Part 23 (1/2)

Bink heard the explosion and came running. Chameleon, quite pretty now, was huddling in a corner of the kitchen. ”What happened?” Bink demanded, looking about for hostile magic.

”Oh, Bink!” she cried, turning to him with woeful relief. Her homemade dress was in disarray, exposing her finely formed b.r.e.a.s.t.s above and her firm round thighs below. What a difference a few days made! She was not at the height of her loveliness, but she was quite adequate to the need.

The need? Bink found her in his arms, aware that she was eager to do any bidding he might make. It was difficult indeed to steel himself against the obvious, for she also had much of Dee in her--the aspect he had liked before he understood her nature. He could take her now, make love to her--and neither her stupid phase nor her smart phase would condemn him.

But he was not a casual lover, and he did not want to make any such commitment at this time, in this situation. He pushed her away gently, the action requiring far more effort than he cared to show. ”What happened?” he asked again.

”It--it banged,” she said.

He had to remind himself that her diminis.h.i.+ng mentality was the other face of her curse. Now it was easier to hold off her lush body. A body without a mind did not appeal to him. ”What banged?”

”The cherry.”

”The cherry?” This was the first he had heard about the new fruit. But after patient questioning, he elicited the story.

”Those are cherry bombs!” he exclaimed, comprehending. ”If you had actually eaten one--” : She was not yet so stupid as to misunderstand that. ”Oh, my mouth?”

”Oh, your head! Those things are powerful. Didn't Milly warn you?” Milly was the chambermaid ghost.

”She was busy.”

What would a ghost be busy with? Well, this was no time to explore that. ”After this don't eat anything unless a ghost tells you it's okay.”

Chameleon nodded dutifully.

Bink picked up a cherry cautiously and considered it. It was just a hard little red ball, marked only where its stem had broken off. ”Old Magician Roogna probably used these bombs in warfare. He didn't like war, as I understand it, but he never let his defenses grow soft. Any attackers--why, one man on the ramparts with a slingshot could decimate an army, lobbing these cherry bombs down. No telling what other trees there are in the a.r.s.enal. If you don't stop fooling around with strange fruits--”

”I could blow up the castle,” she said, watching the dissipating smoke. The floor was scorched, and a table had lost a leg.

”Blow up the castle ...” Bink echoed, suddenly thinking of something. ”Chameleon, why don't you bring in some more cherry bombs? I'd like to experiment with them. But be careful, very careful; don't knock or drop any.”

”Sure,” she said, as eager to please as any ghost. ”Very careful.”

”And don't eat any.” That was not quite a joke.

Bink gathered cloth and string, and made bags of a.s.sorted sizes. Soon he had bag-bombs of varying power. He planted these strategically around the castle. One bag he kept for himself.

”I think we are ready to depart Castle Roogna,” he said. ”But first I have to talk with Trent. You stand here by the kitchen door, and if you see any zombies, throw cherries at them.” He was sure no zombie had the coordination to catch such a bomb and throw it back; wormy eyes and rotting flesh necessarily had poor hand-eye integration. So they would be vulnerable. ”And if you see Trent come down, and not me, throw a cherry into that pile. Fast, before he gets within six feet of you.” And he pointed to a large bomb he had tied to a major support column. ”Do you understand?”

She didn't, but he drilled her on it until she had it straight. She was to throw a cherry at anything she saw--except Bink himself.

Now he was ready. He went up to the library to speak with the Evil Magician. His heart beat loudly within him, now that the moment of confrontation had come, but he knew what he had to do.

A ghost intercepted him. It was Milly, the chambermaid, her white sheet arranged to resemble her working dress, her black-hole eyes somehow having the aspect of once-sultry humanity. The ghosts had become shapeless from sheer neglect and carelessness in the course of the past few centuries of isolation, but now that there was company they were shaping up into their proper forms.

Another week would have them back into people outlines and people colors, though of course they would still be ghosts. Bink suspected Milly would turn out to be a rather pretty girl, and he wondered just how she had died. A liaison with a castle guest, then a stabbing by the jealous wife who discovered them?

”What is it, Milly?” he asked, pausing. He had mined the castle, but he bore no malice toward its unfortunate denizens. He hoped his bluff would be effective, so that it would not be necessary to destroy the home of the ghosts, who really were not responsible for its grandiose mischief.

”The King--private conference,” she said. Her speech was still somewhat windy, as it was hard for an ent.i.ty with so little physical substance---hardly any ectoplasm--to enunciate clearly. But he could make it out.

”Conference? There's n.o.body here but us,” he objected. ”Or do you mean he's on the pot?”

Milly blushed as well as she was able to. Though as chambermaid she had been accustomed to the ch.o.r.e of collecting and emptying out the chamberpots, she felt that any reference to a person's actual performance on them was uncouth. It was as if the substance were completely divorced from the function. Perhaps she liked to believe that the refuse appeared magically overnight, untouched by human intestine. Magic fertilizer! ”No.”

”Well, I'm sorry, but I'll have to interrupt him,” Bink said. ”You see, I don't recognize him as King, and I am about to depart the castle.”

”Oh.” She put one foggily formed hand to her vague face in feminine misgiving. ”But seee.”

”Very well.” Bink followed her to the little chapel room adjacent to the library. It was actually an offshoot from the master bedroom, with no direct access to the library. But it had, as it turned out, a small window opening onto the library. Since the gloom of the unlit chapel was deeper than that of the other room, it was possible to see without being seen.

Trent was not alone. Before him stood a woman of early middle age, still handsome though the first flush of beauty had faded. Her hair was tied back and up in a functional, fairly severe bun, but there were smile lines around her mouth and eyes. And beside her was a boy, perhaps ten years old, who bore a direct resemblance to the woman, and had to be her son.

Neither person spoke, but their breathing and slight s.h.i.+fts of posture showed that they were alive and solid, not ghosts. How had they come here, and what was their business? Why hadn't Bink or Chameleon seen them enter? It was almost impossible to approach this castle un.o.bserved; it was designed that way, to be readily defensible in case of attack. And the portcullis remained down, blocking off the front entry. Bink had been down by the kitchen entrance, fas.h.i.+oning his bombs.

But, granting that they obviously had come, why didn't they speak? Why didn't Trent speak? They all just looked at each other in eerie silence. This whole scene seemed to make no sense.

Bink studied the odd, silent pair. They were vaguely reminiscent of the widow and son of Donald the shade, the ones he had told about the silver oak so that they would not have to live in poverty any more. The similarity was not in their physical appearance, for these were better-looking people who had obviously not suffered poverty; it was in their atmosphere of quiet loss. Had they lost their man, too? And come to Trent for some kind of help? If so, they had chosen the wrong Magician.

Bink drew away, disliking the feeling of snooping. Even Evil Magicians deserved some privacy. He walked around to the hall and back to the top of the stairs. Milly, her warning completed, vanished. Apparently it required some effort for the ghosts to manifest and speak intelligibly, and they had to recuperate in whatever vacuum they occupied when off duty.

He resumed his march to the library, this time stepping heavily so as to make his approach audible. Trent would have to introduce him to the visitors.

But only the Magician was there as Bink pushed open the door. He was seated at the table, poring over another tome. He looked up as Bink entered. ”Come for a good book, Bink?' he inquired.

Bink lost his composure. ”The people! What happened to them?”

Trent frowned. ”People, Bink?”

”I saw them. A woman and a boy, right here--” Bink faltered. ”Look, I didn't mean to peek, but when Milly said you were in conference, I looked in from the chapel.”

Trent nodded. ”Then you did see. I did not intend to burden you with my private problems.”

”Who are they? How did they get here? What did you do to them?”

”They were my wife and son,” Trent said gravely. ”They died.”

Bink remembered the story the sailor had told of the Evil Magician's Mundane family, killed by Mundane illness. ”But they were here. I saw them.”

”And seeing is believing.” Trent sighed. ”Bink, they were two roaches, transformed into the likenesses of my loved ones. These were the only two people I ever loved or ever shall love. I miss them. I need them--if only to gaze on their likenesses on occasion. When I lost them, there was nothing left for me in Mundania.” He brought an embroidered Castle Roogna handkerchief to his face, and Bink was amazed to see that the Evil Magician's eyes were bright with tears. But Trent retained his control. ”However, this is not properly your concern, and I prefer not to discuss it. What is it that brings you here, Bink?”

Oh, yes. He was committed, and had to follow through. Somehow the verve had gone out of it, but he proceeded: ”Chameleon and I are leaving Castle Roogna.”

The handsome brow wrinkled. ”Again?”

”This time for real,” Bink said, nettled. ”The zombies won't stop us.”

”And you find it necessary to inform me? We already have our understanding about this, and I am sure I would become aware of your absence in due course. If you feared I would oppose it, it would have been to your advantage to depart without my knowledge.”

Bink did not smile. ”No. I feel it behooves me, under our truce, to inform you.”