Too Many Curses (3 page)

The nurgax, ever loyal, followed quietly behind her.

In the hall of portraits, she was assaulted by more questions of Margle's death. It had amused the wizard to consign his enemies of royal blood to prisons of ink and paint.

"He can't truly be dead," said Lady Elaine while filling her cup from her bottomless teapot. She'd spurned Margle's affections, and he'd trapped her in a lovely image of a tea party. True, the other guests painted in the party were just that, soulless, immobile paint, and it was a torture to be certain. But Margle must surely have loved her in his own twisted manner to allow her the luxury of a perpetual sunny day.

Lord Gilgamesh, on the other hand, was painted into a dank, dusky room with a small window to let in light. There was only one door in his portrait, and something terribly horrible had been drawn on the other side. The only thing holding the monster at bay was Gilgamesh keeping the door closed. "I wish I could've seen him get it," he said through gritted teeth. He shifted his shoulders, and the door opened a crack. A tentacle slipped through. Gilgamesh bit it fiercely, and the horror recoiled with a shriek.

Caliban the Ogre King, who lived in a charcoal sketch of a gloomy forest, and a poorly drawn sketch at that, poked out his head from behind a tree. "Did you see him die yourself, Nessy?"

"Not exactly, but I did hear it."

The nurgax hiccupped sheepishly.

"Everyone knows a wizard isn't dead until his head has been removed and his body stuffed with pine needles,"
remarked a scholarly dwarf duke consigned to an oil painting of a library with tall shelves and not a single stepladder. "Then you have to burn it under a half-moon while a cock crows."

A dragon emperor imprisoned in a very small cave with only a single copper coin to roll between his talons hissed, "Balderdash. You have to boil the corpse in river water and chant the wizard's name backwards six times."

"Are you a fool?" said the dwarf. "That's the surest way to bring him back to life!"

"Ridiculous mortals!" bellowed a demigod in a water-color dungeon. "The only way to truly kill a wizard is to eat his right kidney while whistling a Titan funeral dirge! Or is it the left? Which is the evil kidney?"

She left the painted denizens to their bickering. She passed a looking glass, and her image said, "He has to be dead." It was Melvin of the Mirrors, who found form in reflections. "I saw the whole thing from the full-length mirror in the corner of the tower. Two bites and he was gone. Wizard or not, I don't see how any man could survive."

"I suppose."

She wasn't truly certain, and she wasn't especially interested in theorizing. Her only concern was with maintaining castle upkeep as she always did. Neither Margle nor his constant threats had ever been her true motivation. She enjoyed her work for the work itself, and she considered the castle her home as much as Margle's. More so, in fact. While the wizard had spent much of his time off collecting arcane artifacts,
bringing kingdoms to ruin, and other assorted dark wizardly doings, she was the one who was always here, day in, day out, keeping disorder in check. A difficult job truly, but rewarding and enjoyable.

The oddest thing about the Thing That Devours was that it didn't devour all that much. Just a bucketful of brains once a month. It wasn't even a very big bucket. Not nearly as large as the brain bucket used to feed the corpse drakes. And only half the size of her entrails pail for Huxtable the hog.

She hurried to the vaults where Margle had stockpiled a grand supply of brains, skin, hearts, kidneys (both good and evil) and so forth in giant, presorted copper cylinders. This hadn't always been so. Years ago, the vault had been a terrible jumble. Nessy had a strong stomach, but she'd never enjoyed picking through the mountains of organs for very specific meals. Many of the creatures in Margle's collection had very special diets. She'd learned the hard way that feeding a mere spoonful of wolf brains to a nether zombie made them explode.

The vaults were huge, stretching for leagues. Fortunately, walking them was unnecessary. Margle had devised a miraculous mechanical device that moved the brass walls with rapid efficiency. His name was Crank, and he had once been a sea captain before being transmogrified into a machine, a tremendous gearbox with a face of tin and copper.

"Ahoy, Nessy!" he shouted up as soon as she appeared atop the vault's tall, steep stairs.

"Hello, Crank. And how are you today?"

"Can't complain." His green copper mustache wiggled. "I suppose I could, but I fail to see the point."

Nessy prided herself on civility, but she took extra care with Crank, whose punishment seemed a shade cruel even by Margle's standards. Yet he maintained a positive attitude and was always helpful.

His hook swiveled forward. "I believe it's brains you're wanting today."

Nodding, she put the appropriate bucket on his arm. The floor rumbled as his gears turned with a steady click, click, click. A well in the distance rotated out of line and made its way towards them at a steady pace.

Sir Thedeus flew into the vault and sat on Nessy's shoulder. "What are ye doing, lass?"

"Tending the castle." It seemed strange to her that she should have to explain it.

Echo made her presence known by speaking. "He's dead. You don't have to do that anymore."

"Who's dead?" asked Crank, perhaps the last resident to learn of these latest events.

"Margle." Sir Thedeus puffed out his small, furry chest. "I killed him meself. Tore out his throat in a great gush of blood. It was glorious."

"Yes, well, glorious victories aside," said Echo, "he's dead."

"Should I still be a machine?" Crank's mustache lowered a few notches as metal eyebrows waggled. "Don't a curse end when its wizard dies?"

"Apparently not," said Nessy.

Metal brow wiggling deep in thought, Crank lowered the bucket. "Maybe he isn't dead? A privateer once told me the only sure way to kill a wizard is to feed his corpse to seagulls and then slaughter the seagulls and feed them to sharks and harpoon the sharks and . . ."

"Not a one of us cares about yer daft sailor stories," said Sir Thedeus. "Margle's dead."

"He's dead, but the Thing Which Devours must still be fed." Nessy took the freshly filled bucket from Crank.

"It was human brains you were wanting, wasn't it?"

"Yes, thank you." She walked to the foot of the stairs, put the bucket down, and chanted briefly. Dust pixies in the corners proceeded to carry the pail up the steps.

"You'll also be needing asses' ears today if I'm not mistaken."

"And iguana eyes." She set another bucket on his hook.

"Ah, yes. Can't forget the iguana eyes, can we?"

"Nessy lass, if ye keep tending the castle, where are ye going to find the time to break our curses?"

"I have an hour and forty minutes of unoccupied time every day. I don't mind studying magic then."

"But that'll take ye forever. Ye canna learn magic in an hour and a half a day."

"Of course not. I'll only be studying for thirty minutes. I would like some time for myself, after all."

"Can't we help?" asked Echo. "Lighten your load a little?"

"I appreciate the offer, but no one else is capable of doing what must be done. And the Thing That Devours won't feed itself. Or perhaps it might, but I'd rather not grant it the motivation."

"That's it? That's yer plan?" Sir Thedeus circled her head. "Just act as if nothing has changed while we remain cursed?"

"What would you have me do? This castle demands my constant attention. You can't expect me to just drop everything and start studying magic all day and night. Everything would fall apart in very short order."

"Our curses could break on their own before ye get around to learning enough magic."

"I fail to see the problem with that."

Sir Thedeus grumbled, and she could see his point. The castle wouldn't succumb to chaos instantly. There was still the very likely possibility that Margle would return from the dead or that other wizards and magi would arrive to plunder his collections. Either prospect meant that time wasn't a luxury she could take for granted. Not that she ever did. It was her most precious commodity, and it looked as if there soon wouldn't be enough hours in the day to take care of everything.

There was no doubt about it. She was going to have to let some things fall to the wayside. The very idea annoyed her. Every minute of her schedule was accounted for, properly arranged and employed for maximum effect. Margle's death, permanent or not, required certain adjustments.

Her home was very likely running out of time as well. She didn't like thinking about that, but it was true. The world within these dusty walls was soon to be extinguished, gone forever. And there was nothing she could do about it. All the cooking and cleaning, feeding and polishing: none of it would stop the inevitable end of it all. For a moment, she wondered why she should bother.

But it was a small moment, gone before she could dwell on it.

"Perhaps I can squeeze in an hour of magical study a day," she said.

With the aid of Crank and the dust pixies, Nessy loaded the cart waiting atop the stairs. Normally, she had to pull it herself, but the nurgax was only too happy to take the rope in its mouth and follow, ever obediently. The load proved lighter for the creature, and she made her way at a brisk pace. Margle's bestiary was spread throughout the castle, arranged by wizardly logic. Nessy didn't understand it, other than that some indescribable horrors got along poorly with certain other indescribable horrors. Many truly were indefinable. Shadowy creatures living in deep, dark pits.

Some made noise, and those noises were, with rare exception, as unpleasant as one might expect. The Black Plook had a raspy, scraping way of breathing. And
THE MONSTER THAT SHOULD NOT BE
gurgled and belched day and night. The Hideous Impaler laughed like a sweet child. The Consuming Aversion would sing lullabies in the sweetest voice between gnashing on crunching bones. For that reason,
Nessy was quite pleased that the Thing That Devours was always quiet, providing she remembered its monthly meal.

With the nurgax's help, she finished the feedings earlier than expected. Uncomfortable with wasted time, she tried to use the extra minutes to clean Walter the wall. But he was still rambling, and she admitted defeat. An early dinner was an allowable indulgence.

Decapitated Dan was the permanent resident of the kitchen. A madman, scoundrel, and murderer, Dan had been beheaded for his crimes. The wizard had the corpse dug up, the flesh scoured from its bones. He restored it to a semblance of life, the skeleton chained to the wall, and the skull set on a spice rack. His only explanation for this was a mumbled remark about being bored and needing to brighten the kitchen. This seemed strange to Nessy, as she was the only one who used it. She'd never even seen Margle eat, although he'd drunk wine. She briefly considered fetching a bottle, but this was forbidden. She couldn't defy her master yet.

"Nessy it is," announced Dan when she entered. "Beautiful, beautiful Nessy." His skull was quite insane as was reasonable to expect, but she suspected he had been even while alive. His bones on the other hand always seemed perfectly polite. They waved.

"You are early." He chuckled the uncomfortable laugh of a madman. "Early, early, beautiful, beautiful Nessy."

The manacles around Dan's skeleton's ankle were long
enough to allow it the run of the kitchen. It went to the corner and gathered some coal for the stove.

"Thank you." She put a hand to her muzzle and whispered a cantrip. The coal popped to a red glow.

Dan snapped his jaw together. "Always helpful, Mister Bones. Helpful, helpful Mister Bones. Not so helpful if I were on your shoulders, Mister Bones. Not so helpful then would you be." He laughed again while grinding his teeth.

The nurgax sniffed Mister Bones. The skeleton patted it on the head, and it purred.

Nessy went to the icebox, a large wooden crate kept cold by magic. That Margle provided such a convenience made him a better master than most. She removed a chicken, some carrots, turnips, and other vegetables.

"Chicken soup tonight," said Dan. "Always chicken soup tonight. Beautiful, predictable Nessy."

She was the first to admit she found comfort in routine. For Nessy, life was a schedule, a series of tasks, a constant battle against disorder. This was why she was such a good keeper of the castle, and why Margle had never gotten around to killing her. Now that he was gone, she realized just how much she'd miss him. He'd been cruel and insulting, devious and demented, but this was to be expected from a dark wizard. But he wasn't all bad, and she'd always believed everyone had something good in them. Even if some did have to be beheaded before it could find its way to the surface.

Mister Bones placed the big pot under a spigot and filled it with water.

"Three fourths full now," she reminded him.

The skeleton rapped the spigot twice.

"Oh, Mister Bones, what has become of you without ol' Dan to show you the way?" The skull rocked back and forth. "Sorely does ol' Dan wish you would put those hands to more lovely use."

The nurgax growled at him, and Mister Bones shook his fist.

"No reason to be impolite now," scolded Nessy while chopping celery.

Mister Bones shrugged. He put the pot on the stove to boil.

An extended keening rattled the room, announcing Bethany the banshee's appearance. Bethany could move throughout the castle, but she could only appear in times of approaching calamity. She was a tall, lean spirit with delicate features and long red hair. Her black robes billowed loosely around her. She raised her head and unleashed a piercing scream.

Nessy, always up for a good howl, added a mournful song of her own. The nurgax moaned softly.

Decapitated Dan grumbled, "What a racket. Ol' Dan would surely love his hands now."

A more determined banshee might wail on for days, but Bethany's cry sputtered to a cough after two minutes. She cleared her throat. "Mind if I take a seat?"

"Help yourself."