It was a nice room, cozy. She had run across it before, but it changed every time she encountered it. Which was par for the course in Castle Perilous. Things shifted about helterskelter on a regular basis, even in the most stable areas of the castle. Sometimes whole rooms relocated themselves, and it was not uncommon for them to disappear entirely, closed off by spontaneously generated blank walls.
They didn't call it Castle Perilous for nothing.
But sometimes the old place was quite homey and comfortable. Linda fluffed am embroidered pillow and sat back.
Getting back to the issue at hand…
Gene, Gene, Gene. What did she think of him? Well, he was good-looking, in a way. Dark curly hair; sort of Italian-looking (but didn't he say his mother was Irish?) with regular features, hazel eyes. She liked his face. It was a good face; maybe not what you'd call cute, exactly. Handsome. Yes, Gene was a handsome man. Tall, dark, and handsome. No problem there.
Okay. He was intelligent. Very. Often too. He talked well, was quick on verbal feet. Had a penetrating wit. He could make her laugh. Sometimes he was a scream. Sometimes he was obscure and made strange comments and you didn't know how to take him; but he always had something pertinent to say. He was good in a fight, that was for sure. He was an excellent swordsman, and he seemed never to be afraid, even in a sticky situation. And together they had found themselves in some very sticky situations.
He was also something of a ladies' man. Women generally liked him. His adventures in other worlds always seemed to involve a romantic liaison or two. The most notorious of these came to light the time he brought back this absolute Amazon of a female out of some bizarre Edgar Rice Burroughs-like universe, a veritable Deejah Thoris, brass brassiere and all. Right off the gaudy cover of a sci-fi paperback. She'd been stunning. But he'd lost her-she'd run off to Earth with some motorcycle types.
There had been other affairs that Linda knew about, both inside the castle and out. Before tonight she had regarded these with a boys-will-be-boys attitude. But now they seemed vaguely threatening.
That was stupid. How could she possibly feel that way? Gene was just a friend. That's all he was.
She sighed. Or was he? Let's see, add it all up. Gene was handsome, intelligent, resourceful, trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, cheerful….
Hey, this guy was Boy Scout of the Year! So why the hell wasn't she head over heels in love with him? What did she want? What was she waiting for?
Kid, you've got to realize that you're no spring chicken anymore. I mean, the big Three-Oh has come and gone; up ahead, the scary Four-Oh, heading right at you.
If not now, when?
Something came into the room. She stared at it before she realized what it was, or rather before realizing that she didn't quite know what kind of creature it was. Her first thought was of a hairless monkey in dungarees, but the head was too large for a monkey's.
Whatever it was, it was humanlike. A gnome? A dwarf? Something like that.
And whatever was it doing sweeping up?
It began its cleanup on the bare part of the stone floor and came toward her.
"Hello," she said as pleasantly as possible. She couldn't tell whether it nodded in response or was just bobbing its bald head, which it constantly did when it moved. She rather thought the latter.
It swept on by her, busy with its straw broom.
One of the servants? she guessed. Was there a new policy to hire the… "differently abled"? Well, if so, that was very commendable. She watched it make a quick circuit of the room, marveling at how fast and efficient it-he? she? — was. The longer she watched, the more energy and animation the creature seemed to acquire, until it became a little whirlwind of housecleaning activity. It let go of the broom only to start dusting the shelves with a rag it pulled from its blue bib overalls, carefully lifting every objet d'art to wipe underneath.
It went through the room in no time, leaving the faint odor of cleanliness behind, a whiff of furniture polish, a hint of lemon oil and wax.
When it was done it walked briskly out of the room, moving with a curious bouncing gait, head lolling back and forth. She got up, followed it out, and stood at the arched entrance to watch it go galumphing off down the hall. "Strangest thing," she said.
It turned a corner and was gone. "Now, I wonder-"
She heard tiny footsteps behind her, turned, and was amazed to see the same creature heading toward her, broom tucked under its arm. She cast a confused glance back down the corridor. No, it couldn't possibly be the same creature; but this one was absolutely identical to the first, down to the mincing walk and the checkered cloth hanging out of a back pocket.
She watched it go past. It moved purposefully, totally dedicated to its mission, which seemed to be to… clean things.
At any cost.
CLUB SHEILA
Incarnadine was on his third kamikaze, watching for an opportunity to get Trent alone. A window of opportunity had not presented itself in some time. At the moment Trent was being lionized by a pride of female guests. His Highness had a way with the ladies.
Meanwhile, His Majesty was feeling his liquor, despite a small but usually effective sobering spell. His magic didn't seem to work very well here. No matter, there was time. A little, anyway.
"Your Majesty! How are you tonight?"
He turned to Cleve Dalton. "Cleve! Fine, and you?"
"Chipper, my lord, chipper."
"Getting in any good golf lately?"
Dalton shook his head sadly. "Thaxton's given it up."
"Oh, I'd forgot. But surely you could find another partner?"
"But half the fun was watching his lordship."
Incarnadine laughed. "Yes, I chanced to see him hacking once. Has quite a temper."
"The worst. I do get in an occasional round, but it's not the same."
"Why don't we two go for eighteen sometime?"
Dalton raised his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. "I'd be honored, sire."
"Though I can't promise any time soon. My schedule's fairly tight at the moment."
"Whensoever it pleaseth His Majesty. I am at your service, good my lord."
Incarnadine smiled. "You're getting pretty good with those Shakespearean turns. Make a habit of that `good my lord' stuff and you'll be going around in tights and doublet carrying a skull. I've seen it happen to other Guests."
"But where else do I get the chance to use all those ruffles and flourishes? It's fun."
"Have a ball. Listen, I'm going to sidle over and try to talk to my brother. Make a golf date with my secretary and I'll try like hell to keep it. Really I will. And we won't use the public course. I have a private one. It's a little wild but a lot more fun."
"Sounds interesting. Will do, sire."
"See you later."
Incarnadine strolled across the patio. His brother the prince was still at it, bantering volubly. Trent could be garrulous, especially when he was the center of attention. And charming, quite charming.
Old Prince Charming, he of the butter-colored hair and strong jaw. Fine figure of a man, for a former nasty creep who'd caused no end of bother in his time. But no more. Trent had reformed. At least he claimed as much. And Incarnadine believed it. If Trent's recent behavior had been any indication, it was true. He was a changed man. Trent had lent a hand during the dust-up with the Hosts of Hell. Later he'd been kidnapped by them and dumped into this backwater world with Sheila, whom he eventually married. She was of common stock; moreover, she was a castle Guest. The castle nobility had just about written Trent off, but he didn't seem to care; and he 'did indeed appear to be free of his longtime obsession with seizing the throne, the Siege Perilous.
All true. But it might be good insurance now and then to keep him busy. Hence this little mission. It wouldn't keep him away long.