him do it. The man stayed with feint-and-lunge maneuvers that kept the rapier unpredictably darting about, avoiding contact with Gene’s heavy weapon.
The portal might close any second. He would somehow have to maneuver back toward the far wall. But Gene was not in charge. His opponent would determine who would go where. On the positive side, the man was no expert. Although he couldn’t fathom why, Gene had the feeling that he could hold his own with a fencing sword too. This flashed through his mind when he saw the crossed epees above the mantelpiece.
His back to the fireplace, he swung wildly with the broadsword and fended his opponent off, then overturned a stuffed chair to block him. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Gene reached back and fumbled with one of the crossed swords — it fell and rolled away. He reached again, grasped the remaining epee by its cupped hilt, and ran off toward the alcove.
“Coward!” the man yelled when Gene had recrossed the boundary. He was in the castle again — he could tell by the distinctive purplish-gray stone — but the chamber was a cul-de-sac. He had nowhere to run.
Gene switched the epee to his right hand and put it up against the man’s thrusting attack, neatly parrying and delivering a riposte that the man had trouble beating away.
The man’s expression changed. He was a little less sure of himself.
“Just who the hell are you?” Gene demanded.
“As if you didn’t know!” came the answer, along with a forceful beat against Gene’s sword and a savage lunge.
“I’m not Count Whozis,” Gene said, calmly beating back and riposting. “Isn’t that apparent by now?” The sword felt like part of his hand, as if he were born to be a swordsman.
“No other human dwells in this place. If you are not Giovanni Luigino, the Count di Ciancia, then you are one of his familiars, and if that is true, I should be dead! But I’m not. So you must be he, though you bear no resemblance to the fiend.”
“Okay —” Gene feinted, then attacked the man’s left shoulder. His opponent parried, but couldn’t riposte due to Gene’s expert follow-up attack to the middle. “What’s this guy done, anyway?”
“Damn you to hell! You know more than I what foul deeds are yours. I know only —” The man overreacted to Gene’s feint, leaving himself open to a quick lunge, which he had to hastily beat away, retreating. “I know only that you have raped my baby daughter and have forever soiled her reputation.”
“Hey look, if you want, I’ll marry the bitch.”
The man froze, his eyes wide. “You will?”
“Hell, yeah, if you’ll keep your shirt on.”
The man looked skeptical. “What sort of dowry will you demand?”
“Make it easy on yourself. Nothing, if you want. Or her hope chest, what do I care?”
“Done. You have my blessing.”
Three events happened then, almost but not quite simultaneously.
One: Snowclaw’s voice came out of thin air.
“Gene! I’m coming, pal!”
Two: a short, chubby young woman in a blue hooped gown and decolletage came bursting through the double doors in the left wall of the outer room. Following close behind was a thin, dissolute young man dressed in lavender pantaloons, hose, and white puffed-sleeve blouse. At the sight of Gene, an outraged father, and the unexplained hole in the drawing room wall, his pale eyebrows rose. He lifted a monocle.
“How very interesting,” he said.
“Father!” the girl shouted indignantly, her multiple chins quivering. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Turning, the man said, “Corabella?” Then he saw the count and drew a sharp breath. “You!”
Three: Snowy materialized in a dead run and slammed into Corabella’s father, sending him cartwheeling across the room.
Snowy was a little disoriented. “Hi, Gene,” he said. “Hey, I really did it!”
Corabella screamed. On Gene’s side of the portal the walls turned milky and began to waver.
“Snowy, quick!” Gene reached across and tugged at a handful of Snowclaw’s fur. Snowy got the idea and leaped across the boundary.
Darkness.
“Snowy?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Where are we?”
“The portal shut, and this room’s a dead end. Jesus, that was another close one.”
“You’re probably going to ask me where the hell I came from.”
“Well, now that you mention it,” Gene said.
“I was in that cage right up until a few seconds ago, and now I’m here. Just before that happened, I could see you. I wanted to help you, and suddenly I was here, helping you.”
“Congratulations! You got your magic power. Teleportation!”
“No kidding? Hey, that makes me a real magician, don’t it?”
“It sure does, big fella. Now, if we can get out of this hole.”
As if on cue, an oblong of light materialized to the left — an opening, leading into familiar castle architecture.
“Here we go,” Snowclaw said. “By the way, what was that scene all about? Looked like fun.”
“Seventeenth century Italy, maybe, but nobody’s ever said anything about time travel, so it must’ve been some goofy variant. I don’t know. We gotta find Linda.”
“I think I can do just that,” Snowclaw said.
Donjon, Then Chapel
Jacoby stopped to examine a few of the curious torture devices that filled the room. He had known immediately what they were, though he was not certain how most of them worked or what torments they were designed to inflict. Some of them looked positively diabolical in intent. Looking them over, he felt a curious ambivalence — an amalgam of dismay and approval. These were but tools in the ungloved fist of power. There was no mercy in this room, only the certainty of punishment for trespasses against the ruling order. There was no compromise, and no escape.
He strode through a block of cells. The straw in them looked fresh, and he wondered when the facility had last housed prisoners. Everything looked perfectly functional, ready for use. But that was no different from the usual state of things here; he had never seen anything in the entire castle that looked worn-out or dilapidated, even though the place was reputed to be thousands of years old.
He left the donjon and searched for stairs. He had had his fill of the cellar. Besides, he needed food. He regretted losing Linda. No one had seen the cook for the last few days, but the Guests’ dining room had been laid out with enough nonperishable items to last for weeks. If he could get up there —
The floor began to shake, and the stone walls shimmered. Jacoby dived to the floor, buried his head in his arms and rode out the disturbance.
When he thought it safe, he climbed to his feet and looked about. The tremors seemed a little less intense in this area of the castle, thank heaven for that. He was in a large high-ceiling chamber. It was dark, and he had to squint to pick out some detail in the far wall. He saw what looked like enormous cast-iron doors, similar to those on great cathedrals. He walked toward them.
Suddenly, a thin bright vertical line of light appeared between the doors and began to widen. Slowly, ponderously, the enormous entrance swung open, revealing an interior flashing with yellow-orange light.
“COME FORWARD!”
Jacoby’s heart froze. It was the loudest, most terrifying voice he had ever heard. Stiffly, he turned and started running, but there was nothing but darkness back where he’d come from. He stopped and slowly turned to face the hellish light.
“WE BID YOU ENTER. OBEY NOW, OR INCUR OUR UNSPEAKABLE WRATH.”
Jacoby tottered forward. The color drained from his face, and beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead like
