'Does all this have something to do with the party?' Jeremy asked.
'Sheila's party is over, as far as I know.'
'Got any idea what's going on?'
'Not a clue.'
'Well, I'm going up to the lab. Maybe the instruments show something.'
'I'll go with you.'
They turned left at the next intersecting corridor, but soon saw that the way ahead was blocked. Another chorus line and jazz band were kicking their way forward, but wriggling beside them was a file of belly dancers.
'Oops,' Melanie said. 'In here.'
They ducked into a formal sitting room, cut across it, and came out into another hallway.
But here there was something different. Minstrels.
'Oh, my,' Melanie said.
'Can you play that thing, fair maid?'
The man who spoke was tall and smiling and dark-haired, all decked out in green, a white feather sprouting from his cap. He was very handsome, — and Melanie fell instantly in love.
'Uh, yes,' she said. 'Sure. A little, anyway.'
The man began to play, his three companions backing him up.
He sang:
'And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. '
'True Thomas lay on Huntly Bank A wonder he spied, spied he; For there he saw a lady bright Come riding down by the Eildon Tree… '
'Hey, Melanie, forget this goof. Come on.'
'Wait a minute, Jeremy. Look, it would be nice and all-I mean, you guys are really good….'
Melanie tried to play along. The chord structure they followed was a little complex for her, but she began to enjoy the effort.
'Hey, Melanie?' Jeremy called, trying to get her attention.
Was that a minor chord there, or a diminished? 'Melanie?'
'Huh?'
'Come on, let's go.'
'Oh. Can you wait just a sec?'
The troubadours stopped and the lead singer said, 'That was', splendid, girl! How would you like to join us? We'll travel together, eat together, sing together. It will be marvelous! '
Melanie was nonplused. 'Oh, well, that's nice of you, but-'
The singer strummed a chord on his lute.
'Come live with me and be my love
And we shall all the pleasures prove-'
'Melanie, they aren't real.'
Melanie turned her head to Jeremy. 'What?'
'They aren't real,' Jeremy told her. 'Can't you see that?'
The singer stopped. 'Who's to say who's real, young man? You can join us, too. Some of us like boys now and then.'
The minstrels all laughed.
'Come on, Melanie.' Jeremy tugged at her arm.
'Hold on a second, Jeremy.' She turned back to the handsome singer. 'Uh, what's your name?'
The singer shrugged. 'What's in a name? Call me what you like.'
'You don't have a name?'
'I've never had the need-
Everyone's attention was diverted by the approach of another band of medieval musicians. Melanie turned to look, and her eyes bulged. She looked back at the first bunch, then swung to the new arrivals.
They were identical.
'Fair maid, can you play that thing?'
Melanie slapped her forehead. 'Jeremy, you're right. I should have known.'
'Then let's get out of here.'
Melanie and Jeremy circled past the originals and headed down the hall.
'Fare thee well, beautiful maid!'
'Uh… 'Bye!' Melanie called over her shoulder. Rats. If only he wasn't so damned good-looking!
'And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies… '
QUEEN'S LADIES' QUILTING ROOM
Snowclaw.
He of the ice-white claws and fierce yellow eyes-a mountain of a beast in arctic fur as white as the driven snow. 'Snowy.'
'Big Guy.' 'The Snowster!'
These were, among his human friends, but a few of his sobriquets. Nevertheless, many a human had run at the sight of him. And no wonder, for he was a fearsome beast.
He stepped out of the magic doorway linking his home world to the castle and found himself confronted with quilts at every turn; quilts, garishly multicolored quilts, draping the walls and lending the room an air of comfortable coziness.
He hated it.
He was an intelligent beast; therefore he knew that his doorway had shifted position in the castle. But no matter. As long as he was in the castle. And he was. He sniffed. He could smell it.
He strode out of the room and down the hall. At the corner he turned right, walked the length of the passageway, turned left, and hiked past several sitting rooms, a banquet hall, a meeting room, a parlor (in Victorian decor), and a ballet studio (mostly used for aerobics).
Right. He knew where he was now.
There seemed to be a lot going on. He heard noises. In passing, he glanced down a few crossing corridors and saw much activity.
A few groups of humans in fancy dress passed going the other way. Humans were always dressing to kill.
Clothes. Who needed them? Not when you had a thick silky pelt like Snowclaw's.
More humans. Dancing! Females, mostly. He paid them no mind. He heard noise that he knew to be 'music.' Awful stuff. He hated it. But he had heard worse.
A few more turns brought him to a hallway lined with bedroom doors. He stopped at the third one on the right, turned the handle, and went in.
There were creatures in his room. They were sweeping the floor.
He looked them over. Little fellows. Vaguely human. Fine. It was all right. Someone came in to sweep up occasionally. Not often, but occasionally. (Only the bravest chambermaids went near the place, along with the odd pageboy who had no fear.)
He had thrown out most of the furniture. For a bed he had substituted a pile of furs, comfortably strewn about with gnawed bones.
He had eaten the nightstand one evening after waking up hungry.
The wardrobe he had not consumed, for in it he kept his trusty weapon: a huge broadaxe, its wicked blade oiled and gleaming. He opened the door and took the deadly thing out.
After swishing it about a few times, he slung it over his shoulder.
