Castle for Rent

galumphing jog, his oversize wing-tip oxfords slapping against the flagstone.

They ran. The place was nothing but endless corridors shunting every which way, leading to nothing but more passageways and corridors and the occasional crypt or alcove, all of it giving the impression of having been laid out without design, purpose, or plan.

I’m no hero, Barnaby thought to himself. In fact, he was just the opposite. He was more afraid now than he had ever been at any time in his life. He had told her to go on without him as a sort of test. He didn’t know what he would have done had she left. Alone, he might have simply gone insane.

They made their way down the stone-walled corridor, Deena at a sprint, Barnaby loping along. She reached a cross-tunnel and stopped until he caught up.

“Stairs,” she said, pointing to the left.

Barnaby could barely see in the gloom. “Let’s go,” he said.

The stairwell was spiral. Deena started down the well, taking two steps at a time, her crisp white athletic shoes glowing in the darkness.

Barnaby said, “I can barely —” then stumbled and almost fell.

Deena halted a few turns down. “Watch yourself,” she warned. “It’s dark down here.”

“Yeah,” he said dully.

They continued down, and found to their dismay that the stairwell was endless. After five minutes of steady descent they stopped, not knowing what to do.

“Go back up?” Deena suggested.

Barnaby gave her an incredulous look.

“Guess not.” She shrugged. “They gotta end sometime.”

They kept on following the downward spiral for another ten minutes. The stairwell continued with no sign of a bottom.

“Shit?”

“It’s ridiculous,” Barnaby said.

“Silliest damn thing,” Deena complained, hands on her hips and a look of offended dignity on her dark brown face. She sneered up, then down. “Damn. Well, if we didn’t go back up before, we sure ain’t gonna do it now. Let’s go.”

They stumped down the stairs for another five or ten minutes. The stairwell was bare and featureless, except for an occasional glowing jewel-torch and the odd niche here and there.

“I’m really starting to get pissed off,” Deena said.

Barnaby couldn’t help laughing. Deena caught it and began to giggle. She continued doing so, intermittently, for the next few minutes, but as time wore on, she fell silent save for occasional grumbling and cursing.

They marched down the spiral for a quarter hour before the stairs eventually ended in a low-ceilinged tunnel.

“Finally,” Barnaby murmured, barely able to keep his legs moving. He was beyond fatigue now; he wondered how long his heart would last, how long it would keep feebly pushing blood through his bloated carcass, which now felt like something dead that had to be dragged along.

The tunnel went straight for a stretch, then made a forty-five-degree turn, followed by a right-angled corner. The passage continued for about sixty feet, ultimately feeding into another stairwell whose spiraling steps led nowhere but up.

“Oh, no!” Barnaby staggered backward.

“Damn,” she said. “They screwin’ with us!”

“Oh my God.” Barnaby collapsed against the cold stone wall of the tunnel. He sank to his haunches and closed his eyes.

Deena sat on the steps and began tenderly massaging her firm, almost muscular brown legs. “They jerkin’ us around.”

Barnaby didn’t speak; he couldn’t. They sat in silence for a long spell.

“Damn,” she said again, quietly. And then, after a long pause: “Well … ”

“Don’t even think of it,” Barnaby said.

“Okay,” she said. “Take your time. We ain’t exactly got anywhere to go.”

“Thanks.”

“But up.”

“Exactly.”

She craned her neck, peering up the spiral. “Maybe it don’t go up as far as the other one went down.”

“Why can’t I believe that?” Barnaby said.

“‘Cause theyscrewin’ with us, that’s why,” Deena said. Then she began giggling again.

Barnaby answered with a hideous laugh, which made Deena giggle all the more. Barnaby closed his eyes again and laughed till it hurt.

He choked it off when Deena suddenly yelped and jumped up from the steps as if from a hot stove.

“What the hell —?” She stared in disbelief at the steps, which, inexplicably, had begun moving upward of their own accord, like some impossible stone escalator.

Getting to his feet, Barnaby acted as though he wasn’t at all surprised. He caught the bottom step, mounted, and rose up the stairwell.

“Going up — lingerie, notions, merchandise return on the mezzanine.”

“I’m comin’,” Deena told him, stepping aboard. “I just wish this was Bloomingdale’s,” she added in a mutter.

They rose in silence, the paradoxical escalator making a barely audible humming noise. Gradually its speed increased, and the stairwell showed no sign of ending. Eyes wide with wonder, Barnaby and Deena continued their magical ascent. Air whistled past them down the spiraling shaft. The rate of climb kept steadily increasing. In a few minutes it began to take on alarming proportions.

“What was that you said about the mezzanine?” she asked nervously. “I want to get off.”

“Yeah,” he said, licking dry lips. “This seemed a peachy idea down at the bottom.”

The noise increased to a thunderous roar, and the escalator’s speed soon necessitated their getting down on all fours to fight a centrifugal force that threatened to push them into the stationary outside wall, which was rushing by at a rate guaranteed to impart a severe brush burn at the very least. But there was nothing to hold on to but bare stone.

It was like being inside a tumble-dryer. Soon, the walls became a blur and vertigo overtook both of them. Barnaby felt consciousness slipping away as his hands inexorably slid across the smooth stone of the steps.…

He reached the brink of oblivion, then came back, and he realized that the escalator was slowing down. He held on tightly until it came to an abrupt stop.

They lay motionless for a moment. Barnaby raised his head. There was a landing a few steps up. He slowly got to his feet, then looked back at Deena, who was rising. He held out his hand, and she took it.

“Come on,” he said.

They mounted the last few steps and came out into an expansive room with numerous windowed alcoves. Daylight streamed through some of the windows. There were a few tables and chairs lying about, and one leather- covered settee, which Barnaby collapsed across, stretching out facedown. Deena sat down on the backs of his legs, and, fashioned like this, they rested for a full ten minutes.

Eventually he said. “My legs are falling asleep.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t get up.”

“It’s okay.”

Deena rose and moved to a chair. Barnaby levered himself upright. “Jesus,” he sighed.

“Yeah, ain’t it the truth.”

Presently Deena got up and wandered over to one of the alcoves.

“What the hell is this shit?” she wanted to know.

“What?” he asked, still too tired to move.

“You gotta see this.”

“In a minute … or two, or three.”