David Robbins - Madman Run

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 people 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.

“Where do the serfs live during the day?”

“In the Underground, sir.”

“Where might that be?”

“In the levels under the great house, sir.”

Another puzzle cleared up, Blade reflected. The reason Endora confronted them on the stairs was to prevent them from descending farther into the levels where the serfs lived. “When we were in the great house today, we happaned to hear someone screaming and wailing. Do you know who that was?”

Sorrow etched the faces of both serfs.

“Yes, sir,” Tabitha said. “That was poor Tweena. Master Elphinstone punished her for coming back here by herself last night.”

“Explain.”

“When we spotted your campfire last night, all of us came for a look when Grell went off to relieve himself. You saw us and we hid. Remember, sir?”

“I remember,” Blade said. “But who is Grell? We haven’t met him yet.”

Selwyn shuddered and gazed into the surrounding darkness. “You don’t want to meet him, sir. He’s the immortal one.”

Blade was confused again. “Skip him for the moment. Tell me about Tweena.”

“She wanted to sneak back for a second look, sir,” Tabitha explained.