Madman Run

by David Robbins

  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?"

  Blade pursed his lips. There she went again, playing on his guilt. He refused to let her tactic work. "After all the things that happened to us since we arrived, yes, we were justified in entering. We tried knocking, but no one answered the front door."

  "Did you ever stop to think there might be a reason? Perhaps we don't like to be disturbed. Perhaps we want to be left to our own devices."

  "Who is this 'we' you keep referring to?"

  "I don't live here alone," Endora said.

  "I know," Blade stated, rubbing a sore spot on his head.

  Endora noticed the motion and appreciated its significance. "I'm sorry you were hurt. I truly am. But they thought you were trying to harm me."

  "They?"

  "My husband and my brother."

  "Where are they now?"

  "They had business to attend to. They'll be h
ere shortly."

  Blade glanced at Hickok, who nonchalantly strolled closer to the door and positioned himself so he'd spot anyone approaching. "Didn't you hear me call out to you? I promised not to harm you."

  "How could we know whether you were speaking the truth?" Endora said. "You might have been trying to trick me."

  The argument was valid, Blade had to admit. He studied her, trying to guess how old she was and to appraise her character. Her answers were honest enough, but he suspected she was hiding something. There was a trace of—panic?—in her eyes, detectable when he asked questions about the others living in the castle. Why? What did she have to be afraid of? Or was she hiding something?

  "Granted," he said. "So I won't hold the beating I took against your husband and brother—for now."

  "How gracious of you."

  Blade decided to slip in a query she wouldn't be expecting. "By the way, do you happen to know who was screaming a while ago?"

  The woman tensed, her hands clenched in her lap, and grinned. "Oh, that was me."

  "You?"

  "Yes. I bumped into my brother and mistook him for one of you. The shock made me scream my fool head off."

  Blade didn't believe her for a second. "That was quite a scream."

  She shrugged. "You know how it is when you're scared to death."

  "No," Blade said, "I've never been that scared." No sooner did he finish speaking than an image of the red-eyed monster loomed in his mind, and he shook his head to dispel it.

  "Then you must be very brave."

  "We all are, lady," Hickok chimed in. "That's why you'd best not mess with us or you'll be eatin' lead."

  Endora appeared shocked. "You'd threaten a woman?"

  The gunfighter smirked. "Makes no nevermind to me who's tryin' to kill me. Anyone who does is history."

  "Are there many like him where you come from?" Endora asked Blade.

  "No. He's unique."

  "Where do you come from, if you don't mind my asking?"

  "Faraway," Blade lied. "In a small town northwest of here."

  "Which town?"

  "I'd rather not say at the moment."

  "I see," Endora said, her countenance hardening.

  "And why should I politely answer your questions if you're not going to answer any of mine?"

  "You have a point," Blade said and gave the first name that popped into his head. "We're from Humboldt."

  "How many people live there?"

  What would be a reasonable number? Blade asked himself and made a guess. "About two hundred."

  "Really? My husband will be interested in hearing that."

  "Tell me something," Blade prompted. "I take it your great-grandfather built this place. Why? It's not every day you see a castle in the middle of the Minnesota countryside."

  For the first time since they met, Endora laughed, her face relaxing and her hands unfolding in her lap. "Greatgrandfather Moray was a wee bit of an eccentric. Before he came to America, he lived by himself on the moors in Scotland. He'd spend every waking minute hiking over those barren wastelands, and he developed quite a passion for them. Thought of the moors as his own private preserve. One day the government went and put a new highway right through the middle of his precious tract of nothing, and it sent him into a rage. He tried to stop them in court. When that failed, he vowed to leave Scotland and never set foot on her soil again."

  She paused. "Moray came to America and drifted west. Eventually he found this isolated spot and decided to build his new home here. He had all his funds transferred to an American bank and oversaw the construction of the castle. After that he settled down to the life of a country gentleman."

  "I take it he survived the war?"

  "Yes. The castle is built strong. He also foresaw the war coming and had the underground levels built to live in until the danger of radiation poisoning passed. Our family has lived here ever since."

  "And you've had no contact with the outside world?"

  "None."

  "Why is that?"

  The answer came from a totally unexpected source, courtesy of a gruff voice near the right-hand wall. "Because we don't like outsiders, boy.

  That's why."

  Taken unawares, Blade swiveled in his chair and discovered two men standing 15 feet away, one with a double-barreled shotgun trained on his chest.

  Chapter Ten

  The newcomers were a bizarre, desperate pair.

  Holding the shotgun was the shorter man, a lean, frail figure who was a mere five feet tall. An immaculate, neatly pressed, baggy black suit hung from his frame like the oversized garments on a scarecrow. His head, in proportion to his body, was extremely large, a pumpkin on a broomstick as it were. A cruel slit of a mouth curled downward as he regarded the youths. High cheekbones and a slanting nose gave him an imperious aspect, complimented by his flashing green eyes and bushy brows, and a wild shock of black hair streaked with white crowned his cranium.

  Only in one respect did the second man resemble the first. His brows were bushy, even more so, inch-wide strips of thick hairs that would have done justice to a gorilla. And in many respects he was like a huge ape.

  Seven feet tall, his broad, hunched shoulders gave him a perpetually stooped aspect. His brawny hands, possessing knuckles the size of walnuts, dangled next to his knees. Ill-fitting clothes scarcely contained his enormous arms and barrel chest, and his size 18 feet were naked. Dull brown eyes regarded the trio more in curiosity than in malice.

  Blade saw the shotgun wielder pivot toward the doorway.

  "Don't even think of it," the man snapped.

  Shifting, Blade saw Hickok poised to draw.

  "Drop the shotgun, mister," the gunfighter warned.

  "No one dictates to Morlock in his own house," the shorter man,snapped. "And if you go for those revolvers, I'll blow you in half."

  Hickok smiled. "I've got news for you, chump. I'll put a bullet in your brain before you can squeeze the trigger."

  "No one is that fast," the man scoffed.

  "I am," Hickok stated.

  Blade was going to admonish the gunfighter to wait when someone else intervened.

  "Husband, no!" Endora cried, rising. "There's no need for killing.

  They've convinced me they have peaceful intentions."

  The man called Morlock glanced disdainfully at her. "And you believe them, my dear?"

  "Yes, I do. Look at them. They're just boys. They came here from Humboldt, where there are other survivors," Endora said. "And what about their families?"

  A weird reaction occurred, and Blade didn't know what to make of it.

  Morlock perceptibly stiffened at the mention of other survivors, then slowly lowered the shotgun.

  "Very well. We must do the proper thing, eh?"

  "Please forgive my husband," Endora said, stepping to the man's side.

  Her shoulders were eight inches higher than his, and the contrast of her stately beauty to his malevolent mien was glaring. "Dearest, I'd like you to meet our guests. This is Blade, Geronimo and Hickok," she said, indicating each in turn.

  "Guests, is it? More like intruders to my way of thinking," the husband snapped. He handed the shotgun to the apish man, who took it as if grasping an egg.

  "We're sorry if we've upset you," Blade offered.

  "Upset us, hell. You've put us to a lot of trouble, young man, and all because you don't know how to respect the rights of others," Morlock said.

  "This castle is our home. Don't they teach you any meaning of that word where you come from?"

  "Of course they do," Blade said defensively.

  "Then you'll be so good as to vacate these premises right now."

  Endora cleared her throat. "Why don't we give them a spot of tea before they leave?"

  "Why don't we ask them to move in?" Morlock responded sarcastically.

  Blade had tolerated all the abuse he was willing to stand. He rose, being careful to point the rifle at the floor, and faced the spiteful owner
. "Look, mister, we'll leave just as soon as we get answers to some important questions. For one thing, we'd like to know why you tried to kill us?"

  Morlock sneered. "Don't be absurd. I never tried to kill you, boy."

  "Someone did. First they used a toy plane carrying miniature bombs.

  And earlier, upstairs, I was attacked and beaten by two men. Tell me it wasn't you."

  "I attacked you upstairs," Morlock said. "I freely admit as much. You and your friends broke into our home. Naturally, I took it as a hostile gesture and took appropriate measures."

  "And the plane?"

  "Was obtained by the man who built this castle long ago. He installed a surveillance camera in the nose and rigged the craft to carry miniature bombs, strictly for security purposes. The plane was programmed to spot interlopers and take appropriate action. Don't blame me if it came after you."

  "Do you expect us to swallow that load of manure?" Hickok interjected.

  "I don't care what you swallow, young man," Morlock said. "Just so you do it elsewhere."

  "Husband, enough," Endora said.

  "Enough!" The lord of the manor glanced at his brutish shadow.

  "Elphinstone, escort them outside. See to it that they depart immediately."

  Nodding once, Elphinstone moved forward ponderously, his arms swinging at his sides, the shotgun clutched as if it was a club and not a gun.

  "Put the shotgun down," Morlock commanded.

  Obediently, like a puppy obeying its master, Elphinstone deposited the weapon.

  Blade saw no reason to stay. Trying to interrogate Morlock would be an exercise in futility. "We must relight our torch first," he stated. "Then we'll go."

  After a few seconds of deliberation, Morlock agreed. "Very well. But vacate these premises quickly or I won't be held responsible for the consequences."

  "Are you threatenin' us?" Hickok asked.

  "Take it any way you want, boy," Morlock said.

  Motioning at Geronimo, Blade waited until the Blackfoot had touched the torch to a candle and reignited the strips before he walked from the room without a backward glance, his friends right behind him.

  "I don't like runnin' with my tail between my legs," Hickok groused.