mountains. It was a bright day. Last time she had looked outside, it was a dark winter Saturday night. Now it was broad daylight. Different place, different time.
A castle — yes, the building looked more like a castle. A huge one, from what she could see. The window must have been forty stories off the ground.
She was cold. She toddled off down the hallway, at length discovering a huge wooden door to the left. She tried the wrought-iron handle; the door wouldn’t budge. She passed another window and came to a dead halt, as if hitting an invisible barrier. No, she couldn’t have seen what she thought she’d seen. She backtracked and looked out.
Yes, she’d seen it. There was a desert out there, vast and dry and empty. A molten sun beat down on endless salt flats, scorched and featureless, upon which there grew not a weed, nor a blade of grass.
She went back to the first window. The forest — as lush and green as before — was still out there, as were the glorious snow-capped mountains that rose in the distance.
She returned to the second window and stared out, forgetting her nudity, forgetting herself.
Presently the drying soap began to itch, and she turned away and continued down the hall. She again grew aware that she was cold.
“Help,” she called, as calmly as possible. “Somebody help me, please.”
No one answered. She came to a casement window with panes of leaded glass, but declined to look out. She called out again, and again no answer came.
She tried another door, then another. The third was unlocked, and she peeked in.
It was a bedroom. The bed was huge and looked quite comfortable, covered with blankets and quilts and decorated pillows. There were night tables on either side which held lamps, and a big wooden chest lay at the foot of the bed. A tall pine wardrobe stood off to the right, and a dressing table lay near the huge open window. She went to the window and looked out.
The castle spread out endlessly beneath her, a tumult of walls and towers and courtyards and buildings. Beyond the farthest wall there was a sheer drop and then a wide plain. On the horizon, black mountains bulked against the sky like storm clouds.
The window had thick velvet curtains which she untied and let fall. The room darkened. She checked the door and found that it had an old-fashioned lock turned by a huge old-fashioned key. She twisted the key until she heard a click, then ran for the bed. She tore the covers down and slipped in. The sheets had been warmed by the sun, and she luxuriated in the comfort of it, sighing with relief.
She looked around the room. Ohmygawd, what a place to spend a Saturday night. Naked — and no goddamn date!
She pulled the covers over her head.
Eight
Castle Keep — West Wing
Gene, Linda, and Snowclaw approached the door to Gene’s room.
“I think we should make some systematic effort to search for their portal,” Gene was saying. “Find out where they’re coming from.”
“Track ’em,” Snowclaw said.
“Yeah, that’s it. We follow a couple of them. Eventually they’ll go back to their world and we’ll at least know — oh, damn it. The maid must have locked my door. I don’t have my key, either.”
Linda asked, “Want me to materialize it?”
“Yeah, sure.”
A key appeared in Linda’s hand. “Is this it?”
“We’ll find out.”
Gene fit the oversize key into the keyhole and turned it. The lock clicked open. “Anyway, we have to keep a close watch on them, that’s for sure,” he continued, shouldering the door open and going in. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the naked woman dash away from the door and dive into the bed.
Linda bumped into him, then saw the strange female in Gene’s bed.
“Oh, excuse me,” Linda said, then turned and left.
The woman was peeking over the covers, eyes as round as half-dollars. Gene stood there gawking for a moment. Then he called over his shoulder, “Linda? Hey, wait —”
Snowclaw came in, and the woman shrieked and disappeared under the sheets.
Gene said, “Uh, don’t be afraid. He won’t hurt you.”
“Who’s your new friend, Gene?” Snowclaw asked.
“Never saw her before. Uh, Miss —?”
There came a frightened mewling from beneath the covers.
Gene laughed. “You know, that’s a line right out of an old Bela Lugosi movie. ‘Do not be afraid. He will not hurt you.’ Snowclaw, do you mind leaving the room? I think I can handle this.”
“I gotta find a room for myself, anyway. Darned if I know how I’ll ever get used to sleeping on those soft bouncy things you humans like. See you later.”
Snowclaw left.
“Uh, Miss? Or Ms., or whatever. You can come out now.”
“I don’t have any clothes!”
“Yeah. I’m aware of that. Uh, I mean, you can
“Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“Now, calm down. Take it easy.”
She was a redhead with green eyes. Pretty, too.
“He’s gone,” Gene said.
“What …
“I don’t know the name Snowclaw’s species goes by, but obviously they’re humanoid, intelligent, and probably descended from ursine stock rather than anthropoids, like we are.”
“Huh?”
“Bears. Polar bears.”
“Oh. He didn’t look much like a bear.”
“No, not much. Looks ten times more ferocious.”
“Oh my God.”
“I’m Gene Ferraro.”
“Huh? Oh. Sheila Jankowski.”
“Hi, Sheila. You want some clothes?”
“Yes. Yes, please! Thank you.”
Gene went to the wardrobe, opened it, and rooted. “Here’s a tunic that’s a little too small for me. It’s just a one-piece thing. Linda can whip up a nice outfit for you anytime. I’ll be in the john, there, so you can dress.” He threw the garment on the bed.
When he came out of the bathroom, she was dressed and standing by the window looking at him sheepishly, apprehensively.
“I’m sorry I messed your bed up,” she said. “Sorry I used your room. But, you see, I didn’t know —”
“I don’t mind in the slightest,” Gene said.
“I heard you at the door,” she said, “and I ran to see if I could bolt it. I … I didn’t know —”
“Forget it. You’re probably confused, right? You’re probably wondering what the hell this place is, and what you’re doing here, and why the hell I’m wearing something out of a bad old Tony Curtis movie — you know, the ones where he strikes a heroic pose and says, ‘Yonder is da castle of my fodder.’ Right?”
“Well, what you’re wearing looks … interesting.”
Gene rapped a knuckle against the leather cuirass that covered his chest. “Not much protection in a swordfight,” he said, “but chain mail’s too heavy and armor is ridiculous. I like to be able to move.”
