“The translation spell,” Gene said.
“The what?”
“It’s operative throughout the entire castle. It’s a magic spell that gives you an instantaneous running translation of any language. Snowy’s speaking in his own tongue, just like everybody else here. Take Mr. Hoffmann over there, for example. He’s German, and he speaks no English. Right, Mr. Hoffmann?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t get it,” Walsh said. “He just spoke English.”
“No, he didn’t. He said it in German. Didn’t you, Mr. Hoffmann?”
“Ja.”
“Well, I heard it that time,” Walsh said.
“You can turn the translation off if you want to. For instance, just listen to the sound of Snowy’s voice for a while. He grunts and barks and growls, but you understand him perfectly.”
“But how?”
“It’s magic!” everyone at the table chorused. Then they all laughed, except Walsh.
“I think I’m going insane,” Walsh said, covering his face with his chubby hands.
Linda reached out a hand. “Now, Barnaby, don’t lose it. Come on. If I could adjust, so can you. I was in worse shape than you when I wandered in here.”
“It’s just all so fantastic. So unbelievable.”
“It’s real. Just go with it. Don’t fight it. It’s fun, mostly. Things can get a little dangerous sometimes, but magic is the rule here. Anything goes.”
“Do you really think … ” Barnaby steadied himself with a gulp of coffee. “Will I really develop magic powers?”
“Everyone who becomes a Guest does. Castle Perilous is like a big dynamo, spinning off this fantastic energy. We act sort of like conductors. But each person’s powers are unique. Everyone can do something different.”
“You mean I might not be able to materialize things, like you, but I’ll get some other power?”
“Right. For instance, Snowy here can teleport like a champ.”
“Really? No kidding.”
Snowclaw nodded. “Yeah, I can zip all over the damn place just by thinking about it.”
“And Gene is the greatest swordsman in this and a few other worlds.”
“Zat is becawse ah am French.”
“You’re French?”
“Of course. Why else would ah have zis ridiculous accent, eh?”
“French accents are not necessarily ridiculous,” said a gentleman named DuQuesne. “I wish you could hear what most Americans sound like when they try to speak French.”
“Whoops, looks like I put my foot in it again,” Gene said. “Sorry, Monsieur DuQuesne.”
M. DuQuesne laughed. “I was teasing you, Gene.”
“Well, I don’t mean to go treading on nationalist feelings. I mean, we’ve all got —” Gene caught sight of something and trailed off.
He was staring over Linda’s head. Linda turned to see three blue-skinned creatures enter the dining room and stop to survey it imperiously. They could have been the same three who had shown up on the picnic grounds.
They sauntered over to the table. One of them looked over the wide selection of comestibles spread from one end of the table to the other.
“Scavenger leavings,” it said with disgust. “Garbage.”
No one argued with the creature.
The middle one had picked up a turkey leg to sniff. The creature tossed the thing over its shoulder contemptuously.
“If you speak to the cook,” Gene suggested to the first creature, “I’m sure you’ll be taken care of.”
The creature didn’t answer. It stalked the length of the long table, sizing everyone up. It stopped at a place opposite Gene and stood arms akimbo, glaring, flashing its gleaming teeth. “What if I think your cook is garbage as well?”
“Then you’ll starve, pal.” Gene shrugged. “Those are the breaks.”
“Breaks?” The creature’s head turned slightly to one side, as if giving ear to an unseen interpreter. Then it nodded. “Understand. Yes. Luck. You are lucky I am under orders. I will not kill you now. But I might take some pleasure kicking your miserable carcass about this room.”
“You’ll take pleasure in this first, friend,” Gene said, laying a hand on the hilt of his sword. His heart was jumping into his mouth as he said it.
“That would give me immense pleasure.”
“Suits me,” Gene said. “And now suits me as well as later.”
The creature smiled the wickedest, toothiest smile Gene had ever seen or could ever have imagined. “You are brave. Surprising, inasmuch as your race is so cravenly peaceful.”
Gene laughed. “He don’t know humans very well, do he?”
Nobody else laughed.
“Gene … ” Linda’s warning was also a plea.
“Reconsidering,” the creature said, “it might be worth being court-martialed to see this hovel tastefully decorated with your entrails — if you have any left after I am finished with you.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out, big fella.”
Snowclaw stood up. He towered at least two feet over the creature. “You’re in my light, Blueface.” Snowclaw placed a hand flat against the creature’s shiny green breastplate and shoved. The creature went staggering backward but managed to stay on his feet.
Gene gulped uncomfortably. Any other living thing would have gone crashing into the wall.
The three intruders drew their swords almost in unison. Gene jumped up and followed suit, as did a number of armed males at the table. Snowclaw snarled and leaped toward the first creature, coming to a karate fighting stance, milky claws at their maximum extension.
“Halt!”
The voice had come from the arched entrance to the dining hall. There stood another blue-skinned creature, scowling in the direction of the one Snowclaw had shoved.
The first creature came to attention with its sword at present-arms. The others followed suit.
“There will be none of this,” the creature at the door said.
“Yes, Squad Leader,” the first creature acknowledged.
“You will report back to headquarters immediately. Consider yourself under arrest.”
“Yes, Squad Leader.”
“Go.”
The three soldiers left. The squad leader lingered at the doorway for a moment, its cold eyes taking the measure of the room and the beings contained therein. Then, abruptly, it turned and marched off.
Everybody breathed again.
“Gene, I don’t believe you did that.” Linda rolled her eyes and put her hands to her head.
Gene looked unhappy. “It wasn’t me, it was the magic. This castle turns me into a cross between John Wayne and Cyrano de Bergerac, and something compels me to act out the role. Besides, that guy was getting on my nerves.”
“Yeah, they’re kinda pushy, aren’t they?” Snowclaw said.
“What were those … things?” Barnaby Walsh asked, his face the color of Chinese bean curd.
“I don’t know what you’d call them,” Gene said. “‘Blueface’ is as good as anything.”
“Where do they come from?”
Gene shrugged. “One aspect or another.”
“I’ve never seen them before,” Hoffmann said. “But I’ve heard other Guests mention seeing them.”
“Still want to go exploring, Gene?” Snowclaw asked.
Gene frowned and shook his head. “Not until we find out what these blue guys are up to.”
“Goody, goody. I hope there’s a rip-roaring fight in it.”
Barnaby Walsh gave Snowclaw a look of dismay.
“I could use a good fight,” Snowclaw told him. “I really like it when the fur flies and the guts go spilling all over the place.” Snowy licked a gob of mush from his thin pink lips. “Kinda pretty.”
Walsh belched. “Excuse me,” he said, getting up from the table. “I don’t feel quite —” He riffed again, tottering away.