Too Many Curses (7 page)

The Hanged Man choked a greeting at their arrival. He could only speak clearly when he bothered to hoist himself up from his noose. But his arms were withered, mummified, and he didn't usually trouble anymore.

Nessy took special pride in the fact that the shelves were impeccably arranged. Maintaining it had never been the problem. Getting it in order had been the task. Margle never put anything in its proper place, and he'd had a small mountain of mislaid books. "Put these away. Do it quickly, and if I find even one book in the wrong space," he'd pointed to the Hanged Man, "I'll string you up next to the last imbecile dimwitted enough to put a necromancy primer in the alchemy section."

It'd been her first task in his service, and after she'd finished, Margle had paid her his one and only compliment in his employ. "Took you long enough, mongrel." It wasn't so much the words, but his smile that she considered her commendation. Although it wasn't so much a smile as a gratified snarl.

Nessy asked the Hanged Man for the best book on monsters. He pulled himself up just long enough to spit out, "Stoker's
Abominable Index
."

"Thank you."

He choked out a strangled "You're welcome."

Nessy went to the zoology shelves and found the text. For some reason, wizards loved giant books, not just thick but absurdly proportioned. Her small size required she carry the book across her back to the reading area. She laid it
down with a thud. She pried the worn leather cover open with some effort and ran her finger down the table of contents.

The book slammed shut, nearly smacking her hand.

"Should've warned you," sputtered the Hanged Man. "He doesn't like to be read. And he can be a little verbose."

"I am not," shouted the book.

The Hanged Man looked as if he might argue, but his arms gave out so he just shrugged.

The book cleared its throat, although technically lacking a throat to clear. "Professor Stoker, greatest monster authority in all the world, at your ser vice, sir."

"She's a female," said Morton.

Stoker's pages shook. "Of course. I should've known better. The female kobold has larger ears, closer set eyes, and—might I see your tongue? Ah, yes, speckled blue. Please, forgive my error. I can assure you, no one in this world knows more about subhuman flora and fauna than I. But my specialty is dangerous and unsavory beasts, not harmless creatures such as yourself. No slight intended to your species, my dear, but even you must admit kobolds are not the most intimidating of creatures."

"Verbose is an understatement," whispered Morton in Nessy's ear.

Olivia, perched on Nessy's other shoulder, agreed. "Verifiable veneration for his very voice."

Nessy interrupted. "Excuse me, but we need to identify a monster."

Stoker cleared his throat again. "Certainly, miss. You'll find no greater expert on the study of monsters, beasts, creatures, and horrors bipedal, quadruped, and hexapod."

Olivia's head drooped. "My resistance to rest is reducing."

Nessy attempted to open the book, but he held shut. "No need for that," he muttered through tightly clamped pages. "I can tell you anything you want to know faster than you could find it on your own. Just describe it."

"I'd do what he says," sputtered the Hanged Man. "It'd be easier."

Stoker grumbled. "I spend most my time on that shelf. I think it's not too much to ask that I be allowed to speak when I'm able."

Nessy conceded it was a reasonable request. She had Morton and Olivia describe what they'd seen of the Vampire King's end. Stoker analyzed their report aloud.

"A creature which feeds on the undead, eh? This is not as unusual as the layman might suspect. Vampires have a variety of predators: the bloodgutter badger, the mammoth maggot, the consuming slug. There is even a rare breed of carp which is quite lethal to the undead. But from what you have said, I have surmised that the beast encountered can be none of these."

"Can you stop telling us what it isn't and get to the point?" said Morton.

The book's pages bent in a frown. "Very well. I was merely attempting to educate you, to broaden your view of
the fascinating world of metazoology. But if you insist on remaining ignorant . . ."

"This endless elaboration has exhausted my energies." Olivia hopped to the table, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

Stoker took the hint. "This can only be one creature, an abomination so infrequently encountered that I have never seen one personally. Nor have I ever met any fellow scholar who has. I even doubted that it existed, but now . . ."

Morton was tired as well, but without nocturnal instincts, his annoyance kept him awake. "What is it?"

The book cleared his throat once again and opened wide.

"That's it. That's what we saw." Morton hopped onto the pages beside a sketch of a big black cloud with claws and vicious eyes.

Stoker mumbled as best he could without closing on the mouse. "Well of course it is. I am a world-renowned authority."

Nessy forced him flat. The book was ridiculously large, and the print on his pages was equally ridiculously large. She supposed it helped to make the intricate calligraphy more legible. It could've been half the size and perfectly functional, but Nessy had always been very practical and she'd never met a wizard yet who enjoyed that virtue.

She read aloud. "Hellhound. A creature of the underworld that feeds on intransient souls, both material and immaterial. The Hellhound's diet consists of apparitions, banshees, ghosts, ghouls, lamias, phantasms, phantoms,
revenants, shades, specters, spirits, spooks, wights, will-o-the-wisps, wraiths, zombies . . ."

"Doesn't say anything about vampires," observed Morton.

Stoker turned his next page, rudely thrusting the rodent onto the desk.

". . . And especially vampires."

The book slammed himself shut again. "In most situations, the beast would starve to death soon enough, but this castle's spirit population makes an ideal environment. The good news is that the hound is exclusively nocturnal. During the daylight hours, it finds a deep shadow to nest in. Again, this castle's many darkened corners provide it with an abundance of nesting grounds. A most interesting chance for prolonged study."

"Does it eat mice?" asked Morton. "Or owls?"

"Only ghostly ones. It has no interest in the living or the deceased. Its purpose is to restore balance to the metaphysical scales by dragging the stubborn dead to Hell."

The Hanged Man spoke up. "I don't want to go to Hell."

"Tough luck then, old chap."

"How do we get rid of it?" asked Nessy.

Stoker snapped his leather cover three times. "A very good question. Unfortunately, I don't know. Theoretically, it should starve to death once it has exhausted its food supply."

"But that could take months." Morton's whiskers twitched. "I'm glad I'm not dead."

"I wish I could be of more help." His satin bookmark offered half a shrug. "But anything else would be pure conjecture, and I deal in facts. I advise you seek a more knowledgeable authority. Perhaps a wizard."

"Or a demon," said Nessy.

"Oh, I wouldn't recommend that. Oh no. Not at all. My information on demons is unpleasant without exception." His pages flipped to a drawing of a huge, winged monster with a twisted, leering face. It was only ink, but it was dreadful to behold. The real thing could only be worse.

Frowning, she slammed the book shut. "I hope it won't come to that."

She returned Stoker to the shelf. He protested, and while she understood his reluctance, she couldn't bring herself to not put something back where it belonged. It was her nature, nursed by years of habit. She remembered the Vampire King's empty coffin. She hadn't any fondness for the King, but that he wasn't there distressed her more and more.

"Are you really going to deal with a demon?" asked Morton.

"If I have to."

"But the hound isn't dangerous. Not to us anyway. Why risk your life, your soul, for people that are already dead?"

"Just because they're dead, that doesn't mean they deserve to be dragged to Hell."

The Hanged Man struggled but was unable to raise himself with his exhausted limbs.

"No need to thank me," she said. "Just doing my job."

"A damn sight more than your duty, if you ask me," said Morton.

But the castle would be kept. And as she was the only one who could keep it, she would do whatever was necessary to maintain its order and to protect all those, living or dead, who called it home. They could expect nothing less from her. And neither could she.

Nessy spent the next few hours checking each and every volume of the library's metazoology, demonology, and necromancy sections. She found nothing else on hellhounds. Nothing on how to summon them up. Nothing to dispatch them. Nor even a single description of the beast.

She wondered how the creature had found its way into the castle. She didn't believe it was happenstance. Everything else was here for a reason. But Margle's castle was protected from casual entry by unnatural forces. An underworld creature couldn't just slip in. The hound could only have come from inside.

Had Margle summoned it from the underworld with a magic so dark and secret that it wasn't even hinted at in even his most prized books? Surely, it must've been here by the wizard's doing, but how had it gotten loose?

Perhaps Margle had nothing to do with it. Perhaps it was all the castle's will. Decapitated Dan had said it possessed a life of its own. She'd already known that. But with its master dead, had it truly become an evil place, bent on devouring them all? She refused to believe that. Not yet. So rather than focus on things she didn't understand, she turned her attention to the hellhound and its removal.

Questioning Yazpib the Magnificent proved fruitless. "I'm sorry, but I have little experience with demonology. Too dangerous. Far, far too dangerous." The fluid in his jar paled at the mere thought. "It's no surprise my brother would. He was as devious and scheming as any demon."

So Nessy had only one place to turn: The Purple Room.

It was expressly forbidden to enter the room. Nor had she ever had any such desire because this was where a demon lived. If demons truly lived. Not just any demon, but a powerful lord of one of the deepest, darkest hells, bound to the room by Margle's most potent magic.

Nessy had a healthy caution toward The Purple Room, but she didn't fear it as she did The Door At The End Of The Hall. She passed it often, and it never acted the least bit strange. If she hadn't known there was a demon inside it, she wouldn't have given it much thought. Even knowing, she had always considered it merely a place she wasn't allowed to enter.

It was habit, not fear, that made her pause before The Purple Room's door. Margle was dead, but she felt some compulsion to obey him still.

"Changed your mind?" asked Yazpib. "That's good. Because you really shouldn't be going in there."

Nessy put her hands against the door. She didn't sense any of the danger she'd felt from The Door At The End Of The Hall, and she wasn't surprised. Wouldn't a good demon hide its darkness? It made temptation so much easier.

Sir Thedeus, clinging to her shoulder, whispered, "If ye change your mind, lass, none would think the less of ye."

"Get the necklace."

The bat flew to the cart, snatched a long, daggerlike tooth on a chain, and dropped it around her neck.

"Are ye certain this will protect her, wizard?"

"A tooth from the demon's own body should keep him from physically harming her." He frowned, eyes bobbing. "But with demons, it isn't the physical threats you have to worry about. You're fortunate if they kill you."

Nessy held the fang in both her small hands. It was as long as her muzzle. But she was determined. She reached for the handle.

Yazpib boiled. "Wait. If you insist on doing this, let me give you some advice."

"I thought ye didn't know anything about demons."

"I know a little. Just a little." He collected his thoughts. "Chiefly, I remember that demons never do anything for free. So if he does help, and I'd be surprised if he does, but if he does, he'll ask you for some sort of payment. Whatever he asks for, don't give it to him. Because it will appear to be perfectly harmless, but it won't be."

"But you just said he won't help if I don't give him something," said Nessy.

"Yes, but whatever he asks for first, don't give."

"Okay, then I'll give him the second thing."

Yazpib laughed dryly. "Oh, I can see this is going to be a bad idea. You can't give him his second request. Because that will appear even more harmless, but will be even more dangerous."

"She fulfills his third request then?" said Sir Thedeus.

"Are you insane? The third request will be less treacherous than the second but worse than the first."

"So is she to agree to the fourth demand?"

"Of course not. Not if she values her life and her immortal soul."

"So what is she supposed to do then?" Sir Thedeus's voice grew squeaky with irritation.

"She's not supposed to go in there." His eyes swirled nervously around his brain. "Understand, Nessy, that my brother was cruel and devious. But you are practical, steady and forthright. Admirable traits, except when it comes to bartering with a demon lord. But I can also see that you're stubborn when you've made up your mind. So please be careful."

"Aye, lass. Without ye, how are we to break our curses?"

"Is that all you care about? This courageous creature is about to endanger herself, and all you think about is your curse."

They started squabbling, but Nessy wasn't listening. She stroked the nurgax's horn, told it to stay, and entered The
Purple Room. The door clicked shut behind her. The nurgax moaned softly.

"Good luck, Nessy lass."

Yazpib shot a disgusted glance at Sir Thedeus with such force that his eyes nearly jumped out of his jar and rolled to the floor. "Yes. Good luck, indeed."

The Purple Room wasn't purple at all. It was black as pitch. Nessy didn't fear the dark. She possessed a talent for wandering around while blinded. Stick a kobold in an unlit chamber filled with dangers and only one exit, she'd more often than not find her way to safety. Nessy sometimes closed her eyes and dashed through the castle as fast as she could. Just to keep in practice should she ever return to her people.