Chapter Thirty-Two

 

 

The mansion was totally silent, though they could hear the soft, rhythmic beating of a slack-skinned drum floating in through some of the open windows. There was no sign of any of the armed sec men patrolling the corridors.

 

"What's on, Straub?" Ryan asked.

 

"Traitor. Found out that one of the older sec sergeants had been stealing from the armory. Started with a fistful of ammo, then moved on to taking out submachine guns and LMGs in bits and pieces. One part at a time."

 

"Who'd he sell them to? Is there an antiville resistance?" J.B. asked.

 

Straub sniggered, playing with his silver pendant. "You ever know a ville in all Deathlands where there wasn't any resistance, John Barrymore Dix?"

 

"Guess not. But it seems like the countess has her heel on the neck of the region."

 

Straub clutched at his groin in a sudden wave of ecstasy. "Well put, Armorer. She has her heel on every part of the body corporate of the land around. And it can give supreme, exhilarating pain, as well as delicious pleasure."

 

"This resistance?"

 

"Young bloods in some of the outlying settlements. A little poaching of deer. Salmon from the ponds. Even prime carp. Nothing too serious. Ambushed a wag train last year and killed a couple of sec men. Countess sent out a raiding party and hung a few hostages. Quieted them."

 

"What going to happen this afternoon?" Jak asked as they reached the enormous armored sec doors at the front of the rambling house.

 

"Sergeant Gummer gets to pay the price for his treachery and his stupidity."

 

"Formal execution?" Krysty asked. "I don't really want to watch this."

 

Straub turned, and for a moment his habitual mask of slack semi-idiocy slipped and he glared at her, the silver flecks whirling in his black eyes. "Do you think there's a choice, you stupe red-haired bitch?"

 

"Hey, back off," Ryan said, stepping in close to the man, hand gripping the butt of the SIG-Sauer. "If we don't want to watch, then we can all turn right around and go back to our rooms. You going to chill us all?"

 

" 'Course not. And I apologize most humbly for losing control of my temper." He glanced to his right. "We must hurry. The countess will be here soon."

 

 

 

IT WAS AN ODD SIGHT.

 

Straub led them across the formal gardens, down into the bottom of the steep-sided valley they'd viewed the previous day, past the tinkling stream and toward a wilderness that looked as if it had once been used as a quarry.

 

The beating of the drum was louder, echoing all around them, muffled a little by the stark conifers that lined the stream. And then they saw the ranks of the sec men, lined up on three sides of a square beneath the high cliff that terminated the quarry, the ground covered with rocks of all sizes.

 

They were all in dress uniforms, with Rugers bolstered at their hips.

 

"You will not have to participate in the execution," Straub said. "You can watch from here."

 

Ryan looked for a gallows or a headsman's block or some sign of a firing squad.

 

But there was nothing.

 

"How's he going to be sent off to buy the farm?" he asked Straub.

 

"A stoning."

 

"Stoning!" Mildred was unable to hide her shock and horror. And disgust. "That is unbelievably barbaric! If he has to be chilled, why not just put a bullet through the back of the poor bastard's neck. But to throw stones at him"

 

"Barbaric, possibly, Dr. Wyeth. Even a little biblical as a form of killing. But everyone who betrays the countess knows that this is the fate that awaits them. This is, I believe, the first stoning of a traitor for more than three years, so you can appreciate that it is passing effective."

 

Krysty nudged Ryan. "Here she is," she whispered, "come to enjoy her afternoon."

 

The countess stalked toward them like a feral cat, elegant and in total control. She was wearing a golden ribbon, tying back her hair, and a deep purple pant-suit in rich velvet. Her boots were midcalf, in lilac leather, with stiletto heels. She had an escort of six of the younger sec men.

 

She stood over to the right, favoring her guests with a frosty bow.

 

"We may begin, Straub," she called.

 

"Excellency." He clapped his hands. "Bring out Sergeant Gummer."

 

The prisoner looked to be about thirty-five, powerfully built. He had been stripped naked, wearing only a ragged linen breechcloth that hardly covered his loins. He was barefoot. His hands were tied tightly behind his back, blood seeping around his nails from the pressure. His face was pale, and he stumbled between the two sec men who were almost holding him up, leading him to stand, swaying from side to side, at the bottom of the cliff, about twenty paces from the nearest of his fellows.

 

Mildred tugged at Straub's black clad arm. "You can ease him," she said. "Use your mesmeric toy to help him through the worst of the pain."

 

"I can," Straub agreed.

 

"Ask the countess," she urged him.

 

"She would listen to Ryan Cawdor."

 

Mildred turned. "Ask her if Straub can use his cunning to hypnotize the poor bastard."

 

"She won't listen to me."

 

Straub shook his head. "Oh, but she might. Katya has not given up hope of bending you to her will."

 

Ryan didn't hesitate. "Countess, why not show that justice can be tempered by mercy? Allow Straub to use his skills to ease the man's suffering. He will still die and be punished for his foolishness and treachery."

 

Katya looked at him, a half smile playing around her lips. "Why not?" she said finally. "Do it Straub, but make it fast. I am getting bored. And stop that incessant drumming!"

 

The drum fell silent as Straub moved forward to stand in front of Gummer, holding up the silver disk. The wind was soughing through the pines, and the stream chattered over smooth pebbles. But everyone was silent, listening to what the mesmerist was saying.

 

"Felix Gummer, hark to my words, and watch this bauble as it spins in front of you. Focus your eyes on it, and give me your attention. Listen well."

 

The disgraced sec sergeant stared blankly as the disk began to spin, faster and faster, sending lances of colored light across his face.

 

"There will be no pain, no pain. Your body will resist and your mind will control it. You will go down under the stones, but the suffering will end quickly. Do you understand?"

 

Gummer's eyes were squeezed tight-shut, and his voice seemed to come from very far away. "I understand, Master Straub. I will do as you say."

 

Countess Katya called across impatiently, "Enough. Straub, get back here and read the charge."

 

The shaved-headed man did as he was bid, bowing low to her. "I hear and obey, lady." He pulled a short scroll of parchment from one of his capacious pockets. "Felix Gummer, you have been found guilty of stealing from Countess Katya Beausoleil, whose bondsman you were in body and soul. This is construed as simple treachery with malice aforethought and is punishable by death by stoning from your fellow sec men. Your body will be buried in the grave that you dug yourself this morning, and no prayers will be said. Do you have any last words?"

 

The man nodded.

 

Ryan hadn't seen the deep grave with the pile of raw earth a few yards to the left of where Gummer stood, gaping with a layer of gray clay, showing livid among the orange earth.

 

Straub turned toward the countess. "All is ready."

 

"Begin."

 

Straub called out orders to the men, as though it were a military exercise, like presenting arms. "Front rank, bend and pick up one stone. Straighten. Second rank, bend and pick up a stone, straighten. On the word, first rank will throw their stones. Then on a count of three, the second rank will do the same, while the third rank bend to pick up stones. On a second count of three, the second rank will throw their missiles and the first rank will pick up more stones. And so on until the word is given by the countess to cease the execution."

 

"Gaia, I've never seen anything like this," Krysty whispered, touching Ryan on the arm.

 

"I have. Not that unusual as a sort of sun-king crop-fertility ritual in some primitive frontier pestholes. Seen one in a little place called Jackson, out in backwoods Missouri, where they had a ceremony with the whole ragged-assed community drawing stones from a bag. Just once a year, early in the growing season. Person got the black stone was the sacrifice for that year. But never seen it before as method of execution."

 

"Begin," Straub yelped delightedly.

 

Most of the men had picked stones around the size of a baseball. But they were jagged flints, with cruel points and razored edges.

 

Each row consisted of eighteen men.

 

Ryan noticed immediately that their hearts weren't in the killing. Only four stones struck Gummer, mainly glancing blows on his chest and hips, making him stagger, a couple of them drawing threads of bright crimson blood.

 

The second row did little better. Five hits, only one of them carrying any weight, hitting Gummer on the thigh, bringing a gasp of shock, a trickle of blood and an instant bruise.

 

The countess wasn't a stupid woman, and she saw what was happening, calling out in a sharp, cold voice for the execution to stop.

 

"If I see any man aiming wide or not throwing with all his might, then that man will be tied to stand beside the wretched Gummer. And he will not have the benefit of Straub's mercy. You may begin again."

 

There was no doubting her intent.

 

The result when the stoning recommenced showed the power that she held over her ville and her men.

 

Krysty and Mildred both winced and looked away as nearly all the sharp rocks found their helpless target, thudding home, two of them hitting Gummer in the head. One slashed open his cheek, the white of bone showing for a moment before the flood of crimson veiled. The other hit him above the ear as he half turned, tearing the scalp, knocking him off his feet, leaving him huddled and weeping in the dirt.

 

"Your hypnotism helping the poor bastard?" Ryan said. "Still seems a lot of blood and pain."

 

"Be much worse if I hadn't hypnotized him. Countess didn't give me long enough to put him under deeply, but he's still going to find the passing easier."

 

Another volley of stones hissed in from the next row of sec men. Almost all found their sitting target, with sounds like a baseball bat striking a side of beef, wet and solid.

 

Three hit Gummer on the skull, and he slumped down, unconscious, feet twitching, the only sound in the quarry his bare toes scraping in the grit. His face was a pulped red mask.

 

"Why not chill him with a bullet?" the Armorer said. "Point's been made."

 

Straub shook his head, the sunlight glinting off the sweating, shaved pate. "Not the way of the ville," he said quietly. "During the time I've been with the countess, she's never failed to get her own way. Never. No matter what it takes."

 

He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Remember that, Ryan Cawdor. What she wants from you is a small favor. Refusal can bear a massively disproportionate price. Not just for you."

 

"How's that?"

 

Straub pulled his mouth into a grimace that might have been a smile. "All I can say. Last time I'll say it. Give it some serious thought, Ryan."

 

Another round of stones flew at the slumped, motionless figure, then Katya Beausoleil held up a gloved hand. "Enough," she said. "Tip the offal into his hole in the dirt."

 

Two of the sec men stepped forward and dragged Gummer across the bloodied sand and rolled him unceremoniously into the grave, picking up the spades and starting to bury him.

 

Mildred took a half step forward, then caught the flat, incurious eyes of the countess and moved back into line, shrugging her shoulders.

 

"What?" J.B. asked, as the hole rapidly filled up and the sec men prepared to march back to the mansion to resume their normal duties.

 

"Nothing. Best get back to see how Doc's getting on. Hope he's sleeping."

 

But the Armorer pressed her, knowing that there was something she wasn't saying. "Tell me, Millie."

 

"Well, that method of killingexecuting murdering call it what you like. It was bad enough. Brutish and unbelievably cruel. But when it was over and they put him in the grave and filled it in"

 

"Yeah. He was dead. Wasn't he?"

 

She looked at him, her dark eyes brimming with unshed tears. "His wounds were still bleeding freely. Meant he wasn't dead, John. The bitch had him buried alive."