Chapter Twenty-Three

 

 

Mildred tried sleeping off and on, but it didn't work. Her mind stayed busy, putting things together like how the plague would string a new line of death everywhere it touched. That was a recurring thought.

 

The guards had given her a feather-stuffed pillow and a thin blanket. She'd gotten to keep her clothes, but her weapons were gone. The temperature inside the Celt Prince's fortress remained stable, so the blanket was more for modesty than for comfort.

 

Mildred glanced back through the bars set into the floor and ceiling and caught the guard staring at her, his mouth hanging open.

 

When the man saw she'd spotted him watching her, he hurriedly looked away.

 

Making herself grin instead of giving in to the sick feeling that knotted her stomach, Mildred kept staring at the man. She could tell that he felt her gaze upon him.

 

The cell was Spartan. Besides the cot built into the wall, the pillow and the blanket, it contained only a bucket that she could relieve herself in. So far she'd passed on that, but her bladder was protesting fiercely.

 

She looked at the guard, thinking back on her tour of the ville, about how everyone living there had been white European stock. "You've never seen a black woman, have you?" she asked the guard.

 

He was young, surely no more than a teenager, twenty years old at the most. "No," he said.

 

Besides being an egotistical murderer, evidently the elder Boldt had been something of a racist. "You knew there were black people?" Mildred asked.

 

"I'd heard," the sec man said.

 

"You got anything against black people?"

 

"No." The guard shrugged. "Why should I?"

 

"Thought maybe it went against something the Prince taught you people."

 

"When I first heard about you," the guard said, "I thought you were a mutie. You know, on account of your skin color."

 

"Not hardly."

 

He nodded. "I see that now."

 

Mildred studied the youthful face before her. "Still, you're curious. Aren't you?" She recognized the look now, having seen it through much of her college years. "Wondering what it might be like to have sex with a black woman?"

 

"No." But he said it too hurriedly for it not to have been on his mind.

 

Tossing the blanket off, Mildred sat up, wondering if there was some way she could manipulate the weakness within the sec man. "Sure you are. I can see it in your eyes."

 

He looked at her more reluctantly. "Are you some kind of mind reader?"

 

Mildred laughed, and only part of it was forced. "Not me. I just know lust when I see it."

 

"The Prince would kill any man that raised a hand to you," the guard told her. "Unless you were about to somehow make your escape."

 

"I don't think that's going to happen any time soon," Mildred said. "Do you?"

 

"No." He shook his head adamantly.

 

"What's your name?"

 

"Clove."

 

"Clove," Mildred said, "before the Prince could do anything to anybody, he'd have to know somebody touched me. Right?"

 

"I guess so."

 

"So, if I don't tell, that presents us with possibilities."

 

"What are you talking about?"

 

"You aren't the only one been looking," Mildred said, lying. "I've been getting hot just looking at you this last hour. Bet you're a real killer with the girls, huh?"

 

"No. The Prince forbids unassigned fornication."

 

"Unassigned fornication?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Then what," Mildred asked, "is assigned fornication?"

 

The sec man shrugged. "Every year the Prince has the ceremony of the gathering, to spite the long reach of Ivory Ginnifer."

 

Mildred already didn't like the sound of it. "What's that?"

 

"Twelve females from the populace are plucked by the Prince when they come of age. Usually somewhere between their thirteenth and sixteenth year. Their eggs are removed and placed in frozen storage, so that there may always be seeds to carry on the Celtic peoples in spite of Ivory Ginnifer's touch of death through aging."

 

Mildred had difficulty restraining herself from commenting.

 

"After they're harvested," Clove went on, evidently not reading her expression through the shadows stringing across the cell, "the women are given to the guards to use as we wish. They're barren, of no use to anyone, really, even if children were allowed that weren't initiated through artificial insemination."

 

"You like women, Clove?"

 

"A lot. At first. Not so much when they kick and scream. But when they talk, I like that. They always try to convince me to help them get away. I tell them that I will, but after a while they know I'm not going to, and they get just like the other women that have been there for a while."

 

"Just lay back and take it, right?" Mildred asked. She made herself hard, knowing she could do what she'd set before herself.

 

"Yes."

 

"That's no fun, is it?"

 

"Not much. Still, it beats masturbation."

 

"Anything does," Mildred agreed with enthusiasm. Then she pulled the blanket from around her and started unbuttoning her blouse, her eyes locked on those of the young man, watching them widen.

 

 

 

RYAN WAS IN THE LEAD, Krysty right behind him, followed by Jak and Doc. J.B. brought up the rear. He climbed the terrain, sure-footed, and carried the SIG-Sauer in one hand. The Steyr was slung barrel down over his back.

 

The wind was more vicious now, bringing a razor-edged chill with it that whipped through the surrounding trees and brush. More snow was starting to fall, dropping in big, fat flakes that coasted across the landscape.

 

Finding the gnarled, lightning-blasted oak that Basil had described, Ryan went to it. According to the information they'd gotten from Basil and Cardamom, the trench twelve paces to the northeast of the gnarled oak had a section of the roots that contained the fortress only a few inches below the ground. They should be able to cut their way in with ease.

 

Ryan measured off the paces, then dropped into the trench. "Root's here somewhere. Let's get it found." He took one of the digging tools they'd gotten from Cardamom and shoved it at the wall of earth in front of him.

 

The curved blade sank easily. Once the root was found, the digging would go fast. Ryan pulled the shovel free, smelling the deep, rank smell of the loam.

 

"Got some dead buried in here," J.B. commented. He stepped back from his place farther down from Krysty and dragged a skeleton out of the wall by a bony foot. As the skeleton came free, it opened up a chasm in the soft earth. It also increased the general stink hovering inside the trench.

 

"Cardamom said there was," Krysty reminded him. "They bury them all around the ville, adding to the compost. According to their beliefs, it helps return the nutrients to the soil, paying for the ones they took out."

 

J.B. dropped the skeleton into the trench on top of the two freshly dead men, then went back to the wall, walking farther along.

 

"Here, Ryan." Doc pulled his trenching tool free of the wall on the other side of the trench, spilling clods of dirt over his boots.

 

"You sure?" Ryan asked.

 

Doc swung the shovel home again. This time they all heard the dull thunk of contact being made.

 

Ryan brought his shovel over, adding his efforts to the old man's. "Do it. We're going to need a space wide enough we can walk through." He wielded his shovel with a vengeance. Dirt fell at his feet, moist and crumbly.

 

"Lover."

 

He glanced back at Krysty. The beautiful redhead's face held a troubled expression. Her hair was standing out from her head, moving restlessly, and it wasn't propelled just by the wind. "What is it?" Ryan asked.

 

"Something." Krysty shook her head, obviously having a hard time finding the words or the certainty. She walked forward and placed her hand on the rough surface of the root, spreading her fingers to cover as much of it as she could. "This root's alive. Alive in a way much like those tanglers."

 

Ryan knew Krysty's mutie senses put her beyond what normal people could decipher about all the intricacies of life. And she didn't imagine things. "Meaning what?"

 

"Voices," she said, as if her attention were focused on something far, far away. "I hear voices."

 

"Whose voices?" Ryan asked.

 

"The voices of the roots," Krysty replied. "I can hear the roots talking. To each other." She put her other hand on the spot Doc and Ryan had cleared. Her brow wrinkled. "And something more. Some Other."

 

She paused, then shook her head irritably. "I can't say, lover. I just know that the Other is there, and is aware of itself even in the tangle of voices coming from the roots. It's something different."

 

"What about Mildred?" J.B. asked.

 

"I can't tell." Krysty remained with her gaze fixed on the exposed root. "There are people inside. A lot of them. The roots know they are supposed to keep them protected."

 

Ryan looked at his lover, noting her sudden pallor. "You going to be okay in there, or are you going to have to stay out here?"

 

Krysty hesitated before answering. "I'll be okay, lover, but the power of these roots is very strong. I can feel the spirit of Gaia in them. They've connected with something very old, or maybe they've been a part of it all along." She took her hands back from the root. "One thing I am sure ofwhen you cut into that root, it's hooked up to an alarm system of some sort that will warn Boldt."

 

"You sure?" J.B. asked.

 

Krysty nodded. "I got a glimpse of it while I was feeling out the power of the roots."

 

"Know what?" Jak questioned.

 

"No. But it felt alien from the roots, separate but connected."

 

"Perhaps the roots are wired into one of the computers," Doc conjectured. "There was some experimentation along those lines that I saw when I was back in the Totality Concept labs."

 

"So he's going to know we're coming," Ryan said.

 

"Someone's coming," Krysty corrected. "I don't think he'll know who."

 

"If he does," J.B. said, "and if Mildred's still alive, it could go hard on her."

 

Ryan nodded and scratched an itchy place near his empty eye socket under the patch. "Got no choice about going in, J.B."

 

The Armorer adjusted his glasses. "I know it. Just putting it out there to be mindful."

 

"No alarms yet?" Ryan asked Krysty.

 

"No."

 

"Boldt going to know where we're at, or just that his sec integrity's been violated?"

 

"I don't think he'll know where."

 

Ryan slipped a camp ax from his pack. "Doc, you and Jak keep widening this gap. I'm going to chop our way in. J.B., you and Krysty got lookout."

 

The companions spread out. The Armorer and Krysty took up positions at the opposite ends of the trench, their rifles in their arms. Jak took up the shovel Ryan left sticking in the dirt at his feet and started attacking the earthen wall with Doc.

 

Setting himself, Ryan swung the ax. The blade bit deeply into the pulp of the root. Dark sap oozed out in sticky patterns, clinging to the ax like death blood.

 

 

 

VICTOR BOLDT, Prince of the Celts and ruler of Wildroot, stood in front of the computer system, watching the images relayed from the concealed cameras to the twenty screens inside the room. More than half of them were working, though some of them only just. Screens two and nine were fuzzy, and the colors were off, painting images in garish greens.

 

"Is there nothing we can do to the cameras?" Boldt asked irritably. His understanding of the camera equipment was rudimentary at best. Had his father lived, though, he was certain he would have known everything about them. His father would have taught him. That was one of the things he missed most about the man.

 

"Not without physical restoration and repair at those ends," a deep, sonorous voice responded. The voice belonged to Merlin, the computer Boldt's father had set up and programmed to bring Wildroot online after the nuclear war or plague. "You've been notified of this."

 

He watched over the shadowed terrain. His feelings of paranoia had increased of late, making periods of restfulness hard to come by. The only times he had any release were during periods of high emotion, times when he was in the thick of physical activity.

 

"Someone is at the door," Merlin said.

 

"Who?" Boldt asked.

 

Screen one cleared and showed a view of Pepper standing in the hallway. The seed herald looked bored.

 

"SubjectPepper," Merlin intoned.

 

"Allow him," Boldt said. He turned and shook his cape out, preparing to meet the seed herald.

 

Pepper came into the room, holding his assault rifle in his hand. "I've got men out there everywhere, Prince Boldt. So far they've seen nothing."

 

"Then they're missing it," the Prince insisted. His paranoia assured him he was right. "The rebels know the Time of the Great Uprooting is near. They're not going to accept it like a bunch of sheep."

 

"Yes, sire. But all I can report to you is that things remain quiet."

 

"Given time, I think they will act. Before they do, I want to strike first."

 

"Then let us do it now," Pepper said. "We're ready. Come first light, we could be among them before they had a chance to get prepared."

 

Boldt studied the big man's chiseled face, seeing the bloodlust color the seed herald's features. Pepper was a tool he loved to use. But that tool only garnered the best results when wielded dispassionately. Besides, in order for the plague to be activated to its full potential, the Celts would have to be first infected, then broken and driven from their homelands into the outer regions.

 

"No. It's enough that we are not taken unawares." Boldt resumed his study of the monitors. "What about the New Londoners?"

 

Pepper approached one of the screens and tapped it. The light washed over him, leeching the color out of his garments and turning them gray. "For the time being, they remain here." His forefinger traced a tree line.

 

"Hew far away?" Boldt thought he knew from the past times he'd ridden that way.

 

"A quarter mile."

 

"They're close, then."

 

"Well out of arrow shot," the seed herald replied, "and beyond the range of the first tanglers. They won't be moving against the tanglers. Not in the dark."

 

"What about the boy?" Boldt asked.

 

"I don't know what's become of him," Pepper admitted.

 

"He appeared to be going willingly with those people you confronted."

 

Pepper dropped his head uncomfortably.

 

"If he's working with them," Boldt stated, "he could sing a song to get any number of New Londoners through the tanglers unharmed."

 

"Yes, sire."

 

"Do not assume we are safe here," Boldt said. "We've got enemies within and without."

 

"I understand."

 

Boldt glanced at the screen and tried to puzzle it out. "Never before have the New Londoners gathered like this. Usually when they come in to steal the tanglers and attack us, they're in smaller numbers. Much quieter." He wished the picture on the monitor were clearer. "Now they're here in force. Have you been able to find out why?"

 

"We haven't been able to capture one yet," Pepper said. "They're staying too close together."

 

"They're afraid."

 

"That's the way it looks to me."

 

"But not of us, given their past performances. What about the strangers? The ones you encountered who were with the black woman?"

 

"We've not seen them yet."

 

Boldt looked at the seed herald. "Neither they nor Tarragon have shown up. Yet it seems half of New London is encamped on our lands, preparing to lay siege to our community. Don't you find something wrong with that?"

 

Pepper rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "There's some talkwe haven't been able to confirm it yet, at least, I haven'tthat Gehrig and his people are here following the strangers."

 

The paranoia returned in full force, slamming into Boldt, twisting his stomach. "Ivory Ginnifer take you for not telling me this sooner! If Gehrig and his people have camped there, waiting, don't you realize that means they've followed the strangers at least this far?"

 

Pepper didn't have anything to say.

 

"Get out there," Boldt ordered, "and find those people. Kill them when you do."

 

"Yes, sire."

 

Boldt struggled hard to contain the anger he felt. Breathing more rapidly, he studied the views afforded by the cameras set within the Wildroot region. They were out there somewhere. He knew it now. Gehrig wouldn't be chancing a confrontation with the Celts without good reason.

 

"Red alert!" Merlin said. "Sensors attached to the fibrous roots systems are picking up an attack made on the outer hull."

 

"Give me the inner-camera systems," Boldt said, walking toward the monitors. "Bring on the defensive systems and show me where they are."