Petra seemed to understand this. "They went to the castle, didn't they?"
Fredericka nodded, unwilling or unable to say any more.
"That's where we're going," James said, and swallowed past a lump of fear in his throat. "We should keep moving, before it gets dark."
It never gets dark here, Fredericka instructed blandly. Nothing ever changes here at all. Not even time.
"Come with us, Miss Staples," Lucy suggested. "Maybe we can help you get back to our own world."
Fredericka considered this with obvious longing and then shook her head. I can't go into the castle, she said. I was afraid to go inside even before… she… arrived. Now I can't even bear to think of it.
Petra said, "Do you know where the staircase is, Fredericka? The one that leads down to the cave portal?" When the ghost nodded, Petra smiled. "I think you'll be able to get back yourself if you really want to. As long as we are here, the portal is open and it'll take you back to our time and place. Perhaps you can get through and stay there if you try very hard."
Fredericka looked heartbreakingly hopeful. Do you really think so?
"I don't know," Petra answered, but James thought she did. "Either way, it's worth a try. Good luck, Fredericka."
"Good luck," James added, and the others joined in.
Thank you, Fredericka said faintly. I think I'm ready to go on now. Into the light, if I can, and whatever is beyond it. Maybe I'll see you all again on the other side.
"Later rather than sooner," Ralph said quickly, and the ghost smiled her understanding. A moment later, she turned and seemed to fade from view as she drifted across the plateau.
The gathering watched the ghost of Fredericka Staples vanish and then stood in the constantly shushing grass for a long moment, silent and thoughtful. Finally, still wordlessly, James turned back toward the castle. It stood tall and ominous on the near horizon, casting virtually no shadow in the diffuse light of the World Between the Worlds. The others turned around as well and looked up at the stark shape, weighing their own secret thoughts and fears.
Slowly but surely, the six travelers resumed their journey.
24. THROUGH THE CURTAINS
As they neared the castle, the silence seemed to develop its own strange inertia. At first, James merely felt that there was nothing to say. And then, as the minutes passed, he began to feel as if spoken words would somehow spoil the moment—not because the moment was beautiful, of course, for it certainly was not, but because there was a brittleness in the air, a tension that spun out like spider's silk, that James was loath to break. As the gathering finally approached the cliff's edge upon which the black castle stood, James finally realized the truth of why everyone had grown so quiet: they were all afraid that there really was someone inside the castle, someone powerful and terrifying, who might hear even the softest whisper and come out to greet them.
When they stood before the massive open gates of the castle, however, speech became necessary.
James rasped, "Do we just go in? Should we… knock, like?"
"We just go in," Petra replied, her own voice hushed. "But keep a sharp eye out."
"Someone's watching," Lucy nearly moaned, peering up at the overhanging balconies.
Petra nodded. "I know. They're waiting for us."
James stepped alongside her as they moved into the shadow of the entryway. "Do you know who it is?"
Petra shook her head and pressed her lips together.
The inside of the castle was almost entirely empty. One enormous room yawned before the travelers, leaping up into shadowy vaults and stretching off toward pillared archways on the far side. The group's footsteps echoed loudly in the darkness, making stealth impossible. The stone floor was covered with decades of blown grit and drifts of dead grass. As the troop crept into the center of the space, moving in a nervous huddle, James caught a hint of movement on the far wall. He peered into the darkness, squinting without his glasses, and made out a large framed shape. It was much larger than a man and filled with shifting shadows: a gently billowing curtain.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Zane muttered, looking in the same direction as James.
Ralph nodded. "There are more of them. All around the room. I see at least a dozen."
"They're escape routes," Petra said in a low voice. "Placed here by those who built the castle for those unfortunate adventurers who might end up marooned here. Each curtain will take the stranded traveler back to the dimension from which they came, although the where and when might be a bit tetchy."
Nervously, Lucy asked, "How do you know these things, Petra?"
Petra shrugged. "I don't know."
"So they're all like mini Nexus Curtains," James said, looking around wonderingly at the gently billowing portals.
Ralph seemed heartened by this news. "So all of these will take us back to our own world?"
"I'd beware of them," Petra warned. "They're under the influence of she who has taken this castle. They will do what they were made for, but not without her capricious tricks. You may find yourself in the bottom of the Dead Sea, or a hundred feet over a live volcano. Beware of these portals unless there is no other hope."
"Good advice indeed," a woman's voice said brightly. The sound of it echoed all around, rendering it huge and directionless. James startled, as did the rest of the group. All eyes scanned the dark space, seeking the speaker, but no one was evident.
"Who are you?" Petra called out. "And why have you attacked our world?"
"That's not the question you really want answered," the voice replied, still echoing broadly around the cavernous room. "Here, time may not mean much, but I assure you, in the world from which you come, it is still marching along as always, and there are things we must attend to, you and I. Let us not waste precious minutes on trivialities."
James raised his voice and ventured, "Where's the crimson thread?"
"A better question," the woman's voice answered, smiling, and a thin beam of light came into view, cutting through the heights of the room and alighting on a previously unnoticed scene.
James turned toward it and was surprised at what he saw. A collection of utterly prosaic furniture was laid out in the unmistakable arrangement of a bedroom. There was a narrow bed and side table, a chest, a desk, and a high-backed chair, turned so that it faced away from the travelers.
Petra's hand squeezed James' suddenly, nearly hard enough to hurt.
"The thread is there," the woman's voice echoed in answer.