The Shadowed Manse (12 page)

“This says we just fought a takaturio — I guess that’s a particular kind of wraith?” Arthur speculated.

“That wasn’t a wraith or a shade,” Morgan replied. “Couldn’t you tell? It didn’t have that empty feeling to it or that same depth of darkness. That thing was more like smoke than it was pure shadow. I bet it’s some sort of Aetherial construct, probably based on a real monster.”

Arms gave a thumbs-up to her answer.

Arthur shook his head. “So the Paladins keep monster constructs for training? That’s ridiculous.”

“But effective,” Morgan replied. “And at least it was just for training. There wasn’t any risk of us dying.”

Arms shook his head and gave a thumbs-down.

“It would’ve killed us?!” Morgan said. “What kind of training exercise is that?”

“I think it says a lot about how dangerous a Paladin’s work in the field must be,” said Vassalus. “And I suspect each creature has a weakness. Knowing the creature’s weakness would make defeating one of them far easier.”

“Oh sure,” Arthur groaned. “I just had to hit the red dot in the back of this one’s mouth with a raygun shot. You know, if that was easy, I’d hate to see hard.” He sat down and leaned against the wall. “But at least we survived.”

“And now you have another fighting experience under your belt,” Lexi added.

Everyone else sat down nearby.

“I feel like I've been battered to a pulp,” Morgan said.

“I think you probably have a concussion,” Arthur told her.

“Well, I
know
you do.”

Arthur tapped his steel helmet. “I’d be in far worse shape if not for this.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “I think I'll feel better after a nap.”

“You can’t,” Arthur said. “You have to stay awake after a concussion. I had a bad one after my cousin hit me with a tree limb one time.” (Derek hadn’t even gotten in trouble for that.) “They took me to the hospital after I started throwing up, and they made me stay awake all night, even though I was sleepy. I don't remember why, but going to sleep is a bad thing. Of course, I had a severe concussion. I’m not sure about a smaller one.”

Morgan groaned. “This is why I
must
have internet access. So, when can I sleep then?” Morgan asked.

“I think you have to wait at least twelve hours.”

“No way I can stay up all night; I’m already exhausted.”

“Well, maybe if we get some food and you seem alright after a few hours … then maybe it'll be safe for you to go to bed real late tonight.”

“Food … I hadn’t even thought of that,” she said. “We are going to need to eat tonight, to keep up our strength. Where is the kitchen?”

Through gestures, Valet told them it was the first door on the left when entering the Grand Hallway from the Great Room. That should be relatively easy to reach from the Armory, which was the third door on the opposite side; they would be running away from most of the shades.

Arthur passed the raygun back to Morgan. “You didn’t have to elbow me in the throat.”

“You didn’t have to get fresh.”

“Get
fresh
? Who talks like that anymore?”

“I do.”

“Well, I was just reaching for the gun.”

“You got too close. Let that be a lesson.”

Arthur shook his head —
whatever
. “I say we make a run for the kitchen as soon as we’ve caught our breath.”

“I’d like to rest longer, thank you,” Morgan said.

“The lady has a point,” Vassalus added. “You have been through a lot.”

“I know,” Arthur replied. “But I think if I rest too long, the adrenaline is going to drain right out of me, and all these aches are going to get worse, and my sore muscles will seize up on me. I say we go while we can still move.”

“Let’s do it,” Lexi piped. “Food, food, food!”

“You cannot eat, Alexis,” Vassalus said.

“Well, I can … I can enjoy food vicariously. Let’s go.”

“Who made you two boss?” Morgan said.

“He is the Multiversal Paladin,” Lexi told her.

“Yeah, but he’s also a moron.”

“Maybe,” Arthur said as he stood up. “But I’m right, and you know it.” He retrieved his rayguns. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Eleven

A Perfect Meal

Arms and Valet prepared to open the door. Arthur tightened his helmet’s chinstrap and drew both rayguns; Morgan activated her shield; Vassalus and Lexi eased in between them.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” Arthur said. “All right then, let’s go.”

The two servitors threw open the door, revealing the crowd of shades waiting on the other side. They didn’t destroy themselves running into the sigil-protected doorway this time. Arthur opened fire, pulling the triggers on both guns as fast as he could. He didn’t bother aiming — as long as he kept the guns at chest level, he couldn’t help but hit them.

He must’ve killed a dozen shades and wounded more before the monsters took the hint and scattered. Arthur angled himself against the doorframe so he could fire as far down into the hallway as possible, driving them farther away. Lexi peeked in the opposite direction, back toward the Great Room, where they had first entered the Manse and toward the door to the kitchen.

“I see only three shades on this side,” she said. “Vassalus and I will take them out.”

The wraiths, for whatever reason, had retreated to the other end of the Grand Hallway, and Arthur wasn’t going to complain about that.

“Arms and Valet, you open the door to the kitchen,” Arthur said. “If anyone gets in a rough spot, help them out. Let’s go.”

Morgan stepped out into the hallway with her force field up and spread out as wide as possible, which was nearly six feet across. The numina darted into the hallway and attacked the three shades on the left. Arthur followed and helped out by shooting a shade near the door to the Great Room. Two shades rushed forward — splatted against Morgan’s shield — and staggered backward into their comrades. Others tried to rush around the side, but Arthur shot at them. Once the numina took out the shades at their backs, they rushed in to help cover the flanks.

The plaque over the double doors said DINING HALL, and a sigil hung in the doorway. Valet and Arms pulled the doors open and indicated there were shadows inside. Arthur turned and, with Morgan and the numina shielding him from behind, stepped up to the doorway to open fire on the shades within. He scanned the large dining room, looking for dark-hearts, but couldn’t find any.

“Arthur, we’ve got to go in!” Morgan urged. “Now!”

The Grand Hallway's dark-hearts had already regenerated most of the shadows they had killed coming out. And now, behind the wave of shades, Arthur could make out eight wraiths rushing forward.

“Go!” Arthur shouted.

At his command, the numina dove into the Dining Hall and attacked two of the three remaining shades. Arthur stepped in and shot the third in the gut, dispersing it into a cloud of inky smoke that faded away. Morgan backed through the doorway with her shield up, shrinking it as she went. As soon as she passed the glowing triskelion sigil, she slammed the door shut.

Arthur hadn’t even scanned half the room for the dark-heart before Morgan said, “I see the stone.”

Arthur raised his pistol. “There were only twelve shades in here, so that’s the only one.”

“Wait, let me get it,” Morgan said.

She dropped her force field, held out her hand, chewed on her bottom lip, flexed her fingers, and … nothing. She huffed and tried again — and telekinetically crushed the sconce hanging on the wall nearby. With a third attempt, she finally force-grabbed the stone and smashed it against the wall.

“That felt good,” she said with a satisfied murmur.

Arthur sighed. “We made it.”

“Not a single injury,” Vassalus said. “Well done, everyone.”

“Well, that sconce didn’t fare too well,” said Lexi.

The Dining Hall was huge, and in its center was a table the length of four classroom chalkboards — a table that could easily seat thirty people. Places were set at every seat, with fine china trimmed in gold and adorned with starburst and triskelion patterns, sparkling silverware, delicate crystal glasses and goblets ... the works. Exotic blue, white, and purple flowers burst like fireworks from towering vases interspersed with old-fashioned glass lanterns down the length of the table. Like the Great Room, the Dining Hall was warmed by two giant fireplaces, now burning at full strength. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the walls were mostly covered by tapestries depicting a mix of nature scenes — on exotic, alien worlds — and massive space battles.

Glancing all around the room, Morgan gasped, “Arthur, I just noticed something weird. Honestly, I can’t believe I didn’t notice it in the Training Room. How many shots did you fire in here?”

He shrugged. “Dunno ... dozens, I guess.”

“And yet there’s not a single mark on the walls — the gunshots haven't done any damage!”

“Dear me,” said Vassalus, “but I think you are onto something, Lady Morgan.”

She was right. In this room filled with delicate objects, the only damage was from where Morgan had smashed the wall sconce.

“I can't believe we hadn't noticed,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “I feel stupid.”

“If you're stupid,” said Lexi, “then we're all stupid. And I really don’t think we are.”

“There was quite a lot going on to distract us all,” said Vassalus defensively. “There were so many new things to take in.”

“I guess the guns only affect Entropians,” Arthur said.

Arms gave him a thumbs-down, then he picked up a goblet, set it on the floor, and gestured for Arthur to shoot it.

Arms stepped back, and Arthur took a shot. The characteristic WHUM-WHUM-WHUM jet of energy waves zapped the goblet, passed through it harmlessly, hit the floor and vanished.

Arms shook his head and pointed emphatically toward the goblet. Arthur focused — aimed — took another shot — and still nothing happened. Arms threw his helmet on the floor and stormed away.

“Come now, old boy,” Vassalus said to Arms, “be patient. Master Paladin will figure it out …” Vassalus winked at Morgan “… eventually.”

Morgan stifled a giggle; Arthur shook his head and rolled his eyes; Lexi grumbled.

Arms’ metal helmet, still lying on the floor, faded away … and magically reappeared on Arms’ head. He fastened the chinstrap, turned, and gestured for Arthur to try again.

This could go on forever. I’ve got to break it, or Arms might give up on me.

He aimed …

“Blast it to pieces!” Lexi growled.

Arthur gritted his teeth and took another shot. The rays struck the goblet, shattered it into dust, and left a scorch mark on the floor.

Arthur staggered back. “Whoa … but how'd I do that?”

“Oh, I think I get it,” Morgan said. She drew her raygun, fired at a vase on a side table, and shattered it. She fired at another vase, but the second shot passed through it harmlessly.

“Morgan,” Arthur groaned. “Was that really necessary?”

“Yes, it was.” She turned to Arms. “You’ve got to mean it, right? If you want to kill a shade, and you fire the raygun, that’s just what the ray will do, and nothing more. And if you want to break something, and that’s what you mean to happen, that’s what it will do, right?”

Arms gave the thumbs-up, and then adjusted his helmet.

“If I wanted to shoot a person with the raygun,” Morgan said, “but not kill them, if I just intended to knock them out, it would stun them, right?”

Arms gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Too bad real guns in our world don’t work that way,” Arthur said. “Hey, what if you wanted to kill a wraith and blast a door open with the same shot — could it do that?”

Arms shook his head no and held up two fingers.

“So, two separate shots,” Arthur said. “Good to know. Really is too bad you guys can’t talk. There’s probably all sorts of things we’re missing out on by accident.”

A cloud of fog appeared in the room and, as with Valet and Arms, condensed into the form of a servitor: this one smartly dressed in a tuxedo with tails.

“Let me guess,” Arthur said. “You would be Waiter.”

The servitor made a half-bow and gestured toward the head seat at the table.

“Not right now,” Arthur said. “But thank you.”

Vassalus nosed at the door on the opposite end of the room. It too had a glowing sigil. “I fear that is the Kitchen, and any hope of you two getting food, lies through there.”

From within the Dining Hall, the other doors weren’t labeled.

“If it’s no more dangerous than this room, we can handle it,” Arthur said. “What about the door to the right?”

Valet sat down in a chair, slouched, and leaned back. He picked up a fork and pulled it to his lips as if it were a cigar or cigarette.