Castle Kidnapped

Thirty-nine Chamberlain’s Quarters

Gene had once fought a demon of the Hosts successfully, but only with magical help. Now he was holding his own without aid, after having survived the fiend’s initial attack. Either Gene’s skills had increased or the demon was operating on low power. Gene was persuaded by the latter theory. The way he understood it, these warrior demons were really analogous to robots, needing energy from the home universe.

Gene swung mightily, sparks flying as his sword met the demon’s. He backed his opponent into a corner and probed for an opening that would allow a killing blow.

But the demon had some juice left in him. It attacked with renewed vigor, and Gene had to back off.

Then, very suddenly, something changed. The demon halted and lowered its sword. The hideous head twisted to and fro, glowing eyes searching about for things unseen.

“Something is happening,” it said.

Its sword clattered to the floor.

“Vasagaroth!”

Jamin came out from behind a stuffed chair and rushed to the side of his diabolical ally. “Vasagaroth, you can’t stop now. You must kill him. You must kill them all, or I am doomed!”

Vasagaroth turned withering eyes on him. “It is the end.”

“Don’t say that! What is amiss?”

The demon teetered backward to the wall and leaned against it, the sweaty red luminosity of its body on the wane.

Jamin whirled about, eyes desperate, pleading. “I give myself up! Linda, you must intercede for me with His Majesty. I was possessed by the minions of Hell! I knew not what I was about! They in —”

The words choked off, for Vasagaroth’s immense taloned hand, the right, had locked about Jamin’s neck. The other enveloped his head. Both squeezed. Jamin’s feet lifted a few inches off the floor. He kicked wildly, his body spasming.

Linda yelled, “Gene, do something!”

Gene could do nothing. Jamin’s strangled gasp ended abruptly, blood spurting from between the demon’s fingers.

Linda screamed.

Then Jamin and his murderer keeled over together and lay still on the bloodied oaken boards.

Gene kicked at the demon’s body. It had lost its luminescence and was curiously insubstantial, as if having instantly turned to papier-mâché. He examined Jamin briefly.

“They’re both history,” Gene told an ashen-faced Linda.

“My God. What happened?”

“Have no idea. There’s nothing we can do here. Back to the lab.”

They left and shut the door.

The Voyager had returned.

Incarnadine stood on the platform, watching two Guardsmen carry away what looked like a coffin.

Gene mounted the stairs to the platform, made as if to say something, but held off. Incarnadine’s thoughts seemed light-years away. Gene stood by silently.

Finally the King grew aware of his presence.

“My sister,” he said. “She is dead.”

“You have our deepest sympathies, Your Majesty,” Gene said, bowing.

“Thank you.” Incarnadine collected himself and looked the lab over. “Hell of a mess. Are you people all right?”

“Fine, sir,” Linda said. “Jamin is dead. His demon friend did him in.”

Incarnadine nodded as if such an event were implicit in the scheme of things. “And so it ends.” He frowned. “But you have friends still missing.”

“Yes, sir,” Gene said. “Snowclaw, Sheila, and, we think, your brother.”

“Trent, yes. I have a feeling, which I will corroborate shortly, that my brother is fine, and that Sheila is with him. We’d best concern ourselves with your friend the Hyperborean.”

Gene said, “Beg your pardon? Is that what he is?”

“Hyperborea happens to be the name of the world he comes from.”

“Oh. He never told me.”

“It’s castle nomenclature only. I have no idea what the aboriginals call their world. Actually —” Incarnadine interrupted himself and gave a laugh. “Here I am babbling. Gene, how the hell did you contrive to get yourself inside this contraption at the exact moment when I plucked it out of the great gossamer nothingness of the Never-Never? You must have one hell of a story.”

Gene let out a long breath. “It’s a novel. You’ll all get a copy, hot off the press. But for now, I’d like to see about finding Snowy. Linda tells me he was with Trent and Sheila when they disappeared.”

“He might have gone his separate way. I did manage to establish partial contact with Trent, and I got the impression that Sheila was with him, whereas Snowclaw was not.”

“Hell, that means he could be anywhere.”

Linda said, “He could be on Earth.”

Gene smacked his forehead. “He’ll be on the evening news!”

“Sheila changed him, Gene. He had a human form.”

“Really? Well, that would help, of course. But Snowy? Running loose in Long Island? Ye gods.”

“Your Majesty!”

They turned to see Osmirik come running into the lab.

“I have the spell!” he yelled. “I have it! All I need is the young man with the calculating device —”

Jeremy looked up from rooting through the wreckage of the mainframe. “Over here, Ozzie.”

But Osmirik had stopped in his tracks at the sight of Gene.

“I see that Sir Gene has returned,” he said, “and I am uselessly tardy once again.”

Incarnadine said, “Not necessarily, old fellow. What spell are you talking about?”

The librarian held up a battered grimoire. “The Earth locator spell. I found one that might work, with a bit of updating and the use of that young man’s …” He became suddenly cognizant of the general destruction around him. “Oh, dear.”

Then he was struck by the sight of the tall, nude woman standing next to Gene. Her beauty took his breath away.

“My word,” he said. “I do have to get away from the library more often.”