge sprocket wheels, into the stone above the archway.

Now. Rod shivered.

Magnus was pointing up. " 'Tis so well balanced that the drawbridge doth need but a strong pull to let it down."

"Yeah—but the iron slab goes up then, and everybody coming in or going out has to ride under it."

"True." Magnus frowned, in an abstracted sort of way. "Wherefore did the Count not use iron balls again, and keep the gateway clear?"

"Nice question." And Rod had an answer, which was anything but nice. Not that he was about to say it, of course—and he decided, then and there, that Magnus was never going to touch that bar.

A caroling cry echoed above them.

Rod's head snapped up.

There, atop the gatehouse, perched his two younger sons, with his wife and daughter gliding down in lazy spirals on their broomsticks. He couldn't help noticing, all over again, that Cordelia had a full-sized broomstick now, not just a hearth broom, and wasn't much shorter than her mother any more.

Gwen pulled up beside Rod and hopped off. "Thou wert so long about it that we grew impatient." But he saw the concern in her eyes. "What kept thee?"

"Trying to figure out the drawbridge system." Rod noticed his two boys drifting down like autumn leaves. He shuddered, and hoped the simile wasn't apt.

"Is't so rare?" Gwen asked.

" 'Tis odd, at the least," Magnus answered.

Gwen turned to him, and her eyes widened. "How is't with thee, my son?"

"Well enough…"

"Is it truly?" Gwen set her broomstick against a wall and reached up to press a hand against Magnus's forehead. She stared off into space for a few seconds, then said, "Step to the wall, and touch the stones."

A crease appeared between Magnus's eyebrows, but he did as she bade. Rod "listened" to Gwen's mind, eavesdropping on the eavesdropper, as Magnus's hand touched rock.

A babel of urgent voices filled his ear, some conjecturing whether or not there would be a battle, some discussing how exciting it all was. Beyond them were the voices of soldiers bawling orders, and under it, surfacing and submerging, the sinister laugh they had heard in the midst of the thunderstorm.

"Away," Gwen snapped, and Magnus slowly took his hand from the wall, then turned to his mother with a troubled gaze. "Thou hast heard it?"

"Aye. 'Twas some peasant folk come into the castle for fear of a siege—and 'twas hundreds of years agone."

"He is a past-reader!" Gregory's eyes were huge.

"Magnus always gets to do things first!" Geoffrey grumped.

" 'Tis not fair!" Cordelia complained.

" 'Tis as like to be a burden as a joy," Gwen assured them, and turned to Magnus again. "Thou hast a form of clear sight, my son. I've heard it spoken of, yet never known a one who had it. Thou canst read the thoughts embedded in the stones, or wood or metal, by the anguish or joy of those who dwelt near them."

"A psychometricist!" Rod's eyes were wide.

Magnus turned to Gwen, trying to focus on her face. "Yet wherefore have I not noted this aforetime?"

"For that thou hast ever been in places thronged with living folk, whose thoughts did obscure any that came from stones."

"Sure it might not be part of the boy turning into a young man?" Rod asked.

"Mama did speak of strong feelings," Gregory pointed out. "Mayhap such thoughts stay not in stones, with lesser feelings."

Gwen nodded. "There is some truth to that—and I bethink me that this castle has seen many who were overwrought."

"And not pleasantly." Rod scowled. "Try not to touch anything, okay, son?"

"I will endeavor…"

"Then I'll give you some help." Rod turned to face the gatehouse. "We still have to get that drawbridge down, unless we're going to expect Fess to wait outside the whole time."

"Aye…" Magnus turned, his frown deepening, seeming to come into clearer focus.

"Gregory, help me. Just think of holding that chain up, when the time comes. Gwen, if you and the other kids would take the right-hand chain… ? Good. Now, everybody think hot at it." He glared at the bottom link, concentrating on it while the rest of his surroundings grew fuzzy. The link began to glow, first red, then orange, on through yellow into white, until finally the metal flowed. "Now," Rod grated, and the chain lifted a foot. Rod sighed and relaxed, watching the metal darken back down the spectrum as it cooled. He turned to look at the rest of his family, but their chain was just now yellowing. Rod glanced back at his own, saw it was ruby again, and told Gregory, "Okay, put it down now." The chain lowered to swing clinking against the wall, and Rod turned to add his bit to the right-hand chain. The metal flowed, the chain rose—and, with a low and rising growl of breaking rust, the huge old sprocket wheels began to turn. The growl rose to a grown, underscored by a furious clanking as the drawbridge fell away at the end of the tunnel, faster and faster, till its tip slimmed into the far bank of the moat. Hooves clattered on the wood.

"Careful, there!" Rod called, alarmed. "Those boards might be rotten!"

"The unsound ones fell to powder when the drawbridge dropped, Rod, and I can pick my way well enough around the holes." Then the clattering changed to thunder as Fess's hooves echoed in the tunnel, and the great black horse came trotting in.

The children cheered. Gwen glanced at Magnus, saw his face alight, and relaxed a little.

"Why is destruction the only thing I do better than the rest of you?" Rod grumbled.

" 'Tis for cause that thou hast come to it lately, husband, not grown to it," Gwen assured him breezily.

Gregory was staring at the huge bar buried in the stone. "We could have lifted it, Papa…"

"This was faster."

"Yet now we cannot draw the bridge up again."

"I know." Rod grinned. "Works out nicely that way, doesn't it?"

They spent the morning exploring the rest of the castle, and found a lot of dead leaves and branches blown in through the windows over the years. They also found a fair quantity of antique furniture, some of it still intact.

But not a single bird. Not even a rat or a mouse, for that matter.

"And never a one, through all these years." Cordelia looked up at the rafters. "How could that be, Papa?"

Rod shrugged. "They felt unwanted, dear."

"What was it that wanted them not?"

Rod avoided the question. "But look at the bright side—at least we won't have to set out traps. Or endanger a cat, either."

"Nay, Papa." Geoffrey corrected. " ' Tis the cat would endanger the rats."

"Not some of the rats I've seen—but there aren't any here. One advantage to ghosts, anyway." Rod had a brief, dizzying vision of an advertising sign: "Rid your house of those troublesome pests! Hire a haunt!" With, of course, a picture of a comical ghost shouting "Boo!" at a rat and a cockroach who were neck-and-neck in a dead heat away from the spook. Rod found himself wondering what to name the ghost? Buster? He shook his head and came back to the here and now.

"And none have dwelt here for two hundred years." Gregory gazed about him, wide-eyed.

"Not a living soul," Rod agreed. Strangely, there were no signs of squatters having moved in, or even having spent the night. On the other hand, that would've been hard to do, with the drawbridge up—which raised the question of why it was still up. Rod had a mental picture of the last servants to leave, heaving hard on the lip of the bridge, and watching it rise slowly, riding up on its counterweight. Either that, or the last servant had decided not to leave. Rod shuddered at that thought, and hoped he never met the person.

It was a pretty basic castle—just a keep with a curtain wall, diamond-shaped in its ground plan, with watchtowers at north and south, the keep itself serving to guard the western point, and the gatehouse at the east. There were only three floors to the keep, the first being all one huge, open room fifty feet in diameter, and the second divided into several rooms, presumably family quarters. The third was piled with small catapults and moldering crossbows and rusty bolts—the upstairs armory, for aerial defenses.

"Enough!" Gwen clapped her hands. "If we are to dwell here, no matter how short a while, we must needs make the keep fit for dwelling. Magnus and Gregory, sweep and dust! Cordelia and Geoffrey, hurl trash out into the moat!"

Geoffrey whooped and set to it; heaps of leaves began to swirl out the windows. Cordelia glowered at a broken, old table, and it rose off the floor, cracked leg dangling, and drifted toward the window.

Magnus frowned. "Wherefore do they pitch while we sweep, Mama?"

"For that thy sister's the best at making things fly," Gwen answered, "and Gregory's well suited to kiting along the ceiling and beams."

"Yet Geoffrey and I…"

"Are chosen for these tasks, for reasons thou knowest well." Gwen said, with steel beneath her voice; then her manner softened. "I promise thee, thou'lt trade tasks when we go to another floor. Aid me in this, my son."

Magnus grinned. "As thou wilt have it, Mama. Wilt thou lend me thy broomstick?"

And away he went, sweeping up a storm; Rod wondered about the whirlwinds in it. He sighed with relief, and blessed his eldest—trying to put a broom in Geoffrey's hands was asking for a major confrontation, unless you went after him with a quarterstaff. Even then, the broomstick would probably beat the quarterstaff, and there wouldn't be much work done.

All went well for a good fifteen minutes; then Geoffrey remembered to grumble. "Wherefore must we clean?"

"Wouldst thou truly wish to dwell in so stale a mess?" Cordelia asked, with scorn.

Geoffrey started to answer, but Magnus cut him off. "Do not ask, sister—thou dost not truly wish to hear his answer."

Geoffrey flushed an angry red, but before he could blast, Gregory burbled cheerfully. "Mayhap 'twill help to banish the ghosts."

That gave Geoffrey pause. He cocked his head to the side, frowning.

"Real ghosts!" Gregory went on, his eyes shining. "I had thought they were but old wives' tales!"

"On Gramarye, old wives' tales can turn real, Gregory," Fess reminded.

Gregory nodded. " 'Tis a point. Are they true ghosts, or only some aspect of psi we've not met before?"

"So much conversation surely cannot increase productivity."

"Oh, thou art but a killjoy, Fess!" Cordelia scoffed. "How can we help but speak of so wondrous a thing as our very own haunted castle?"

"It is difficult, I know," the robot commiserated. "Still, you have been instructed to accomplish a task, and so much chatter inhibits your work."

"Then give us summat to quiet us," Gregory suggested. "Tell us more of our ancestors."

Fess was silent a moment; after thirty years of Rod's squelching him every time he tried to discourse on family history, it was a little difficult adjusting to the idea that somebody was interested again. Slowly, he said, "Gladly, children—but you had many ancestors. Of which would you like to hear?"

"That minor issue of which thou didst forbear to speak, yester eventide," Magnus said, too casually. "Papa did mention an ancestor who did seek to find a family ghost.''

Fess sighed. "You would remember that."

"Wouldst thou not also, under such circumstances as these?"

"I fear I would," Fess sighed, "yet I would prefer to gloss over it."

"Then speak of our ancestor who finished building the Castle Gallowglass!"

"D'Armand, Cordelia," Fess reminded.

"Aye, ninny!" Magnus jibed. "Canst thou not remember that Papa took the name 'Gallowglass' when he came to Gramarye?"

"Oh, forever!" Cordelia said crossly. "What matter if I slip in its usage now and again?"

"Great matter, if thou dost ever seek to discover thine ancestral home!"

"And which of us shall ever wish to leave Gramarye?" Geoffrey scoffed. "Cordelia hath right, for once."

"Once!" Cordelia squawked. Geoffrey grinned wickedly in answer. Magnus was silent.

"Well enough, then." Cordelia turned away and tipped her nose up, scorning Geoffrey. "Tell us of the ancestor who did finish Castle d'Armand."

"Which?" Fess almost seemed hopeful. "It was finished several times."

"Several?" Magnus frowned. "How long dist thou dwell therein, Fess?"

"From A.D. 3050, Magnus, till your father left home in 3542," Fess answered.

"Four centuries?" Gregory gasped. Geoffrey glanced at him in annoyance; he wasn't good with figures.

"Four," Fess confirmed, "which is most of the time that has elapsed since I was activated."

"But was it not a delight?" Cordelia demanded.

"On occasion, yes," Fess admitted, "but it just as often was not. It depended on my owner of the time."

"Thou didst esteem Lona highly," Cordelia said, "for thou didst build her castle for her."

"True, but I would have done so for any other owner who so commanded—and did, since that was only the first time Chateau d'Armand was finished. It was quite modest by Maximan standards, you see."

Geoffrey frowned. "I misdoubt me an her descendants could abide that."

"They had difficulty," Fess admitted. "In fact, her son and grandson each built an addition, but one that was dictated by her original plan, thereby finishing the castle a second and third time. Nonetheless, their neighbors' houses were far more grand. They were good souls, though, and envy did not bother them greatly."

"Not so their wives," Cordelia demurred.

"You have guessed accurately, Cordelia." Fess sounded surprised. "Yes, the wives found it quite difficult to accept such relatively modest quarters, the more so because they were themselves younger daughters of grander lords."

"Lords?" Magnus lifted his head, frowning. "I wot me an thou didst speak of factors and crafters. Whence came nobility?"

"By mail, Magnus, from the heralds of Europe. Maxima was, after all, a sovereign world, with its own government…"

"But thou hast said Maxima had no government."

"Not really, though I can understand how my remarks could have seemed to indicate that. Nonetheless, the Maximans did have some mutual means of coordinating logistics and resolving disputes, and they had annual meetings of the leaders of all the Houses."

Magnus nodded. "And if that assembly did declare the head of a household noble, who could contradict it?"

"Precisely. The Earl Mulhearn was the first to receive a patent of nobility, and the others followed in a rush. Your own ancestor, Theodore d'Armand, changed his first name to 'Ruthven' and applied to the Assembly for status as a duke."

Magnus whistled. "He saw no vantage in modesty, did he?"

"No indeed. In fact, Ruthven saw no point in anything that was not his own idea…"

"Tell us of him," Cordelia begged.

"Nay!" Magnus turned to her with a scowl. "I claim primacy. I wish to hear of the ancestor who sought a family ghost!"

"Thy chance hath passed." Cordelia turned on him. "You know Mama and Papa have told us…"

She broke off at the very credible imitation of a throat-clearing, and turned to Fess with a frown. Before either of them could say anything, the robot told them, "The distinction does not exist; it was Ruthven who wanted a spectre."

"Then we must hear of him!" Cordelia settled herself for a long listen.

"If it is absolutely necessary…"

"Why dost thou hesitate?" Magnus frowned, puzzled. "What harm is there in telling us of him?"

"Ought we not to know of all our ancestors?" Cordelia demanded.

"There are some aspects of family history that should perhaps wait until you are more mature."

"Oh, pooh," Cordelia retorted, and Magnus concurred. "An we are old enough to have witnessed lords who have broke faith with their king and rebelled, we are old enough to know the truth of our own family."

"There is some merit in that, I suppose…"

"What fun is there in hearing only good of our ancestors?" Cordelia demanded.

"She speaketh truly," Magnus averred. "Wouldst thou have us believe our forebears were wax figures?"

"Oh, they were all quite human, Magnus. It is only that in some cases…"

"Some were more human than others?"

"You might say so, yes."

"Yet accuracy is of the greatest import," Gregory pointed out."

"Aye!" Cordelia leaped on it. "Is not the truth thy prime criterion?"

"No, frankly, Cordelia—in my program, loyalty to my owners is primary."

"Thy current owner will not mind thy speaking the truth of thy former owners," Magnus pointed out.

"There is some validity to that," Fess said reluctantly. He was remembering how Rod had taken him to task when he had poked around in the family library and learned some of the facts about those ancestors that Fess hadn't told him.

"And there is the matter of loyalty to thy future owner," Magnus added.

"Which will be yourself, since you are the eldest."

Magnus blithely ignored Geoffrey's glare. "Thus, thy present owner careth not, and thy future owner doth desire thee to tell. Ought thou not to speak?"

Fess capitulated. "Very well, children. But remember, if you find your relationship with the subject of this tale distasteful, that you required me to tell it.

"We shall not reproach thee," Cordelia assured him.

"But an archway at the base of a tower cannot stand, Ruthven.''

" 'Milord,' Fess," Ruthven said sternly. "I am noble now."

"But the Assembly…"

"The Assembly will no doubt grant my request at its next meeting. After all, it raised Joshua Otis to Marquis, only last week; it surely can have no reason not to bestow a like title upon me."

Silently, Fess sighed and carefully did not point out that the Assembly had no particular reason to grant Ruthven's request, either. If the factory business department had not been automated, d'Armand Limited would have gone bankrupt from sheer neglect.

Not that the House of d'Armand would have fallen. Quite the opposite, in fact. Ruthven seemed to spend all his time building.

"Of course the tower will stand."

"How, milord?"

Ruthven waved the question away. "A minor detail. See to it, Fess."

The robot sighed within and focused its lenses on the blueprints. Perhaps a judicious use of gravity generators… On a low-gravity asteroid, there was no concern about the tower falling down… But if there was too little of it, it might fall apart from centripedal force.

"How dare they!" Ruthven stormed, jamming his helmet at Fess. "How can they have the effrontery to be so insolent!" He yanked at the seals of his pressure suit so hard that the fabric ripped. He saw the gaping rent, and cursed all the more loudly.

"Ruthven, please!" His wife came running with apprehensive glances. "The children…"

"They had damned well better be at lessons in their nursery, madame, or I shall bid Fess cane them!" Ruthven yanked his arms out of the pressure suit, relying on Fess to catch the sleeves in time, and pulled his feet out of the legs as he stepped forward. "The degraded peasants!"

"Ruthven!" his wife gasped. "Your own children?"

"Not the children, you goose! The Assembly!"

"What… Oh!" Matilda's eyes widened. "Did they refuse your patent of nobility?"

"No—much worse! They raised me to the rank of…" Ruthven's voice sank to a hiss. "… Viscount!"

"Viscount! Oh, how dare they! One cannot be lower, and still be a peer!"

"Precisely." Ruthven threw himself into a lounger and pushed the "medium massage" button. "I shall be revenged upon them! I shall humiliate them! How, I do not know—but the time will come, will come for each of them!"

"At least," Fess offered, "you are now legally a lord."

"But only barely a lord, you officious ingrate!" Ruthven shouted. "How dare you address me as 'you'? Do you not know a more respectful form of address?"

"But… my program indicates no flaw in etiquette…"

"Then it shall!" the new Viscount thundered. "You shall learn, sirrah, you shall be educated! I shall buy the module today!"

Castle Gallowglass rose far above its humble beginnings in a maze of towers joined in vaulting arches, a fairytale concoction of metallic traceries and onion domes and gargoyles.

It was a mess.

It was a hodgepodge of periods and styles of architecture, all jumbled together without rationale or critical standard. Somewhere beneath the festoons of rococo plasticrete, the original, classic simplicity of Lona's tranquil palace gathered in upon itself—but the casual passerby would never know it was there. What he would see was the most disgusting example of nouveau riche lack of taste Fess had ever seen—and after a hundred fifty years of contemplating the handiwork of the Maximans, that was saying quite a bit.

Not that he could say it, of course—not about his owner's masterpiece. His new programming had seen to that.

"How could they possibly have denied me!"

"I'm sorry, milord, I'm sorry." Fess's judgment circuits produced massive reluctance at the sound of his own words. "The College of Heralds of Europe says that another family's been using that coat of arms of three lions quartered with fleur-de-lis, for many generations."

"Then they may forfeit the device! How much do they want for it?"

Inwardly, Fess shriveled, but his vocoder said, "Oh, no, sorry, milord boss! Coats of arms simply can't be bought!"

"Don't say 'can't' to me!" Ruthven raged. "They have no right to that device, I tell you—because I want it!"

"Well, certainly, milord boss, but that doesn't mean there is any way we can get it."

"There must be a way! Confound it, find a way to gain a coat of arms!" Ruthven stalked away toward the bar.

Fess sighed and rolled off toward the library to plug himself into the data banks. He knew very well that no family would be willing to give up its coat of arms, and that the College of Heralds would not honor such a transaction even if it could be made. The answer, of course, lay in designing a device that Ruthven would accept, and that was not already in use.

"A wonderful design." Ruthven beamed at the drawing. "It says so much."

"Yes, milord boss." Fess knew quite well that the device said only what the viewer read into it. It was nothing but the silhouette of a man with girded loins, a cloak, and a staff in his hand, standing with one foot atop some nameless geological formation, facing toward the left, but with his back mostly toward the viewer. Nonetheless, it was silver on a field of blue, so he knew Ruthven would like it.

"A masterpiece! Am I not a genius?"

"Yes sir, boss milord. No, boss mi—uh, yes, milord!"

"Architecture, fine letters, now design—there are no limits to my talents! Surely the College of Heralds cannot deny me now!"

"No sir, boss milord." That, Fess could say with conviction—because he had examined the records of the College thoroughly, then sent off the sketch by fax as soon as it was finished. He hadn't shown it to Ruthven until the College had sent back preliminary approval.

"None must deny me anything." Ruthven patted his stomach, which had grown steadily with the years and was approaching critical mass. "There is none like me!"

The phrase struck an echo in Fess's memory banks—several of them, in fact.

"But, boss milord!" Fess protested. "How am I going to do that?"

"Order one from Terra, of course." Ruthven waved away the problem.

"Order one, milord sir? A family ghost?"

"There is a catalog, I presume."

"But you can't buy a thing that doesn't exist!"

"Of course ghosts exist. Every noble family on Terra has one." Ruthven gestured carelessly with sausage fingers. "An ancestral ghost for my castle, Fess. At least one. Don't ask me for particulars, though. I know nothing about them."

That, at least, was true. Sometimes Fess could have sworn that Ruthven had gone to great pains to know nothing—and when he did accidentally pick up some information, he did the best he could to forget it. His way of making sure he had a clean mind, no doubt.

But the ghost of one of Ruthven's ancestors? Would he want one, really? Fess was tempted, and if he could have brought back Lona's ghost, he would have. He would have loved to see her haul Ruthven over the coals fifty times, for what he had done to her palace—and when she had finished, she would have bullied what was left of him into restoring some vestige of order to his household. Or maybe the ghost of Dar, who would have taken one look around, bellowed in outrage, taken Ruthven apart, then remembered his vocation as a teacher and put the aging playboy back together and tried to explain the basics of good taste to him.

Or, best of all, the ghost of Tod Tambourin—alias Whitey the Wino.

Now, wait. The ghost of Whitey… That had possibilities…

A shriek split the night, and the Countess Freiliport came barreling out of the bedroom. Fess heaved a 16-Farad sigh, stretched alloyed arms (the more conducive to the mood because Ruthven had given him a new, and very skeletal, body) to catch her, and began soothing. "There, now, Milady, it's gone. Nothing to be afraid of, no spooks out here, only your good old faithful Fess the butler, here to make sure the nasty thing can't get at you…"

"Oh! It is you!" The Countess collapsed against Fess's ribcage, sobbing. The sobs choked off as she saw the ribs and went rigid.

He had to head off the scream. "That's just my new body, Milady. The Viscount thought it would go better with the decor. It's really still good old Fess inside here. Was he as bad as all that?"

"Who? The ghost? Oh!" The Countess went limp. "He was horrible! First only those spectral footsteps, coming closer and closer, and no answer when I called out 'Who's there?'—no answer at all, mind you, until that horrid moan broke out right by my ear, and that glowing cloud appeared, towering over the foot of my bed!"

"Only a glowing cloud?"

"No, no! Only at first. It gathered in on itself slowly, till it had assumed the form of a perfectly horrid old man, skinny as a rail, moaning so dolefully that my heart went out to him—until he saw me!"

"Saw you? What then?"

"Why, he… he winked at me! And began to come toward me, reaching out and grinning that lascivious leer… Oh! I was never so frightened in my life!"

That, Fess could believe. The hologram of Whitey had been assembled from clips of him in the role of a vampire in a 3DT epic he had directed, and in which he had also starred.

"I am so sorry you have had such a fright, Milady. If you wish, I shall summon your chauffeur…"

"Oh, my heavens, no!" The Countess turned to blow into her handkerchief, then tucked it back into her bosom with a sniffle, straightening and turning back toward the room. "It was wonderful. I wouldn't have missed this night for the world." She stepped firmly toward the bedroom, then faltered and looked back over her shoulder. "I don't suppose he might come back—the ghost, I mean?"

"I'm afraid not, Milady," Fess sympathized. "Only one visitation per guest per night, you know."

"Ah. Well, I was afraid of such a thing." The Countess sighed and went back toward the bedroom. "I really must discuss the issue with your master, Fess. So paltry of him, to limit his hauntings in that fashion."

The door closed behind her, and Fess resigned himself to refereeing another bout in the morning. It was a compliment, really, but Ruthven just could not abide anything remotely resembling criticism. He was sure to bristle, and was likely to anger the Countess, jeopardizing a family friendship that went back a century and a half.

"If thou wert human, Fess, thou wouldst have been tempted to refrain from interfering. Ruthven would have had no more than he deserved!"

"True, children—but I am a robot, and was capable of pouring unlimited oil on the waters."

"E'en so, thou shouldst not have." Geoffrey folded his arms and lifted his chin. "He had not commanded thee to intervene, had he?"

"No, children, but when Lona died, she asked me to look after her descendants for her."

Geoffrey heaved a sigh, deflating, but Cordelia had a merry glint in her eye.

"I am sorry that you have received a somewhat unflattering portrait of your ancestors from me," Fess said gently.

"Unflattering, indeed! In Father's book of the family history, Ruthven appears a noble and generous character, renowned for his building and beautifying. Why is there no mention of his failings in that chapter?"

"Why, because Ruthven wrote it. And he did increase the glory of his family, in a way."

"In some way, mayhap." Magnus grinned wickedly. "But by this time, had not the other folk of Maxima gained summat of a sense aesthetic?"

"They had, Magnus," Fess sighed. "All applied for patents of nobility, and all received them—and most felt obliged to find some civic duty to do, as well as to gain some cultural refinement."

Magnus was puzzled. "Dost mean all who dwelt on Maxima were noble?"

"According to themselves, yes—and almost all of them are now worthy of the term."

"Yet even in Ruthven's time, they did know a monstrosity when they saw one?"

"I fear they did," Fess sighed, "and yes, they did look with contempt on Ruthven's 'masterpiece.' The ghost of Whitey redeemed him in their eyes, though."

"For that it brought to their minds the illustrious founder of our House?"

"No, because it was such great fun. Word of the apparition spread, of course, and within a fortnight, everyone wished to be invited to stay the night at Castle d'Armand."

"And therefore did need to treat gently with Ruthven and his wife."

"Quite so, Cordelia, at least to their faces."

"And each guest wished to stay in the 'haunted' room, I warrant," Magnus said, grinning again.

"Yes, and there was considerable fussing when they found someone else was already there, fussing which descended upon the head of the majordomo."

"Thyself, of course."

"Correct, Gregory. Yet since it assured Ruthven that most of them would come back for another weekend, it worked to the benefit of himself and Matilda."

"And thou didst need to stand watch o'er the bedroom door o' nights?"

"I fear so. Everyone who stayed there wished to be frightened, so of course they all were, and it fell to me to calm them."

"And to intervene 'twixt them and Ruthven in the morning?"

"Generally, yes."

"But that could not last." Cordelia protested. "Soon or late, everyone on Maxima must needs have stayed in the haunted chamber."

"Aye," Geoffrey agreed. "There are not so many people on but one asteroid, after all."

"True, quite true—and I was never so relieved as when the Viscount tired of the hologram, and I could deactivate it."

"Did not their children wish it to stay?"

"No; they quite resented it, for their schoolmates had teased them about it unmercifully…"

"Jealousy, no doubt," Geoffrey muttered.

"Thou shouldst know, brother."

"… AND about the mansion," Fess concluded, overriding Geoffrey's response. "When they grew, they made sure to gain a thorough grasp of all the arts, including the study of aesthetics, and were much less concerned with social pretensions."

"Dost thou mean they became noble?"

"Well, they had certainly furthered the process. In fact, they eventually gained enough taste to see the amusing side of the holographic display, and would now and again ask to have the 'ghost' once more turned on for a while, then turned off again."

"Would we could so deal with the spectre within this castle," Gregory sighed.

"It would be pleasant, yes—though I suspect that these ghosts may be considerably harder to eradicate. And you must remember that there may be an element of actual danger involved."

"Dost thou truly think so?" Geoffrey perked up noticeably.

"I do. When your father first came to Gramarye, he was nearly frightened to death by the ghosts in Castle Loguire, until I pointed out to him that the cause was a subsonic harmonic of their moans, not their actual presence."

Magnus turned somber. "I misdoubt me an these ghosts will be a part with them."

"Aye, for those were nice ghosts," said Gregory, "as Father hath told it."

"Fair or foul, we shall vanquish them," Geoffrey said proudly. "The villain's not made that can stand against us, an we stand together.''

"Remember that, please, Geoffrey—it may become an important principle in your lives."

"And now?" Gregory asked.

"Most especially now. Please be very careful, children, to be sure you are never alone, in Castle Foxcourt. Now back to work! I feel my storytelling has slowed your cleaning."