“So far. You know what they say, though. Any aspect can close up on you, anytime.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Linda asked, “Why did you come back, Snowy?”
“Couldn’t make it in the real world. I’m hungry.”
Snowclaw scanned the table for anything he could eat. He grabbed a candle out of its sconce, dipped it into gooey white salad dressing, and took a bite. The thin man sitting in front of the empty sconce looked up and smiled bleakly at him.
“Sorry, pal,” Snowclaw said. “Was that yours?”
“No, quite all right. You ought to try the silverware.”
Gene said, “I’m glad you showed up, Snowy. I’ve been giving some thought to going exploring. Just picking an interesting aspect and heading off into it. Feel like going with me?”
“Sure, let’s go. Just so it’s someplace warm.”
“I thought you didn’t take to heat.”
“I’m slowly becoming a convert to your way of thinking.”
“Well, let me finish breakfast, and we’ll scout around and see if we can find something interesting. Have a seat, Snowy.”
Snowy said, “Linda, can I talk you into whipping up some grub for me?”
“Sure thing. What would you like?”
“Oh, the usual.”
“You mean that fishmeal mush you like? The icky green stuff?”
“If it won’t make you puke.”
“Don’t be silly. You have to eat the food your body needs. Hold on a minute.”
Linda closed her eyes briefly, extending her right hand palm-down over the table. A large wooden bowl materialized under her hand. It was filled with icky green stuff.
“Thanks, Linda,” Snowclaw said, taking the bowl and scooping out a gob of mush with his fingers. His fierce yellow eyes lit up as he sat down and began to eat in earnest.
“I don’t know about you two running off like that,” Linda said. “I’m going to worry about you.”
“We’ll be fine,” Gene said, helping himself to more chicken a la king.
Snowclaw had sat down next to a chubby young man with a straggly beard who was staring at him with a mixture of awe and repugnance. Snowclaw caught his stare.
“Something bothering you, friend?”
“Huh?” The young man’s face turned a shade paler. “No! Not a thing. Really. Uh … ”
Linda intervened with, “Snowy, this is Barnaby Walsh. He’s a new Guest. Barnaby, I’d like you to meet our friend, Snowclaw.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Snowclaw.”
“Same here. Pass that salt, would you?”
“Certainly. Here you are.”
“Thanks.”
Linda said, “Barnaby is an American, just like us.”
“That’s real nice.”
“Uh … ” Barnaby smiled sheepishly. “I don’t understand. I mean, obviously Mr. Snowclaw is … well, he’s not a human being. But I can understand him perfectly. He even sounds American! But how could that be?”
“The translation spell,” Gene said.
“The what?”
“It’s operative throughout the entire castle. It’s a magic spell that gives you an instantaneous running translation of any language. Snowy’s speaking in his own tongue, just like everybody else here. Take Mr. Hoffmann over there, for example. He’s German, and he speaks no English. Right, Mr. Hoffmann?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t get it,” Walsh said. “He just spoke English.”
“No, he didn’t. He said it in German. Didn’t you, Mr. Hoffmann?”
“Ja.”
“Well, I heard it that time,” Walsh said.
“You can turn the translation off if you want to. For instance, just listen to the sound of Snowy’s voice for a while. He grunts and barks and growls, but you understand him perfectly.”
“But how?”
“It’s magic!” everyone at the table chorused. Then they all laughed, except Walsh.
“I think I’m going insane,” Walsh said, covering his face with his chubby hands.
Linda reached out a hand. “Now, Barnaby, don’t lose it. Come on. If I could adjust, so can you. I was in worse shape than you when I wandered in here.”
“It’s just all so fantastic. So unbelievable.”
“It’s real. Just go with it. Don’t fight it. It’s fun, mostly. Things can get a little dangerous sometimes, but magic is the rule here. Anything goes.”
“Do you really think … ” Barnaby steadied himself with a gulp of coffee. “Will I really develop magic powers?”
“Everyone who becomes a Guest does. Castle Perilous is like a big dynamo, spinning off this fantastic energy. We act sort of like conductors. But each person’s powers are unique. Everyone can do something different.”
“You mean I might not be able to materialize things, like you, but I’ll get some other power?”
“Right. For instance, Snowy here can teleport like a champ.”
“Really? No kidding.”
Snowclaw nodded. “Yeah, I can zip all over the damn place just by thinking about it.”
“And Gene is the greatest swordsman in this and a few other worlds.”
“Zat is becawse ah am French.”
“You’re French?”
“Of course. Why else would ah have zis ridiculous accent, eh?”
“French accents are not necessarily ridiculous,” said a gentleman named DuQuesne. “I wish you could hear what most Americans sound like when they try to speak French.”
“Whoops, looks like I put my foot in it again,” Gene said. “Sorry, Monsieur DuQuesne.”
M. DuQuesne laughed. “I was teasing you, Gene.”
“Well, I don’t mean to go treading on nationalist feelings. I mean, we’ve all got —” Gene caught sight of something and trailed off.
He was staring over Linda’s head. Linda turned to see three blue-skinned creatures enter the dining room and stop to survey it imperiously. They could have been the same three who had shown up on the picnic grounds.
They sauntered over to the table. One of them looked over the wide selection of comestibles spread from one end of the table to the other.
“Scavenger leavings,” it said with disgust. “Garbage.”
No one argued with the creature.
The middle one had picked up a turkey leg to sniff. The creature tossed the thing over its shoulder contemptuously.
“If you speak to the cook,” Gene suggested to the first creature, “I’m sure you’ll be taken care of.”
The creature didn’t answer. It stalked the length of the long table, sizing everyone up. It stopped at a place opposite Gene and stood arms akimbo, glaring, flashing its gleaming teeth. “What if I think your cook is garbage as well?”
“Then you’ll starve, pal.” Gene shrugged. “Those are the breaks.”
“Breaks?” The creature’s head turned slightly to one side, as if giving ear to an unseen interpreter. Then it nodded. “Understand. Yes. Luck. You are lucky I am under orders. I will not kill you now. But I might take some pleasure kicking your miserable carcass about this room.”
“You’ll take pleasure in this first, friend,” Gene said, laying a hand on the hilt of his sword. His heart was jumping into his mouth as he said it.
“
