The ground under the window had turned to slurry a long time ago. It was a good thing too, or Comet’s landing would have come off a lot worse than it had.
She stayed where she had fallen for a long time, half sunk in mud, looking up at the sky in a shell-shocked way. The gummy ghost had stuck its head out of the window and yelled abuse, but hadn’t seemed keen on following. Eventually it had gone back inside.
When she was sure it was gone Comet had pushed herself up, slowly and stiffly stumbling into the yard.
It was oddly peaceful out there. The rain was resting, fallen off to a chilly mist. The nearly full moon poked through a thinned sheet of clouds, blue light shimmering off the gathered pools. Wind whimpered through the turrets above, and the sound of the ocean drifted up from the far side of the yard, bringing with it the smell of salt and a comforting, familiar feel.
There was a large, white stone fountain resting in the middle of the lawn. By some miracle it was still running, streams of clear water rippling from tier to tier before settling in a polished basin. That was the first place Comet had gone, stripping off her soiled riding cloak and dropping it into the lowest pool. She watched as the as dark rings of mud wafted through the basin, then set the lantern on the marble lip and washed her face in the water of the fountain-heads. The lantern had taken the fall worse than she had: a long, ragged crack now ran through the exterior glass, and lose bits rattled inside the housing every time it was moved. Comet knew she should turn it on, check to see if it still worked, but something kept her from doing so. Maybe it was the effect of blunt force trauma, but it felt as though turning on the light would wake something. Something that was better left sleeping.
When the ringing in her ears subsided some, Comet began to explore, leaving both the lamp and the cloak behind.
The first thing she did was look for the dragons, or more specifically, any signs that they had passed. It didn’t take long for her to succeed. A little ways past the fountain was a horrendous upheaval of earth. There were no footprints, those had been washed out already it would seem, but no amount of rain could hide the gashes. Somebody had taken off from this spot, or both of them had, it was hard to tell.
The notion didn’t bother Comet overly much. Flying was something dragons did, and there was nothing unusual about it; they hadn’t found a suitable spot back here, so they had nipped over the building to check somewhere else.
All she needed to do was follow, but there was no easy way out of this courtyard. Not that Comet could see anyways.
She searched over the place again, looking for any sort of exit, but all she saw was the iron fence. It was twisted and dark with age; ten feet of ornate iron spikes guarding the courtyard on all sides. There was one gate leading off of it, at the far back of the yard. At one point this had probably opened on a stretch of castle grounds, but the cliff had eroded since then. The fence was actually hanging over the edge in places, and the gate itself opened on nothing; the sea stretching away beyond, knit into distant clouds.
Comet knew better than to go near that gate, she had more than her share of experiences around crumbling cliffs. But there couldn’t be just one way out, not off a courtyard of this size.
Her eyes continued to follow the dark pickets. The castle was shaped like a squashed ‘U’, left and right wings swinging forward almost to the cliff’s edge. On the right there was nothing; the gate slunk right up the protruding wall where it disappeared, imbedded into the stones. To the left the fence stretched further, continuing around the base of one of the building’s spires. Comet’s expression curdled; the gap between the stone wall and the cliff was narrower than she liked. Yes, there was a fence between her and the edge, but that wouldn’t help much if the ground fell out from under your feet.
But it was the only place left to go.
She approached the place carefully, pressing close to the wall as the strip of land narrowed. The stones were clammy under her hands as she shuffled along the tower’s curve, gripping at the climbing stalks of ivy. The ocean churned below, licking the stones of the cliff; cool, wet air rose in billows, whipping her hair into a red gale and spitting salt in her eyes; but the ground stayed solid.
Around the curve Comet found a small alcove. It was hemmed in by mats of overgrown foliage, a mix of ivy and what seemed to be creeping rose. The stuff was everywhere, crawling up the walls of the tower, obscuring the windows, and all but pulling down the fence. Wilted flower heads still clung to the vines, brown and limp and soggy, nipped to death by the chill.
As she had hopped, where was another gate here as well. Comet went straight to it, pressing her way through the briar then froze. Roses had grown over it in a fountain, lacing it shut with their graceful vines. That was a minor problem, hardly worth mentioning. The concern was more in what lay on the other side: the crumbling remains of a cemetery.
Comet released her hold on the gate and took a step back. She didn’t like graveyards on a good day, but the idea of going through one tonight of all nights was enough to make her sick.
She stepped away a few more paces, unsure of what to do. After a moment or two of hesitation, she went back the way she had come.
There was a fresh pack of ghosts waiting for her when she reached the courtyard again. They didn’t give her too much trouble; whether these particular ghosts had encountered her before, or her reputation had proceeded her was hard to tell. Whatever it was, though, most of them fled as soon as her weapon was out. The few that remained were easy enough to drive away.
When the last of the stragglers had vanished, Comet tramped back to the fountain and irritably collecting her things. It was safe to say that the courtyard enchanted atmosphere was totally gone. The rain was back again, coming down in a demure drizzle, the fuzzy feel in her head was fast turning to a migraine, and after all of her trouble this place had turned out to be a dead end.
The only thing left to do was go to the castle, find a way to get back inside.
Comet tramped back towards its looming eves, returning its dark expression in kind. There was going to be no fooling around this time. She knew were she was going in, and she intended to go straight until she reached the front exit, even if she had to blast through a dozen doors to do it. Going back through the window she had fallen from was totally out of the question. Even if she could scale the wet roof in the dark, there was a large, disgusting ghost waiting for her on the other side. She didn’t want to be on the second floor anyways. There were more windows on the ground floor, but again, the protective lattice was an issue.
Comet continued to march along the building’s length, just outside its stretching shadow. There were doors imbedded in the wall, but the majority of them were also impassable, covered in those idiotic blue vines. She had already made up her mind a long time ago: no matter what she did, she would not be touching those vines. There did seem to be one door, though, all the way on the end of the curve, that wasn’t glowing. She lengthened her stride, stepped around the crumbling, boarded over well, and closed the distance to the door.
It was locked, but that didn’t matter much.
A good deal of banging later, and the door was open. She allowed the waiting ghosts to pick sides, then charged in, making quick work of the ones who stayed. The last one vanished with an aggravated squeal and everything was plunged into dark.
Comet raised her sword high over the room, the ionized fizz casting a shadowy light. She stepped forward cautiously, avoiding the junk strewn across the floor and watching for more specters.
There were a lot of metal pieces lying around, which she assumed were weights. A rack if rusty weapons was tipped over in the corner, and nibbled leather things were moldering off their wall mounted pegs. Excepting a few stray weights, the middle of the floor was empty. It must have been a sparring room, Comet thought, then jerked around to face a movement on her left, ready to swat whatever it was with either the sword or the lamp--whichever was most handy. She froze mid strike, though, when she realised it was only a mirror.
She shook her head with something like disgust, sheathed her weapon, and turned her attention to the doors leading off the room. Again, there were two of them, one locked, the other not. She took the unlocked one without a second thought.
As it turned out, though, it was the wrong move.
There were more ghosts in the room beyond. More humanoid ghosts. Three of them were sitting around a table, engrossed in what seemed to be a game of cards. At first Comet didn’t notice them; they weren’t totally visible, flicking in and out with a haze of aquamarine and blue.
When she did see them she froze, thanking her lucky stars that she hasn’t turned the flood lamp on yet. Her first thought was to go back, slip away before they noticed her, but then again, what good would that do? If she tried to force the other door they would definitely hear. It was a miracle they hadn’t heard her breaking in from the courtyard.
There was another door at the other end of the room. It was ajar just the slightest bit. She was so far in already there wasn’t really a difference going one way or the other. She stepped a little faster.
But, of course, things didn’t go as planned.
At first it worked perfectly. Comet knew well enough how to move quietly, and the ghosts were intent on their game. She managed to make it a good three-fourths of the way there before one of them yawned and inexplicably turned around.
Comet froze, hoping the shadows would obscure her figure (these things’ night vision didn't seem to be all that good, ironically) but when it froze, eyes wide and mouth stuck mid yawn, she knew it hadn’t worked. The other two ghosts gave their companion a confused look, then craned around to see what had caused the disturbance. Then they saw her too, and fell into roughly the same expression.
They looked like a proper pack of codfish.
• • •
E. Gadd wasn’t in the entry when Luigi slid down the ladder; the little room was bright, cluttered, and lifeless. Not knowing what else to do, Luigi waited, and after a moment there was a patter of steps from the next room.
A second later the professor came bursting through the doorway, looking extremely enthusiastic.
“Good job, Lad” he blared. “I told you you were a natural!”
Luigi couldn’t help but give a half smile, despite how cross he felt.
“This way, this way. I have something to show you,” E. Gadd said, plunging into the back room again. Luigi followed him.
It was the first time Luigi had been back there, and it was hard to believe that it was part of the same place. The space was narrower and longer than the front room, and much, much cleaner. One wall was set aside for cabinets and a sort of mini, makeshift kitchen, but the rest was entirely dedicated to the computer.
Monitors of all shapes, sizes, and builds were splayed across three walls in a tight grid, and the stacks of processors tucked under the button riddled desk filled the air with a cherry, monotone note. A tall swivel chair rested in front of it all; Luigi recognized its aged red leather from his video calls with the professor. Several of the wall screens were on--displaying an assortment of charts, a map of the castle, and what seemed to be live feed from some of the rooms he had cleared--these were the only source of light in the room, leaving the rest of the space dim and discolored in the secondary light.
But the computer room wasn’t what the Professor wanted to show him, it would seem. Wedged between the file cabinets and the cook station was another door: to this the professor went with almost a skip in his step.
Luigi followed behind more slowly, trying not to shy at the flashing lights and sorting out his thoughts. He had some choice words for the professor when he had left the baby’s room, but now that he was here in the lab, watching the little man bustle about, the will to say them was leaking away. At least the will to say them in any particular harshness. The professor had got the door open by now (which had taken some doing, as it seemed to have been stuck) and was holding it open expectedly as Luigi crossed the threshold. Luigi stepped up his pace as to not keep him waiting, and the two of them plunged down the stairs beyond.
It was a disaster down there. Tools, wires, bits of metal, and blueprints overflowing a double workbench and migrating onto the abused dirt floor.The bitter smell of motor oil hung thick in the air. Devices in all stages of absurdity and completion were everywhere, but none of them could compete with the device occupying the far corner of the room. There, taking up the whole of the far wall, was the biggest, most outlandish machine Luigi had ever seen.
Of course, this was exactly the device the professor went to, weaving through the minefield that was the floor and bounding onto the metal scaffolding running along its side.
“What is that?” asked Luigi, hanging back on the stairs.
“This,” said the professor, applying himself to its control panel, “Is the Portrificationizer. Step up here, lad! It won’t bite!”
Reluctantly, Luigi picked his way across the room and climbed the steps of scaffolding himself, eyeing the device warily. It wasn’t so much one machine as a collection of machines all strung together by a conveyor belt. There were all sorts of contraptions along its track: pistons, electric grids, tanks of odd, bluish fluid. Getting caught in the thing didn’t look like it would be hard once it was moving--given how close it was to the scaffold--and it didn’t look like it would be pleasant either.
E. Gadd ran up and down the catwalk, calibrating, tweaking and adjusting. With a final tap of buttons on the main control panel the whole monstrosity woke with a shudder and an electric sigh.
“She’s ready to go! Now plug ‘er in!” said the professor. “The poltergust nozzle, that slot there,” he clarified when Luigi glanced around awkwardly.
Luigi walked to the spot notioned and slid the nozzle of the poltergust into the waiting niche. The machine bit down on it, and green lights flashed on both the canister and the main control panel. There was a pressurized, airy slurping, the machine let go of the poltergust, and with a shudder and a spit of steam, the whole thing started to move.
The first thing to come to life was the tank. Luigi stepped back sharpish as the liquid inside began to churn. E.Gadd had no such hesitations; he ran right up next to it, plastering himself to the port-hole window on its side. As the tank began to settle the conveyor started to roll, bringing with it a series of what seemed to be picture frames.
Luigi watched with reasonable discomfort as the machine pressed, zapped, and baked the contents of the conveyor, until finally the frames rolled to a stop at the end of the line.
“Linda, Nevil, and Chancy,” ticked off the professor, lifting one of the frames off the belt. “Now that’s what I call a right proper start to things. Come take a gander at your handiwork!”
Luigi wasn’t convinced that he wanted to, but the professor was so enthusiastic it was hard to refuse. He shuffled over to join him.
There, at the end of the conveyor, were three paintings: the man, the woman, and the baby.
Luigi had an idea that was where the machine was going, and the concept didn’t shock him quite as much as it could have. He knew paintings could be odd here: he had come to the Mushroom Kingdom through a painting after all, and spent the better part of his first week jumping through even more of them when Peach's castle had been invaded. (Luigi shuddered. That was definitely not a week he would be forgetting any time soon.) But those had been portals to other destinations. Even the portraits of people were portals, the way to reach the… well, bosses entrusted with the keys to each prisoners cell.
“Where do they go?” asked Luigi, assuming the professor would understand.
“That’s the beauty of it,” was the triumphant reply. “They don’t go anywhere; they’re their own little patch of nothing.”
Luigi felt a tendril of unease slither around his stomach.
“Are you saying that the ghosts are…”
“Right there in front of us? Yes, in a sense. Quite ingenious, wouldn’t you say?”
Luigi didn’t know what to say.
“Can they see us?” he asked after a few moments.
The professor chuckled.
“No, lad, they can’t see us. They’re harmless as a normal painting, and as conscious as one too.”
“Are-- are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely,” said the professor, a hint of graveness coming into his voice. I made absolutely sure of that. You can’t keep something conscious cooped up, especially like that. It just wouldn't be right.”
Luigi shuddered at the thought. He was glad the professor shared the sentiment.
Warily, he picked up one of the portraits himself, the portrait of Chancy.
“Bet you’re glad to see that one locked away,” said E. Gadd.
The baby’s glowing green eyes peered back at Luigi from the canvas, all the playful malevolence he had shown in the nursery locked in his still expression. Slowly, he nodded. Yes, it was good to know that he was where he couldn’t do any harm.
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do with these,” the professor mumbled to himself. “Can’t get ‘em back to the gallery until the mansion’s been cleaned out. I suppose the training room will have to do for now…”
“Professor?” asked Luigi.
“What is it, Lad?”
“Why didn’t you warn me? About Chancy, I mean.”
“Ah.”
“I mean, you did mention stronger ghosts, but…”
The professor sighed.
“I would have given you more details, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you; thought it would be easier if you just saw them for yourself. And I had no idea that one of the troubled ones would be so close to the front of the place. Though I supposed I should have guessed Chancy would be drawn to the nursery.”
Luigi couldn’t help but agree with him.
“What other ghosts should I know about, professor?” he asked.
He instantly regretted his tone, though, as E. Gadd broke eye contact, looking down at the floor.
“There are a good dozen ghosts like that lose in the place. They can be cunning, and I would be careful of all of them. But Chancy, Chancy should be the worst of it. None of the other ghosts can warp reality like him-- unless there are more boos.”
“Are there more boos?” asked Luigi again, with a bit less harshness.
“I don’t know; there very well could be. You should be ready for them all the same.”
Luigi rubbed his face. Well, at least he had dealt with Chancy, and he was reasonably sure he had done it before Mario had a chance to run into him.
“You want these in the training room?” Luigi asked.
“Yes,” said the professor.
Luigi nodded, took a painting under each arm, and followed the professor back up the stairs.
• • •
Comet had no intention of giving the ghosts time to react. She jumped up, bolting the last few yards to the open door. She would have made it to, if it weren’t for the other specter who loomed up in her way. It gave a surprised kip, jerking back as she skidded and turned, breaking for the sparing room and the yard. But the other ghosts had figures out what she was about by then, and blocked that door too.
She backpedaled, looking wildly for another way out. The fourth ghost was in the doorway still, and the other three were drifting in her direction, glancing between themselves. Comet kept backing up until she felt something solid, drew her sword, and smashed the on button of the lamp, praying it would work.
It did. There was a collection of sputtered exclamations as light blasted through the room, casting the ghosts’ long, wavering shadows across the floor.
The ghost who seemed to be the ringleader went for the lamp, one shadowy hand over his face.
“Get back!”Comet barked, dropping the lamp on the floor and leveling her weapon at him with two hands. Its advance checked sharply.
“I said back off!” she snarled as another of the pack moved to advance as well. He too stopped uncertainty, glancing between his companions.
And then, much to her surprise, they actually listened. Starting with the ringleader, they drew away. The fourth actually half-raising his hands. Comet faltered for a moment, eyes flashing and teeth grit.
“Hold on there, lass,” said one of them, drifting forward the slightest bit.
“Don’t!” She barked again, leveling her weapon at him instead.
“Alright, alright, keep your hair on,” it mumbled, sliding back again.
The three of them glanced to the leader, obviously not knowing what to do.
They didn’t move, and neither did Comet. She didn’t understand, they couldn’t possibly be afraid of her. Not if they were anything like the fire-breathing thing in the tea room. Yet none of them attempted to attack.
Maybe it was the light; it had been off during her encounter with the other ghost, after all.
Comet took a chance and made a step for the door again. The group exchanged another quick glance, and the ringleader drifted smoothly in her way. She swept the lamp forward, butting it between herself and him. He flinched and squinted, but that was all.
“I’m sorry miss, but I can’t let you do that,” he said.
Comet completely ignored him and took another step forward. He didn’t back down.
“What on earth are you doing here?” asked another one of the ghosts.
Comet didn’t say anything, just stood tall and defiant, leveling her sword at the ghost in her way. He didn’t so much as flinch.
“If you think you can challenge me, you’re foolish.” He said. “And it only shows your ignorance. You would do best to go back the way you came in.”
The man glanced to his companions and they parted, giving her a clear shot to the exit. Still Comet didn’t move.
The ghost waited patiently, hands folded behind his back. It was obvious he had no intention of letting her past anytime soon.
“I’m not leaving.”
The man arched an eyebrow.
“Why not?” asked the first ghost.
“You can’t get out through that back courtyard, and you know it,” said Comet.
“Yes you can, lass, just go around to the left--”
“Through the graveyard!?”
“Yeah the-- that could be a problem…”
“Then how did get into the courtyard in the first place?” asked the ringleader.
“I came through from the front of the place, and am trying to get back there now, if you would excuse me.”
There was a moment of silence
“How did you manage that?” the second finally asked.
“By being very lucky,” said the ringleader.
“Do you think we can get her out?”
“Potentially. It’s possible the master of the house is too busy to bother with her.”
“I’m not leaving,” said Comet again.
“What is your problem lass? The old man’s trying to save your life,” piped up the first ghosts.
“There’s nothing in this old place worth the pillaging anyways,” said the second.
Comet threw him a look of pure indignance.
“I’m not here for treasure hunting,” she spat.
“Then what are you here for?” asked the ring leader.
“A place to stay, that was it,” said Comet sharply.
“Heck of a place you chose,” mumbled the fourth.
“Was?”
Comet didn’t answer.
Confusion played across the ghost’s face. Not hostility, really, just confusion, then slowly, his bushy eyebrows began to drop.
“You weren’t alone when you entered this place, were you?”
“No…”
“Woah , woah , wait, there’s somebody else here too? Where are they?” asked the first ghost.
“Do you think I’d still be here if I knew?”
There was another long moment of silence. A very tense silence.
“Where did you last see them?”
Comet was silent.
“Go on, spit it out,” said the first.
Comet flashed him another look.
“Near the entrance, in one of the servant’s halls by the kitchen. That’s where I lost her,” she said.
“How long ago,” asked the ringleader.
“I don’t know.”
“Was she attacked?”
“No, it was before we knew there was anything here.”
“How can you be so sure.” asked the Second
“Because she was right behind me, and I would have heard it.”
A few more confused glances were exchanged, but the issue wasn’t pressed any further.
“I’m going up to those halls to see what I can find,” said the second ghost.
“And I am going to pay a visit to madame Clairvoya,” said the ringleader. “Atlise, Clives, keep our guest here, and keep an eye on her.”
With that, he and his companion disappeared through the walls, leaving Comet in the custody of the other ghosts.
Notes:
Things keep getting busier around here, and are looking to continue to get busier until after the holidays. I was trying to avoid this and just work on the story slower, but I think I’m going to save myself the grief and put this on hold until January. I’ll still be around, and I’ll still be writing when I can (not writing has proven to have a poor effect on my mental stability), but I won’t post until the new year if I can help it. Maybe building some back-stock will help me to get onto a consistent every other week schedule, who knows.
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