John DeChancie
Castle for Rent
To Thomas F. Monteleone
The splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Prologue
One
Cellar, Near the Donjon
In a niche in a crypt deep within a great castle, a section of wall vanished and revealed a high-raftered, pelt- hung room which evoked the interior of a Viking hall — but not quite. Two creatures stood in the room, facing each other. They were not human, but approximated human form. Their faces were huge and wrinkled, their eyes narrow slits over a blunt snout split by a mouth not unlike a hippopotamus’, save that the teeth were numerous and sharp. They had thick, squat bodies, exorbitantly muscled, with leathery blue skin. They wore pieces of shiny green armor that could have been plastic or fiberglass or some composite material — or perhaps sections of the carapace of a giant insect. Both creatures wore swords and daggers in ornate scabbards. The behavior and mannerisms of both creatures could generally be described as an exaggeration, perhaps even a parody, of behavior patterns peculiar to a certain type of overaggressive male human.
The sudden materialization of the opening had interrupted a conversation — rather, a confrontation involving bared teeth, threatening postures, and much angry grunting and gesticulating. The creature who faced the opening stopped in mid-gesture, his six-fingered hand raised to strike the other creature. A puzzled expression formed on his inhuman countenance. The other creature had backed off, hand darting to the curving grip of a pistol in a hip holster.
Slowly the first creature lowered his arm, then grunted and motioned toward the opening, which lay at his adversary’s back. The other grunted threateningly in reply, warily maintaining his orientation and taking another step back. He wasn’t taking any chances. The first grunted again, pointing emphatically toward the suddenly created doorway.
The second creature couldn’t resist casting a glance to the rear. He did an almost comic double take and whirled about to face the opening. Their argument temporarily forgotten, the two approached the anomaly. The second creature drew his weapon — a strange thing with a short barrel and a large underhanging clip. Cautiously they peered out. There was nothing immediately outside the opening but the bare stone walls of a corridor running to darkness at either hand. The gun-bearing creature stuck his head out and looked one way then the other. He snorted.
Then he said: “Secret passage. Escape tunnel.”
The other grunted something in reply.
The first holstered his weapon and stepped out into the corridor. “Runs directly to Proconsul’s quarters, leads to outside.”
“Convenient,” said the first creature as it came through the doorway. “But where did wall go?” He examined the dark stone of corridor, still looking puzzled. “Wonder where stone comes from. Strange stuff.” He thumped a blue fist against it.
The gun-toting creature sniffed the air, snout wriggling. “Something not right here.”
The other glanced about warily. “Strange. Very strange.”
They wandered about, sniffing high and low, probing cracks and crannies with fat, blunt fingers.
“Sorcerer’s work,” the unarmed creature pronounced, peering at multicolored glittering motes that lay deep within the stone.
“You think?”
“What else? I saw wall disappear.”
“You are drunk.”
“If I want excrement from you, I will squeeze it out of your head!”
“And I will make you eat it — along with your words, dung-breath!”
The two squared off and snarled at each other for a spell. Gradually the tension lessened as they were again distracted by the strange apparition.
“Sorcerer’s work, I tell you.”
“Nonsense. Escape tunnel, nothing more.”
“Look at seam here, between stone and wood. Blurry.” The creature put his hand up against the juncture and observed that the hand became indistinct, then withdrew it as from something hot.
“Look!”
Far down the corridor, a mote of light danced in the darkness. Soon footsteps approached.
The two creatures went into defensive stances.
“Hi, there!” came a voice from down the hall.
A human approached, a short bearded man in jeans and a T-shirt. He stopped a short distance away. He held an odd lantern: it was a long wooden handle with a huge glowing jewel affixed to the end. The jewel glowed an eerie blue-white.
“Hi! Mort Kaufmann’s the name. Have you two just wandered into the castle?”
The one with the gun slowly straightened.
“What sort of creature are you?” he barked. “And what are you doing in stronghold of Proconsul?”
“The what of who?” Kaufmann laughed. “You got it wrong. I should be asking what you’re doing here — but of course I know perfectly well what you’re doing. You were just minding your own business when all of a sudden a wall in your —” He took a step forward and peeked into the opening. “ — living room? Yeah,a wall in your living room suddenly went
The creature thrust the pistol toward him. “I ask you question! Speak, or I will drill hole in your hairy head.”
Kaufmann backed off. “Hey, now look. I don’t want any trouble with you guys. Just being friendly, is all. I’m just trying to help out. You know, you really shouldn’t —”
The unarmed creature rushed him. The jewel-torch clattered to the floor and Kaufmann went flying. The corridor wall interrupted his flight with a sickening thud. The creature then picked him up like a limp rag and began to pummel him mercilessly.
The other creature went for the torch, scooped the thing up, and examined it. At length he looked over his shoulder and growled, “Don’t kill it! Proconsul will want to interrogate!”
Kaufmann lay still on the floor, one arm at an anatomically improbable angle.
“Two-legged, hairy creature that talks. Fantastic! Where did it come from?”
“From this place, wherever.”
