MY HEART IN STONE

PART 19:

What a day this was turning out to be, Gerta thought, sitting down at the computer monitor with what started out as a sigh, but ended in a small chuckle of amusement.  She sat in front of the monitor of the computer in the town office reading notes she had made for a project of her own, one that Mikol did not know about; but her thoughts were far away, back at the castle, wondering if Henri was able to keep an eye on Rachel for her.  She had found Henri before leaving the castle, told him where Rachel was and oh, he may need to make sure Cort doesn’t get into trouble as he was looking for Mikol, too.  Going up to his office where Rachel was, as a matter of fact.  She had winked at Henri when she said that, hoping he would understand something was afoot.  Henri had blinked for several seconds, and a strange look came over his face.  Then, he jotted down a note and handed it to her and left without saying a word.

She read the note in a nearby bathroom and burned it, washing the blackened particles down before leaving.  She had to begin preparations for their own plans.  That was all she needed to know; and come the morning, she had been exacting in everything she did, right down to her check-ins with Mikol, every routine action, all on the second it was supposed to happen.  This was the way she had been for years, all to lead up to this.  Mikol should never suspect.

She fervently hoped Rachel was able to keep her wits about her long enough to get out of the office and start back to work.  The less time Mikol spent wondering what Rachel was about, the better.

Mikol.

Gerta gave an involuntary shudder, something that was becoming more and more frequent lately.  She thought she had become used to the implacable pale eyes and the almost mystical expressions that would cross his face; it usually proved that the thought behind them was not so…esoteric, or beneficent.  She was a bit amazed to realize that the last time she reacted this way was many, many years back, in the first year of working for Mikol.  She had shuddered quite a bit then, wondering every morning whether or not she should return the next day. 

But her mind was wandering now.  She remembered shuddering when Mikol sent her out of the office to speak to Rachel and then Gerta had rested like the little brown bird that she was on the steps, her arms around her legs and fingers interlocked to keep her hands from doing what they did when she was nervous.  She had sat there, worried for Rachel, hoped for her…then, up the steps  had come Cort!  Something in Gerta’s head had clicked when she saw his face.  His words let her know he was still

then in the deep fog of forgetfulness, but she could not help but think that perhaps his encounter with the kitchen waif had done some good after all. 

Then she had smiled at the young man, her own amusement coming through in a joke that Cort would certainly not understand.  It didn’t matter.  Things would go much better this time, she just knew it.  She had indicated as much to Henri when she stopped by his office, even though the doctor frowned instead of smiled.  She wondered if Rachel would had remembered the storage room.  That would be have been cover enough….cover enough for discoveries of their own…and maybe more?  Gerta found herself grinning broadly at the computer screen.  Rachel would understand if she left, assuredly!  Can’t get in the way of real romance, she silently told the girl.  The tune Gerta hummed as she had left a mystified Cort on the stairwell had blossomed into phrases of outright song by the time she crossed the bridge into Hromada.  Imagine Rachel’s surprise!

The only factor nullifying that would be Mikol.

She stared at the monitor as she had done for the last fifteen minutes, a screen that tapped into a secured CPU that she had been updating, secured because if Mikol ever discovered she was storing away data, data that would implicate him in a biochemical intrigue, not to mention a connections list to contacts within shadow governments, he’d kill her without a blink.  

But knowing what he had been trying to do in his laboratories and how he had entrapped her, Gerta had decided it was worth the risk to find a way to cut Mikol’s operational legs out from under him.  Until recently, her gathering had been slow and selective, like an herbalist picking only the finest of saffron strands, or the freshest of tea leaves. 

Of late, however, she and Henri had found a certain…sympathy of action, because of the laboratories, the warp, the ‘construction.’  Because of Cort.  It had been because of him and Rachel that she realized how she and Henri and the whole town of Hromada had simply accepted the ogre of Mikol without thought of resisting, took  the tyranny he used as a noose around them all along with the economic benefits.  Rachel especially had illuminated how she and Henri had begun to slowly fade and crumble along with Neviditelny Kamen.  Something in the earnestness and hope of the two youngsters brought back some of the fire she had had when she went through her schooling…and something of the promise of Palan, too, she thought. 

He had been so full of fire, unwilling to accept what others took as irredeemable.

In her musings, Gerta had not heard the door to the town office open, so she jumped when she heard the sibilant smooth voice of Mikol seep into the air around her and send a cold clutch through her back.  She turned her chair around and found Mikol standing just beyond the blue shadows of the computer screen, his perfectly featured face an inhuman shade of interest.

“Is there a reason why you picked Veronica…especially?” Mikol asked, after he and Gerta stared at each other for several long seconds, long moments in which she wondered if she should casually flip off the screen…would he notice?  Had he noticed?Or was he too upset with Rachel to care what she was looking at?

“I am sorry.  I thought I had explained.  No one in Hromada will take a job with you anymore,” she replied, a bit more edge in her voice than she had intended.  “It's not as if you haven’t had Americans working for you,” she added, wondering if her stone face was going to crack from the brave words she was speaking.  “There is Tom,” she pointed out.

“He…was removed,” Mikol breathed, blue eyes seeing far off.  “But you know of that…don’t you Gerta?”  His blue eyes, a frightening depth of blue in the light of the screen, focused in on her like laser beams.  He left his spot in the shadows and leant over her, arms coming around to trap her from either side.  A brief, icicle smile flickered across his face, with nary a muscle around his eyes moving in reflection of it.  “Is Veronica a spy, Gerta?”

The little brown sparrow in her blanched, knew he had only but to glance at the screen before saying a word to know, to understand what she had been about all these years, why she did not fight as hard to leave as others had. 

But she had arranged for that as well.

“No, Mikol,” she answered, surprising herself with how calm her voice was.  She knew it would come to this.  Something had always told her it would.  She moved her eyes to the screen, even though Mikol’s gaze never wavered, never changed.  “I am the spy.”

Rachel sat in silence in the corner of the kitchen as she took her meal, which she ate with as much alacrity as chewing her food at least twice and swallowing for another bite would allow.  Rollo was not happy to see her and let her know about it with great bangs on the worktable and violent rattles of the pots.  Gerta never showed up and Rachel missed her extremely.

Then it was back to the grind and Rachel counted the number of items she dusted, feet swept, dishes picked up, papers collected, until, at last, she found it was impossible to ignore Mikol's bedroom.  Rachel climbed the stairs and entered the chamber. 

She set about tidying, her hands and arms doing what they must because to do any less would bring more wrath upon her, but her soul fighting and hating it every step of the way.  She made his bed first, took care of the big items.  Before long all that was needed was a final dusting.  She glanced at the clock.  Ten minutes until she could leave the castle...and oh!  How she would fly!

One last bit of surface.  With a sigh, she bent over, gave the table top one final swipe with the duster, and looked up.

Cort!  He was standing in the doorway, looking so…riven?  No.  That wasn’t it.  The last time she had seen that look...that face...

"Rachel." 

Her body knew what to do when she heard him, even if her brain wasn’t quite getting the message.  It dropped the feather duster and made her feet take her around the bed, all the while never taking her eyes from his face, *THAT* face, the one she had been met with when walking down the stairs in the saloon, a face full of hope and happiness and with all the world in his eyes, all the love she could ever hope to find pouring out of him, filling the room.  THAT was the face she saw now, and every muscle of her was gravitating towards it.

There were two seconds fraught with hesitation, as though some part of her wanted to make sure she wasn't imagining, that it wouldn’t all just crumble into the dust of Kamen.  Then, unable to hold back any longer, she fell into his arms, trying to breath, trying to cry, trying to speak all at once, succeeding only in burying her face in his jacket, clutching him close.  She wouldn’t let go this time...no warp would take him from her this time...she wouldn't let go...

"It's me.  It's Rachel," she finally gasped.  "And I love you."

He fisted his hands in her hair, his lips needing to touch every part of her face. "I know," he breathed between kisses. "I know."  But words just got in his way.  He needed physical contact. He wanted to pull her entirely into himself, to surround her with his being so that there was no space between them.  He took a few steps into the room, moving her with him, closing the door behind him, never moving his lips off hers as he did.  Sinking to his knees, he took her with him, then as he slid over onto his hip, pulled her into his lap. He was like a man having been lost in some vast desert and coming upon a waterhole  Could there ever be enough?

He kissed her until his breath was gone and then he kissed her more.  Finally he took her face between his palms, holding it just out from his, looking into her eyes, letting her look into his, needing to let her see her love reflected back in his.  "Oh, God, Rachel," he sighed, tears brimming again.   "My love, my heart." His voice caught.  "I...," he tried to speak, but just pulled her face to his again, kissing her brow, her eyelids, down her nose. 

"How I love you. How I love you. My Rachel."  He choked the words out, his voice wet with the tears of his heart.  Then he just circled his arms around her and sat there, pressing her into him, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

She felt nothing but him, hardly knew his taking her down with him to the floor...was there a floor?  She didn't care!...she couldn't feel that either, only the wanting, desiring, yearning to meld with him. 

He remembered! 

His hands tangled in her hair and she held on as he drank her in, pushing further into his embrace, letting him move her where he wanted her, his mouth hot upon hers.  Rachel couldn’t pull him close enough, thrilling to the sound of his voice, the feel of him wrapping her up. 

He remembered! 

The joy of this rose up in her and she began laughing even while he spoke her name, bright laughter through tears.  She was losing sense of where she ended and he began, and she couldn't stop...didn’t want to stop!  At one point in their frantic reunion, Cort's lips moved away from her mouth...he was murmuring her name over and over ...drifted to nuzzle the hollow behind her ear...oh, yes, he remembered!

"How...?" she whispered, when he tucked her head under his chin and enfolded her with his arms.  He was sighing with emotion, every muscle of his curled around her.  "What made it...clear?"

"Later," he murmured, his mouth in her hair as he got his feet under him and stood, lifting her with him in his arms. He backed up, locking the door, shocking Rachel for a moment by heading toward the bed...Mikol's bed.

When she made one little gasp of protest only because of worry Mikol might return, Cort, half-grinning, whispered, "Shhh!" and lay her gently on the silver satin bedspread.  He didn't care.  His awareness of love had returned and he was full with it.

He stood a moment beside the bed, looking down at her, the time of not knowing fleeing away into nothingness.  She was here.  He was here.  What else mattered, could matter?  Putting one knee on the bed, he leaned over her almost reverently, stroking softly down the side of her face with his fingers then kissing her eyelids.  She was worn from a combination of work and worry.  He could see it clearly and a slight frown creased his brow.  She had done this for him, because of him.  A streak of dust marked one cheekbone and he rested his lips there, too.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, settling his length beside her.  His fingers found the top button of her plain dress, slipping it undone.  Slowly, deliberately, he folded back one corner of the drab cloth, then the other, kissing between the tops of her breasts, breathing in the familiar scent of her.

A sudden clutch of pain took him in the midst of the kiss, pain because he had forgotten...this, pain that she had been taken from him, the memory of her erased, pain that she had suffered so much for his sake.  He paused, lips still on her skin, as a tear ran down his cheek, its wetness sliding from his skin onto hers.

He lifted his head slightly, looking at it, then raised himself just enough so that he could touch it with his fingertip and draw it out into the shape of a heart.  When he was done, he looked up at her, his jaw trembling almost imperceptibly.

"There," he said. "My heart is back now, back where it belongs."  Then he bowed his head, his hair falling forward, and kissed the tear-formed heart.

And he loved her, slowly, tenderly at first; then, lost himself in the passion of his need.  Later he lay beside her again, his arms around her, one leg atop hers and in her ear he said, "Wherever we are, when we are together, I am home.  Even here, my love, even in this place."

Rachel could no longer imagine the despair that had plagued her mere minutes ago, remembering other things now as he laid her back and left scintillating trails of tears and passion on her lips and skin.  Remembering how Cort took over when inspired and how she delighted in fanning those flames, to encourage him, to make him lose control.  Her thoughts swirled, wanting to emphasize the danger, the extreme foolhardiness of forgetting themselves in their enemy’s private quarters; but in the moments Cort leaned over her, lips trembling and aching body radiating fire, and painted the tingling heart in the valley of her breasts, something in her came unleashed.  Mikol be damned.  With as much intensity as she could return, Rachel gave herself completely over to Cort.

Some time later, they lay entwined amid the rumples, the satin covers of Mikol’s bed askew in ways that betrayed their activity. 

"My home, my love," she whispered in return to his soft voice as he repeated words he has spoken in Rome.  For her, coherent sentences were not yet possible.

Some persistent cherub kept poking her with the fact that they were skirting a dangerous edge, tempting fate even as they lay in exquisite release.  Rachel felt like a rag-doll, spent and renewed at the same time.  She felt rather than heard the rhythm of Cort's breathing begin to fall into a sleepy pattern and she forced herself to twist towards him, blinking away the dregs of their lovemaking.

"Sweetheart, don't fall asleep.  We can't," she whispered, hating every single syllable that would prod him away from her, but...well, it was Mikol's bed, after all.  Cort's hand fell to her breast, his fingers cupping automatically.  A giggle escaped her.  “Such a man!  My dear love, my deepest, we'll be in danger."

Eyes still closed, he grinned, keeping his hand in its current location. Slowly, then, he opened one eye, tipping his head toward her.  "Miss Keirs," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching, "I do believe that you are going to have to marry me."  He leaned up, moving his hand so he could replace it with his lips when a soft, but urgent rap sounded on the door.

"Cort! Cort, are you in there?"

Good Lord, it was Henri!  Cort's eyes widened and he exchanged startled glances with Rachel, who was rapidly gathering her scattered clothing.  "Damn!" he said under his breath, pulling on his pants.  He reached for his boots. One was missing.  Looking over his shoulder at the scrambling Rachel, he asked, "Have you seen my boot?" 

Without pausing in her mad dressing, she pointed quickly across the room.  It lay half-hidden under a distant chair.  His eyes widened again.

"How did it get over there?" 

Her eyes replied, "Don't ask!" so he made a rapid dash for it, which put him very near the door.

"Just a moment!" he hissed to Henri, almost falling over as he attempted a one-foot hopping boot-pull.  Rachel laughed, almost knocking over the bedside lamp.  He made a face at her and she dropped her own shoe, which bounced under the bed.  He laughed, choked, coughed.

"Hurry!"  Henri called urgently.  "Mikol is heading for the keep!"

"Oh, God!"  Cort exclaimed, his eyes seeking hers again, all mirth wiped off his face.  His fingers fumbled as he tried to button his shirt, then his vest. Too many damn layers! He shrugged his frockcoat on, leaving it unbuttoned, helped Rachel retrieve her shoe.  She hurriedly fluffed the pillows then they both gazed in horror at the silver spread.  It had been obviously...used.

"What now?" he moaned.  But she indicated he should grab his side of the cover and they simply flipped it over, one side being exactly like the other, thank goodness.  Well, not now.  Rachel smoothed it expertly.  It would do.

Cort unlocked the door and Henri poked a frantic head into the room.  "Rachel," he said quickly, as though he fully expected to find her with Cort, "you stay here and continue with the straightening.  Cort, you come with me.  Now!"

Cort looked longingly across the room at Rachel, wanting to hold her, kiss her again, but the sound of Mikol's footsteps were already coming up the staircase.  "I love you," he mouthed, then Henri grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the room.  Together they ran down the hall, around a corner, and quickly descended the narrower back stairway.  "In here!"  Henri ordered, guiding Cort into his office, tossing a book into his hands and pointing at a small couch.  "Sit.  Read."

Cort obeyed.  At least he sat, holding the book as though he were reading it.  His ears were pricked, listening for any sound that might give some sign of what was happening on the upper level of the keep.

Rachel smiled as big as a house in the wake of Cort’s mouthed message; but she didn’t have time to savor their time together.  Turning around, she gave herself a check to make sure she regained her costume as dowdy housekeeper and that everything in Mikol’s room had been put back in place.  She grabbed up her hair clip from its spot by the armchair and used her fingers to comb her mussed hair into some semblance of order.  She caught her image in the mirror and saw that her cheeks were still flushed.  If Cort had painted the words ‘love’ and ‘sex’ all over her body and face, she couldn’t be any louder in projecting their afterglow.  The makeup Volos had given her had been kissed, smeared, loved away…and the hairclip did not do its job in taming her unkempt hair. 

Frak!  Mikol was sure to notice…maybe he’ll think it's because I’ve been working so hard to make up for lost time…

She heard the scrape of shoes on the stairwell and glanced around for the feather-duster.  It was long since gone, probably in exchange for the shoe she nearly did not recover.  But she needed something to show she had been busy!  Her apron!  She would have to use that as a wipe rag.  Crumpling it up, she turned to the large full-moon art deco vanity, began swiping its surface with the apron…even though she had no glass cleaner…even though she could see her face in the mirror and she looked anything but humble and worn out.

She thought she could literally feel the air turn a bit colder when Mikol walked into the room.  She knew the ice-blue eyes fell on her back and her neck muscles twitched. 

Inadvertently she stepped back, meeting his glare by looking at his reflection in the mirror, then tried to turn in such a way as to mean she was going about her business, but knew, just knew he could read her desire to leave the room. 

He stepped closer, began to address her, but in the moments she made her final turn, she could see by his expression he had the awful revelation of her true identity. 

She threw up her arm to defend herself, the apron falling to the floor, but Mikol was too fast.  His long hard fingers were pressed at the most vulnerable points of her neck, and she beat her fists against his arm, trying to knock his grip away.  Too late, she saw, her vision blurring as her sight fixated on Mikol’s fury.  Then, darkness.

Mikol opened his bedroom door.  He needed the folder of papers he'd left lying on his dresser and he needed it quickly. The mess Gerta had made would...but he paused, frowning,  when he saw the little housekeeper polishing the mirror over his vanity. He looked at her very carefully as she stood across the room from him, her unkempt hair catching his eye.  He noticed her skin was flushed and walked toward her, suddenly wanting a better look.  She was...different....had lost that washed-out, sallow look and almost...glowed.  His eyes narrowed.  She was actually  pretty.  Gerta had insisted that this Veronica was not a spy.  He smiled.  But, then,  Gerta had told him...many...things over the years that were not so.  

"You," he began, but then it hit him. The couple, walking arm and arm down the Roman street, the woman's face aglow with love for...Cort.  His mouth squared, showing his teeth.  Rachel! Sid's retriever!  He should have known, damn it, he should have KNOWN! 

Without a word his arm shot out, strong fingers closing around her small neck.  He knew just where to press to block the blood flow in her carotids.  It took only seconds and she went limp, sagging in his hand.  He held his clamp there a bit longer, wanting to be sure she would be out for a good while, a little brain damage of no concern to him.  Then he simply let go and she crumpled hard to the floor.  "You never learn, do you, Sid?" he growled.

He looked toward the door.  "So this is why you were lying to me, eh, Cort?"  He smiled.  "Well, there are other...less pleasant...ways of getting what I need from you." 

Bending, he picked up the apron, hefted Rachel over his shoulder like a sack of flour and strode out the door, gliding soundlessly part way down the back stairs but stopping at a landing where he pressed a concealed button that opened a small door- way.   As he went through it, heedless of her well-being,  the side of her  head smacked
sharply against the edge of the frame.  When the door closed again,  her hairclip lay on the stone landing.

"It's awfully quiet up there, " Cort ventured, his tension-level rising as the minutes passed.

"He went to pick up some papers, Cort, he shouldn't be much longer.  Perhaps he's talking with her?"

"I don't like it," Cort said, standing, tossing the book back on the couch.  "I don't want her alone with him.  Not him."

"I understand, I do," Henri replied, "but let's give it a moment more.  How would we explain walking in on them?"

Cort sat back down but made no further pretense of reading.  His eyes were glued on the main staircase, waiting for either Mikol or Rachel to descend. Five minutes passed.  "That's it!" he announced, heading toward the stairs.

Henri knew there would be no stopping him, so trotted along at his heels urging, "Be careful, Cort.  The man's not quite...human."

Cort paused a moment, looking back at the doctor.  "I'm quite familiar with men who are not quite human, " he said quietly, grimly.

He took the stairs three, sometimes four at a time, leaving Henri puffing far behind.  At the top of the stairs, he stopped, looking down the hallway.  The door to Mikol's room was open.  His back against the wall, he made his way toward it, then peered cautiously inside.  No one appeared to be there.  Henri arrived at the top of the stairs and Cort motioned him over.  Together they entered the room, looking quickly around.

"They're still here," Henri groaned.

Cort whirled.  "What?"

"The papers Mikol came for.  He didn't take them."  Henri put a hand over his eyes.  This was not good.  Not good at all.

Cort saw clearly Henri's response to finding the papers and his pulse quickened.  Rachel!  Where was Rachel?  He scanned the room, but no trace of her remained.
"DOCTOR!" he said loudly to get Henri's attention.  "If he's taken her, where, where would that be?"

Henri blew out a long breath.  The castle was full of tunnels, mazes, hidden rooms, many of which only Mikol knew about.  He had redesigned the castle himself, never sharing much of his plans with anyone.  "I...I'm not sure," Henri sighed.  "There... there are so many places."

"Well, they didn't come down the main stairway.  I was watching that."

He headed down the hall to the back steps he and Henri had used shortly before. He had just passed the landing when Henri called him back.  The doctor was standing
there, holding out his hand.  Cort picked up the small object, recognizing it from Rachel's hair.  He'd taken it out himself when they...when they...oh, God.  Mikol
did have her!  He remembered how quickly she had thrust it back into her
thick hair.  There was no time for combing.  Just stick it in and hope it held.

His fingers folded over the clip as his eyes locked on Henri's.  "Where?" he asked.

Henri shook his head.  "He has hidden passageways all over the castle.  I don't know.  I just don't know!"

Cort looked at the wall just beyond the doctor. "There must be something there.  There has to be!"  Tucking the hairclip into his pocket, he began to run his hands
over the wall.  The back stairwell was framed in wood panels made of varnished oak. There was no real decoration as this stairway was mainly for the use of the servants.  The only remarkable feature was that where the sections of the panels joined, the nail heads had been recessed and covered with small, rounded nubbins of wood.  Cort's fingers flew along the lines of them, pressing one after another.  Nothing happened. He bit hard on his tongue, moving more to his left, starting down the nubbins there.  Finally one gave slightly under his fingertip and he pressed harder,  a draft of heavy, dank air hitting his face as the panel opened. He looked at Henri.  "Where does this lead?"

Henri shook his head mutely.  He'd never seen this passage before.

Cort peered through the small doorway, straining his eyes, but could see nothing in the pitch blackness that lay within.  The light from the stairs only illuminated the first few feet of a secondary set of descending steps that all too quickly were swallowed in the absolute darkness.  There must be some system of lighting, but Henri didn't know where it was.  Mikol had obviously turned it off when he'd gotten to the bottom of these steps.

Cort put his boot on the top step, testing it.  It was wood and creaked slightly under his weight. There was a slender metal railing on its left side, none on its right, as it  spiraled quite steeply into the darkness.  "I'm going," he announced.

Henri gulped, nodded, and prepared to follow him, all too aware of Mikol's ingenious system of securing parts of the castle he wished to keep private. "Slow down," he hissed at Cort, whom he thought was moving too rapidly for safety.

Cort continued on as fast as he could, feeling quickly for the edge of each step with his foot before taking the next.  The stairway was deliberately irregular, some steps only an inch or two below the other, some more than two feet.  It was engineered to make going in the dark as tough as possible. After about 15 steps, Cort was feeling for the next and decided it must be one of the longer drops.  In his haste to find Rachel, he let his weight shift forward before actually touching the surface of the step below.  There was no surface.  His right leg kept going and he plunged up to his hip in the empty frame of the step. He cried out with pain as his leg scraped against the sharp edge of the wood and then he began to topple forward.  Henri managed to grab the back of his
jacket and keep him upright.  He was jammed there, his left leg bent sharply back, his right completely through where the step should have been.  Without Henri's grip there was no way he would not fall forward down the rest of the spiral.  He felt dizzy with the pain and sudden shock of it.

"Good God, Cort!" Henri panted.  "Are you all right?"

He gritted his teeth.  The pain of the position was unbearable.  He knew if he had to maintain it, he would pass out.  "I can't...stay...like this," he managed to gasp.

Henri carefully changed his grip so he had an arm under each of Cort's. He pulled, but Cort didn't budge.  Struggling, Cort got his palms on the step behind him and pressing with all his strength while Henri pulled,  felt his leg start to slide up.  "It's moving!" he gritted, but a sudden cramp seized his left thigh, his palms slipped, and
his right leg plunged back down.

Henri still had him. "Can you try again?" he urged.

"I...I think I'm going to pass out," Cort whispered, his head starting to fall forward.

"Ow!" he cried, startled into full consciousness.  Henri had bitten his ear.  He couldn't let go of Cort with his hands.  It was all he could think to do.

"Push, Cort! Dammit, man, PUSH!"

He pushed, sweat pouring down his face, his teeth biting into his lower lip.  His arms trembled with the effort of it, but his bottom gradually cleared the edge of the step behind him and he could let it take his weight.  "My...my...leg," he gasped.

Henri reached around him trying to grip Cort's right leg.  "No...not that one," Cort groaned.  It was his left leg, still bent at a sharp angle, that was about to do him in.

Henri changed his position, feeling in the darkness for the other side of the step Cort was sitting on.  "Ah," the doctor said, his fingers locating the twisted limb.  "Shift
your weight more to the right," he ordered.  Cort complied and Henri was able to release the leg from its pinned position.  The movement caused Cort's consciousness to begin fading again, but Henri shook him hard.  "No, Cort! Stay with me! Rachel needs you!"

That did it. He snapped back.  "Rachel," he breathed, gripping the railing, trying to gain his feet. Henri helped him, but as he stood, he realized his left thigh muscle must have been pulled. It would bear his weight, but only if he kept his teeth tightly
clamped.

"You are in pain," Henri said, a statement, not a question.

"It doesn't matter," Cort replied, trying to figure out how to get beyond the missing step without straining his leg further. Finally, by holding the railing tightly and setting his right boot on the frame of the step, he was able to lower himself to the step beyond. He was sweating again from the effort and the salt of it stung sharply in the long scrape on his right leg. He'd just have to get on with it, though.

Henri followed his pattern, passed the missing step himself and the two men made it to the bottom without further incident. The space was wider here and as they stood there, their outstretched hands could find no walls. They would, then, be forced to move with no point of reference at all until they encountered something. What they might encounter was something Henri had really rather not contemplate!

Cort listened, hoping for some sound that would give him a sense of direction. Nothing. He ran his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. The stairs had taught him, though. Don't put your foot down until you know for sure what's there.

Something scuttled in the darkness to their left. "Rat," Henri said. "I hope."

Cort made his way about 10 feet ahead before finding a wall. It felt slightly damp under his fingers. Henri, who had been holding onto the tail of Cort's frockcoat so as not to lose him in the darkness, also reached out his hand. "This must be part of the original foundations of the keep," he speculated. "The newer subterranean sections all are air conditioned. No moisture on the walls like this."

"Do you have any suggestions, Doctor? Right or left?"

Unless he were more turned around than he thought, Henri guessed the courtyard and the western part of Kamen would lie to their left.  From what he knew of the keep itself, the spiral steps had to be near its eastern end. Mikol had probably taken Rachel either to a newer, underground chamber or somewhere in the buildings close to the tower. He explained this to Cort and they headed in that direction, keeping their right hands on the wall as they moved. Henri's left hand maintained  its grip on the tail of the coat as well and he could tell Cort was limping rather badly.

Since he knew Cort was not really acquainted with Mikol, he filled in some details as they went cautiously along. "He's like some big hunting cat," he explained. "He... enjoys a good hunt. Likes to play with his prey...or his stalkers. You never quite know what he'll do. I expect he'll be fully aware we are tracking him, Cort. This is more dangerous than you can possibly imagine."

Henri's words served mostly to increase Cort's fears for Rachel. She would not have gone with him willingly. He knew that. What had he done to her? What might he yet do to her? Despite the pain, he began to move faster.
 

Mikol had arrived in the small medical section of his warren of new rooms beneath the western end of the castle. He went the room where Cort had been taken upon his arrival and dumped Rachel unceremoniously on the cot there. Standing beside it, he looked down at her, considering the interesting effect it would have on Cort should he simply kill her now and let him stumble upon her body. That could be...amusing.  But, then, perhaps he should draw this out a bit, play with Cort some more first before killing her. As long as his original plan had been so disrupted, he might as well enjoy the process of switching to his back-up.

Rachel moaned, turning her head slightly, and he knelt on one knee beside the cot, his hand going to her throat. He rubbed his thumb pad back and forth over her carotid, smiling, but not pressing much, as he considered his option of turning her into a vegetable. It was her doing that his plans had gone awry. And Gerta. The woman had obviously hired Rachel knowingly.  He stroked his thumb pad back and forth. No. It would take Cort too long to discover her mind was gone. Better to keep her as she was for the time being. Rising, he picked up a roll of surgical tape, binding her ankles and wrists then stuffing a wash rag into her mouth. She was beginning to rouse as he finished and he was ready for her to be awake, to understand what was happening to her. He poured a glass of water over her face to help her along.

"Wake up my traitorous little housekeeper," he purred. "The game is afoot!"

She had fallen once, on her back, playing on the jungle gym at her school.  It had been a large dome of interconnecting metal rods and she loved swinging from them inside the bubble.  She had swung her legs up and one over a bar.  Sandy, a mean-spirited bully of a little girl, used to love to wait for that second when she was suspended, almost at the edge of securing herself, to rush up to her and tickle her, causing her to tumble ungracefully back to the ground.  Usually, she was adept at least hooking one leg over, especially since Sandy had ambushed her often enough for her to learn speed.

But this one time, Sandy got her completely by surprise, changed tactics, aiming for her neck instead of her belly…and she had let go to shove the hands away from her face as one would a swarm of flies…and Rachel had landed full upon her back with a thud.  She had stared up at the network looming over her, her lungs suddenly unable to draw air, and Sandy leaning, chortling with glee over the fact that Rachel was gasping for air, hands flailing in the dirt for something to tell her body, her lungs to suck inwards.  She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the way to jump-start her life again.

Rachel was hovering again in that moment before the gravity of the bars claimed her clinging limbs, that moment that she always pretended was the same as an astronaut floating in space.  And Sandy ambushed her, really hard this time, not with her usual rough laugh, but with gliding silence…and her hand stayed at Rachel’s neck, pressing her with mere fingertips, smiling down at her with all the satisfaction of one who has had the last word…

Her eyes flew open, darted about, and found Mikol’s face just inches from hers.  She couldn’t speak, could barely feel air in her nostrils.  Her mouth was stuffed full of medicine-smelling rags that made her want to gag.  That was why she couldn’t breathe!  She opened her eyes wide, terror flooding her now.  It hadn’t been Sandy who had deprived her of oxygen, it was Mikol,  and he was, by the second, making Sandy look like a beloved lost friend. 

She winced and wriggled, found her hands and ankles bound, realized that water dripped from her nose and her forehead, making them itch.  She sensed rather than saw a large room, darkened except for lights underneath a cabinet, a privacy curtain pulled back.  She was in a kind of recovery room.  Mikol knelt at her side, smiling like a well-pleased demi-god, an empty glass in one hand, a roll of tape in the other.  A small groan welled up in her chest, disappeared into the choking rags in her mouth. 

It was loud enough for Mikol to hear, though, and he leaned forward as though entranced.

"Those expressive eyes of yours will get you nowhere, my dear," he smiled.  "You are, you see, nothing more than bait for me to use in reeling in your beloved parson." His smile faded as his lids half-lowered, hooding his eyes. "I was playing nice with him," he growled, "but you, you have brought all of that to its end."  He was, indeed, furious with her stupid interference and his right hand folded into a fist. He wanted to hit her. Badly. But he closed his eyes and cupped his left hand over his fist, baring his teeth as he calmed the urge.  Finally opening his eyes, he glared at her. "Know this, you silly woman, that it is you and you alone who have cost Cort everything. It is because of you that his days as my happy captive have ended. Know that you will die with him watching."

He took off one of her shoes, leaving it on the floor beside the cot, then hefted her up over his shoulder again. "But now," he said, "let's all enjoy a little game of hide and seek, shall we?"

Cort began to breathe more heavily. Walking on his injured legs was sapping his energy rapidly. He felt Henri's hand move up to his left shoulder. "I need to rest a minute, Cort," the doctor said. He had been listening to the sound of Cort's
breathing and knew the young man would never stop on his own account.

"Just a moment," Cort agreed, leaning against the wall, his shoulders sagging. His left leg throbbed from his hip socket to his knee, his right stung from the scrape down its full length. Damn! Not when he needed to be at his best to confront Mikol. Then, he mused, there was the matter of weapons. Mikol had full access to whatever he might choose. He himself had only his bare hands. He sighed, brushing sweaty strands of hair off his face then straightened. "Best we get on now, Doctor," he said.

Henri straightened, too. He'd really hoped Cort would rest longer, but having gotten to know him, was not surprised that he wanted to press on. 

The damp passage continued for about 30 more feet then came to an abrupt end at a solid metal wall. Henri sidled past Cort to touch the wall for himself. "This is where the new construction begins," he said.

"Can we get in?" Cort asked.

"Mikol got in. There has to be a way...if we can find it," Henri supplied.

Cort knocked gently on the wall. It was solid metal, and thick, completely blocking the passageway from side to side. If they couldn't find a way to get past it, they'd have to go back.  He wasn't interested in going back. The intense blackness of their location made any explorations of the area extremely difficult, but after only a moment's search, Cort came upon a circular depression in the middle of the wall. It was about three inches across with a narrow ridge surrounding it. Cort pointed it out to Henri and announced that he was going to push on it to see if anything happened.

"It's too...obvious, Cort," Henri protested. "Mikol would never have something so easy to locate trigger the opening mechanism."

Cort was insistent, though, as he'd found nothing else to try.  Henri's hand was on Cort's arm as he lifted it toward the depression.  Just before his hand reached the spot, Henri pulled it away. "No!" he said firmly. "Let me do it."  It was probably some form of booby trap. He didn't want Cort to be hurt by it. "Step away, please, Cort," he asked as he positioned his own body as far to the side as he could and still reach the depression.

Cort stepped reluctantly back into the darkness, waiting silently, hearing nothing but the sound of Henri's breathing, shallow and quick with his anxiety.

Henri pressed his lips together, held his breath, and pressed the center of the depression. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. "Here, let me try," Cort said, starting to move forward.

"No!" Henri almost shouted. "Stay back, Cort!" He knew Mikol's mind worked in devious ways, knew there could yet be something amiss with this whole scenario.  But if he didn't press it again, Cort would. Gritting his teeth, his fingers moved, putting more pressure on it than he had the first time. A bolt of electricity shot out of it, running up Henri's arm, sending him flying backwards into Cort. Both men fell together, Cort uttering a sharp exclamation of pain as his left leg landed under Henri's body.

He could only sit there, gasping for a  moment, then reached in the darkness, locating Henri's shoulder. "Doctor!" he cried, shaking the man, "are you all right?"

But Henri lay quite limply across Cort's legs. His facial muscles tight with the effort of it, Cort managed to shift Henri enough so that he could get to his knees beside him.  His left thigh screamed at the position, but Cort bit down on his lip and leaned forward over the doctor. Before he had been sent into Gladiator, Cort had gone through a period of intensive training. Part of that involved first-aid, so he knew what to do, knew he had to get Henri breathing again. He'd never done it on a real person, but set about the process of CPR as well as he could remember. Each time he shifted slightly from Henri's breathing to his chest, Cort's leg made him gasp with pain. But he kept it up, not able to see Henri, having to do everything by touch alone in the darkness.

After what seemed like endless minutes to Cort, Henri gasped, choked, sucked in air. Cort settled over onto his right hip, stretching his left leg out, so spent he couldn't even ask the doctor how he was doing. He felt dizzy and lay back so that he was right beside Henri. He moved his right hand, resting it on Henri's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall. Good. He didn't really need to close his eyes, the darkness was so black it served quite well in itself, but still his lids came down as it seemed too much effort to keep them up. You cannot lie here, Cort, he said to himself. Get UP! Rachel needs you!

Henri moved his hand to his chest, resting it atop Cort's.  "Th...thank you, my friend," he whispered, his voice barely more than a croak. 

Cort sat up, keeping his legs straight in front of him, and turned toward Henri. "You were right, Doctor, it was too obvious." He shook his head, not knowing what to do next, knowing only he had to do something. "Do you think you can move?" he asked his companion.

"Only one way to find out," Henri grunted, struggling to a sitting position.

Cort's stomach growled, tuning him in to the fact he'd had nothing to eat today. No time to worry about that, though. He pressed his left palm on the stone floor beside him, attempting to rise, but sat back when his fingers encountered a stone, smaller and smoother than the others. "What have we here?" he said to himself. "Henri, I think I may have found something. Would Mikol set a control in the floor this far from the door?"

"Mikol would do anything," Henri replied, "most of them things you wouldn't want to think about.  But let me see." He got to his knees, crawling around Cort, feeling the stone for himself. "Yes," he agreed, "this could very well trigger the door. "He paused. "Or deadly gas. One never knows."  He touched Cort's arm. "I suspect we have to try it, though."

"Let me do it this time, Doctor," Cort said.

"I...," Henri began but Cort gently moved the older man's hand away from the stone. "No, Doctor."  He sucked in one long breath and pressed on the stone. A metallic grating immediately started and the heavy wall rose upward. Lights so bright they blinded the men used to such darkness glared out through the opening.

"Bingo!" Henri chortled, then coughed.  "We'd better hurry. Don't know how long the thing will stay open."

Henri scrabbled to his feet. Cort pressed the floor again with his palms, trying to take the weight off his legs as he rose, but pain still shot through them as he moved.  Henri leaned down, helping as much as he could until Cort got his feet under him. "You need ice, you know," he said, "and rest."

Cort just pressed his lips together, wiped his sleeve across his brow, and limped toward the light. "I know," he said, and then the metal wall slid down with a heavy thunk.

"Ah," Henri sighed, "I know where we are now.  Just down there on the left is the room where I first saw you." He headed toward it, Cort now almost dragging his left leg, following more slowly. Henri turned into the room, looking for something.
There, leaning in the far corner, a cane. He picked it up, handing it to Cort. "Will help you take the weight off that leg, "he explained.

Cort took it wryly in his own hands, looking from it to the doctor. "I expect, then, when we find Mikol I can beat him with my cane, eh?"

Henri laughed. "Might not be such a bad idea," he added, then went to a cabinet and slid two syringes into his pocket. Before leaving, he opened a bottle and handed Cort two white pills.

"What's this?" Cort asked.

"Aspirin, my friend, just aspirin. Will help you with the pain." He filled a small glass with water for Cort.

"You got any scrambled eggs in these cabinets by any chance?"

"Not today," Henri replied. "Try back next Tuesday."
                   
Cort looked around the room. "So this is where I was, before the tower, I mean?"

"Yes," Henri nodded. "Is where all new arrivals are first brought in Kamen."

"All?" Cort asked, his mouth dropping open a bit. "There have been...others? Where are they?"

"Dead," Henri explained. "All of them. Not one survived the trauma of Mikol's warp. Only you."

Cort blew out another long breath. There was no time to waste now thinking about such things. He walked across the room, his eyes on the door and almost stumbled over Rachel's shoe. He picked it up, recognizing it immediately. He'd fetched it not
long ago from under Mikol's bed. Wordlessly, he held it out toward Henri.

"Bad sign," Henri sighed. "He's deliberately leaving clues now. He wants us to follow him."

"He...wants...us to?" Cort repeated.

Henri nodded. "It's a game to him right now, I'm afraid. He's playing with us."

Cort frowned. "And Rachel?"

"She's his queen. He's trying to lure the bishop out, trying to get you in position to...."

"To...what?"

"I'm not sure, Cort. I'm just not sure. I do know this, though. He will not hesitate to sacrifice the queen if it means he can take the bishop.  You understand the chess references I am making?"

Cort dipped his head. He and Father Michael had played often late in the evenings. "You are saying he would kill her?"

"Without blinking an eye, Cort, without blinking an eye."

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