It was a few minutes later before she stepped back, wiping her eyes. "You are cold, Lady Tam Tam."
"I am, yes."
"We need to warm you-"
"My kind is never warm, Your Highness."
"Do I want to know what manner of being you are?"
"Probably not."
"Very well. But you are here to save my baby?"
"We are," I said.
"Then we shouldn't delay a drammit longer."
Allison's words in my mind: They are the equivalent of seconds, remember?
I nodded, recalling. "I agree. Not a drammit longer."
"What do you need from me?" the queen asked.
Allison and I exchanged glances. We knew the story well; most important, we knew who kidnapped her baby. And where she was being held.
I said, "Lead us to the dungeon."
Chapter Thirty
It was late and the castle was quiet.
Guards stood at the head of each hallway and floor; all bowed deeply as we approached. Many kept their gaze on us, and one or two made to block us, until a snappy order from their queen got them to back off. The guards were tall and muscular. Most sported broadswords sheathed to their backs, and smaller rapiers hitched along their hips. The sentries all looked vaguely similar, and I wondered if this was a result of the limits of Charlie's imagination. Had he simply mentioned that all the castle guards were tall, muscular and square-jawed? I suspected he had. Which begged the question: was this world only as detailed as Charlie described? Or was it able to extend beyond even his imagination, and take on a life of its own, so to speak?
I didn't know, but judging by the sameness of the castle guards, I was beginning to suspect the answer lay somewhere with the former. Obviously, Charlie hadn't described each and every sentry's physical appearance in the book. That would have bogged down the book. Nor had he described every inch of these hallways, yet I could see the individual bricks that made up the walls. Anthony once described the process of how video games were made using texture-mapping, which was a method of repeating details throughout a game, with variances for lighting, weather, and other factors that the programmers had determined to be important.
Really, Sam? Video games? We have a baby to find.
Aren't you at all curious about how this world was actually made?
Not right now.
We turned another corner and headed down a flight of steep, circular stairs. According to Charlie, we were in the royal keep. I ran my hand along the wall, noting the solidity of it, and the general massiveness of the structure itself. And all from the mind of one man. No, one creator.
When the stairs leveled off, Queen Autumn led the way forward, her evening gown flowing behind her. The lolling guards, clearly surprised by her sudden late-night visit, snapped to attention-and then promptly reached for their swords when they saw us. She waved them all away. Surely the three of us were a curious sight.
We entered a massive hall lined with tapestries so ornate that Charlie must have spent considerable time on them in his notes, as I didn't recall them mentioned in the book. After all, he had spent a lifetime on those notes, having only recently put pen to paper for his first novel.
The tapestries were quickly forgotten-and so was all thought, for that matter-when I spied the man standing at the far end of the room. Both Allison and I gasped, recognizing the great knight immediately. Sir Rory, the queen's protector knight, was unlike anyone I had ever seen, and probably would never see again. In the book, Charlie had spent considerable time on the man, who undoubtedly filled many pages of notes, too. Unlike the cookie-cutter guards who filled the upper levels of the castle, this man was a shining beacon of detail: the long, flowing, white hair. The bare, broad shoulders. The leather jerkin must have seen dozens if not hundreds of battles. Leather trousers that were entirely too form-fitting for my own and Allison's own good. Boots that marched up his calves, laced with silver buckles. A long broadsword that ran diagonally from one shoulder down to the opposite hip. Only Kingsley would have matched the size and breadth of Sir Rory.
Rory stepped away from the young man he'd been conversing with-a man I immediately recognized by his unruly black hair as the knight-in-training, Caleb-and blocked our path. We all pulled up short, although I might not have minded running headlong into the big man standing before us. I imagined his cat-like reflexes would have kept me on my feet, all while he held me up with those strong arms.
Hey, said Allison, I just had the same thought! Are you sure you can't read my mind?