Castle for Rent Read Online Free

sense of decay, of desuetude, of things coming apart. Pity. It was a good town, but it had once been a great town.
    The curio shop was just where he remembered it to be. The shops around it had been long since boarded up. A derelict lay unconscious on the sidewalk a few doors away. In the other direction, a nervous-looking youth regarded him from the doorway of an abandoned storefront.
    He entered to the soft tinkling of a bell. The place was stuffed to the ceiling with an amazing collection of miscellaneous junk, and he was astonished to recognize some pieces from years before. Obviously business had not been brisk. The place smelled of must, dust, and stale cigar smoke.
    There was a sallow young man behind the counter. He did not smile when he asked, “Can I help you?"
    â€œIs Mr. Trent in?"
    â€œWhy ... yes, he is. Who shall I say is calling?"
    â€œCarney. John Carney."
    â€œOne moment."
    The young man slipped through a tattered curtain into a back room. There was a murmuring of voices. Then the young man returned.
    â€œMr. Trent will see you. This way."
    He followed the young man into the back room. There, seated at an ancient rolltop desk, was a man in his early sixties wearing a gray suit of fashionable cut, along with a burgundy tie, a tailored shirt with a crisply starched collar, and oxblood loafers burnished to a mirror shine. Even in the dim light he cut an imposing figure. His hair was blond-white, his face thin. His eyes were ethereal blue disks over a thin blade of a nose. The mouth was small and precise. He regarded his visitor, eyes narrowing, straining for recognition. At length and with some astonishment, he said, “It is you."
    â€œHello, Trent."
    Trent rose and offered his hand, nodding to the young man, who retreated through the curtain.
    â€œIncarnadine,” Trent said.
    â€œGreetings, my long-lost brother,” Incarnadine said in Haplan, the ancient tongue of the even more ancient tribe of the Haplodites. “How dost thee fare?"
    â€œThou art a sight for longing eyes,” Trent answered. “Let's stick to English,” he added, “or Alvin will start to wonder."
    â€œAlvin looks okay. I'll bet he's heard many a strange thing back here."
    â€œYou're right. Have a seat.” Trent dragged up a battered hardback chair.
    Incarnadine sat. “It's been a long time."
    â€œHow did you ever manage to get here?” Trent said.
    â€œWell, I've been meaning to crack the problem of the lost gateway for the longest time. Just recently it occurred to me that it could be one of the orbiting variety, the kind that don't necessarily stay inside the castle. So, I whipped up a flyer, searched the sky over the castle—and sure enough, there it was. Had a devil of a time chasing it down, though."
    Trent lit a small brown cigar and puffed on it. “After thirty years, you decide to do this. Why?"
    Incarnadine shrugged. “Any number of reasons. I miss New York ... I miss this world. Lots of memories here.” He smiled. “I thought you might have been stranded here when the spell stabilizing the gateway went on the fritz."
    Trent looked hard at him. “You thought. And it takes you thirty years to decide to find out for sure?"
    â€œWhat is time to a spawn of Castle Perilous? Sorry. Were you stranded? Are you?"
    â€œYou said yourself that you found the thing floating in the sky. Where did it leave out?"
    â€œAbout three thousand feet over the East River."
    Trent whistled. “And you were flying a magical contrivance?” He shook his head. “Tough spot to be in."
    â€œYeah. I'd really forgotten how hard it was to practice the Recondite Arts around here."
    â€œWhat did you do?"
    â€œWell, when the plane dissolved, I tried just about everything on the way down. At about three seconds to impact I tried a simple protection spell, and that saved the day. And my hide. I hit pretty hard, though. Fortunately, it was only a few strokes