A Game of Universe (21 page)

He walked my body over to the ambassador, and whispered, “Let’s go. Osrick’s tomb.”

The ambassador’s face went slack. My implanted suggestion took hold, and he replied sheepishly, “An excellent idea, Prince Germain. Please follow me.”

Sir Benjamin saw us and headed toward the exit. “My prince,” he said and stepped in front of me, “the ball has just begun. Where do you and the ambassador go?”

“To see a friend of yours,” Fifty-five replied, “in the catacombs.”

The blue drained from his face, and left it near white. “Osrick?” he murmured.

“Yeah, Osrick,” Fifty-five echoed, “the one who laid this curse on you. I think if I kill him that’ll end your spell.” He paused to let the knight ponder that, then added, “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be free?”

Fifty-five whispered to me,
That should get this gorilla off our back.

“You are a very brave man, Prince Germain. But the danger is too great.” He gave an odd glance to the ambassador, wondering, no doubt, what he was doing with me, then added, “I must insist on accompanying you.”

What are we going to do with this throwback?
Fifty-five asked.

You seem to have it all figured out this evening. Why ask me?

“Very well, Benjamin,” he said, “I would be honored.” The three of us slipped out as Chopin’s
Fantasie Impromptu
began. The music resonated through the halls, and followed us through the deserted castle corridors.

Fifty-five retrieved the last of my fresh batteries and exchanged those in my shadow skin and gun. He inspected the pistol’s ammunition, the bar of silver, and set it on a wide beam.

“No weapon will harm Sir Osrick’s loathsome spirit,” Sir Benjamin told me as he removed a torch from the wall and handed it to the ambassador. “And no armor but the purity of your thoughts and your virtue shall protect you from his evil.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Fifty-five.

“Occasionally one can hear screams in the catacombs,” Sir Benjamin said. “Many knights have descended below the castle to investigate, but only a handful have ever returned. Myself, I have only been there once, when we buried the knave.”

The ambassador halted before an ironbound door secured with a tremendous padlock. From his tunic he removed a key, turned it thrice in the lock, and it snapped open. Stairs zigzagged down, and a damp smell wafted up from the darkness.

Fifty-five held my blade in one hand, the pistol in the other, and entered. The air was colder than he anticipated, my breath a white cone before him. Tiles of slate paved the steps, slick with moisture and worn smooth. Three minutes of walking down, and the stairs opened into a tunnel with squares of marble affixed along either wall.

Fifty-five paused to read the inscription on one. Sir Benjamin stopped at my side and whispered, “This is Count Uligilo. He died gloriously at the Battle of Usurpation six hundred years ago.”

I noticed Sir Benjamin was nearly white, terrified.

“Which one is Osrick’s?” Fifty-five asked.

“His is at the very end,” the ambassador answered, quivering so badly he shook sparks from his torch.

Vaults on both sides of the tunnel disappeared into the darkness ahead. Some had coats of arms carved upon them, or the faces of their owners, frozen in time, staring back at us. Their dead blank eyes of white marble made Fifty-five nervous.

Ready to give my body back?

Not quite
, he replied.
You still want to chase after that spy. I won’t let you ruin this mission. We’re too close.

We skulked past Castle Kenobrac’s dead, while the ambassador whispered their epitaphs to himself—this one slain by poison, that one died in a battle, or old age, eaten by a sphinx, suicide—all fine ways to die. The markers became elaborate: baroque half columns carved into the walls with stone seraphs clinging to them and blowing their trumpets to announce the arrival of death.

The tunnel ended.

The last grave was the largest. Coiled about it were twin dragons chiseled out of the granite, mouths snarling and nostrils smoking. Around the serpents, thirteen scenes were carved in relief, what I surmised to be the life of Osrick: a knight charging into the front lines of a war, King Eliot laying his sword upon the knight’s shoulders, a melee against a demon, a recital with a lute, and the last portrait, a weary man, one arm missing, the other holding a chalice.

Time for us to switch.
Fifty-five said.
Don’t blow it.

Through the tunnel of consciousness, I rose, and like a bubble expanding, my perceptions swelled. The bite of the freezing air I felt first, then the smell of fear came to me, my own body shaking, and the unearthly stillness of this crypt.

Virginia was probably at the ship by now. I had to go after her and explain what had happened. I had to tell her about the others. Would she believe me? And yet, I was here, close to the Grail. I could go after her, but it would waste time. No, I’d find what I came for first. Afterwards, I’d have all the time in the world to make it up to her.

I moved my hand, released the mnemonics for the ocular enhancer. The ambassador’s torch flared as bright as a hundred bonfires. A phantom copy of myself skulked down the corridor. This Germain was like those I had seen on Delphid, and in the first Bren cavern. He advanced warily, alone, then faded. Only one this time? And he vanished faster than before. Whatever time-splitting effect had occurred it seemed to be wearing off.

Details of Osrick’s life leapt from the carvings on his tomb. He seemed to look at me from that last scene, holding the Grail out to me with his one maimed arm. I looked away, suddenly uneasy.

His vault had been sealed with a great iron plate three centimeters thick and unblemished by rust. With the ocular enhancer, I saw the mortar was cracked about the edges. It had been removed and carefully replaced.

“Stand ready,” I told them.

Sir Benjamin raised his sword, and the ambassador took several timid steps backward.

I wedged my blade between the granite and the iron plate and pried it loose. It opened a crack. I quickly stood aside expecting a ghost to rush forth from the tiny opening.

Nothing.

Sir Benjamin grabbed the plate and wrenched it free, making a terrible din as he did so. He peered into the stone chamber.

“What is this?” he cried.

I looked. It was a simple tomb, two meters wide and three deep. And empty.

Except in the far corner, a hole. It vanished into the earth, farther than I could see with my enhanced vision. It had been clawed from the solid stone, and long scars marred the smooth alabaster that no man could have made. It reminded me of the cavity above the castle, long furrows in the earth, spiraling into a deep void.

It was the third mouth of Necatane’s vision, the last one that swallowed me. Fear came for me then, started in my stomach, a heavy sensation, that worked its way up past my throat and into my skull. I knew I’d have to go down that hole, into the grave of Osrick, and face whatever lay beyond. I recited a mantra to calm my nerves, and stopped shaking.

I backed away from the tomb and appraised the ambassador. He was in no shape to go down there. And I doubted if Sir Benjamin wanted to risk crawling down there either. “It would be wise,” I said, “if you both remained.”

“No,” Sir Benjamin insisted, “I must go with you.”

I could have stopped him, but truthfully, I was grateful to have him volunteer, and thankful for the company. “Very well, Sir Benjamin, stand still while I cast a spell upon you.”

“A spell?”

“It enhances your vision. Unless you prefer climbing with a lit torch?”

“Of course, Prince Germain, please.” He tensed when I released the ocular enhancer, then stared at everything in the tunnel. “This doubling of my vision,” he asked, “is this normal? I see two of you.” He blinked.

“A common side effect,” I lied. “It will pass.” So, Sir Benjamin saw my other self, too. That ruled out insanity or hallucination as the cause of my ghostly duplicate—unless we were both crazy.

I removed my scale armor, snapped my blade back into its sheath, the pistol into my boot, then crawled into the tomb. As soon as I entered, the fear came back, stronger than before. I took one last deep breath as if I were going underwater and slid into the hole. The passage was a tight squeeze, less than a meter in diameter. The surfaces had been scraped by the claws of a great beast, like a badger’s burrow through solid stone.

Behind me, Sir Benjamin struggled into the tunnel, and made far too much noise. I moved ahead, so his exertions would not betray my position.

I had been taught to transverse such crawlways by Umbra Corp. Air shafts, storm drains, and tunnels were favorite routes of assassins. Claustrophobic cadets never made it past the first few weeks of training.

The tunnel took a turn straight down. I deftly rotated and used my legs and arms to brace against the walls. I descended quickly before Sir Benjamin slipped and fell on me. Twenty meters down this way, then the tunnel leveled out. Seven paces, and a short climb up of three meters. The passage opened into a chamber with a low ceiling.

The room had three brick walls. Skeletons were chained upon them, and instruments of torture lay scattered about—knives, probes, and needles—all devices Fifty-five recognized and knew how to use. The fourth wall had collapsed, and in the rubble, past several racks and spiked coffins, I detected motion. Even with the ocular enhancer, however, all I saw were shadows moving in the darkness there.

I switched on my shadow skin, unsure of what lurked there, took five paces away from the entrance, and froze.

The something in the shadows also halted, blending perfectly into the blackness.

I kept still and waited for Sir Benjamin, waited for him to draw it out so I’d get a good shot. The only thing I heard was the beating of my own heart and the creaking of my joints—then a distant scraping on the stone. I held my breath and strained to hear that sound again, but the only noise was Sir Benjamin’s grunts while he struggled through the last section of the tunnel.

Slightly battered, he emerged in the chamber and peered about. “Prince Germain?” he asked of the darkness.

The shadow moved.

Sir Benjamin squinted, peered about, and called, “Come then, Osrick. Your demented figure cannot corrupt me. I know what you have become. I fear you not!”

The darkness rushed past my position toward Benjamin. It left a trail of frigid air and the choking scent of must.

I grabbed my pistol and fired.

The thing shimmered as silver ions bombarded it, and outlined its features with a halo of pale gossamer. It was four meters tall and had great curved claws the length of my blade. The blast didn’t even blister its skin. I stopped firing and set the pistol to full power.

Sir Benjamin crouched into a wrestling stance and waited for the beast to attack. Did he really believe the purity of his virtue would protect him? Or after two hundred years, perhaps he simply wanted to die.

Whatever he was doing, he showed no fear as the shadow reared back, no fear as the razor claws slashed into his chest, no fear as his bones snapped, and no fear—until his face was close to the creature’s, and only then did his courage drain, and his mouth twist in terror.

I fired again.

A splash of silver covered the thing’s backside, illuminating scarred muscular shoulders, the small of its back, and the origin of a chitinous tail. It flinched in annoyance.

The trail of silver abruptly ended, the pistol’s ammunition used up. I loaded my last bar of the precious metal.

Sir Benjamin stopped struggling in its claws. The thing held him up to its face. Darkness shrouded them both, and it was difficult to see exactly what was happening, but I did see Benjamin’s features. His blue skin faded and wrinkled; tears streamed from his eyes as they shriveled. One last breath escaped him: “Prince Germain, do not let me die thusly.”

Had I been heroic or noble, I would have rushed forth from the safety of my own personal shadow to distract this creature, stab it with my blade—anything to save the knight. I was, however, neither noble nor heroic. I was a coward. I only watched as the life drained from him.

The creature dropped Sir Benjamin. All that remained was his doublet, bones, and dust.

“Where are you, good prince?” it asked in a voice of gigantic proportions, deep and resonant. “Where are you, Germain of the shadows? Sir Osrick begs your audience.”

My heart pounded so loudly it surely heard.

“It is odd I cannot see you, but you fill my abode with the stench of fear.

“Are you up here?” it asked, then clawed its way up the wall and across the ceiling. “You are different from Sir Benjamin, very cautious, and that shall make our game all the more enjoyable.” He paused, and I heard it draw in the air, sniffing for me. “You are even different from the other Earth man, the one who escaped me long ago. He cheated, using that holy magic. Hardly fair of him.”

It circled the room twice like a fish in a bowl, then settled by the entrance to the tunnel.

“I watch what they do up there in the castle. I have been watching you, Prince Germain. You are not interested in Lilian, are you? You men of Earth are all thieves. Come tell me the truth, and I shall show you where my treasure is.”

I knew if I spoke, I’d end up like Sir Benjamin, a pile of bones, yet I was tempted to try and outwit this creature, make him reveal the Grail’s location.

Let it talk some more
, the gambler suggested.
The more he says, the more of his hand he shows.

“Speak to me,” it demanded, raising its voice so loud, the room shook. “Or I shall tear you into three pieces before I drink your soul. I promise your torture shall last for hours if you try my patience further.”

He circled again, fast, and came so close he almost knocked me over.

If I went for the tunnel he would certainly hear. And the idea of crawling up that passage with this thing behind me had no special appeal.

“You don’t believe
she
is interested in you?” it said. “I can assure you she is not worth your trouble. My curse can never be broken, and her fatal embrace is absolute. To touch her is death!

“I admit she has beauty,” Osrick hissed, “too much of it. Even if you did find a way to be with her, you could never rest. There would be an army of secret lovers to take her from you.”