MY HEART IN STONE

PART 21:

Mikol looked out over the undulating hills that stretched themselves away in endless ridges

from his castle. It always gave him a sense of empire to stand there on the high walkway

and gaze at all that was in his possession. How different it was from the dark dreary ugliness

of the city where he had spent so much of his life. Rachel lay on the walkway just behind

him. For a moment he ignored her and set about opening the large canvas pouch he'd picked

up just before he'd left the tower, removing several ropes and something made from leather straps. He was aware of her eyes following his every movement.  "Not much longer, Miss

Rachel, not much longer at all." 

At first, she thought it was a giant slingshot, something her addled and blood-stirred brain insisted upon, but just couldn’t work out how much of a threat it would be.  Did he think to

shoot rocks at Cort as he came from the other end of the castle?  Where was Cort?  The breadcrumbs had been haphazard enough to keep Sherlock Holmes busy, but…would he

ever come?  She was beginning to feel that if Mikol picked her up and slung her over his shoulder for another jaunt around the walls once more, she would simply fall piece by

piece along the way.  Her nerves were shot and spasms wracked her muscles from the

constant uncertainty of flee or fight.  Not even anger was able to keep her from giving into despair now, as Mikol seemed to have decided on a final resting place.  This last thought

took on perfectly clear meaning when he knelt at her feet and cut the tape that bound her

ankles together with a small pocket knife.

"Gotta get you harnessed up, my dear," he crooned.

Her eyes opened wide with horror and she aimed a kick at his face with her freed foot.

Easily, he avoided it and leaning forward grabbed a handful of her hair, smacking the back

of her head against the concrete walkway, leaving her still conscious, but stunned into very cooperative immobility for a time. "Unh-unh," he scolded. "Naughty, naughty."

Quickly, expertly, he worked with the ropes and harness until he had everything just the

way he wanted.  Rachel now sat between two rising sides of a crenellation but tipped so far

out that only the backs of her calves actually rested on the stone.  Ropes around the two

sides were fastened to the harness that acted as sort of a seat for her. Her wrists were now

tied to her own legs as that was all that prevented her from tipping over backwards.  Every-

thing was controlled by a single, more slender rope that was fastened around Mikol's left

wrist.  With one yank, it would all separate, sending her crashing down to join the bones hundreds of feet below on the rocks.  He smiled.  Death could be ever so entertaining.

Her head had been hanging forward on her chest, but now she began to rouse.  "Good,"

he said, "come back to us."  He reached out, giving the harness a push, making it sway dangerously.  "Part of the fun of squashing a bug, you know," he said conversationally as

he saw her eyes realize her position, "is in making sure it knows your foot is coming before

you set it down." He pushed it again and she nearly flipped over backwards despite her tied hands. "Right?"

He looked down toward the courtyard just as Cort and Henri came out the doorway and

onto the grass. Ah, they were not looking up.  Not yet.  Perhaps he should attract their

attention. "One moment, my dear," he said to Rachel, yanking the rag out of her mouth. "Showtime!" And he gave the harness such a violent tip that despite everything in her, there

was no way she could not scream.

Cort's head instantly snapped up.

"Once more, just for good measure," Mikol smiled, jerking her legs up so that she hung completely upside down and felt herself slipping out of the harness.  She screamed, over

and over, more terrified than she'd ever been in her life.

Cort dropped his cane and despite his legs began to sprint for the stairs that led to the

walkway.

Mikol dropped Rachel's legs back on the stone and turned, watching Cort. "Come to

Papa," he said.

The sound of Rachel's screaming tore through Cort, wiping out any sense of his own pain

as he ran up the stairs. Once on the walkway, he stopped, needing to get a grasp of just

what Mikol was up to. He couldn't see Rachel and her screams had stopped.. Where was

she?  Then Mikol, grinning, stepped to one side, giving him a clear view of Rachel suspended

in the harness.  His mouth dropped open as he sucked in his breath with a sharp, gasping

noise.  Would even Satan himself do such a thing to someone?

Mikol was about 50 feet down the walkway from where Cort stood. Slowly Cort began to

walk forward, not taking his eyes off Rachel.  She seemed barely conscious, her face

entirely white as she sagged in the harness.  His breaths caught in his chest as he looked

at her and the fingers of his right hand flexed and tightened over and over on the handle

of the gun he held slightly behind his hip.

When he got to within 15 feet of them, Mikol said, "You can stop there, Cort."

Cort shifted his eyes from Rachel to Mikol.  He breathed deeply, trying to control the

trembling in his core the sight of Rachel's face had caused in him.  Exerting all the self-

control he could muster, he stood quietly.  "Good afternoon, Mikol," he said, his voice

level, calm.

Mikol's eyes widened a bit, impressed.  "Bravo, Cort!" he almost laughed. "I knew

there was some reason I chose you."

"Pardon me if I'm not flattered," Cort replied, his jaw muscles working with the effort

it took not to rush toward Rachel.

"Ah, but you should be, Cort, you really should be. You have no idea of the company

you find yourself in with my retrieval attempts."

Obviously, Mikol would keep the banter going as long as Cort let him.  "What is that?"

he asked, indicating the harness.

"That?" Mikol replied.  "Oh, I'm sure you've heard of 'Rock-a-bye baby in the tree

tops'? I'm just letting your baby have her turn."  He lifted his left arm.  "Before the

bough breaks, of course."

Cort eyed the rope.  It was connected to the front of the harness.  Mikol saw where his

eyes were looking.  "Yes, it does what you think it does.  I assure you.  With one simple

pull the entire system of ropes and harness goes *poof* and down will fall baby, cradle

and all."

Cort studied the length of the rope.  If he shot Mikol and he fell, the rope was not long

enough to accommodate that.  His fingers flexed again on the gun handle, his palm

growing sweaty.  "What is it you want, Mikol?"

Mikol smiled brightly.  "Why, you, my dear Cort. It's taken me 10 years to acquire you."

"And...her?"

Mikol gave the harness a small push. Cort's heart lurched violently. Rachel's eyes flew

open, her mouth round, ready to scream, but she saw Cort and cried out his name instead.

The first push made her shriek because the mere threads by which she hung became all

too apparent in their delicate capacity to hold her solvent.  The second had sent her heart

flying out of her chest, or so it had felt – surely to be the first of many parts of her to fall

away into the darkening forest.  Rachel knew Mikol was letting her hang upside down just

long enough to get a sense of what to expect.  Instead, she had a ludicrous moment of wonderment, hanging there, noticing the color of the evening skies, cirrus streaks painting broad strokes of orange and silvery pink.  Mikol’s casual strength flipped her back into

an upright position and her senses all reeled into a blinding cloud of pain and horror. 

Her eyesight focused on her hands, bound to her legs.  She struggled uselessly against it. 

Mikol knew human instinct well, and now the two things that might help her cope with

the danger were taken away from her, hampered, cut off.  What torture was worse, the suspension or the fact that she couldn’t move the way she wanted? 

Out of the fog, she heard voices.  Mikol gave the ropes a teasing push, instinct reacted and

she looked up.  Cort stood yards away.  Something about the way he was standing wasn’t

right.  “Cort!” she called out, uselessly. 

Cort took a step forward, but Mikol held out his arm with the rope. "Don't!" he snapped.

Cort bit down on his lip, locking eyes with Rachel as they looked at one another with a

mixture of terror and yearning.

Mikol caressed Rachel's bare foot with his hand, his head cocked, watching Cort intently.

"You are her fulcrum," he said, letting his hand slide slowly past her ankle then up behind

her calves where they rested on the stone.  "It is, you see, up to you if the see saw tips

toward Kamen," he smiled then suddenly lifted her legs sharply, sending the harness

tipping far backwards, "or away."

Rachel screamed wildly again, almost fainting in the extremity of her terror. Cort lunged forward but Mikol lowered her legs and held a palm out, flat, toward Cort. "You stop

right there!" he growled.

Cort slammed himself to a quick halt in a way that twisted his left leg. Pain roared through

it like liquid fire, showing clearly on his face.

Mikol noticed. "Broken one of our angel wings, have we?"

"None of your damn business!" Cort gasped through clenched teeth.

"True," Mikol nodded. "It's your mind and not your limbs that are of interest to me."

Cort now found himself a mere 10 feet from Mikol, but he had to bear almost his full weight

on his right leg in order to keep his left from completely folding beneath him.

"What do you mean it's up to me?" he was finally able to ask, his voice hoarse with effort.

"You get to decide, Cort. Do we fight about it and I dump her and then take you to my laboratory...or do you come with me willingly and she lives?"

A devil’s bargain, Rachel heard.  She watched Cort’s face, saw him size up the distance. 

No, no, she tried to shake her head.   No, don’t test him.   But even in her muddied

consciousness, she knew it was a mere matter of moments before Mikol decided he’d had

enough of the game, no matter what Cort did, and all she could do was wait for the final

tip.  She felt sick with panic, realizing Cort had injured himself somehow in his chase. 

Air came ragged from her lungs and she repeated Cort’s name over and over under her

breath; knew that she would even as she plunged to her death.  No other word had

meaning now. 

Henri, unseen by the others on the parapet, had walked close to the courtyard wall beneath

the walkway down to its end near the main keep, then up the stairs there. Quietly he had

made his way along the walkway behind Mikol. The participants in the unfolding drama

were all too intent on each other to spare a glance in his direction. When he heard Mikol's

offer to Cort, soundlessly he urged the young man, "Don't listen to him, son. He doesn't

mean it. He's going to kill her no matter what you choose!"

Cort, though, was well aware of that.  He judged his distance from Rachel.  Could he drop

Mikol and reach her before the trip rope released the harness?  He wasn't sure.  Not

with his legs the way they were.  So he started to talk to Mikol again, keeping his eyes

locked on him, sliding his feet forward inch by imperceptible inch. He had to get closer.

He just had to!

"What laboratory is this?" he asked, hoping Mikol's favorite topic would distract him.

"You, with your 19th century mentality, do not have the wherewithal to comprehend,"

Mikol replied.

"Try me," Cort smiled.  "If I'm to end up there, I'd like to know."

"Have you heard of robotics?"  Mikol sneered.

"I've met Sid," Cort replied. "Does that count?"

Hatred flashed in Mikol's eyes at the name of his rival.  Ah, good, Cort thought.  Sid will

do quite nicely, I see.

"So, are you and Sid...brothers?" he continued, knowing how that would infuriate Mikol.

Inch by inch he moved closer.

"BROTHERS!"  Mikol spat.  "That load of metal and blue wires? He is NOTHING!"

"Don't you have wires, Mikol?"

Mikol's right hand cupped his own cheek. "I am not like him," he growled.  "Not at all!

He is nothing but a computer. I am...physical!"

"Glad to know that," Cort smiled, and in one blurringly fast, smooth motion raised his

gun and shot Mikol in the center of his chest.

Blood welled out and Mikol's knees buckled slightly.  Cort dove forward, clutching Mikol

about his waist, keeping him from falling enough to pull the trip rope.  He figured Mikol

would be dead.  But he was wrong.  A blood-smeared hand gripped Cort's hair, jerking

his head back.

"You fool!"  Mikol bellowed.  "You think to kill me with...that?"  Using his knee he

knocked the gun out of Cort's hand, sending it skittering across the walkway and down

into the courtyard.

Cort thought his neck was going to break and twisted his body, managing to free himself.

Mikol landed his boot high on Cort's left thigh and for a moment the edges of Cort's

vision went black.  Rachel's scream pulled him back, though, and with both hands he

shoved Mikol against the stones.  Blood was running down Mikol's torso, but still he

smiled at Cort, raised his knee again and jammed it into Cort's ribs.  Cort staggered

back, gasping for breath, almost folded in half from the strength of the blow.

Henri's eyes narrowed.  The bishop was standing alone in the middle of the chess board.

Cort lifted his head, peering blearily through his sweaty hair at Mikol.  "Watch this,"

Mikol announced, giving the trip rope a long yank.

Cort saw Rachel's eyes go wide as she realized what Mikol had done. She felt the leather

straps that had been cutting into her flesh for so long now begin to part. Cort almost flew

across the walkway, ignoring Mikol, and grabbed her arms just as she began to fall. His

stomach lay across the stones where her legs had been and he let out a loud grunt as her

full weight wrenched his shoulder muscles.  Their eyes locked.  There was nothing he

could do but hold onto her.

Mikol folded both of his hands tightly together, raised them high, and brought them down

like a pile driver between Cort's shoulder blades.  Rachel saw the horrid shock of it in

his eyes but somehow he didn't let go even then.  Mikol stood there, watching, waiting for

Cort's grip to slip.  When it didn't, he folded his hands, raised them again for a second

blow, intending to break Cort's spine this time.

His hands still high, he suddenly turned, his eyes wide with shock.  Henri stood there, a

small blowgun lowering from his lips, waiting.  Mikol clutched at his neck, staggered

back two steps against the parapet. He turned, looking at Henri, who stood quite still, a

strange, almost sorrowful expression on his face, then in what seemed very like slow

motion, toppled over, not making a sound as he fell to the rocks 200 feet below.

Henri murmured, "Time to die," then shook himself, dropped the blowgun and rushed

to Cort, pulling desperately.  Finally, he just wrapped his arms about Cort's torso and

let himself fall completely backwards.  It was enough. Cort's body slid over the stones,

bringing Rachel up with him.  Together, the two of them tumbled atop Henri.  He didn't

move for a moment but just lay there repeating over and over and over, "Thank You,

God! Thank You, God!"

ON TO PART 22

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