"We're not running," Blade said. "We're being diplomatic."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
They moved along the corridor toward the cracked wall, their apish escort dogging their heels.
Geronimo looked over his shoulder. "Elphinstone, is that your name?
How do you like living here?"
The brute made no reply.
"Wonderful conversationalist," Geronimo quipped.
"Reminds me of you, Nathan."
Blade was pondering the implications of everything they'd learned so far, and he barely noticed when they drew abreast of the stairs. A wavering wail from below broke his concentration and brought him up short. "What was that?"
"Sounded like a woman," Hickok said.
"Let's go see," Geronimo proposed.
Suddenly Elphinstone moved, displaying surprising speed in one so massive, and blocked their access to the steps. He pointed toward the end of the corridor and uttered a raspy order. "Go."
Hickok bristled. "Who do you think you are tellin' us what to do, you overgrown sack of—"
"Enough," Blade stated, grabbing the gunfighter's left arm. "Whatever is down there is none of our business."
"Says you," Hickok responded. "I vote we go check."
"Not now," Blade said, pulling the gunfighter after him down the hall.
He let go when Hickok quit resisting.
"Okay, pard, you made your point. But when we get back to the Home, I'm not tellin' a soul about this escapade of ours."
"Why not?" Geronimo inquired.
"Because I don't want anyone to learn I hang around with a pair of wimps."
"We'll talk outside," Blade stated and hastened his pace, grateful for the slash of bright light serving as their beacon out of there. They needed time to collect their thoughts and formulate a plan of action. Whether Hickok realized it or not, Morlock enjoyed a grave advantage, a fact he intended to explain shortly.
Seldom had a sunlit day radiated such beauty as the warm, tranquil setting into which they stepped after reaching the crack.
Blade squinted up at the blue sky, surveyed the lush green trees before them, spotted several sparrows flitting about in the undergrowth, and inhaled deeply.
"Thanks for seeing us out," Geronimo said to Elphinstone, who abruptly wheeled and stalked off. "Next time try not to bend our ears so much."
"Pitiful. Just pitiful," Hickok mumbled, marching into the forest, his posture consistent with his anger.
"Wait for us," Blade said.
"Why should I? I'm embarrassed to know you."
Geronimo still carried the flaming torch. He dropped it on the grass and stamped over and over on the lit end until it was out.
Hickok was still walking away.
"Come on," Blade said, jogging to overtake the cantankerous gunfighter. "I asked you to wait," he said when he caught up.
"No, you didn't. You told me to wait. This whole trip you've been actin'
like you're top dog and Geronimo and me are common curs. I'm tired of it."
"I didn't mean to offend you."
"I know. But unless Attila appoints you as head of a Warrior Triad, or if some day—heh, heh—you become top Warrior, you've got no right to be bossing us around."
"I'm sorry," Blade said. "Now will you stop and listen?"
"Yeah," Geronimo added. "Try using your head for a change of pace instead of your heart."
Sighing, Hickok halted and swung toward them. "All right. Let me hear what you have to say. But it had better be good or I'm headin' on back to the Home, and nothin' you can say or do will stop me."
Blade nodded. "Fair enough. Try this on for size." He paused and glanced at the castle. "We're not leaving here until we discover the truth. I don't care what that pompous ass in there told us to do."
"Now you're talkin' my language," Hickok said, grinning. "But why'd you let him push us around?"
"Think for a minute. He wasn't about to reveal a thing, and we would have wasted our time trying to pry answers out of him. If we stayed we might have provoked him into using his shotgun and—"
"I could've taken him," Hickok interrupted.
"I know, but you're missing the point. We would have been in the wrong killing him without justification. Remember the course we took on the moral and ethical aspect of killing? A Warrior must never resort to violence unless there is no other alternative. We weren't in imminent danger. Sure, we suspect Morlock lied through his teeth and deliberately set the plane after us, but we can't prove it. And since we did enter their castle without permission, morally and ethically we were in the wrong."
"Only you could turn killin' a cow chip into a philosophy lesson."
"Do you see my point or not?"
"Yep," Hickok admitted begrudgingly. "You're right. But I don't like it none." He scratched his chin and cocked his head. "Even if we didn't have an excuse to blow Morlock away, we had every right to go into those lower levels and find out what was down there. It sounded like someone was sufferin' bad."
"It did," Blade agreed. "But if we'd tried to barge on down there, we would have played into Morlock's hand."
"How do you figure? That jumbo monkey couldn't have stopped us."
"Maybe. But Morlock certainly could have."
"Morlock?"
"Yeah, dummy. Think again. How did Morlock and Elphinstone get into the room where we were talking with Endora?"
"Beats me. I know they didn't come in the door because I was right there."
"Exactly. The only way they could have entered was through a secret passage. I was right. The castle must be honeycombed with hidden corridors enabling them to go anywhere and spy on anyone. And do you think for a minute that Morlock wasn't watching us leave? The moment we tore into Elphinstone, Morlock would have blasted us."
"Hmmmmm. I never thought of that."
"A warrior must keep sharp at all times, Nathan."
"Don't start with another lesson," Hickok stated defensively. "So I made a little mistake. No harm done."
"There could have been," Blade said.
"Okay. What's the plan?"
"We'll stay over another night."
"That's it?"
"Morlock will undoubtedly spy on us. When he learns we're not leaving, he might make a move against us."
"Then we nail the sucker?"
"Then we nail him, if need be."
Geronimo craned his neck to gaze at the battlement. "You know, I feel sorry for the woman. Can you imagine what it must be like for her to be married to Morlock?"
"There's another mystery," Blade said. "How old would you guess Endora to be?"
"I don't know. Twenty-five, maybe," Geronimo answered.
"Me, too. And how old do you think Morlock is?"
"Fifty. Fifty-five."
"Or older. Doesn't it strike you as strange that she would marry someone so much older?"
"Not really. Couples at the Home sometimes have a five or ten year age difference between husband and wife," Geronimo said.
"Yeah, but a thirty year difference?"
Geronimo shrugged. "Maybe there wasn't anyone else she could marry.
They said they haven't had any contact with the outside world."
Blade nodded again. "Do you realize what that means?"
Sudden insight caused Geronimo to gape in astonishment. "Wow. I never thought of that."
"Thought of what?" Hickok asked.
"There can only be one explanation," Blade went on.
"Realize what?" Hickok inquired impatiently, looking from one to the other.
"This puts their relationship in a whole new perspective," Geronimo said.
"What the blazes are you two talkin' about?" Hickok snapped. "Would one of you kindly explain it to me?"
"Later," Blade said, staring off in the direction of their camp. "Let's go eat lunch and make our plans for tonight. I want to have everything ready before dark."
Geronimo and Hickok followed, the gunfighter nudging the Black
foot.
"Would you mind explaining what in the world is going on?"
"We're going to eat lunch."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
Geronimo chuckled. "Sorry. There might be a skeleton in their closet."
"Did they bump somebody off?"
"Not that kind of skeleton."
"Then what kind?"
"The family tree kind."
Hickok hissed in frustration. "Skeletons. Trees. I'm beginning to think you've lost your marbles, pard."
"At least I had some to start with."
Chapter Eleven
The three of them were in position by nightfall.
Blade sat in the fork of an oak tree 30 feet from their camp and stared at the fire. Eventually one of them must creep out and add fuel to the flames, but for now, thanks to the strategic placement of their backpacks at the south end of the lean-to, the camp gave every impression of being occupied. It had been his idea to stack the backpacks at the one end to block the view of anyone, or anything, approaching from that direction. If he was correct in his hunch, if the creatures followed the same path tonight as last night, then his trap might work.
He glanced down at the ground 12 feet below and shifted to alleviate a cramp in his lower back. All day he'd been bothered by pain from his shoulders to his hips due to the beating he'd sustained. He guessed that Elphinstone had done the pounding. Only the hulking brute possessed the strength necessary to bruise his body even through the backpack he'd worn at the time.
Blade gazed off to his right at the thicket screening Geronimo and again to his left at the base of a tree where Hickok lay hidden. Neither one was visible.
His simple plan called for staying concealed until either the mysterious wood nymphs or someone from the castle put in an appearance. If the former showed up, he'd try to capture one. If Morlock or Elphinstone appeared, he'd wait and see what they did before deciding on a course of action.
Cradling the Marlin in his arms, he settled down to spend the night if need be.
Blade mentally reviewed his performance in the castle and concluded he had a lot to learn yet about being a Warrior. He never should have gone after Endora by himself or let her lure him into an ambush. The mistake might have proven fatal.
And there was another mystery. Given Morlock's hatred of outsiders, and since, as Morlock claimed, he believed his wife was being attacked, why did Morlock use a net and a chair instead of a gun or knives?
There were so many questions and so few answers.
Another full moon arced above the horizon, a timeless celestial observer of the unfolding of human history.
An hour went by. Two.
Blade half-expected there wouldn't be activity of any kind until near midnight, so he was surprised when, idly glancing to the southwest, he spied pale figures gliding through the trees toward the camp.
The nymphs!
Excited, he tensed and watched the three or four dozen creatures rapidly near his position. They were tittering and prancing, the same as last night, remarkably light on their feet. He marveled at their grace and ghostly aspect, keeping as still as stone until they were almost to the oak tree.
Recognition brought shock. Blade's gray eyes narrowed as he realized they were human, near-naked men and women whose skin resembled the finest china. They were all over six feet tall but skinny as saplings.
Members of both sexes wore skimpy leather shorts, nothing else, and the womens' breasts swayed as they ran. All were grinning or whispering excitedly.
Blade focused on a pair almost directly below him, a man and a woman standing a foot apart. He quietly looped the Marlin over his right shoulder, coiled his legs and leaped.
Somehow, the woman sensed his presence and looked up.
The youth landed behind them, bending at the knees to absorb his weight, and sprang, tackling both of them around the legs and bearing them to the ground. They felt incredibly light, as if they weighed a mere 90 or 100 pounds, and offered no resistance except for a startled cry from the woman.
At the same time Hickok and Geronimo rose from hiding and tried to capture others, but the rest of the band was already fleeing in stark panic into the forest.
Blade lay on top of the two he'd caught, neither of whom so much as twitched, astounded by their docile behavior. "I won't hurt you," he informed them. "Do you understand?"
There was no reply.
"Do you understand?" Blade repeated sternly.
"We do," the woman said in a high, musical voice.
"Shhhhh," said the man. "You know we're not allowed to talk to outers."
Perplexed, Blade eased his grip. "All right. You speak English. Good.
Now listen closely. I'm going to sit up and let go of you. First I want your word that you won't try to escape."
"We can't give it, sir," the woman said.
"Why not?"
"Because our masts have told us we must get away if ever we're caught by outers."
The man looked at the woman. "Hush, Tabitha, you know better."
Blade clamped a hand on a wrist of each one and rose to his knees.
"Okay. If you won't give your word, we'll do this the hard way." He stood, pulling them up, but being careful not to yank too hard for fear of yanking their arms from their sockets. "What's your name?" he asked the male.
The man said nothing.
"Tell me or else," Blade bluffed, glowering appropriately.
"Selwyn," the man blurted. "My name is Selwyn."
Blade glanced over his left shoulder and saw his friends returning empty-handed from the chase. "Come with me," he said, walking toward the camp.
Both prisoners abruptly walked, dragging their heels and tugging in vain to free themselves.
"Please, sir, no," Tabitha exclaimed.
"Not near the fire," Selwyn stated in sheer dread.
"Why not?" Blade demanded, stopping.
"The fire hurts our eyes terribly, sir," Selwyn said. "If we get too close, the brightness will damage our eyes."
"It's only a campfire," Blade noted.
"Our eyes are very sensitive, sir," Tabitha explained. "We can't even come out during the day."
Her plaintive tone impressed Blade. He studied their fine features, their straw-colored hair and almost colorless eyes, and realized the reason they were so pale. They spent their entire life in the dark, moving about only at night. But what did they do during the day? Where did they live? "Don't worry," he assured them. "I won't take you any nearer to the fire."
"Thank you, sir. You're very kind," Tabitha said.
The gunfighter and the Blackfoot halted and regarded the pair intently.
"I'm sorry, pard," Hickok said. "I'll never doubt your word again. These things are livin' fairies, just like you said."
"We are not things, sir," Tabitha declared. "We are serfs."
"Serfs," Hickok repeated. "Like back in the Middle Ages?"
"What are the Middle Ages, sir?" Tabitha asked.
"It was back in ancient times when men wore tin cans into battle and women went around throwin' their hair from balconies."
Tabitha and Selwyn were completely confounded.
"How did women throw their hair, sir?" she asked.
"Pay no attention to him," Geronimo interjected. "His grasp of history leaves a lot to be desired."
"Where did you acquire the name serfs?" Blade probed.
"I don't know, sir," Tabitha responded. "We've always been called serfs, I believe. My mother and her mother were both serfs. And for our lives we serve our masts loyally."
"There's that word again. Who are the masts?"
"Why, those who provide our clothes, our home and the food. They are the great ones who know all there is to know," Tabitha said, then added quickly, "sir."
"Do you mean masters?" Geronimo asked.
"Masts. Masters. They're the same thing, sir."
"It's slang," Blade realized, wondering what to inquire about next. "You say your peop
le have been serving your masters for generations. Who are your masts?"
"Like I said, sir, the great ones."
"Where do the great ones live?"
Tabitha nodded at the castle. "Why, there, sir, in the great house."
The three youths exchanged meaningful looks.
"So Morlock, Endora and Elphinstone are the masters," Blade said slowly.
"Oh, yes!" Tabitha declared. "Master Morlock is the greatest of all."
Selwyn made a clucking sound. "And he will be very mad if he learns you are telling these outers all about us."
The statement produced stark fear on Tabitha's face. "But what else can I do?"
"Don't worry about Morlock," Blade told her. "We'll make sure he doesn't do anything to you for talking to us."
"Do you know him, sir?"
"Yes. In fact, we were guests in the great house today," Blade stated, stretching the truth in order to elicit more information.
"You were, sir?" Tabitha said, delighted at the news. "Why, then, you must not be outers after all."
"What the dickens are outers?" Hickok asked.
"Outsiders, sir, such as yourself."
"You mean those who come from outside this valley?" Blade asked.
"Exactly, sir. Only we call this valley the Domain."
"Have there been outers in the Domain before?"
"Yes, sir. Every now and then some have shown up."
"Did they stay long?"
"I wouldn't know, sir. Usually they are invited into the great house, and we never see or hear of them again."
Blade frowned. Yet another sinister revelation to add to the growing body of evidence incriminating Morlock and his clan. How long had all of this been going on? Since the war? He now had proof that some force of slavery was being practiced, and slavery was abhorrent to every cherished principle of the Family. As a Warrior, he had a moral obligation to confront evil wherever it reared its wicked head, and from all he'd uncovered so far it was flourishing in Castle Orm.
"Now would you please let us go, sir?" Tabitha requested. "Our masts will be very upset with us if we don't get to work soon."
"Work?"
"Yes, sir. In the fields. Every night they let us out to till the crops and weed and water the garden."
Suddenly several mysteries were cleared up. All those naked footprints were left by the serfs as they went about their noctural business at the beck and call of Morlock and company. And so many crops were being cultivated because the food had to feed all the serfs, not just the freaky threesome in the castle. One of her comments, though, perplexed him.
Madman Run Page 8
