David Robbins - Madman Run

Sure enough, he found an open door and rushed recklessly inside, then halted. Not a trace of light broke the solid curtain of black, and he couldn’t determine where the walls were or if there was furniture scattered about.

Since he couldn’t see her but suspected she was hiding nearby, he decided to try coaxing her out. “I know you’re in here, lady,” he declared in his most mature tone. “You have nothing to be afraid of. My friends and I have come in peace.”

The black curtain mocked him with its silence.

“Please believe me,” Blade urged. “We only want to talk to you, nothing more. Come out where I can see you.”

That was when the net dropped over his shoulders.

Blade instinctively elevated his arms to ward off the clinging mesh, but he was too late to prevent the loops of rope from draping over his torso and falling almost to the floor. He took a step backwards, or tried to, and regretted his stupidity when his lower legs became entangled and he lost his balance. Down he went, toppling halfway through the doorway, his right shoulder bearing the brunt of the impact and making him wince as the stone floor jarred him to the bone. Rolling onto his stomach, he attempted to push erect, but the clinging net restricted his arms to the point where he couldn’t move more than an inch.

Light thuds sounded to his rear.

Mystified, Blade tried to roll over again. Strong hands gripped his ankles and started to pull him into the room. Realizing he was helpless and anticipating he might be shot or stabbed at any second, he tilted his neck and yelled at the top of his lungs. “Hickok! Geronimo! They’ve got me!”

A hard object, perhaps a fist, rammed into the fledgling Warrior’s back.

Blade arched his back, grit his teeth against the pain and renewed his struggle to turn over. He let go of the Martin, which was flush with his body, and tried to force his huge arms outward, exerting all of his prodigious strength. More blows rained down, but he ignored them. The fact his assailants weren’t using knives or clubs made him think they wanted to capture him alive, which was little consolation under the circumstances. He strained as he’d never strained before, every muscle bulging, and slowly, inch by inch, the net began to loosen.

A loud scraping sound suddenly punctuated the pounding of the fists.

Engrossed in breaking free at all costs, Blade thought nothing of the noise until a heavy object that felt like solid iron crashed down onto his head and shoulders. His consciousness swirled, and for a second he was on the verge of blacking out. He vaguely registered the drumming of footsteps, and then bright light engulfed him and familiar voices brought overwhelming relief.

“Here he is, Geronimo!”

“He’s caught in a net!”

“What was your first clue?”

“Get him out, quick.”

“You get him out. I can cover better than you can.”

As the net was pulled off, Blade twisted his head and blinked up at his friends. Hickok stood with his Colts leveled, glaring into the chamber, while Geronimo was tugging on the net with one hand and holding the torch aloft with the other. “Took you long enough,” Blade muttered, his shoulders and back throbbing, and then thought of his attackers. “Where are they?”

“Who?” Hickok responded.

“The ones who jumped me,” Blade stated, sitting up.

“We didn’t see anyone,” Geronimo said.

“Impossible,” Blade declared. “I think there were two of them, and they didn’t go out this door.” He clasped the Marlin and stood up. Nearby lay an overturned wooden chair. He realized one of his foes had used it to strike him and wished he could return the favor. Incredibly, there was no one else in the chamber.

But there were books, thousands and thousands of them, filling bookcases that lined all four walls from the floor to the ceiling. In the middle of the room was a large mahogany table and five chairs, brothers to the one lying near the doorway.

“It’s a library,” Blade said, stepping over to the table. His eyes made a complete circuit of the room, seeking an exit. There was none. He did discover how they’d managed to drop the net on him. The bookcases on either side of the door weren’t completely filled, which led him to conclude his attackers had climbed up and perched there with the net taut between them until he came in. If so, it meant the woman in white deliberately led him into an ambush.

“Did you happen to get a look at the ones who jumped you?” Geronimo inquired.

“Nope,” Blade replied. “It was too dark.”

“How did the vermin escape without us spotting them?” Hickok asked.

Blade recalled a book he’d read several years ago entitled The Complete Sherlock Holmes . “There has to be a secret passage in here. Spread out and try to find it.”

They each took a portion of wall and conducted a hasty search, moving books aside and thumping on the back panels in an effort to locate a concealed door. After several minutes each of them stopped and stared at the others.

“This is hopeless,” Geronimo said. “There are too many shelves, too many books. It could take us a year.”

“Then we’ll keep going from room to room until we flush them out again,” Blade proposed.

“What makes you think we will?” the gunfighter asked.

“They obviously don’t want us in the castle. Why else did they pounce on me?”

Hickok shrugged. “They probably mistook you for that monster with the red eyes.”

“Can’t you be serious for one minute?”

“Okay. Maybe they figured you were one of the wood nymphs.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got style.”

Blade walked into the corridor and glanced in both directions. There were more doors on this floor, including some he’d passed as he pursued the woman, and he nodded at the closest one. “Let’s check it out.”

“We’re right behind you,” Hickok said, replacing the Colts. “Just try not to get lost this time.”

“Not funny,” Blade said, leading the way.

The gunfighter leaned toward Geronimo and snickered. “Boy, a few bumps and bruises and he goes all to pieces.”

Blade looked over his shoulder. “I heard that.”

“Good ears. You must be part bunny rabbit.”

Sighing, the giant opened the next door and peered in at a plush sitting room complete with thick carpeting, a half-dozen easy chairs, and a gold-gilded sofa fit for a palace.

Hickok whistled in appreciation. “Too bad we can’t lug any of this stuff back with us. That sofa would look great in my cabin.”

“You don’t have a cabin yet,” Geronimo noted. “Only married couples are alloted cabins.”

“I’ll be married some day.”

“My condolences to your future bride.”

“Clam up, you two,” Blade snapped. He went to the next room, and the next, and in each found the same extravagant furnishings, the same immaculate conditions, the same evidence of greath wealth. The thought brought him up short.

Wait a minute!

Immaculate conditions?

Blade stared at the floor, then the walls. He ran his fingers over the stone and examined the tips. “Have you guys noticed something?” he asked.

“Do you mean other than you actin’ weird?” Hickok rejoined.

“There isn’t any dust,” Blade informed them.

“Dust?” the gunfighter repeated.

“Yeah, you know. As in dirt and grime and all that. These walls and the floor are clean enough to eat off of, which means someone mops and dusts on a regular basis.”

“You’re right, pard,” Hickok said, glancing around. “We must be up against a bunch of irate house cleaners. Or is that castle cleaners?”