Madman Run

Chapter Fifteen

Gruesome visions of a pit lined with sharp stakes at the bottom filled Blade’s mind as he plummeted straight down, enveloped by darkness, his arms above his head, the useless rifle clutched in his left hand. It took a few seconds for him to realize he was hurtling down a metal shaft toward an uncertain fate.

Damn his stupidity!

Anger supplanted the initial shock, anger at his gullibility. He’d waltzed right into the trap with both eyes open. Attila or any of the other experienced Warriors would never have let themselves be so blatantly duped. Being a novice was no excuse. Even novices were expected to exercise basic common sense.

The shaft angled to the right, then the left, in gradual curves designed to retard the speed of passage.

Blade’s elbows and knees banged and scraped on the sides, and when he lifted his head and tried to see the bottom his forehead struck the top with a resounding crack. The descent went so long that he estimated the shaft must drop down into the underground levels. When he began to wonder if it would ever end, it did.

Shooting out of the mouth like a tongue out of a lizard, Blade plummeted over ten feet into an enormous tank of stagnant water. He hit with a loud splash and went under, instinctively holding his breath but unable to prevent the warm liquid from filling his nose and ears. A bitter taste filled his mouth, almost gagging him, and then his boots hit bottom and he shoved off, kicking desperately for the top.

He burst from the surface and inhaled deeply, grateful merely to be alive. Shaking his head and wiping his arm across his face, he blinked and looked about him, treading water to stay afloat. To his consternation he found himself imprisoned, enclosed on all four sides by clear glass or plastic walls rising over ten feet above the water.

It was like a gigantic fish tank.

Blade swam to one side and took stock. The depth was 12 feet. The length and width were the same, ten feet both ways. He reached out and touched the wall, deciding the substance must be a hard plastic. Never in a million years would he be able to climb so smooth a surface. And since he couldn’t get a purchase for his legs either, he was ingeniously snared and effectively helpless.

The water had a brownish tinge and gave off a foul odor.

Abruptly realizing there must be a light source nearby, Blade surveyed the chamber in which the tank was located. It dwarfed all the others. Fifty feet high and seventy in length, the walls were composed of large, square stones, and the ceiling of immense wooden beams. More thick candles mounted on the walls provided marginal illumination. Far off on the right, at the top of a flight of wooden stairs, stood a broad wooden door.

He swung to the left and received a pleasant shock. Aligned against the wall were five metal cages, the bars on each spaced six inches apart, and two were occupied by unconscious figures.

Hickok and Geronimo!

Elated, Blade swam to the left side of the tank and stared happily at his companions until a horrifying thought occurred to him. What if they were dead? He licked his lips and called out. “Hey! Sleepyheads! Rise and shine!”

There was no reaction.

Intensely worried, Blade yelled louder. “Wake up, you dummies! It’s me, Blade.”

At last Geronimo stirred, groaning and rolling onto his back. His arms moved feebly.

“Geronimo, wake up!”

The insistent shout had an effect. Geronimo’s eyelids fluttered, and after a few seconds he opened his eyes and sat up, gazing in confusion at his surroundings until his gaze alighted on the tank. Recognition brought a flood of awareness, and he suddenly rose to his knees. “Blade! What’s going on?” He seized one of the bars. “Where in the world are we?”

“In an underground chamber below Castle Orm,” Blade called out. His legs were beginning to tire and he wished he could rest for a while, but there was no place in the tank to gain a firm footing. “What happened to you? How did they catch you?”

Geronimo rubbed the back of his head and stood. “I’m not sure. The last thing I remember is running around the corner and not seeing any sign of Hickok or the serfs. I stopped and was turning when something or someone rose out of the shadows at the base of the wall and clobbered me but good.” He paused. “I think it was Elphinstone.”

“Morlock captured me,” Blade revealed, without bothering to elaborate.

“Have you seen Hik—” Geronimo began and looked to his left. Beaming, he stepped to the side of his cage. “Nathan! On your feet, you goof.”

The gunfighter didn’t budge.

Geronimo reached through the bars and tried to grab Hickok’s cage, but it was inches out of reach. He desisted and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Yo, Nathan! I know you need your beauty sleep, but don’t go overboard.”

Hickok finally moved his arms. His head bobbed, he licked his lips, and his eyes snapped open. “Where am I?” he bellowed, sitting up. “Where’s the lowlife who hit me?” He saw the tank, did a double take and glanced in both directions. Discovering Geronimo, he did another double take, then chuckled.

“What can you possibly find amusing?” the Blackfoot inquired.

“Since you two clowns are here, it’s a safe bet I’m not in heaven.”

“You’re still on Earth, dimwit. Under Morlock’s castle.”

The gunfighter shoved up, his hands falling to his holster—his empty holsters. “Hey! Where are my six-shooters?”

It was Blade who found them. He noticed a table at the end of the row of cages and distinguished a small pile of weapons. “Over there,” he shouted, pointing.

Hickok looked and fumed. “Some hombre is going to pay for takin’ my Colts. Nobody takes my guns—ever!”

“How did they manage to catch you?” Blade yelled so his voice would carry over the top of the tank.

“I was after those fairies, as I recollect. I ran into the yard, thinkin’ I was about to catch ’em, but they were all gone. I didn’t know if they went on around the blamed castle or lit into the trees, and then I saw one of those fancy tombs was open. So I just kept on going, right inside, and I was about to give a call and let you know where I was when the door swung shut and someone bashed me on the head,” the gunfighter explained.

“Probably Elphinstone,” Blade said. “He’s been a busy bee tonight.”

“Wait’ll I get my revolvers back,” Hickok snapped. “I’ll teach that yahoo a lesson.”

“How are we going to get out of this mess?” Geronimo asked.

Blade wanted an answer to that one himself. After all he’d been through, after the strain of the chase and the fight, his limbs were already weary. The sustained effort of staying above the surface only aggravated his condition. He found it hard to keep his grip on the Marlin.

“Are you holdin’ your rifle, pard?” Hickok inquired in amazement.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Try to shoot your way out of that overgrown goldfish bowl. A couple of shots should crack one of those walls, easy.”

“What if they’re bulletproof?”

“Then the ricochet might hit you,” Hickok said. “But what does a little scratch matter if it gets us out of this dungeon?”

Blade tapped the nearest wall with the Marlin, debating the merits of the gunfighter’s suggestion. He still had no idea whether the substance was glass or plastic, but a few rounds might just do the trick. There wasn’t enough water to do more than cover the floor to a depth of two or three inches, at most, so none of them need worry about drowning. His main concern was the wall. Would it break cleanly or with jagged edges? If the latter, he might be cut badly when the water poured from the tank. “I don’t know,” he said uncertainly. “What’s wrong with the idea?”

“I could be killed.”

“Don’t sweat the small stuff, pard. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

Geronimo snickered. “Easy for you to say, Nathan. You’re not doing the slicing.”

“And what the blazes is that crack supposed to mean?”

Their discussion was interrupted by the opening of the big wooden door. In strolled the master of Castle Orm bearing a five-gallon bottle in his hand. The bottle contained a brownish liquid.

“Ahhh, good. I see all of you are awake.”

Hickok grabbed hold of two bars and shook them violently. “Let us out of here, you vermin!”

“Sticks and stones, boy,” Morlock said chuckling as he walked toward them. “Are all of you comfortable?”

“Up yours,” Hickok declared.

“What he said,” Geronimo added.

Morlock glanced at the giant. “Enjoying your swim?” he asked scornfully and cackled.

“The guy is off his rocker,” Hickok commented.

“Must be related to you,” Geronimo stated.

Blade pressed his right hand to the wall, treading water with an effort, wishing he could throttle Angus Morlock’s skinny neck. “What do you plan to do with us?” he snapped.

“It should be obvious, even to childish morons like yourselves.”

“Give me my shootin’ irons and I’ll show you who’s childish,” Hickok declared.

Walking up to the tank, Morlock halted and grinned at Blade. “To answer your question, I plan to dispose of the three of you.”

“Why?”

“Need you ask?” Morlock snorted. “Did you really think I would allow you to leave the Domain so that you could return to Humboldt and tell others all about us?”

“But you threw us out this morning.”

“And you were watched every minute after that until night fell. Had you left the valley, I would have sent Grell and Elphinstone after you tonight.

One way or the other, you’d never have reached Humboldt alive.”

“Shows how much you know,” Hickok said. “We’re not from Humboldt, yo-yo.”

Morlock took the news in stride. “It doesn’t really matter where you are from. By morning, all three of you will be dead.”

Blade glanced at the top of the tank, then scrutinized the water. How did Morlock intend to kill him? Simply let him tire out and sink to the bottom?

“If you kill us, you’ll be sorry,” Hickok said.

“I won’t regret my actions in the least,” Morlock replied. “You’re interlopers who threaten the peace and security of the Domain. I have an obligation to my family and the serfs to protect them at all costs.” He deposited the bottle at his feet.

“Who are you trying to kid?” Blade said. “You have an obligation to protect yourself. You’re afraid a group of survivors will learn what’s been going on here and put a stop to it.”

“To what? My alleged mistreatment of the serfs? We’ve already discussed that issue, and you know they’re quite content.”

“I’m not talking about your slaves. I’m referring to what you’ve done to everyone who has passed by your castle.” Blade indicated the chamber with a sweep of his head. “This torture chamber must see a lot of business.”

The diminutive man laughed. “This is my holding room. The torture chamber is in the next room on the right.”

“How many innocent people have you killed over the years?”

“Those I’ve slain deserved to die,” Morlork said. “And I don’t keep a tally. Perhaps there have been three dozen.”

The number appalled Blade. “Did you build this tank yourself?”

“Heavens, no. Great-grandfather Moray had this room built. From the information in his diary, he used the facilities much more than I do.”

“So Moray started the tradition of slaying all outsiders?”

“Aye. He knew outsiders would never be able to appreciate our way of life.”

“And Moray was responsible for having the secret passages constructed?”

“Aye.”

“And those survivors you told me about, the ones who became the serfs, he didn’t take them in out of the goodness of his heart. He probably forced them down here at gunpoint and imprisoned them, then tortured them until they were mental vegetables.”

Morlock laughed. “You’re not as dumb as you look, boy.”

“I also know about your family tree.”

Sudden anger tinged Morlock’s cheeks crimson. “Yes, you definitely are a bright one. Not that the information can have any significance to you.”

“You’re sick.”

“Who the hell are you to judge me, boy? What do you know about life?

Our way was established centuries ago. The Morlock clan has always been close-knit.”

“In more ways than one.”

A malevolent sneer curled Morlock’s mouth. “I’ll enjoy killing you.” He clasped his hands behind his back and walked close to the cages. “Please be patient. After your friend is finished, you’ll each have your turns.”

“You’re making a major mistake,” Geronimo said. “We have other friends who know where we were headed. They’ll send a search party.”

“Let them. By then I’ll have the crack in the outer wall repaired, and they’ll have no way to get inside. They’ll learn nothing and leave empty-handed.”

“Have it all figured out, huh?” Hickok remarked.

“I’m a Morlock. The males in our family have always enjoyed an extremely high I.Q.”

“Does that include Elphinstone?” Blade interjected.

Angus shrugged. “There are exceptions to every rule.. He’s an inferior idiot, useless for breeding purposes. I, on the other hand, am a genius.”

“You’re a madman,” Blade corrected him.

Morlock returned to the side of the tank and smiled up at the youth.

“Enough idle chatter. Are you ready to die?”