Chapter 7

Rod kept a weather eye cocked on his children the whole time, but all he could see was that the four of them were working industriously. "Gwen, there's something wrong."

"How so, my husband?"

"They're all working in the same room, without bickering. What's more, they're keeping their noses to the grindstone, without having to be nagged."

"Oh." Gwen dimpled. " 'Tis not so amazing as that. Hast thou not heard what Fess doth tell them?"

"Yeah, but that just makes it worse! When I was a kid, I went crazy when he tried to give me a lecture on top of my having to do chores!"

"Thy children are not thyself," Gwen said, but her tone was gentle, sympathetic. "And, too, these tales of thine homeland are like visions of a magical kingdom to them."

Rod frowned. "I suppose that makes sense. If people in a high-tech environment used to read fairy tales for escape, then…"

"Even so," Gwen agreed. "In any event, husband, I pray thee, do not question our good fortune."

"Or our good horse. Well, so long as there's nothing to worry about." And there wasn't, so Rod was obviously going to have to find something else to serve the purpose. He turned away, going back to sweeping the trash out from the corners, and gradually working his way further and further into the available shadows, closer and closer to the archway to the stairs. He carefully hadn't mentioned the downstairs armory. If it wasn't on the ground floor, it was in the cellar—and Rod didn't want the kids going anywhere near a real, authentic dungeon. Especially Magnus.

So he waited until Gwen had gathered them in the courtyard again, and was setting out leftovers—then quietly slipped away to explore.

He was only halfway to the cellar door when he heard hooves on the floor behind him. His heart jumped into his throat, and he spun about, then relaxed with a gusty sigh. "You nearly gave me heart failure!"

"I would just as soon you did not explore the dungeon alone, Rod," Fess told him.

"I was trying to sneak off unnoticed."

"It is my duty to notice you, Rod. I promised your father."

"Yeah, but he also told you to take orders from me, from then on." Rod turned away, heading back toward the huge oaken doors that closed the spiral stair from the Great Hall.

"I have obeyed all your orders, Rod."

"Yes, but not always their intent. Though I have to admit I'm glad of your company—as long as the kids don't tumble to it, and follow us."

"Gwen had them well occupied."

"Yes; that's the advantage of the appetites of youth." Rod heaved at a door, and it fell off its hinges. In several pieces. He stared down at its remains, then said, "Remind me to have that replaced."

"Yes, Rod."

"Immediately."

"To be sure."

They started down the curving stairway, and ran out of daylight pretty quickly. "It is not safe to proceed further, Rod."

"Yeah, I noticed." Rod held up a dead branch. "I salvaged something out of the detritus the wind blew in."

"Foresighted of you. Would you care for a spark?"

"Naw. It'd take too long." Rod glared at the end of the stick. After a minute, it burst into flames.

"You have learned well."

"Just practice." Rod held up the torch. "Let's see what's down here."

They came out into a narrow corridor—and Rod stopped dead. "Fess—there's evil here!"

"I am sure much wickedness was done here, yes."

"I mean now! I've never felt such malice!"

"I sense nothing, Rod."

Rod looked up slowly at the robot. "Nothing at all? Listen on human thought-frequencies."

Fess stood still a moment, then said, "Nothing, Rod."

Rod nodded slowly. "Then it's completely psionic."

"It would seem to be more intense than poor lighting and restrictive architecture could account for. Shall we leave?"

"Not until I'm sure what's here." Rod stepped ahead down the hall. "But I think we'll keep the kids out. I'll remind them what dungeons were for.''

"They were for storing foodstuffs, Rod, and other supplies the castle needed, especially those of military nature."

"It wasn't just potatoes they stowed down here, Fess." Rod steeled himself, then thrust his torch through one of the open doorways and stepped in.

"What do you see?"

"Damp stone walls." Rod frowned. "And a dirt floor, with several circular mounds about two feet across. And one open pit, the same size, with the dirt piled beside it."

"What is in the pit?"

"Apples. Or their mummies, anyway." Rod stepped back into the hall. "I give in. They did keep stores down here."

"Shall we forego the rest of the exploration, then?"

"Not until I've seen the whole thing. Come on."

There were six open doorways, one holding bundles of dust that might once have been arrows, another holding casks, and so on.

The the pool of torchlight showed doors.

Rod stopped, then stepped ahead with determination, but with his heart in his throat.

The doors had iron gratings in them, about a foot square. Rod thrust his torch through, but saw only empty shackles. He pulled the branch back out with a sigh of relief.

"Empty, Rod?"

"Yes, thank Heaven. Come on."

The final two doors showed dim light filtering down. "Must be at the side of the keep." In spite of the light, the feeling of evil intensified. Rod peered through the left-hand grating. His jaw hardened.

"What do you see?" Fess asked.

"I can recognize a few items," Rod answered. "There's a rack, and I'm pretty sure the coffin thing is an Iron Maiden."

"The torture chamber."

"Off-limits, especially for Magnus." Rod turned away. "Come on, let's go back."

"But you haven't investigated the last chamber, Rod."

"And I'm not going to, either—at least, not until after lunch. I'm pretty sure what I'm going to find there."

"What is that, Rod?"

"Let's just say that, if you're going to have a torture chamber for extracting information, you're going to keep the raw material close at hand—and apples aren't the only things that leave mummies."

After lunch, they went back to cleaning. Gwen and the kids set to work on the Great Hall, and Rod took the basement. He was right about the remaining cell—and even though it was two hundred years old, he handled what he found there with pity as he rolled it in their oldest blanket and set it on Fess's saddle for its last trip. He dug a deep hole far down the slope from the castle, and lowered the blanket down. As he started to throw the dirt back in, Fess said, "He was probably a Christian, Rod."

"She, I think."

"What evidence have you?" The robot sounded puzzled. "There is no clothing left, after all these years."

"Not even a scrap—but if that was a man, he had the broadest pelvis I've ever seen on a male. And as to his religion, you're probably right, and I'll ask Father Boquilva to come along on our next trip and say the funeral service."

"I wish you would say a few words now, Rod."

Rod looked up at the horse-head with a frown. "Odd of you to be so sentimental about someone you never knew."

"Humor me," the horse suggested.

Well, if there was one thing Fess was never without, it was a reason. Rod didn't ask—he just took the advice, and recited as much of the Twenty-Third Psalm as he could remember, added a few snatches from Ecclesiastes, and ended with a verse of the Dies Irae. Finally, he asked eternal rest and light everlasting for the soul that had inhabited the pitiful remains, and started shoveling.

On the way back, he asked, "Any particular reason why you wanted that?"

"Yes, Rod—to aid the spirit's rest."

Rod frowned. "You don't believe the ghost would come walking back in the middle of the night, do you?"