David Robbins - Madman Run

None of the three youths spoke. They were collectively mesmerized by her lovely presence, and not even the gunfighter thought to level a weapon at her.

After studying them for a moment, the woman smiled, exposing even rows of pearly teeth, and addressed them in a soft, oddly seductive voice reminiscent of a gentle breeze on a romantic, moonlight night. “Why, you’re mere boys.”

Hickok roused himself from the spell first, taking a menacing stride and wagging a Colt at her. “Who are you callin’ boys, lady? I’ll have you know two of us are Warriors.”

The woman’s composure was unruffled. “What, pray tell, is a Warrior?”

Nipping Hickok’s response in the bud, Blade stepped forward. “We’ll ask the questions here, if you don’t mind. Who are you? What is this place? Why were we attacked?”

“Such an inquisitive nature in so handsome a youngster,” the woman responded.

“You’re evading the question,” Blade told her harshly.

“Aren’t you being a bit presumptuous, young man?” she countered.

“The three of you are the intruders, not me. You broke into our home, violated our sanctuary. If anyone should answer questions, it’s you.”

Blade didn’t know what to do. Technically, she was right, and as someone who’d been trained since childhood to respect both his elders and the property of others, he felt acute guilt over his actions. Thankfully, Geronimo came to his rescue.

“We didn’t break in, lady. We walked in after the plane you sent to bomb us crashed and opened a crack in the castle wall.”

The woman stared at the Blackfoot for a few moments, her features inscrutable, then nodded. “Very well. Perhaps we both have some explaining to do.” She gestured distastefully at the subterranean level.

“But there’s no need to question each other on these stairs. Why not come with me to the sitting room where we can converse like civilized adults?”

Blade wondered if her comment was a subtle slur. He decided to let it pass for the time being and nodded. “All right. We’ll follow you. But don’t try any tricks or you’ll regret it.”

Her eyes narrowed accustingly. “Is it customary where you’re from to threaten an unarmed woman?”

“No,” Blade promptly answered. “And it’s not customary to throw a net over someone else and beat them to a pulp.”

She viewed him from head to toe with an amused expression. “Funny. You don’t look like pulp to me.”

Motioning for his friends to stay close, Blade started to ascend the steps but managed only two strides when a strange thing happened. The woman recoiled as if in great fear and placed her forearms over her eyes.

“Stay back!” she blurted.

Bewildered, Blade halted. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s your torch,” the woman disclosed. “The light hurts my eyes. Please don’t get too close.”

“Why does the light hurt?” Blade asked suspiciously.

She rotated so her back was to them and responded over her left shoulder. “Because I’ve spent my entire life in this castle, and the only time I venture outdoors is at night. Any bright light is terribly painful to me.”

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Blade assured her. “You lead the way, and we’ll stay far enough back to keep the light from bothering your eyes.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, climbing the stairs slowly.

Exchanging puzzled glances, the three of them trailed the woman to the ground floor. She led them down the corridor to an open door and paused at the jamb.

“Is it necessary for you to bring the torch into the room?”

“We can’t see in the dark, lady,” Hickok declared.

“You can’t?” she responded, a hint of sarcasm in her tone. “In that case, I’ll light several candles. Would that satisfy you?”

“Yes,” Blade said. “We’ll wait until the candles are lit before we extinguish our torch.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

She peeked at him and grinned. “Brutal honesty. I like that trait in a man.”

Blade made no response. He watched her go into the room and looked at his friends. “What do you think?”

“I think we can trust her about as far as we can toss this castle,” Hickok said.

“This must be a ploy of some kind,” Geronimo stated. “Why didn’t she talk to us earlier when she had the chance? Why did she wait until we were about to investigate the underground levels? And what connection does she have to the scream we heard?”

“She has a lot to answer for,” Blade conceded. “We’ll play along with her game for the time being, but stay sharp. Let me do most of the talking.”

“Why you?” Hickok inquired.

“What difference does it make?” Blade rejoined.

“Let Blade do it,” Geronimo interjected. “He’ll ask intelligent questions.”

“And I wouldn’t?” Hickok retorted.

A subdued glow filled the room. “You can come in now,” announced the woman in white.

“Put out the torch,” Blade said.

Geronimo lowered the burning end to the floor and moved it back and forth across the stones, gradually snuffing the flames. For added measure he tramped on the torch until smoldering red embers remained. “That should do it.”

His rifle leveled, Blade walked into the chamber and halted. Seated on a sofa against the opposite wall was the woman. A fireplace stood to her right. Several chairs were positioned at various points, and he moved to one and sat down.

Geronimo took another chair, but Hickok remained standing near the door, his thumbs hooked in his gunbelt.

“You can sit down, too, young man,” the woman addressed the gunfighter.

“I’ll stand, lady, if you don’t mind,” Hickok replied. “And even if you do.”

“There’s no need to be rude.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” Hickok said, his mouth creasing in a grin that belied his statement.

The woman focused on the giant. “I trust you have better manners than your friend?”

“You’ll have to excuse Hickok,” Blade said. “He tends to get upset when someone tries to kill him.”

“I haven’t tried to kill him.”

“We’ll have to take your word for that,” Blade said, staring at the two large candles on the mantle. How had she lit them so fast? Did she own matches? The Family still possessed a substantial portion of the dozens of cases Carpenter had stocked, although they were strictly rationed. Flints were the preferred means of starting fires, and by the time every boy and girl in the Family turned eight they were proficient at doing so.

“Why don’t we start over again and try to get off on the right foot?” the woman asked. “My name is Endora, mistress of Castle Orm.”

Blade had never known anyone called Endora before. “What an unusual name,” he commented.

The lady misconstrued. “My great-grandfather named the castle after a legendary beastie believed to inhabit remote lakes in Scotland. He saw one of the monsters once, before coming to America, and read a book on them by a man named Holiday. Took the sighting as a sort of omen, he did.”

“Your great-grandfather was Scottish?”

“Aye, he was. And stout Scottish blood flows in our veins still.”

“My name is Blade.” The Warrior introduced himself and pointed at his buddies. “Geronimo is the one with the tomahawks, and the rude one is called Hickok.”

“I seem to recall reading those names somewhere,” Endora said thoughtfully, then shook her head. “But no matter. Why have the three of you invaded our castle?”

“We didn’t invade it,” the gunfighter said. “We walked in through the crack in the wall. How many times do we have to tell you?”

For a moment Endora glared at Hickok. She recovered her composure quickly, though, and smiled at Blade. “Even allowing for the crack, is that any reason to walk into someone else’s home without a by-your-leave?”