“I would have thought there was nothing worse than a golden dragon or a silver serpent,” John said, rubbing his feet. “But a chimaera, for god's sake! And copper!”
“Huh,” said the stranger. “Where you stupids been? A chimaera could eat your golden dragons and silver serpents for breakfast! Most probably have!”
John Knight gazed at the stranger. “You've encountered them? Other frames?”
“Certainly. You think other worlds don't have transporters?” There was something mechanical and metallic about the stranger's voice. Maybe it was merely its arrogance.
Kelvin watched his father's face. For someone who imagined his own world as far more advanced than others, it was a shock. Kelvin felt a little of the shock himself, and he hadn't his father's illusions.
Kian tiptoed to the door. He listened for a moment, then walked back. “It's gone. I don't think it's listening.”
“So we can speak freely now, huh?” The redhead laughed as contemptuously and falsely as could be imagined.
Kelvin found himself looking from stranger to father to half brother. This was a totally incredible situation, even by adventuring standards. Trapped in a chimaera's dungeon with a know-it-all stranger from a different world! That armor had the appearance of glass or plastic, though Kelvin knew of these invisible substances only from his father's description.
“We've never been here before,” Kelvin said. “In our frame the chimaera is thought to be only legend.”
“You're here by accident?” the man inquired sneeringly.
“Why else?” John Knight demanded, stung by the stranger's manner. “Why else would anyone come here?”
“For the chimaera, of course. Just for the sting of it.” Again that incredible, irritating metallic laugh, as though deep inside himself the stranger pushed a button. He seemed at times to be almost as inhuman as the monster.
John's mouth tightened. If the stranger kept irritating him, there would be trouble. No one made fun of John Knight.
“We're all on the same horse,” Kelvin said quickly. It was an expression he'd learned from his mother, his father having a similar expression about boats. “We might as well get to know one another. I'm Kelvin Knight Hackleberry. This is my father, John Knight. This is my half brother, Kian Knight. Father came to our frame by accident, and together we came to this frame by accident. We were hoping to arrive in a world like ours but with silver serpents instead of golden dragons.”
“Real novices, huh? Call me Stapular. I'm a hunter. I'm here by design. I'm the last of my party that's left.”
“The others in your party, they were-- “
“Destroyed, of course. Damned locals’ fault. They interfered, or we'd have gotten it.”
Kelvin felt more and more helpless. Just how had he gotten to be the mouth for his party? Yet of the three of them he felt he was best qualified. Stapular was the most irritating person he had encountered, next to his father-in-law, and he wasn't certain his father or half brother could endure that long.
“You mean a superior, frame-jumping party came here to find a chimaera, and was captured by lowly froogears?” Kian voiced the question before Kelvin thought of it. Kelvin had to suppress a smirk; his half brother did have a certain talent for implied sneering, when he chose to exercise it. It was a legacy from his heartless mother, Zoanna.
Stapular responded to the rudeness as rude people often do. “You want your nose flattened, roundear?”
“He just wants information,” Kelvin said quickly. “We all do.”
“Do, huh?” Stapular's mouth snapped shut as if he intended to keep all the information he had.
“And exchange. Though there's little we can tell you that will help.”
“Nothing I can tell you that will help either.” Stapular seemed satisfied.
“We were captured by froogears. That fruit they rolled into our chamber-- “
“You fell for that, huh? Hah!”
“Yes,” Kelvin said evenly. Was this oaf trying to bait them? “We are, I guess you'd have to say, unseasoned in frame travel. We didn't know this world existed, and as I've mentioned, we thought chimaeras a myth.”
“Mythstake, wasn't it?”
Kelvin tried not to grind his teeth. Whether Stapular's superior attitude, his repeated use of “huh” or his grating laugh were the most irritating qualities he couldn't have said.
“Well, I'll tell you, Calvin. Unlike your roundear trash, some of us travel freely to any world not proscribed.”
“Proscribed?” Ignore the messed-up name and the insult, he told himself. Go for the information. Keep the oaf talking.
“By the green dwarves. You've heard of them?”
“No. Unless Mouvar is one.”
“Mouvar is. He visits the Minors. My world is Major.”
Kelvin's head whirled. Major, Minor. Minor, Major. How little he knew about things Stapular took for granted.
“The Major worlds-- they have more magic?”
Again that irritating laugh, indicating no humor. “Magic! Does this,” he tapped his transparent armor so that it gave out a crystalline ring, “look like magic?”
“To us it does. But then we're ignorant.”
“Yours must be a science world, then,” John Knight said. “Like Earth.”
“You claim to be from a science world?”
“More science than magic. As a matter of fact, magic isn't supposed to exist, though some in my frame do believe in it,” John said.
“Huh, then you are science.”
“Sort of. We were just getting around to discovering frame worlds, perhaps, and-- “
“Horseless carriages, flying machines, moving and talking pictures, boxes with little living people imaged inside,” Kian offered. It was as though he were intent on reporting all the wonders of his father's birthworld in one breath.
“That's primitive science,” Stapular said. “You say you were discovering frame worlds?”
“Not me personally,” John said. “My people.”
“Then you went from a primitive Major to an even more primitive Minor?”
“If that means science world and magic world, yes. It was all an accident with us. Can't you tell us how you came here?”
Stapular nodded. “It wasn't froogears. It was the squarears. They live here but separate from froogears. They're brighter than froogears, but Minors. They tried to keep us hunters out. When we ignored their ludicrous laws they used magic. They're protecting this last of the chimaera, even bringing it copper. Damn fools! If they realized what that sting is worth on other worlds-- “
Stapular broke off. It was as though his flow of speech had been silenced with a switch.
“You're merchants! Traders!” John exclaimed. “Not only hunters but dealers. In fact, from what you say, you're poachers!”
“Hah, you think we'd risk chimaera for the fun of it?”
“No,” John said grimly. “I doubt that you'd risk chimaera except for some great profit.”
“The squarears don't know the sting's value. No way they can use the transporter and find out. Only roundears and those like us can use the transporter here. The dwarves have the transporters booby-trapped to keep Minors from mixing too much with Majors and vice versa.”
“These squarears who live here,” Kelvin broke in. “How'd they stop you?”
“Magic, of course. Huh, they used a spell before we could act. We didn't know they were around, and then we were paralyzed, our weapons useless. One of those timelock spells you probably know about.”
John interrupted the pregnant silence that developed. “Paralysis we understand, but timelock?”
“Time stoppage in a small area. Gives ‘em time. Very unscientific.”
“Magic, then,” Kelvin said.
“Magic.”
“These squarears,” John prodded, “they just left you for the chimaera?”
“They left us for the froogears. The froogears delivered us and all our equipment.”
“Then it was just the same as for us. Only we didn't encounter squarears.”
“Right.”
“And the others in your party?”
“Eaten one by one.”
“By the chimaera. That doesn't seem possible.”
“Huh, a lot you know about it.”
“I didn't say it didn't happen. Only it does seem strange. On any world I've ever been on eating something as intelligent as your species is unheard of.”
“You're not as intelligent, stupid. Not even I am.”
“I, ah, see.” John mentally shrugged as he realized that Stapular regarded the chimaera as more intelligent than all of them. Maybe it was true, but the notion took some adjusting to. Was it that those two human heads counted double?
“Could the squarears stop the chimaera?” Kelvin asked. “With their timelock?”
“Magic is magic. Why'd they want to try?”
Kelvin couldn't have answered. It was just a long shot, that they might get help. Long shots seemed to be their best shots, now.
A sudden unbarring of the door drew all of their attention. The door opened enough to admit Mervania's head. She peered in at them, seeming so much the coppery-tressed woman as almost to fool them. She evidently liked doing that! Then the door swung wide and there was Mertin-head and Grumpus-head beside Mervania-head. The scorpiocrab body scuttled inside.
Mervania looked down on them while Mertin added more food to their trough from a large bucket. Deliberately, teasingly, she lifted something large and green to her mouth and sank her pretty white teeth into it.
Kelvin felt his stomach twist. That thing she was eating. Like a giant pickle, but--
It was a forearm. Green, with little seeds stuck to it. Fingers, a thumb. A pickled arm.
Kelvin's stomach heaved, but it was already empty. He was able only to retch without substance.
“Really, Kelvin!” she said reprovingly, licking off her petite lips. “It is as you thought, a pickle. Pickled arm. Very tasty with added copper.” She took another bite, her teeth now showing points.
Kelvin retched again.
“And you, Stapular,” she continued between bites. “I'm thinking of a new recipe. First I'll dip you in lye while you're alive, and then-- “
“Mervania!” Mertin snapped. “Don't give away your recipes!”
“Oh, all right! I'll just leave that for a surprise.” She sucked on some now-fleshless fingerbones, then bit them off with a crunch. Those dainty jaws were stronger than they looked!
“This is boring,” Mertin complained. “We've slopped the stock; let's go.”
Mervania's mouth curved into a frown. “Spoilsport!” she muttered.
Tail raised over its back, the chimaera departed.
“Whew,” Kelvin said. “Whew!” Cold sweat beaded his brow in large drops. He felt even sicker than his stomach did.
CHAPTER 6
Dupes by Default
St. Helens wasn't happy about having Charley Lomax and Phillip Blastmore along. Young bloods were hot bloods and youthful self-control was not ideal. He himself had never had self-control at their ages, and look at all the trouble he'd seen! Yet the young fellows remained as good companions and took his few orders in soldierly fashion. He had been afraid that when they reached the palace in Herlin, capital city of Hermandy, there would be questions. But no guardsman of the dictator bothered the official messenger, and neither did the boys.
King Bitler looked mean. Ornery lock of black hair over his eyes, aggressive black mustache under sharp nose, he was just plain ugly. St. Helens mused on it as he watched the king unseal and read the official letter.
“Sean Reilly,” the dictator's slightly mad voice said as his moderately mad eyes gazed down at him. “Kelvinia and Hermandy are now allies.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” And how I wish it wasn't so!
“Our mutual enemies are the twin kingdoms of Klingland and Kance. By order of Kelvinia's King Rufurt and myself you are to be put in full command of Hermandy's armed forces. Your rank is to be commanding general. Do you accept the commission?”
I'd better, St. Helens thought, or I'll never live to accept or decline another. You'd like that, wouldn't you, pigface!
“I do, Your Majesty.”
“In that case you will proceed against the enemy as soon as you are issued the proper uniform.” The tyrant leaned back, a palace flunky bowed to him, and then with a peremptory, sweeping gesture he motioned St. Helens out of the Royal Presence.
The audience with the Hermandy king was at an end. None too soon, by his reckoning! St. Helens knew that like it or not he would be fulfilling the wishes of both Bitner and the king he suspected was Rowforth. He felt his stomach do an experimental turn.
*
Mor Crumb rode the big horse at the head of the column of the finest troops money could buy, and silently and bitterly chastised himself.
We're on the way to Klingland, on the way to fight! To destroy boys like my Lester! Lester to destroy other boys in Kance. Damn my weakness! Damn my not standing up to that impostor! Damn, damn, damn!
Ahead was the border, its location marked by guardhouseson either side of the road. The guardhouses were empty. Though King Kildom must have received the declaration of war, the border here was wide open.
Now what, Mor the old soldier had to ask himself as they crossed, can that possibly mean?
*
Lester did not like generaling. Here he was in fancy uniform approaching the border between Kelvinia and Kance. His father would be at the Klingland border now. St. Helens would be getting fitted for a new black uniform. One way or another they were all going to war. This was not as it should be, kings and prophecies be damned.
Ahead were the wide river and the waiting ferry. An old man with bleary eyes took the pass and poled him and a couple of lieutenants across.
“Something's happening in Kance,” the oldster said.
“Yes, what's that?” Les was watching the straining horses pulling the cable as the ferry crossed. He had never ridden a ferry before. The water was high and muddy, so the horses were working hard.
“No one here all morning. Unusual.”
“There are usually soldiers on the Kance side?”
The oldster slapped his thigh and cackled. “That's a good one, that is!” he said with a mouth full of rotted teeth. “And you wearing the uniform of a general! With Hermandy for a neighbor and the caps so near the river who'd-- ” He stopped, aware that his mouth might betray him.
Yes, with the capital city for both Klingland and Kance so near to the river, who would leave the border here unguarded? He knew that there was a witch running things, but he had never heard she was stupid. Witch Melbah had guarded Aratex from Conjurer's Rock, but here there was no high rock overlooking a pass leading to the capital. Why leave the border open? Why not raise the river and a storm such as Melbah would have done?
The log raft dipped and rose with a wave, and the men at the Kance side prepared for its landing. Stolid working types, they had their poles ready.
No problem, but no guards. The raft landed in its berth and Les and the lieutenant disembarked. They watched the barge go back, the old man bending to his task with the sweeps. No one made comment.
So here they were starting an invasion. So far it was a picnic. Les had imagined there might be rows of archers on their shore. But there were no troops and no one to stop them and demand that they surrender. In a way Lester felt disappointed. He'd almost rather be made a prisoner at the outset than have to lead a fight he didn't believe in. He should have spoken up, but somehow he hadn't.
No soldiers waiting. No resistance mobilized. What did it all mean?
*
Hal gazed at Easter as they lay in the loft. “You know this is wrong,” he said. “I'm married and you're too young.”
“I've loved it every time!” she said. “I'm only sorry you have to go now.”
So it seemed. He had lost count of the number of times they had don
e it, these past three days. It seemed she was a lonely girl who had never had this sort of attention before. He could understand her attitude-- but what of his own? He was long since old enough to know better! “So have I, Easter,” he said. “I think I love you. But-- “
“And I love you, Hal! But I know how it is. You're married. You never told me wrong. But will you come again?”
“I shouldn't.”
“But you will. I promise, I'll never tell! I just want to be with you, Hal.”
Gods help him, he wanted to be with her too. She gave him the love and passion that Charlain lacked. But how could he leave Charlain? She needed someone to run the farm.
“I'll try,” he said. And knew that neither storm nor drought could keep him away, wrong as it was.
*
Jon confronted Dr. Sterk in the hallway. “Well?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
The doctor sighed. “He does indeed have pointed ears.”
“So then it is Rufurt, our proper king!” Jon had been so certain!
But the doctor did not look as if he believed what he himself had said.
*
Kildom faced Kildee in the throne room. Both were lying on the carpet on their bellies. Between them was the playing area for their cards.
“Now you take this one,” Kildom said, slapping down a queen. The queen, like all playing-card queens, wore a smirk, as though she and the knave were up to naughtiness.
“No problem,” Kildee said. Slap, down went the laughing sorcerer.
“Damn,” said Kildom. “I forgot about that.”
“You always do. This is the fourth game in which you forgot the sorcerer.”
“Better to lose to magic than to might,” said Kildee. He studied the face of his twin, so similar to himself that both had identical moles on their cheeks: Kildom on the right cheek, Kildee on the left. That made sense, as Kildom was right-handed, Kildee left-handed. Both faces were quite handsome in childish ways. Today was special because it was the day both rulers turned six.
“Why is it,” Kildom inquired, “that we count a birthday only every four years?” Every birthday he had the same question.
“Because,” his baby-faced brother replied, “it's Leaping Day, also Monarch Day, a day that comes up on the royal calendar once every four years. If we'd been born on Zebudarry twenty-eighth instead of Zebudarry twenty-ninth we'd be twenty-four.”