repairs, if you ask me. Nothing a good stonemason cannot mend and refashion into dungeonry.'
Bayard regarded the old tutor curiously but said nothing. All around him, the servants voiced their agreement with the scholar. No doubt they were anxious to be upstairs in warmth and dryness and light.
Among all assembled, Bayard was sure of only one stout heart.
'What do you think, Brandon Rus?' Bayard asked, leaning heavily on the wall at the mouth of the tunnel, one foot already stepping into the tangled darkness beyond the light of the lanterns.
The young man paused, poised between Solamnic courtesy and the truth he was coming to suspect-that indeed, Sir Bayard knew more of this underground mystery than he was letting on, for whatever reason.
'No doubt,' Brandon Rus said slowly, tactfully, 'the schoolmaster is correct when he claims this to be an accident of nature. All the more reason we should go forward and explore it-for the sake of science, if for nothing else.'
'And,' Sir Andrew added, 'a body can never tell when something like this spreads beneath his foundations and undermines his whole damned architecture.'
Bayard breathed raggedly and rested against the strong arms of the younger man. As Sir Andrew stepped behind him, the faint unsavory odor, the smells of unwashed trail dirt and the heavy odors of soured wine, was lost in the smoke of the torch.
Bayard sighed. Hygiene may not have been among Sir Andrew's virtues, but courage and loyalty took its place most gracefully.
The Knights stood together at the lip of the fissure, waiting for something they could not quite fathom.
'As… as… the only accredited scientist in this group,' Gileandos began, 'I assure you that whatever discoveries you might expect in the bowels of the castle grounds would be minimal at best. Why, this area has been excavated, plowed under, apportioned, and surveyed for a thousand years. There is nothing new beneath Castle di Caela-' 'Enough, Gileandos,' Sir Robert insisted. 'Why, indeed, if there are tunnels, most certainly-' 'That will be
'Well…' Sir Robert began, this time more quietly, a note of resignation and almost of sadness passing over his voice as he joined the three others who were preparing to pass from the cellars into the thicket of roots and sliding dirt.
'Give me your lantern,' he said to the nearest linkboy. 'The rest of you tend to business upstairs. Tell my daughter where we've gone.'
'Then we're off for it,' he said, grinning exultantly. 'It's a glory how so many things come down to a crawl in a dungeon.'
His companions looked at one another curiously, then back at Sir Robert. Trained Solamnics all, they waited politely as the rest of the party filed up the stairs toward the Great Hall and fresh air and light. Bayard glanced coldly at Gileandos, who stopped for a moment on the stairwell and leaned into the shadow, no doubt hoping to overhear whatever transpired when the entourage left. The old scholar snorted and cast his eyes downward. Finally Sir Andrew had enough.
'Damn it, man, if you're going to blubber or pout, I'd rather risk all our lives and take you with us.'
The tutor scurried back down the steps. Now the darkness in the room grew deeper as the cellar door closed above the six of them. Sir Robert lifted the lantern, and each face was bathed in orange light.
'So here we are,' Bayard said with a smile. 'One fresh young Knight little tested, one seasoned but somewhat banged up, and three others-'
'Old. The word is 'old.' Like cheese or wine.' Sir Andrew chuckled, and Sir Robert laughed gamely.
There was something in the zest and movement of these old Knights that Brandon could not yet understand. Nor Bayard, for that matter, though something in his leg would whisper it in the rainy seasons of the years to come.
Now it was two old men, facing one another at the brink of yet another adventure. Both of them were weary, longing for repose and rest and featherbeds and wine and blankets and the aimless chatter of grandchildren.
Yet both of them knew that whatever lay beyond the walls of the cellar was yet to be encountered.
Bayard raised his hand suddenly. 'Hark! Something back in the…'
Great silence filled the cellar. Footsteps rustled across the floor overhead, and a rat skittered into a darker corner, its eyes glowing red for a moment as they reflected the torchlight.
For a long time, there was no sound.
Then there was a faint light at the head of the stairwell. Someone was descending, hand on the railing until the railing ceased. Then the steps became more cautious, more unsteady, as whoever it was continued the slow descent toward the Knights.
'You have been ordered back!' Sir Robert shouted. Something small and accustomed to the dark shrieked in the corner of the cellar, and Gileandos leaped again, the light in his hand bobbing badly.
'Hold that thing steady, Gileandos, or you'll ignite yourself!' Andrew snapped.
The tutor whimpered but held as steady as possible.
'I am afraid I cannot answer to you, Sir Robert,' a voice piped down the stairwell.
It was Raphael.
'Raphael, go back up with the others,' Bayard ordered impatiently, his eyes already back on the fissure in the cellar wall.
'1 am afraid he cannot answer to you, either, Sir Bayard,' echoed another voice, even more familiar.
'Enid!' Robert and Bayard exclaimed in one voice. 'Get back up-'
They stared at one another stupidly.
Chapter XIV
'No,' the lady of the castle declared musically as she stepped into their presence, draped in a gray wool cloak, her high cheekbones and deep brown eyes bathed suddenly in candlelight as Raphael stepped apologetically out from behind her.
With her also was the Lady Marigold, large arms crossed over her ample bosom. Her glowering look made even Brandon step back. Marigold saw the young Knight shy away from her, and her glower softened.
The big woman was ready for adventure, it seemed. She carried two enormous bags, one of which bristled with brushes and combs and netting, along with machines and devices foreign to all of the men. The other was tied tightly, heavily laden, and smelled of sausage and cheese. Marigold's hair was tiered and woven with flowers. Long-stemmed irises perched on the back of her neck, and the flora changed from nape to forehead, where dainty pansies and namesake marigolds adorned her brow.
'She looks like a wandering hothouse!' Brandon Rus exclaimed beneath his breath. Coyly Marigold winked and kissed the air. He flushed and sank into his armor.
Enid was, as usual, breathtaking. The old men thought of elf-women, of goddesses.
Bayard, on the other hand, knew she was from anywhere but the heavens. Enid glared at him angrily and took Raphael's candle into her hand.
'No, dear Father, dear Husband. No to any of you, for that matter. I am not 'getting back' anywhere.'
'But this is no place-' Brandon began, then stopped himself in midfoolishness as Enid's eye caught his.
Sir Robert snorted, turned, and walked to the far side of the room, his ceremonial armor clattering. Bayard closed his eyes in dismay.
It was like being in the eye of a hurricane. Skittering sounds echoed through the darkness. Even the rats were leaving the vicinity.
''No place for a woman,' you were going to say, dear boy?' Enid di Caela began sweetly.
The other Knights coughed, cleared their throats, looked at their feet. Only Bayard stood firm and attentive, half smiling as he stared levelly at his wife.
'Well, let us just take stock of this 'no place' verdict, Sir Brandon. I see five males in this cellar-not counting, of course, any of the standard underground fauna. Of these five males, 1 believe I can say that you alone are
