This Fortress World

by Gunn, James

  The clamps that held my arms and legs were released. I was pulled up. My legs shook. They took my clothes off, slitting the sleeves of the shirt and the legs of the pants. My clothes fell away. They unclasped the belt around my waist. I stood in front of them naked. I looked at my left foot out of the corner of my eye, quickly, so that Sabatini would not catch me at it. Blood welled from the left little toe, where the nail had been. It was such a little thing to cause so much pain.

  It was bad being naked, worse perhaps than the pain. It was not the cold or the dampness; it is hard to be strong and proud without clothes. When they take your clothes away, they take away your dignity. Without dignity, it is difficult to be anything.

  "Good night, William," Sabatini said gently. "Until tomorrow."

  He smiled. They led me away. I limped as they took me down a long corridor to a door made of wood with an insert of metal bars at the top as a little window. They unlocked the door with a key and pushed me in. I stumbled and fell on a pile of old straw. Things scampered over it and rustled in it, but I was too tired and weak to care. I sat on the straw, huddled up, my knees drawn close to my chest, and tried to forget the pain that had been and the ache that was and the pain that would come tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that until I couldn't stand it any longer and I would talk. I tried to forget about the pincers.

  Why should I have to stand such pain? Life is not meant to be agony. Life should be free and proud and filled with love. I had nothing, not one of them. Why shouldn't I give them the pebble? Let them fight over it. Let them kill themselves for it. It was no concern of mine. It was only an egg-shaped crystal pebble and it had no meaning, and if it had a meaning, they would never be able to figure it out.

  And yet I knew, despairingly, that I would never tell them where to find it. It was the only thing I had left. I would never tell them, and the pain would go on and on.

  Something moved. It was in the room with me. It was larger than the things that scampered and rustled. I sat still, listening for it, trying to peer through the darkness, trying to see what was in the room with me. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was a person, lying in a corner of the cell. I could make out the outlines of a dark shape.

  I crawled toward it, over the old straw that smelled damp and moldy and rotten as I stirred it. I got close enough to see that it was a woman, naked as I was. It was an old woman with a skinny, wrinkled body and a worn face and tangled, matted hair.

  "Carlo," the woman mumbled toothlessly. "Carlo? Have you come back?" In her voice was a strange mixture of fear and anticipation. "Don't hurt me, Carlo. Don't hurt me any more. I've told you everything, Carlo. Where are you, Carlo? I miss you. Only don't hurt me any more. I've told you where it is. You saw me. I dropped it in the offering plate. I left the pebble there in the Cathedral.…"

  I stopped listening. I knew who the old woman was.

  It was Frieda.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  Running, running, running through the dark, only there is no reason to be running, and it is difficult for feet to run when the dark path is paved with knives and pain streaks through the darkness in jagged strokes that leaves the darkness even blacker.

  The night is filled with voices asking, asking, but I cannot answer because my mouth is sealed tightly and I cannot move my lips, I cannot open them even to let out a scream, and I cannot stop running even though the path is paved with knives and the pain is great…

  It comes behind me, getting closer, because I can't run fast enough. It creeps up on me, its jaws gaping, ready to close, waiting to tear me with agony. And the jaws begin to close…

  I woke up. Always I woke up just before the jaws of the pincers closed upon me. How many times had I dreamed that dream? I had lost count. I didn't remember. I had been here forever. I looked over at the corner, where Frieda was, but the corner was empty. I remembered now. Frieda was gone. They had taken her away, how many days ago had it been? It was important to remember, but I couldn't remember. I tried to think. How many times had I been in the cavern room since they had taken Frieda away? Fifty times? A hundred? But that wasn't right. It couldn't be right.

  I gave up. It didn't matter to me, and it didn't matter to Frieda. Nothing mattered to Frieda. Frieda was dead.

  Soon I would be dead, too. No one could endure what I had endured and live for very long. I thought about it. I would be dead, and they would come for me and look down at me as they had looked down at Frieda and pick up my body and take it somewhere or else leave it here to rot and be eaten, and then Sabatini would be sorry. I looked forward to it happily, imagining the look of sorrow on Sabatini's face. Because I had not talked.

  He had talked, oh, he had talked for hours, his furry cat-voice sliding in and around, weaving, lying still and leaping up to purr again. Around and around, talking, until you began to nod sleepily and then would come the pain!

  Frieda is gone, I told myself, and I have no one to talk to, not even a poor, mad woman who once was fair and slim and lovely, and I must sit alone, cold and naked, with no one to talk to because I must not talk to Sabatini.

  Tears welled in my eyes. I could cry here in the dark where Sabatini could not see me. Things crawled over my legs, but I didn't brush them off any more. If they took a little nourishment from my body, they took no more than they needed. They were better than others, who ate because their appetites were insatiable, who could never get enough, not if they burst. These were friends who scurried about me on their small business, or maybe not friends, but not enemies either. But they were nothing to talk to.

  Frieda had been better to talk to. I could close my eyes and remember her as she had been when I saw her first, proud and fearless and beautiful, when they had cut off her feet and she had smiled at them, and I would tell her things that I couldn't tell to anyone. And it had been good, it had kept me sane, even if she didn't answer. It had been better when she didn't answer, because when she spoke she thought I was Sabatini.

  "Carlo," she would say, "oh, Carlo, good Carlo. Don't hurt me any more. Sweet Carlo. Where are you, Carlo?…"

  And then it wouldn't help to keep my eyes closed, because I knew she was lying there with no teeth and no feet and the pitiful stumps would be struggling to walk again, mindlessly. And tears would fill my eyes, and I would weep because the flesh is such a poor weak thing.…

  I sobbed in the darkness, remembering…

  Light, chasing the darkness. A monstrous black shadow thrown upon the cell, a shadow with a huge, beaked nose and a face that smiled and eyes that smiled never, never.

  "Here, now, you're not speaking? You know each other, I'm sure. Frieda, you know Dane, the acolyte, the killer? And, William, you know Frieda, the Emperor's mistress. You should have much to talk about."

  "Carlo—"

  "You two should be good friends, you who have combined to cheat me. Think of the blood and torment that is on your souls."

  "Sweet Carlo—"

  "The Emperor's mistress! Who would suspect it? The Emperor would shudder to touch you now, wouldn't he, Frieda, even if you hadn't stolen his pretty, mysterious bauble. The white body he cherished, the face he imprisoned in a cube of pure diamond, they would turn his stomach now."

  "Good Carlo—"

  "Women are such fragile things it is a shame to waste subtlety upon them. They are like rare goblets, wonderful to look at and, upon occasion, filled with a wine that is old and delightful and thirst-quenching, but touch them a little roughly, speak to them harshly, and they shatter. Frieda!"

  The thin wasted thing scrambling to its knees, trying to get up on the feet that aren't there. "Yes, Carlo, what is it, Carlo, I'll do it, I'll do anything you say, Carlo—"

  A shadow hand, reaching down to pull back the hair and bare to the light the poor, ravaged face. Loose lips sucked in. Fear rattling in the throat. Pale eyes wide, staring.

  "A strange thing, pain. I may have mentioned it to you before. Wo
men can't stand pain. It destroys their will; it crushes their soul. They lose their identity. They are no longer beings in themselves; they are only an extension of their tormentors."

  The fingers tightening; a wordless moan, like an animal. Hands that are more like claws reaching out to stroke a shadow arm.

  "Carlo, good Carlo, sweet Carlo…"

  "You see? In her poor, mindless way, she loves me. She would do anything I asked her to do. If I asked her to kill you, she would do it, if she had to wait until you slept and claw your throat open with her fingers. But I wouldn't tell her to do that, because we are friends, you and I, William. And one day you will be as fond of me as she is. One day you will want to kiss my hand if I speak kindly to you, kiss the hand that gives you pain, not because it wants to, William, but because it seeks the truth, and your mind is twisted, William, and refuses to see that we are friends, and friends should never have secrets from each other, and so we must teach the mind, the stubborn mind, and hurt the body, the poor, unsinning body, because that is the only way we can reach the mind, and the mind is twisted, William…the mind is twisted…."

  I sobbed because I could not remember whether it had happened or whether it was a dream I had dreamed, and I couldn't remember how long it had been since they took Frieda away. And it is a sad thing to be a man, naked and alone, because when they take away your clothes they take away part of your fortress. It is only a little thing, but it is a beginning. And then they try to lay the walls flat, they try to reach the secret place where you sit, impregnable, and view the world and know that no matter what happens no one can touch the real you, even if the real you is twisted and confused and can't remember even the littlest things, and you sit and cry in the darkness with the many-legged things crawling on your body…

  I sat up, suddenly happy, overjoyed because I knew, all at once, how I could figure out how long it had been since Frieda was taken away and how long I had been here in the cell.

  There was no light, but I could count without the light. I could count the days with my fingers. I ran them gently over my toes, wincing a little at the pain, but that pain was nothing compared to the pain of not remembering. The little pain cleared my mind, so that I could count the toes, and there were nine of them that had no nails, and one of them was different, so I had been here nine days, and I was here five days when Frieda was taken away, because they hadn't started on the right foot when they took her away, and it had been four days since she died. Or five. Perhaps it had been five and they would come soon to carry me into the cavern room and Sabatini would talk and talk and then the pain would come, the toe that was different would be like the rest, and one of the inner walls would crumble. I whimpered.

  There were not many walls left. The strong outer walls had gone when they stripped me of my clothes and I found Frieda and I realized how complete their power was. And they had battered down the inner walls one by one, and soon they would come upon the secret me, curled wormlike in my dark chamber, whimpering and alone. And then I would tell Sabatini what he wanted to know.

  And yet I knew that when they took me to the other room, I would try to walk and I would look at Sabatini steadily and I wouldn't say a word. Here in this cell I could whimper and sob, but there I would be silent and strong until there was no more strength, and I would die. But it would take a long time, and the pain would go on and on and on…

  What was Sabatini really like? I would never know what lay behind the smiling face and the big nose and the cold eyes, and the world would never know, because he had built himself a fortress that would outlast his life, as I hoped that mine would. No one would ever breach his fortress; no one would ever touch Sabatini. In all the world, perhaps in all the galaxy, he stood completely alone, unsupported. He loved nothing and feared nothing and wanted nothing except one thing. Not just the pebble, that was only a part of it, but if you knew what it was, that might be the undefended part of the fortress.

  I sat there in the darkness, trying to think of what he wanted, but it was no good because all I could think of was the pebble, where it was, there inside the cornerstone of the Cathedral, and that was dangerous, and I must not think about it, ever.

  And I heard a footstep in the corridor.

  No! That wasn't fair. They were cheating. They had been cheating all along. It hadn't been a day since I had been in the other room. It had been only a few hours ago, because because—

  Every day, Sabatini had said. But it had been a trick. They waited only half a day or a few hours before they came for me again, and they thought I wouldn't know because there was no light here and I couldn't tell whether it was day or night because it was always night, but I could tell. They only fed me once between the times when they took me to the other room, and I was not hungry then, so it could not be a day between each one.

  Tears sprang into my eyes. They were cheating again. It wasn't time to go into the other room, and it wasn't fair for them to come so soon, so soon, so soon…

  It was a trick to break me down. They thought they would find me sniveling in the dark, but I would fool them.

  I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand. I tried to get up on one knee, but that was no good because my toes pressed against the straw and that was agony. I pushed myself backward toward the wall, until it felt cold and wet against my back.

  The footsteps were closer. The footsteps were soft and cautious. They were trying to sneak up on me, but they didn't know that I had been in silence for so long that I could hear the many-legged things rustling the straw in the farthest corner.

  I inched up the wall, my back pressed against it, my heels pushing against the floor. A little more. Please, a little more! My legs shook weakly, trembling under the strain. But I must be up when they came, standing to meet them, so that they would not lift me off the floor like something lifeless and limp and carry me to Sabatini. If I could get up, the victory would carry me through another time in the cavern room.

  They were fumbling at the lock of the door, but I was almost standing. I pushed hard. My back scraped against the wall, and I was up. I was standing, my arms folded across my chest. The light found me there. It flicked into my eyes from the door, and I heard someone gasp there and fumble more frantically with the lock as the light went away, and I was filled with a cold exultation. They had been surprised that I was up. They had not expected that. I had beaten them again.

  The lock shrieked. It yielded with a metallic tinkling. The door swung open, creaking. Someone came in, running lightly, and stopped.

  "Will. Are you all right?" The voice was different, soft and hesitant. It was not the voice I had expected. I had heard the voice before; someone had called me by that name before. I wrinkled my forehead, trying to remember.

  "Will! It's me. I've come to help you. We're going to escape."

  Surely it wouldn't be another trick. Surely they wouldn't do that to me.

  "Oh, Will!"

  The light came on again, but it was not in my eyes this time. The other person held it up so that it lit her face. Because it was her face, her blue eyes and arched dark eyebrows and straight short nose and generous red mouth, her head crowned by wound braids of dark-brown hair.

  "Laurie!" I said, and it came out in a croak because I hadn't spoken for such a long time. And I took one step toward her and fell into a pit of night.

  "So white, so white," someone was murmuring. There was something cold and biting in my mouth, and I swallowed, and it burned as it went down my throat, burning in my stomach, and burned pathways of strength through my arms and legs.

  Laurie was sitting on the moldy straw, cradling my head in her arms, pouring something down my throat. I took another swallow and pushed the flask away.

  "Get out of here," I said.

  "Not without you."

  "I can't go. I can't walk. I don't know how you got in here, but you've got to get away. Now! Before they come here and find you."

  "No," she said. "I won't go unless you come with me." />
  "I can't." My voice shook. "Don't you understand. I can't walk, and I can't leave, and you can't carry me. And for God's sake, leave before they find you here!"

  "No," she said. "If you won't try to walk, I'll stay here with you."

  Burning tears of frustration sprang into my eyes. "All right," I sobbed. "I'll show you I can't walk. Then you'll go."

  I sat up. Laurie got to her feet behind me and leaned down and put her hands under my armpits and lifted as I pushed hard with my feet. And suddenly I was up, swaying, the cell spinning gently in the dark.

  She slipped around under my right arm, her left arm around my waist. "Now," she said gently, "take a step. Just one."

  I lifted my right foot, leaning on Laurie, and moved it forward and put it down and almost fainted again. Slowly the blackness cleared away, and I was still standing. I took another step and I rested and I took another. In a few minutes we were standing outside the cell, looking up the long black corridor. And I remembered the way they had brought me, miles through the ancient castle, down and down, and I knew I could never make it.

  "It's too far," I said. "I can't walk that far. Go on, Laurie. Please leave me. Get away, if you can, and I'll be more grateful than you can imagine."

  "No," she said. She said it soft and low, but I knew she would never say anything else. "Take another step," she said. "Just a little one."

  I took a step and another one and another one, and it wasn't so bad, really, as long as it was only one step at a time and I didn't look ahead but concentrated only on taking this one step, this one step more. And the corridor was not paved with knives, exactly, as it had been in my dream. It was more like needles, and after a little they didn't jab into my toes every time I took a step and send their shivers of pain all through my body but only every few steps, and I could stand it. My feet seemed a long way down, and my head seemed a long way up so that I bent my head down to keep it from bumping against the ceiling. And Laurie was beside me, holding me up with her strength, and making little encouraging sounds.