'Did it speak?' Dalton asked.
Thaxton said, 'Pardon?'
'Did you hear it say something?'
'No, sorry.'
Dalton again raised his hands to his mouth. 'I say, can you hear us, whoever you are?'
Quite distinctly, came a voice from above. No need to shout. It was a pleasant, melodious voice, with perhaps a trace of an accent.
'Who are you?'
Laughter came from the image.
Then this, merrily: Wouldn't you like to know?
Dalton looked back at his partner with sardonically raised eyebrows, then turned to face the apparition. 'What's your game? What do you want?'
'A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread-'
'Good God, it's quoting poetry at us,' Thaxton said.
'Look here,' Dalton said to the thing. 'We'd like to know what you're up to. You seem to be succeeding in whatever you want to accomplish. Why don't you tell us what it is?'
'The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.'
'Well, that's helpful, I must say,' Thaxton sneered.
Dalton said, 'Sounds like it's warning us.'
'See here,' Thaxton said with a finger raised. 'Threats won't get you anywhere.'
Again, soft laughter.
'Bet it thinks it's holding all the cards,' Dalton ventured.
'And maybe it is.'
'Well, we're not going to get anywhere with the bloody thing, whatever it is, so we'd best-'
Dalton shouted to the skies once more: 'Look here, you'd better be aware that the master of this castle is a very powerful magician. He won't take kindly to any mischief.'
The laughter rose in pitch.
Thaxton cast a look behind and was dismayed. A lion, its mane shaggy and full, had just walked out of the door to the tower and was proceeding up the walkway with great interest.
Thaxton tapped his friend on the shoulder. 'I say, old man…'
'Did you understand what I said?' Dalton continued yelling on high, his attention on the image. 'His name is Incarnadine. I don't know if that name means anything to you particularly, but he's quite well-known as one of the most powerful-'
'I say, Dalton, old fellow.'
'— magicians in a whole passel of worlds, so you'd best give all this business some thought before you proceed with whatever it is you're up to.'
'Dalton, please, give a look behind!'
'Huh? I…' Dalton turned. 'Holy smoke.' They ran.
The walkway made an L at the next turret and proceeded right along the battlement. The lion began loping after them, its interest piqued, but not sufficiently to induce it to give full chase. Thaxton pulled slightly ahead of Dalton, threw a wild look behind and increased his lead.
They made the circuit of a turret atop a tower that stood at an oblique-angled corner of the keep. Above, the disembodied face observed their progress with some glee. Impish laughter sounded above the rising wind.
They ran along neatly laid flagstones, past the crenelated battlements and rows of loopholes. The sun was low, throwing long shadows across the courts. The wind began to buffet them. And all around them, spectral apparitions flapped and flew, leaped and cavorted. An auroral prominence arched high into the air and dissipated, to be followed by another, not quite so spectacular but still impressive. Faint shafts of light swung like spotlight beams, crisscrossing in Hollywood-premiere flamboyance. Pink elephants and chartreuse zebras gamboled atop the revetments.
Another turret lay ahead, this one a bartizan hanging precariously far out over the wall. Thaxton ran by it but skidded to a stop on the walkway beyond.
Another lion was coming at them, from the other direction.
Dalton dashed into the turret and climbed up on the battlement.
'Thaxton, old boy! Up here. It's our only chance!' Thaxton backed into the turret, eyeing with dismay the flanking approach of the two beasts, who had slowed their gait to a stealthy walk. He stopped and glanced behind. 'What the devil are you doing up there?'
Dalton said, 'If they come any closer, we've got to lower ourselves over the side and hang on till they lose interest and go away.'
'Good God, have you taken leave of your senses?'
'Maybe we won't have to. They may let us alone if we don't move.'
The lions seemed determined to make a meal of it. Both had a lean and hungry look.
Thaxton said, 'Oh, bloody hell.'
He jumped up into the notch-crenel-adjoining the one Dalton stood on. He looked down.
'WHOOOAAAA!'
Dalton reached and grabbed him before he toppled over into empty space.
'Don't look!' Dalton commanded.
'Bloody blue blazes, how can you not look?'
'Turn around and get down on your haunches!'
Trembling and white as a ghost, Thaxton did as instructed.
'W-what now?' he wanted to know.
'We watch and see what they do.'
The animals kept advancing, looking very confident that they had their prey cornered. These were not a pair of toothless old pussycats escaped from a circus; they looked quite as wild and ferocious as lions come.
'I think we had better do the hanging bit,' Dalton decided.
'Can't we do something else?'
'Not unless you want to jump.'
'I'm almost persuaded that would be the better course.'
'Might be. But I'm for trying the other thing first.'
Thaxton stiffened up a bit. 'Right you are, old man. You first.'
Dalton got one leg over the edge; then, grasping the inner edge of the crenel with both hands, he lowered the other leg and eased himself down.
More slowly, and with some difficulty, Thaxton did the same.
The wind gusted and tore at them. Their legs dangled over the plains.
'Oh, dear,' was all Thaxton could say. His face was the color of bean curd.
Dalton's face was a grayish-green. 'I'm afraid…' He lurched and struggled for a better handhold, his shoes scraping against the stone. 'Afraid I'm losing my grip here.'
Dalton's hands slipped from the inner edge of the wall. He dropped but caught himself, finding a tenuous purchase on the outer edge.
'Christ!'
Thaxton yelled, 'Hang on, old boy, hang on!'
'I really think…'
'Here, grab onto me!'
'I'm going to fall…'
With great horror, Thaxton watched as his friend lost his handhold and dropped, uttering not a sound, to his certain death.
Thaxton hung there in space, the wind howling around him. Better if Dalton had screamed, he thought. All
