Castle Dreams (15 page)

“On the other hand, if you get sold down the river, you might wind up up the creek without a paddle."

The first barfly burst into laughter.

“Hey, that's pretty good. That's funny. Hey, piano player, wasn't that a great gag? Huh?"

“Yes, sir, sure was funny."

“You're too kind. Why the hell am I making jokes, though? I wish someone could tell us what the hell
is
out there on the Sea Of Oblivion. At least we'd know what we're in for."

“Who wants to know? What good would it do if we did know?"

“I'd feel better, somehow, knowing."

“Like you said, it's inevitable. You pays your money, and like that."

Conversation continued. Before long the piano player launched into “You Belong to Me."
²

[
^2.
The author would have quoted some lyrics, but obtaining the proper rights and permissions is a costly and vexing process.]

The two barflies listened.

“I never saw the pyramids."

“Neither did I. What the heck are pyramids?"

“I guess we're not from the same world."

“Nah, I guess not."

“I wonder if there's more than one afterlife."

“Huh?"

“If there are many worlds—and I hear there are indeed a shitload of them—I wonder if there aren't a whole assortment of different and differing afterlives. Maybe this is just one of a number of possible ones."

“Hey, that's interesting."

“Just idle speculation."

“What do you think about that, piano player, huh?"

“Sir, I think the gentleman is right."

“Hey, what do you think of that? Maybe in some afterlives, you get everything free. I'm all for that."

“But here money is a token of moral worth, my friend."

“Is
that
why I got here so poor? I coulda sworn I socked away enough for a better ship than the one I got."

“It means your life didn't amount to all that much, friend. Just like most folks. You left the world you lived in more or less the way you found it, neither better nor worse for your having been there."

“Hey, I did okay."

“Not saying you didn't. Just saying you're an average guy, like me."

“Yeah, that's me. Average. I like it that way."

“Nothing wrong with it. Now, take our friend, here, the piano player. He brings music to the world."

“This ain't the world."

“The netherworld, whatever it is. He creates a little beauty, makes people happy. That's something. Me, I couldn't play ‘Chopsticks.' No talent for anything."

“I thought you said you were a businessman."

“Yep, but I didn't show any particular talent for that either. I just got by."

“Hey, buddy, that's all you can expect. Just to get by."

“But it's all over, now. All over."

“Don't go sappy on me. Come on, drink up. I'll buy you another."

“Thanks. Let's buy the piano player a drink. Whaddya say?"

“Sure. Here, pal."

Two more gold coins plunked into the tumbler as the piano player finished the tune and did a short finale.

Scattered applause.

He rose from the keyboard and picked up the tumbler.

“Thank you, gentlemen. Much appreciated."

“Don't mention it, pal."

He made his way past the bar, nodding to the barkeep, Rhadamanthus, en route.

He found the owner, Minos,
³
in the back room, sitting at his untidy desk and writing in a ledger. Minos looked up, smiled, and laid down his pen.

[
^3.
Cf. “Rhadamanthus,” above. Note the return to mythology here. This mixing of ancient and modern allusions is very clever.]

“Good crowd tonight, eh?"

“Pretty good. Drunker than usual, and all the more generous."

“That's the idea, pal. Part those fools from their cash."

“Here's your cut for the night. That was the last set."

Minos looked at his pocket watch. “Hey, look at that, almost closing time."

“Speaking of time, mine here is nearing its end."

“How long's it been?"

“Seventy years."

“That all? Seems like you've always been around. So, you got your nest egg up to respectable proportions, eh?"

“More or less. I have my eye on a sleek little schooner down at Alecto Wharf."

“So, you're gonna ship out at last, huh. Good luck. Talked with a chandler yet?"

“Not yet, but I have friends, connections."

“Outfitting'll set you back some, you know that."

“I know it. I have it all scoped out."

“Good, good."

Minos yawned and stretched his chubby arms.

“I'm bushed. Going to call it a night."

“Night, boss."

“G'night, Steve."

Minos paused at the door and said, “Your own name come to you yet?"

“No. I still go by ‘Steve Daedalus'
⁴
around town."

[
^4.
Again with the Greek stuff, this time by way of Joyce, which makes the allusion not only charming but adds layers of meaning as well.]

“It'll come. Part of the learning process."

“Boss, what is it I'm supposed to be learning?"

“You got me, Steve. Not my department."

“I still have the vague feeling that I don't belong here."

“Yeah, you've said that many times. You know, I'm inclined to agree with you. You don't seem like the rest."

“I don't feel dead."

“Well, there's always some residual disbelief."

“I feel it's a lot more than that. I really do not believe I'm supposed to be here."

Minos shrugged. “But you're here. Hey, what are you gonna do? Maybe you just haven't faced facts yet."

“Possibly. Possibly."

“Then again...” Minos heaved his shoulders again. “I dunno. Maybe you'll find your answer out to sea, like everybody else. Maybe your case is special, but your destiny is still the same. The only way to find out is to get on that boat and take the final journey."

“To where, boss? Where?"

“But ... Stevie boy, that's the whole point, isn't it?"

Steve nodded. “Yeah, I guess it is."

“Right. Well, I'll see you ... Uh, you are gonna work one more shift?"

“Sure. Tomorrow-which-is-meaningless-here."

“Okey-doke. See you around."

“Right."

Minos shut the door after him.

He poured himself two fingers of ambrosia from Minos' hidden stash and sat, sipping thoughtfully.

 

 

 

 

SPOT QUIZ NO. 2

 

Multiple Choice. Circle the correct answer.

 

1. A spell that makes things happen is called a:

A. magic spell

B. make-it-happen spell

C. facilitation spell

D. bribe

 

2. A device for faster-than-light communication is a:

A. cellular phone

B. CB radio

C. multiphone

D. friend of your wife

 

3. What character in Greek mythology does the strange specter in the ferryboat evoke?

A. Charon

B. Theseus

C. Bellerophon

D. Biff the Wonder Clam of Phrygia

 

4. Departed relatives may be contacted in the afterworld through the services of a:

A. psychic medium

B. necromancer

C. good lawyer

D. yenta

 

5. There once was a man from Khartoum, who took a lesbian up to his:

A. room

B. pad

C. flat

D. roommate

 

6. Life's a bitch, and then you:

A. get transferred to New Jersey

B. get audited by the IRS

C. die and
then
get transferred to New Jersey

D. die and
then
get audited by the IRS

 

7.
Posse comitatus
is a Latin phrase meaning:

A. a band of unconscious deputies

B. an unconscious pussycat

C. a band of communist deputies

D. a band of communist pussycats

 

8. If a .01-kiloton warhead can kill 1000 people, how many times more powerful would a warhead have to be in order to kill all the lawyers in the world?

A. 100 times

B. 1000 times

C. 10,000 times

D. nuclear weapons aren't that powerful

 

9. Author is to publisher as helpless swimmer is to:

A. poisonous jellyfish

B. riptide

C. shark

D. tidal wave

 

10. Book reviewer is to snake as literary critic is to:

A. jerk

B. weasel

C. alcoholic failed writer with two divorces under his belt

D. shithead

 

Essay Questions. Again, your answer should be limited to 500 words.

 

1. Discuss the problems inherent in the task of adapting this novel as (1) a screenplay; (2) a radio drama; (3) a “graphic novel” (comic book); (4) a set of collector dinner plates.

2. Briefly outline the eschatologies of the world's major religions and compare and contrast them. Tell how you wouldn't be caught dead in any of them, and are they kidding or what?

3. Write an essay praising the author in the most enthusiastic terms and send it to the publisher, along with an order for 15 copies of each of his books.

 

Suggested Projects:

 

1. Organize a jousting tournament in your neighborhood. Seek federal funding. The departments of Housing, Education and Welfare would be good places to start.

2. Organize a toad-fling in your neighborhood. Call it “performance art” or “conceptual art.” Seek federal funding. The National Endowment for the Arts would be a good place to start.

 

 

 

 

MALNOVIA—ELECTOR'S PALACE

OFFICE OF THE CHAMBERLAIN

 

“So Kind of you to pay us this visit, my lord."

The Chamberlain was an elderly man with a shiny bald pate and skin like wrinkled parchment. His eyes were sharp, his fingers long and thin. The office in which he sat was a rococo wonder, glinting with gold leaf on fancy scrollwork.

The chamber's high, mullioned windows looked out on an expanse of formal garden. The weather was sunny and pleasant, matching the Chamberlain's official disposition.

Nevertheless, Trent caught the hint of a nervous chill underneath all the diplomacy.

“Something of urgency came up,” Trent said. “I came as soon as I could. You're very kind to receive me on such short notice. Chamberlain."

Trent's host raised both hands. “How could I refuse the brother of our late lamented Court Magician? What with the press of duties attending upon the funeral and other matters, I naturally assumed any request for a visit from a member of the family to be extremely urgent indeed."

“It is."

A servant came in, bearing a tray with a cut-glass decanter and long-stemmed glasses.

“Will you take some dry sack this afternoon, my lord?” the Chamberlain asked.

“Thank you."

Wine poured and served, the servant left, closing tall doors behind him. The sound echoed in the high chamber.

“And now, my good lord,” the Chamberlain said, “would you be so kind as to tell me what brings you to our fair principality?"

Trent set his glass down on a small table at this side.

“I have reason to believe that my brother was murdered."

After helping to sop up the wine that the Chamberlain had sprayed and spilled across the desk, Trent sat back down. He waited for the Chamberlain to stop choking.

At last, hoarse-voiced and weakly smiling, the Chamberlain said, “Went down the wrong pipe, that did."

“Very sorry to be so brusque."

“Think nothing of—” The Chamberlain coughed, took a gulp of sherry, coughed once again and cleared his throat. He then went on: “Whatever makes you think that your brother was—” He swallowed hard. “Murdered?"

“One thing only. There is some sort of spell on him. A very subtle and hard-to-detect spell. And in fact it was only detected when the undertaker tried to cast a preservation spell on the body. The spell was warded off by something."

The Chamberlain finished mopping the desk with is handkerchief and sat back. “This is very interesting. Uh ... but of course, your brother was a magician. Could this spell be of his doing?"

“No. It is not his style."

“I'm not sure I—"

“Each magician has his own, identifiable style, like an artist. It's as unmistakable as a signature. I know my brother's hand, and this spell is not his work."
¹

[
^1.
Very clever notion. This novel is rife with clever notions. At times it borders on being too clever by half. But at least it is not a dull book. There is quite a good deal of dull stuff being published these days in the fantasy genre. Droves of dragons, Celtic swordswomen, elves, magic blades, and the rest, all with titles like
Sword-wanker. Witchflinger, Dragonsdong. Dragonwhacker, Spellmacher,
and worse. Honestly, it's enough to make you puke into your flagon of mead.]

“I see. Yes, I've heard that about magic and magicians."

“It takes some sensitivity to perceive these subtleties, naturally."

“Naturally. Doubtless you know whereof you speak."

The Chamberlain drained his glass and poured himself another from the decanter.

He sat back, glass in hand. “Now, exactly, what is it you want of me?"

“I want an investigation, naturally."

“An investigation? Ah, yes ... yes."

“I want the murderer brought to justice. To do that, you have to catch him—and to do
that
you must proceed with the usual police procedures. You—” Trent leaned forward. “Unless there's some problem with that?"

“Problem. Well, I actually can't say at the moment. I see no reason why there would be any difficulty, looking at it at first blush. Of course, if there's been a
murder,
why it follows as the night the day that ... uh, well—"