“Suits me,” Gene said. “And now suits me as well as later.”
The creature smiled the wickedest, toothiest smile Gene had ever seen or could ever have imagined. “You are brave. Surprising, inasmuch as your race is so cravenly peaceful.”
Gene laughed. “He don’t know humans very well, do he?”
Nobody else laughed.
“Gene … ” Linda’s warning was also a plea.
“Reconsidering,” the creature said, “it might be worth being court-martialed to see this hovel tastefully decorated with your entrails — if you have any left after I am finished with you.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out, big fella.”
Snowclaw stood up. He towered at least two feet over the creature. “You’re in my light, Blueface.” Snowclaw placed a hand flat against the creature’s shiny green breastplate and shoved. The creature went staggering backward but managed to stay on his feet.
Gene gulped uncomfortably. Any other living thing would have gone crashing into the wall.
The three intruders drew their swords almost in unison. Gene jumped up and followed suit, as did a number of armed males at the table. Snowclaw snarled and leaped toward the first creature, coming to a karate fighting stance, milky claws at their maximum extension.
“Halt!”
The voice had come from the arched entrance to the dining hall. There stood another blue-skinned creature, scowling in the direction of the one Snowclaw had shoved.
The first creature came to attention with its sword at present-arms. The others followed suit.
“There will be none of this,” the creature at the door said.
“Yes, Squad Leader,” the first creature acknowledged.
“You will report back to headquarters immediately. Consider yourself under arrest.”
“Yes, Squad Leader.”
“Go.”
The three soldiers left. The squad leader lingered at the doorway for a moment, its cold eyes taking the measure of the room and the beings contained therein. Then, abruptly, it turned and marched off.
Everybody breathed again.
“Gene, I don’t believe you did that.” Linda rolled her eyes and put her hands to her head.
Gene looked unhappy. “It wasn’t me, it was the magic. This castle turns me into a cross between John Wayne and Cyrano de Bergerac, and something compels me to act out the role. Besides, that guy was getting on my nerves.”
“Yeah, they’re kinda pushy, aren’t they?” Snowclaw said.
“What
“I don’t know what you’d call them,” Gene said. “‘Blueface’ is as good as anything.”
“Where do they come from?”
Gene shrugged. “One aspect or another.”
“I’ve never seen them before,” Hoffmann said. “But I’ve heard other Guests mention seeing them.”
“Still want to go exploring, Gene?” Snowclaw asked.
Gene frowned and shook his head. “Not until we find out what these blue guys are up to.”
“Goody, goody. I hope there’s a rip-roaring fight in it.”
Barnaby Walsh gave Snowclaw a look of dismay.
“I could use a good fight,” Snowclaw told him. “I really like it when the fur flies and the guts go spilling all over the place.” Snowy licked a gob of mush from his thin pink lips. “Kinda pretty.”
Walsh belched. “Excuse me,” he said, getting up from the table. “I don’t feel quite —” He riffed again, tottering away.
“Was it something I said?” Snowclaw asked.
Six
Long Island
Trent’s house was of dark red brick with black wood trim, and stood on wooded grounds somewhere in the wilds of Nassau County, sea gulls pinwheeling in the sky above it. The interior was tastefully and expensively appointed. An accelerated course in the history of modern painting covered the walls, and various avant-garde sculptures graced tabletops and display pedestals. The furnishings were mostly modern, with dashes of tradition for flavor.
Trent’s study was book-lined and warm, a cheery fire going in the hearth.
“So, you say you’ve had some trouble up at the old place recently?”
Incarnadine took the glass of sherry from Trent and nodded. “It was a full-scale siege. Nearly successful, too.”
“Really? Who was it?”
“Vorn.”
“Prince Vorn of the Hunran Empire?” Trent seated himself in the leather easy chair opposite Incarnadine’s. “I wouldn’t have thought Castle Perilous was worth the bother.”
“He didn’t think so, either. Melydia worked her business on him, and he followed her like a lost, hungry puppy.”
“Amazing. Melydia, huh? She still has it in for you. Hell’s fury has nothing on that woman.”
“Had.”
Trent’s eyebrow’s rose. “Dead?”
“In a sense. She got to the Spell Stone, and —”
“Gods!”
Incarnadine smiled. “Yes,she finally figured it out. She got to it, somehow, and unraveled the transmogrification spell.”
“But … ” Trent was appalled. “That could have meant the end of everything.”
“Almost did.”
Trent waited. “Well, for crying out loud, tell me what happened!”
“It’s a long story. She messed up just enough to give me an edge. I did a little research, and found a good handle by which I could recast the spell almost immediately.”
“That must have taken some doing. But then, you must have seen … it. However momentarily.”
“Oh, yes. I saw it.”
Trent sat back. “Ramthonodox,” he murmured.
“The Ancient Beast, the Primal Demon. Ramthonodox, Hell-spawned enemy of man. Old Brimstone Breath himself.”
“It must have been an awful sight, in the true sense. Inspiring awe.”
“It was. It did.”
“Yet,” Trent went on, “perhaps thrilling, in some strange, subliminal way?”
Incarnadine considered it. “I wasn’t very thrilled at the time.”
“Not the tiniest bit? The primal force, the unlimited power of it —”
“Maybe a little. Evil has its attractions. But pure evil is a little heady even for the likes of us. Besides, evil really isn’t a force, is it? It’s more like entropy; the undoing of things.”
“Depends on your philosophical point of view, I suppose. Still, it must have been … stimulating, in any event.” Trent took a sip of whiskey. “But you managed to fix up the spell and reconstitute the castle. So Castle Perilous is still a place to hang your hat in, not a demon running around loose.”
“Right. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“So you are. What about Vorn and his minions — I presume he brought his army with him, and not just an overnight bag?”
