Squirming deeper into the juncture of the porch and wall, she could feel one of the old panel boards give way ever so slightly. Realizing the understructure wasn’t solid, she pressed back against it slightly harder. However, it resisted, registering a complaint for being disturbed with a creaking sound.
Mardrith froze her movements and listened. The approaching footsteps had also stopped. In the sand at the edge of the porch she could see the shadow of a person’s head. It would all be over soon - unless....
Turning her attention back to the porch paneling, she saw something she hadn’t noticed before. Unlike the other panels with their years of unfettered crude buildup, the joiner grooves of one particular panel was suspiciously clean. She reached for it and gave it a gentle nudge. Nothing happened. Then she inadvertently pushed upward and back on it and to her amazement the panel board easily slid along the groove, and disappeared, laying flat beneath the porch boards, leaving her just enough room to slip through sideways.
Mardrith hesitated, and looked back at the shadow of the head on the sand as it slowly grew into a chest and waist length figure. Mardrith had no way of knowing where the passage beneath the porch steps led, but it was her only means of escape. In an attempt not to make more suspicious sand noises, she lifted herself up off the sand and, like a water bug, slipped through the space, being careful not to snag any splinters in her naked flesh.
As soon had she cleared the opening, the panel board slipped silently shut.
“See anybody?” the more distant male called.
“Nah,” said the nearer one, who was presently standing in the very spot Mardrith had just vacated.
“Then, come on. We’re already late checking with in with Ambassador Kudjer. No sense getting him and the mayor all riled up against us.”
Mardrith listened as the two male guards jogged off toward the western corner of the house. It wasn’t until she could no longer hear them that she exhaled the breath she had been holding, and sucked in several deep, fresh breaths to keep from passing out. With her heart still racing, she surveyed her surroundings. Many rays of sunlight beamed between the porch boards providing a modest amount of light by which to see. And what she saw was pretty much as she suspected. It looked like the underside of the outer porch.
Every fleshy pore of Mardrith’s naked body felt encrusted with sand. In disgust she sat up, and made a half-hearted attempt to brush herself off. After a few moments she gave up and leaned back against the Center House foundation. To her surprise she toppled over backwards, somersaulting head-over-heels down a gradually sloped platform and ended up lying on her stomach on a hard, cold surface.
In a typically human response, she immediately jumped to her feet as soon as she realized no bones had been broken during the acrobatics. Wherever she had landed, it was dark, dank, and surprisingly cool. Groping around, she stumbled into what could only be a table. To her surprise and delight there was a candle and a box of firesticks on it. Quickly, she lit the candle.
The flickering light revealed she was in a rather ordinary room, other than being underground, and a rickety old table was its only furnishing. At the far side of the room was an ascending stairway, presumably, leading to somewhere within Center House. For the present, however, Mardrith, was too exhausted and too weak to think much about it. If the passage did exit into Center House, it still would after she was rested.
Near the stairway, was a deep cubby in the wall. After sleeping in the open field, the idea of being encompassed by three walls with a roof overhead gave her comfort. She had hardly settled herself in before she was fast asleep, dreaming the dreams she had feared to dream, but now was disinclined to stave off.
***** ***** *****
“It’s about time you two reported in. The Lord Mayor has little patience with podpuffers,” Ambassador Kudjer informed the perimeter guards when their panting and wheezing settled down. Neither had had much reason to run since childhood and were more than mildly out of shape.
“We - we thought we...,” one guard panted.
“What he - he means is, we, uh, thought we should perform a thorough check along the first few veget rows to, uh...,” the second interrupted, before the first guard could say too much. Of course they should have reported the sounds they had heard, for they may actually have been made by eastern rebels. However, if they did report that they heard sounds, but came back empty handed and it turned out they were actually made by marauding rebels, they would be in a whole lot of trouble. Thus, it seemed rather imperative they not mention the sounds at all.
“Hm, good idea, good idea.” Kudjer was impressed by the guards’ ingenuity. Pentalope herself had directed him to be the commander of the first watch with the responsibility of securing the Center House perimeter from rebel insurrection. It was deemed an appointment of great honor by his fellow ambassadors. But, unfortunately, it was one at which he knew himself to be totally inept. As a child he hadn’t even been good at playing Hide and Go Find or Sider, Sider, Catch a Rider. Still, not even the mayor’s “chosen ones” had the luxury of contradicting her directives.
“I thought I heard someone!” the first guard blurted out before the second guard could stop him.
“Heard someone? You think you heard someone?” Kudjer’s voice had raised several tones. “You - you looked around for them, didn’t you? And - and you didn’t find anyone - did you?” Kudjer anxiously peered over their shoulders as if half expecting to find a long line of bound and gagged rebels standing in tow behind them. He was overtly relieved there wasn’t.
“No one! Not a thing! Nothing! No sir! It must have been the wind,” offered the second guard before realizing the night air was as still as death itself.
“Hm. Still, I suppose we’d better take another look,” Kudjer replied, rubbing his chin nervously. Kudjer was sure he really didn’t want anything to happen on his watch. But he was even more sure, if something was going to happen, he didn’t want to be caught off guard - so to speak.
“Then you’ll be coming back with us, sir?”
“Back with you?” Kudjer gasped the words.
“Yes sir, you said, ‘we’d better take another look,’ so naturally I assumed you meant you’d be taking charge,” the guard responded in a relieved tone.
“Oh, uh, yes, yes, of course,” Kudjer stammered as he looked about for a way of escape. However, what he saw were six young, strong male youths with nothing to do but stand around staring at the young females gathered there with their families on the Center House porch. “You! You, there! I hereby deputize you as temporary guards in the Lord Mayor’s security force. Come along with us. We’re in search of sabotaging rebels.”
What Ambassador Kudjer lacked in physical prowess, he made up for in dramatic, verbal discourse. In other words, he could talk a mean fight. At that moment it proved to be his saving grace, for the young rebels were so overcome by his authoritative tone, they actually mustered their sexual hormones into fighting ones. Soon, Kudjer found himself standing in front of eight males eager for a fight.
“Oh, I’m so proud of you, Kudjer, but do remember that too much dust sends you into a sneezing fit,” Kudjer’s wife reminded him.
“Why, thank you, dear, er, I mean, Ambassador Penca.”
“The mayor should be personally informed of your great courage,” Penca said firmly.
“Oh, well, now, that’s, uh, nice, but really I haven’t done anything very courageous - yet,” Kudjer reminded her, with a blush. Penca, he knew, had always held him in high regard, but he was sure, she had never viewed him as courageous before. Just the thought of it filled him with an air of courage. Marching straight and tall, he lead the squad around the western corner of the Center House front porch.
Penca was so impressed with her husband, she decided that despite his modest objection, she would immediately inform the Lord Mayor of his valor on her behalf. After all, it was on her behalf, as well, for if the Lord Mayor ever decided she needed a Chief Ambassadors, well, why shoul
dn’t it be her husband, and as such, surely the mayor would name her second in charge.
To her chagrin, there was a large, boisterous crowd gathered about the Center House porch blocking her way, as she made several attempts to press through the mass of human flesh. Finally, after one fellow gave her a sharp jab to the ribs, she cried out. “Is this anyway to treat an ambassador of the Lord Mayor?
“Wha...?” The fellow spun his head around, stared into her face, then at the badge sewn over her heart. “Oh, oh, oh my, I - I’m so sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize it was you. Honest, or I would never have ... oh my.”
“Look, I’m just trying to get in to see the mayor. I have a very important message for her,” Penca said.
“Important message? For the mayor?” A sense of urgency filled the fellow’s voice. “Follow me! Er, please, ma’am,” he said then turned his back to her and began shouting as he forced his way through the crowd. “Make way for the ambassador of the Lord Mayor! Make way for the ambassador of the Lord Mayor!” Immediately, the crowd began to part like a loaf of hot veget bread giving way to the sharp edge of a carving knife.
Penca couldn’t help but feel impressed by the effect the fellow’s words were having over her fellow Nuttinnewians. As she passed through the mass, all eyes were turned towards her, as if it were somehow important just to get a glimpse of her. As she passed through them, she recognized the faces of several friends, neighbors and relatives, but the expressions on their faces made her wonder if they even recognized her. It was as if the badge over her left breast had changed her into something other than what she had always been - the devoted wife of Kudjer Aaches, male of letters.
Midway across the porch, her guide stepped aside and she saw that a path through the people had been cleared straight to the Center House front door. She felt somewhat embarrassed stepping into the open space, knowing everyone was silently staring at her - honoring her - perhaps even worshiping her - at the least envying her. Still, she felt obligated to thank the fellow who had assisted her. She looked back at him to mouth the words, but his eyes were cast down in humility.
The silence of those gathered about her roared in her ears. Never had she so much attention since her wedding day, and even then, she shared the spotlight with her husband to be. Today, she alone was the spectacle which drew everyone’s gaze. The mass of people before her, even those whom she knew well, began to lose their individuality, melting into the singular entity of a crowd, suspended in time with the bated breath of anticipation. Did they expect her to speak? She couldn’t speak. She had nothing to say and attempted to tell them so, by raising her hand and waving off their attention. The crowd, taking this as a gesture of blessing, broke into a volley of enthusiastic cheers, nearly frightening poor Penca to death. Hastily, she slipped inside and closed the door behind her.
Safe from the cheering crowd, she now faced an even greater fear. She was standing alone, uninvited, in Center House, the Lord Mayor’s private domain, where even in the old days before the pieces fell from the sky, one risked her wrath for just stepping onto the Center House porch uninvited. By now, Penca felt the feeling of having come too far to go back. Surely, the Lord Mayor would welcome one of her own ambassadors, especially, if they were bearing her good news.
“Hello, Pentalo... er, Lord Mayor? Are you here? Is anyone here?” she called weakly, as she stepped further into the entryway and gazed into the sitting room. Never had she seen such furnishings. These were the creations of the Ancients, and although she had often heard tales about them, they far surpassed her imagination.
Stepping closer to the staircase, she called again, weakly, half hoping not to be heard. “Hello?” Again, there was no response. Somewhat relieved she turned away, but then she heard a noise - a noise that resembled a voice - somewhat. Turning back she looked up the stairwell and called again - a little louder this time. “He - hello, Lord Mayor. It’s me, Penca, Ambassador Penca. Hello?” Again, there was no response except for what sounded like groans and squeals. She couldn’t imagine they were human, but then what else could they be? This thought filled her with an even greater sense of discomfort.
What if something had happened to the Lord Mayor? What if the rebels those two guards thought they heard had somehow gained entry to Center House and were even now torturing, or worse, killing her Lord Mayor?
Quickly, but cautiously, Penca skirted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Upon reaching the top, she saw only a long hallway lined with doors. All were closed save one, which hung slightly ajar. It was from the room within, that the horribly painful sounds emanated. Slowly, she approached it. Then, taking a deep breath, she ventured a peek through the narrow opening. The room was obviously an oversized privy room, although far more elaborate than any she’d ever seen before.
Crack! The sudden noise painfully struck her ears and startled her. It was immediately followed by the low groaning sounds which had drawn her here in the first place. Penca had no thought to be a hero. Her first instinct was to run and get help. Then the sound of the most cruel, snarling, unhuman voice she had ever heard filled the room.
“My, my, aren’t we having a good time, yet? Perhaps, this will help liven you up a bit.”
Crack! Again, the frightening sound assaulted Penca’s ears. Again, it was followed by a horrible, gurgling groan. Penca could take no more. Afraid to stay, afraid to go, she found herself reaching out and pushing the door open. She hadn’t expected the sight which now filled her eyes, and involuntarily gave out a shriek.
Pentalope spun towards the now open door. “Penca!” she shouted. But her demure quickly melted into a false passivism. “Why, look here, Fleetra, we have a visitor. Come in, my sweet. You are just in time. It seems my seamstress no longer wants to play with me. How nice of you to volunteer to take her place. Remove your pullover where you stand, then come in.”
Penca found herself staring at the wicked sneer which had spread its evil angles across Pentalope’s face. It was as if her very will had been torn from her, as she slowly pulled the hem of her pullover up to her waist. Her thighs quivered as the power of Pentalope’s glaring eyes seemed to fondle her exposed flesh.
“That’s a good little ambassador. Why, I think she deserves a promotion. Don’t you Fleetra?” Pentalope’s voice flowed with the sweet syrup of sarcasm.
The sight which had initially frightened her so much was the tall, lanky, contorted, naked form of her Lord Mayor standing with feet wide apart and whipping rod in hand. Her hair was matted and her skin glistened with sweat. Here and there, were bright blotches which looked much like the red of human life-fluid. However, since there were no lacerations on Pentalope’s own body, Penca could only surmise their source was Fleetra - her seamstress, who remained hidden from view behind the open door.
“Will you keep me waiting all day? Do you think I have nothing better to do?” Pentalope screeched in a piercing pitch which frightened Penca so, she nearly jumped into the room. It was then that she was startled into emitting a second shriek. For the door no longer blocked her view of the seamstress, although she wished it had.
In the center of the room, suspended over a huge stone tub, she saw Fleetra’s bloodied body, hanging limply, from wrists drawn overhead by narrow veget straps affixed to the ceiling.
“The first assignment of your new promotion as my special assistant, is to cut this lump of wasted flesh from her binds. Then - be so kind to take her place,” Pentalope said nonchalantly as she wiped Fleetra’s blood from the whipping stick with her bare fingers.
Penca was sure she would vomit, so she turned away and braced herself on the door post. The move was a mistake, for if there was one thing Pentalope wouldn’t tolerate; it was insubordination.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” Pentalope roared as her large, lanky body charged at Penca, her whipping stick raised high into the air.
Penca turned just in time to see Pentalope out of the corner of her eye. The Lord Mayor’s eyes flashed like an om
inous bolt of lightning, or was it just in Penca's fearful imagination? Overwhelmed by the suddenness of the attack, Penca lunged backwards, slamming her head against the door jam.
For a moment everything went black, then bright again, as her eyes focused on the nude female hanging over the smooth, stone tub. Streaks of red fluid trickled down the female's body and dripped into the water filled basin below. The room spun around in her head. Then the sneering face of the Lord Mayor appeared directly in front of her own. Penca’s eyes rolled back into their sockets and she dropped with a thud to the wooden planked floor.
Pentalope positioned herself over Penca's limp body. In her right hand she held the switch which she rhythmically slapped against her left palm. With her right foot she caught Penca's pullover at the hem and worked it up her thigh, partially exposing the unconscious female's bare buttock. Rising high on her tiptoes, Pentalope arched her back and brought the switch down with such a force it sliced an opening in Penca's white flesh, releasing a trickle of blood. The fallen female gave out a reflexive moan, but didn’t awaken.
Pentalope put her foot in the center of Penca's back like a victor who had just vanquished some savage prey. After a moment, she turned to Fleetra. "Fear not, my sweet seamstress. You’ve nothing to fear from this one. No one could replace you as my very special assistant.” Pentalope laughed a hideous laugh and kicked Penca’s wound, causing the trickle of blood to splatter.
Pieces: Book One, The Rending Page 49