Castle for Rent by John Dechancie

Author:John Dechancie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ereads.com
Published: 1988-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

They ate at a Burger King on the Pennsylvania Turnpike near Reading. It was about eight o'clock, and the night was cold and dark.

“What's with the gadget?” Trent asked as he munched his Whopper.

“Checking some parameters,” Incarnadine said as he tapped with one finger on the keys of a pocket computer. “Stresses, field strengths, other variables. I can't keep track of them by feel here."

“That's the first thing you've got to learn. You can't use technology as a crutch here. Otherwise your magic becomes a sort of pseudoscience."

Incarnadine smiled ruefully. “I know what you mean. But getting an intuitive grip on things is going to take a little more time. For me, at least."

“Don't worry, you'll get it eventually."

“I hope I get it before I get it, if you take my meaning."

“You haven't touched your french fries."

“I can't get used to this kind of food. Ring Lardner once told me that American culture could only get more bland and homogenized as time went on, and he was right."

“I like American food,” Trent said. “It's fast, nice and greasy, and appeals to the kid in us all."

“Nothing wrong with hamburgers and fried potatoes. It's just that—uh, never mind. Can we go?"

“Of course."

They walked out into the brisk winter night. The parking lot was well lighted near the restaurant, but Trent had parked on the dim outskirts under a burnt-out light.

“Ring Lardner?” Trent said. “You were always one to hobnob with the literati."

“Forever courting the Muse's favored. I liked the old Algonquin Round Table crowd, back in the twenties and thirties. Those were the days."

“Who was that writer woman you had a fling with back then?"

“Dorothy Parker? Very briefly. She was fun, but she had a melancholy streak in her. You know, she once said to me—"

A windshield shattered in front of them, its sound almost masking the dull thud of a silenced gunshot that came from behind. Incarnadine dove over a hood, slid off the fender, hit concrete, and rolled to a crouch. He listened, seeing nothing. He heard running footsteps recede. Then a car door slammed, and tires squealed. He peeked over the front end of an Audi and saw a dark nondescript sedan peeling out of the lot. It screeched onto the turnpike re-entry ramp and sped away.

Trent came over, holding a compact submachine gun. He handed it to Incarnadine.

“You keep this. They could be laying for us down the road."

Incarnadine examined the weapon, then clicked on the safety and folded up the wire stock. “I guess this puts you in the clear."

“Maybe. I could have had one of my guys stage it."

“Possible, but unlikely."

“You're right.” Trent yawned. “Let's go. We have a five-hour drive ahead of us."

“You look tired. Want me to drive?"

“When was the last time you drove an automobile?"

“1958, I think.” Incarnadine said. “Why?"

“I have a pretty good autopilot spell. We can both nap. We're going to need some sleep before we tackle Ferne's place."

“Do you trust the spell?"

“It drives better than I do,” Trent said. “Besides, I belong to the Triple-A.

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