Could it be a year already? Of course that was reckoning by castle time. Who knew what relationship castle time had with Earth time? Or maybe there was no relationship at all. Castle Perilous, it was said, was timeless.
The tempo changed, slower now. She could see the musicians’ strange instruments. Some looked like recorders, some like lutes, but others were multisegmented affairs, made of wood, set about with stops and valves. A few looked like nothing she could describe.
“Pardon the intrusion, old boy, but may I cut in?”
She turned her head to see Cleve Dalton tapping Jamin on the shoulder.
Jamin bowed graciously. “By all means, sir.”
“Thank you, Jamin,” Sheila said.
“Milady.” Jamin backstepped, still bowing.
She began dancing with Dalton, another man in his middle sixties. Dalton was tall and very thin and had a deep, resonant voice like a radio announcer’s. The smooth voice contrasted with the rawboned, homely face.
“Obsequious old coot,” Dalton remarked out of Jamin’s earshot.
“I think his manners are charming,” Sheila said.
“I like the old rascal myself. But I hope I don’t prick any bubbles if I tell you he’s notorious with the chambermaids. They call him Jamin Three-Hands. Quite the roué, that one.”
Sheila shook her head. “Doesn’t fit. He seems like such a nice man.”
“No such animal, nice men. We’re all predatory, my dear.”
“If you go by the one I was married to, maybe.”
“Divorced? Too bad. I never had the misfortune. Lost my Doris a while back. After thirty years of living together, it was almost unendurable.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“But I survived.”
“Mr. Dalton, what did you do back in the real world? I never asked.”
“Literary agent. Did it for years, and pretty successfully, too.”
“That sounds so interesting.”
“It was, it was. Some of my clients became very famous. I could mention names. For instance, there was James —” Dalton shrugged. “But who cares, here in the unreal world? What possible bearing could it have? That was in another country, and besides …”
“That’s unusual.”
“What is, my dear?”
“To find a Guest who was successful and happy in his former life.”
“Well, you see, I retired. Sold the business, sold the house in Connecticut, and moved to California. Bought a nice little condo outside San Diego. I was all ready to settle comfortably into retirement when I had a heart attack.”
“Oh, my.”
“I came through it, but it caught me up short. I discovered I was really desperately unhappy and alone. Then, one night while recuperating at home, I found that my broom closet had an extra dimension I had never imagined it could have.”
Sheila smiled. “And you stumbled into Castle Perilous, just like the rest of us.”
“Precisely. All our stories are essentially the same. Haven’t heard an interesting variation in years.”
The dance number ended, and the crowd applauded. The musicians stood and bowed, then reseated themselves and began another tune.
Sheila said, “Uh-oh, I don’t know if I can dance to this one.”
Dalton counted the beats on his fingers. “I do believe that’s nine-eight time. Or is it nine-four?” He grinned. “Maybe we’d better sit this one out?”
“Maybe we’d better.”
“Some refreshment?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
They left the dance floor and joined a group of guests near the buffet table. Sheila surveyed the amazing assortment of food. The cooks had really outdone themselves.
“Having a good time, Sheila?” a man named Thaxton asked.
“Great,” Sheila said, spooning goose liver onto a club cracker, “but I’m still a little worried about Gene.”
“Best not to fret overmuch. I imagine he’ll be along anytime now.”
“I know, I know. But he should have called. He really should have.”
“In any event,” Dalton said, “Gene can take care of himself.”
“Greatest swordsman in half a dozen worlds,” Thaxton said. “And a damn fine tennis player, too.” He smiled bleakly. “Can bloody well beat me, that I can tell you.”
“You and your tennis,” Dalton scoffed.
“You and your golf,” Thaxton retorted.
“Golf’s a civilized game.”
“And tennis isn’t, I suppose? I’d like to know by what criteria —”
“Golf is slow. That is my sole criterion.”
“Bosh.” Thaxton noticed Sheila’s abstracted stare. “Something wrong, my dear?”
“Hm? No, not really. Well — it’s just that on the day Gene was supposed to report in, the portal disappeared for about ten minutes.”
“Really? Is that significant?”
“Hard to say. As everyone around here knows, portals are touchy things. They come and they go, even when they’re supposedly under magical control, like the Earth one. But it kind of worries me.”
“But you say it re-established itself quickly?”
“Yeah, maybe it wasn’t gone even ten minutes, but …”
Two more Guests joined them, a small man with a pencil-thin moustache — Monsieur DuQuesne — and Deena Williams, a young black woman.
“You all eatin’ again?” Deena chided.
“Doesn’t matter,” Thaxton said. “I haven’t gained a pound since I fell in, and that’ll be three years ago come Michaelmas.” He added with a grin, “One of the many benefits of this place.”
DuQuesne said, “I’ve often wondered whether the food is real at all. After all, it’s all done up with magic, every bit of it.”
“It has to be real,” Sheila said. “Or we’d all starve, wouldn’t we?”
“It may be ordinary food transformed,” Dalton said.
“Sounds logical.”
Deena searched about. “Where’s Snowclaw?”
Thaxton looked pained. “Good Lord, don’t tell me they invited him.”
“They sure did.”
“For heaven’s sake, why?”
“‘Cause he’s a good friend of Sheila’s, I guess.”
Thaxton’s expression changed quickly. “Terribly sorry, Sheila. I quite forgot.”
“Oh, that’s okay. Snowy can be a little difficult at times.”
“I rather like having him around,” Dalton said. “He’s a good man … uh, person to have on your side in a scuffle.”
Thaxton looked into his drink. “Yes, well, you’re absolutely right.”
“Speak of the devil,” DuQuesne said.
On the dance floor, the crowd was parting. Through the breach stalked a seven-and-a-half-foot-tall, white-furred creature. The head looked small on the huge body, but was actually massive, combining feline and ursine features in a horrific, ferocious meld. Great curving fangs gleamed within its snout. Its general form was humanlike. The hands were near approximations, save for their wickedly sharp, bone-white claws. Its fierce eyes were yellow. With a huge battle-ax slung across its right shoulder, the beast approached the group of humans standing near the buffet table.
“Hi, everybody,” Snowclaw said. “Sorry I’m late.”
“That’s okay,” Sheila said. “Want something to eat?”
“Does akwallkark defecate in the ocean? What d’you say, Thaxton, old buddy?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Thaxton murmured, backstepping.