"And none have dwelt here for two hundred years." Gregory gazed about him, wide-eyed.
"Not a living soul," Rod agreed. Strangely, there were no signs of squatters having moved in, or even having spent the night. On the other hand, that would've been hard to do, with the drawbridge up—which raised the question of why it was still up. Rod had a mental picture of the last servants to leave, heaving hard on the lip of the bridge, and watching it rise slowly, riding up on its counterweight. Either that, or the last servant had decided not to leave. Rod shuddered at that thought, and hoped he never met the person.
It was a pretty basic castle—just a keep with a curtain wall, diamond-shaped in its ground plan, with watchtowers at north and south, the keep itself serving to guard the western point, and the gatehouse at the east. There were only three floors to the keep, the first being all one huge, open room fifty feet in diameter, and the second divided into several rooms, presumably family quarters. The third was piled with small catapults and moldering crossbows and rusty bolts—the upstairs armory, for aerial defenses.
"Enough!" Gwen clapped her hands. "If we are to dwell here, no matter how short a while, we must needs make the keep fit for dwelling. Magnus and Gregory, sweep and dust! Cordelia and Geoffrey, hurl trash out into the moat!"
Geoffrey whooped and set to it; heaps of leaves began to swirl out the windows. Cordelia glowered at a broken, old table, and it rose off the floor, cracked leg dangling, and drifted toward the window.
Magnus frowned. "Wherefore do they pitch while we sweep, Mama?"
"For that thy sister's the best at making things fly," Gwen answered, "and Gregory's well suited to kiting along the ceiling and beams."
"Yet Geoffrey and I…"
"Are chosen for these tasks, for reasons thou knowest well." Gwen said, with steel beneath her voice; then her manner softened. "I promise thee, thou'lt trade tasks when we go to another floor. Aid me in this, my son."
Magnus grinned. "As thou wilt have it, Mama. Wilt thou lend me thy broomstick?"
And away he went, sweeping up a storm; Rod wondered about the whirlwinds in it. He sighed with relief, and blessed his eldest—trying to put a broom in Geoffrey's hands was asking for a major confrontation, unless you went after him with a quarterstaff. Even then, the broomstick would probably beat the quarterstaff, and there wouldn't be much work done.
All went well for a good fifteen minutes; then Geoffrey remembered to grumble. "Wherefore must we clean?"
"Wouldst thou truly wish to dwell in so stale a mess?" Cordelia asked, with scorn.
Geoffrey started to answer, but Magnus cut him off. "Do not ask, sister—thou dost not truly wish to hear his answer."
Geoffrey flushed an angry red, but before he could blast, Gregory burbled cheerfully. "Mayhap 'twill help to banish the ghosts."
That gave Geoffrey pause. He cocked his head to the side, frowning.
"Real ghosts!" Gregory went on, his eyes shining. "I had thought they were but old wives' tales!"
"On Gramarye, old wives' tales can turn real, Gregory," Fess reminded.
Gregory nodded. " 'Tis a point. Are they true ghosts, or only some aspect of psi we've not met before?"
"So much conversation surely cannot increase productivity."
"Oh, thou art but a killjoy, Fess!" Cordelia scoffed. "How can we help but speak of so wondrous a thing as our very own haunted castle?"
"It is difficult, I know," the robot commiserated. "Still, you have been instructed to accomplish a task, and so much chatter inhibits your work."
"Then give us summat to quiet us," Gregory suggested. "Tell us more of our ancestors."
Fess was silent a moment; after thirty years of Rod's squelching him every time he tried to discourse on family history, it was a little difficult adjusting to the idea that somebody was interested again. Slowly, he said, "Gladly, children—but you had many ancestors. Of which would you like to hear?"
"That minor issue of which thou didst forbear to speak, yester eventide," Magnus said, too casually. "Papa did mention an ancestor who did seek to find a family ghost.''
Fess sighed. "You would remember that."
"Wouldst thou not also, under such circumstances as these?"
"I fear I would," Fess sighed, "yet I would prefer to gloss over it."
"Then speak of our ancestor who finished building the Castle Gallowglass!"
"D'Armand, Cordelia," Fess reminded.
"Aye, ninny!" Magnus jibed. "Canst thou not remember that Papa took the name 'Gallowglass' when he came to Gramarye?"
"Oh, forever!" Cordelia said crossly. "What matter if I slip in its usage now and again?"
"Great matter, if thou dost ever seek to discover thine ancestral home!"
"And which of us shall ever wish to leave Gramarye?" Geoffrey scoffed. "Cordelia hath right, for once."
"Once!" Cordelia squawked. Geoffrey grinned wickedly in answer. Magnus was silent.
"Well enough, then." Cordelia turned away and tipped her nose up, scorning Geoffrey. "Tell us of the ancestor who did finish Castle d'Armand."
"Which?" Fess almost seemed hopeful. "It was finished several times."
"Several?" Magnus frowned. "How long dist thou dwell therein, Fess?"
"From A.D. 3050, Magnus, till your father left home in 3542," Fess answered.
"Four centuries?" Gregory gasped. Geoffrey glanced at him in annoyance; he wasn't good with figures.
"Four," Fess confirmed, "which is most of the time that has elapsed since I was activated."
"But was it not a delight?" Cordelia demanded.
"On occasion, yes," Fess admitted, "but it just as often was not. It depended on my owner of the time."
"Thou didst esteem Lona highly," Cordelia said, "for thou didst build her castle for her."
"True, but I would have done so for any other owner who so commanded—and did, since that was only the first time Chateau d'Armand was finished. It was quite modest by Maximan standards, you see."
Geoffrey frowned. "I misdoubt me an her descendants could abide that."
"They had difficulty," Fess admitted. "In fact, her son and grandson each built an addition, but one that was dictated by her original plan, thereby finishing the castle a second and third time. Nonetheless, their neighbors' houses were far more grand. They were good souls, though, and envy did not bother them greatly."
"Not so their wives," Cordelia demurred.
"You have guessed accurately, Cordelia." Fess sounded surprised. "Yes, the wives found it quite difficult to accept such relatively modest quarters, the more so because they were themselves younger daughters of grander lords."
"Lords?" Magnus lifted his head, frowning. "I wot me an thou didst speak of factors and crafters. Whence came nobility?"
"By mail, Magnus, from the heralds of Europe. Maxima was, after all, a sovereign world, with its own government…"
"But thou hast said Maxima had no government."
"Not really, though I can understand how my remarks could have seemed to indicate that. Nonetheless, the Maximans did have some mutual means of coordinating logistics and resolving disputes, and they had annual meetings of the leaders of all the Houses."
Magnus nodded. "And if that assembly did declare the head of a household noble, who could contradict it?"
"Precisely. The Earl Mulhearn was the first to receive a patent of nobility, and the others followed in a rush. Your own ancestor, Theodore d'Armand, changed his first name to 'Ruthven' and applied to the Assembly for status as a duke."
Magnus whistled. "He saw no vantage in modesty, did he?"
"No indeed. In fact, Ruthven saw no point in anything that was not his own idea…"
"Tell us of him," Cordelia begged.
"Nay!" Magnus turned to her with a scowl. "I claim primacy. I wish to hear of the ancestor who sought a family ghost!"
"Thy chance hath passed." Cordelia turned on him. "You know Mama and Papa have told us…"
She broke off at the very credible imitation of a throat-clearing, and turned to Fess with a frown. Before either of them could say anything, the robot told them, "The distinction does not exist; it was Ruthven who wanted a spectre."