Castle Dreams (12 page)

“But it's Dad's doing that I can't live in the castle. Whatever wrong I did, surely I can be forgiven after so long a time."

Your father forgives you, Trent, for the trouble you caused. Though you may scoff at the notion, he loves you and has always loved you. That is not the issue.

“Then what the devil is the issue?"

Please don't use strong language with me.

“Apologies. Mother, really, I just don't understand."

She heaved her shoulders.
Yes, Trent, I know you don't. But you will, one day. You've a head on your shoulders and you'll eventually see that your father had nothing but your best interests at heart.

“No doubt,” Trent said dryly. He finished his whisky and set the glass back down. “Well."

Well, indeed. We've had a charming little sit-down, a nice little chat. But I must go.

“Goodbye, Mother."

Goodbye, Trent, darling. Trent, if it had been up to me, I would have ignored precedent and named you heir apparent. It means so much to you. But it wasn't up to me. A woman's lot —

“Yes, unluckily for me. All the more reason why I should boost women's rights."

Oh, it's not that women have no rights. In fact—Her hand rose to dismiss the matter. I'm forgetting my own dictum. I shall say no more, save this: I feel that the conflicting elements of your soul will someday work out their differences, and balances will be redressed—or, should I say, imbalances will be corrected.

“I'm all for it."

So, I will leave you. Farewell, Trent, my son. Believe me when I say you were my favorite.

He smiled and nodded. “I do, Mother. Farewell."

Her smiling image slowly faded. Before she disappeared completely, her small hand rose and slowly waved.

He sat alone and watched flames lick heat from the gray logs.

 

 

 

 

MINE

 

In a subbasement of the administration building they found a tunnel that led into the mine.

There was a huge metal door at the end of the tunnel and it looked impregnable.

“More magic?” Sativa asked.

“Sure. Always worth a try, but remember what I said about repeating spells. It wears them out. There should be enough left of the first one. I gave it all I had."

“That's a vanadium steel door with a tamper-proof lock. Can't be picked or probed."

“Oh, I dunno. Seems rather straightforward to me."

She grunted. “The only thing straightforward is—” Her jaw suddenly dropped.

Grinning, Gene swung the heavy door open. “Spell's working pretty good. If you hit it right, everything happens for you."

Sativa was thunderstruck. “But that's impossible. The combination to that lock is thousands of digits long. You couldn't possibly..."

“It opened by itself."

“How?"

“Uh, quantum tunneling. Little electrons just suddenly deciding to cross a resistor, all in the proper sequence."

“But the chances of that happening by accident are—"

“Vanishingly small. I know. But that's what a facilitation spell does, see. It makes the remotely possible very probable. As long as there's a chance that it could happen, it will happen. But as I said, you gotta do it just right. It doesn't always work."

Sativa shut her mouth and said no more.

They entered and Gene shut the thick door behind them. They now found themselves in a crossing tunnel and Gene motioned to the left, as stacked equipment lay in the shadows to the other side.
¹

[
^1.
The author has never been in a mine, either, but read several books about mining. There is not far from his residence an abandoned coal mine, which belches smoke and flame occasionally. This might also be a classical reference.]

The walls of the tunnel were metal, which led Gene to surmise that this was not the mine proper, but a passageway to the main shaft. He was proved right when they encountered a room like a hub, where several corridors converged, spokelike. At the center was a circular pillar into which was set a pair of wide doors looking not unlike those of a freight elevator.

“The glory-hole,” Gene said.

“You mean the main shaft? Probably not. It may go all the way down to the haulage floor, but it's a lift, a way of moving equipment from level to level. The mining techniques here are sophisticated. Don't assume this is some open-cut operation."

“Don't know a thing about mining, really. Was just guessing."

“Guess away,” Sativa said. “Meanwhile, we don't have a chance of getting into this lift."

“Maybe."

“The spell is still working?"

“Should be, but...” Gene thought it over. “Maybe I should goose it a little."

“You're the magician. Use your own judgment."

“Usually with me it's all judgment fled, and all that."

“I'm sorry."

“Never mind. Yeah, I think I'll kick it up a notch."

Gene rubbed his palms against his thighs, then shook his arms vigorously. He stepped his right foot back and assumed an odd stance, positioning his arms dramatically.

He gave Sativa a look. “Helps if you strike the proper wizardly pose."

“You look ridiculous."

“Thank you."

She was instantly regretful. “Forgive me.” She laid an affectionate hand on his shoulder.

He nuzzled her hand, then went out of character to pull her close. They embraced and kissed.

When their lips parted, she smiled. “My wizard."

“Princess."

He let her go and she stepped back. He again assumed a melodramatically occult stance, somewhat akin to the manner of Bela Lugosi in his declining years.

He recited: “There once was a man from Khartoum, who took a lesbian up to his room..."
²

[
^2.
No, he's never been to Khartoum, either. In fact, he mostly sits home and reads a lot. Last year, in researching a novel, he read six books on the subject of golf. Imagine that.]

Sativa laughed.

The curved elevator doors rolled aside with a hiss.

“Hey, that didn't take much goosing,” he said.

The lift was empty. They entered.

“Something's bothering me,” Sativa said as the doors closed.

“Yes?"

“Number of things, really. One, why doesn't the security system recognize us as intruders? Why hasn't it challenged us?"

“It's being fooled by the spell. Doesn't even know we're here, probably."

“I don't understand, but I'll take your word for it."

“What other thing is bothering you?"

“This is supposed to be a test facility. An abandoned one. But it looks too elaborate."

“Couldn't be a working mine with that administration building stripped."

“I suppose not. Unless the operation was being run clandestinely, from some other location. Underground or shielded."

“I don't get the sense of a working operation here."

Sativa sighed. “Neither do I, really. But I'm getting a strange feeling."

Gene looked at the control panel. It was lettered in strange script, but he got the gist. He punched the tab for a deep sublevel.

Machinery whined softly. The elevator lurched, then began to descend.

Sativa surveyed the space in which they stood.

“Roomy,” she said. “Must have lots of heavy equipment here."

“If it's a test facility, maybe not. Just a means of getting drills and stuff from floor to floor, as you said."

“I suppose they load the stuff in from the level above the one we entered on."

“On the surface? I guess."

“Didn't see anything up there."

“Maybe another level. We're inside a mountain. Maybe a tunnel opens out somewhere else."

“Yes,” Sativa said. “I saw a dried lake bed on the other side of this mountain. Good landing field. I didn't use it because it looked too obvious. But if you were delivering heavy equipment from orbit, that's where you would land."

The lift went down slowly but smoothly. At last it whined again, slowing until it dropped. A tone sounded and a glowing numeral appeared on a screen set into the panel.

“Here we are,” Gene said. “Notions, lingerie."

“You're so very strange."

“Thank you kindly, princess. Which way?"

The tunnel ran to darkness in either direction.

“To the left,” she said. “For no good reason."

“Good enough reason by me. Wait a minute.” Gene studied the control panel.

“What do you want?"

“Want the doors to stay open. The spell might wear off, and..."

“A grounded lift might tip them off."

Gene scratched his stubbly chin. “You're right, of course. Wasn't thinking. But we'll be stuck down here if I can't get my mojo working."

“Your—"

“Talisman. No, we'll send it up."

“It's automatic."

“Right."

The closing of the doors left them in the faint greenish glow of the luminous strips on her pressure suit. There was enough light, however, by which to navigate the capacious, smooth-floored tunnel.

Sativa said, “Again, I'm puzzled by the extent of this operation. How many sublevels?"

“Seven marked on the panel, at least, but there were unmarked buttons."

“That's going fairly deep."

“And there could be some deeper."

“When do you think your magic spell will wear off?"

“Well, hard to say. We have maybe an hour."

“They we'd best get lost somewhere down here. Find a spot to hide, and stay there."

“There's a problem of food and water."

“Of course. We'll have to hold out as long as we can, then come back up when they give up looking."

“Are they likely to give up?"

She shook her head. “No. They know we're ... Excuse me, they know
I'm
here. They won't stop till they've caught me."

“Then let's hope someone stashed some emergency rations in this hole. Mines are supposed to have that sort of stuff. Bottled water at least."

“There is that chance."

“Then that means we have a chance. Come on."

They walked into the semidarkness. Huge bracing trusses loomed overhead, looking secure enough to hold up the roof of a cathedral.

“You're right,” he said, “it doesn't look like a quickie strip mine."

“It doesn't seem like a mine at all."

“What else could it be?"

“I don't know."

“What's this stuff?"

The stuff was piled crates lining the tunnel on both sides. The crates were made of some shiny white composite material.

Sativa knelt to inspect one of them. “They've got locks. Think you can handle it?"

“What, that thing?” He gave the crate a kick and the lid popped open.

Inside were futuristic firearms—rifles, or the equivalent. Sativa got one out and tore it free of its cloth wrapping. It was a formidable thing with a wire stock and a scope. She tossed it to him.

“Guns. Who—?"

“The Irregular Forces,” she said. “This is one of their weapons caches."

“Gotcha. These could come in handy."

“Right,” she said as she took out another weapon. “But this explains how we got in."

“It does?"

“Yes. No insult to your magical abilities, but we were obviously let in. A trap. That's why the outer door slammed shut."

“I see. But not necessarily true. My magic works, believe me. And it was working. I can tell."

“Let's hope you're right, my handsome wizard."

She got up and bussed him on the cheek.

“But let's look for ammunition, just in case."

“Check, princess."

 

 

 

 

RIVER

 

“...and so the hooker said to the chicken, ‘Sure, honey. Throw in a jar of mayonnaise and you got yourself a deal.'”

Full-throated laughter came from the stern of the ferryboat, faint echoes returning from far across the water.

“That was amusing. Tell another."

The shore took form out of the darkness ahead. Bare but for a few quaint buildings hugging the edge of the water. Taken as a whole, the assemblage looked not unlike a fishing village. This was impossible.

“I have about exhausted my trove of conceits and epigrams,” he told the boatman.

“Then spin me another tale of adventure."

“The shore nears."

The ferryman looked. “So it does. But you have given good measure. For the briefest moment I have been diverted from the tedium of my routine. And for that, mortal, I thank you."

“You are quite welcome, boatman. What is this place?"

“The Port of Dreams."

“Why is it so called?"

“I know not. Unlike the rest, you ask many questions. You will have your answer in due time."

He regarded the approach of the village, peering past the houses.

“This is an island?"

The ferryman nodded. “Aye."

“One more question, please. What is the name of this river?"

“This is the River of Dreams."

“Ah."

“And just downstream, at its mouth, begins the Sea of Oblivion, into which the river empties."

“I see. These names elicit in me a strange foreboding."

“Such feelings are often justified."

Ahead, a wooden dock. Along the shore the masts of many sailing ships reached up to the darkness overhead. He wondered how he could see anything in this gloom. But see he did.

The village seemed quite the going concern. Workers plied the docks, toting bundles. People in robes gathered along the shore in little groups, talking. Doing business, perhaps.

He again grew aware of his nakedness.

“Have you anything I might wear?” he asked the ferryman.

“Not I. But such may be purchased ashore."

Again, this purchasing. With what?

The ferryboat drew up to the dock and kissed its side. The boatman cast a mooring line. A barefooted dockhand caught it and tied it off.

He stepped from the boat to the dock and turned.