“Oh, it was a wonderful idea,” Aandred muttered. “At first they intended to staff Droam with robots in the shape of the Ancient Folk of Old Earth: elves, trolls, fairies, dwarfs, wizards, and witches. But one of them, the cleverest one… she was supervising the building of the castle when the idea came to her. Robots had one flaw — they were predictable. Why, a guest might come to Droam dozens of times over his lifetime. Would boredom set in, if the staff never changed their behavior, never acted irrationally, never displayed any human flaws or foibles? Of course.”
Sundee Gareaux's face was intent “And so…?”
“And so they decided to purchase revenant personalities to ride the hulks.”
“What does it mean… revenant?”
“Ghosts. We're all ghosts in Droam. The dogs, for example… the ghosts of puppies who died for Droam seven hundred years ago, Put to death — painlessly, I'm sure — and their little souls recorded for the Hunt.”
Revulsion stained her eyes. “That is how you came to be what you are? You were killed to fill the machine?”
“Not exactly.” He chuckled rustily. “Oh, one or two of the human revenants were bargained for that way — dying men and women who sold themselves for money to leave to their families, and for a chance at some sort of continued life. But most of us are executed criminals, our personalities auctioned to defray the costs of our crime”
The revulsion spread to her mouth. “And were you always a murderer, then?”
He sat and looked at her for a time, until she turned away uneasily. Umber whined and nudged his leg, distressed. Finally Aandred answered. “Of course. I was a famous pirate, I laired on Sook, I went forth with my armada and stole worlds, and always, I laughed. Oh, I was a mighty killer in those days; I destroyed thousands and never thought of it again.” He looked away, and red memory blinded him. “But I've had time to think.”
“Of what? Last night you and your creatures killed easily enough.”
He saw that tears trembled in her eyes. “Droam commands me. Should I defy the castle to spare a band of raggedy Bonepickers? I would be ended instantly. Fail-safes, deadman switches are built into all our hulks; after all, Droam couldn't have the tourists terrorized by criminal zombies, should we decide to run amok. Eh?” He spoke sadly. “It's true that I'm dead already. Still, it's the only sort of life I'll ever have, and I'm somewhat reluctant to give it up.”
She spoke in a dreary voice. “I see. So, what happened to the guests?”
He gripped the grating. The mesh buckled under the pressure of his hands. “Fashions changed, oh, about four hundred years ago. Suddenly Droam was passe. The tourists stopped coming, and now we're forgotten. Droam remains convinced that they will come again; I know better. There were other resorts in the Sea of Islands — all dead now. Of course, you know this, you Bonepickers; you survive in the debris of their passing. Droam was always the strongest of them. It may well resist your attacks forever. Such is its intention.”
“Attacks?” She was contemptuous. “We attacked no one. We landed to explore, nothing more. The island has plenty of empty land; why should we not farm it? Every year there are more children, and we must feed them. We wouldn't have injured your precious castle. Why would we bother?”
Aandred laughed at her audacity. “What a notion! Turnip patches in the Vale of Lights, Bonepickers gathering mushrooms in the Dimlorn Woods. Urchins fishing in the River Dark. Droam won’t be amused.”
Her eyes flashed dangerously. “I've told you my name; do you have a name?”
“Droam calls me Huntsman. But I had another name when I was a man.” He paused. “Aandred, I was. A glorious, wicked name once. Now? Meaningless…” His voice had fallen to a wistful whisper.
“I'd almost forgotten it,” he lied.
He released the other dogs from their runs, and they tumbled about the common room in a frenzy of delight. Crimson sniffed at the prisoner's grating, wagged his tail, and trotted away. Aandred saw that her face was white. “Don't be afraid,” he said. “They wouldn't hurt you now, unless you run.”
She seemed unconvinced. “Watch, this is pretty,” he said, opening the storage niche built into his right hip. He brought out their favorite toy, a magical ball containing a tiny mechanical homunculus; he had long ago filched it from one of the tower wizards. He tossed it; it rolled along the floor, flashing blue lights, emitting comical squeaks and puffs of violet smoke. The dogs leaped after it joyfully. Sienna reached it first, brought it back to him proudly, ignoring the jealous nips of the others. He kicked it away again, setting off another manic pursuit.
In half an hour, they were bored, and they settled about Aandred. They seemed fascinated by the prisoner, they watched her intently, eyes bright, segmented silver tongues lolling from their mouths.
Sundee Gareaux watched them in equal fascination. “They have a strange look in their eyes,” she said. “As if they know some secret.”
“Well, they aren't ordinary dogs. They were intelligent puppies when they were flesh, and even a dog can learn many things in seven hundred years.” Perhaps, he thought, more than a man. “I often wonder how much they understand,” he mused, stroking Umber's head, “Still, they are only dogs.”
She was silent for a time, watching the dogs at their play. Then she looked up at him with confused eyes. “They don't seem so terrible now. How very strange, when just last night they killed… Then your dogs were hideous, nightmares.” Her mouth twisted. “Now I see grace, even a sort of beauty.”
“Of course they're beautiful,” he said fiercely. “Of all Droam's creatures they are the finest and cleanest. You shouldn't blame them for your friends' deaths… They do only what they are bred and trained to do. The dogs would chase a ball from the hand of a Picker as readily as they chase it from mine.”
Aandred gave his attention to the dogs for a while. When he next glanced in at the prisoner, she lay on the mat, her hack to him, apparently asleep.
THE DAY passed as a hundred thousand other days had passed. Aandred played with the dogs and thought about his former life, the lovely bad old days. But the memories had worn thin, as if from too much remembering, and he found his thoughts straying to the Picker woman. What had her life been? he wondered. She had been born in a profoundly regressed culture, the descendants of lost guests and escaped slaves, on a backwater world where the starboats no longer called. She could hope for no more than a lifetime of suffering and an early death. She would never know the wonders of the human galaxy; she would never walk the gilded halls of Dilvermoon or the dirty corridors of Beasterheim, would never see a world from space, like a jewel on the richest velvet, would never experience the thousand joyful luxuries that he had taken for granted in his life as a man.
He shook his head. Pointless maundering. Sundee Gareaux no doubt valued her life, such as it was, as much as he valued his own synthetic existence. Or more, he thought darkly, but the notion frightened him, and he pushed it aside. A shame that she must end her life as a troll’s plaything. That thought made him angry. He resolved to break her neck before he gave her to Merm, as Droam would certainly order him to do. He could spare her that horror.
As day passed into evening, the annunciator chimed. Droam's voice sounded from the wall speaker and in his head, a disorienting sensation. “Huntsman. Bring your prisoner to the audience hall.”
Aandred found a jeweled leash in a locker he had not opened in a hundred years. “Come,” he said to Sundee Gareaux. “You must wear this. Droam will expect me to deliver you without difficulties.”