Castle Kidnapped (7 page)

Cause for concern, perhaps, but not to worry. The vehicle could probably outrun the thing, and if not, surely could withstand a little battering. It was made of some miracle metal, he was certain.

But the beast had some miracles of its own. It would not be outrun, and kept smashing its gargantuan head against the starboard hull, which was beginning to look like a crushed eggshell. Gene began to wish mightily that the thing would go away. He threw the power rod to maximum. The extra speed helped, as did his quick maneuvering on the controls. But it was no go. Every time he began to pull ahead, the beast would kick in another carburetor and catch up.

Preoccupied with what was going on to the rear, he neglected to watch where he was going. When he did remember to glance forward, he yelped and panic-steered away from the edge of the arroyo that he had been about to send the rover crashing into. But in avoiding catastrophe, he turned into the beast's next attack, catching its full force. The vehicle almost upended.

Now he was in a pickle, stuck on a perilous track between two certain disasters. The beast seemed to sense this and kept hemming him in, forcing him to hug the rim of the little canyon.

He briefly considered making a dash for broken terrain, but that was a bad risk. The beast was too fast. The only alternative was to go down into the canyon. The trick was finding a slope that the rover could handle, yet steep enough to discourage the beast from following. The possibility cheered him; he could not imagine the bulky animal rappeling down the canyon wall in pursuit.

It was an agonizing quarter mile or so until he found a suitable entry point. The sheer wall of the canyon suddenly flared out into a slope strewn with talus and a few huge boulders. He steered right and sent the vehicle over the edge and down the steep incline.

The rover began to slide, but the tires ballooned out and came alive, pseudopods grasping for purchase. A major landslide began in front of the vehicle, a minor one to the rear.

Things went well at first, but Gene gradually lost control. The vehicle turned sideways and began to slide uncontrollably, its semi-intelligent automatic systems fighting to maintain a grip on the impossible slope.

He had misjudged the grade; it was too steep. Worse, the rover was veering off the ramp of rubble, heading for a sharp drop.

The vehicle tipped, righted itself, then hit a boulder, stopping momentarily. The boulder had other ideas; dislodged from its precarious position on the slope, it began to roll. The rover followed suit, joining the general landslide.

The amoebalike tires completely lost their grip. The vehicle began to roll over on its side—and that was the last thing Gene knew.

 

 

 

Long Island

 

Sheila thought that Trent looked exactly what a prince should look like. For one thing, he was terribly handsome. His pale hair was the color of fresh butter, his eyes the hue of the sky on a bright afternoon. His features were strong, the cleft chin firm; classic princely features. But there was more to him, something in his bearing that bespoke a high-born status.

Just like a prince, she thought. She had been distantly in love with him since their first meeting.

She sat back and took a sip of wine. Sure, he was probably three hundred years old, but what's age got to do with it? He sure as heck didn't look three hundred years old. More likely thirty-five. Forty at the most. It was magic, of course.

“Like the wine?” Trent asked, settling into an armchair across from the sofa.

“It's wonderful,” Sheila said. “What is it?"

“It's a special California vintage cabernet, limited issue. I have some friends in the wine business out there."

“It's great."

Trent pivoted in his chair. “Uh ... Snowclaw? You sure you won't have anything?"

“Thanks,” Snowclaw said, turning away from a view of the woods. “But I don't go for that smelly flower water you human folks drink. No offense."

Trent laughed. “None taken."

Anyone who had seen Snowclaw in the castle would never have recognized him. Instead of being a huge quasi-ursine biped covered in fur, Snowclaw was now a rather large human male with snow-white hair and the musculature of a professional bodybuilder. He wore a white shirt, red tie, charcoal slacks, and navy-blue blazer. His size 15 black pumps shone with a gloss.

Sheila's spell had done the trick. Snowclaw looked unusual—even for a weight lifter, he was enormous—but acceptable.

“To get back to business,” Trent said. “Granting that Gene is here on Earth, locating him might be a little problematical if someone with magical abilities kidnapped him."

“Well, that's what I think happened,” Sheila said.

Trent nodded. “His disappearance does sound a little suspicious, judging from what you've said."

“There's not much to go on. Actually it's all mostly based on this sneaking suspicion I've got that something's up at the castle."

“Something very well could be. But the question is who's behind it all. Have any ideas?"

“Well, we were thinking..."

“My sister Ferne?"

Sheila nodded. “I'm sorry, but—"

“No need. She's a bad one. But she can't be the culprit, because as far as I know, Incarnadine did away with her. No one but my brother knows exactly what happened to her, but he did inform the family that Ferne's case had been adjudicated ‘with coldest justice,' I think his phrase was."

“Does that mean he had her executed?"

“Well, everyone—my other sister, Dorcas, and I, along with the more distant relatives—we all took it to mean that Ferne had been dispatched to her heavenly reward, to phrase it kindly if not plausibly."

Sheila sighed. “Well, that eliminates her as a suspect, I guess. And if it's not her, then I haven't the foggiest clue who it could be."

“On the other hand, you do have a castle full of people”—Trent nodded toward Snowclaw, who had taken a seat on the sofa—“and other gentle beings. No end of suspects. As far as motives, well, there you have a problem."

Trent suddenly rose and walked to the fireplace, behind the glass doors of which a cheery fire glowed and crackled.

“There is one other possibility,” Trent said, looking deep into the flames.

Sheila looked at Snowclaw. They waited.

“I know my brother,” Trent said finally. “He just might not have killed her.” He gave a rueful chuckle. “I have to confess that I would have, without hesitation or remorse. She nearly destroyed everything, including the castle.” He shook his head, still staring into the fire. “Reckless, reckless woman."

Presently Trent returned to his seat. “But Incarnadine has a soft spot for her, always did. I've always suspected he might be in love with her. He's never let on, though. If so, I don't blame him. As you know, she's something to look at."

“Oh, she's beautiful,” Sheila said. “That made her even more scary."

“And I've always suspected that the feeling was mutual, between the two of them. All very repressed, of course, at least on Incarnadine's side."

“So she could be alive. She could even be in the castle somewhere."

“It's a possibility,” Trent said, “but a slim one. Mind you, Incarnadine is an able ruler, and a wise one. He wouldn't compromise his security and the security of the crown for the sake of personal feelings, his own or anyone else's.” Trent leaned back in his chair. “At least, I don't think he would."

“You should know your own brother ... er, Your Royal Highness."

Trent laughed. “Forget the honorifics. This is Earth. This is America, after all."

“Sorry. It's just that I don't get to talk to princes every day."

“You should be so lucky every day."

Sheila giggled. “I kind of like it."

Trent gave her an engaging smile. “Well, it's easy playing Prince Charming to so charming a lady."

Sheila melted a little inside, then tried to put romantic thoughts out of her mind.

“Of course,” Trent went on, “there's always me as a suspect."

Sheila reddened. “Sir, there's never been any doubt in my mind—"

“Oh, but there should be!” His Royal Highness chuckled. “I have the motive, the means, and no end of opportunity. I should be number one on your suspect list. In fact, when you called, I assumed you were coming here to play detective."

“Oh, no, that wasn't the reason at all,” Sheila protested. “I wouldn't presume. It's just that we need help, and with Lord Incarnadine away—"

“I understand. Sorry, I shouldn't be kidding around. I realize this is a serious matter, what with your friend involved."

“We're worried, sir. And we do need help."

“Please, don't call me ‘sir.' I got out of the prince business long ago. ‘Trent' will do."

“Certainly ... Trent."

“That's better. Sounds more like you trust me."

“How could we suspect you when you helped Incarnadine against the Hosts of Hell?"

“I was fighting to save Perilous, not necessarily my brother."

“I see."

Trent shrugged. “Just being honest. And I was only half joking about my being a suspect."

“I trust you,” Sheila said firmly.

He smiled, showing astonishingly white teeth. “Thank you. And I you.” He put down his glass. “Won't you stay for lunch?"

“We'd love to,” Sheila said, with deep-seated reluctance, “but Linda is working on a spell to locate Gene in the castle, and she needs all the help she can get."

“I thought you were pretty sure that Gene disappeared here."

“It's just my magician's intuition again, but there is the slight possibility Gene might have slipped past the guards at Halfway House. I didn't want to say anything, but once I found both of them asleep in front of the TV."

“You should have reported it,” Trent said. “They should be disciplined."

“Well, I didn't want to get anyone in trouble. It must be boring to be stuck in that house—"

“That's hardly an excuse."

“Gene does have a key to the place. He could have—anyway it's a possibility."

“That means he could have disappeared inside the castle. By accident, I suppose. But as Gene's a castle veteran, more likely by design."

“But again the question is ‘Who?'”

“Well, let's go over the disappearance once again. You say Gene did board the plane in L.A.?"

“Yes, as far as the airline knows."

“Was anyone supposed to meet him at the airport?"

“Linda's not sure, but she thinks Gene told her that his dad was supposed to pick him up."

“And you can't reach his parents?"

“No, though I should try again from here. Or maybe when we switch the portal back to Halfway, I'll take a drive into Pittsburgh and see if I can't find them. We were afraid of doing that, causing them worry, but now I think we might have to."

Trent nodded. “It might be the only way.” He thought for a moment. “Did it ever occur to you that Gene might have boarded the plane but never got off?"

“No, it never occurred to me. How—?” Sheila frowned. “Wouldn't the flight crew have wondered what happened to him?"

“Maybe. When they came up one short on the deplaning nose count, they would have searched the plane. When they didn't find him, they might have figured they just counted wrong. It happens."

Sheila chewed her lip, then said, “So you think somebody meddled with the portal and had it link with the plane ... in midflight?"

“Why not? It's not easy to do, but it's doable. Happen to know what kind of plane it was?"

“No, not really, but I guess we can find out. Wouldn't somebody have seen what was going on?"

“If it was a 747 or an L-1011, there'd be no end of room to materialize a portal. I'd do it in the head, myself. Perfect place."

“But why go to all that trouble?"

“To confuse things, keep you guessing,” Trent said. “I admit it's a wild possibility. But if true, it means that the portal was meddled with from the castle side, unless someone was on the plane to manipulate things from that end. I guess that's a possibility as well. Are you keeping a list?"

Sheila shook her head glumly. “There are too many of them. I wonder if we'll ever know what happened to Gene."

“Don't worry. We'll find him."

“But it's been almost four days."

“Not to worry. There are any number of universes, and he could be anywhere in any one of them. It'll take time, but we'll locate him."

“You're so kind to help, Trent."

“Glad to. I rather like Gene, myself. A good kid, handy with a sword."

Sheila rose. “We've taken enough of your time."

Trent threw out his arms expansively. “I have all the time in the world. In semiretirement, you know. Out to pasture."

“You don't look your age, whatever that is."

“I'll never tell. But thanks for saying it. We old codgers need all the compliments we can wheedle out of pretty young ladies."

Sheila blushed again. “Anyway, thanks for your time."

“Certainly. And I'll let you know as soon as I come up with a locator spell. It shouldn't take long to design, but getting the bugs out of the thing is going to be the real problem."

Trent escorted Sheila and Snowclaw back to the dining room, where the upright rectangle of the portal stood. Trent had summoned it, detaching the Earth end from its Pennsylvania mooring and anchoring it here, inside Trent's sumptuous Long Island estate.

“Good thing you picked today to come,” Trent said. “My housekeeper's day off. Otherwise you would've had to travel here the old-fashioned way. I'm afraid she wouldn't have understood having magic casements in the dining room."

“This is the only way to travel,” Snowclaw said, then changed expressions. He sniffed the air. “Hey, what's that smell?"

Trent said, “Smell?"

“Yeah, something mighty good in here.” Snowy bent and sniffed the huge oak dining table. “Something that was on this table. Smell's Just like
jhalnark
. Now,
that's
a drink."