“Well,” Gene said, sighing. “I guess there’s not much use in us staying here. Unless you’re in the mood for golf, Linda. How ’bout you, Snowclaw?”
Snowclaw snorted.
“You know, he’s kind of cute,” Linda said, walking up to Lummox. The caddy gave her a shy smile and scurried back to the cooler.
“Yeah, really,” Gene said. He turned to Dalton. “What would you suggest we do?”
Dalton sipped at his drink. “I’ll say one thing for Lummox — he makes a damn good martini. I’m sorry, what did you say? What should you do? Why, anything you want. You’re young — there’s a very good aspect just down from the Queen’s dining hall. You might try that if you like white-water rafting. There are some good guides available.”
“White-water …? No, what I meant was, what’s the best way to go about finding a way out of the castle?”
Dalton was appalled. “Why in the world would you want to do that? There’s absolutely nothing out there.”
“No, I mean a way back to our world.”
“Oh, that. Well, if I were you I’d disabuse myself of that notion in short order. The gateways to the world we come from are very erratic. No telling where or when one will appear. In three years I’ve never caught a glimpse of a way back.”
“But I don’t understand,” Linda said. “Why are some portals so stable, like this one, and others not? It doesn’t make sense.”
Dalton shrugged. “It’s a random process, I suppose. It just so happens that the aspects opening onto our world are of the now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t variety. No explaining it.”
“But if we conducted a systematic search —”
“You might find one, for all I know. But it might open up in the middle of the Pacific, or the bottom of Death Valley in July — or fifty thousand feet in the stratosphere. There’s no telling where. And it might stay open only for seconds.”
Gene protested, “But surely the castle can’t be so big that you’d never run across one at some point.”
“As I said, for all I know, you might get lucky. But I wasn’t, and believe me I tried.” Dalton took another sip. “Well, maybe I didn’t make an all-out effort. I like it here. If you don’t, maybe it’ll give you the motivation to succeed.”
“Maybe,” Gene said dourly. “But if no one has ever succeeded in getting back, fat chance we’ll have.”
“Nobody I know has, but I keep to myself, mostly. So, why don’t you ask some of the other Guests? They may be able to help.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Excuse me, I have to mark my ball.”
“Sure.”
Gene’s attention was drawn across the fairway, where thrashing noises had commenced among the trees. A deep-throated roar sounded, and ponderous footsteps shook the ground. Gene started walking toward Linda and Snowclaw, who had turned toward the noise.
Lummox was squawking nervously, fumbling with corkscrew and bottle, his attention drawn toward the disturbance.
“I want that glass of Madeira sometime this week, Lummox,” Thaxton snapped. “Come on, then, it’s just one of the big ones — nothing to worry about.”
A towering beast, two-legged, cavern-jawed, and hungry, broke out of the trees. It took three thumping steps out into the grass of the fairway and stopped, scanning to the left, then to the right. Its eyes, a good twenty feet from the ground, found the grouping of foodstuffs on and about the green. Its maw opened and a liver-colored tongue flopped out then retracted slowly, trailing across rows of spiky teeth. It turned on its powerful hind legs and began to walk toward the green, picking up speed as it moved.
“Jesus, a Tyrannosaurus?” Gene yelped, taking Linda’s arm and leading her back.
“Harak!” Snowclaw shouted.
Lummox threw the glass and the bottle of Madeira into the air and broke for the woods.
Dalton had calmly marked his ball and now was walking toward his bag. Thaxton was addressing his ball, chin almost to chest in a concentrated putting stance.
“I say, Dalton, old boy. Would you mind —”
“Make your putt,” Dalton said, sliding a strange-looking weapon out of the bag. Basically rifle-shaped and constructed of blue-green metal, it had a curving wire stock and a bell-shaped business end. Dalton put the stock to his shoulder and aimed at the animal.
There was no sound.
The beast slowed, a vaguely puzzled expression forming on its saurian countenance. Then the tough, canvaslike skin of its head and neck changed color rapidly, from a flat gray-green to an angry red. A plume of steam issued from the top of its bony skull.
Then the head exploded in a fountain of blood, pulp, and ghastly pink mess. The eyes popped out and the sockets gushed streams of boiled brain. The dinosauroid shambled a few steps more before its massive hind legs collapsed, sending its bulk crashing to the ground. It lay unmoving, the area about its head looking and smoking like a mound of hot beef stew.
Thaxton putted. The ball described a wide curving orbit across the green, approaching the cup. It caught the rim, spiraled around like a planet spinning into its sun, and dropped for a bogey.
“By Christ, did you see that? I —” Thaxton looked around for an audience. Linda was staring past him, hands clapped over her mouth, her eyes rounded, her complexion ashen. Snowclaw and Gene were running toward the fallen creature, Dalton following at a jog.
“Bloody hell. Best shot of my life and it’s an anticlimax.”
Thaxton began calling for Lummox, who was nowhere in sight.
Gene stood examining the mess. “Good God,” he said, waving fumes away from his nose. “Whew! What a stink.”
Dalton walked up. “The big ones usually keep to the low ground, but every once in a while a rogue wanders out of the valley and gives us trouble. This one is probably old, and lost his harem to a young buck.”
“Where did you get that thing?” Gene wanted to know.
“This?” Dalton displayed the weapon. “I traded it for gold I panned in a desert aspect a while back.”
“I don’t understand. If technology like that is available —” Gene swatted at the hilt of his antiquated weapon. “— why all the silly swordplay?”
“Good question,” Dalton answered. “It so happens that devices like this don’t work inside the castle. Almost nothing does, including electricity.”
“What about gunpowder?”
“I’m told that gunpowder works, but a simple spell can prevent it from exploding with any force. Consequently, that particular technology has fallen into disuse.”
“No kidding. Say, how does that thing work? Do you know?”
“No, I don’t. And I don’t know what aspect it came from.”
Linda was edging up to them, seeming drawn to the carnage by a morbid fascination she couldn’t quite overcome. She eyed the mess queasily.
“Oh, my,” she said. “Yuck.”
Deadpan, Gene asked, “Hey, Linda. Would you mind getting a spoon from the cooler, if Lummox has one?”
Linda’s jaw dropped. “A sp —”
“Yeah, or a fork or something.” Gene unsheathed his sword, slid the point into the mess and ladled out a gob of gore. “Hard to eat with this thing.”
“Oh … oh —” Gagging, Linda turned and ran.
Keep — West Wing — Forebuilding
“Hell’s wizardry,” Kwip muttered as he viewed the tipping caldrons of fire. He stood at a window on the top floor of one of the many smaller structures that abutted on the keep. He could not see much over the wall of the inner ward, but the tops of the belfries were well in view, towers of flame all. He watched as soldiers, human torches, hurled themselves to the ground. The hell-sent apparitions floated above. The crucibles had turned nearly upside down and had emptied, drops of liquid fire depending from their rims. Then the disembodied hands began slowly to tilt the caldrons up again.