Castle for Rent

over into the great rooms on either side. New sorts of combatants appeared: knights in armor, Roman legionnaires, and Greek hoplites crossed swords with an outrageous assortment of monsters. Tentacles snaked, talons raked, and claws tore, all to the tune of singing steel. The noise was deafening. Sheila dove to the floor and flattened herself against the wall. When someone or something stepped on her ankle, she gave a yelp and crawled off.

Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her halfway up. It was Gene.

“Get to the aspect and jump through!” he yelled. “And keep down!” He let her go.

Sheila crawled, keeping her head down but watching out for stamping feet and other, stranger extremities. She was kicked once in the leg, then took the heel of a boot in her ribs. She doubled up with pain; and then got her foot mashed. Whimpering, she rose to a crouch and hobbled away. She stumbled, fell, and got up again.

Someone seized her wrist and spun her around. It was a Blueface, sword raised and ready to strike. Sheila stood transfixed, hypnotized by the gleaming blade above her. She had never really considered what it would be like to be struck by a sword. The blade was huge and looked wickedly sharp, sharper than the Japanese knife in those ubiquitous TV commercials where the guy cuts a beer can open and then dices an avocado. She was now up against the awful prospect, the impending reality, of having that blade slice through her flesh. The amazing thing was that she couldn’t scream. She simply stood there in this frozen instant, acutely conscious of her fate, almost dispassionately wondering if there would be much pain.

She never got the opportunity to find out. Another blade flashed round from behind and took the creature’s head clean off, leaving its neck a pulsing fountain of purple blood. Almost in slow motion, the body dropped at her feet. Snowclaw — which one? — grabbed her arm and shoved her in the direction of the portal.

“Move, Sheila!”

She ran, but more fighting blocked her way. She cut to the right, sidestepped left, then stooped and ducked between the legs of a strange giant creature covered in yellow feathers. The incongruous thought of Sesame Street’s Big Bird came to her, unbidden, as she caught sight of an opening and sprinted for the portal.

She tripped over something and fell. A man in tunic and crested bronze helmet helped her to her feet, then saluted with his sword, turned, and rejoined the fighting. Sheila looked down at the body she had tripped over.

It was Gene, and he was dead, his skull split open and a huge gash in his neck. Sheila screamed and kept screaming.

Someone took her arm and shook her violently.

It was Gene. “Let’s go!”

Dumbfounded, she swung her gaze back and forth between Gene’s twin bodies, living and dead.

“Forget it!” he said. “Come on!”

As she was being dragged down the corridor, she couldn’t take her eyes off Gene’s paradoxical dead body. But she soon lost sight of it as the battle closed in around her. The next few seconds were lost to complete disorientation. Then there was light and a sudden wave of heat — it was like running out of an air-conditioned building on a blistering-hot day. The castle was gone and she was outside, in the middle of a humid and fragrant rain forest. The portal was an upright rectangle, like an odd movie screen, standing in the undergrowth, and through it she could see inside the castle. The fighting raged on.

“Run! Hide!”

Gene was shaking her, yelling into her ear.

“Get lost! Run!”

She was about to ask about Linda when she was rendered speechless by the sight of Gene’s form suddenly growing blurred and indistinct. Then he disappeared altogether, and she was left standing alone. Astonished, she whirled around, again and again, her bewildered eyes searching frantically for any sight of him.

But he was gone. He had simply vanished.

He reappeared just as quickly. He and Linda came through the gateway at a run.

But before Sheila could register shock, they disappeared as inexplicably as the first Gene had done.

They were followed by Snowclaw, who also vanished without fanfare and without a trace. Two more of Snowclaw’s doppelgangers repeated the trick, each blinking out of existence shortly after crossing the threshold.

Then another Gene-and-Linda set came through. This one did not disappear.

“Here she is!” Gene yelled as he ran by. “Let’s go, Sheila!”

He grabbed Sheila’s arm and dragged her along. Sheila tripped, staggered, then found her footing. Gene let go of her arm and she ran after them.

Eventually they pulled ahead and she lost them in the sea of vegetation. She dashed on through the thick undergrowth, leafy tentacles grabbing at her feet, overhanging vines whipping at her face and snagging her clothing. She stopped and looked wildly about. Someone grabbed her sleeve and yanked her down.

It was Gene, crouched with Linda behind some bushes.

“Shhh!”

Sheila peered back at the portal. As she watched, several Bluefaces crossed over and promptly dematerialized. Then Snowclaw came running through. Apparently he was the genuine article. He stayed hugely real.

Gene jumped up and waved at him, whistling.

Snowclaw caught sight of Gene and started forward. A Blueface came charging out of the portal, saw Snowclaw, and jumped him from behind. Snowclaw rolled to the ground to avoid a wicked slash, and in so doing, shot out a foot to trip the creature up. The Blueface went down. There was a brief scuffle on the ground, then both creatures sprang to their feet, swords flashing in the tropical sunlight.

By the time Gene got there to help, the Blueface lay on the ground, wanting the top half of its skull. Gene led Snowy back to the hiding spot.

The foursome watched the portal for five full minutes. No one else came out. All was quiet.

“Maybe that last one was the only survivor,” Gene said. “The only real one, that is.” He found a tree trunk and leaned against it. “How are you guys?”

Linda said, “I wasn’t in much danger. That Blueface was a strong magician, though. If we hadn’t ducked out, I don’t know.” She shook her head ruefully.

“Sheila?”

Horror-struck, she was staring at Gene. “Gene, I … I saw you. You were —”

“Yeah, I know. It was pretty interesting.”

Sheila’s mouth hung open. She worked her jaws, trying to form words in reply.

Gene shrugged. “Well, philosophically speaking —”

Sheila burst into tears, and presently she found that Gene was holding her. She hugged him, pressing her face against the braided leather of his breastplate.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Gene was saying, but she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

“Oh, no!”

Blinking back tears, Sheila looked at Linda.

Linda’s face was ashen. “The portal’s gone,” she said.

Seventeen East 64th and Lexington

Trent’s Mercedes swooped to the curb and halted beneath a sign that read NO STOPPING ANYTIME. Trent got out and opened the trunk. Incarnadine threw his luggage in; then they both got in the car.

It was about three-thirty on a Friday afternoon, and traffic was already congealing into a hopeless clot. Trent drove south on Lexington to 58th Street and turned west.

“Think we can get through the Lincoln Tunnel in under an hour?” Incarnadine asked.

“Sure, no problem,” Trent answered with the casual self-confidence that only a New Yorker can muster in the face of impending gridlock.

“I’d be willing to bet we never make it to the tunnel. This town was always bad, traffic-wise, but the situation