Castle Murders

Fifteen Graving Dock

"How's it coming, Luster?"

Gene was on his knees, peering under the bell-shaped craft.

"It's comin'," Luster answered. On his back underneath the Voyager, spanner in hand, he was wrestling with a stubborn lug-nut. Dolbert was helping, manning a crescent wrench.

Gene got up. He had changed from the garb of Cyrano to something befitting a NASA astronaut: a sky-blue jumpsuit with velcro-sealed pockets.

Jeremy said, "At least the communications repairs are done. We'll be able to keep in touch by modem."

"Can't you rig voice communications some way?"

"Sorry, but there's only one channel."

"What about using magic?"

Jeremy scowled. "Hey, sending data via modem without a phone line or a radio relay is magic. And getting the signal from one universe to another is big-time magic. Whaddya want, miracles?"

"Sorry."

"Don't worry, we'll be in constant communication. That's an improvement over the way we've done things in the past."

Linda was eating a sandwich at a table laden with luncheon food. She had switched outfits too, dressed now in a futuristic silver-lamé two-piece utility suit with matching boots. The costume evoked 1930's-40's movie serials.

Snowclaw was sitting beside her, dipping citronella candles in ranch dressing. He had decided to try something new.

"Aren't you guys hungry?" Linda called. "Come and get it before it turns into pumpkins."

Gene came over with Jeremy. "I guess I should eat," Gene said, sitting down. "No telling when we'll get the chance next."

Linda said, "Jeremy, what about the locator spell?"

"Osmirik sent one down, and I fed it into the Voyager's computer. Whether or not it's gonna work, I don't know. But it's like radar. You punch up the display on the screen, and when you see an echo, you know you're getting close to the target."

"The target being Melanie."

"Right. But of course, the problem is, what's the spell supposed to look for exactly? How is it supposed to identify the target?"

"Her old clothes aren't enough?"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with 'em. If this were just plain magic, I guess you'd just throw an old sock into the brew, or something ― like for a love potion or something corny like that. But we're using a little bit of magic and a lot of technology. That makes it tricky."

"We need a bloodhound," Gene said. "You'd just let it get a whiff of the stuff and off it'd go, sniffing away."

They all sat thinking. Then their gazes intersected.

"Why not get a bloodhound?" said Gene.

"Yeah," Jeremy said. "Could you whip one up, Linda?"

"A dog? Well, I can conjure almost anything. I've cloned Gene and Snowclaw, but that was working with a known model. I don't even know what a bloodhound looks like."

"That's never stopped you before," Gene said. "You can conjure stuff you've never laid eyes on."

"Okay, but wait a minute. Say I do produce a bloodhound. How's that going to help? We don't know what universe she's in."

"It'd have to be a bloodhound with very unusual talents," Gene said. "He'd have to be able to sniff out whole universes."

Linda shook her head. "That's a tall order. I don't know how I'd program an ability like that into anything I conjure. The best I could do would be a standard bloodhound ― whatever that is."

Gene ruminated. "I seem to remember something about the castle having a hunt aspect."

"A hunt aspect?"

"Yeah. Riding to hounds. Fox-hunting, for the gentry. If so, there has to be a kennel. Royal hounds. Now, they'd be your basic hunting hounds ― there are number of breeds ― but they could certainly follow a human scent."

"But they'd still be just ordinary dogs," Linda said.

"Yeah, I guess." Gene took a bite of the sandwich he'd made. "But there's a kernel of an idea here somewhere. We need a natural-born tracker. A hunter."

Jeremy said, "How about Snowy?"

"Yeah, I can do that," Snowy said. "But I don't even really know what the heck a universe is."

"Yeah, that's no good," Gene said.

"Besides, I have a cold."

Gene said, "You get colds?"

"Sure. My nose gets all stuffed up and I can't smell a thing."

"No kidding." Gene set down his prosciutto-and-green-pepper sandwich. "What we really need is a psychic critter."

"Why not just a psychic?"

"A human one? What, are we going to look for Elvis? You want the scoop on the next stage of Jackie O's love life?"

"It was only a suggestion."

"There are castle people who have psychic powers," Linda said. "What do you call what I do?"

"Real magic."

"What's the difference?"

"There's a lot of difference. Besides, you said you can't conjure a human being."

"But there might be someone in the castle who could help."

"We need real tracking talent, not some self-styled _psychic' who makes a hundred wild guesses, of which one might luckily pan out."

"Incarnadine could locate Melanie," Linda said.

"Probably, but he's not around. Want to wait for him to come back?"

"No, Melanie's in trouble. I can feel it."

"Talk about psychic vibes."

"No, I can't find her. My talent's not that way."

"Well, is there something you can remember about that wild aspect? What it looked like, anything to identify it?"

"It was just a dense forest, big trees. Looked like ordinary trees. It could have been Earth for all I know." Linda paused and thought. "There is one thing. The way Melanie moved when I saw her. She seemed to be in an old silent movie. Jerky, fast."

"Ah, a time-flow differential," Gene said.

"Time-flow?" Jeremy said.

"Yeah. Might be that the rate that time flows in that universe is faster than the one here. That's not so good. More time for her to get in trouble."

"Great," Linda said, sounding discouraged.

"But the differential doesn't appear to be too big," Gene said, wishing he hadn't brought it up. "Shouldn't be a problem."

"Anyway," Jeremy said, "the Voyager's a time machine."

"I guess it is," Gene said. "It travels through all the dimensions, of which time is one. We might be able to adjust for any temporal displacement." Gene himself wasn't sure exactly what he meant or what such a remedy would entail.

Linda stared at the table. "Boy, this is going to be fun."

"Linda, I think our best approach," Gene said, "is for you to conjure a psychic dog."

"You don't believe in human psychics, but ―"

"Hell, dogs are psychic. Everybody knows that. Besides, dogs I trust. Human con-artists, no."

Linda shrugged. "Okay. This is getting even crazier than what usually goes on in this place, but what the heck. Let's give it a shot."

Linda stood and walked out from the table a few feet and stopped. "Psychic dog. Right." She folded her arms and closed her eyes.

She stood motionless, her feet wide apart. The two men and Snowclaw watched. This went on for a longish minute. Nothing happened.

Linda relaxed and opened her eyes. "This is going to be harder than I thought." She shifted her feet, then resumed her stance. Folding her arms again, she shut her eyes.

"Dang it, anyway!" Luster griped from across the room, frustrated by some recalcitrant grommet.

Linda rocked slightly back and forth. Gene, Jeremy, and Snowclaw didn't move. Nothing happened for about thirty seconds.

Then, with no fanfare, a huge dog materialized on the floor in front of Linda. It was lying down. Startled, it lifted its head, looked around, and sprang to its feet.

The animal looked to have a lot of sheepdog in its ancestry, but something had gone wrong. Its fur was a dirty white, splotched with great patches of black and rust-red in a crazy-quilt pattern. Its head was enormous and the ears were long and floppy. The right eye was brown and the other looked different; it was a little larger, and had green in it. A black ring circled the smaller eye. All in all, it was a clumsy, confused mélange of a dog, oversized and shaggy. It was male.

Its ears went down, and it hunkered and growled. Then it barked.

"Easy, boy," Linda said.

"That's a psychic dog? That's the goofiest-looking mutt I've ever laid eyes on," Gene complained.

"Aw, it's cute. Sort of."

The dog's ears went up and its shaggy tail started wagging.

"See? It's friendly!" Linda knelt and petted it. "Good boy."

Gene shook his head. "That thing doesn't look like it could find its water dish."

"Don't listen to him, boy. You know what you got. You're super-psychic, right?"

"R-r-rowf!"

"Right!" Linda laughed, rubbing its head. "See, Gene? It's smart."

Gene came over and patted its back. "A complete selection of fine carpet remnants. Well, it looks healthy. How's that sniffer of yours, boy? Huh? How's the old hooter?"

"Whorf!"

"Hmm. It's either a nautical dog or a _Star Trek' fan. How's the world been treating you, boy?"

"R-r-ruff!"

They both laughed. "I guess it is pretty bright at that," Gene conceded. "But possessed of powers far beyond those of mortal canines? Hardly."

"Let's give him a chance," Linda said.

"Whoof!"

"What do you think, Jeremy?" Linda asked.

"That's the dumbest-looking dog I've ever seen. But you never know. I'll go get Melanie's stuff."

"Snowy?"

Snowclaw got up and came over. The dog sniffed curiously at his legs, but kept wagging his tail.

Gene said, "He thinks you're human, Snowy."

"He is dumb."

"He's giving you the benefit of the doubt."

"What should we name him?" Linda said.

"After his species," Gene said.

"What's his species?"

"Canis goofus."

"Goofus!" Linda said, laughing. "It fits."

"Whoorf!" Goofus's long pink tongue lolled out as he panted happily.

Jeremy returned bearing Melanie's old clothes and shoes. He threw them down in front of Goofus. The dog sniffed the pile with interest. He barked, sniffed some more.

"Looks like it's on to something," Linda said. "Find her, boy. Find her!"

Goofus looked at Linda and barked again. He snorted and snuffled with more animation, tail wagging furiously, following a trail away from the pile. He walked a few paces toward the Voyager, stopped, looked at the craft, and barked.

Gene scratched his chin. "That's weird. Now, how could he know that?"

"Psychic dog," Linda said. "Following a psychic scent."

"Yeah. I take it all back, fella. You are obviously one special puppy."

"Whar-r-r-rooff!"

"Well, who's going on this expedition?" Gene asked. "We can't all fit in that compartment."

"I'm going," Linda said.

"You, me, Goofus, and Snowy?"

"I guess."

Gene said, "Jeremy, you really should go. You have more experience piloting the thing."

"I did it only twice. Anyway, the craft will be under the mainframe's control at all times. It'll be much better than flying by the seat of your pants. At least I think it will work."

"Good, because that crash course in piloting qualifies me to turn the thing on and off, and not much else."

Luster pushed out from under the craft and stood.

"Wull, she's in."

"Is it working?"

"Don't know. Ain't turned her on yet."

Dolbert crawled out. He snickered as he wiped his hands on a grease-stained rag.

"What do you think, Dolbert?" Gene asked.

Dolbert laughed, then nattered unintelligibly.

Luster said, "He says he shore wouldn't like to be the one to take 'er out."

"Oh, now, that's encouraging. Ask him what he thinks our chances really are."

"He kin hear you, Gene."

"Sorry. Well, Dolbert?"

Dolbert shrugged and chortled at some length.

Luster took his cap off and dabbed his brow with a checkered handkerchief that had seen better days ― circa 1923. "Dolbert says you got four chances. Slim, a Chinaman's, a snowball's in the devil's own wood stove, and Katie-bar-the-door."

Gene turned to Linda. "You still want to go through with this?"

Linda nodded emphatically. "Yes, sir."

"Uh-huh." Gene arched his eyebrows. "Yeah."

"Okay," Jeremy said. "I'm going to test all the systems, and then we'll be ready to try a trial run out into the interuniversal medium." Jeremy scratched his head. "But first we have to figure how we're going to use Goofus here. I'll have to think about that. Anyway, let me go do the tests."

Jeremy left.

"What supplies do we need for the trip?" Linda asked.

"Food, water, a first-aid kit, maybe. We can't take much. It's a tight squeeze in there. In fact, I don't see how we'll fit with Snowy and Goofus together."

"I'd hate to stay behind," Snowclaw said.

"I'd hate it, too," Gene said. "We could use you. Damn it, we're all just going to have to exhale and sardine ourselves in."

"Food, water, medicine," Linda said. "Anything else?"

"Weapons."

"You think?"

"You never know what you're going to run into when you go traipsing around in strange universes. _Peace through superior firepower' is a good creed to follow."

"Okay," Linda said. She blinked. "On the table."

What was on the table was an assortment of small arms: revolvers, automatic pistols, carbines, lightweight machine guns. There were also exotic specimens. Gene handled a strange-looking pistol with a flaring bell-end.

"Laser?" he asked Linda. "Phaser?"

"I dunno. Try it out."

Gene looked at the thing. "Hey, there're settings here. STUN, DISRUPT, BURN, and VAPORIZE. You gotta be kidding."

"On second thought, don't try it. It sounds dangerous."

"Have to test it. It's on disrupt so I'll leave it there."

Gene took a jar of pickles and cleared a space around it on the table. He stepped back ten paces and aimed. Linda and Snowclaw moved back a safe distance.

Nothing happened. Gene examined the weapon.

"Oh, it's on safety." He flicked a small tab and aimed again.

The pickle jar exploded into green mist. There was no debris to rain down; the smell of brine was the only thing left.

"Hell, that ought to stop a rampaging bull elephant. One that's driving a tank even."

"I can't imagine what _vaporize' does," Linda said.

"Let's hope we don't have to find out. Now all I need's a holster and I'm in business. Go ahead, alien creepoid, make my millennium." Gene made sinister faces.

Linda shook her head wearily. "Gene, stuff a sock in it."

"Sorry."