Chapter 10

A Disturbed Game of Cards

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, its blue light shimmering off the gathered pools and casting queer shadows around the feet of the garden sculptures. Wind whimpered through the turrets above, and the sound of the ocean drifted up from the far side of the yard. It brought 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 her 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.

She wove between the crumbled statues looking for the dragons, or more specifically, any signs that they had passed this way. It didn't take long for her to succeed. A little ways beyond 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.

Ten feet of ornate iron spikes guarded the courtyard on all sides, twisted and dark with age. 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.

She walked the length of the yard, eyes following 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. But to the left the fence stretched further, continuing around the base of one of the building's spires. Comet stopped, expression curdling; 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 if the ground fell out from under your feet.

But it was the only place left to go.

She approached the ledge carefully, pressing close to the wall as the strip of land narrowed. The stones were slick under her hands as she shuffled along the tower's curve, gripping tangles of climbing of ivy whenever she could. The ocean churned below, licking at 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 more 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.

And as she had hopped, where was another gate.

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 when she reached the courtyard again. Whether these 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 eyes of off-put ghosts peeked at her from behind the statues, 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 the 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 so.

Going back through the window she had fallen from was 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 an unlocked door, though, all the way on the end of the curve. She lengthened her stride, narrowly avoided a crumbled, 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, its ionized fizz casting a shadowy light. She stepped forward, 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 pegs mounted along the wall. Excepting a few stray weights, the middle of the floor was empty. Comet jerked around to face a movement on her left, ready to swat whatever it was with e the sword or the lamp-whichever was most handy. She froze mid strike, though, when she realized it was only a mirror.

She shook her head with disgust, sheathed her weapon, and turned to the doors leading off the room. 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, very glad she hadn't turned the flood lamp on yet. The ghosts paid her no mind, just continued on with their cards. There was another door at the other end of the room, hanging the slightest bit adjar. Comet started to move again, slowly at first, then faster.

She made it a good three-fourths of the way there before one of them gave a yawned and turned around.

It froze, eyes wide, mouth stuck mid yawn. 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.

Comet bolted for the door.

• • •

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 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. had no such hesitations; he ran right up next to it, plastering himself to the porthole 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!" he looked eagerly up at Luigi. "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 closed the distance to the open door in a matter of seconds, and would have made it out if it weren't for the specter who loomed up in the doorway. It gave a surprised kip, jerking back as she skidded, narrowly avoiding a collision.

The other ghosts were up by now, coming at her from around the table. She backpedaled, drew her sword, and smashed the 'on' switch 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. One of them went for the lamp, one shadowy hand over his face.

"Get back!" Comet shouted, slashing at it. Its advance checked sharply as it shied away from the glowing steel.

"I said back off!" she snarled, swinging the lantern as another of the specters came forward. He too stopped uncertainty, glancing between his companions.

And then, much to her surprise, they 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, drifting forward the slightest bit.

She leveling her weapon at him. "Don't!"

"Alright, alright, keep your hair on," it mumbled, and slid back again.

They didn't move, and neither did Comet. She stood ridged, ready to fight, yet none of the ghosts attempted to attack. They couldn't possibly be afraid of her. Not if they were anything like the fire-breathing thing in the tea room...

Comet took a chance and stepped for the open door again. The ghosts exchanged a glance, and the leader smoothly slid into her way.

"Let me by," she said, sweeping the lamp between herself and him. He flinched and squinted, but didn't retreat.

"I said move!"

"I'm sorry miss, but I can't let you do that."

Comet took another step forward. He didn't back down.

"What on earth are you doing here?" asked another one of the ghosts.

Comet glanced at him to make sure he didn't advance, squeezing the hilt of her weapon hard.

"Whatever your reasons, you would do best to leave the way you came in," said the leader when she didn't answer.

"There's nothing in this place worth the pillaging anyways," said the third. "At least nothing worth losing your hide over."

"I'm not here for treasure," she spat. "I here to find someone, and I'm not leaving without them."

The ghosts exchanged another look.

"I don't know why you think someone's here, but I assure you there's not. None of your kind have come here for years, and the professor is away."

"That wasn't a question!" shouted Comet

"Then where are they?"

"Does it look like I know? We were separated in the servant's hall; I have no idea where she is!"

There was an uneasy shift through the ring, but the ringleader's expression remained unchanged.

"But why were you here?" he asked.

A flash of color jumped across Comet's face; it was a moment before she could reply civillay.

"She didn't take anything, and the thought never even crossed my mind. This was a place to stay the night, and that was all. Now get out of my way!"

There was a tense silence.

"I don't care if you took anything, though I wasn't accusing you," said the leader. "You said you were separated. Were you attacked?"

Comet drew in a deep, slow breath.

"No. She just disappeared. I'll find her, and we'll leave. Just let me by."

"Gosh, do you think she's still…" said the first ghost quietly.

"Potentially. It's possible the master of the house is too busy to bother with her; this one made it through, after all," he said, motioning his head at Comet.

"I'm going up to those halls to see what I can find," said the second ghost.

"And I'm going to pay a visit to Madame Clairvoya." said the ringleader.

"But you will stay here," he added, as Comet tried to walk forward again. "We'll find her and bring her here. The only thing you'll do is attract attention. Atlas, Clive, watch our guest."

Without another word 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.