Castle for Rent

and other unfortunates made up a good percentage of the sidewalk population.

Wetting a mental finger and putting it up into the psychic wind, he got a subtle but overriding sense of decay, of desuetude, of things coming apart. Pity. It was a good town, but it had once been a great town.

The curio shop was just where he remembered it to be. The shops around it had been long since boarded up. A derelict lay unconscious on the sidewalk a few doors away. In the other direction, a nervous-looking youth regarded him from the doorway of an abandoned storefront.

He entered to the soft tinkling of a bell. The place was stuffed to the ceiling with an amazing collection of miscellaneous junk, and he was astonished to recognize some pieces from years before. Obviously business had not been brisk. The place smelled of must, dust, and stale cigar smoke.

There was a sallow young man behind the counter. He did not smile when he asked, “Can I help you?”

“Is Mr. Trent in?”

“Why … yes, he is. Who shall I say is calling?”

“Carney. John Carney.”

“One moment.”

The young man slipped through a tattered curtain into a back room. There was a murmuring of voices. Then the young man returned.

“Mr. Trent will see you. This way.”

He followed the young man into the back room. There, seated at an ancient rolltop desk, was a man in his early sixties wearing a gray suit of fashionable cut, along with a burgundy tie, a tailored shirt with a crisply starched collar, and oxblood loafers burnished to a mirror shine. Even in the dim light he cut an imposing figure. His hair was blond-white, his face thin. His eyes were ethereal blue disks over a thin blade of a nose. The mouth was small and precise. He regarded his visitor, eyes narrowing, straining for recognition. At length and with some astonishment, he said, “It is you.”

“Hello, Trent.”

Trent rose and offered his hand, nodding to the young man, who retreated through the curtain.

“Incarnadine,” Trent said.

“Greetings, my long-lost brother,” Incarnadine said in Haplan, the ancient tongue of the even more ancient tribe of the Haplodites. “How dost thee fare?”

“Thou art a sight for longing eyes,” Trent answered. “Let’s stick to English,” he added, “or Alvin will start to wonder.”

“Alvin looks okay. I’ll bet he’s heard many a strange thing back here.”

“You’re right. Have a seat.” Trent dragged up a battered hardback chair.

Incarnadine sat. “It’s been a long time.”

“How did you ever manage to get here?” Trent said.

“Well, I’ve been meaning to crack the problem of the lost gateway for the longest time. Just recently it occurred to me that it could be one of the orbiting variety, the kind that don’t necessarily stay inside the castle. So, I whipped up a flyer, searched the sky over the castle — and sure enough, there it was. Had a devil of a time chasing it down, though.”

Trent lit a small brown cigar and puffed on it. “After thirty years, you decide to do this. Why?”

Incarnadine shrugged. “Any number of reasons. I miss New York … I miss this world. Lots of memories here.” He smiled. “I thought you might have been stranded here when the spell stabilizing the gateway went on the fritz.”

Trent looked hard at him. “You thought. And it takes you thirty years to decide to find out for sure?”

“What is time to a spawn of Castle Perilous? Sorry. Were you stranded? Are you?”

“You said yourself that you found the thing floating in the sky. Where did it leave out?”

“About three thousand feet over the East River.”

Trent whistled. “And you were flying a magical contrivance?” He shook his head. “Tough spot to be in.”

“Yeah. I’d really forgotten how hard it was to practice the Recondite Arts around here.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, when the plane dissolved, I tried just about everything on the way down. At about three seconds to impact I tried a simple protection spell, and that saved the day. And my hide. I hit pretty hard, though. Fortunately, it was only a few strokes swimming to shore. I didn’t get a drop on me.”

“You were lucky. Still, I wonder why you risked it.”

“We’ve been getting a lot of Guests from here in the past few years. Some of them would like a way back. I’m here to see if I can establish a permanent gateway again.”

Trent’s pale brow rose. “You did it for the Guests? Those losers?”

“It’s the least I could do. I would have seen to it long ago, but — one, I’ve been busy. Two, most of the Guests like the castle and want to stay. But some don’t, and I thought we owed them.”

“How about all the rest?”

“Some have stabilized gateways. The others … well, someday I mean to do something for them, too.”

“Most of those damn holes should have been plugged long ago,” Trent said, scowling. “The place is nothing but a big, drafty fun house.”

“Do you realize how much power it would take to keep all the aspects sealed up? Keeping the particularly nasty ones shut up uses enough already.”

Trent chewed his cigar. “Well, I’m no expert on castle magic.” He took the cigar out and tapped the ash into a ceramic tray. “So, you say it never occurred to you to find out what happened to me.”

“I’m embarrassed to say that although I certainly wondered, I always thought you could take care of yourself in any situation.”

“I see.” Trent’s smile formed a small crescent. “Actually it was years before I discovered the gateway had skedaddled. I like it here, as you knew.”

“One of the reasons I never really worried about you.”

“Well, you were never very solicitous of my welfare.”

“Nor you of mine, Trent.”

Trent grunted. “Let’s be frank. We were rivals for the throne. Dad favored you, and that’s all there was to it.” Trent tapped out the cigar. “Look. We have lots to talk about. Let’s drive out to my place. We’ll have dinner, hash over old times. What do you say?”

“Sounds friendly.”

“It is, Inky. Wait a minute.” Trent got up, parted the curtain, and called out: “I’m leaving early. I’ll drive. Get a cab home.”

“Yes, Mr. Trent.”

Trent unhooked a camel’s-hair overcoat from an antique coat tree and pulled it on. “Let’s go.”

The car was a blue Mercedes sedan, meticulously polished and parked next to a sign that read ABSOLUTELY NO PARKING.

“Hell of a nice car to leave on the street,” Incarnadine remarked.

“I have a few friends on the police force who look after it for me.”

“Nice to have friends.”

They got in and Trent started it up and headed east.

“I’m surprised you still have the old shop. Still need a front?”

“Nah, not really. You were very lucky to find me there. My employees open the place up maybe two, three days a week. Most of my business is strictly legitimate these days. Real estate, stocks, the usual. The shop’s still a good write-off, though.” He chuckled. “I’ve been depreciating the same inventory for decades.”

“Still deal in art?”

“My old hobby. I own a gallery on the West Side. Keeps the creative juices flowing.” Trent honked at a taxi that cut in front of him. “Tell me this, why the hell didn’t you try to stabilize the aspect from the other side? Why did you risk coming through and getting stranded?”

“I tried everything I could think of back home, but nothing worked. Something’s changed. The stresses between the two universes have shifted over the years. It’s not the same. Probably why the old spell failed.”

Trent nodded. “I see.” He made a series of lefts and rights, then turned north on First Avenue.

They were in the midtown tunnel when Trent asked, “Do you think you can tunnel back?”