“Men will do a lot for a pretty bride,” Matt sighed, “but I don’t think this one can get her into court-he’s just a squire, after all. She might change her mind, Pascal.”
“What could change it?” the young man said bitterly. “A knighthood,” Matt said slowly. He had to give the boy something to work for, something to hope for. “Or even becoming a squire with a definite chance of graduating to knight.”
“Aye!” Pascal’s head snapped up, his eye catching fire. “Women ever do dote upon men of arms-and a knight’s rank is surely better than that of an elderly squire with no prospect of rising higher!”
Matt wouldn’t have called Naughtworthy “elderly,” but he wasn’t about to slacken the head of steam he’d been trying to build. “That’s the spirit. A uniform always gets ‘em, even if it’s made of iron.” Privately, though, he doubted that Pascal had much of a chance of climbing the social ladder, or that Panegyra would really care much if he did. From the sound of her, she would definitely choose the older, wealthy squire over the younger but penniless knight. No, all in all, Matt didn’t think Panegyra was worth all the devotion Pascal was heaping on her. Love never did have much to do with the head, though. A cold gust suddenly struck, and the candle went out. In the sudden darkness, Matt froze, then asked carefully, “Pascal?”
“Aye.” The younger man’s voice trembled. “Did I leave the window open?”
“This chamber has no window!”
Matt was just beginning to realize that his host might have a peculiarly nasty sense of humor, when a faint moan began, swelling in a second to surround them, battering at their eardrums, and a pale, misty, glowing figure seemed to rise out of the bed to tower over them, grinning and drooling into its beard. It was a man, wearing a robe over a belted, knee-length tunic, with a medallion hanging from a chain about his neck. His eyes were holes, and his mouth split into a grin of malice and gloating pleasure, then split farther to reveal pointed teeth as he raised his hands, showing fingernails that stretched into claws, poised to stab and pierce. Pascal shrieked and dove under the bed. An eldritch howling filled the night, and he came bolting back out, shrieking even louder, pursued by a ghostly hound the size of a German Shepherd.
“Get behind me,” Matt snapped, and stepped between the dog and Pascal just in case the young man was already too far gone to be able to understand. “Fool!” the ghost chortled, winding up to pounce, and the hound howled and sank its teeth into Matt’s leg. Fear clamored through him, but he reminded himself that ectoplasm can’t interact with protoplasm, and felt only piercing cold in his leg. He ignored it and recited,
It didn’t rhyme, but boy, did that old formula work! The dog gave a howl that sounded as if its tail had been twisted in five places, then sank out of sight even as the ghost of the man screamed in frustration and fear, and winked out. The darkness was awfully quiet for a minute. Then Pascal asked, in a quavering voice, “Friend Matthew?”
“Here.” Matt tried to sound reassuring. “Just stay put, Pascal, while I kindle the candle.”
“Do not!” the ghost’s voice snapped out of the darkness. “Begone from my chamber! Or even your L - your appeal will not save you from my wrath!”
“Oh, come off it!” Matt snapped “If you could have resisted the Lord-”
The ghost gasped in pain. “-you wouldn’t have run at the mention of the word,” Matt finished. “And it’s a pretty general word, at that! I didn’t even specify Whom it referred to! Can you imagine what it would have done to you if I’d used a Name?”
“And what I would have done to you!” But the ghost’s protest sounded feeble. So feeble that Matt ignored it. “What are you getting so huffy about, anyway? You’ve got to know that we’re just guests…”
“That man who is with you is of my blood!”
“Nonsense-you don’t have any left.” But Matt wondered how the ghost could tell. Ectoplasmic genetic imprints? Could ghosts read DNA code? “Even so, you know he’s not a regular part of the household, and that we had no choice about which room we were given. What makes you so territorial, anyway?”
“I built this house!”
“And left it to your son,” Matt finished. “What’s the matter? Was he too eager to inherit?”
The room was ghastly quiet for a moment. Then the ghost’s tone was bloodcurdling. “How did you know?”
Chapter 10
“Just basic reasoning,” Matt said quickly. “That would give you something of a score to settle, and even if you had no way to do that-”
“No way?” the ghost said bitterly. “He laughed at my anger; he mocked at my pain!”
“Yes, the younger generation has no respect for its elders. Couldn’t you get back at him after he died, though?”
“Nay. He was not tied to his chamber by the violence of his death, he-his soul plunged like a stone into the depths, screaming as it went.” Sparks glowed in the ghost’s hollow eyes. “That was my revenge!”
“Then why do you keep trying to take it out on whoever sleeps in your room?”
“If you had suffered as I have suffered, you, too, would pounce upon any who happened within your reach!”
Matt shuddered. “I hope I wouldn’t! Is that all it is-just a colossal bad temper?”
The ghost fixed the glowing sparks on him. “What else should it be?”
“An attempt to communicate,” Matt said. “If it is, I’m not getting the message.”
The ghost just stood glaring at him, and Matt felt a thrill of accomplishment. Pascal stared at him as if he were a superman from another world. “There was a broken promise,” the ghost finally said. “And you think the current generation might be able to mend it, if they cared enough to do the research? You’re not exactly behaving in a manner calculated to inspire concern.”
“Nay, but any should wish to be rid of me!”
“Enough to look through the family records and try to find a reason for your haunting.” Matt nodded. “Well, I’m only here for the night, so I don’t have time for extended research. How about you just tell me?”
The ghost glowered at him, but said, “I am Spiro, the first squire of this manor. I built it-but I did not mean to lie near it for eternity.”
“Then it sounds as if your goals coincide with the current squire’s,” Matt said. “I’m sure he’d like to get this room back-though I must admit he seems to find it useful to hold over people’s heads as a threat, if they’re naughty.”
The ghost’s head snapped upright. “You mean he uses me as his whip and his goad? Why, the poltroon, the vile villain, the-”
“-inheritor of tradition,” Matt said, cutting him off. “I gather he’s just keeping up what his forefathers have done. So where-” Then the significance of the name hit. “Spiro? That’s Greek!”
“Your perception amazes me,” the specter said dryly. “Aye, I am Greek-and longed to return to my native Athens, to the Parthenon and the groves of Academe. I had intended to depart in two years’ time, and my son would have been rid of me-but he could not even wait that long!”
“Sure-you were going to take all the money with you. Probably sell the land, too, and he knew he didn’t have money enough so buy it”
“I doubt it not,” the ghost said with disgust. “Yet I had always intended that if I did not return to Greece to finish my days, then my bones would!”