They couldn't both vanish.
He blinked and stepped into the yard, swinging the rifle first one way, then another, his nerves raw, itching to fire at anything that moved. His face was clammy with sweat despite the cool breeze. His mind was a blank slate. Dazed, he walked to the big mausoleum and crouched beside it.
Endora was no longer visible in the window.
Get a grip, damn you!
Blade shook his head, confused by his reaction. He'd never been afraid of anything before, but the monster known as Grell had terrified him—and now this! What was happening to him? Maybe he wasn't cut out to be a Warrior. Maybe he didn't have what it took, didn't possess true courage.
He'd never been tested in combat or faced such a grim predicament. This was his first real crisis, and he was cracking under the strain.
What should he do?
Breathing deeply, he willed himself to calm down and relax, controlling his emotions. A Warrior should always maintain strict self-control. That was the beginning lesson taught by the Elder responsible for training novice Warriors. Superb self-control was the foundation on which rested all other attributes essential to a Warrior.
Next came dedication, loyalty to a higher ideal, and in his case it was the ideal represented by the Home and the Family, the ideal of love and stability realized by the descendants of Kurt Carpenter. On a practical level, he was glad to be able to serve the Family by protecting them from any and all threats to their continued survival.
Also critically important to any Warrior was an acceptance of the inevitable. Everyone died. Sooner or later everyone passed on to the higher mansions. Death was simply the means of throwing off the earthly coil and ascending to the next level. Warriors, more so than most, must resign themselves to the fact they lived with a heightened prospect of death every single day. Dying was an ever-present consequence of living a life devoted to safeguarding others and confronting lethal dangers on a daily basis.
Was that his problem?
Hadn't he learned to accept the inevitability of death?
Why else did he fear the mutation so much?
The revelation sparked profound thought, and Blade leaned on the mausoleum, totally oblivious to the passage of time, while he pondered the ramifications. Sure, he didn't want to die, but then who did? By the same token, he didn't want his friends to die either. And if he didn't get his act together, they surely would.
What was the key to solving his problem? How could he find the courage to confront Grell? Where did true courage spring from, anyway?
The heart? The mind? The personality? Or a combination of all three.
What distinguished a man labeled brave from one branded a coward?
Why were some men able to face death without flinching while others fled pell-mell? More to the point, which kind of man was he?
Which did he want to be?
Naturally, he wanted to be brave. Although only 16, he had adult responsibilities, and it was time he started owning up to them. He must conquer his fear and save his comrades.
Easier said than done.
How do you conquer fear? Blade asked himself. How do you overcome an intangible emotional state? Facing the object of one's fears was supposed to work, but he'd already faced Grell twice and quaked both times. If he could change his attitude, he'd be able to take on the mutation without flinching.
How did someone change their attitude?
The heart and mind alone couldn't do it, but the personality could through force of will. Was that the answer? Something so basic as willpower, the simple matter of making up one's mind? If a person wanted to be happy, all they had to do was will themselves to believe they were happy despite whatever external circumstances prevailed. Therefore, if someone wanted to be brave, all they had to do was believe they were brave.
Was that the way it worked?
Could so crucial a quality be so easy to obtain?
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Blade rose and scanned the yard and the castle. He'd worry about his problem later. Right now Hickok and Geronimo were more important. He took a step toward the castle, intending to start his search on the east side, when a scraping noise from the front of the mausoleum made him dart back. He peeked around the corner, his eyes widening in surprise.
The recessed front door was sliding open.
Elphinstone suddenly emerged.
Blade jerked his head from view, waited a few seconds, then risked another look.
The apish brute was pressing on one of the etched figures to the right of the door. Almost soundlessly the opening swung closed. Turning, Elphinstone walked to the northwest and disappeared around the corner.
Where was he going? Blade wondered. He stepped to the entrance and examined the walls on both sides. Carved into the marble near the right jamb was a reproduction of the crest engraved near the top of the tomb—the man in armor holding the head and body of a child. That had to be the one. Tentatively, he reached out and pressed on the cool surface, and to his delight the door moved inward on well-oiled hinges.
A quick check verified no one was watching. Blade ducked inside, then paused. There must be a way to close the door from within. He found himself on a spiral metal staircase that descended into the bowels of the earth. All below was pitch black.
Blade hesitated. Grell might be down there—but so might his friends.
He felt the wall for a figure, switch or lever, but found none. Leaving the door open was his only option. Taking hold of the rail, he slowly headed down, treading carefully, wary of tripping and plunging to a hard floor far below.
Doubts assailed him. What good could he do if he couldn't see three feet in front of his face? He'd be easy prey for anyone—or anything—lurking in the lower levels. But if he turned back now he might as well keep going all the way to the Home. He'd never be able to look anyone else in the eyes again. Of all the shameful acts men committed, few rivaled deserting friends in an hour of need.
His soles scraped softly on the steps, and in his nervous state he was certain the noise could be heard for hundreds of feet. He breathed shallowly, straining his ears, and glanced upward every few seconds to see if he was being followed.
The staircase seemed to go on forever.
Blade estimated he'd desended 100 feet when he reached the bottom and discerned the outline of a corridor extending to the north, toward the castle. Stepping to the right-hand wall, he placed his palm on the smooth stone and continued onward. The familiar dank smell permeated the air.
For 20 yards the corridor ran straight without a break, and then a junction signified he'd arrived at the levels under the castle. Blade scanned each branch and elected to go forward. His eyes had adjusted to the murky conditions sufficiently for him to discriminate doorways on both sides.
All the doors were closed. He tried the first one on the left and found it locked. The next door on the right was likewise secure. But the third door opened at the twisting of its knob and revealed a huge storeroom beyond.
Blade slid in and surveyed shelves piled high with goods, stacks of crates and boxes, and tables laden with all kinds of articles. Conducting a closer examination, he discovered a stash of canned goods in the southwest corner, and by holding the cans up to his face he was able to read those labels bearing white print. There were peaches, fruit cocktail, string beans, lima beans, corn, several types of juice, zucchini and much more. From the dust covering them, he guessed the cans had been placed there almost 100 years ago by Moray, the first lord of Castle Orm.
He found tools, untouched medical supplies, piles of clothing, blankets, and even pots and pans. None of the goods gave evidence of use, which puzzled him. Why had Moray's ancestors let all this stuff go to waste?
Perhaps for the very same reason the Family hadn't used all the supplies stockpiled by the Founder; it would take 1000 years to do so. Both men, apparently, provided more than their descendants would need for many, many generations to come.
A cabinet in a corn
er arrested his attention. He opened a door and found the equivalent of a gold mine in the form of three boxes of matches.
Eagerly he scooped them up, placed two in his pockets and opened the third. Now all he needed to do—
What was that?
Blade stiffened at the faint patter of footsteps in the passageway.
Crouching, he aimed at the doorway.
A pale figure appeared, then another.
"Pard, are you in here?"
Blade recognized Tabitha's voice. Flabbergasted, he rose and moved into the open. "Tabitha and Selwyn?"
"Yep," the woman replied happily.
"This isn't my idea, sir," Selwyn stated quickly. "She made me do it."
He sighed. "The things brothers do for their sisters."
The youth walked over to them. "I don't understand. What are you doing here?"
"We've been following you, sir," Tabitha said.
"Following me?"
"Yes, sir. Ever since Grell came. We hid in the forest and watched him destroy your camp, then we followed after you."
"I thought you'd rejoined the other serfs."
"Not yet, Pard. We're having too much fun."
Blade looked into her pale eyes. "Why do you keep calling me pard?"
"Isn't that your name, sir? We heard the blond one call you Pard."
"My name is Blade."
"Oh. We're sorry, sir."
Blade leaned closer. "Tell me. Did you happen to see what happened to my friends?"
"No, sir," Tabitha answered.
"We did see Master Elphinstone going toward the front of the great house," Selwyn disclosed and giggled. "He never saw us hiding in the weeds."
A frown creased Blade's lips. There it was again, a hint of immaturity or instability or a combination of both. The serfs knew they would be punished for their transgressions, yet they viewed the whole affair as a great game. "Why have you been following me?"
"Because we like you, sir," Tabitha said.
"Please call me Blade."
"Okay. Because we like you, Blade, sir."
"Do you know where we are?"
"Of course, sir. In the lowest level below the great house. There are a lot of rooms with many strange things in them, just like this one."
"More storerooms?"
"More rooms like this one, sir."
"On which level do the serfs live?"
"The next two up."
"Take me there."
"If you want, sir, but Master Morlock and Mistress Endora might be there. They'll punish us," Selwyn said.
"Take me."
Brother and sister turned and exited the room.
Cramming the third box of matches into a back pocket, Blade trailed them. He'd save the box until it was really needed. They passed more doors and once a branch to the right. "Where does that go?" he inquired.
"The bone room, sir," Tabitha said. "It's where Grell throws the bones of all the animals and such he eats."
The mention of the monster quickened Blade's pulse, but he didn't allow the panic to seize control again. "He saves bones?"
"Yes, sir. Likes to munch on them when the masts give him time to himself. The room is sort of his den."
"Keep going."
The serfs guided the youth to the central stairway and started up the steps. They slowed when they were halfway to the next landing and turned to the giant.
"We'd rather not go any farther, sir," Tabithaa said respectfully.
"That's right, Blade, sir," Selwyn started. "We're just not in the mood to be punished right now. We'd rather stay out until morning and take our medicine then."
"You don't need to worry. I won't let any of your masts harm you."
"I doubt you can persuade them not to punish us, sir," Tabitha said.
"There are ways."
Shrugging, the pair climbed higher.
Blade followed and could make out the landing and several forks. It wasn't pitch black, after all, and he attributed the reason to moonlight filtering in from outdoors. The matches would help, but any light on the lower levels would undoubtedly attract Morlock and company like a campfire in the open sometimes attracted murderous scavengers.
They reached the landing and halted, Tabitha and Selwyn hanging back, reluctant to advance.
"Please let us leave, sir," she begged.
"You have nothing to fear," Blade told them. He walked to the left-hand fork and peered down the corridor, then turned his back to the middle branch and smiled at his newfound friends. "I'll take care of you."
An express train hurtled out of the darkness and slammed into his back.
Chapter Fourteen
The impact knocked Blade prone, the breath whooshing from his lungs, and sent the Marlin skidding across the landing. He heard Tabitha and Selwyn laugh—laugh?— and then he frantically pushed to his knees and tried to turn. A naked foot caught him at the base of the neck and sent him down again, his surroundings spinning as if in a whirlpool.
The serfs laughed below.
Numb from the last blow, Blade feebly attempted to roll over. Iron hands closed on his shoulders, and he was bodily lifted into the air. He struggled weakly, but it wasn't enough to prevent his assailant from throwing him against a corridor wall. He landed on his left side and finally saw his attacker.
The hulking form of Elphinstone moved toward the youth, his mallet-like hands clenched into huge fists.
In a certain sense, Blade felt relieved. It was the apish brute, not Grell.
At least he stood a chance. Since he'd arrived at Castle Orm, he'd been played a fool, beaten, treated like dirt, and experienced the supreme humiliation of stark cowardice. Now was his chance to show these bastards what Warriors were made of.
Elphinstone halted next to the youth's head and leaned down to grab him.
Not this time, Blade thought, driving his knees up and around, his legs bent, and succeeding in catching Elphinstone in the left temple.
The brute grunted and staggered backward.
Blade was up in a flash, in the on-guard stance. He considered resorting to his Bowies and promptly discarded the notion. His foe wasn't armed.
Using the knives would be unfair.
Neither of the serfs were laughing.
Straightening, Elphinstone vented an inarticulate growl and charged, swinging his fists wildly, going for the youth's face.
This time Blade was ready. He ducked under a couple of punches that would have caved in his skull and delivered three swift jabs to the brute's ribs. When Elphinstone shifted to the right, Blade pivoted, pressing his initiative, burying his left fist in the apish man's stomach and following through with a right to the jaw that rocked Elphinstone on his heels.
Instantly, Blade closed in, kneeing his adversary in the groin.
Elphinstone wheezed and doubled over, and Blade executed a flawless snap kick into the brute's nose that sent him tottering backward almost to the edge of the landing. "Had enough?" he asked.
Elphinstone recovered his balance and bellowed his enraged response.
"No!"
Blade wanted to end the fight before Morlock or Grell showed up, especially Grell. As Elphinstone came toward him, he ran to meet the brute halfway. But instead of using his fists, he leaped into the air, performing a flying side kick, the yoko-tobi-geri, and struck Elphinstone full in the mouth.
As if smashed by a sledgehammer, Elphinstone catapulted head over heels onto his stomach with a loud thud. For a moment he lay stunned.
His head slowly rose from the hard floor, his lips cracked and bleeding, and he spat blood. With a guttural growl, he started to rise.
Blade was ready. Instead of slugging it out with the brute, he must rely on the martial arts. Elphinstone obviously knew nothing of the science of self-defense, and while the brute might be stronger, his reflexes and coordination were no match for Blade's.
The young Warrior glided in and flicked a snap kick to his foe's head before Elphinstone could rise, rocking the apis
h man on his haunches.
Another snap kick with the right leg was blocked, but a crescent kick with the left connected and sent the brute onto his back.
Elphinstone took longer to rise this time. Dark stains coated the lower half of his face and neck. He grunted as he propped himself on his elbows, then came off the floor in a surprising burst of speed.
Still in the on-guard stance, Blade retreated a step to give himself more room and leaped into the air, whipping his body in a spinning back kick that hit the brute at the base of the throat and lifted Elphinstone from his feet to sail to the edge of the landing and over it. He alighted on the balls of his feet and moved to the first step, expecting to see the apish figure barreling up toward him.
There was no one there.
Perplexed, Blade scanned the stairs below and saw no sign of his adversary. Yet Elphinstone had to be down there, somewhere. He doubted the brute was gravely injured. It would take more than a few kicks to put the Neanderthal out of commission. Pivoting, he looked at the serfs.
Tabitha and Selwyn were riveted in place, their expressions reflecting total astonishment.
Blade anticipated they would be elated at his victory and walked up to them. "See? I told you I'd take care of you."
"You hurt him!" Tabitha declared angrily. "You hurt Master Elphinstone!"
"You had no right to be so cruel!" Selwyn added.
Bewildered by their passionate reaction, Blade blinked and jabbed a finger at the stairs. "He was trying to kill me," he said defensively.
"He was not," Tabitha disagreed. "He probably just wanted to put you in a cage."
"And you think I should have let him?"
"Certainly. He's one of the masts, after all. All of us should serve them gladly."
"I'm no one's slave," Blade snapped, "and I don't serve your masts. If I can, I'm going to put them out of business for good."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I mean I'm going to put an end to their enslavement of the serfs."
The brother and sister looked at each other.
"You can't," Selwyn responded in horror, forgetting his usual excessive civility.
In exasperation Blade threw his hands into the air and both serfs flinched. "Why not?" he demanded.
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