Piers Anthony - Castle Roogna

And the Mundane-that man had recognized Dor, or rather Dor's body, calling him Mike. That must mean this body was that of a Mundane, part of this army, a man separated from his companions in the jungle, trapped by goblins, and presumed dead. Dor had taken over that body, preventing its return to its army. What had happened to the personality of the real Mike?

Dor bashed his hand against his head. The flea had bitten him again. Infernal bug! Oops-others called Jumper a bug, and Dor didn't like that; maybe the flea didn't like being called a-oh, forget it!

Where had he been, as he pondered things and watched the Mundanes drown below? Oh, yes: the fate of the personality of the original Mike Mundane. Dor couldn't answer that. He presumed the real Mike would return when Dor left. What bothered him more was the fact that he had taken advantage of the Mundane's recognition of him, to hurl the man from the wall. The Mundane had paused, not wishing to strike a friend-and had paid for that understandable courtesy with his position, perhaps his life. How would Dor himself feel if he encountered Jumper, and welcomed him-and Jumper struck him down? That had been a cruel gesture!

Nevertheless, he had held his position. He hoped the others had held theirs. He didn't dare check directly; this was his position to defend, and another ladder crew could arrive the moment he deserted his post.

War was not nice. If Dor ever got to be King, he would see that problems were settled some other way if at all possible. No one would ever convince him that there was any glory in battle.

The sun sank slowly before him. The Mundanes scrambled out of the moat, dragging their wounded and dead. They took their ladders, too, though these were sadly broken.

At last Millie came. "You can come down, now, Dor," she said hesitantly. "The zombie bugs say the Mundanes are too busy with their wounded to mount another attack today, and they won't do it by night."

"Why not? A sneak attack-"

"Because they think this is a haunted castle, and they're afraid of the dark."

Dor burst out laughing. It was hardly that funny, but the tension in him forced itself out.

It drained from him quickly. With relief he followed her down the winding stairs to the main hall. He noted the pleasant sway of her hips as she walked. He was noticing more things like that, recently.

They organized a night-watch system. There had been no attack on the other sides; Dor had handled it all. "We would have come to your aid," Jumper chittered. "But we feared some ruse."

"Exactly," Dor agreed. "I would not have come to help you, either."

"If we don't have discipline, we have nothing," the Zombie Master said. "We living are too few."

"But tonight you rest," Millie told Dor. "You have labored hard, and have earned it."

Dor didn't argue. He was certainly tired, and somewhat sick at heart, too. That business with the Mundane who recognized him

Jumper took the first watch, scrambling all about the walls and ceilings inside and out. The Zombie Master retired for half a night's sleep before relieving the spider. That left Millie-who insisted on keeping Dor company while he ate and rested.

"You fought so bravely, Dor," she said, urging a soupnut on him.

"I feel sick." Then, aware of her gentle hurt, he qualified it. "Not from your cooking, Millie. From the killing. Striking men with a weapon. Dumping them into the moat. One of them recognized me. I dumped him, too."

"Recognized you?"

How could he explain? "He thought he did. So he didn't strike me. It wasn't fair to strike him."

"But they were storming the castle! You had to fight. Or we would all have been-" She squiggled, trying to suggest something awful. It didn't come across; she was delectable.

"But I'm not a killer!" Dor protested vehemently. "I'm only a twelve-year-old-" He caught himself, but didn't know how to correct his slip.

"A twelve-year veteran of warfare!" she exclaimed. "Surely you have killed before!"

It was grossly misplaced, but her sympathy gratified him strongly. His tired body reacted; his left arm reached out to enclose her hips in its embrace, as she stood beside him. He squeezed her against his side. Oh, her posterior was resilient!

"Why, Dor!" she said, surprised and pleased. "You like me!"

Dor forced himself to drop his arm. What business did he have, touching her? Especially in the vicinity of her cushiony posterior! "More than I can say."

"I like you too, Dor." She sat down in his lap, her derriere twice as soft and bouncy as before. Again his body reacted, enfolding her in an arm. Dor had never before experienced such sensation. Suddenly he was aware that his body knew what to do, if only he let it. That she was willing. That it could be an experience like none he had imagined in his young life. He was twelve; his body was older. It could do it.

"Oh, Dor," she murmured, bending her head to kiss him on the mouth. Her lips were so sweet he-

The flea chomped him hard on the left ear. Dor bashed at it-and boxed his ear. The pain was brief but intense.

He stood up, dumping Millie roughly to her feet "I have to get some rest," he said.

She made no further sound, but only stood there, eyes downcast. He knew he had hurt her terribly. She had committed the cardinal maidenly sin of being forward, and been rebuked. But what could he do? He did not exist in her world. He would soon depart, leaving her alone for eight hundred years, and when they rejoined he would be twelve years old again. He had no right!

But oh, what might have been, had he been more of a man.

There was no attack in the night, and none in the morning-but the siege had not been lifted. The Mundanes were preparing another onslaught, and the defenders simply had to wait for it. While precious time slipped by, and the situation worsened for King Roogna. Magician Murphy was surely smiling.

Dor found Millie and the Zombie Master having breakfast together. They were chatting merrily, but stopped as he joined them. Millie blushed and turned her face away.

The Zombie Master frowned. He was halfway handsome after one acclimatized to his gauntness. "Dor, our conversation was innocent. But it appears there is something amiss between you and the lady. Do you wish me to depart?"

"No!" Dor and Millie said together.

The Magician looked nonplused. "I have not had company in some time. Perhaps I have forgotten the social niceties. So I must inquire somewhat baldly: would you take exception, Dor, if I expressed an interest in the lady?"

A green icicle of jealousy stabbed into Dor. He fought it off. But he could not speak.

Now Millie turned her large eyes on Dor. There was a mute plea in them that he almost understood. "No!" he said. Millie's eyes dropped, hurt again. Twice he had rejected her.

The Zombie Master shrugged his bony shoulders. "I do not know what else I can say. Let us continue our meal."

Dor thought of asking him to help the King, but realized again that what the Magician might do at his behest was suspect-and had an inspiration. What Dor himself did might lack validity, and what Jumper did-but what Millie did should hold up. She was of this world. So if she persuaded the Zombie Master to help the King-

A zombie entered. "Ttaakk," it rattled. "Hhoourr."

"Thank you, Bruce," the Zombie Master said. He turned to the others. "The Mundanes are organizing for another attack in an hour. We had best repair to our stations."

This time the attack came on Jumper's side. The Mundanes had assembled a massive battering ram. Not a real ram; those animals did not seem to have evolved yet. A mock ram fashioned from a heavy trunk of ironwood, mounted on wheels. Dor heard the boom and shudder as it crashed over the bridge they laid down over the moat and collided with the old stone. He hoped the wall was holding, but could not go to see or help: his post was here, not to be deserted lest another ladder attack come without warning. The others had had the discipline to stay clear of his section, last time, for the same reason. This was a special kind of courage, this standing aloof and ignorant.