Tales of Drysdale House (8)

 The Slave Girl

I watched as Anders and Lena entered through one of the doors in the service wing into Dragonwyck. Through the binoculars I had watched the leader of the guards enter a code into the exterior pin pad and then push the door open, gesturing to Holgar,

Anders, and Lena to proceed him. In keeping with the Nineteenth century ambience of the whole crazy place, the cover of the box containing the pin pad was of brushed antique bronze. I was pleased that Anders was still holding Lena’s leash, and that Anders himself seemed unrestrained. Even from my position hidden in the trees, I could see Lena’s shoulders tense as she entered through the ominous portal. I turned away into the woods, It had been a long day and would be a longer night.

It was the end of the third day since Juli, my love and collared kajira, and Leigh, a flight attendant whom I had become acquainted with when I was flying back forth from San Francisco to Pittsburgh, had left in Leigh’s jeep to pick up our kayaks and other gear. Anders and I had not wished to appear on the Camping Store’s cameras, and Leigh had volunteered to help Juli collect the additional gear would need. We wished to leave as little digital trace as possible.

While Anders and I awaited the return of Juli and Leigh, we reviewed again the information that Woodrow Frick had gathered about Dragonwyck II, VanRijn’s remote rural home. We traced the route, by streams and rivers that would allow us to approach by water while avoiding all roads and inhabited places.

“There may be some places or remote cabins that are not marked, but we should be able to avoid being seen,”, I said. We don’t want any warning to get to VanRijn or his minions.”

“Or witnesses afterward,” added Anders, the Gorean assassin.

“No,” I agreed.

I went on to detail some of the history of the VanRijns and of Dragonwyck II. I took it slowly, as Anders was trying to pull back the implanted memories of Earth culture that he had received by sleep learning on the trip from Gor to Earth.

“The VanRijns, or Van Ryns as they called themselves then, arrived nearly four hundred years ago in the settlement of New Netherland. They become Patroons, aristocrats, with rights to hold their own courts as long as they brought in settlers to farm the land.”

“Ah, Peasants to till the soil are necessary for life to prosper, they are the ox on which the Home Stone rests,” interjected Anders.

“The Van Ryns prospered for many years and built themselves a fine big house on the profits of their extensive lands. But by the 1830s, they had angered their tenants, who rose in rebellion and drove the Patroons from their lands. The ruling Van Ryn died in the burning of his fine house, and the Van Ryns descended into obscurity.”

"It is foolish to anger the Peasants. They are slow to anger, yet as inexorable and pitiless as a flooding river when they do,' noted Anders

“A bastard grandson of the last ruling Van Ryn returned to Dragonwyck and collected the cornerstone of the ruined house and carried it to the place on the southern boundary of the Oregon territory where his father had built a house. By that time there was a great demand for timber to build up San Francisco and the mining camps, and the family, always canny traders, had prospered. The family changed the spelling for the name to VanRijn to hide their shame around this time. The grandson used the corner stone of the old house from the Hudson Valley of New York as the corner stone of the new Dragonwyck.”

“So the Home Stone of the VanRijn’s is built into the walls of this Dragonwyck II?” asked Anders.

“Yes, yes I suppose so. The timber cutting was the foundation of the VanRijn fortune but that ended years ago. The forests are protected now, and the house of the VanRijns is in a largely unpopulated area. There are still villages of former loggers, with some old hippies and their children and some people who have fled civilization who live by foraging and growing forbidden plants.”

“Fewer people to warn VanRijn is good. The foresters of my own world are protective of their forests and suspicious of strangers.” Anders was working hard to form a frame of reference in which he could relate to this new world.

“I doubt they would warn him, if they knew our errand. The VanRijns of Oregon were as harsh and demanding of their dependents as were the VanRyns of New York. But we can’t inform them of course. Anyway they are suspicious of all outsiders, especially the guards VanRijn uses at Dragonwyck. Twenty-four men at a time, hired from an Arizona Security Company, come for a month, then are rotated out.”

Anders inquired, “What is a private security company?”

I considered. “A private army, formed of contractors, soldiers for pay.”

“Yes, a Free Company, mercenaries.” Anders spat. “My caste does not get along with the Scarlet Caste, the Warriors, but we can respect them. They have codes. Sell-swords will often run away where Warriors would stay to fight.”

“Let’s not underestimate them.” I warned, “They can be formidable on their own ground.”

“I did not live as long as I have by underestimating my opponents.” Anders assured me.

Anders and I were again checking our route against the paper maps we would be using when Juli and Leigh returned. Anders and I joined Leigh and Juli in transferring the kayaks from Leigh’s jeep to the Subaru, and stowing the extra supplies in the back of the trusty vehicle.

As we finished, another jeep, a Wagoneer, rolled up and the driver honked. Leigh waved at the driver and his passengers. She quickly turned to us.

“Those are the three people I am travelling with to the dark skies area to observe the stars. They are all astronomy students of my father. They are a husband and wife, and a good friend of theirs, all old friends of mine. They are a few years older and think I am too trusting, so please don’t mention to them that I helped you pick up your supplies. They worry a lot about me, living alone with just Scarlet. I don’t want them to worry.’

I assured Leigh that mentioning anything about her was the last thing on my mind. I had worried that she might mention us but was now relieved. Leigh loaded her gear into her jeep Wrangler the and two cars of astronomers drove off. We waved goodbye.

Anders watched as Leigh’s jeep drove away.

“I am glad that she will be travelling with others. It is unsafe for a Free Woman to travel alone. Her friends are right; she is too trusting. She is far too innocent. It is good that the driver’s free companion will travel with them. She should not be alone with those two men, even if they share a connection. A modest Free Woman is a treasure to be guarded.”

I nodded but did not say what I thought. That Leigh seemed happy to see the unmarried man and would likely not be alone in her tent tonight. Scipio Metellus had told me that his friend Anders thought highly, perhaps too highly of Free Women. But on the other hand, given the profession of Scipio Metellus, maybe his opinion of Free Women was unusually low. 

*

The Packs

The three of us drove north for half a day until we reached the point at which we were to leave the road and put in the kayaks.

I had Juli unload the car, carrying the three packs to the river, then returning for the kayaks. Anders and I watched the slave labor.

“Your girl has lovely ankles and a firm butt. Is she good in the furs.”

I did not take offence. It was a perfectly normal thing for a Gorean to ask.

“I am satisfied, of course she has only been in a collar for less than two months, and I have no experience in training a girl.”

Juli struggled, but finally got her pack on her back. She picked up the other two packs, those belonging to Anders and me. She staggered a little under the load. Of course, her pack was the heaviest, as Anders and I would need to remain fresh and ready for action. It made sense for her to carry the greatest load. We were needed to make decisions and remain fresh.

I put the keys to the Subaru in the right rear wheel well. The car would be picked up and taken by truck to a place near Reno, Nevada to give credence to the idea we were camping east of San Francisco, not to the north. We placed the packs into the kayaks and set off. Juli in the single kayak, with Anders and I in the double, until he could get the hang of the tricky little boats. For the rest of day we paddled west, portaging between streams once. That night we slept under the stairs with a lovely campfire. We were still far enough from our destination that neither the light of the fire or the smell of woodsmoke were a concern.

*

The Forest

(Image of the kajira Mary-anne, courtesy of Paladin)

“Let it down easy now, just like the other one. Slowly, slowly, slowly. That’s good. Now let Juli collect it and carry it away from the rocks.”

Anders and I were standing on the top of a 120-foot cliff. We were lowering the second of the two kayaks we were using to get to VanRijn’s place on the river. It was noon on the second day, and we were tired and sweaty. Anders had found the trip more grueling than he had expected.

“I was warned of the heavier gravity of your Slave Planet, but I had expected that I would handle it better than I have. In my caste, we are required to be very fit. It is good that I have this journey to become accustomed to your planet.”

I nodded. A summer of being trapped in the cities of San Francisco and Pittsburgh working in preparation of a complex legal case, broken only by moments in court had not prepared me for travel in the wilderness of the forests on the California-Oregon border. I was in little better case than Anders, of the Gorean black caste. Of the three of us, Juli, who had spent the summer in dance class, and in work under the eye of Mrs Magruder, was in the best condition.

“That Juli of yours, she is a true mary-anne,” Anders said to me.

Anders approved of Juli. She looked fetching in a short sundress and hiking boots. The boots came over the anklet locked on her ankle, a symbol in lieu of the slave collar she usually wore. Juli had wanted to wear just shorts instead of the sundress, but I had insisted on something without a nether closure.

“If I had known that Master, I could just have worn a wraparound skirt like girls in the Amazon.”

“We don’t have enough room for you to bring a complete wardrobe. You were already complaining about the weight of your pack,” I pointed out.

Juli made a face but did not say anything further. She was still feeling out what she could say and how far she could go in the presence of an actual Gorean male. I missed our banter, but she would have to figure it out on her own. She would learn the limits by the feel of the short length of rope that Anders carried. Juli had felt it only twice across the back of her thighs since we had left the put-in point, but it had made her shy around him.

As Juli at the base of the cliff untied the two-person kayak from the lowering rope and carried it away from the dangerous jumble of rocks to rest by the one-person kayak at the side of the stream, I asked Anders.

“You referred to Juli as a Mary-anne. What does that mean?”

“It is a term used about certain women from this planet. It is local to a certain part of the central plains. Peasants and slavers use it for strong sturdy women who are also desirable pleasure slaves. Women from your world who are suitable for working fields and carrying burdens are called nebraskas; ones who are also hot and curvy are called mary-annes from a character in one of your plays. The ones about the shipwrecked passengers on the boat. There were the two slaves; the fire-crotch and the mary-anne.”

Enlightenment was beginning to dawn. It is odd how a long-ago piece of pop-culture can become embedded in slang references. It was true that as a young boy of about 13 I had favored Mary-anne over Ginger in our schoolyard debates as to which of the two was more desirable. Nebraska was easy to figure out as well. It was the most land-locked state. Some states had coastlines, some states were one state away from an ocean, a few were two, but only Nebraska was three states away from access to an ocean. And it had a lot of sturdy girls and was an agricultural area. Some of these girls were quite desirable, but there was no denying that they were sturdy and suited to farmwork.

By climbing down the cliff rather than making a longer, easier portage, we were saving almost a half day on our journey to Dragonwyck II, the remote mansion owned by Vincent VanRijn. Juli and I were confident of our climbing skills. I hoped that Anders was as skilled as he claimed to be. I motioned to Anders to get in the gear for the descent. I would come last and collect the ropes and climbing points as I descended after him.

Anders shocked me: without any safety gear, or gear of any kind really, he just moved quickly and smoothly down the irregular cliff face. I was astounded; I had never seen or heard anyone move so quickly, quietly and smoothly.

As I followed, more slowly, I remembered that I had read of legends from old Japan of ninja assassins carrying out similar feats. I did not doubt that Anders had received similar training. When we were all on the ground, I set Juli to preparing a simple meal over the portable camp stove, while Anders and I again consulted the analog paper map.

*

(Dragonwyck, from the movie of the same name)

By noon on the third day, we had come as close on the river to Dragonwyck II was we dared for fear of being spotted. The rest of the journey would need to be on foot. We had cached the kayaks out of sight and had charged Juli to bring them down the river after dark tomorrow. Anders and I would scout towards Dragonwyck II and see how best to enter the castle and slay the monster. And so we set out, carrying light packs with some weapons, water, protein bars, first aid kits, and other necessities including Anders’s crossbow and the tomahawk ax that Zach Frick’s parents had crafted for me. Just as we were disappearing from the clearing into the woods, Juli waved and said,

“have fun storming the castle, boys.”

“As you wish.” I replied.

We travelled single file down game trails, always working our way towards our goal. We left as little trace as possible. We were sure that anyone we would encounter would be working for VanRijn. All this was his land, or land claimed by him at any rate. Accounts that Woodrow Frick had gathered for us agreed that he ruthlessly kept out any ‘trespassers’ and violently discouraged hunters and foragers.

Towards the middle of the afternoon, we were close to Dragonwyck. We could occasionally catch sight of it’s chimneys in the distance. Anders was in the lead on the trail, when he put up his hand. In the silence I realized that everything was much too quiet. Then we heard voices, indistinct at first coming towards us. As stealthily as we could we backed out of sight into bushes on either side of the trail.

“Are you sure that you saw her come this way, Joel?” we heard on voice say.

“I’m telling you, as quiet as she is in the woods, I saw her, I am sure of it!”

“We should get back; it will be dinner time soon. I don’t want to miss out. The food is the only good thing about being stuck in the woods for a whole month.”

“We get out the day after tomorrow; the new crew will be coming in. Maybe if we catch her, we can have some fun with her before we take her back.”

“Maybe. Old VanRijn won’t like it; apparently she is his special pet.”

“Finders keepers. Besides there should be some reward for slogging through the woods like this.”

“How about that other girl that Vansittart brought in the other day. I don’t think he would care if we had some fun with her.”

They stopped talking for a while. Then we heard them moving towards us again. They just could not stay silent. Some men become nervous in the woods, they just have to talk, just to make noise. It is annoying usually, but here it worked to our advantage. A good lawyer always likes an edge.

“What about that Holgar guy that came in with Vansittart and the girl. What is he about.”

“Don’t know, some kind of consultant, I think.”

“He seems more like a contractor than a consultant, if you get what I mean.”

“Joel, I always know what you mean.”

They were getting closer; there were two of them. One was burly with a short curly beard. The other was thinner and clean-shaven. Both were in some brown security guard style uniforms, with equipment hanging from their belts. They stopped where the path forked. They peered down the path we were hidden beside, then down the other.

Suddenly the bearded one shouted.

“There she is! Get her. Quick Joel!”

They charged down the path, Twigs and leaves were broken in their path. We heard the voices of Joel and bearded guy, then the higher voice of a woman.

“Get away from me. I’m not going back, get away from me. Help!”

Anders looked at me.

“Now is our chance, while they are distracted. Quick”

Anders put a bolt in his crossbow; he had already had the steel sting pulled back; with the addition of the bolt, he was ready to fire. He moved out quickly and quietly. I followed. I had thought that our plan was to avoid confrontation and discovery, but I guess Anders seized the opportunity and changed the plan.

As we rounded the corner and went up the other path, we soon encountered an amazing sight: the two guards were struggling with a naked woman. Joel had his arms wrapped around holding her from behind. As the bearded man approached to secure her, she kicked out with both legs. Just as the bearded man grabbed her legs, Anders shot him at ten paces. The bolt hit the man in the neck, he dropped, bleeding badly. Joel tried to reach for his radio, which allowed the girl to almost escape his grasp. Instead of reloading the crossbow, Anders flung it at Joel, striking him in the head. He fell, either unconscious or dead, pinning the girl as he fell on her. Anders slit his throat. He grabbed the mouth of the girl, while I checked on the bearded man Anders had shot. He was dead as well.

The girl was not Hannah Quigley as I had feared. But she was beautiful. She was also barefoot, naked and most interestingly, she was wearing a steel collar.

“Who are you?”, I asked.

Anders released his grip a little on her mouth.

“My name is Lena, please let me go, please.’

And then she burst into tears.