Tales of Drysdale House (12) Storming the Castle

 

Tales of Drysdale Hall Tale 12

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas

 

It was 4AM, I was at the wheel of the Queen  Conch as she plied the Pacific Ocean south from the mouth of Patroon Creek towards San Francisco. All the others were asleep; it had been a long day. Smith and the short swarthy sailor had met us there at dusk and brought us safely aboard. I had slept until just before three in the morning, when the silent sailor had wakened me to take a watch at the wheel. In the wheelhouse, he had pointed out the course and muttered that Smith would relieve me at seven.

For an hour now I had guided the Queen Conch south as we returned to San Francisco from our expedition to Dragonwyck. Through the night I regarded I was accompanied by three moons; not the three moons of Gor. Three full moons illuminated the Queen Conch, the full moon shining in the sky, the moon’s silvery track across the water, and the moon reflected in the wheelhouse glass. Just me, and the three moons, and the ghost of Billy Jackson.

We had stormed the castle; slain the monster; rescued the princess; and brought away some booty. Yet I could think only of the face of Billy Jackson, and the look in his eyes as he realized he was about to die. He was just a big overgrown kid from small two street town in Arizona who had taken a job to guard some millionaire’s house in the woods, and he never expected when he got up that it would be his last day on earth. I had not gone there to kill Billy Jackson; I had wanted to put an end to Vincent VanRijn. I needed to protect myself and my kajira, Juli against further attempts on our lives and the Fricks had given me the opportunity to do so. And now Billy Jackson was dead, and I would never forget the look in his eyes as he saw the blade of my tomahawk axe come down.

We had stormed the castle; slain the monster; rescued the princess and brought away some booty; and the only thing I felt was sadness.

**

Twenty-one hours earlier, I had been watching the Dining Hall of Dragonwyck through the peephole from the servant’s passages. The peephole was like something from an old movie; a painted section of silk built into a concealed servant’s door. The silk was painted on the Dining Hall side to resemble the wood in which it was set, hard to detect unless someone knew it was there. Many old mansions in Europe and the older part of the US have these passages with concealed doors so that the servants could reach the public rooms and chambers of the rich without being seen by their ‘betters’. Some people now call them ‘secret passages’ but they are just service corridors. Mostly they have gone out of use and are forgotten.

 I believed that at some time Anders, the Gorean Assassin would confront Vincent VanRijn here. I had Anders’s crossbow and the ceremonial black stiletto dagger he had been given by Wyandotte Frick. I would get the dagger to Anders, and after he had assassinated VanRijn I would cover whoever else was in the room, while we made our escape. Juli would be bringing the two kayaks up near the house some time today in accordance with Anders’s plan. I had promised Hannah Quigley I would take her with me when I left, which would complicate things, but I hoped we would find some way to work that out. I suspected Anders would want to take Lena, a mushroom forager that VanRijn had collared. He had used some dubious justification from his inherited position as a Patroon of ancient New Holland in modern day New York State as his legal right.

I was watching and listening to Vincent VanRijn and his great niece, Nicola at their breakfast.

“How are you feeling this morning, Uncle Vincent? Are you feeling better?”

Nicola VanRijn sounded sincere in her concern about her great-uncle’s health. Naturally a co-heir of a rich old man is always concerned about the state of the old man’s health.

“I am feeling better, thank you, niece. We did not get much time to talk between your arrival and my gallstone attack. What brings you from the sunny beaches of Hawaii to my house in the wilds of Northern California?”

“I was worried for you. I had not heard from you in over a month.”

Vincent VanRijn snorted.

“Ha! I bet it was that your allowance had been cut by 80% that brought you here so quickly. You have a great love for money. Can’t live a life of luxury in Hawaii without lots of money!”

The blond girl with the dutch bob haircut laughed.

“Of course I love money. I am a VanRijn. We all love money and even more than that, the good things that money buys. And the best thing that money buys is power. Part of that power is not relying on any other person. And any other person also means you Uncle. I haven’t spent a penny of the allowance you so generously send every month on myself since I was nineteen. I buy things of value and sell them when the value increases. I own jewels and paintings and property. I own, through a dummy company, my beach house in Hawaii, and a penthouse in Hong Kong. I pay rent to myself and write off the rent against income. And I rarely pay my own rent, there are so many men willing to pay it for poor little old me. They buy my clothes and shower me with cars. I came because when you cut my allowance; and that of Nicolas, you were in trouble. I came to find out what was the problem.”

“How touching.” Vincent VanRijn sounded sarcastic. “How much of yourself do you have to sell to these older men, I assume they are older men, to get them to pay your bills. Fucking for money is not independence. A VanRijn should not be a whore.”

Nicola sat still for a moment. She sipped her coffee, then dipped a piece of toast into the runny part of the fried egg in front of her. She took a bite and chewed it carefully. Her ancestors on the walls looked down on her with disapproving Dutch faces. She dabbed at her lips with her white linen napkin.

“Most men are fools. I did not take you for one. A woman loses power over a man once she sleeps with him. Middle-aged men are more foolish than most. The men in whose circles I move are rich, they can buy women for a night, a week, a month; but once she sells herself, she loses her power. I am not a fool, uncle. I half-promise, I flirt, I flit, I advance a little then retreat. I flirt. I do not sell myself. A smile, a wink, maybe they pat my ass. But being untouchable, yet promising intrigues them. They compete to pay my bills. And more than that: they boast. About their possessions, but even more about their deals and how clever they are. You know that information is power, and Nicolas and I can use that information. Right now he is not here, he is brokering some diamond exchange in the Bahamas.

As for my morals, why, I fuck whom I please, and I am given to understand I please who I fuck.”

Her piece said, Nicola daintily sipped her coffee and then looked defiantly at her uncle.

“How charming”, he said. “Am I to expect a nephew-in-law out of that Arizona lunk of a security guard? Are you going to give up vamping old men to settle down to raise brats in the desert?”

“Don’t be offensive. Billy Jackson is good company, and good at what I want him to be good at. He is young and vigorous and pleases me while I am here, and I will leave him here when I leave. Now, we are family and Nicolas and I want to know what kind of trouble you are in and how we can help.”

Vincent VanRijn looked around as Lena, the collared former mushroom forager, came into the Great Dining Hall pushing a service cart. VanRijn still had not given her any clothes but the girl’s nude state did not seem to bother Nicola. The VanRijns remained silent while the Slavegirl cleared away the breakfast things and left a fresh silver thermos pitcher of coffee and fresh cream and sugar. They waited until Lena had left the room. She used the main door, not the forgotten service corridors.

Nicola spoke first.

“You knew that the last of the servants had room away?”

“Captain Cathcart told me. The butler, his wife, the maid and the handyman all ran away.”

“All from one family. The boy maintained the AC, the generator etc. Cathcart is not sure the generator will fire up if needed.”

“Not to worry, we have the candles, and the old oil lamps. That old generator is nearly a century old and unreliable. I had the oil lamps filled when I moved back here earlier this summer, there are some in the sideboard behind you, you may as well get them out.”

Nicola frowned as she got out the old hurricane lamps. “Aren’t you worried about fires? After all the old Dragonwyck in New York burned down. Of course, that was rebellious peasants.”

“The Patroons have always needed to guard against the jealousy of the poor. That is why I have added so much security. Our ancestors when they built this place had fire breaks and fire doors installed.”

Vincent got up from his chair and pulled a lever on the fireplace. There was a clang of iron doors shutting. One even closed in the servant’s corridor behind me. When he returned the lever to its original position, I could hear the doors opening. The old man continued talking.

“Most of the place has had sprinklers installed. This centre block hasn’t been retrofitted yet, but will be this winter.

Now, as to why I had to cut the allowance to you and Nicolas. You twins are my only heirs and I regretted doing so. I have had a serious reverse this summer. I was engaged in litigation with the Frick Steel people. They hired a hot-shot lawyer from San Francisco. I admit, I did not expect that. They seemed an old and somewhat played out Family; not vigorous like we VanRijns. Instead of settling, like sensible people, the Fricks were aggressive and fought like tigers. Vansittart, who is perfectly adequate at easy things was overmatched. Before I could replace him, he had, or the local firm he hired had, given away information in Discovery that they should not have.”

Nicola listened quietly as Vincent continued

“I may have done some shady things earlier and some traces showed up in some discovery documents that should not have been turned over. Somehow, I don’t know how, this San Francisco attorney pieced it together. Wyandotte Frick and I had a sitdown. To cover certain felonies l had to give up about 80% of my lands and properties.”

Nicola interjected for the first time.

“So you had to cut our allowances by 80%. I understand now. What can be done about these Fricks, and their lawyer?”

“I sent the last good operative I had against the lawyer, but he escaped by good luck. The operative has gone to Pittsburgh to take out Wyandotte. I have not heard from him; but if we have good news, I can move to get back our properties in the confusion.”

Nicola raised her coffee cup.

“Let’s hope for good news. If not, Nicolas and I can see what we can do to help.”

There was a knock at the door. Montgomery, the second in command of security at Dragonwyck and Jackson, who so pleased Nicola VanRijn came in. Montgomery spoke.

“I am sorry to have bad news. Captain Cathcart has had to take most of the force down to the main gate by the village. There seems to be trouble. A bunch of the locals from the village and surrounding areas have been gathering since sunup. There are more coming in all the time. Almost a hundred at the last report. Two of our men disappeared in the forest yesterday and didn’t return. Captain Cathcart is worried about foul play. He says if there is trouble he will let us know, and anyway the main road and gate is ten miles from here.”

Vincent sounded irascible.

“I know how far the main gate is! So only you and Jackson are here at the house?”

“Jason Thomas is here as well. He and Mr Vansittart are bringing the Quigley woman up from the dungeon.”

“What was she doing in the dungeon? She was here as a guest to figure out what went wrong in the Frick case!”

Mr Vansittart felt she wasn’t being honest. He figured a spell in the dungeon with the whip might get her to confess her guilt.”

“Did she?”

“Well no. Maybe Mr Vansittart wasn’t strong enough to whip her properly. But maybe she will when she is brought up here with younger stronger men.”

“Vansittart seems to take a lot of liberties in my house.”

VanRijn’s tone did not seem to bode well for Vansittart.

Montgomery cleared his throat.

“There are the two other men as well, they were wanting to leave. Mr Holgar Magnusson and Mr Anders Anderson.”

“When did Anderson arrive?”

“Lena ran away for a bit yesterday. Mr Anderson was on a hiking vacation, and when he saw her collar and a reward for her return he brought her back to Dragonwyck.”

“How obliging of Mr Anderson. It is hard to find men with respect for other’s property these days.”

Vincent VanRijn’s tone indicated he did not think much of men who would not make away with someone else;s property when they could. I could tell he would take Anders lightly when they came face to face.

Vansittart came into the Dining Hall. He was followed by one of the security guards, Jason Thomas I supposed; Thomas was leading Hannah Quigley on a chain that connected to her collar. Instead of the red silk panties she had been wearing when I had seen her early last evening, she was now in a red silk thong. She looked very fetching and proper thus attired with a collar around her throat. I had to remind myself that I had promised her sister Barbara I would see if I could find her sister and bring her home. I had promised the same to Hannah herself. Hannah looked furious. Nicola looked at Hannah and smiled.

“Let me go! This is intolerable! I want my clothes back; I want this collar of my throat and I want this man prosecuted!”

Vincent looked at Hannah with a sly smile. As she was speaking her breasts were bobbing up and down. Fury certainly made her more attractive. Nicola said nothing; she did not protest at Hannah’s state of undress. I presumed that her rich men friends frequently demanded such attire of their conquests and had paraded them in front of her before. Nicola was unperturbed in the invulnerability that her riches and status had conferred.

Vincent asked.

“Are you begging for your freedom?”

“Certainly not! I am demanding it as a free woman. I am no slave!”

It was just then that Holgar and Anders were let into the room. Hail Hail the gangs all here. I made sure the bolt was in the crossbow, and the black stiletto was ready to pass to Anders.

“Bravo, bravo, I have never heard a Free Woman proclaim her status more boldly. Although she seems dressed a little oddly for a free woman.”

It was Holgar Magnusson. His voice was a deep rich tenor, musical, it was a voice of command.

Vincent welcomed them.

“Mr Magnusson, Mr Anderson, please come and sit down. You can be my jury. There is a dispute as to which of these lawyers failed me. Mr Vansittart, or Miss Quigley and her sister Barbara. The terms of my Patroonship, allow me to act as judge and mete out justice. I will be the judge here, and you and my niece, Nicola here, will be my jury.”

Anders rose and offered Nicola a seat, close to where he and Holgar were seated. She inclined her head graciously as he guided her chair up to the table. Holgar spoke, he sounded amused.

“A woman sitting in judgement on a man, how like Earth.”

Vansittart was not amused.

“If there is going to be a trial, this is not a proper court. If you are the injured party, you can’t sit in judgement. I want a proper US court.”

“My patroonship is older than the United States; it is older than New York or New England. I am patroon of Dragonwyck and I will decide.”

Vansittart bowed his head in acquiescence, but then he went on.

“I want her whipped then, I want her to confess.”

Hannah Quigley broke out again.

“You can’t have me whipped! I am a free woman.”

Anders spoke,

“As she is a free woman, she should give free testimony.”

Holgar contributed,

“Of course, slave testimony is usually taken under torture…”

Everyone looked at him.

“In the old Roman and Greek days.”

Vansittart broke in. It was beginning to be a free for all.

“She should be my slave. She did me a great injury.”

Vincent VanRijn spoke in a loud voice.

“How so, it was my case that was lost by carelessness.”

“She injured me by not confessing, Hannah is my slave.”

“Only if she is found guilty, and if she is guilty, she belongs to me. It is I, Vincent VanRijn who was injured, and only I have the Patroon’s right to enslave prisoners.”

“I am not a slave! I am not guilty!” Hannah was practically shouting, bosom heaving in approved damsel in distress fashion.

“Calm down, Hannah. Most of the internal evidence I have reviewed looks like the leak came from Vansittart.”

Just then the lights went out. Jackson had a lighter and struck a light. Vincent VanRijn told him to light the oil lamps. Nicola VanRijn arose and went to help him. It was quite the touching domestic scene.

Just as Nicola VanRijn and Billy Jackson were distributing the lights around the area of the Great Hall that was occupied by the trial, the generator apparently kicked in and the electricity flickered back on.

Vansittart had had time to think.

“I challenge this man on the jury,” he pointed at Holgar. “He is here under false pretenses. He came here to give us information about the Fricks, and yet he has told us nothing; instead quizzing us about what we know. I demand he be expelled.”

VanRijn sounded like he was less amused now by the little comedy he had arranged.

“Vansittart, you take great liberties in my house. You do not give orders here, I do. Now, Mr Magnusson, it is true you have told us little about the Fricks. You should tell us what you came to tell us.”

“I, Holgar Magnusson, was inveigled here under false pretenses. The man, Vansittart, told me that I could find out special secret information about the weaknesses of the Fricks if I came here. Yet once here, I discover that it is I who am to be pumped for information about the Fricks. I find you do not even know that they are one of the First Families of North America.”

VanRijn interrupted.

“Excuse me, what is this First Families? We the VanRijns have been in North America for two centuries before the Fricks.”

Holgar Magnusson shook his head sadly.

“You know nothing of who is the real power in this country. I hear you have made an ill-advised attack on the Fricks. You know nothing of the Steel Worlds, nothing of the great power and game of worlds. You are a fool, and he is liar.” He pointed to Vansittart.

Vansittart went red in the face.

“You are the liar, you are the liar, you are the liar. You have more to tell, and my little trick has proved it.”

The angrier Vansittart got, the calmer Holgar appeared. He was standing now, they all were standing, except old Vincent VanRijn.

“I am a man of Treve; I do not lie. Retract your statement worm or face the consequences.”

That is when it all went sideways forever. Vansittart produced a pistol, an automatic. He was aiming wildly, first at Vincent VanRijn, then at Holgar, then back to VanRijn. Jackson was shielding Nicola. Montgomery and Thomas were trying to edge closer to the raving lawyer. Vansittart was shouting that he was not going to take the blame for VanRijn’s schemes or Hannah’s failures and he was the only blameless man in the room. He was still aiming the pistol at one after another, Montgomery, VanRijn, Holgar, Anders. Finally his rage seemed to settle on Hannah. It was all her fault for not confessing. His weapon settled on her. Hannah’s death seemed certain.

That is when I stepped through the servant’s door and shot him with the crossbow.

The bolt went higher than I intended and took him in the throat. He went down gurgling. I quickly loaded another bolt. I was keeping the room under control, I slid the black knife along the table to Anders. In the moment my attention was divided, I heard the words, “Billy, No!” then Billy Jackson hurtled into me and the crossbow went sprawling away. We grappled on the ground and I would have been in trouble except that Jackson slipped in a pool of spilled lamp oil.

I had managed to grasp my tomahawk, the tomahawk that was a gift from Zach Frick’s parents and as we wrestled on the ground I was able to hold the axe across his windpipe with both hands. I had hopes I could subdue him but suddenly I was pushed off him.

“Let my Billy alone!”

Jackson was beginning to get his breathe back, and I was having trouble getting Nicola off me, when a swinging chain took her in the head. Hannah Quigley had swung the long chain attached to her collar with great effect.

I grappled with Billy Jackson. There was no chance of subduing him now. I got my right arm free and swung down with ax. I will never forget the look in his eyes. He had got up that morning full of life. He was just a big overgrown lunk of a kid from a small two street town in Arizona who had taken a job guarding a millionaires house. He had not expected to die on a stone floor in a quarrel that was not his own.

When the ax, the tomahawk given to me by the Fricks came down between his eyes, I was splattered with bone and blood. I rose up and looked around. Anders, the assassin of Victoria, and Holgar of Treve were standing together. Montgomery and Thomas were down. Vincent VanRijn was still sitting in his chair, dead, the black stiletto of the Assassins in his chest. Hannah was pummeling Nicola. Two oil lamps had spilled and broken; flames were racing up a priceless silk tapestry of a Hudson River scene. I strode to the fireplace and pulled the lever to activate the fire doors and the sprinklers in the rest of the building. When I turned around, Holgar was tying Nicola hand and foot with red cords. Of course a Man of Treve would have red binding fibre. Anders had Lena by the hand; I grabbed Hannah’s chain with my left hand.

We made for the French Doors.

“Gather close, all of you. When I smash the door open, the rush of oxygen will make this room go up in fire instantly. Make for the River.”

With that I broke open the French Door with the tomahawk that the Fricks had given me. The ax that had taken Billy Jackson’s life. We ran for the river. Halfway there, Juli met us.

“I have found the boathouse, Master. There is no way the kayaks can carry us, but there is a powerboat there so we can get away.”

In the boathouse there was a fine cabin cruiser. It would easily take all of us the twenty miles to the mouth of the river. Holgar was gripping Anders’s wrist with his hand. The two of them were in the old Roman style handgrip. Each hand clasped the other’s wrist.

“Farewell, man of the Black Caste. I enjoyed our talk. I remind you, if your word is true, not to mention that a man of Gor was here. Say it was a man of Earth; say Harold Smith.”

“I will, Man of the Red Caste. You have my word.” He turned to me. “Holgar fought with us today, and received some grievous news, I ask that you also not mention a man of Gor was here.”

I turned to Holgar, “You have my word. I wish you well.”

“I thank you, Patrick of Drysdale. I leave you this one, she, I think will not long be a free woman.”

Holgar spurned Nicola VanRijn with his foot. He took one of our small packs for supplies and set out in the single kayak. His powerful arms drove it quickly through the water. Anders spoke quickly to me,

“I will tell you more when we are alone.”

I started the boat and headed out into the stream. As we pulled away, Dragonwyck House, the centre part ablaze, was surrounded by pickup trucks full of flannel clad men circling the house and cheering. Evidently VanRijn had over-annoyed his neighbors, with the stories of the escaping servant family being the last straw. I wondered if anything would ever be heard of Cathcart and his men. I wondered if any had escaped.

I activated the beacon to alert Smith in the fishing boat Queen Conch to meet us at the mouth of the Patroon River.

We had stormed the castle, killed the monster, rescued the princess, and acquired some booty. I was very tired.