“A thoughtful response,” Ambry said, sketching a bow over his hand.
“I know something of Virtu.”
“Perhaps we should be returning to our game,” the caoineag said. Our fellows will be wondering what has become of us.”
“Give me your game’s address and I will guide you back,” Ambry said. “It is neither easy to come here, nor to leave if the genius loci resists you.”
“We found our way easily enough,” the caoineag said haughtily. “We can find our way out again.”
“But thank you,” Ayradyss said quickly.
“Well, certainly you will permit me to walk with you and to assure myself that you are safely away.”
There was no other way they could refuse such a mannerly request without eliciting unwelcome questions, so they left the cottage in the company of Ambry and Lydia. Neither said anything when Ayradyss and Heather led the way up to the monoliths, but Ambry’s raised eyebrows were eloquent. Ayradyss felt immense relief when she saw that the moon portal remained open.
“Thank you so much for your hospitality,” she said, stopping before picking her way across to the rock wall. “Good luck with your baby.”
“And with yours, Ayra,” Lydia said, her perfect teeth shaping a smile. “Goodbye, Heather.”
“Farewell.”
“Wait!” Ambry said, when they turned away. “Where are you going?”
“There,” Ayradyss said, pointing to where the portal stood round and dark.
“Where?”
“Through the opening in the rock. Can’t you see it?”
“No, I see nothing but rock. Lydia, do you see anything?”
“Nothing.”
“It must be a restricted access port,” Ambry mused. “I don’t believe that it goes to any game site. Tell me, ladies, where does that portal go?”
“Why should we tell you?” Heather said rather rudely.
“Because it effectively opens into my backyard.”
Ayradyss, heady to have home so near, smiled. “And it opens into my basement.”
“Your basement?”
“In Castle Donnerjack.”
“Donnerjack? As in John D’Arcy Donnerjack?”
Ayradyss would have said more, but the caoineag took her hand and with unsuspected strength pulled Ayradyss through the portal where she tumbled to a heap on the cavern floor.
“Why did you do that?” Ayradyss said, looking up at the now insubstantial, faintly glowing ghost.
“I fear what we have learned today. I do not want that man to know more about you until we have learned more about him.”
Ayradyss shivered and not just from her contact with the cold stone floor. “It was peculiar, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You are certain that place was there before the creation of Virtu?”
“I swear.”
“As do I,” said the cleric, drifting over, blindfolded once again. “The place is not a site in Virtu—or not just.”
“Who then are Wolfer Martin D’Ambry and Lydia of New Jersey? I would swear that she, at least, is what she claimed to be. I have seen variations on that virt form hundreds of times before. It is quite the fashion and she spoke like a young thing.”
“I do not know,” the caoineag said, and the other ghosts shook their heads.
“I will go back tomorrow,” Ayradyss said, “better prepared. Perhaps when I know more I can bring John. That man seemed to know his name.”
“John D’Arcy Donnerjack is famous in certain circles,” the caoineag said, “but he would not be known by the average virt tourist.”
“No,” Ayradyss agreed, gnawing on one fingernail. “Voit, what time is it?”
“Five in the evening, mistress. The kitchen has dinner scheduled for half-past six.”
“I should go and clean up, then.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Voit, please query the databanks for a Wolfer Martin D’Ambry.”
“I shall.”
That night, Ayradyss dined with John. They talked of his work, of her explorations (though she kept her latest expedition to herself, uncertain how to explain until she knew more). While she and John were working a jigsaw puzzle (this one meant for the baby’s nursery), Voit discreetly reported to her that it could find no record of a Wolfer Martin D’Ambry.
The next day, Ayradyss, along with the caoineag (but without either the crusader or the cleric) descended again into the tunnels. Although the moon was now full and they could see the portal opening, some force blocked it. When they probed it, they glimpsed the shadowy guardian lurking just beyond the pale.
“The moon portal has been warded against us,” the wailing woman said. “The eldritch land refuses us entry. Such is not unknown.”
“So I recall your saying,” Ayradyss said, “but I find it odd that the land should resist our entry today after letting us in without even the guardian to hinder us just yesterday. Should we attempt to drive the guardian away with the Lady of the Gallery’s charm?”
“We could, but even if it worked, the charm would not eliminate the barrier.”
“You’re right. I guess we try again tomorrow, and if that does not work, we try again the next full moon.”
“As you wish.”
“You sound reluctant, Heather. Don’t you want to know?”
“Know?”
“What that place really is.”
“It is the eldritch lands, as it has always been. No newer name changes that.”
“Yes, but…”
“But, nothing, my dear Angel of the Forsaken Hope. Unless you wish to take my place far sooner than you planned, I should take great care.”
“Care?”
“The Lord of Deep Fields has free range in Virtu. Do you really wish to bring yourself to him? Your husband has indicated a desire to renege on his part of the bargain they made. What is to keep the Lord of the Lost from taking you hostage and so obtaining his payment?”
“You’re right. I had considered that possibility. I just have so many questions for those two.”
“I understand. So do I, but let us not throw caution to the winds.”
Ayradyss placed her hand upon her belly. Frowning, she turned her back on the dark rock wall, wondering as she did so if she had indeed seen the glint of the guardian’s watchful eye.
They walked the fields of Verite, leaving Castle Donnerjack far behind them.
“John, why have we come so far?” Ayradyss asked.
“To avoid my equipment, some of which may be used against me,” he replied.
“By whom?”
“Specifically, by someone who drove me into a rough deal.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Whatever memories you have of it must be very strange indeed.”
“They are. But I don’t understand what you mean about machines.”
“I am looking for a means of barring his collecting on our arrangement.”
“Impossible,” she said. “There is no way to exclude death from life.”
“Death, the phenomenon, no. Death, the personification—whatever he or it really is—maybe. I have some ideas for a field-effect. At first, I was just going to attempt to defend against hypothetical intrusions from the Great Stage. Now, though—I am going to regulate every bit of information that rides the electromagnetic spectrum into Castle Donnerjack. Monitor and record. I’ll build up a great list. Anything that’s uninvited gets scrambled. Simple. Then he won’t be able to seize our firstborn and run.”