"Well, he has three days," Melanie said. "But it's just strange that he didn't say anything about where he'd be going."
"Does he ever say anything when he and Snowy take off?"
"Sure. Sometimes."
"Well, this time he didn't," Linda said. "I'm not worried."
"Sorry, Linda, I'm not trying to cause you any anxiety. Sure, Gene can take care of himself, and Snowy's indestructible. He probably got himself into a serious project, another revolution or something. And if I know Gene, he'll be out of it soon. He never stays long in any one aspect."
"Right," Linda said.
"But, if by chance the two of them get themselves into a tight situation, they could be delayed."
"Gene'll be here for the wedding," Linda insisted.
Melanie shrugged. "Fine with me." She made another notation on her clipboard.
"Let's cut the rehearsal short," Linda said, standing. "I'm tired." She sighed. "I'm always tired, these days. For some reason."
"But we haven't got to the recessional," Melanie reminded her.
"Oh, to hell with it. After the ceremony, who cares what happens? Everybody gets up and leaves, and that's it. We'll wing it."
Melanie lifted her shoulders again. "Okay. You're the dictator."
"I wish I were a dictator. Okay, everybody, that's it. Thank you very much, and we'll see you on Saturday. That's Fifthday of Baletidings Week, on the castle calendar."
"I've never been able to figure out the castle calendar," said Barnaby Walsh.
"No wonder, when every week of the year has a different name," M. DuQuesne said.
"It is a liturgical calendar, right?" Barnaby asked.
"I do believe so," DuQuesne said.
"It's screwy, that's what it is," Deena Williarns pronounced.
"Well, this is not Earth, after all," Walsh said.
"No kidding, Sherlock," Deena said.
"No, what I meant was-"
"The castle's religion is a strange and complex thing," DuQuesne commented.
"I never figured that out either," Deena said. "All I know is there's a bunch of gods, but then again, there's only one of 'em, because of something or other."
"The Pantheistic Concatenation."
"The which?"
"It's not unlike the Trinity in Christian doctrine, but it involves more god aspects."
"Oh. Let's discuss theology while we eat. I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry," Barnaby Walsh complained.
"I'm eating for two."
"Huh?"
"Me and myself."
"Hey, wait a minute!" Linda said.
Everybody stopped.
"Where are Dalton and Thaxton?"
Everybody looked around. "I forgot all about 'em." Deena said.
"This is getting strange," Linda said. "Do you think something happened to all four of them?"
"You mean Gene, Snowy, Lord Peter, and-"
"Were they all together? Did anyone see them together?"
"Dalton and Thaxton didn't show up at the bachelor party," Barnaby said.
"They didn't? That's the first I've heard of this. I haven't seen them today."
"Oh, they'll be all right, too," Melanie said. "Come on, let's go have a cup of coffee."
"I'm going to my room. I need a nap."
"Suit yourself."
The entire wedding party began the long walk across the floor of the "chapel," which was bigger than most earthly cathedrals.
"One of these days I'm going to go into my room and not come out for a year," Linda moped. "A recluse, an aging spinster."
"Now, Linda," Melanie said.
"Mrs. Haversham. I'll wear my wedding dress to rags, and-holy hell!"
Something appeared out of thin air ahead.
Deena Williams screamed at the strange figure that had inexplicably materialized in front of her. She leaped backward and hid behind Barnaby Walsh, who looked wishful for somebody else to hide behind.
The figure was that of a bearded, thick-thewed barbarian, broadsword raised high. His hair was long and tangled, his clothing tattered, and there was a fierce look to his countenance. Growling, a suspicious slant to his angry brow, he advanced on the castlefolk.
Everyone spread out and away from him. "What tricks now, spirit?" the man roared.
"Hey, no tricks." Linda said.
The man halted, sword still raised warily. "What are all of you? Demons sent to torment me?"
"Hardly," Linda said calmly. "Now just take it easy. Who are you?"
The man lowered his sword a little, looking around wildly. "Where is this place? Where am I?"
"Castle Perilous," Linda told him. "In the chapel."
"Indeed," the man said, dropping his sword arm. He spun around, taking in the vastness of the place. He nodded. "A fine edifice it is. But where is it?"
"Well, where are you from?"
"Corcindor," the man said. "I am Rance of Corcindor."
"Rance, nice to meet you. You've somehow walked into Castle Perilous. It's a nice place, and no one's going to torment you."
"So you say," Rance circled, still taking the measure of the place, assessing its dangers. At the same time he was awed. He had never seen such a fine cathedral.
Presently he stopped and sheathed his sword. "I believe you."
"You didn't come in through a portal," Linda said.
"Portal?"
"That's the usual way to enter Castle Perilous, through a magic doorway."
"Ah. Magic. I've had a bellyful of that!"
"Yeah, it gets old. How did you get here? Do you know?"
"I can only surmise. I was flung here by the black spell of an evil wizard. If the spell worked, this is a world that is not the world, but another which is entirely different and separate."
"I'd say that was an accurate statement. Are you hungry?"
"Eh? Why… yes." Rance thought about it. "I'm famished."
"Let's go to the dining room. I'm Linda Barelay. Nice to meet you."
Rance took her hand, looked down at it, then up at her. "You are a beautiful woman."
"Thank you."
"Though attired strangely. Are you sure you're not a demon?"
"Quite sure. Will you dine with us, Rance?"
"Uh… yes. I would be honored."
"You're a Guest, capital G. A Guest of the Castle. This way."
Rance watched Linda walk off. Her companions, among whom were several other attractive women, followed hard on her heels. One or two of them regarded him warily, but their manner was not wholly uninviting.
He took one last look around.
"Benarus, I may thank you yet," he murmured. Keeping a distance, he followed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"My head still hurts," Gene said. "Don't feel like running a gauntlet today."
"Well, you're probably not going to have any choice in the matter," Snowclaw said as he watched the barbarians line up by twos, their swords and axes ready.
"I prefer not to."
Snowclaw chuckled. "They prefer otherwise. Looks like a bunch of them are going to chase you through the lineup from one side, so yoe can't go back. You'll have to fight your way through."
"My goddamn head hurts."
Snowclaw stepped back and surveyed the makeshift stockade that imprisoned them. "I could rip out these posts with a little work. Maybe we could make a break for it."
"They'd catch us. Besides, I'm going to teach them a lesson for whacking me on the head."
"Oh, you are?"
"Yup."
Snowclaw chortled again. "Fine by me. This is gonna be good."
"Should be."
The sky was overcast, a gray dome above the steppes. A chilly wind blew in from the west, where a low-hanging sun was a ball of yellow fuzz surrounded by swirls of gray. Short grass rippled in the wind, and the occasional tall weed bent to necessity.
"You sound really confident," Snowclaw observed.
"I am. This world is very amenable to my sword magic."
"It is?"
"Yup. In fact, it's super-amenable."