A Game of Universe (17 page)

“I’m a pilot. That’s all I’ve ever been good at.” She opened her mouth, stopped, changed her mind, then, “What exactly are you offering?”

“You seemed interested in how I switched cards at Golden City. I might be inclined to show you.”

“Magic?” Both her eyebrows shot up—then fell. “Didn’t you say it took years of study?”

“The universe has enough pilots, and so few muses. You have the intellect, the talent. It would be a shame to waste it.”

We took seventeen more steps together, then she said, “I’d have to think about it. I just got out from under Golden City. This is the first time I’ve flown in a year and a half.” She stopped. “And to be honest, I’m not certain how much of your offer is based on how sharp my mind is, and how much because of what happened after our game of Universe yesterday.”

“I know your Guild has rules about that sort of thing. I apologize if I put you in an awkward position.” Virginia tried to respond, but I cut her off. “Perhaps it would be best if we forgot about my proposal until this is over. When the
Grail Angel
is yours, then we can discuss the matter, or not. Whatever you wish.”

She frowned. “Sure. That’s what I was going to suggest, too.”

Close to the hole, grooves like large claw marks in the earth ran along the slope and over the edge. It was as if something enormous had been dragged beneath the earth, and left these marks behind. I set my lantern on the ground, then braced myself against a dead tree and peered over.

The furrows spiraled deeper, carved trails on the walls of the pit. Walking along those paths were the faintly illuminated outlines of people, hundreds of them. My heart stopped—a jolt of adrenaline—and it abruptly started again. These were not like the images I saw of myself; these people glowed with magic; I felt the pain burning in their souls. They were ghosts.

They marched, some up, others down, vanishing when they got to the edge where I stood. Farmers pushing plows, beggars with bowls, merchants in gilded robes, and herdsmen tending flocks of twisted animals with melted bodies, distorted heads, things that crawled on belly and fur, and pawed with misshapen hooves—all of them flickering a gloomy blue, and all circling mutely.

Shaking, I loaded one of my bars of silver into the accelerator pistol.

“What is it?” Virginia asked and leaned over my shoulder, looking deep into the crack, lifting the lantern high to see better.

I cringed as the bright light flooded the hole, but the phantoms took no notice. They continued walking, going nowhere.

Virginia squinted and shrugged, blind to the phantoms’ presence with her normal vision.

“It’s nothing,” I lied, then swallowed my apprehension and went down, pistol ready.

The spirits ignored us; indeed, they passed through Virginia. I stepped aside, however, and let them by. A blacksmith brushed past me, hammer in his hand, and tracks upon his face where his tears washed away the soot. Following him, a flower girl limped along, crying, too. In her basket lay bundles of withered and blackened daisies. Poor creature. I wanted to stop and help her. But how does one help the dead?

“Are you OK?” Virginia whispered and placed her hand on my shoulder.

I nodded and continued my circular descent.

A minstrel, fiddle propped under his chin, played while he plodded on and wiped the tears from his face to keep his strings dry. Five more turns and the trail curved into the earth. I glanced down this tunnel. No ghosts wandered there. I was happy to enter it and leave the spinning sorrow behind.

Crystals of gypsum covered these tunnel walls. They licked the stone like icy fire and reflected our lamplight back from countless glittering facets. Virginia touched one of the delicate formations. It crumbled into sparkling dust with a gentle tinkle.

Ahead, I tasted a breath of warm air and spied a pale luminescence. I doused my lantern and signaled for Virginia to do the same. The passage blushed with red light.

I offered my hand to Virginia and guided her until we emerged in a second cavern. Across this cave was the source of the warm light. It was a castle: tall minarets, gray stone walls with braziers set upon them, filled with flames that flickered tenuously, moving as if caught in a viscous liquid. A ring of mirror black circled the palace, still water that reflected the walls and the slowly twisting fires.

A tiny raft floated in its moat. On it, an old man sat and patiently held a rod and line with one hand, while he scratched his beard with the other.

“What is that?” Virginia whispered, “I can’t see.”

“It’s a man,” I replied. “And if I’m not mistaken, he’s fishing.”

12

T
his fisherman was no ghost. He cast a shadow and breathed as any living man did. His skin was blue. He was one of the Bren—imprisoned here for two centuries? Was the Osrick legend true?

Here’s the plan,
Fifty-five whispered.
We sneak to the back of this castle, kill any guards, and once inside, we
—

We’re not going to storm the castle,
I told him.
Remember the report? They have Kings and knights, chivalry and good manners. It’s like the myths of King Arthur I’ve read. We can approach openly and expect to be offered hospitality.

This is no fairy tale,
he hissed.
You’re going to get us all killed.

One two-hundred-year-old fisherman is not going to kill anyone.

“Let’s go,” I whispered to Virginia.

“Wait a second,” she said, and dropped my hand. “What’s a castle doing here? How can that man be alive?”

“I’ll explain everything later. Just follow my lead.” I hiked down the path that cut across the cavern. Behind me, Virginia sighed, then I heard her footfalls catch up to mine.

Stalagmites and stalactites melded into columns that held up the roof and looked disturbingly like rows of teeth. Rippled walls and smooth flowstone appeared as frozen water, splashed into the air, suspended, channels and rivulets of solid rock. And growing between these formations was a mushroom forest. There were giant white puffballs, open stars with ocher petals, and a grove of blue-veined toadstools three meters tall. Lining the path were clusters of pink polka-dotted caps, and sprinkled among them branches of amber that looked like coral under the sea. On the walls, tiers of violet brackets grew, and crowded each other for whatever organic material there was. Below them, a dense carpet of chanterelles spread out.

It was warmer here, rich with the smells of humus and healthy soil.

Virginia’s footsteps halted. I turned and saw her kneel down to examine the scarlet parasols of the lethal
Amanita Electi Muscaris.
Before she touched it, I caught her arm and said, “They are lovely, but to touch them is death.”

She withdrew her hand.

We trekked through this forest of decay to the castle. Mist rose from its moat, and the fisherman, who hadn’t seen us yet, appeared to be floating on clouds rather than the black water.

When I stepped onto the drawbridge, my boots sent a pair of hollow echoes off the castle walls. The fisherman, startled, dropped his pole. He twisted around to find the source of the noise, and his boat bobbed dangerously. His mouth dropped when he spotted Virginia and myself, but he quickly regained his composure, then scrutinized us with clear gray eyes that matched the color of his beard.

“Good morning,” I said.

“And a good morrow to you, Sir Knight,” he answered. He hid his surprise well, and while he only wore the rags of a servant, his voice held not a trace of alarm.

I decided deception was the proper course of action. “I am Prince Germain, and this is the Lady Virginia, the captain of my ship. I have come to your realm in search of a holy item. Our mission is most urgent.”

“Ah,” he mused and scratched his beard. “It has been a long time since we had a guest. And a questing prince of white skin no less. Intriguing.”

“Us? There are more of you?”

“Of course, Sire.” He recovered his fishing pole from the bottom of the boat. “A castle full of lords, ladies, knights, and vassals, all the gentle subjects of King Eliot.”

King Eliot? Setebos didn’t mention the name of the King in the legend. Was it the same King or a descendent of his? Certainly, if the legend was true, and Osrick’s curse had the power to crack the planet, it had the power to keep his victims alive all these years.

Virginia leaned over the drawbridge and peered past the mats of red algae into the murky water. “Are there any fish alive in this?” she asked him.

“Yes, m’lady,” he replied. “We play this cat and mouse game to pass the time. They are the most cunning carp, able to nibble off my bait and never touch the hook.” He drew in his line and showed us the empty barb. “See?” He set his rod aside and addressed me in a formal tone, “Prince Germain, must you enter this castle? For once you do, leaving may not be a simple matter. I advise you to seek the object of your quest elsewhere.”

“And why do you tell me this?”

“Call it friendly advice. There are forces at work here, influencing us all, and you need not partake in the game.”

“I appreciate the warning, but I have no choice.”

“Alas,” he whispered, “so very few of us do.” He then stuffed a bit of mushroom onto the hook and returned his attentions to the water.

I led Virginia across the drawbridge.

“What an odd man,” she remarked. “Why is he blue?”

“Odd, yes, but I get the impression his warning was sane enough. Keep your eyes open and that plasma tube ready. I’ll explain the color later.”

“And why’d you make yourself a prince and me only a lady? Why couldn’t I be a princess?”

If I might remark upon this,
said the psychologist.
I believe that you are unable to cast Virginia in the role of your sexual opposite. Your growing feelings for the girl terrify you.

“It just came out that way,” I told her.

The castle walls might have been white once, but clumps of dried moss, splotches of gray-green lichen, and soot covered them now. The drawbridge passed through an arch of carved ivy and roses, and beyond that, a portcullis was drawn up. A knight in plate armor stood there. In his right hand he held a gleaming halberd of primitive steel. I recalled the high magical rating of this culture. I would not underestimate them despite appearances.

He surveyed me and Virginia, then his gaze settled back to me. His halberd lowered slightly and he said, “Good evening, Sir Knight. May I offer you the hospitality of the King and Queen of Kenobrac?”

I couldn’t see his expression past his lowered visor.

Like I told you,
I said to Fifty-five,
all knights and princes are offered hospitality.

Sure they are. You ever hear of a guy called Macbeth?

I continued in my role and replied, “I am Prince Germain. My companion and I are on a quest most vital to our kingdom. We welcome your gracious offer of hospitality and seek an audience with your King.”

He removed his helmet and bowed deeply to Virginia. His skin was the color of lapis lazuli. “You have good fortune to accompany such a lovely lady.” He flashed her a smile. “Might I be so bold to ask for an introduction?”

I didn’t like this knight. His flowing blond hair, dark eyes, and square chin made me want to punch him. But I kept up the pretense of civility and answered, “This is the captain of my ship, the Lady Virginia.”

“Virginia,” he said thoughtfully. “It is a lyrical name.” He took her hand and kissed it. She blushed, and surprised me by reflecting his smile and curtsying. For an instant, I considered shooting him.

“I am Sir Benjamin,” he explained without removing his gaze from her. “You do us all a great honor with your visit. Now, if you will follow me, I shall take you to the ambassador who can better see to your needs.”

He gave his arm to Virginia and escorted us inside. From behind, I calculated the exact angle I’d have to thrust my blade through that armor to pierce his heart. I wasn’t jealous; I just didn’t want Virginia becoming distracted or getting into trouble. We were in enough already.

The interior walls of the castle were blocks of white marble, set together with only a razor-thin seam, and polished so fleeting blurry images followed us in the stone. Braziers burned in the hallways; flames flickered as they did above on the walls, slower than normal, influenced perhaps by the curse, giving off light but no warmth. The fires twisted, caressed the air with tiny hands, all with a deliberate viscous motion. Set between them, tapestries clung to the smooth walls: scenes of dragons slain by mounted warriors, armies clashing under a full moon, gallant gentlemen and coy ladies flirting in a rose garden.

Two Bren came upon us in the hall, a man wearing hose and doublet, and a lady with a long-trained dress. They gave us a pair of astonished looks.

I saw a slight motion from Sir Benjamin’s hand. A signal to be silent? They bowed and curtsied to us, kept their eyes averted, and hurriedly walked away.

We halted at a set of doors bound in silver. “You may wait within,” Sir Benjamin said and opened them. “There is food and drink have you need of it after your journey.” He bowed to Virginia, and added, “If there is anything at all the Lady Virginia requires, please consider Sir Benjamin her personal servant.” He flashed her another gallant smile, turned, and marched down the hallway, mirrored on both sides in the walls.

The room had a single blue velvet couch, which Virginia sat upon. “Are you going to make me guess what this is about? How can these people exist on a rock that shouldn’t even have an atmosphere? What do they drink and eat? And why are they blue?”

“They are under the effects of a powerful curse,” I explained, “one so strong it shattered their planet two hundred years ago.”

“More magic?” she whispered, both intrigued and afraid. She touched her lucky four-leaf clover, then, “Can this curse harm us?”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

She shifted on the couch, uncomfortable.

“There are many strange things going on here,” I told her. “Try to pretend it’s normal, smile a lot, keep your ears open, and play dumb.”

She crossed her arms and frowned.

“As soon as I find what I’m looking for, we can leave.” On a table in the corner sat a bowl of strawberries, clusters of figs, mandarin oranges, and atop this heap of plenty, a golden apple. I grabbed the apple and bit it. There was none of the crispness I expected, nor any juice, sweet and tangy. It had no taste, and felt like sawdust in my mouth. I set it on the table and spit out the rest.

“Then what we’re looking for is here?” Virginia inquired.

“I have good reason to believe so.”

“So why not just ask them for it? Why pretend you’re a prince?”

Such a practiced naiveté,
remarked Fifty-five.

“It would not be wise to reveal our intentions until we know what theirs are. Our titles get us to see whoever is in charge faster. My time is running out, and I cannot afford to wait.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can play the part of a noblewoman, especially if these people are all as charming as Sir Benjamin.”

“And stay away from Sir Benjamin,” I snapped.

“Why?”

“It would complicate matters.”

“’Complicate matters,’” she repeated, then arched her brow so that with the sapphire punctuating its end, it looked like a bent exclamation point. “Of course, I understand.”

Your jealousy is obvious,
Celeste said,
even the girl senses it. And while I find it charming, a prince should exercise more restraint. Act like that in front of the Bren and they’ll see right through your masquerade.

Virginia is free to do anything she wants,
I replied,
as long as it doesn’t jeopardize this mission. I’m not jealous.

“I’m going to take a look around,” I said, then locked my rifle and set it aside. “You stay put. If that ambassador shows up, stall him.”

“Won’t they see you?”

My shadow skin answered her question. It let the darkness ooze through the translucent crystalline scales of my armor, and I vanished.

Virginia blinked twice, then whispered, “Neat trick. Be careful, Germain.”

I slid toward the door, opened it, then out into the hall I ventured. Keeping away from the braziers, I crept up to an intersection and took the left branch.

There were voices ahead and the clipping sound of heavy boots on the marble floor. An older knight and Sir Benjamin rounded the corner and walked toward me. I flattened against the wall and unsheathed my knife.

They passed without a second glance.

I followed them at a discreet distance, up a flight of stairs, then down a hall. Thirty-seven silent steps, and the knights halted before an alcove chiseled into the wall. It was a scalloped shell with six curved benches arranged in a half-circle about it. A jester with floppy hat and jingle bells stood on one bench, while an audience of a dozen Bren listened to him recite:

“The good King in his wisdom, led us all to Hell.

For had his Queen borne a son,

We’d not be trapped in this cell.

More a tomb than a castle, more a shell than a fort,

We shall never see the light of day

Until dead lovers forgive this court.”

Then he paused and explained, “I have replaced verse three oh six with this:

The sun shall rise again,

The morning cock crows shrill

As deadly plagued hand shall be wed anew.”

He took a deep bow, but received only indifferent stares and no applause for his efforts.

“Fine lords and ladies,” Sir Benjamin said, interrupting the recital, “you must clear the corridors by decree of her Majesty. We have guests in the castle and it would not do to have them hear treason being rhymed in the hallways.”

“Guests?” they all whispered excitedly.

“Yes,” the older knight said, “and we must behave with all due composure. They must not guess how desperate we are.”

The Bren clustered around the knights and asked if they had seen us. What we were like.

“There is no time for questions,” Sir Benjamin told them. “You are to change into formal attire and assemble in the throne room so they may be properly greeted.”

The Bren left quickly, whispering to each other. Only the jester, Sir Benjamin, and the old knight remained.

The jester jingled one of the bells on his cap and asked, “Has anyone told these strangers what is to be done with them?”

“Are you mad?” the old knight said. “If the man knew, he’d be gone in the blink of an eye. Then how long would it be before we had another chance?”

“You’d best change out of that costume and into appropriate attire,” Sir Benjamin told the jester. “And if anyone’s tongue should slip at the reception, one might find himself in the catacombs with Osrick.”