"So the married knights took it in shifts, to attend on their lord." Rod looked about the chamber, musing. "How many did you say were in here in a year?"

"Four, to each suite—each to a season."

"And all were on edge, toward the end, because of the Count's son." Rod nodded. "We'll probably find a dormitory for the bachelors, outside the keep. What kind of people lived here after the heir became Count?"

"The single knights thou hast spoke of, though they but slept here. There is small trace of their presence, and that only for their more—earthly pleasures." Magnus's face hardened. "Most of their wenches were willing, yet I do sense summat of women's fear and pain."

Cordelia began to look angry.

"I'm beginning to see why the place was abandoned." Rod turned away, face dark. "What else is on this floor?"

They went out, and turned into the next chamber. Their torch was burning down; Rod plucked a mummified stick from a wall sconce and lit it. It burned brightly but quickly.

The room held only a single bed, a washstand, and a chest.

"A gentle-lady dwelt here." Magnus's voice seemed to come from a distance. "She did wait upon the Countess till she was wed; then another took her place, till she in turn wed"

"Probably several of these rooms; usually more than one lady-in-waiting at a time."

Magnus nodded. "The last dwelt in some apprehension, for the Count's son had grown to young manhood, and had an eye for the lasses. He had no scruples as to his manner of attaining their favors—though he feared his father's wrath."

"Did this damsel leave the castle free of him?" Cordelia asked, eyes thoughtful.

Magnus nodded. "She wed, and went—and none dwelt here after."

"Wherefore?"

"I know not." Magnus turned to the door, moving like a sleepwalker. "Let us seek."

He drifted on down the hallway, fingertips brushing the wall, and turned into the next chamber.

But it was exactly like the one before; the memories were of different women, but held no new information. So it was with the third, and the fourth—though the last lady-in-waiting of that chamber had been importuned by the heir, who had become quite unpleasant when she refused. She had managed to break away; the young man had pursued her, but had been brought up short by one of his father's knights, who had rebuked him soundly and reported the incident to the Count, who personally took a horsewhip to his son. Nonetheless, the lady asked permission to return to her parents, and the Countess granted her request.

Cordelia frowned. "I begin to have some notion of the cause of this spectre's misery."

"I, too." Gwen wasn't smiling.

"No more rooms on this floor." Rod stood at the end of the hall, glowering around at the doorways and the slit-window in the end wall. "Back to the stairs, folks."

Gregory went first, being the lightest, followed by Geoffrey, then Magnus. They were going up in order of ascending weight, with the levitators first. "Just in case the masonry isn't what it once was," Rod explained. But he insisted on bringing up the rear.

At the top of the stair, a small chamber opened on either side of the hallway, very much like the ones below. Magnus stepped into the one on his left, concentrating and touching the stones. " 'Twas another lady-in-waiting dwelt here—the Countess kept two near her in the night. This damsel…"

He broke off, for the air was thickening in the corner, beyond the torch's pool of light.

The Gallowglasses held their breaths, their eyes wide.

The keening started before the form had become clear; Gregory clapped his hands over his ears. Then she drifted there before them, the same young lady they had seen in the great hall below, wailing in fear and terror.

"Damsel, what affrights thee?" Magnus cried, stepping forward and reaching out.

Rod thrust out an arm, blocking him.

"Thou dost!" the girl wailed. "Go, get thee hence! Leave me in peace!"

Rod started to talk, but Magnus beat him to it. "I cannot, for thy pain is mine, and when thou dost feel agony, a blade doth twist in mine heart! Nay, speak! Tell me why thine unquiet spirit still doth walk, and I will set it aright!"

A glimmer of hope glowed in the darkness that was her eyes, but she moaned, "Thou canst not, for I did not roam these halls till thou didst come to wake me! 'Tis thou, and thou alone! But for thee, I'd not have walked!"

Magnus's head snapped up, and he fell back a pace, staggered—but Gwen stepped forward and asked, very calmly, "Canst thou truly say thou hast lain quietly?"

The girl's face contorted, and her hands came up to her cheeks as she wailed once again, a wail that soared up and up until it rang in their ears, then twisted and was gone, and the room lay empty about them.

They straggled back to the Great Hall, a very glum and silent crew, with glances out of the corners of their eyes at their brother, whose face was thunderous. Gwen stepped up to the hearth, stirred up the coals, tossed on a handful of kindling and blew it alight, then put on larger sticks and a log.

Then she turned back to her son.

"Be not heartsick, my lad. We know ghosts have walked this castle for two hundred years. 'Tis not thou who hast brought her unending misery."

"But how can she speak of my waking her!" Magnus burst out.

"Thou art a stone-reader," Gwen answered, "and a thought-speaker, and a crafter. The traces of her unquiet spirit may have kindled thy mind into bringing her forth from the stones.''

Magnus looked up, appalled—and Rod lifted his head with dawning understanding.

"Yet why she?" the boy burst out. "Why she alone? Why she, and none of the others who dwelt 'midst these rough stones?"

"For that 'twas only she did live through agony so sharp as to leave traces so strong they could be conjured forth. Where others have left only some lingering touch that thou canst read, her feelings were so deep as to bring her once more before us."

"Call it hallucination," Rod said softly, "but you're also a projective—and once you could see her, anyone near you could, too; you put the picture into their minds."

"But I know the craft of that, Papa, and 'tis not a thing to be done unawares! It doth take intensity of thought, and some strength!"

"You did it when you were a baby," Rod said evenly. "We had to keep you away from witch-moss, because anything you were thinking about, took form."

"Yet there is no witch-moss here!"

Rod shrugged. "You can't be sure of that. And even if it isn't, your mind is thoroughly capable of projecting a hallucination into other people's thoughts."

"I have never done so before!"

"You've never encountered a stimulus this strong before, either." Rod forbore to mention that most of the strength might have come from Magnus's feelings toward the ghost-girl, but he exchanged glances with Gwen, and she nodded. First love can do wonders.

Magnus's face crumpled. "Then 'tis I am to blame for her misery?"

"No!" Rod said, full-force. "The misery was caused by someone else, and I have a sneaking suspicion he's lurking about, just panting to be hallucinated, too—so try not to hate him too hard; it might help him."

"Yet she would have slumbered, had I not come within!"

"I have a notion she has waked a few times in the past," Rod said evenly. "I doubt that you're the first psychometricist to come in here in the last two hundred years. You remember how boys like to prove their courage by spending the night in a haunted house? And who would be most likely to do that? I have a notion that any time you hear about a haunting anywhere in Gramarye, you've had a latent psychometricist who doesn't know what he is."

Magnus's gaze was fastened on Rod; the boy was drinking in the words, hungry to believe.