Free Castle Kidnapped by John Dechancie Page B

machine."
    â€œDon't you think we'd better ask the owner? Anyway, I don't think I'm ready for that yet. Still in the theory stages, and I'm already floundering. Work on finding Gene, I'll search the catalogue myself."
    â€œMay I ask what problem His Majesty is working on?"
    â€œThere seems to be a major disturbance affecting the stresses between the universes. Somewhere, something—or someone—is pumping a lot of energy out of the interdimensional plenum. It could be a natural phenomenon, but I suspect foul play. The disturbance is just barely detectable at this stage, but if it continues, we could be in for a nasty bout of instability here."
    Osmirik nodded gravely. “I see."
    â€œWe have to find out where it's coming from, and figure out a way to stop it."
    â€œI am ready to render every assistance."
    â€œGood. Too bad about Gene, and that only makes it more likely that someone is up to something."
    Osmirik gave an involuntary shudder. “I only hope, sire, that it is not the Hosts of Hell again."
    â€œUnfortunately,” Incarnadine said with a wan smile, “that's exactly what I fear."
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    Caves
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    He woke up in a cool dark place. Looking around, he found that he was in some sort of rock-walled chamber. A cave? Yes, a cave. Now, how the heck had he gotten here? What ...?
    Huh? His hands were tied! He rolled to his back, then levered himself to a sitting position. Pain immediately flooded his head, and he waited until the throbbing subsided to a tolerable level. Then he resumed exploring his environment, if only visually.
    He was sitting on a low bed of animal skins. More hides draped the walls, along with a few weapons with copper-colored blades: a knife, an ax, and a sword. The glow from coals in a nearby brazier supplemented light from a copper lamp at the foot of the bed. There was little other furniture save for some low footstools and an oversized pillow or two.
    Memory trickled back. He remembered the vehicle tipping over, then after that being dragged from the wreckage. The next thing to come out of a cloud of dim recollection was the sensation of jouncing around on the back of a horse or some other animal. He had a vague memory of watching the ground go by beneath him; he must have been slung facedown over the back of the animal. He remembered hearing voices talking a strange language.
    So the Umoi had not completely died out. Whoever had made these weapons and skinned these animals must be their descendants.
    Pain swelled again, and he lay back down. Probably had a nasty concussion, he decided. Better take it easy for a while.
    He wondered why Zond had never mentioned the possibility that some Umoi might have survived. Was it because the city simply didn't know? Perhaps Zond didn't care.
    Anyway, lucky for him that there was someone about to rescue him, get him to shelter. He might have died out there in the desert. He tugged at the cords binding his wrists. Pretty sturdy; looked like leather of some sort. Well, any of those weapons hanging above looked capable of making short work of his bonds—if he could summon the strength to get up and use them.
    He struggled to his feet and found himself terribly dizzy. He took a few wobbling steps, weakened, and collapsed back to the bed.
    Maybe he had internal injuries as well. If so, he was a goner, judging from the state of the local technology. These jokers hadn't discovered iron yet. Maybe not even bronze. Correction—they had forgotten iron and bronze, along with all the rest of their fabulous science and technology. Given it all up, in the interest of environmental purity, granola, and all the rest of that stuff.
    But why didn't Zond know?
    One way to find out. He would ask Zond. This was a good test of the communications gear that the city had manufactured for him. It consisted of circuitry woven into the fabric of his jumpsuit.
    â€œZond? Can you hear me?"
    There was some static; then: “Of