The Eternal Dungeon: a Turn-of-the-Century Toughs omnibus

by Dusk Peterson

CHAPTER FOUR

  Weldon dragged himself wearily to his prisoner’s cell the next morning. After three hours spent trying to stave off his dreams, he had finally abandoned sleep and spent the remainder of the night doing documentwork. But this proved to be no more pleasurable an exercise, for his conversation the previous day with Birdesmond had caused his mind to wander, with frightening accuracy, to the worst year of his life: the year he became a guard in the Eternal Dungeon.

  Those were the years before the dungeon’s Torturers were renamed Seekers. It was still the custom then for guards-in-training to be hazed by more experienced guards. Weldon had accepted this custom, even though it seemed to him that his hazing was of a higher degree than that of the other new guards. He guessed that his special status – as a commoner who had been elevated to the elite – required that he prove himself to a greater degree.

  And then the six months of his training ended, and the hazing continued. It was becoming clear to Weldon that the hazing would never end. It was not meant to serve the same purpose as it did with the other new guards, of allowing them the opportunity to show their mettle and to bond with more experienced guards. In his case, the hazing was meant to drive him out of the inner dungeon, back to the commoner world where he belonged.

  Stubbornly, he stuck the matter out, refusing to leave, refusing to tattle to the High Torturer about what was happening. If only, he thought to himself, he could last until a Torturer discovered the hazing and put a stop to it.

  He had worked in the inner dungeon for nearly a year on the day that they cornered him in an empty cell and demanded that he go down on his knees before each of them, in the manner that a commoner does before the men to whom he owes servitude. Wearily, he did so; he had done this for these men many times before. But then the newest and youngest guard, only three days into training, demanded that Weldon kiss his boot. Amidst the jibes and jeers, Weldon refused.

  And so they stripped him of his clothes and tied him to the ring and used their whips on him, each one accompanying his beating with catcalls about vile commoners. They told him they were doing him a favor – that when he became a Torturer, he’d need to undergo this training in any case. And then they threw his bloodied body onto the floor and ordered him to kiss all their boots, lest they place him on the rack.

  Weldon, sobbing his refusals, raised his face from the ground in time to see that the door to the cell had opened a crack. There, unnoticed by the other guards, stood a black-hooded Torturer, his olive-skinned hand tight on the latch.

  Another sob escaped Weldon, this one of relief. It was not just any Torturer – it was Mr. Smith, the young Torturer who had defended him in court, the man who was so valued by the High Torturer that he had recently been selected to revise the Code of Seeking. If anyone could put a stop to this, Mr. Smith could.

  Weldon raised his gaze to the Torturer’s eyes. That was a mistake.

  For a moment, they were both motionless, gazing upon one another: Weldon unable to move, Mr. Smith looking down at him with eyes smiling with pleasure. Then softly, so softly that the other guards did not notice, the young Torturer closed the door.

  That night, after the torment had finally ended, Weldon lay shuddering in his bed, trying to figure out what to do next. He had been wrong about his Torturer, and if he was wrong about Mr. Smith . . .

  The next morning Weldon was given a message bidding him to come to the High Torturer’s office. Such was Weldon’s state of mind that he was convinced that the High Torturer planned to punish him for refusing to kiss the guards’ boots. Instead, the High Torturer told him that he was to be trained to become a Torturer, due to a recommendation from one of the Torturers.

  That was the day when Weldon learned that Layle Smith made a great distinction between what he enjoyed and what he countenanced.

  Weldon tried to keep that distinction in mind as he walked toward Birdesmond’s cell. Was his desire to bring a quick end to this searching due only to his selfish desire to end the nightmares and dark memories that Birdesmond was unwittingly triggering? No, he was sure that was not the case. His motive was to help the prisoners – the other prisoners, who were awaiting his assistance. If Birdesmond had truly committed a crime, he would have spent as lengthy a time with her as was needed, but he was increasingly sure that she was innocent of any crime. So he must put a stop to this.

  The question was how.

  He found Birdesmond once more next to the fiery wall, this time on her knees, placing her hand against the bottom edge of the wall. She turned her head when he entered and said, “I thought perhaps the wall was hot enough that a prisoner could burn himself on it.”

  Weldon waited until his senior day guard had closed the door. Then he walked forward to the middle of the cell, saying, “No. The height and temperature of the fires are regulated to prevent that.”

  “That was foresightful of the Eternal Dungeon.”

  “It was a reaction to lack of foresight, actually. These furnaces were installed after a prisoner deliberately burned himself to death on one of the stoves that used to heat the prisoners’ cells.”

  Birdesmond was in the midst of trying to disentangle herself from her wide skirt in order to rise. As on the previous day, Weldon had to suppress the impulse to come forward and help her rise. She looked up at him and said quietly, “How very sad. I notice that the cells have watch-holes, which are mentioned in the Code of Seeking. Was no guard watching the prisoner at the time this happened?”

  “No,” said Weldon, “he was not.” He felt the familiar weight of guilt press upon him, accompanied by a sharp annoyance that Birdesmond continued to show such talent in bringing the darkest aspects of his past into the present.

  “Well,” said Birdesmond, finally rising, “I am not very surprised to hear about the death – such things happen in every prison – but I am surprised at the lengths that the Eternal Dungeon has gone to prevent such a death from occurring again. The Seekers certainly go to much trouble to care for their prisoners.”

  It was the type of opening he had wanted; he grasped at it eagerly. “This is especially so with female prisoners,” he said. “The Code of Seeking, as you may have noticed, has special rules on the treatment of female prisoners – for example, women cannot be tortured. And these rules are backed by stricter policies of supervision over the Seekers who search female prisoners. In fact, it is likely that, within the next day or two, either the Codifier or someone he appoints will visit to check that you are being properly tended—”

  “And there is a rule against touching? I notice that you have taken great care not to touch me.”

  He felt exultant. Now, at last, they were in the final paces of the searching; now he could demonstrate clearly to her that her efforts to accuse him of abuse were misguided. “The Code of Seeking forbids all Seekers from touching prisoners, whether the prisoners be female or male. That is one of our strictest rules. If one of my guards saw me touch you, in however small a manner, he would be required to report me to the Codifier. That is why guards are under orders to watch the interactions between Seeker and prisoner in an especially close manner if the prisoner is a woman.”

  Birdesmond nodded. “And the outer dungeon workers. Are you forbidden from touching them as well?”

  He was silent a moment, trying to trace mentally her pattern of searching. Then he said, “There is no official rule against it, but it would not be appropriate for a Seeker to do so. We are required to maintain formality at all times with the outer dungeon inhabitants. That is why we wear the face-cloths of our hoods down when we are in public.”

  “So you have not touched anyone since you became a Seeker.”

  Suddenly the path of her searching was manifest to him; he felt himself relax accordingly. “I know that the popular image of a Seeker is of a touch-starved man who has been deprived of all human contact and is therefore driven to base lusts with his prisoners,” he said, letting amusement enter his voice. “But this is not the case. The custom in
the Eternal Dungeon is to permit friendships between the inhabitants of the inner dungeon, the Seekers and the guards. The Code even permits Seekers to choose love-mates amongst each other, since all Seekers take the oath of eternal confinement.”

  “And have you done so?”

  He could have cursed himself in the next moment. He had braided the noose and slung it over his own neck. No doubt her question was innocent enquiry rather than deliberate entrapment, but it was not a question he wanted to answer.

  “That is personal information, Mistress Birdesmond,” he said in his most forbidding voice.

  “I am very sorry, sir,” she said, looking down at the ground. “I know that I am your prisoner and ought not to be questioning you.”

  She was watching him through her lashes. Weldon remembered, too late, that he had not offered her a seat. It hardly seemed appropriate for him to do so now. It was the Seeker who decided such matters, and Birdesmond – as she had just pointedly reminded him – was taking the role of Seeker in this exchange.

  Unless he wanted to turn the rules and take back the power of searching. That would not please Layle, not when Weldon had come so far with this prisoner. Weldon was highly tempted to lie to Birdesmond, but the Code explicitly stated the penalties for lying by male prisoners and— No, Weldon really did not want to test whether Birdesmond would demand that the guards be brought in to beat him.

  He decided that it was instead time to teach Birdesmond the most valuable lesson any Seeker-in-Training ever learns: that a blatant lie can fairly easily be detected, but an evasion is far harder to notice.

  “Well,” he said, “I am a bit shy about discussing my private life, I will admit. I suppose that is because my fortune has been so great. A number of years ago, a Seeker of high reputation, who was my friend, asked me to be his love-mate. I was pleased and honored to accept his proposal.”

  “I see,” said Birdesmond. “And how long did your love-bond last?”

  His tongue nearly stumbled, but he recovered himself quickly. “It is an honor I have retained to the present day.”

  “No doubt,” said Birdesmond, sweetly soft. “But I did not ask you whether you had retained your honor; I asked how long you remained love-mates with this man. One year? Ten?”

  “Mistress Birdesmond,” he said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt, “I really do not want to be talking about my private life when another person is involved. He might not like my discussing this with you.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” said Birdesmond. “I quite understand.”

  She lowered her eyes again, but this time she did not try to hide the steady stare she gave him. She might as well have shouted aloud, “Your refusal to answer tells me all that I need to know.”

  Weldon found himself hoping that his day guards were not listening to this conversation. His reputation as a Seeker might never recover if others heard about this. He spent a minute confirming for himself that the noose was tightened beyond any ability for him to remove it. Then he said, with a small sigh, “The love-bond lasted less than an hour.”

  To her credit, she did not laugh. “You decided it would not be wise to proceed with the relationship?”

  “The other Seeker made certain statements which showed me clearly that our visions of love were very different and that I should not proceed into the love-bond. I was glad, afterwards, that I learned of our incompatibility so early on, before our ties were fully formed.”

  “But you were in love with him?”

  “I thought I was at the time.” Weldon had his gaze narrowed upon her now. He was trying, through what now seemed to him to be a feeble mind, to figure out what connection this conversation had with the female prisoners whom Birdesmond believed he was abusing. “I realized afterwards that I was not. I had thought he was a man I ought to feel passion toward, and so I had persuaded myself that I did. I am not sure whether that makes sense to you.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said with a smile. “It has happened to me as well, and to many people, I think. It is less likely to happen once you have truly fallen in love. And that has happened to you, I suppose?”

  “I— Excuse me? I am not sure I understand the question.”

  “You have fallen in love with other Seekers? You have sought to create other love-bonds? Or at least considered doing so?”

  He could feel something hard in his chest, preventing him from taking easy breaths. “Mistress Birdesmond, I am not sure what you are trying to determine.”

  “Well,” she said with an apologetic air, “I suppose I am twisting and turning down a complicated path. You spoke two days ago about how all of the Seekers make the same sacrifice and that none of you are worse off than the others.”

  “Perhaps I exaggerated. My own sacrifice was lesser than that of many Seekers here, because I was able to spend more time in the lighted world than most Seekers do. Other Seekers are somewhat worse off than me.”

  “Ah.” Her voice had taken on an apologetic tone. “Then I fear I am a bit confused. You see, the Code of Seeking makes provision for Seekers who wish to take male love-mates, but it does not seem to provide any solution for men who are only able to feel passion for women.”

  “And you think—” Weldon had to force the words out. “You think such men as that are more likely to abuse female prisoners?”

  “Oh, no, I was not trying to suggest that. Men will assault women for many reasons, and previously denied desires are only one of those reasons. No, what I wanted to suggest is that the Seekers who are unable to feel passion for other men have made a greater sacrifice in vowing to remain here than the Seekers who can feel passion for other men and can therefore choose love-mates amongst each other. Any Seeker who thinks otherwise has deceived himself. And you know,” she said softly, “I do think that self-deception is a very great evil. Whether or not it leads a person to commit a crime, it is still a darkness of the soul, and one that ought to be rooted out. With help, if need be. Don’t you agree?”

  Weldon was staring at the ground now. His heart was beating hard, and it was even more difficult to breathe in this position than it had been before, but he dared not let Birdesmond see the expression written upon his face. “Perhaps,” he said in a low voice.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, a man ran through darkness, searching desperately.

  o—o—o

  The High Seeker was silent a while before he said, “She is skilled.”

  “She is,” Weldon agreed.

  “But not skilled enough. She has not reached the heart of the matter.” He reached over for his drink.

  Weldon was silent. Around him he could hear light chatter, somewhat easier in tone than the last time he had visited this common room while the High Seeker was here. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the High Seeker had chosen, for the first time in nine months, to appear in public without Elsdon at his side. It was a good sign, a very good sign.

  Weldon wished he could feel more pleasure than he did at the High Seeker’s renewed health. Perhaps his weariness of mind came simply from weariness of body. It was past midnight, and while it was normal for the High Seeker to be awake at this hour – he took the night shift – Weldon was usually in bed at this time. He had been awakened again, though, by the dream that had possessed him for many years: a dream in which he ran and ran through the darkness, seeking a door he never found.

  Layle flicked a glance at him, and then returned his attention to the cup he was sipping from. Weldon wondered whether the High Seeker knew where that missing door lay. As Layle had subtly indicated, the mystery did not lie with the fact that Weldon was incapable of feeling passion for men. Weldon had known that for many years, since shortly after his abortive attempt to enter into a love-bond with another Seeker. He had grieved over that knowledge, had come to terms with it, and had continued with his life. After all, he was not the only Seeker who could feel passion only for women and would forever be deprived of entering into love with another person. There were other Seeker
s here who had made that sacrifice.

  That was not where Weldon’s pain lay; that was not what made his heart ache whenever he saw Layle and Elsdon together and sensed the depth of their passion for each other. But where his pain lay – what door was missing from his life – he did not know.

  Now, for the first time in many years, he was beginning to grow afraid that someone else would learn the truth before he did.

  “Mr. Chapman,” Layle said softly, “if you would prefer, I can have the Record-keeper transfer Mistress Birdesmond to another Seeker.”

  For a moment he was tempted. Then he remembered his oath and said, “That would not be in the best interests of the prisoner, sir. Matters are proceeding well between the two of us: she has already made the error of thinking she has discovered the full truth about me, and I suspect that she has reached the limits of her ability.”

  “No doubt.” The certainty in Layle’s voice was reassuring. “I have met others like her. They have a certain inborn talent for being able to ferret out other people’s secrets, and they think that is enough to enable them to become Seekers. But there is a great deal more to being a Seeker than simply breaking a prisoner.” He lifted his gaze to Weldon. “In permitting Mistress Birdesmond to search you, I am placing you at some risk. Perhaps undue risk.”

  “Seekers are always at risk with their prisoners,” Weldon responded promptly.

  Layle held Weldon’s gaze for a moment, and then let his eyes wander away, not replying. Weldon, following his gaze, saw that Layle’s senior night guard was sitting at the table where Elsdon had sat on Layle’s previous visits here. He was absorbed in conversation with another guard.

  Weldon wondered how Layle felt at being shadowed. He doubted that the guard was here by Layle’s order; no doubt the Codifier had asked the guard to keep his eye on the situation. It was not the first time this had happened, but it must be galling to Layle, who had finally found the strength to give up his chaperone, to know that he was not yet fully trusted.

  Or perhaps he found it a comfort. Weldon wished he knew the High Seeker better than he did.

  In his usual uncanny manner of following up on other people’s unspoken thoughts, Layle said, “I am sorry that the prisoner chose to search you on so sensitive a matter from your past.”

  Weldon, sitting on the edge of his seat, did his best to look relaxed and unconcerned. “It has been many years, sir. I long ago realized that what happened was for the best.” In fact, it had not been so long ago that he had reached this realization, but that was a matter best not spoken of. He said, more hesitantly, “My only regret is, not that I refused to enter into such a bond, but that I expressed my refusal in so hurtful a manner – a manner that prevented our other, more suitable relationship from continuing.”

  Layle’s gaze wandered back toward the scattering of men in the room. “As you say, that was many years ago. The past is past.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Do you have any more questions about your work with the prisoner, Mr. Chapman?”

  Layle had picked up his pen again; it was hovering over his documentwork, a pointed reminder that he was on duty at this moment. Weldon swallowed and said in a low voice, “No, sir.”

  Layle nodded and began to scribble a signature at the bottom of the page he had been reading. Weldon got up carefully, abandoning his mug on the table that had separated him from the High Seeker.

  He reached the doorway just as a silence fell upon the inhabitants of the common room. Raising his eyes from the ground, Weldon saw that Elsdon, who should have been on duty at this time of night, was standing there, surveying the crowd. He greeted Weldon in a friendly manner, but his words seemed forced.

  “Is something wrong?” Weldon spoke low. Behind him, the chatter had resumed in a somewhat strained manner.

  Elsdon shook his head. “Not the sort of trouble this lot is thinking of. I didn’t come to see whether the High Seeker has wreaked havoc in my absence; the Record-keeper asked me to fetch Layle for a conference. A half dozen more prisoners have arrived tonight – we’re about to run out of cells to house new prisoners.”

  “Sweet blood,” Weldon swore softly. Cursing was a habit he had acquired with difficulty, having been taught by his parents to keep his thoughts and mouth pure, but he had found that voicing a select few curses commonly spoken by the high-born of Yclau was a small way in which he could bind himself with the other inhabitants of the inner dungeon.

  “I’d better break my prisoner today, then, so that I can clear her cell for another prisoner’s use,” Weldon said. “It will be a pleasure to be through with her.”

  He started to step past Elsdon, but the junior Seeker grabbed his elbow. Their eyes met, and Weldon remembered, too late, that Elsdon shared Layle’s talent for being able to sense when a prisoner was in turmoil.

  Weldon sighed and looked back at the High Seeker. Layle was pretending he did not see Elsdon standing at the doorway. Perhaps that was only because Weldon was standing at the doorway too. Layle’s night guard was frowning, as though he sensed that Layle’s equilibrium had been adversely affected during the past few minutes.

  “What has happened?” Elsdon’s voice was soft.

  Weldon shook his head, looking back at the junior Seeker. “Stupidity on my part. I brought up the subject of our pasts.”

  Compassion lay in Elsdon’s eyes. “It isn’t just you, Weldon. He has been pushing everyone back since this began.”

  “Not you.”

  “Yes, me as well. We’re – divided in a way that we weren’t before.”

  Weldon managed to stop himself in time from pointing out that Elsdon at least had the comfort of knowing he had once been intimate with Layle. Weldon had struggled hard to kill his jealousy for Elsdon; he would not allow himself to return to that state. He knew, to his very bones, that he would not have been happy as Layle’s love-mate and could not have given the High Seeker what Elsdon was giving him.

  And yet still, when he saw Layle and Elsdon together, he felt pain, as though somehow they held a secret he was searching for.

  A missing door?

  “I must go,” Weldon murmured. “I’m on duty in four hours.”

  Elsdon nodded and released Weldon, who began to make his way down the empty hallway leading back to the inner dungeon. His sleeping cell awaited him; he hoped he would have no more nightmares tonight. Or in the morning.