"My liege!"

Carrying a large leather-bound book, his index finger wedged inside it, Osmirik ran into the room and knelt at his liege lord's feet.

"Arise, good and faithful servant. Whaddya got there?"

"The spell, Your Majesty! The containment spell for the Hosts of Hell! Your ancestor, Ervoldt, used this ancient Tryphosite spell for confining evil spirits. I've done a rough translation of some of the more obscure lines." He fumbled with a few sheets of paper.

Incarnadine scanned the book. "Tryphosite, eh? You don't say. Ervoldt was a wise old coot, wasn't he?

Yes, yes, I see. This should work. Excellent job, Osmirik. I knew I could count on you."

"I am only too happy to be of service to His Serene and Transcendent Majesty."

"This looks like it has a decay time of a little over five thousand years. No wonder Ferne unraveled it so easily. It was just about due to go on the fritz, anyway. Do you suppose if we made some modifications we could increase the effective time - say, here ... and here?"

Osmirik looked over the King's shoulder. "Oh, I should say so, Your Majesty."

Incarnadine read the section through again, nodding. "Yes, it should work." He closed the book and handed it back to the librarian. "Thank you, Osmirik. I am forever in your debt."

Astonished, Osmirik accepted the volume. "His Majesty does not need a working copy ... ?"

Incarnadine smiled. "You needn't bother. I'm a fast study."

Awed, Osmirik bowed and backed away.

Incarnadine looked out the window. "The house will probably oscillate a little before it settles down to the present. A half hour, I'd say. Did anyone check out the kitchen? There might be something to eat in there. Is anyone as famished as I am?"

The house bounced for two full hours between the future and the past until eventually zeroing in on its target, the fleeting instant of the present. In the meantime, they ate a meal of canned food made tolerable by an excellent Chablis that Gene found in the cellar, along with many other drinkable spirits. Barnaby and Deena came down in time for dessert: canned cherries jubilee with a superb Napoleon brandy.

"There was more demons upstairs," Deena told them. "We saw one of them!"

"An incubus," Incarnadine said. "A technician, probably. Blue-collar type, not one of the warrior demons of the sort you people battled. Relatively harmless."

"Do you think any of them are still here?" Barnaby wanted to know.

"No," Trent said. "If the warriors died of spell exhaustion, the underlings didn't have a chance."

Deena told of the one who had jumped out the window.

"One chance in a million of survival that way. Not that it's any great loss."

They all agreed not to lose any sleep over it.

"How did they manage to fool your sister?" Gene asked.

"Well, their disguises fooled you," Incarnadine said. "Didn't they? But you're right, my sister should have known better. I suspect she succumbed to their influence a long time ago."

"You mean, she was a puppet?"

"No. The Hosts are persuasive. I've told you how, as young people, we all had a brief flirtation with them. She was acting in their interests all along, and I don't think she realized it. Of course, this in no way exonerates her."

Sheila said, "When you go back to the castle, you don't expect to have any trouble?"

"None," Incarnadine said, finishing the last of his wine. "I can beat them, and they know it now. Their only chance was to kill me, or keep me out of the castle. They couldn't do the former and they can't do the latter."

"Couldn't they - ?" Sheila shook her head, puzzled.

"No, they're licked. Sure, they could battle me every inch of the way back to their portal. But they know they'd lose in the end. I suspect they've totally withdrawn from the castle."

Sheila frowned. "It's so hard to understand."

"Yes, almost impossible. I don't pretend to understand them, nor do I fully understand everything that's happened. But if Ferne's still alive, I'm hoping to get some answers." Incarnadine sat back. "When I've finished in the castle, I'll send back word here, so you can come on through, if you wish."

"I'm leaving from here," Sheila said. "I've only been gone a few days."

"Fine. I'm sure you'll find a car in the garage. You're welcome to use it."

"I still think I should do a time trip," Gene said. "And so should Linda. Our folks will think we've come back from the dead."

"Well, it will take some time to set up," Incarnadine said.

Trent said, "There's no need for that, if you want to take another tack."

"How so?" Incarnadine asked.

Trent spoke to Gene. "Write a letter to your folks and make up some good excuse for your absence.

It's no problem for me to take that letter and back-time it a year or so."

Incarnadine was surprised. "You've been dabbling in time travel?"

"Sending people back is a little beyond my skill. But dropping a few letters into the postal stream of twelve months ago would be a breeze."

"Trent, I think you've become the family's best magician."

"Coming from you, that's quite a compliment."

"I like the idea," Gene said. "It means we could just pile into the car with Sheila and drive home now.

Those stories are going to have to be pretty good, though. Now, let's see. What wild yarn could we come up with?"

"Could somebody lend me plane fare to California?" Linda asked.

"No problem," Trent said. "Put it on my MasterCard."

"Thanks. You're very kind."

"We princes are naturally charming."

"He's been using lines like that for three hundred years," Incarnadine warned.

"Go to hell, Inky."

Incarnadine rose from the table. "I think it's just about time."

Thirty-two.

Castle THE TWO BROTHERS stepped through the veil their sister had erected to block the portal. Being of the House of Haplodie, they were immune; no spell could keep them out of the castle.

They found their sister Ferne slumped in a chair in the parlor, three empty sherry bottles at her feet. She was polishing off the remains of a fourth. Seeing Trent, dim recognition formed in her eyes.

"'Lo," was all she managed, along with a twisted smile.

"Stay with her," Incarnadine said.

"For as long as I can," Trent said.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't stay in the castle for any length of time. It's the spell Dad laid on me when we had our difference of opinion. He banished me, Inky. Never told anyone. I guess he felt a little guilty."

Nonplussed, Incarnadine said, "What sort of spell?"

"Nothing much. It's just that if I stay here longer than, say, ten minutes, I begin to get a case of the paranoid heebie-jeebies. I just go quietly nuts and get this overwhelming urge to run screaming from the place. Very effective."

"Gods. I'm sorry, Trent. I wish I had known."

"Yeah. Well, I didn't tell anyone, for the shame of it all. Silly, I guess. It's not my fault Dad had it in for me."

Incarnadine felt restrained from commenting. "Uh, well, if you have to go - listen. Thanks. I'll never forget it, Trent."

"Don't mention it. Look me up next time you're in New York."

"I will."

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"Farewell, brother."

"Farewell," Incarnadine said. He turned and left the parlor.

He found Deems in the outer halls, along with the bodies of thousands of his men. Many had died of wounds, but more had succumbed to spell exhaustion. Judging from the number of enemy dead, they had given a good account of themselves, defending a strange castle in a foreign land.

Incarnadine took his overcoat off and covered his brother's body with it, then recited a prayer for the departed.

He walked a good distance into the castle before encountering carcasses of the previous invaders. The place already stank to high heaven. It would be a monumental cleanup job.

A whispering silence held throughout the castle. Death skulked in the shadows, but would not show its face. Time hung like cobwebs in the corners.

Incarnadine walked with purposeful stride. As he did, he got the feeling that someone or something was ahead of him, keeping just out of sight. He didn't see anything.

He knew exactly where to go. It was a long trip, and a lonely one. The years echoed in the halls, reverberating off stone-vaulted ceilings.

In a dim crypt in the nethermost reaches of the castle, he found what he sought. A black oblong lay inscribed in gray shadows. He approached it.

He heard his name called, far off, faint.

"No," he said.

Dim shapes swam within the portal, and a cold wind blew out of it. There came to his ears a faint wailing and weeping.

He ignored it, raising his hands. He began the spellcasting, reciting each line of the incantation crisply and distinctly. As he continued, the wailing grew louder and louder.

The spell was short, succinct, and to the point. He finished it with a flourish of his hands, and the sounds emanating from the portal ceased. He stepped forward and peered into the darkness. What had been a gaping hole was now a blank stone wall. He reached out and touched it. The portal was gone.

On his way back, he undid the protective spells over a few of the aspects his Guardsmen had retreated into along with most of the castle's local citizenry, and many of its Guests.

Tyrene, the captain of the Guard, was standing watch inside one of them. When the portal opened, Tyrene regarded his liege lord with some disgruntlement. Obviously he did not care for hiding out while the castle was overrun by invaders. But he had had his orders. Incarnadine did his best to assuage him and salve his wounded pride. Then he bade him sound recall.

Whistling a tune he had heard during his stay on Earth, he trudged up to his study to begin the job of bringing the castle back to life.

Thirty-three.

Throne Room HIS SERENE AND Transcendental Majesty sat in state upon the Siege Perilous.

"Bring the prisoner," he ordered.

The prisoner was escorted through the huge room and brought to kneel at His Majesty's feet.

"Arise," he commanded. Then he said, "Do you have anything to say on your behalf before I pronounce judgment on you?"

Ferne shrugged. "Not really."

"Perhaps you can clarify a few issues."