Incarnadine’s capture —”
“We are not interested in your impressions, scribe,” Melydia said.
“No, my lady.”
“Why not forget the Spell Stone,” Vorn went on, “and simply look for the treasure room?”
“That, too, would be difficult to locate,” Osmirik answered. “But if His Royal Highness would permit me an opinion, I would agree that this would be the best —”
“That is enough,” Melydia said.
Vorn looked at Melydia, eyes a trifle suspicious. “Is there something …?”
“A scholar’s daydreams, sire. He’ll propose a dozen different theories, then take the negative and argue each one into absurdity. It is naught but casuistry.”
“I merely meant to add, my lady, that —”
“
Vorn, on unsure ground, stroked his beard thoughtfully.
“I would be interested, Lady Melydia, in what he has to say.”
Melydia sighed. She inserted an index finger between her cheek and the white cloth of her wimple, letting air in. “Forgive me,” she said, her hands going up to her pie-shaped orange hat to adjust it. “This man is a member of my household. I must put up with his convoluted gibberish and insubordination on a daily basis.” She fanned her face with her hand. “Yes, yes, by all means … go on.”
Osmirik stiffened. “Thank you, my lady. There are other legends concerning Castle Perilous. One of them has to do with the jewel known as the Brain of Ramthonodox.”
“Ah, yes, the jewel,” Vorn said, smiling. “It would likely be in the treasure room, would it not?”
“I do not know, sire. I do know that the name Ramthonodox appears in certain ancient writings —”
“Musty books he has his nose stuck in all day,” Melydia said.
“Yes, my lady. In one particular volume, the
“Yes, yes,” Vorn said impatiently. “We have similar legends in the East. Go on.”
“The name Ramthonodox appears at various points in the texts. Unfortunately, the references are not clear, due to difficulties in translation. The original Tryphosite codices have been lost. All we have is an early Zamathian translation. However, in marginalia added to copies of the Zamathian codex done about fifteen hundred years ago, we find —”
Vorn struck the table with a mailed fist. “Get to the point!”
“Yes, sire. There are also references to —”
From inside the barbican there came a terrific sound like a clap of thunder. There were shouts and general commotion. Then, men screaming in agony.
Silence at the table.
“They have found our mine,” Dax said.
Vorn nodded grimly. The three men rose and walked solemnly out of the tent.
Melydia stood up slowly, turned and faced Osmirik, drawing up to him until the tip of her nose fairly met his.
“You think the art of colossal transmogrification lost?”
Her breath was hot on his face. “Not quite, my lady.”
“True, it is not. I have it, and I will transmogrify you into a mountain of
“My —”
“
Osmirik’s body went slack. He took a deep breath.
“I have warned you before, and I do so now again.” Melydia stepped back. “Take heed, scribe.”
She turned and left.
Osmirik’s face grew pensive. He paced the length of the tent for a while, then halted.
“Library,” he said in a whisper. “The library …”
Keep — East Wing — Family Residence
The room was lovely in the daylight. The walls were paneled in dark wood, the furniture beautifully carved in a style she did not recognize. There were even curtains. She had had no trouble sleeping here. She had never slept in a canopied bed.
She threw off the covers, sat up and dangled her feet over the side of the bed, feeling for her wooden-soled sandals. She had slept in her clothes — faded jeans, and a T-shirt with faded iron-on lettering that read IT’S HARD TO FLY LIKE AN EAGLE WHEN YOU WORK WITH TURKEYS, accompanied by a cartoon rendering of the sentiment. She needed to use the bathroom, and she wanted a shower. If they had bathrooms in this place. She rather doubted it. She got up and stretched. It occurred to her to look under the bed. Yup, there it was: the chamber pot. Yuck. Well, she could put it off for a little while longer. Not like yesterday, when she had to … No use dwelling on that.
She went to the window. Here, unlike in other parts of the castle she had seen, the windows were glazed, lovely old leaded glass. Turning the wrought-iron handle, she swung one casement pane outward. She leaned out. She couldn’t tell exactly how far up the room was, but it was high. Below and beyond the outer walls a carpet of dense green forest spread out and upward, mounting to the foothills of snow-tipped peaks far in the distance. Not a sound. The air was cool and sweet-smelling.
Someone opened the door to her room, and she jumped. Almost everything in this place made her jump. But this time it was only a middle-aged woman carrying bedding. She was dressed in a long gray undergown with sleeves full to the elbow. The sleeveless overgarment was white. She wore a white cloth cap tied around twists of gray hair to either side of the head. The woman’s face was pleasant, if a bit plain. Her complexion was ruddy, and she had few teeth. She looked friendly.
“Good morning, mum,” the maid said, smiling.
“Good morning.”
“May I …?”
“Um … yes. Yes, of course.”
The woman came into the room and began stripping the bed.
She stood watching for a moment before she said, “Uhh … I’m Linda Barclay.”
The maid smiled again. “Pleased to meet you, mum. Rawenna’s my name. Sleep well, I trust?”
“Yes. Yes! Marvelous. I —”
The maid looked up from her work. “You were saying, mum?”
Linda shook her head. She crossed to the footboard of the bed and ran her hand over the carvings. “You know …”
“Yes, mum?”
“I found this room by accident. I really don’t know … I mean, I hope I wasn’t —”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself, mum. Any room where you’ll be comfortable.”
“But I’m not really sure I’m supposed to be here!”
“Oh?”
“I don’t even know where I am. This place …”
“You’re in the keep, mum. Forty-sixth floor, east wing.”
“Yes, but where? This is a castle, I know, but
“Well, where are you from?”
“I live in Santa Monica, California.”
Rawenna stopped plumping the pillows long enough to think it over. She shook her head. “Sorry, mum, never
