After dragging the body into the hallway, I shouted for the new valet Aber had gotten me. Denis came running, barefoot and dressed in his night clothes.
“Sire?” he said, staring down with horror at the body.
“Take care of this,” I said, nudging it with my foot. “Be careful with the knives. They're poisoned.”
“Of course. Um, Sire… Lady Freda asked to be informed of anything odd that happens. Should I let her know?”
“Why not? Assassins are fairly common around here.” I smiled with grim amusement. Of course Freda had already begun setting up a network of spies and informants. With all the plotting in our midst, I couldn't blame her.
Without another word, I went back to bed. I didn't bother to undress or extinguish the floating ball of light; I just flopped down on top of the covers. Somehow, I had the feeling this night's events weren't quite over.
Idly, I rubbed my ring. The spikard had saved my life. How had it gotten onto my finger?
Five minutes later, a light tap sounded at my door.
“Enter!” I called, sitting up. Freda didn't waste much time.
It was Aber, though, who opened the door and stuck in his head. “You'd better come with me,” he said grimly. “Freda has something to show you.”
“All right.” I joined him in the hall. He'd thrown on a dressing gown and from his tousled hair it looked like he'd been roused prematurely from his sleep.
“Freda, you said? Where is she?”
“Working downstairs.”
He led the way to the grand hall. Torches burned in their sconces in the hallways; guards on duty by the doors to the courtyard snapped to attention, raising their pikes. I gave them a brief wave and they relaxed a bit.
Aber headed for the left wing—empty, as far as I knew. Like most of Castle Amber, the corridors here still had rough stone walls and floors made of broad wooden planks. It would be months yet before everything could be properly finished. The outside walls and fortifications took priority. Niceties like polished floorboards and paneling could wait for now.
“In here.” Aber opened a small door to the right and lead the way inside.
It was a small, square room. A small lantern sat in the corner. By its flickering, uncertain light, I saw the assassin's body lying in the exact center of a large circle.
Freda, on her knees, completed the circle with a black paintbrush as I watched. Then she began writing a series of runes around the outside of the circle.
“What are you doing?” I asked with interest. I had never seen anything like this before. I studied the runes, but could not puzzle out their meaning. Something magical, I assumed.
“We must trap his spirit,” she said matter-of-factly, “if we are to question him.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Do you mean a ghost? The last thing I want is an assassin haunting the castle!”
“You are a silly boy. Stand over there until I'm ready for you. Don't smudge the circle; the line is still wet.”
“Is this safe?” I asked Aber.
“Got me,” he said, looking uneasily at Freda's work. “I've never seen anything like it before.”
Our sister said, “We only have a few minutes left. These things must be done quickly, before the spirit departs. Pay attention and follow my instructions exactly. Everything will go as planned.”
“Best listen,” said Aber, hooking my arm and pulling me back.
“All right, all right.”
Together we retreated to the corner with the lantern. I couldn't take offense at Freda's brusqueness; I knew she meant well. And if we really could question the assassin, so much the better.
She worked quickly. I felt a mounting suspense. If the ghost revealed who had betrayed us, it might go a long way toward turning the events in our favor.
Freda finished the last of the runes and stood. Taking a deep breath, she raised both arms toward the middle circle and the assassin's body.
“Come forth!” she cried. She clapped her hands three times. “Come forth!” she cried again. “You are bound to this place! Show yourself, spirit!”
I leaned forward expectantly. A strange glowing mist rose slowly from the assassin's body. It took shape… head… torso… limbs. It rushed from side to side, trying to flee, but the runes and circle formed a barrier it could not pass.
“Speak!” Freda intoned. She clapped her hands three times again. It drifted around to face her. “You are bound here! Obey me!”
The ghost bared its spectral teeth in a snarl. “Let me go…” it cried in a hollow voice that sent chills through me. “The darkness calls…”
Aber gave me a nudge. “Go on. Question it.”
Freda looked pointedly in my direction. I swallowed hard and stepped forward.
“Who sent you here?” I demanded in a voice stronger than I felt.
“Abomination…” it wailed. Then it hurled itself in my direction, but came up short at the edge of the circle.
I stood unflinching. Freda's magic better hold; if this ghost got free, it clearly meant to do me whatever harm it still could.
“Who sent you?” I demanded again.
Hissing, it drew back.
“How do I know it will speak the truth?” I asked Freda.
“The circle holds it trapped,” she said. “It cannot leave until released… whether that takes five minutes or five hundred years. Be persuasive.”
Quite a bargaining chip. I took a deep breath and stepped closer to the edge of the circle. The ghost threw itself toward me again, and when it failed to reach me, drew back once more.
“Who sent you?” I demanded.
“Fiend!” it shouted. “Abomination!” then it began to curse me and my family for a thousand generations. Once more it flew at the boundaries of the circle, trying to escape. But Freda's magic held; it could not get away.
“Answer me!” I said.
“Let me go…” it wailed. “Let me go…”
“Tell me what I want to know, and I will consider it.”
“No… I cannot…”
“Do you want to spend eternity here, trapped in this circle?”
It gnashed ghostly teeth but made no reply.
“Come,” I said to Freda and Aber. “It won't cooperate. We'll have the room walled up in the morning.” I turned toward the door.
“No!” it called. “Wait…”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Will you answer my questions?”
“Yes…”
“Very well.” I folded my arms. “Who sent you?”
“Uthor… King of Chaos…”
I nodded slowly. I had known it would be either King Uthor or Lord Zon.
Now to find out who had betrayed us.
I said, “Who drew the Trump that brought you here?”
“I do not know…”
“Where did you get it?”
“From the king's own hand…”
Unfortunate, if true. Maybe it didn't know who had betrayed us.
I frowned. What other information might prove useful?
“Where is Uthor's army now?” I asked.
It hissed and dashed at the far edge of the circle, trying to escape. Clearly it did not want to say any more; it still held that much loyalty to its old liege.
I said sharply: “Speak! If you ever want to leave this place, tell me what I want to know!”
“I cannot…”
“You will! You must!”
It gnashed spectral teeth. Again it hurled itself against the walls of its prison, all to no avail.
“Speak!” I commanded. “This is your last chance! Where is Uthor? Where are his men? I want to know the location of his camp!”
For a moment I thought it would refuse to answer, but finally it spoke in a low voice.