Here There Be Dragons Part 9

"Oh, sure. The problem is that we've got no way of knowing when it'll clear."

Beverly smiled at him. "Then we'll just have to be ready when it does, won't we?"

Geordi nodded. Then he tried to sit back and force himself to relax. It didn't work.

What was happening down there?

Kirsch turned out to be quite an interesting conversationalist. In other circ.u.mstances Picard might have enjoyed their dialogue. As it was, he was constantly being brought up short while gesturing with his hands as his chains prevented his free movements. And it was difficult to forget that he was stripped to the waist and sitting in a rather odiferous dungeon. None of this seemed to worry Kirsch too much. He was clearly enjoying himself.

"Don't these chains inhibit your freedom of thought at all?" Picard asked him.

"Why should they?" asked the scholar. "After all, we live all our lives with mental shackles, don't we?" He rattled his chains. "These only serve to remind me of that."

"These," Picard pointed out, shaking his own manacles, "mean that we'll be spending the rest of our lives in the mines. Or do you have an opinion about that, too?"

Kirsch laughed. "I have an opinion about everything. In some matters, I have more than one opinion. That way, at least one of them is bound to be right."

"Is that why you're here?" Picard felt that he was beginning to understand the young man at last.

"Yes. I was stupid enough to say that I thought the accepted line on the Disappearances was foolish."

The way that Kirsch looked at him after saying this made Picard realize that this was clearly a crucial point. He only wished he knew why. "You don't agree with the-ah-official story?" he countered, stalling.

"Of course not. How could anyone with an ounce of brains?"

"Quite." Picard wished he knew what the official line was-and what the Disappearances were. He could hardly ask directly. "But what precisely led you to disagree?"

It was clearly the correct question. Kirsch grinned. "Two points, really. First of all, I could hardly believe that G.o.d would allow everyone in the world to be wiped out by the Black Death with the exception of just twelve villages. I mean, just because there were twelve tribes of Israel and twelve apostles doesn't follow that twelve villages will be left of all the world, does it? We're not even any better than the other places used to be. Besides, even if it were true, there would be ruins left, wouldn't there? The Bible mentions a good deal more than twelve villages by name, and n.o.body has ever come up with a viable answer as to where even one of them might have been located."

So that was how the inhabitants of this world explained their origin! Picard had to admire the logic. Discovering that they were no longer where they had once been and that almost all of their former neighbors had vanished, the locals had believed the whole world to have been wiped out by the bubonic plague. It made a sort of comforting sense, he supposed. But Kirsch had realized that the theory didn't work. "And the second reason?" he probed.

"I found a book that purported to tell of the stars. It even had sketches of what the author termed constellations." The young man laughed. "And, as you know, there are no such things. But there once were. The Bible speaks of stars, and of the fall of night, so they must have existed-and perhaps still do, elsewhere."

Picard realized what Kirsch meant. Here, inside the protocloud, there could be no night. Even when the planet turned its face away from the sun, there was a second star. And when that, too, was gone, there would be the background glow from the cloud itself. This world had no night at all.

"Then," he asked slowly, "what is your explanation for our world being the way it is?"

"Ah! An open-minded man," Kirsch said approvingly. "I believe that we are now in the age of Revelation, friend Lukas."

"The what?"

"In the book of Revelations," the student replied, "we are told that G.o.d will create a new heaven and a new Earth. And that there will be no more night. Well, there is no more night. And if this were a new Earth, then it would explain a great deal."

"Hmmm." Picard was warming to the youth. He may have drawn incorrect conclusions, but he was at least thinking reasonably logically through the problem. "Then you think we're in heaven?"

Kirsch laughed. "h.e.l.l, more likely! No," he added, more seriously, "Revelations tells us that in heaven there will be no more sea, and no pain or suffering." He rattled his chains. "And we've plenty of all three of those, haven't we? But I am certain that we are no longer on the Earth our forefathers knew."

Picard smiled. "I suspect that there's a great deal of truth in what you say."

"You'd better be careful, agreeing with me," Kirsch told him. "You could get into trouble."

Picard shook his manacles. "Worse than this?"

"Hardly. But-"

At that moment the cell door opened. Two men in dark clothing stepped inside. Each had a drawn sword in his hands. Neither looked as if it would bother him to use the weapons.

"Move," the first man said. "Outside."

"Where are we going?" Picard asked.

The man slapped him across the face with the back of his hand. Picard winced but kept silent. "Don't talk back," the guard snapped. "You're off to the mines, with the rest of the sc.u.m. Now-move. Say anything else, and you'll be leaving fingers behind on the floor."

An eloquent argument, Picard mused. He rose to his feet. The two guards used the points of their swords to drive him and Kirsch from the cell. Other slaves, all wearing manacles, were being forced out of adjoining cells. Together, they were herded toward the courtyard. Many of the other men looked as if they had been beaten, and some had cuts and bruises. One was missing his ears, left with terrible scar tissue instead. These men were all the dregs of their society, or simply people who had fallen afoul of the authorities. For that, they were being condemned to death in the mines. Picard had wondered why there were no beggars in the streets. Now he had his answer. If you had no job, the authorities gave you one... .

The men were shoved and beaten into two lines. There were at least thirty of them, and an equal number of guards. When the two ragged columns had been formed, two longer chains were run down them, pa.s.sing through every man's manacles, so they were linked together. This was obviously to make it almost impossible for a single man to make a break for it. The chains were locked off on the front and rear of each line. Picard was chained next to Kirsch near the front of the first line. He caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Miles toward the end of the rear line. He didn't dare chance a word with his crew member. He could only hope that the man was holding up.

Once the chaining was finished, the guards pulled back. Another guard-obviously of higher rank from his better cut of tunic, the helmet he carried, and the cloak that flapped in the breeze-stepped forward. He was heavily bearded and had narrow, brooding eyes.

"Right," he growled, barely loud enough to be heard. "I'll say this once. Any trouble from any of you, and you'll regret it. I won't kill you, so don't think you'll get lucky. But I'll make d.a.m.ned certain that you'll wish you were dead. And just so you'll know that I'm not making idle threats or think that maybe underneath this tough skin I've got a soft center ..." He uncurled a whip from under his cloak and cracked it in the air. Picard saw that it had a metal weight tied to the tip. The weight would make the blow from the weapon much nastier. The officer cracked the whip a second time, then slapped it out in a blow.

The blow whistled past Picard's ear. The man in the line behind him screamed as the metal tip lacerated his skin. Blood splattered onto Picard's back from the man's wound. It was a fight for him not to turn and look at the victim. He knew that if he did, he'd be the next example.

The officer scowled, clearly disappointed that Picard hadn't "provoked" punishment. "Now," he said, "I think we all know who's boss around here. Keep it in mind at all times." He snapped his fingers. One of the men came over at a trot, leading a horse. The officer vaulted into the saddle of the beast and curled the whip about the saddle horn. "Now, let's get moving. You've all got work to do, and the sooner we reach the mines, the sooner you can all start praying to die."

The two lines began moving, forcing Picard to go along with them. Six of the guards fell in beside the column, and the officer brought up the rear. Picard's spirits fell. Once he was outside the city walls, it would be very difficult-if not impossible-for his crew to find him. Always a.s.suming he could survive long enough to be found.

After Martina had fled the room, Ro had been left alone for about twenty minutes. She wasn't sure whether this was to give her time to panic or to get turned on by the draperies. In fact, she did neither. Instead she sat on the bed-the floor being too cold even carpeted-and concentrated her thoughts.

She was obviously in some remote part of the castle that they had seen earlier from the market. The duke wouldn't want his playroom too close to the main traffic of the castle. Besides, she'd heard very little outside her room. That suggested remoteness from the busier areas. If she could escape from the room, it would have to be into the castle proper, which would increase her chances of getting caught again. Besides, there was at least one guard outside the door to get past. And, finally, this room would have been selected by the duke because it would be difficult for any of his victims to leave.

Which meant that her best chance of escaping from this room would be to have someone take her out. She strongly doubted that feigning sickness would help her. Aside from the fact that it was the oldest trick in the book, she didn't think that the duke would care enough about how well she felt when he arrived. It might increase the danger to her, if anything.

Could she simply stall for time in the hopes of rescue? That didn't appeal to her for a number of reasons. For one thing, she wasn't some helpless female from an ancient holodrama that needed to be saved each episode. And waiting was simply not her style. Besides, there was no evidence that either the captain or Lieutenant Miles would be able to trace her, even if they were in a position to do so themselves. Data might be able to track her. He was, to say the least, very skillful and determined. But n.o.body else from the Enterprise knew that they'd gone to Graebel's warehouse, so a rescue party from the s.h.i.+p was a remote possibility.

And, to cap it all, stalling for time would mean playing the duke's rather nasty and clearly lethal games. The thought made Ro nauseated.

So, there was just one option left to her. Risky, to say the least. But what choice did she have?

There was a sound of metal clinking outside the door. The guard snapping to attention. So-the duke must be here. She jumped to her feet. Ro heard the bolts snap free, and the door swung open to admit the duke. It was immediately locked behind him. As the duke studied her, she examined him.

He was middle-aged and gray. He had a pepper-colored mustache but no beard, and his hair was shoulder-length. His other appet.i.tes were obviously as well indulged as his s.e.xual tastes-he had a beer belly and thickly veined hands. His green robe was expensive, belted loosely at the waist, and picked out with gold leaf patterns. In his beringed right hand he carried a slopping goblet of wine that he took a long swig from, then placed on the table.

"So," he finally said, "Graebel was telling the truth for once. You are an attractive prize."

"I am nothing of the kind," Ro told him flatly. "I am not merchandise, to be bought and sold."

The duke flushed, annoyed. "You are what I say you are. Graebel a.s.sures me that you were his property, and I believe him."

"Because it suits you."

"Yes," he agreed. "It suits me very well. And if you know what is good for you, it will suit you just as well."

Ro snorted. "As it suited the former occupant of this room?" she asked.

The duke moved closer to her. His eyes were glittering as he looked her body over. "She wouldn't enjoy herself here," he said softly. "But you can-all you have to do is to relax. I'll do the rest."

"I'm sure you will," Ro purred back. She gave him a smile that encouraged him to step in closer. Then she exploded. She spun about in a tight circle and lashed out with her right foot. It slammed with all of her weight behind it into the duke's groin.

His breath exploded out, and his face went white. Clutching his injured area, he collapsed, wheezing, eyes popping, onto the floor.

Her foot hurt from the blow, but Ro didn't care. "You're right," she told the gasping duke. "I am starting to enjoy myself." She crossed to the door and rapped on it twice, as Martina had done. As she had expected, the guard thought it was his master with some request. The bolts clattered open with some alacrity.

Ro put all of her weight behind her right shoulder and rammed the door hard. It exploded outward, hurling the startled guard into the wall. Before the shaken man could move, Ro jumped onto him and smacked his head hard into the stone wall. Then she let him roll to the floor and grabbed up his sword. She felt less vulnerable now.

She found herself in a short corridor. Steps led downward into the castle proper. She hadn't been expecting the three further guards with short spears, though. For a second she considered throwing herself into battle, but it was clearly pointless. They could cut her down before she reached any of them. Carefully she allowed the sword to clatter to the floor. "The best laid plans of mice and Bajorans," she murmured to herself.

Two of the guards backed her to the wall with gestures from their spears. She was forced to stand there, the points centered on her stomach, while the third man ran into the room she had just left. A moment later he reappeared, supporting the staggering duke. Ro noted with satisfaction that the duke was walking with a distinct waddle. He was obviously hurting badly between the legs. His face was sallow, and he was still gasping.

"Take her to the dungeons," he ordered, between wheezes. "See how she likes a night there instead of in a warm bed." He glared hard at her. "Then tomorrow we'll see how cooperative she is."

"Sweet dreams," she murmured. The two guards hurried her away as the third helped the duke back to his own rooms.

Ro couldn't help feeling rather smug. So far, so good. She was out of that room, and out of immediate reach of the duke. Now all she had to worry about was escaping from the dungeons... .

Chapter Thirteen.

OUTSIDE OF THE FEASTING HALL, a short walk had brought the holodeck knights to an oak door. This in turn led to a large field. In the center was a large ring. Seats under an awning were clearly for the king and queen, who made their way toward them. The other knights, along with various ladies and some of the servants, crowded about the sides of the large ring. Worf allowed Barclay to lead him to one of two small tents outside the ring.

Beside the tent stood an impatient horse, pure white, with a large, heavy saddle on its back. Gaily colored cloths over its sides fluttered in the breeze. Over its head was a metallic piece of armor, clearly to prevent injury. A large spike rose from the plate, making the beast look like the mythical unicornnorms.

"You and the Black Knight will be jousting," Barclay explained. He seemed much less nervous now that he knew Worf was enjoying his game. "You ride from opposite sides of the ring at each other."

"Good." Worf grabbed the horse's bright reins and vaulted into the saddle. The weight of his armor didn't appear to slow him down at all.

"No, wait!" Barclay cried. "You need your lance and s.h.i.+eld."

"My what?"

"Lance." Barclay ran to the tent, then emerged a moment later with a long pole. The end was tipped with sharpened metal, and about halfway down there was a grip. "This is the weapon you use," he explained. "You use it to knock your opponent off his horse if you are able. Once that happens, you jump down. You're allowed to finish the joust using your sword, until your opponent yields or you kill him." He then handed Worf a long, thin metal s.h.i.+eld. "Fend off his blow with this."

Worf studied the weapons. "Intriguing." Gripping the lance tightly, he lifted it over his head. "Am I allowed to throw it?"

"No!" Barclay looked quite upset at the suggestion. "Humans aren't strong enough to do that. You have to play by the rules."

"Very well," agreed Worf. He lowered the lance. "When do we commence?"

"When the king gives the word. You'll hear a fanfare."

"Good." Worf scanned the ring and saw that the Black Knight was now astride a coal-black steed at the opposite end of the field. He held a lance of jet close to his side. "I am looking forward to this combat immensely."

The king bent to speak something to his queen. She nodded and stood, raising a small square piece of cloth.

"Am I supposed to spear that?" asked Worf. "If so, I should practice. I might accidentally injure the lady."

"No," said Barclay. "That's her signal. She'll let her handkerchief drop to start the combat."

"Ah! I understand." Worf focused on the piece of cloth, restraining the eager horse from charging. It seemed to be as excited as he was. This was definitely a human culture he could appreciate!

Then the queen released her cloth. It fluttered and fell.

Worf dug into his steed with his knees, and the animal shot forward. Worf leaned into the motion, one hand loose on the reins, the other gripping his lance. The Black Knight shot toward him on the jet-colored horse. The thunder of their hooves almost drowned out the cheer that rose from the watching knights.

Concentrating on his opponent, Worf s.h.i.+fted the point of his lance to target the s.h.i.+eld the other man carried. It was a large target and offered the best chance of unseating his opponent. His own s.h.i.+eld was held loosely over his left arm. A thrill of pure excitement jolted through him. This was living!

Then they were on each other. Worf felt a heavy blow to his s.h.i.+eld and at the same time the shock of his lance ramming into something unyielding. With a grunt he managed to stay in the saddle, despite the force trying to throw him. He felt the lance shatter and splinter to pieces in his hand.

Then they were racing in opposite directions away from each other.

Worf took stock as he reined in his galloping horse.

His lance was broken and he cast it aside. His s.h.i.+eld was scratched but functional. He turned his steed and faced back the way he had come. The Black Knight was whirling about. His s.h.i.+eld was also shattered, and had been thrown aside. But his lance was intact.

The other knight raised his lance in brief salute, then charged.

Worf threw aside his own s.h.i.+eld. Ignoring Barclay's scream of panic, he set his horse hurtling toward the Black Knight. The point of his opponent's lance was aimed directly at his heart.

At the last second Worf released his reins. As the lance thrust for him, Worf gripped the metal tip and jerked hard.

Caught by complete surprise, the Black Knight was hauled bodily from his saddle and thrown to the gra.s.s. With a loud roar of triumph Worf flung himself from his own horse and fell lightly to the gra.s.s. Drawing his sword, he strode across to where the Black Knight lay.

"Do you yield?" he snarled.

"Never!" the knight growled back. He staggered to his feet and whipped his own sword free of its scabbard. "To the death!"

"To the death!" Worf agreed happily.

Graebel shook his head firmly. "I'm sorry, Dieter," he told his guest. "I am afraid that I have seen n.o.body by the names of Lukas, Martel, or Rosalinde today."

Data inclined his head slightly. "They were on their way to visit you when I parted from them in the marketplace," he replied. "If they did not arrive here, then do you have any suggestions as to where they might have gone?"

The merchant shrugged. "They knew me only by my banner, you say? Well, perhaps they confused the devices and visited a different merchant."