Yet, sometimes, when he explored with Mizar or practiced aerial maneuvering with Alioth (Phecda, of all his childhood playmates, had not returned with any frequency after his discovery of their duplicity), a look would come into his dark eyes: wistful, thoughtful, brooding. Then some might wonder if the adventure had changed him more deeply than he had admitted—even to himself.
And so it was with him when Jay D’Arcy Donnerjack heard the banshee howl.
He was seated in his chambers reviewing irregular Latin conjunctions for his lesson with Dack when he first heard the throbbing wail. First on one note, like sobs barely contained, then rising to a shrill pitch as the sorrow found its voice. It spoke of despair, of hopelessness, of loss beyond mortal knowledge. Jay felt the hair on his arms rise.
“What was that?” he asked Dubhe, who was perched atop a high-backed chair, a quiz list in his long-fingered paw.
“I don’t know. The wind?”
“I’ve never heard the wind sound like that—and I’ve lived here all my life.”
“And I’ve never heard anything like it, except perhaps in a broken form on the edges of Deep Fields. Where are you going?”
“To find out what it is.”
“But it could be dangerous. Send one of the robots.”
“No. I want to know.”
“Jay…”
“Stay here if you want.”
“And worry?” Resignedly the monkey leapt down, walked on knuckles and hind legs to Jay’s side. “I’m with you. Just remember, bud, you’re my passport. If you get hurt, I’m a stranger in a strange land.”
“The robots will take care of you. Dack likes you. C’mon. You’re stalling. It might stop.”
The wail sounded again. Longer, more drawn out. When they stepped into the corridor, it seemed to be coming from the upper reaches of the castle. Jay turned that way: Dubhe climbed up his back to ride on his shoulder.
“You’ve gotten taller.”
“It happens.”
“I think you’re going to be as tall as your father, maybe taller. How long do humans keep growing?”
“I don’t know. Hush, now. Don’t distract me. I’m trying to track that sound.”
“I know.” This last muttered. Jay grinned.
Jay moved along the corridors, head held high to catch the faintest echoes of the cry. He had learned tracking from Mizar, who, if he did not recall his origin, still retained his most basic programming in full. Almost unconsciously, Jay weighed and discarded options, letting his feet carry him up, through the long gallery, out to one of the battlements.
The day was fine, the mist having been chased away by the winds. Out on the waters of the North Minch he could see the white shapes of fishing boats (ironically, the luxuries of Virtu had increased, rather than diminished, the market for the same in Verite). Yet, despite the sunlight and the comparative warmth of the day, something chill lurked on the battlements, something of shadow and sorrow. When Jay crossed the threshold, it wailed.
“Who? What are you?” Jay said, dismayed to hear a faint quaver in his voice.
The wailing figure stirred, solidified somewhat. Now, Jay could see that it was a woman clad in a long ivory-colored shift gathered beneath her breasts with a pale ribbon. She wore a veil that hid her face, but the hair that escaped from it was black and lustrous.
“Who are you?” Jay repeated more firmly.
“I am the caoineag of Castle Donnerjack,” she said, her voice soft, so he had to step closer to hear the words. “I bring you warning, John. Death comes for you. Flee while you can.”
“Flee? Death? Do you mean the Lord of Deep Fields? Why should I flee? This castle is proof against him.”
“Is it?”
She paused and Jay remembered his own doubts on that subject. Dubhe, grabbing rather harder than necessary on his right ear, had apparently remembered the same.
“Where can I flee?” Jay said. “Death is everywhere. If this castle is not protected against the Lord of the Lost, then what is?”
“He is the Death Lord of Virtu, John,” the caoineag said. “Although, as his assaults on this castle have shown, he can affect events in Verite, still you may be safer there. It will take him longer to find you among the teeming hordes.”
“Verite,” Jay said, and unaccountably, an image of Alice Hazzard blossomed in his mind. “Yes.”
“Jay, don’t leave me!” Dubhe whined. “If He comes here and gets in and finds me and doesn’t find you, it’s going to be monkey flambe!”
“I’ll take you, Dubhe,” Jay promised.
“Can you trust him?” the wailing woman asked. “He is a creature of the Lord of the Lost. He may lead his master to you.”
“I’ll trust him.” He studied the veiled figure. “What I can’t figure out is why I should trust you.”
“I am the wailing woman of Castle Donnerjack,” she said simply. “The Irish call us banshee. It has always been the role of our kind to warn of disaster.”
Jay frowned. He wished he had time to look up the terms in his databank, for it seemed to him that such creatures were not usually so helpful.
“I’ll tell Dack I need a skimmer,” he said, wondering how long he would need to argue with the robot. Perhaps the bracelet would help. “Thank you, uh, miss.”
He was turning away when a crackling in the air froze him in place. All around the battlements, the projectors concealed within the gargoyles and crenelations flared and glowed violet.
“Too late! Too late!” the caoineag wailed. “Death has begun his assault.”
“I guess I should go to Dad’s office,” Jay said, remembering the other time this had happened.
“The Dark Lord will penetrate those defenses and you may be assured that he is now prepared for you if you flee into the Verite. Too late! Unless… What is the phase of the moon?”
“Full.”
“Then I may yet be able to save you. Run to your father’s office and activate whatever may delay the Lord of Entropy, then run to the door in the cellars.”
Already moving, Jay asked, “The one that leads into the tunnels?”
“The same.”
“Why should that forestall Death?”
“There is more on heaven and earth—in Virtu and Verite—than you know, John D’Arcy Donnerjack.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“I warned you rightly once, did I not?”
“Maybe to drive me out into the arms of Death’s minions.”
“The choice is yours, John. I will be waiting.”
And she vanished. Jay pelted down the corridors, Dubhe slung around his neck, clinging to him like a skinny, flapping cape. Once in his father’s office, he pressed the sequence of buttons that he recalled from the first time.
“Bracelet,” he said, “why aren’t you advising me?”
“I am disturbed,” it said. “There was something in the caoineag’s speech that troubled me.”
“Like she was lying?”
“No, like I should have known her. I cannot access the data fully. It is as if Donnerjack, in creating me, excised memory of this information from me, but that it permeated enough of whatever he did that I know something, but not enough.”
“What do you feel?”
“Sorrow. Joy. Loss. Pain. Vengeance.”
“Wow! How about trust?”
“There is nothing to indicate that I should not trust, but nothing to indicate that I should.”
“Great. How about the theory that Death can penetrate the castle defenses?”
“Probability is that he will, if he maintains the assault.”
“Then I’m caught if I stay, caught if I go.”