The Warlock's Grandfather Read online

  "Rory? You can't mean it!"

  "No—Fess!"

  "Oh." Elaine leaned back and closed her eyes. "Yes, I suppose so—but chacun a son gout, my dear. For myself, I find that the only antiques acceptable in a household are furniture."

  "Antique!" Robin cried. "He's a virtual heirloom!"

  "Then you're quite welcome to inherit him," Rupert said drily, reaching for an analgesic, then paused in the act. "You know, perhaps that's it."

  Robin frowned. "What?"

  "The solution to the problem! Listen, you two seem to be able to tolerate the old man..."

  "Tolerate!" Robin spluttered.

  "I should certainly think so!" Rose said.

  "Chacun a son gout," Elaine muttered again.

  Rupert went on. "And you seem to think old Fess is some sort of marvel. And, well, you know there's the Grange..."

  Robin frowned. "You mean that house Great-Grandmother had built, because she couldn't abide living with Grandmother?"

  "Yes, that's the one! Look, I know it hasn't been used for nearly a century—but it has room enough for a family, and a good contingent of robots, though they're none of them new..."

  "Yes, yes, I know the house." Robin frowned. "We went there to explore often enough when we were boys. What of it, Rupert?"

  "Well, I could have it tidied and updated a bit, don't you know, and you could toddle off over there and live on your own—just the two of you, your boys, Pater, and Fess!"

  Rose darted a look of astonishment at her husband. Robin's eyes widened in hope.

  "What a splendid idea!" Elaine cried.

  "I'll deed it over to you, make it your own property, as soon as I inherit," Rupert assured them, "if you'll just take Pater with it, and take care of him there."

  "We would be delighted," Rose declared, before her husband could be self-effacing. "But don't bother updating it—just have the robots dusted, and make sure it's in good repair."

  "You are fond of antiques, aren't you?" Elaine muttered.

  But Robin thrust out his chin. "But see here, it won't do, you know! It won't do at all!"

  "Robin!" both women cried.

  "Why not?" Rupert said querulously.

  "Well, he's the Count! Don't you see? And the Count has to live in the castle!"

  Rupert scowled, thinking.

  "Oh, what a bothersome point!" Elaine cried.

  "Still, he's right, you know," Rupert said heavily. "Not for us to say where Pater will go or not go, is it? He is the Count!"

  "But he doesn't have to remain Count, does he?" Rose asked, a gleam in her eye.

  Rupert frowned, lifting an eyebrow. "As long as he lives, he does."

  "No, she's right!" Robin caught her enthusiasm. "If Pater chose to abdicate in your favor, he certainly could, couldn't he?"

  "Why—yes, I suppose so," Rupert said. "But why would he?"

  "Because he already wants to," Rose explained. "Don't you see it? Turning the factory over to you, closeting himself with his voice-writer—oh, all the signs point to it! He wants to retire! All he needs is an excuse to allow himself to do it!"

  "Perhaps," Rupert said slowly, "but can he find one?"

  "Oh, I think he may," Rose said, with a smile.

  "But I don't want to learn arithmetic," Richard grumped. They were trooping through the long gallery on the way back from riding lessons.

  "You will need to know it when you are grown, Richard," the nanny-bot answered.

  "What for?"

  The nanny-bot registered the presence of Rory, studying his ancestors at the far end of the gallery. The recognition initiated the robot's new sub-routine. "Because, Richard, when you grow up, you will work in d'Armand Automatons, designing robots."

  "Platinum! That'll be fun! But what do I need to know math for?"

  "You cannot design robots without knowing mathematics."

  Rory looked down from his studying.

  "Will I get to design robots, too, Nanny?"

  "Yes, Rodney. All d'Armands grow up to—"

  "No, Rodney." Rory came toward them with long strides. "You do not have to work in d'Armand Automatons if you do not want to!"

  The six-year-old looked up, startled. "I don't, Grandpa?"

  "No! You can travel! You can forge out into the Galaxy for a life of high adventure!"

  "Can I go look for adventure too, Grandpa?"

  The old man turned to Richard, and seemed to deflate a little. "Possibly, my boy—though your place is rightfully here."

  Richard stared in indignation. "Why can't I go?"

  "Because you are the eldest son, albeit the eldest of a second son, and as such, you will inherit... whatever Robin may leave."

  "Papa doesn't have anything."

  "No, he has some patents in his own right," Rory sighed, "and is likely to have many more before he dies. You will inherit his responsibilities as well as his assets."

  "But I want to have adventures, too!"

  "Me, too, Grandpa!"

  "Well, then, set your minds to it, boys, and we'll find a way, eh?" Rory grinned. "After all, it's not as though you were the direct heirs! Perhaps you shall be able to go, Richard—and certainly you shall, Rodney!"

  The little boy's eyes clouded. "But I don't want to leave Maxima, Grandpa!"

  "Ah, but you will," Rory said softly. "Be sure of that—you will!"

  Suddenly, he seemed to remember himself, and stood up, stepping aside. "But enough chat with a foolish old man. If you go out among the stars, you will need mathematics to find your way from planet to planet—and if you stay, you'll need mathematics to design robots."

  Doom hovered in Richard's face. "You mean we'll need math no matter what?"

  "I fear so, lad. So go off with nanny-bot and buckle down to your lessons. Chin up, now!"

  And, as he watched them go on down the gallery, he murmured, "No man should be bound against his will—even through riches!"

  Fess had a new sub-routine of his own that was initiated by the conversation. "Still, boss master, some must accept such bonds, for the good of their fellows."

  "Oh, must they?" Rory muttered, with dark sarcasm.

  "Still," the robot went on, "there comes a time when they can lay aside such burdens—when someone else is willing to take them up."

  "Or, even, eager," Rory muttered, thinking of Rupert.

  "At such a time, effendi, a man could become free to do as he wishes again."

  "Ah, but if he's too old, Fess—what then?"

  "The older we grow, the more delights we may discover, boss sahib."

  "There's some truth in that..."

  "But only if we burst the bonds completely, O Wise and Honored Master, and leave them to those who wish them."

  Rory nodded, gaze still on the boys as they went out the far door of the gallery.

  Rory began to seem a bit more restless, and was often seen muttering to himself, with Fess in polite attendance. Particularly, he seemed to grow impatient at dinner, and the more so as Elaine and Rupert exercised their prerogatives as heiress and heir, and dominated the conversation.

  "I'm sure she's a good woman," he said testily, on his way to his room, "but she prattles on about so many inconsequentialities!"

  "I am sure they are matters of consequence to her, sahib."

  "But must so many matters be of consequence? I swear the woman would worry about the time of day!"

  "She has been mentioning that dinner is perhaps too late..."

  "There! You see? No pleasing her, none! Ah, for some peace in my declining years, loyal squire!"

  "You should, perhaps, seek the tranquility of a monastery, master boss."

  "Now, there's a thought." Rory frowned, mulling it over. "Of course, it's a bit of a way to the nearest one..."

  "Not in the realm of Dondedor, my lord. Have you not told me there is a chapter house hard by the castle?"

  "There is, now that you mention it." Rory gazed off into space.

  Then, abruptly, he shook his hea
d. "No, can't be done. I have responsibilities here; I can't go gallivanting off just yet."

  "That is, of course, for you to say, O wise and forbearing master."

  "Yes, it is, isn't it?" Rory cocked his head to the side, thinking.

  "Oh, what a deal of bother these formal clothes are!"

  "Nevertheless, it is de rigueur for a meeting of the Council, milord master." Fess fastened the archaic hooks and eyes up Rory's backbone.

  "Restricting, confining... and damned uncomfortable! I tell you what, Fess, can't Rupert appear for me?"

  "That would never do, my lord and master," Fess said severely. "The Count himself must attend! If all the lords, or even a substantial portion of them, were to send surrogates, no issues could be decided!"

  "True, true," Rory sighed. "Nice to have you around to remind me of what I already know too well. And just when I thought I was managing to bring the onerous aspects of this office under control. Is there no way to shift this burden, Fess?"

  "You might retire to that monastery, O master of wise restraint."

  Rory pursed his lips, then frowned. "A monastery's a bit too restrictive, but a quiet retreat might be pleasant. A bit lonely, though."

  "Sir! You insult your family!"

  Rory looked up, startled. "I do?"

  "Certainly! At least some of them must be willing to follow you in your retirement, and would take such pleasure in your company as not to miss the glories of the castle!"

  "Rose is a sweet girl, that's true, and I sometimes think Robin chafes at the restrictions of protocol as much as I..."

  "And is equally adept at hiding it," Fess murmured.

  "A point... Well! That cummerbund, now—for the last time, eh?" He glanced back at Fess with a twinkle in his eye.

  "You're doing what?"

  "Do pull your eyeballs back into your head, Rupert, there's a good chap." Rory smiled, with a sly glance at Elaine's look of awe. " 'Abdicating,' I said. Renouncing the office of Count. There's no law that says I can't, is there?"

  "No, but... but, Pater! It's never been done!"

  "Only because this is the first time. Come now, m' boy, pull yourself together. I know the County's a bit of a burden, but you'll bear up, won't you? Yes, and come to like it in time, I'm sure." Rory sipped at his brandy to hide his smile.

  So did Rose.

  "Oh, Robin! Can it really be true?" Rose clutched her husband's arm as they rode through the tunnel to the Dower House.

  "It appears that it is, my dear." Beside her, Robin looked equally dazed.

  "Oh, come now, you two!" Count Rory scoffed. "Is this any way to greet the season? Or would you rather we'd put it off until after the holidays?"

  "Oh no, Beau-Papa!" Rose caught his arm, too. "I couldn't imagine a more wonderful present for Christmas!"

  "Perhaps," Count Rory mused. "Perhaps."

  Fess brought the little car to a halt by the huge airlock door, stepped down to the end of the tube, undogged the hatch, and pulled it open. He stepped through and pressed the button beside the inner hatch. The airlock checked for pressure match, found it, and lit the green patch. Fess opened the door to the Grange and stepped back. "Sahibs and mem-sahib, your mansion awaits."

  Rose stepped forward, dewy-eyed, and Robin stepped after her—but Rory caught him by the elbow and murmured in his ear, "There is a tradition, my boy."

  Robin stared at his wife, startled, then smiled, stepped forward, and swept her off her feet. "Robin!" she shrieked. "Whatever are you doing?"

  "I," Robin answered, "am carrying my bride over the threshold."

  "Oh, you silly! Oh, do be careful—it's such a high threshold!"

  "It is," Robin agreed, hoisting a foot over the bottom of the hatch. "But don't worry, dear—if I drop you, Fess will catch you."

  "Oh, you beast! Don't you dare!"

  "I didn't." Robin grinned down at her, safe inside the Grange.

  Wide-eyed, Rodney and Richard clambered in, holding tight to the nanny-bot. Rory followed.

  "Madame!" Robin bowed with a flourish. "Your domain!"

  Rose turned, looking about her at the entry hall—and saw the huge Christmas tree, towering twelve feet up against the sweep of a curving staircase, decked with glowing lights, balls of fragile tracery, and glittering tinsel. Her eyes widened. "Oh, Robin! Our tree! How perfect, for Christmas Eve! How wonderful!"

  He lowered her feet to the floor and turned to look about him, smiling fondly. "Considerably brighter than when last I saw it." He looked up at Rory with a grin. "What do you say, Pater? 'A man's home is his castle,' eh?"

  "Nay—'tis his wife's!" Rory stepped forward to Rose and bowed, proffering a ring of magi-keys. "Dame d'Armand, it is you who are chatelaine!"

  "Oh, but—Beau-Papa, no! It is your house!"

  "No longer," Rory said severely. "As of midnight last night, I am the former Count."

  "But the deed..."

  "Has not been executed. There is a contract between my heir and myself, stating that he shall be Count, but that I shall have lifetime tenancy of the Grange in your company and that, after my death, you and Robin shall have tenancy as long as either of you shall live."

  "But... you won't die!" Rose melted against his chest, embracing the old man. "You'll be with us forever and ever, Beau-Papa!"

  "In some sense... surely..." Rory stroked her hair and exchanged a glance with his son.

  Suddenly, he smiled and winked.

  He stepped back, holding Rose by the shoulders. "Come, Madame! Survey your domain!" And he moved away from them, toward the great dining room.

  But Rose stepped up closely against Robin, wiping away a tear and demanding, in a fierce whisper, "Have I the keys to the airlocks, here, too?"

  "I assure you that you have, mem-sahib," Fess murmured as he brushed past her on his way to his master.

  "Praise Heaven for that!" she sighed. "Come, Robin—he's getting ahead of us!"

  "Hasn't he always?" Robin muttered, but he followed.

  Rose stopped in the archway, looking about her with a gasp of delight. She saw a room forty feet by thirty, paneled in dark wood all the way up to the frescoed ceiling. A long, polished table, inlaid with ivory, filled the center of the room, stately chairs ranked about it. A marble sideboard stood against the far wall.

  "Oh, Beau-Papa!" Rose breathed, "it is magnificent!" Then she caught sight of the huge rank of clerestory windows and gasped again.

  "Spectacular, yes," Rory said, "and quite extravagant, so many airtight portholes of such vast size—but Mother saw no reason to stint herself."

  "An excellent view of Chateau d'Armand," Rory said with a smile, "almost as though it were a painting."

  "Beau-Papa! Oh, it's beautiful!" Tears filled Rose's eyes. "However did you manage it?"

  "What?" Robin came up behind his wife, then stared in disbelief. "My word! Snow!"

  "A full fall of snow, all about the chateau!" Rose cried. "Oh, Beau-Papa, it's lovely! But so extravagant! Oh, you shouldn't have!"

  "Ah, but I didn't!" Rory chuckled. "Fess did."

  Rose couldn't take her eyes from the sight, but murmured in disbelief, "How could you achieve it, Fess?"

  "Why, according to His Lordship's commands," Fess answered smoothly.

  Rose turned and flung herself at the Count, hugging him tightly, head on his chest.

  "My dear, my dear," he murmured, touching her hair, "spare me breath..."

  She lifted eyes filled with tears. "But you shouldn't have, Beau-Papa!" And she kissed him soundly on the cheek.

  "Nothing is too good for the lady of the manor," he assured her, and turned her gently but firmly to face the room. "This will be your domain, my dear."

  "And it is magnificent! It is all magnificent!"

  "Aye." Rory smiled. "Its vaulting arches, its pillars of marble! The brave and valiant banners that adorn its walls! Yet naught, naught, can ever be of such perfect beauty as this Rainbow Crystal!" In rapt fascination, he reached out toward the great prism that
hung from the center of the chandelier.

  Little Rodney tugged at Rose's skirt. "I don't see any marble pillars, Mama! Where are they?"

  "Hush, dear," Rose whispered. "Your grandfather..."

  With a cry of despair, Rory snatched at the air below the chandelier. " 'Tis vanished, 'tis gone!" Then he turned slowly, looking about him, hands lifted in awe. "It is not here, it is not anywhere! 'Tis vanished quite—the Rainbow Crystal of Granclarte!"

  "But it's right there!" little Richard protested. "Why can't he see it?"

  "Hush," Rose said again, and Rory ranted on, unheeding. "How cruel, to reveal to me such perfection, then snatch it away! Knights, lords, ladies—what injustice is this?"

  "There's just us," Rodney whispered, beginning to be frightened. Rose pressed him against her, but Robin stepped forward and said, softly, "Perhaps it is no injustice, but a promise."

  Slowly, Rory turned to him, a look of beatific understanding spreading across his features. "Aye, it is! A promise, and a charge—is it not? For 'tis surely the image of the perfection for which every knight of Granclarte must strive! Earls and barons! Noblemen of Granclarte! Hearken and heed me! Who will take up this quest, this glorious quest, for the perfect beauty of the Rainbow Crystal?"

  Rodney started to say something, but Rose pressed a hand over his lips, and Rory stood, looking about him as though listening, his face expectant. Then, slowly, he smiled. "Nay, certes!"

  "Has His Majesty appointed a champion, then?" Robin asked softly.

  "Aye, that he has! And who is it? Which knight hath he chosen for this most fabulous of charges? Why, who but that most valiant of champions—Beaubras!"

  Two small boys in bathrobes and slippers peeked around the doorway of the study.

  "Go on, now," the nanny-bot coaxed. "He won't bite, you know."

  Rodney and Richard didn't look at all certain of that, but they stepped through the doorway manfully, though with trepidation.

  "Hm?" Grandpa (no longer Count) Rory turned toward them. "Richard! Rodney! Come in, come in!"

  Somewhat reassured, they stepped into the Inner Sanctum. "Come, there's a knee for each of you." Rory patted his lap.

  They broke into grins and hopped up.