where he could hide.
Shouts echoing behind him, he willed what was left of his strength into his legs. He lurched left at the next crossing passageway, ran, turned right, ran, then bore right again.
He burst into a spacious room. In the darkness to the rear lay the arched entrance to a small adjoining chamber, which he made for directly. Once through the archway, he halted and gasped in dismay.
There was supposed to be an aspect here, a magical doorway to another world. Instead, there lay before him another long, nondescript corridor, of which there were countless thousands in the castle.
He desperately glanced around. This was the right chamber. He knew it well. A veteran Guest in Castle Perilous, he had a keen sense of direction and layout. One needed such talents in the vast labyrinth of the castle.
The magical doorway was clearly gone. Aspects were known to disappear on occasion, but this particular one was extraordinarily stable, or had been since he had taken up residence in the castle. Rotten luck to have it vanish when he needed it most. Double bad luck to have picked this one when there were two or three others close by that would have served in a pinch. But this world had offered a forest to hide in; the others provided less ideal cover.
Footsteps closed outside; too late to make a dash for one of the alternate escape routes. He was cut off.
He bolted forward. The only choice was to keep running.
But he knew it was only a matter of time before he was chased down. The alert would go out.
His one chance was to make it to one of the unstable areas of the castle, where wild aspects flickered in and out of existence, where doors opened to anywhere, sometimes to oblivion. But even oblivion was preferable to the refined diversions that Incarnadine’s torturers had in store for him.
He raced on into a gloom relieved only by a few strange lighting fixtures in the shape of faceted jewels that glowed faintly blue. He ran by an occasional blind alcove, no aspects in them. He passed two stairwells, then came to a third. He entered and went down two floors, stopping at the landing to check the adjoining corridor. No one. He sprinted to the left, then made a series of turns, running blindly now, unaware of exactly where he was heading.
He ran until his diminished stamina gave out. He jogged along, then loped. He stopped to get a second wind, and jogged some more. His pace gradually petered out to a walk.
Breathing hard, he stopped, leaned against the dark stone wall. He slowed his breath and listened.
Nothing. No footsteps, no voices.
Could it be? Had he truly lost his pursuit? The quiet closed in around him.
Miracle of miracles. Now he would have a chance to find an amenable aspect. He knew of several where he could hide out awhile. He knew of others into which he could disappear for a very long time indeed, and that is what he desired. The castle was no longer safe. He had tried to take it, make it his, but had failed miserably.
No matter. Incarnadine would never find him. He would hide, biding his time. It would take years, perhaps, but somehow he would raise an army and return. He would invade Castle Perilous, depose Incarnadine, and take the throne.
Good, he thought. It was essential to have a plan, to keep ambitions alive.
He began walking again. Suddenly he stopped, looked about.
Something was strange. His castle sense was giving him mixed signals. The surroundings were familiar, but there was something odd. He could not grasp quite what.
He shrugged it off and continued. He wandered for what seemed like hours. No one was about.
The sense that something was amiss did not leave him. He could not shake the feeling that somehow, in some inexplicable way, he had left the castle. But that was impossible, for clearly he was still inside it. He had not crossed an aspect.
Or had he? There lingered an inescapable feeling that he had. There was a sixth sense about that as well. He knew when the castle gave way to one of its contingent worlds. There was always a sense of going out, of leaving.
As now. But what had he entered? What sort of world was like the castle itself?
He turned a corner and collided with a Guardsman.
“Gene!”
Stunned, he regarded the man, whom he recognized and knew well. It was no less than Tyrene, Captain of the Guard. What he could not fathom was why Tyrene was giving him the friendliest of smiles.
Tyrone’s gaze lowered to Gene’s hands, and his expression turned quizzical.
“What’s this? Lady Linda playing some sort of prank?”
Sir Gene looked at the manacles, then at Tyrene. He had no answer. Nor did he have an explanation for why Tyrene looked different, until he realized that the ugly, cancerous mole on the man’s right cheek was gone.
Tyrene laughed. “Too embarrassed to say? Here.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. “I should have a master here somewhere.”
Sir Gene remained silent as Tyrene searched for the key, found it, and released him.
“Thank you,” Sir Gene said, rubbing his wrists.
Tyrene examined the manacles. “Did Linda conjure these, or do they come from the dungeon?”
“Ah … I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“It’s all right. It’s a rare prisoner we have these days. I’ll see that they get stored away properly.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“Well, must be going. Duty, you know. With Lord Incarnadine away things tend to get a mite frantic.”
Tyrene walked off, whistling off-key.
Sir Gene stared after him, amazed beyond words.
When the silence returned, he fell into contemplation.
At length, he reached a conclusion. He did not understand why or how, but it was clear that he had been presented with a golden opportunity.
Sir Gene Ferraro was not a man to let such pass by.
Two
Queen’s Dining Hall
It was breakfast and everyone was up early. The long dining table was heavy with food in every variety imaginable. The coffee flowed and so did the conversation.
Linda Barclay turned to one of the servants. “Orrin, did you wake Gene early?”
“I did, milady.”
“He’s hard to get up sometimes. Do you know when his plane leaves?”
“Your pardon, milady, I do not.”
Linda sipped her coffee. She looked up at Orrin again. “Do you know what an airplane is?”
Orrin wasn’t sure. “A flying machine?”
“Right. I’m never sure how much you born castle people know about our world.”
“Oh, we know a bit, milady. I’ve never seen a flying machine, but I’m very sure I wouldn’t fancy taking a ride in one.”
“I’ve always been afraid to fly, too.”
The man whom everyone called Monsieur DuQuesne was sitting across the table. “I’ve never flown in my life,” he said.
Cleve Dalton, thin and middle-aged, was seated next to him. “I always liked flying. Always meant to get a private license. Took lessons, even soloed, but never took the written test.” He lifted his coffee cup. “By the way, what’s Gene going back to school for?”
Deena Williams answered. “You mean why is he going back or what’s he gonna study?”
“I guess I mean both. Sorry, I’m always out on the golf course, so I don’t know what’s going on half the time.”
