"You mentioned that the last time we met," said Thorolf. "But what news of Sophonomy? I am sure the Commonwealth has a spy amongst Orlandus' guards."
Zigram and Lodar exchanged glances. The Chief Constable spoke: "Daily their influence grows. Methinks at least a third of my constables be under Orlandus' thumb. When one of their folk is brought to book, they frighten judges, juries, and witnesses into inaction, letting the miscreants go free."
The Consul added: "A curious tale hath come to our ears, Thorolf. It is that, within the past fortnight, Orlandus and his deputy, an old mountebank and street fighter calling himself Doctor Parthenius, encountered your Countess fleeing along a corridor in the castle, pursued by you and a troll. The Psychomage, who knew you not at once, warded off your attack by a spell, whereupon ye twain—ye and the troll—utterly vanished. Although all exits are guarded, none saw you emerge; nor did a search of the edifice discover you.
"Orlandus concluded that ye had employed a spell of invisibility, like unto that on the spy he sent to follow me hither. So he hath devised a kind of blower, like that wherewith we spray our flowers to ward off snails.
He hath ordered a hundred of these devices from Grim-bald the sheet-metal worker and plans to charge them with flour. If ye seek to haunt his castle unseen, he'll spray you with this powder, thus making your presence patent."
" 'Tis a trifle cold to run about naked at this season," Thorolf said. "But why asked he not the Countess? She knows how I gained access to's stronghold, and the spirit possessing her would have compelled her to answer true."
"Another mystery, son. He did so question her, we are told, whereupon she was stricken with muteness. Not a word hath she spoken since."
"Some spell!" said Thorolf. "Yvette normally talks as a horse gallops."
"Like that fellow in Helmanax's play who saith a woman who keeps on talking can always get her way, eh? Our informant reports that Orlandus contemplates torture to wring the true answers from her. Forsooth, how gat ye into that pile and out again?"
Thorolf grinned. "When Sophonomy be expunged, I'll tell you all. Meanwhile I'm happy to learn you have able spies in the castle. Double-bolt your doors of nights, and farewell!"
Again, Thorolf stood before the little creeper-masked cliff concealing the tunnel entrance. This time he had come with his pack well laden, trying to anticipate every contingency. He glanced at the sun, hanging low on the mountain peaks. Since he planned to invade the castle at night, he sat and ate, killing time to wait for darkness.
At last he rose, brushed crumbs from his hands, and pushed open the stony door. He paused at the entrance; his old panic surged back. Sweat beaded his brow despite the near-freezing temperature. Then he thought of Yvette's slender members stretched on some infernal device, while Orlandus hovered, murmuring in his oleaginous voice:
"Now, my dear, you need only answer a few simple questions ..."
Thorolf squared his jaw and marched into the cavity. He paused to ignite a rushlight from his pack, to close the door behind him, and to change from his heavy boots to goatskin slippers, which he himself had made to enable himself to move in silence.
Thorolf lost time by mistakenly entering a wrong side tunnel but finally found the opening to the Chamber of Audience in Zurshnitt Castle. Looking through the tear in the canvas, he saw that the room was dimly lit by a single candle. He watched, he estimated, a full half-hour. Nobody entered the chamber.
The candle burned slowly down; in another hour it would gutter out. Thorolf would never let one of his soldiers forget a burning candle! Such carelessness risked a conflagration; besides, candles cost money, which the colonel had to extract, with much effort, from the Senate and ultimately from the Rhaetian taxpayers.
Thorolf dropped his pack on the floor, cast off his cloak, and unrolled a bundle of yellow cloth. This was the robe of the dead invisible diaphane. He put on the robe, pulled the hood over his head, and lowered himself through the opening.
The painting swung back; Thorolf caught it before it struck the wall and let it gently complete its swing. For an instant he stood on the balls of his feet, listening. The only sounds were the tramp of sentries on the foot-walk atop the outer wall, punctuated by challenges and passwords. He thought he could hear a snore, but the sound was too faint to be sure of.
He slowly drew his sword. The blade came silently, because he had stuffed pinches of moss into the scabbard. He bolted the left-hand door and stepped to the door on the right. This, if his sketch was correct, should lead to the row of cubicles that included Yvette's bedchamber.
When he opened the door to the corridor parallel to that wherein he had chased Yvette the other time, the hall stretched dimly away. At the far end, a wall bracket supported a little lamp, the feeble light of which cast yellow highlights on the metal door handles. Behind those doors, presumably, slept the upper ranks of the diaphanes.
Thorolf stole down the corridor almost to its end. He counted the doors on his right; there were twelve. At the eleventh he halted; if he had his directions straight, this should be Yvette's room.
He gently tried the door handle. It turned with a mousey squeak. Thorolf peered into the crack and found the room in darkness.
On tiptoe, Thorolf let himself in, leaving the door a little ajar to furnish light. The cubicle was tiny; the bed, a small night table, a chair, and a little wardrobe left hardly space for the occupant to move about. Thorolf froze at the discovery that the bed was empty.
He bent, groping for the pillow. The bed had been occupied since it was last made. Thorolf laid his sword on the bed and sat down, thinking. After a moment he rose and examined the wardrobe. The room was certainly Yvette's. There hung, among other garments, the beaded golden gown she had worn on their aborted assignation at the Green Dragon.
Thinking she had possibly risen to visit the jakes, Thorolf sat back on the bed and waited. After half an hour, he was sure that she had departed on some other errand. Could it be that Parthenius had persuaded Orlandus to bend her to his lustful desires? The very thought infuriated Thorolf; but after his previous raid he had better sense than to go charging about the castle at random, sword in hand.
Another half-hour passed before he heard soft footsteps outside. In came Yvette in a nightrobe and dressing gown, carrying a candlestick whose candle shed a cheerful yellow glow across the unmade bed. When she saw Thorolf she halted, staring blankly.
Thorolf sprang up. With a sweeping motion he grabbed the candlestick, blew out the candle, and tossed the holder on the bed. Then he caught Yvette by the shoulders, whirled her around, and clapped a hand over her mouth.
She bit his hand, causing him to release his grip for an instant; but instead of uttering a shriek for help she emitted only an inarticulate, "Mmm! Mmm!"
He had come prepared to gag her; but apparently this would not be needed, since she still was under the spell of muteness. Like a frightened animal she tried to punch and scratch him. But he pinned her slender arms, retrieved his sword, and hustled her out. He dragged her at a near-run the length of the corridor and into the Chamber of Audience. As he closed and bolted the door behind him, Yvette struggled silently to break free.
He faced a problem. To hold the picture out from the wall and boost the Countess into the aperture, he would need both hands and some cooperation. But if he released her, she would try to run to Orlandus and thwart his efforts at abduction.
At last he sheathed his sword and brought out of the pocket in his robe a strip of cloth with which he had meant to bind or gag Yvette. He held her slender wrists in the grip of one broad hand, bound the cloth around them, and released her, holding the free end as she continued to strain away from him.