Mayer Alan Brenner - Spell of Catastrophe

Mont staggered after him. “What was that stuff you just used there?” he said.

The hall jogged off at an angle, and beyond the bend was the continuation of the staircase leading up to the third floor. “That ‘stuff’,” Shaa said, bounding up the steps, “was obtained at great cost and no little risk from a small amphibian resident in certain southern swamps.”

“Obtained? By you?”

“In fact, no.” Shaa reached the small landing at the top and saw the opening to a trap door in the ceiling above him. A beam slipped through a set of iron brackets held the trap closed. Shaa knelt, made a basket of his hands, caught Mont’s foot as he came off the last step, and pushed him into the air. “Wha?” Mont said.

“The beam, idiot. Push the beam.”

“Oh.” Mont heaved, dislodging the beam from the runners. The beam hit the floor on its end, narrowly missing Shaa’s foot, teetered, and crashed over. Mont pushed up, Shaa pushed Mont, and the trap door lifted slowly on wailing hinges. Then they heard pounding footsteps and renewed cries, but now from the second floor just below them.

“Grab hold,” Shaa shouted. He threw Mont upward through the opening, hearing a strangled yelp, bent, and seized the locking beam. A group of soldiers turned the corner below and trampled onto the steps. Shaa grunted and shoved the beam, the beam left the floor at the top of the stairs and flew downward, things were quiet for half-a-second, and then the air filled with wails and the sound of a vast crashing and bashing.

Shaa looked up. Mont had one leg over the trap door’s sill, and both arms. “I’m stuck,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” Shaa said. “It’s all a matter of attitude.” Mont strained and rolled over the edge onto the roof. “That’s much better,” Shaa continued approvingly. Mont’s face reappeared, and an outstretched arm next to it. Shaa jumped, caught the hand, and boosted himself out.

“Now what?” said Mont, panting.

Shaa let the trap door drop and surveyed the terrain.

They were on the roof of the Bilious Gnome’s building, a flat roof that sloped sharply down at the edges in a plane of shingles and rose here and there in a checkerboard of boxy rooms and platforms; the exit from the trap door was in the middle of one of the elevated platforms. The surrounding buildings were similar. “This way,” said Shaa. He broad-jumped across the gap to the next platform, took two running steps, and jumped again. Another leap brought him to the Bilious Gnome’s rear, overlooking an alley. The top floor of a four-story building confronted him across the alley, an unleapable gap up and away.

Mont joined him, much more cautiously. “If you don’t stop gritting your teeth,” Shaa told him, “your jaw will freeze up, making speech uncomfortable.” Shaa had produced a rope and small grapnel. He whirled it twice around his head and slung it across the alley.

“No,” Mont said, turning even whiter.

“The choice is yours,” said Shaa, irritated. The trap door they had left across the roof swung open with a clunk. The clamor of voices was again clearly audible, and did not sound at all pleased. Mont tugged on the rope. It was solid. Shaa braced his hold on the free end and gestured. Mont took a deep breath and a double handhold and swung out.

The Guard erupted out of the traphole, spotting Shaa immediately. Mont was halfway across. Shaa surveyed the distances, calculated rates of motion - a man with a bow appeared at the front of the soldiers. “Hold on!” Shaa yelled. He slapped a coil of rope around his waist, ran at the edge of the building, and dropped. An arrow streaked over his head, narrowly missing the tightening rope. Shaa swung out over the alley and hit the wall of the four-story building with both feet. The alley beneath was filling with troops. Shaa streaked up the rope, using all available feet and hands, pausing only to dislodge a large flowerpot from a convenient third-floor ledge, reached the roof, and flopped over the eave just ahead of a flight of arrows aimed fortuitously low. The roof was flat, and lacked Mont.

“Over here!” Mont yelled. Shaa spotted a waving arm on the next roof over, pulled the grapnel free as he passed it on the run, and vaulted over the edge. Mont caught him. “Why are you doing this?” Mont said.

Shaa found his feet and looked around. The next set of roofs went up and down, each a half-story different in height, like a long row of square sawteeth. “I need an adventure,” he said, launching himself at the next building.

“What?”

“There’s a curse,” Shaa said absently. “Come on.” He vanished over the edge.

Max slept poorly. Karlini had neglected to mention that even when the castle wasn’t executing a major move from place to place, it wasn’t exactly quiet. The castle spent the night like a person with indigestion from a meal involving onions and too many beans, shifting restlessly and rumbling under an occasional burp. At half-past six Max gave up and headed for the kitchen. Ronibet and Karlini were already present, looking equally haggard.

“Nice neighborhood you’ve got here,” Max said, squinting down at the table and trying to butter a roll.

“Some nights are worse than others,” Ronibet said. She had her nose balanced on the edge of a mug of coffee, breathing in the fumes.

A crackling and snapping sound came from one wall, up near the roof. They looked up as a green tracer of ball lightning burst through the wall, leaving it singed, and swooped through the air like a dying comet. It dove into a cauldron in a splash of green sparking water and disappeared. The water in the cauldron glowed a fluorescent forest green that slowly faded. They returned their attention to the table.

“All night,” said Max, “all night with the green glowing balls and the spectral voices in the ears and the cold spots in the bed.” Wroclaw brought over his eggs, scrambled. “This place could drive you batty. I can see why you want to get out.”

“I don’t know where it’s all coming from,” Karlini mumbled. He was already on his second cup of coffee but was only beginning to look sentient. “All these manifestations just reek of energy, but I’ve been looking for weeks and damned if I can find the source.”

“This place was set up by a god,” Max said with his mouth full, “and gods operate on the second quantum energy state, that’s why they’re gods. It’s easier to set up stable power reservoirs on the second quantum level. One reason gods usually have so much power to burn.”

Karlini had stopped eating and was staring at Max with his mouth hanging open and his eyes all of a sudden fully alert. “Max,” he said carefully, “how did you find that out? That’s more new knowledge than anybody’s been able to learn about the gods in fifty years.”

“Good eggs,” Max said. “Thanks, Wroclaw. Can I have another roll?” Roni passed him the basket.

“My compliments to the oven master, too.” Haddo leaned in from the kitchen, the top of his dark hood dusted with flour, then vanished again. Max carefully selected a fluffy butter twist with a flaky crust.

Karlini was still staring. “Max,” Roni said, “I’m afraid my husband is having some sort of attack.”

“Shaa’s never around when you need him, is he?” Max commented. “These are good rolls.”

“At least Shaa usually answers a straight question.”

“You do get an answer out of him,” Max said, “but the answer usually goes with a different question.”

Karlini pointed a finger. “You’ve had run-ins with the gods before, we all know you have,” he said. “They don’t like you, and you’re still alive - I’ve never figured out how you manage that, either.”