He halted before the first door on the left, then rapped sharply on the wood.
“Hulloo!” he called. “Wake up!”
“Why—” I began.
I had been about to ask why he would knock on a dead man's door, but a large face carved into the central wooden panel began to move. It yawned, blinked twice, and seemed to focus on Aber.
“Greetings!” it said pleasantly. “This room belongs to Lord Mattus. State your business.”
“Just visiting,” Aber said. “Do you remember me?”
“I do believe it's Lord Aber!” the door said, squinting a bit. I wondered if it might be near-sighted. “You have grown since last we spoke. Welcome, welcome, dear boy! I can talk to you, but Mattus left strict instruction that you cannot, under any circumstances, enter his room without permission, or I will be—and he made this quite clear—rendered into toothpicks.”
So Aber wasn't welcome here! Somehow, it didn't surprise me; no one in my family seemed exactly trusting. They were to the last more likely to stab you in the back than put in a kindly word.
“I have bad news,” Aber said in a serious voice, ignoring the slight. “My brother Mattus is dead.”
“No! No!” the face in the door gasped. “It cannot be!”
“I'm afraid so.”
“When? Where?”
“It happened some time ago, and far from here.”
The face gave a wrenching sob. “He did not suffer, I hope?”
“No. It was fast.”
That, actually, was a lie. Mattus had been tortured to death in a tower made of bones. But I saw no sense in correcting Aber's story… the face in the door seemed quite emotional, and I wasn't up to dealing with weeping woodwork right now.
The door sighed, eyes distant, remembering. “He was a good tenant. The sixth generation of your family that I have guarded, in fact, since my installation here... By the way, is there a seventh generation yet? Someone who might, as it were, inhabit these rooms?”
“Not yet,” Aber said. “At least, not that I'm aware of.”
The door finally seemed to notice me. “And who is this? Do I notice a family resemblance?”
Aber motioned me closer, so I took a step forward. The face squinted at me. I examined him just as closely. Large nose, broad lips, high cheekbones—almost a caricature of a man's face. But it had been kindly drawn and had a sympathetic if somewhat sad expression.
Aber said, “This is Oberon, my brother.”
“Oberon… Oberon…” The carved forehead wrinkled. “He has never been through me before.”
“That's right. This will be his room now.”
“So fast they go, so fast…” It actually seemed about to cry. That was something I didn't want to see.
Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Do you have a name?”
“I am but a door. I do not need a name. But if you must call me something, Lord Mattus calls… called me… Port.”
“Port,” I said. It fit admirably well. “Fine. I'll call you that, too.” I turned to Aber. “Anything I should be aware of? Warnings? Special instructions? Useful advice?”
My brother shrugged. “He's just a door. He'll guard your rooms, let you know if anyone wants in, and lock himself—or unlock himself—as instructed.”
“Then, Port, please open up. I'd like to see inside.”
“Sorry, good sir, but I cannot.”
“Why?” I demanded.
“Because,” said the door, a trifle archly, “I have only your word that Lord Mattus is dead. I was not carved yesterday, you know. Lord Mattus warned me not to trust anyone here under any circumstance. After all—and I mean no disrespect, good sirs!—some person or persons might come along, falsely claim that Lord Mattus is dead, state that they are the new tenants, and ask for entrance. You must see the unfortunate situation in which I now find myself placed.”
I scratched my head. “A good point,” I said slowly, looking at my brother. “I don't have an answer.”
“Then,” said the door, “Move along. I don't approve of loitering in the hallway.”
I drew my sword. It had been a long day; my patience was at an end.
“Open up,” I said, “or I'll carve a new entrance through your heart!”
“I hate to be the voice of reason,” Aber said, “but that won't be necessary, Oberon.”
The door glared at me. “I should say not! There are spells laid upon me to prevent just that sort of trespass!”
“Not only that,” said Aber, “but I have the key.”
He turned over his hand. A large iron key sat there; he hadn't been carrying it a moment before, so he must have pulled it through the Logrus. “You don't need his help, dear brother. You can let yourself in.”
“Thanks!” I said.
“What would you do without me?”
He held out the key, and I accepted it gingerly. It was as long as my hand and as thick around as my index finger, and it was much heavier than it looked. A strong blow with it might well do serious damage to someone's head.
“You're sure it's for this door?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Where do I stick it?” I asked, turning to study Port's features. He didn't have any obvious keyholes. “In his mouth? Up his nose?”
“Certainly not!” Port said, glaring up at me. “Perhaps you ought to stick it in one of your own orifices to see how it feels!”
“I wasn't asking you,” I told him.
“No need to ask,” Aber said. “It's a magic key. Just holding it is enough. Tell him you want inside.”