“Are you joking? This is abominable.”
“Broaden your palate, my friend.”
“Eat this rubbish and you’ll have your palate broadened, all right. Into a death rictus.”
“Hmmm. I might try the luncheon special.”
“Where’s that?”
“Up at the top.”
“Oh.” Thaxton’s eyebrows shot up. “‘Chimaera casserole — chunks of tantalizing chimaera with noodles and wild herbs in a rich cheese sauce’? Chimaera? You’re actually going to —?”
“That or the barbecued harpy.”
“Good God.”
“Now, if you really want to experiment, the stuffed python … but maybe that’s a little intense for lunch.”
“By all means keep it light.”
The wine steward showed up, uncorked a bottle, and poured a taste for Dalton. Dalton breathed the bouquet, then took a sip and swished it around. Swallowing, he said, “A very playful little wine. Fruity.”
“Barbecued bleeding harpy,” Thaxton muttered, still vainly searching the menu.
“Leave the bottle,” Dalton instructed.
The steward filled Dalton’s glass, then turned to Thaxton.
“Having wine, sir?”
“Hm? Later, I have a drink coming.”
The waiter returned with Thaxton’s gin. Dalton ordered the cockatrice, with gryphon soup to start.
“And what will you be having, sir?” the waiter asked Thaxton.
“God, I don’t know. Do you have … do you happen to serve hamburger à la carte, by any chance?”
The waiter’s red eyes rolled. “Yes, sir, we do.”
“Hamburger, then.”
“How would you like that done, sir?”
“Oh, I like my beef flamed to a turn. You shouldn’t have any trouble doing that.”
Dalton said drolly, “Are you sure it’s beef?”
The waiter said, “Our hamburger is ground from the freshest —”
“I don’t want to know!” Dalton said, holding up a hand. When the waiter left he downed his drink in one gulp.
Dalton sat back. “Well, a few drinks and a leisurely lunch ought to put us right for the back nine.”
Thaxton gave him a skeptical look.
Dalton said, “Come on, buck up.”
“I’m all right. But I get the feeling that something’s not right at the castle.”
“Yeah. That has occurred to me. But then neither of us could do very much to help.”
“As I recall, we played golf through the last crisis.”
“The invasion of the bossy blue critters. That was nasty. But, then as now, there was nothing for us to do. Neither of us can handle a sword. And magic is not exactly our stock-in-trade.”
“No, magic is definitely not my forte. Nor is golf, or anything else for that matter.”
Dalton stared out the window for a moment. Then he said: “You know, I don’t think I ever asked you what you did back in the real world.”
“Did? Oh. Well, I managed some properties.”
“Real estate? I see.”
“Yes, I inherited a good deal of stuff, as a matter of fact. Properties, investments, stocks, that sort of thing.”
“Your family was well-to-do?”
“Well, yes, rather.”
“I never asked — are you, or were you, a member of the aristocracy?”
“Technically speaking, no. My grandfather was a baronet, but the peerage didn’t come down to me. I did all the ‘U’ things, though. Winchester, Balliol, the right clubs. All that sort of rot.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m getting too personal.…”
“We have spent a great deal of time together. Fire away.”
“What brought you to Castle Perilous? Mind telling?”
“Not much to tell. The wife was divorcing me. Nasty bit of business. Threatened a scandal if she didn’t get what she wanted, which was nearly half the estate. I gave it to her, and then found out she’d been having an affair with her hairdresser. I didn’t mind his being NOCD so much as the fact that he was a bad hairdresser.”
“NOCD?”
“‘Not Our Class, Dear.’ Anyway, they went off to Majorca and I was left feeling rather empty and used. It was more than that. My life seemed … useless. Didn’t have a very good feeling about it.”
Thaxton poured himself some wine. “To make a long story short, one night I’d drunk a bottle of claret and was starting on another, when I thought, why not just up and end it all? So I got out my grandfather’s Webley, and loaded the thing up. Just then I noticed that the door to the conservatory looked rather strange. I put down the gun and walked in, and suddenly there I was inside a strange castle. When I turned around, the door was gone. And that’s it.” He drank his wine. “Good stuff, this.”
“Good story, very typical,” Dalton said.
“Yes, I suppose it is all rather typical.”
“I just meant that all we Guests have experiences in common.”
“Undoubtedly. Getting back to the business at hand — isn’t there something we could do?”
“First of all, we don’t know if there’s any real trouble. It could just be portal difficulties.”
“But the golf world was always stable.”
“I have a feeling this is the golf world, but changed.”
“Hope you’re right. But what if it changes back while we’re out hacking?”
“Then we carry on hacking, I guess. We can’t go back now.”
“Right.” Thaxton downed his wine and poured more.
Dalton’s gryphon soup came. He sampled it and smiled. “A little salty but good.”
“I wonder if they bagged that gryphon out on the links.”
“I wonder what hero bagged the basilisk. You look one of those in the eye and you’re dead.”
“Really? Not up on my classical lore.”
The waiter brought Thaxton’s hamburger. It was large and rested inside a sliced pita loaf. Thaxton lifted the top slice and sniffed. The waiter set down a bottle in front of him.
“Ah. Steak sauce.” Thaxton applied a liberal dose.
“Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Thaxton lifted the huge thing and examined it.
“No onions or tomatoes?” Dalton asked.
“I’m a purist.” He took a bite and chewed. “Tastes a bit gamey.”
“Probably ground salamander or something.”
“It’s good enough.” Thaxton set the hamburger down. “Still thinking about getting back to the castle.Something’s up, I just have a feeling.”
“Well, I get that feeling, too, but I can’t think of what to do except retrace our steps.”
“We can’t very well do that. Those holes are as good as under Vesuvius now.”
“I suppose we could just come out and ask.”
“Capital idea.”
Thaxton lifted an arm and called the waiter over.
“Yes, sir?”
“Tell me … how do I phrase this? Know of any — well,castles in the area?”
“Castles, sir?”
“Um, yes. Castles.”
Gamalkon scrunched up his face in thought. “Sir, I don’t recall ever seeing any castles around here.”
“Any … sort of floating doorways into castles? I suppose not.”
Gamalkon shook his horned head. “Sorry, sir.”
“Quite all right. Thank you. Uh, I think we need another bottle of wine. I do, anyway.”
“Right away, sir.”
Thaxton gave Dalton a forlorn look. “I suppose it’s hopeless.”
“Looks like. Don’t worry about it. We’ll find our way back eventually. After the eighteenth hole. I think fate has decreed that we play this course through.”
“Fate, eh? Bloody bad luck, I call it.”
“Thaxton, old boy, you just won’t admit that you’re having the time of your life.”