Castle Dreams

themselves with bottles and glasses. A cork popped, liquid gurgled.

He went to the cabinet, took the glass of amber fluid and downed it in a gulp.

“Another, please.”

Another was poured.

When finished he let out a rasping breath and set the emptied glass down.

A table set into a nook drew his attention now. Heaped on the table was a jumble of antiquated electronic components juxtaposed with gold candelabra and brass incense burners. He lit the candles, then fetched incense from a nearby shelf and charged the burners.

Soon the nook was aglow with candlelight and fragrant with exotic odors.

He took a seat and flipped a switch on one of the components. Somewhere within the thicket of tubes and wiring, a tinny speaker crackled and hissed.

He bent his head toward an upright microphone.

“This is Trent, calling Dad. Come in, Dad.”

The speaker emitted little but static.

He repeated the invocation.

The speaker popped and crackled.

“Calling Cawdor,[9] former King of the Realms Perilous. This is Trent, your eldest son. I wish to speak with you.”

He reiterated several times before the speaker gave forth.

… Trent? Is th —?

“Dad! Dad, come in! This is Trent. Can you hear me?”

… — ell are you calling on? … just barely make you …

“Dad, I want to talk with you. Can you grant me a visitation?”

… Say again?

“I want to talk with you. Can you grant me a visitation?”

The response was garbled.

“Please, Dad. I’m in a spot.”

So spit it out.

“Not in the clear. Not over the ether, especially on this contraption.”

Again, the answer was mostly unintelligible.

“Dad?”

Not much but sputtering in reply.

“Shit. Come in. Come in, Cawdor, King of the —”

Trent smacked the table. He fiddled with a knob or two.

“Damn it all to hell.”

He sat back and ruminated for a moment.

Trent, dearest.

Trent spun around.

“Mom!”

You should have called me first, dear. You and your father still aren’t on speaking terms, at least as far as Cawdor is concerned.

Trent snapped off the receiver. He rose and approached the table where the shade of his mother sat.

She was as beautiful as she had been in life: light brown hair, oval face, blue eyes, thin straight nose. Her features were blurred a bit, however; the effect was not unlike a photograph taken with a refraction filter. It was as if she were somewhere else, and this a mere transmitted simulacrum. And in fact this was so.

Trent walked off to pour himself another drink, then approached the table again. Passing the hearth, he waved a hand; flames sprang to life out of grayish logs.

He stopped short of the table. “I’m sorry. Can I offer you —?”

Nothing for me, dearest. Do sit down. That fire is nice and cheery.

“You’re sure? Well, then.”

Trent drew out a chair and sat. He sipped his whiskey.

His mother gave the room a glance. What an interesting place you have here. I can’t recall ever seeing it.

“My sanctum sanctorum. Little hideout I outfitted when I was a kid. Used to come here to sulk, brood, and plot.”

You used to do a lot of sulking and brooding. You were a moody child.

“So I was. I admit it.”

I can see a lot of boyhood paraphernalia about. I think I recognize those ice skates. Didn’t we —?

“You used to love to take me skating. We’d go to Zadar and skate the canals.”

I remember. Yes, I loved to skate. I could cut a fancy figure as a girl.

“In more ways than one.” He smiled.

She returned it. Moody, but, as ever, charming.

“Your Prince Charming, my princess.”

Dearest Trent. You were my favorite. So handsome.

“Too bad Dad didn’t feel the same way.”

He loved you, too, Trent.

Trent sipped again before saying, “Pardon me if I emit a little derisory laughter.”

He did. But I’m not going to spend the time necessary to change your mind on a matter that you made your mind up about a long time ago.

“Can’t change my mind about a fact.”

Be that as it may. She gave the room another glance.Why are you here?

“It’s the only place in the castle where I can spend any amount of time.”

Father’s banishing spell?

“Yes. Here my local protective devices seem to offset it, for the most part. But I can’t stay here for a prolonged period either. Consequently, I’ve been forced to spend most of the last hundred years or so outside the castle entirely.”

Where?

“Earth, a lot. Other places.”

Where do you live now?

“An uncharted aspect.”

How uncomfortable it must be for you. I hear you’re married.

“Yes. An Earth woman. A commoner, as I’m certain you’ve heard.”

I’m sure she’s a nice girl.

“Women rather resent that appellation now.”

Nice?

“No, “girl.””

They do? How old is she?

“Twenty-six.”

Don’t be silly.

“You think I’m robbing the cradle?”

That’s not it, Trent. How old she is makes no difference as long as she’s of marriageable age. It’s just that there are problems associated with a mixed marriage.

Trent grinned crookedly. “Between ordinary mortals and demigods such as we, is that it?”

Don’t be impious. We are powerful magicians, it’s true, but hardly godlike. No, dear, I’m afraid our kind is all too venal and concupiscent.

“I agree. Compared to me, Sheila’s a saint.”

A nice name. As I said, I’m sure she’s a wonderful girl for you — but, well, I hope you’ll forgive my asking — was marriage absolutely necessary? I mean, a young man can be forgiven a few mistresses, after all —