"Aye, there were two cadet branches of the line," Gorn answered, "yet both had removed to other dukedoms, and pledged their swords to county lords, thereby retaining knighthood; and both cast off the decadence of their sires."
" 'Twas not all of a moment, look you," Bight added. "The first knight, we are told, did keep faith with his lord, serve bravely in battle, and deal fairly with his peasants, though harshly. Their sons did leave off swilling of ale and despoiling of women, and the grandsons were as good as any knight, and better."
Buckthorn nodded, munching. "They had even become beloved by their serfs and tenants."
"Very impressive." Rod nodded. "So what happened after they took over the estate?"
"Naught, for they did not," Buckthorn said.
Rod let out a long whistle. "That bad? Two families turned down the chance for a noble title and estates, just because of the castle's reputation?"
Bight nodded somberly.
"What kind of closet skeletons could make a family refuse a title?"
"Any, an they walked." Magnus scowled. "Is not a haunting reason enough to deny inheritance?"
"No, not really. I know of quite a few families that cohabited very companionably with ghosts, or at least ignored them—the family manor house was so important to them that they were willing to share it with a few of their ancestors who were a little reluctant to move out. In fact, there was a time when the nouveau riche began to try to buy family ghosts to go with their fabricated coats of arms. I understand a real rage for that kind of thing hit my home, ah, 'land,' really hard, about four hundred years ago. One of my ancestors even pioneered a new fad in holograms."
Magnus glanced up at Fess, but the robot carefully ignored him.
"So family ghosts, just by themselves, wouldn't account for having turned down the title," Rod finished.
"Unless 'twas a truly vile haunting," Gwen demurred.
Rod nodded. "There had to be something especially rotten about the last Count Foxcourt, or his household."
"I assure thee, there was," Hazelberry said. "Name a vice or debauchery, and he did practice it."
"Yeah, but that wouldn't…" Rod's voice trailed off as he remembered some of the tales he'd heard about sadists. "No, strike that. I can think of some sins that would give the castle such an aura of evil that no one would want it, even with a title."
"Most truly," Rose agreed.
"And no one would want to take up the name." Rod frowned. "We were wondering about that part. I mean, 'Foxcourt' isn't your garden variety kind of nomer, after all. Was the manor known for its good hunting?"
"Nay," said Buckthorn. "There was some hunting, though no better than most—and the knights generally did course after boar, not fox."
"Or peasants," Burl added darkly.
Cordelia shuddered, Gregory blanched, and Magnus and Geoffrey grew somber.
Rod tried to bypass the reference. "Can't have been the source of the name, then."
"Nay," Buckthorn agreed. "Word hath come down from the first elves who dwelt here, that the name of this family was first spelled in a fashion far more elaborate."
"Aye, and spoken with a haughty accent," Bight seconded, "wherefore both we, and the peasants, were the more ready to bring it down to earth and pronounce it simply as 'Foxcourt.' "
All the elves nodded, and Rose added, "By the third generation, the family had taken our spelling of it, and by the fifth, all had forgotten any other."
"Hm." Rod frowned. "Makes it tough to find the original."
"Thou canst not," Buckthorn assured him. " 'Tis lost for all time."
Behind Rod's ear, Fess's voice said, "That is a challenge."
Rod agreed. The original spelling of the name had to be recorded somewhere in the Lord Chancellor's books—antique tax records, or maybe even the original deed to the property. It probably had nothing to do with the haunting, but Rod resolved to find it.
The guests had departed, filled with stew and emptied of gossip—after all, they'd been waiting two hundred years to tell it—and Gwen had decreed bedtime. Rod had mentioned to Fess that keeping a watch might be a good idea, and the Steel Sentry had taken up his post, right next to the children.
Which made him handy for bedtime stories, especially since the children were so keyed up that sleeping was the least possible activity for them. Quarreling ranked high on their list, though, with fighting right behind it, so Fess was watching for more than ghosts.
Not that they were out of line yet, of course. They were just barely bedding down.
" 'Tis a foul and brooding pile," Geoffrey gloated. "Nay, who doth know what deeds of glory a valiant man might achieve within it?"
"Naught, an he doth run at the sight of a spectre," Magnus answered.
"Thou dost not say I would run!"
"Thou hast it; I did not. For myself, I know I shall stand fast."
"Aye, transfixed in horror!"
"Boys, boys," Fess reproved. "You are both brave and bold, as you have proved many times."
"Yet I am not." Gregory's eyes were wide, and his blanket was drawn up to his chin. "Thou wilt not allow a spectre to approach, wilt thou, Fess?"
"Pooh!" Magnus said quickly. "Thou hast as much courage as any man, when the fight's upon us."
"Well—mayhap when 'tis come." Gregory relaxed a little, reddening with pleasure. "Yet 'til then, I do wallow in horror.''
"I, for one, think 'tis grand." Cordelia snuggled down into her blankets. "Ghost or no, 'twill be thrilling to live in a castle. Will it not, Fess?"
"I cannot truly say so," Fess answered slowly.
"Wherefore?" Cordelia frowned. "What canst thou foresee disliking in it?"
"I look not to the future, Cordelia, but to the past."
"Thou hast lived in a castle?" Cordelia sat bolt-upright.
"Down," Gwen's voice called softly, and the girl flopped back down with a flounce.
"I helped build one, Cordelia," Fess answered, "and I dwelt in it while we were building it, and after it was completed."
"Who was 'we?' " Geoffrey rolled over on his stomach and propped his chin in his hands.
"The first d'Armands, Geoffrey—your ancestor Dar, and his wife Lona."
"Dar?" Cordelia frowned. "Him of whom we have heard, as Dar Mandra? Papa's ancestor who was pursued by his enemies?"
"The same—though, since he and Lona had gone into hiding, he amalgamated his two names and inserted an apostrophe, then trimmed the end to make it 'd'Armand.' Yet he kept his surname, though he reversed the phonemes when naming his son."
"Dar d'Armand?" Magnus frowned. " 'Tis not greatly euphonious."
"No, but it was practical."
"He was thy fourth owner, was he not?" Gregory chimed in.
"It was Lona who was officially my owner, Gregory, though in practice, they both were, the more so since I was Dar's only companion for long stretches of time."
"His only companion?" Cordelia frowned. "Were they not wed?"
"They were, but they were also a manufacturing concern. There was little else to do on Maxima—the asteroid they chose to live on—but they chose it because it offered that opportunity for making a living…"
Chapter 5
"DAMN! It doesn't work!" Dar sat back and glared at the chipped enamel on the robot's claws. "What happened, X-HB-9?"
"I did just as you said, sir," the little robot answered. In size and shape, it resembled nothing so much as a canister vacuum cleaner—but one with jointed arms extruded from the top.
"All I said was to go into the kitchen and take the breakfast tray out of the autochef!"
"I did, sir, but my clamps encountered a solid vertical instead of a vacant space."
"They sure did." Dar had heard the clang all the way to the bedroom. Not that he'd been sleeping, of course; after all, it was 1:00 p.m.—Terran Standard Time; if they'd gone by local Maxima time, they would have had a noon and a midnight four times a day, and sometimes five. Maxima was big, as asteroids go, almost a kilometer and a half in diameter, but it was still miniscule on the planetary scale.