Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

The Imperial Palace:

As Rupert leads Claudia from the presence of The Empress, a detachment of guards falls in behind them and they all walk together toward a long staircase.

A staircase leading down, down . . .

Claudia swallows hard and turns toward Rupert, noting with momentary surprise that this tall, straight man carries a cane, though he does not appear to need one. Not at the moment, anyway. But she does not dwell on that, for she has other things on her mind. "Where are you taking me?"

"To the dungeons."

Claudia halts, her eyes widening, and the guards draw nearer, but Rupert waves them back. "There's no need to look so frightened." His eyes are shrewd, but not unkind, and his voice is calm and reassuring. "For the time being, you will be lodged in one of the older parts of the palace, and yes, the dungeons are there--but this is standard procedure, and you'll find your room quite comfortable." An ironic little smile. "No need to worry about the rack and thumbscrews."

"Not on your first night," snickers one of the guards.

Claudia is startled into a little exclamation of surprise as Rupert whirls to face the offender. "Report to the Captain of the Guard," he snaps, "and then wait for me in your quarters. I'll deal with you later."

Subdued, the guard snaps off a salute and moves away, and the walk continues.

"I apologize for him," murmurs Rupert as he takes Claudia's arm, steadying her as they begin the walk down the staircase. "There's one in every crowd, you know. But you really don't have anything to fear."

So long as The Empress is convinced I'm telling the truth, thinks Claudia.But what if I can't convince her? I'm not sure I can even convince myself, anymore.

When she had first decided to go and fight The Interrogator, her resolve had burned like a torch within her. Now, it seems more to her like a flickering candle flame, offering no warmth and little light as she cups her hands about it, protecting it, praying that it will not go out . . .

MA--no torture for now, Clods.
Hope you're not disappointed! ;-), - Monday, August 14, 2000 at 07:27:40 (PDT)

There was an uncomfortable silence as Dev exited the room, his long legs covering the space in several quick strides. He paused for a moment at the door, looked back as if to allow Therese time to change her mind, and then left, closing the door silently behind himself.

"Well then," Mary Anne said, breaking the forced silence as she considered the small, pale form before her. "What can I do for you?"

At Mary Anne's simple question, Therese shuddered as if she had been struck, and began to tremble. Her eyes, already large and expressive, took on an almost luminous quality as they became bright with the reflection of unshed tears. "I don't know," she said, folding her knees up under her chin she clasped them to herself in an almost fetal position. There was the unmistakable tone of anguish to her voice as she repeated the phrase a second time, almost as if to herself. "I don't know. . .

Mary Anne, stricken to the heart by that pitiable "I don’t know," sits for some moments in total silence, wondering how she ever thought she could help Therese. What can she do? In the stillness, broken only by Therese’s deep, sobbing breaths, Mary Anne thinks of her own experiences with The Interrogator and realizes helplessly that nothing she has suffered from HIM has prepared her for the stark physical brutality HE had obviously practiced against Therese. Psychological manipulation, yes, but accompanied by . . . Mary Anne shifts uneasily in her chair as it occurs to her just why Therese might have felt unable to explain her experiences to Dev.

No woman could speak easily of such a violation, even to the man who loves her—perhaps especially to the man who loves her.

Well, thinks Mary Anne, make a start. Somewhere. Only not with that. Get her talking about something else, perhaps, and then later . . .

Mary Anne clasps her hands together in her lap—tightly—and begins. "Did you tell HIM anything?"

Therese lies still for a moment, until her breathing gradually quiets enough for her to look over at Mary Anne. A puzzled frown creases her forehead. "Tell HIM . . . what do you mean?"

"I mean," replies Mary Anne grimly, "that he isn’t called The Interrogator for nothing." Then, more gently: "Was he trying to get information from you?"

"No!" bursts out Therese. "It wasn’t like that! If it had been answers he wanted, he’d have gotten them from me, that’s for sure." A pause. "Actually, he did ask me about Eamon, once. He said for me to tell him about De Valera—" Therese’s brows draw together.

"And what did you tell him?"

"I put him off. I said, what would I know about some obscure politician? Or something like that," mumbles Therese as she adjusts the blankets about her. But she is sitting up, now, and not hiding beneath the bedclothes.

"And was he satisfied with that answer?"

"He must’ve been, because he didn’t pursue it, not really. And that was because he wasn’t interested in questioning me for information. He just wanted—" Her voice rises. "—to amuse himself! To see how long I’d last. Like I was a toy or something. He’d play with me until I was broken, and then he’d throw me away!" Her hands are clenched on the bedspread. But her pallor has given way to an infuriated flush, and Mary Anne lets out the breath she had been holding, exhilarated at the spark in Therese’s eye, though she would not dream of showing it.

"But did you break?" Softly. Now this is more like it, thinks Mary Anne. If she’s like me, then anger is better than fear, or that awful helpless feeling. There’s some energy to it, at least, and that will help her . . .

"I don’t know, Mary Anne." A long, shuddering sigh as Therese leans back against the pillows once more. "I honestly don’t know. The time finally came when I quit fighting him because—" A shiver. "—because—" Her eyes close, then open again. "I fought him when he tried to clean me up, and . . . he held my head under the water."

Mary Anne does not have to manufacture a cry of horror; it is out before she can stifle it.

"I thought he was going to drown me, and it didn’t seem . . . worthwhile . . . to let him, just to make a point about resisting." Tears of weariness course down her cheeks. "Was it so wrong of me not to fight, after that?"

"No," replies Mary Anne firmly, swallowing back her own horror and giving thanks, for what must be the thousandth time, that she has escaped so lightly in her dealings with The Interrogator; her own sufferings are nothing compared to those of Therese—who must be reassured, and quickly. "No, it was the right thing to do. You did what you had to do, to stay alive and hold out until The Alliance could find you." A sudden inspiration. "Until Mister De Valera could find you."

Mary Anne is rewarded by—no, it is not quite a smile, but Therese’s expression relaxes briefly, soothed and calmed by a knowledge that momentarily erases the marks of her suffering. "I knew Eamon would come for me," she murmurs. "And I told HIM so, over and over again. It kept me alive. It finally made HIM furious . . ." The faint wrinkle of a frown here, the shadow of remembered agony. "But it kept . . . me . . . alive. I didn’t . . . give up hope."

"Then The Interrogator didn’t break you," insists Mary Anne, her own face wet with tears. "HE lost—and you won."

MA--at last! Maybe The Director will be happy, now.
Magda--enjoying the twists and turns! Claudia--hope you get a comfy cell in the dungeons . . . ;-), - Sunday, August 13, 2000 at 16:48:53 (PDT)

Changes/corrections made.
It's been a long day.
D.o.C.

Suzanne, could you please make two changes: to "Day the Eighty-fifth" only and add "showed up with the Lady Marion" further down. Thanks.
Magda
- Sunday, August 13, 2000 at 10:01:14 (PDT)

"Day the Eighty-fifth, in the month of February – In which I hear more about what happened while I was gone and about Joya's strange behaviour."

"That looks just about done to me." Adam squinted at the rabbit over the fire. "Will you do the honours, George?"

Taking a secure grip on my dagger, I started to saw off pieces of meat. I was grateful for the occupation. It gave me something to do while I tried to figure out the change in Adam.

I hadn't paid much attention at first. Disposing of a body lying in the road was the first problem. We solved it by heaving the corpse into the bracken by the side of the road; after all, wolves have to eat too. Then I borrowed Adam's extra blade and we marched to the back of the lodge where we had a short but tense exchange of views with remaining thugs on the relative merits of swords versus sharp sticks as lethal weaponry. They were quickly persuaded to see the justice of our arguments and departed for the depths of the forest immediately. By this time, the sun had gone down completely and the light was fading fast. Luke checked one of his traps (which littered the woods, to hear him tell it) and returned with two small rabbits for dinner.

Luke poked the embers in the kitchen hearth back to life as Adam and I skinned the animals. It was while we were working that I first noticed the change in his manner. There were no tedious exclamations of horror at the violent death of a man and no maudlin repentance scenes enacted. He gave no sign that anything out of the ordinary had happened. It intrigued me and I considered the best way to draw him out on the subject.

Juice dripped into the fire, causing the coals to hiss and spit. I set the meat on the broken plate that served as a platter for our meal. Luke and Adam watched before helping themselves. When the ribs of the animal began to show, I put down my dagger and joined them. In the end, I didn't have to pry for information; Adam volunteered everything I wanted to know.

"I'm glad you're out of jail, George. There's not a day gone by that I didn't regret preventing your escape." Adam tore a strip of meat from a leg bone with his teeth.

I jabbed a chunk of rabbit with my dagger. "What a coincidence. I feel exactly the same way."

"Ha!" he barked. "Yes, I guess you do. Well, please accept my apologies and I'm glad you're not angry with me. When I got to Barnesdale, I was going to do what I could to get you released. I should have known you would manage it on your own."

"I'm grateful that you thought of me." I finished my portion and wiped my dagger. Now it was time to get some information. "I hear from Luke that the wedding's will take place earlier than expected and that everyone's gone to Nottingham. Why didn't you go with them?"

"Oh, I did." Adam hurled the bone into the fire. "Things moved very quickly after you were taken away. Odo asked me to remain here so that there would be a man around in case of trouble. Lady Joya was not happy, I can tell you! As soon as Odo was out the gates, I heard exactly what she thought of me for interfering with your escape. Went right up one side and down the other, she did. I can show you the scars if you like."

I took a sip of water to avoid responding. Joya had been angry that I hadn't got away? Furious with Adam for his actions? Why?

Adam continued. "She pretty much ignored me for the rest of the day. Two days later Sir Walter showed up with Lady Marion of Locksley and quite a pile of baggage." He glanced at me. "That was what was in the letter Odo delivered - that Lady Marion would be arriving. They met with Lady Joya in the hall and when it was over, Sir Walter moved into your room, Lady Marion moved into Lady Joya's and Lady Joya moved into Melisant's. It was quite the bustle."

I realized I had been holding my breath and let it out. A tight feeling in my chest eased somewhat. "Was Lady Joya pleased that Sir Walter was here?"

"Neither pleased nor displeased, I think. I didn't have much time to judge because the whole place exploded with activity. Servants were everywhere cleaning and washing and sweeping. Sir Walter and I and some of his men went hunting. We brought in quite a bit of meat, so much that I was surprised because it was more than we needed and would surely spoil." Adam gestured with another leg bone. "But that afternoon we heard that the wedding would take place early because the king was coming north now rather than in the summer. Everyone was to pack up and leave for Nottingham as soon as the horses were rested. It was quite a shock for me."

I was puzzled until I remembered that it was his true love whose marriage had been brought forward so precipitately. He resumed his tale before I could offer any condolences.

"I decided to place my situation before Sir Walter and ask for his advice. What I really wanted was his help and - fool that I was - I actually expected that he would give it." Adam looked at the food in his hand with loathing before savagely tearing off a piece of meat. He chewed grimly for a moment. "He was very sympathetic. Praised Melisant to the skies as a fine girl who'd make any man proud. He promised to talk to Lady Marion about the matter. Apparently she'd married Sir Robin for love and he thought she might be sympathetic to my plight. After all, if anyone could talk the king into changing his mind, it would be her. So I agreed to let him handle everything."

The mention of Locksley's name didn't help my appetite but I controlled myself so Adam wouldn't notice. Privately I doubted that anything could change the king's mind once it was made up, unless the king had changed completely during his time on crusade. Luke was listening to the whole thing with rapt attention. It wasn't often that he got a glimpse of life inside the lodge.

Adam washed down his food with a gulp of water. "Sir Walter had a lot of business to conduct while he was here. Couriers came with messages at every hour and everything had to be dealt with before he could leave. I went off on a number of errands for him and came back late at night just in time for dinner. The next day, Odo rode in and met with Sir Walter for some time. I don't know what they talked about but Sir Walter was very pleased and went off to talk to Lady Joya. That night he summoned me to him before I went to bed. He said that he was very sorry but that it would be impossible for me to marry Melisant, that she would have to go through with the wedding to Will Scarlet. Political considerations were too important to be set aside for personal preferences. He told me to be strong and that I would get over it."

"Political considerations?" I stared. "What political considerations?"

Adam's lip curled. "Apparently I wasn't the only man here who wanted to get married. Sir Walter told me that Lady Joya had agreed to marry him if he received the lordship of Nottingham from the king. Since Locksley held the lordship now, the king would have to ask him to surrender it and would want to give him something to make up for the loss. It would be too much to ask him to surrender his brother's promised estate too and therefore the wedding with Melisant would have to take place. I was outraged! The happiness of two people sacrificed just so that Lady Joya could become Lady Nottingham!"

“Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."

Magda
- Sunday, August 13, 2000 at 09:21:27 (PDT)

Does that mean YOU'RE coming back, Kari? 8-D

MA
If so--happy, happy, joy,joy!!, - Saturday, August 12, 2000 at 07:52:55 (PDT)

>>Its embarrassing how far back in the archives I had to >>look for my last post!,

Oh my goodness,Claudia! Don't say such things. I haven't a clue (thanks Sinclair) where in the world I ever left off.

At any rate, I'm so glad to see you back again, m'dear! Go get 'em Clods!!!

Kari (now where was I?)
USA, - Friday, August 11, 2000 at 23:37:51 (PDT)

After less than 5 minutes, the Empress held up her hand and stopped Claudia’s narrative. “No, no, that is almost word for word what I read in the AR reports. I don’t just want to hear you reciting a well practised story, I want to know how you were feeling, and why you did the things you did.

Claudia swallowed and fidgeted with her hands. She had told the story so many times now, it was more of an automatic recital than remembered events.

“Why? Basically, frustration. I wanted to see the Interrogator brought to justice, and I was fed up with seeing him hurting people I love and getting away with it, time and time again.” She leant forward and perched at the very edge of the sofa, intent on getting her feelings across. “If you ask anyone I know, they will tell you, I can’t sit still for long. I’m all for action rather than discussion. I saw an opening, a way I could get to HIM. Talking about it wasn’t an option. I had to do. I had to take advantage of the chink in his armour. I saw a way to get close to HIM, to gain his trust, and in so doing, I saw a way to bring not just him, but his whole organisation down.”

“Yes, I understand this much, but things you did, personally, hurt the people you profess to care for so much.”

“That’s where the lines blur,” nodded Claudia. “HE is a clever man. HE wanted to test me, to see if I could be loyal to HIM, or if I was just trying to trap HIM. Of course I was trying to trap him, but I was willing to do almost anything to gain trust that would give me access to computers, records, priority codes. I was terrified of HIM, but I was willing to do almost anything to get the result. But you must believe I would never have done anything that would have been any threat to them. Only enough to be convincing.”

“Convincing - yes you seem to have convinced yourself, at any rate. How do you think you would have reacted if Ed had decided all of a sudden that working with the Interrogator was a good career move?”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“You may beg my pardon, but I shall not be granting it. Not until you have shown me what is truly in your heart.”

“I… I’m trying.”

“You were saying you were terrified of the Interrogator, so must I assume that he forced himself on you?”

Claudia’s eyes widened. This woman knew how to get straight to the point, didn’t she. How could she explain? “No, I went willingly to his bed. I was willing to do anything to make my plan work. I couldn’t fail. I know there are greater minds and tacticians, that Commander Hudson in my place would have done things differently. That Mary Anne would have stayed calm and reasoned with HIM, rather than risking any physical contact.” She roughly ran her hands through her hair. “But don’t you see? I had given myself up to the cause. I had already broken ties with Ed. Just by going to the Interrogator I had set on a course that meant alienation from my friends. I was nothing, the end result was everything. He could do anything to me, as long as I won in the end.”

The Empress reached out across the coffee table and squeezed Claudia’s hand. “You take so much burden on your own shoulders, when you don’t need to. I know the feeling. Some things you just can’t trust to delegation.” She smiled to herself at a personal joke, but then turned back to Claudia, her face solemn and her eyes like steel. “But there is one more thing I’d like to ask. What feelings do you have for the Interrogator?”

Another lightening bolt, out of the blue. “I … I don’t know. He confuses me.”

“One thing HE has to be proficient at in his work, no doubt. Alright, that is enough for now. Rupert, take Claudia to her… quarters, she looks as if she needs some rest.” She turned back to Claudia. “Think well on what we have discussed. I will have more questions later. And it would be helpful if you knew what you were feeling before you answered them.”

The Empress moved back to her writing desk, and dismissed Claudia with her back. Rupert recuffed Claudia’s hands, and led her out of the room, and headed towards the dungeons.
Claudia
- Thursday, August 10, 2000 at 18:40:51 (PDT)

"Day the Eighty-fifth, in the month of February – In which yet another acquaintance from the past makes an appearance - this time, a welcome one."

I gripped my dagger. With my free hand I tugged my cloak free of its fasteners, then wrapped it around one arm as a shield. The solid wood of the gate pressed against my back. Crouching, I held my weapon at the ready for anyone foolish enough to come within range. Three against one were bad odds but I'd faced them successfully before. More brawn than brain, cretins like this could be bullied off their stride by a show of confidence. Well, I would give them one. Already my lack of fear had them faltering in their advance, the smaller two exchanging glances and hanging back to let the third take the lead. I decided to push my advantage harder.

His breath misting in the air in sobbing gusts, Luke cowered against the gate and clawed at the latch to open it. The boy was obviously too frightened to pay attention to anything I might say. It was a perfect opportunity.

"Boy!" I shouted over my shoulder with authority. "Bring me my sword and hunting spear!"

"You ain't got none!" Luke shrilled. "Don't you remember?"

I was immediately constrained from responding to this question in the proper manner (which would have included a short but savage demonstration of child abuse) by a sudden feint by the largest of my assailants. Inspired by Luke's words, he ran at me with his stick held out in front of him like a lance. I side-stepped the sharp point without difficulty and slashed at him as he staggered past. My blade sliced across the back of his hand, plowing through the flesh in a bloody furrow. He howled in pain. Dropping his stick and clutching his bleeding hand to his chest, he retreated to the dubious security of his comrades.

A ragged cry burst from Luke’s throat as he finally managed to lift the latch. I backed up slowly, dagger at the ready, as he scrambled to push open the gate. At the last moment, I snatched up the makeshift spear and we slipped inside. I leaned my weight against the heavy wood while Luke set the main cross bar in place, then lifted the second and third ones into their sockets. Beyond the wall, our assailants finally came back to life and began to curse us with a vigour not previously displayed in their actions.

I regarded the fence with a critical eye. Although over twelve feet high, it was designed to keep predatory animals out of and hunting animals in the precincts of the lodge. Under an organized and sustained assault, it would have splintered almost immediately. Fortunately for us, that wasn’t likely to happen. Even as I stood there, the pounding and kicking of our visitors on the boards did not even cause the gate to shiver. Not much to fear from that direction.

I turned and surveyed the courtyard. The fence protected it on two sides and most of a third; the stable and the lodge itself provided the rest. Since it probably wouldn't occur to the idiots outside to look around for another entrance, the only question was whether I should leave through the house and up the hill to the woods, or wait for a while to see if they got tired and left on their own. Going by the main road to Barnesdale would be faster but if our guests were stubborn I might wait most of the day before they gave up. No, better to leave now while they were occupied. Raising one finger to my lips to indicate that I wanted him to stay silent, I pointed to the front door of the lodge. Luke nodded and scrambled to follow me.

The pounding on the gate had developed a steady rhythm by now and I was glad to leave it behind. We made our way through the chilled, deserted hall and into the kitchen. I tossed the sharpened stick into the corner and pulled open the back door. Two overgrown, grimy thugs fell into the room just where they'd been leaning against the door. They stared up at me in no less amazement than I felt looking at them, although I trust that of the three of us, I was the more affronted. They wasted precious seconds scrambling to their feet and I was able to slam the door shut on them. The pounding on the door started immediately; it seemed to be something of a local habit to react this way when confronted with unexpected circumstances. I retreated to the hall again, Luke trailing me like a shadow.

A period of reflection was obviously necessary. I sat down on the bottom step to collect my thoughts. There was probably a way out through the stable but the woods on that side were almost impenetrable and the chances of being seen by either pack of ruffians were quite high. I dismissed that idea immediately. Waiting seemed to be the only option.

You never really appreciate how long a day is until you find yourself in a cold stone house with nothing to do and nowhere to go. I watched the sun pass across the sky to its noontime height, then begin to sink again towards the horizon. The front door stayed open so I could monitor the activities of the trio at the gate but that didn't prove anymore interesting an occupation. They had apparently reached the same conclusion I had and decided to wait for me to come out. Occasionally they would indulge in a fit of pounding and kicking but it rarely lasted long before they settled down again. Nor was the other exit any more promising. Three times I went up to my old room and looked through the window at the back door but the pair down there hadn't moved. I returned to the bottom step. Luke was more inured to long periods of tedium since he spent much of his time waiting for someone to request him to saddle their horse and sat staring into space with unlimited patience.

The sun was just over the tip of the highest tree in the west when the stalemate was ended. It came just after another perfunctory onslaught against the gate, when even distant noises sounded clear in the silence. I heard it immediately and walked out to the courtyard to make sure I wasn’t mistaken. The sound grew louder: someone on a horse was coming along the road, heading in the direction of Barnesdale.

A man's voice shouted something that I couldn't make out. I stepped closer to the gate and strained my ears. He seemed to be demanding information from the three toughs outside. One of them responded with churlish energy. The man's voice rose in anger. "You have no business trying to get inside. There is nothing there for you. Begone immediately before I have you arrested."

This went over about as well as you might guess. There was a grumbling noise as the trio considered the threat and apparently found it not to their liking. Personally I thought it was sage advice and was the more pleased because I recognized the voice. It was Adam. I lifted the first cross bar free from the gate.

A sudden scream from Adam's horse indicated that the three men didn't appreciate the value of good advice. I pulled the second and third bars loose as quickly as I could and threw the gate open. Adam was trying to control his rearing horse and keep the largest brute from hauling him out of the saddle at the same time. I reached for my dagger and started forward. "Sir!" I turned, and Luke was behind me holding out the sharpened stick. An excellent idea. I took a firm grip on the shaft with both hands and strode across the road to join the action.

The two smaller ruffians were holding back, watching their leader's efforts. A more useless entourage I had never seen. They started when I emerged from the courtyard but did nothing to stop my progress. It certainly made my task easier.

Both Adam and his assailant were too busy to notice me. I poked the stick into the large man's back and waited for him to turn. With a roar he let go of Adam and launched himself at me. With a smooth glide forward and an adroit twist of my wrist, I met him halfway and shoved the makeshift spear into his belly and through his entire body. He slid up the shaft almost to my hands and we stared at each other for a long moment, our mingled breaths misting in the cold air. Then he gurgled loudly and seemed to belch as blood began to pour out of his mouth and down the front of his tunic. I let go of the shaft and stepped back. He sank down on his knees, still staring up at me, then slid sideways and fell to the blood-soaked ground. His body twitched for a moment or two, then stilled.

His two companions gasped as one and backed away from the gruesome scene before taking to their heels and fleeing down the road as fast as they could. I watched till they were out of sight, then turned to Adam. He smiled down at me, shaking his head in reluctant admiration. "You know, George, I never met anyone who can make an entrance like you."

“Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."

Magda
- Thursday, August 10, 2000 at 17:17:18 (PDT)

Correction made.
The Empress would be pleased.
D.o.C.

Ooops! D.o.C., please: in my last post, it's "developments . . . whatever they might be." Dropped a word there! Thanks.

MA--must've been in too much of a hurry!
For "Claudia": the proper address to an Empress is whatever she wants it to be! But you have the "humble" part right. *wink*, - Thursday, August 10, 2000 at 05:08:11 (PDT)

Claudia sat in silence, watching the Empress pouring the tea. Rupert stood by the door, stock still and straight as ever. She is reserving judgement thought Claudia. The guards are outside if I prove to be a threat, and Rupert looks as if he would get to me before I could hurt her. Not that I’m going to of course. I hope I can convince her that all I’ve been doing and will do is try to help bring the Interrogator to justice.

The tiered cake stand reminded her suddenly of other places and times. A Mary Anne and Renie ‘little chat’. I hope this doesn’t take as long, she groaned inwardly.

“Tea?” said the Empress, handing Claudia a delicate bone china cup and saucer. The cup rattled in the saucer as Claudia took it.

“Thank you, your highness,” highness, majesty, which was it for an Empress? No matter, as long as she sounded humble, the Empress would be pleased enough.

“I’ve read the Alliance Rose reports, of course,” began the Empress. “But I would like to hear it from your lips, just the same.”

Claudia took a deep breath, and began. The cake stand with various cream goodies reminded her more of a Renie/MA chat, and the flinging of cream torts. This however, was not a time for a comic relief.

As she spoke, slowly and carefully, all she heard in her head, over and over, was I promise I won’t hurt you… this time.
Claudia
One plot... yes, - Thursday, August 10, 2000 at 03:49:49 (PDT)

Imperial Dungeons, The Interrogator's cell:

The Interrogator finds that time hangs heavy on HIS hands as he waits in his cell for developments . . . whatever they might be. Adept in the uses of suspense and anxiety, he is perfectly aware of what is being practiced against him now; though he has been treated with every consideration, he wonders if The Empress ever has any plans to examine the case and bring him to trial, or is she simply intends to leave him here, alone, to go slowly insane.

Every consideration. Yes, of course, if you do not count . . . Here his thoughts pause, involuntarily shrinking away from what had occurred. If you do not count--ruthless to himself, for a change--being dragged off to a dungeon and threatened with torture and . . . and . . . she drugged me, somehow. I know it.

The approach of insanity? HE has had time, in his solitude, to become aware of something in his thoughts, something to which he cannot attach a name. They have been coming upon him gradually, doubts and hesitations and fears. That episode at Mary Anne and Brandon's wedding, where he had been paralyzed with horror there in the church--but with horror of what, he cannot tell.

I should hate Mary Anne for what she did to me.

HE cannot pursue the idea further. The very presence of that "should" makes him uncomfortable, driving him off the bed where he has been lying and into a restless pacing about his cell.

They've been watching me, of course. That trick with the mirror--absolutely transparent. That is good for a brief smile, but then his thoughts return to his responses in the dungeon. The Empress--that panic in her presence, her almost otherworldly power over him, his pretense of submission . . . live to fight another day. If only he could be certain that it was all pretense . . .

Only then does The Interrogator become aware of the sound of voices in the hallway--coming for HIM again, are they? Even a trip to the torture chamber might be welcome, rather than brooding here alone . . .

The voices come no nearer. Softly as a shadow, he moves nearer the bars.

Peculiar acoustics in these old structures. No one in sight--they must be down the corridor, too far to be seen--yet he hears their voices clearly.

"--new prisoner today."

"Prisoner, or guest?"

Male voices, both. The Interrogator allows himself an icy little grimace; after The Empress had played her decoy trick, she knows HE would be wary of female personnel. She is too intelligent to repeat such a tactic.

"--guest brought in under heavy guard? In cuffs, yet."

"And since when is a prisoner kept there, instead of here?"

Under heavy guard, and in handcuffs? Interesting.

The voices murmur on, and The Interrogator strains to hear.

Then, clearly: "Well, I'll admit she didn't look too dangerous."

She?

"The most dangerous ones never do." A pause. "She may be dangerous enough--to HIM."

The Interrogator, taken by surprise, steps back a pace from the bars. Even in this murmured conversation that he can barely overhear, there is no mistaking that tone of dread and loathing. HE. HIM. Almost literally unspeakable.

"Dangerous?"

"Well, I've heard it say that this one's about as close to . . . HIM . . . as it's possible to get." Something else in that tone of voice now, sly and prurient.

As close to me as . . . RENIE?! Is she here? No, wait--think. Don't be a fool! HE closes his eyes for a moment, willing his heart to slow its furious beating. Gruber would never allow it, and would move heaven and earth, with hell thrown in, to prevent it. What, then . . .

"--said she didn't look dangerous."

"No more she did--not that sort of dangerous, but . . ." A low laugh. "Women who look like that are always risky. A real beauty. Bluest eyes I've ever seen--they'd go right through you. And they might see right through HIM, too, before it's over. The way I understand it, she knows a lot about him, maybe enough to put the nails in his coffin . . ."

The Interrogator falls back a pace. Two. Three. HIS mouth is dry; HIS heart is pounding. Again.

"A real beauty. Bluest eyes I've ever seen . . . knows a lot about him . . ." Mary Anne--?!

And this time, it could be true. Brandon is a loyal subject of The Empress, a proper citizen of The Realm. If Mary Anne were summoned by The Empress, Brandon would not like it--but he probably would not prevent it, though he would certainly remain by her side.

The Interrogator listens closely, straining to catch more of the conversation, but it has dropped to low murmurs and then fades to silence--a silence the more profound and oppressing for the brief interruption.

Perhaps that silence is soon to be broken . . .

MA--well, looks like the meeting's over and it's time for work again.
Also time for The Empress to issue another "missing persons" bulletin! Hope everyone's okay . . ., - Wednesday, August 09, 2000 at 21:17:40 (PDT)

When we last left Claudia, she was travelling in an armoured van to the Imperial Palace, and was trying to work out her feelings about the men in her life.

The large ornate wrought iron gates swung open slowly, as the armoured transport waited with its engine running. The guards at the gate had checked the drivers papers, but they were expected, so there wasn’t much delay before they were moving again.

Claudia couldn’t see much through the small windows, but caught glimpses of well-tended lawns and gardens, and at the end of the winding driveway was the palace. The palace was so big she could only see a portion of it through her window, and that disappeared and reappeared as the van followed the winding road to the main entrance.

Marched through the front doors with official greeting and fanfare playing, no doubt, she grinned to herself, which turned into a grimace. More like I’ll be marched to yet another small, bare room, and left to stew again.

The van veered left, and instead of stopping outside the grand main doors, continued round the building to a less grand entrance, where other armed and service vehicles were parked. They stopped and immediately the double doors at the back of the van swung open. The guard nearest her grabbed her arm, and pulled her forward.

“OK, no need to be rude,” said Claudia, moving to the back, and stepping down from the van. She shunned the hands waiting to help her down. It may be unbalancing to exit with one’s hands cuffed, but not difficult.

The guards closed around her and she was marched inside. A man was waiting, so tall and straight, she wondered if he slept on a board instead of a mattress.

“My name is Rupert, welcome to the palace.” he said, “Follow me.”

She was marched down long corridors, with high ceilings. Corridors that were wider than any room in a normal house, and hung with ornate lighting, paintings and tapestries. The journey seemed endless. She almost expected a running commentary from Rupert, acting as tour guide. But nobody spoke, and the only sound as they marched down corridors, round corners and up steps, was the echoing of the many pairs of boots on the marble floor.

Eventually they stopped outside one of many doors along this corridor. Rupert knocked firmly on the door, and waited for the word “Come,” then turned the handle and opening the door. Claudia could here a few muffled exchanged words, before Rupert came back for her.

“Your guards may wait outside the door,” he said, as if they had been her honour guard, instead of a prisoner’s escort. She stepped out from amongst the guards, who didn’t make it easier by getting out of her way, and walked up to Rupert. He nodded, and gestured with his hand that she should go inside ahead of him.

Instead of an empty room to act as a holding cell as she was expecting, she was surprised to walk into a well-lit room, full of shelves of books. A huge bay window let sunlight stream inside, and landed on a woman, seated at a polished walnut writing desk. The woman was dressed in normal day clothes, but when she looked up at Claudia and smiled slightly, there was no mistaking who she was.

“This is Claudia, your majesty,” said Rupert.

“Of course it is,” said the Empress. “Please release her hands, and arrange for some tea to be brought in. We have a lot to discuss.”

Rupert retrieved the key from one of the guards, and unlocked the handcuffs. He frowned to himself, but he wasn’t about to question orders in front of this person.

This wasn’t the reception Claudia had been expecting at all, and as her hands dropped free, she fell to her knees and bowed her head, tears streaming down her face.

“Please, stand up,” said the Empress. “There is no reason we can’t be civilised about this. Please take a seat.”

Claudia stood up and moved to the sofa the Empress had indicated. “Thank you, your majesty. I’m sorry, I wasn’t prepared to be treated kindly.”

“As long as I am satisfied you are telling me the truth, there will be no need for unpleasantness.”
Claudia
Its embarrassing how far back in the archives I had to look for my last post!, - Tuesday, August 08, 2000 at 15:56:08 (PDT)

Cindie--You stumbled across one of the most inside (waaaaay in!) of all my jokes. The "Joanna McCoy" I created here does have a Trek connection: most fans of the original series know that at one point, D.C. Fontana was working on a script about McCoy's daughter, Joanna. That story never made it into the series, but there have been fanfics and at least one novel that feature Joanna, the daughter of Leonard McCoy.

With this in mind, I created a Joanna McCoy who would be an ancestress of the Leonard McCoy we know and love--and, through him, also the namesake of his daughter. A great, great, great (how many greats?) grandmother or something like that. Or maybe a great-great-great aunt. You get the picture.

The FOF Joanna made her debut in (I think) January or February of 1998. Sounds like you've been burrowing around in the Archives most industriously!

MA <maryanne_e@hotmail.com>
Feel free to e-mail with any other questions, if you'd like., - Monday, August 07, 2000 at 19:04:47 (PDT)

MA, I jumped ahead in the archives (my plan to read from the end up to present more daunting than I had imagined)and encountered Dr. Joanna McCoy. I missed her introduction but wondered if this was Leonard's daughter? My TREK trivia might be a little rusty (never warmed to Voyager) but I recall he had a daughter and was hoping she'd found her way into Rickmania.
Cindie
Leonard McCoy fan from waaaay back, - Monday, August 07, 2000 at 06:46:35 (PDT)

"Day the Eighty-fifth, in the month of February – In which some acquaintances from the past come looking for me."

The stable loft was not a very comfortable place to spend a cold winter night, the contrary opinions of two hundred rats notwithstanding. It combined the worst aspects of sleeping on a husk mattress with those of spending the night in the open air. Between the crackling of the straw and the chill of the wind whistling through the walls, I hardly slept at all. Luke suffered no such discomfort; he simply wrapped himself in a blanket, burrowed into the hay and slumbered like a small animal the entire night.

Which meant that he was nauseatingly cheerful the next morning. I forced open my heavy lids in the gloomy dawn to find that he was kneeling beside me. "Morning, sir. We gots some rabbit left over iffen yer hungry." He held out some lumps of meat, inexpertly wrapped in a piece of hide.

"Uh, not right away." I shuddered and looked away. You might have thought that the longer I was in exile, the more accustomed I would have become to such things as a poor diet. Such was not the case. Of all the sins laid at my door, gluttony is not one of them but I do look for some skill in the preparation of my victuals; pieces of a dead animal suspended over a raw fire the night before did not qualify. I sat up and looked around. Luke stared at me expectantly, as if I was about to perform some ritual that he did not want to miss. Ignoring him, I got to my feet and brushed off as much of my bedding as I could reach. A walk to the ladder and back revived the feeling in my legs, gone numb from the cold.

"If you don't wants any rabbit, are you goin' to go huntin'?" Luke watched my exercise.

"No. I'm going to take a deep breath, consume the revolting mess that you have in your hand and then I'm leaving." I stamped my feet a few times to warm them.

Luke's face fell. "Oh." He got to his feet slowly, not looking at me. After a moment, he held out the meat.

I took it and began to unwrap it. "Thank you. I think." It occurred to me that it would probably be easier if I didn't see it first, so I addressed a remark to Luke while I fumbled with the hide. "By the way, why are you still here? Why didn't you go with the others?"

He hunched his shoulders high and then dropped them. "My pa gots a farm just t'other side of the woods. But I can't go home yet on account of Sir Walter didn't pay me." He scuffed one foot against the boards. "My pa will kill me if I don't bring home nuthin. He needed me to work in the fields but he said I could come here if I made some money."

"Really?" I focussed on him as I forced myself to swallow a stringy morsel. "And why didn't Sir Walter pay you?"

"I'm don't know." He jerked his shoulders up and down again. "But Cook said it were 'cause of me talkin' to Lady Joya and Sir Walter didn't like it."

I was busy chewing and had to look my question at him.

Luke continued. "Lady Joya was goin' around payin' all the servants and sayin' goodbye. I were last, 'cause I were in the stable with the 'orse. It were yer 'orse, sir. She asked me special to put 'er saddle on 'im. She was strokin' 'im and talkin' quiet-like in 'is ear. Then she called me over and I saw she was cryin'. Big tears run down her face. I didn't know what to say. But she smiled at me and give me my pay and a little bit more too 'cause I was a good boy. I didn't like to see 'er cry so I asked if I could so something but she said no, she was just sad. Then Sir Walter come over and helped 'er get into the saddle and she rode off."

He sniffed moistly and rubbed a sleeve under his nose. "Sir Walter were angry. He told me I didn't deserve no pay 'cause I were 'ired fer so many weeks and since everyone was leavin' early, I didn't 'fulfill my obligations as specified.'" He repeated the phrase with punctilious care, and ended with another loud sniffle. "Then 'e made me give the money to 'im."

I chewed while I considered Luke's tale. A faint hope began to grow in my bosom. "Did Sir Walter make Lady Joya cry?"

"No. She were cryin' before 'e got there." His brow furrowed in an effort of remembrance. "And when 'e did get there, she smiled at 'im and then 'e kissed 'er glove."

"Oh." The hope curled up and died. I bit into the meat savagely. "I see. What else did Sir Walter do?"

"I begged 'im to let me keep the money on account of my Pa really needed it fer the farm taxes and such. But 'e said it were a sin to keep money when I 'adn't earned it." Luke's lower lip trembled. "But I said it weren't that much money so it would only 'ave been a little sin. And Sir Walter got really mad then and said I was goin' to go to 'ell with all the devils 'cause I thought wicked-like."

The last bite was the toughest and required great effort to masticate. I swallowed twice to make sure it stayed down. Hearing Krone's name repeatedly was not an aid to digestion, nor the idea that Joya smiled for him. I was forced to swallow again hastily.

Sir Walter of Krone seemed to have got everything his own way for the past few weeks. Great treasures had fallen into his lap with very little effort. He strode about giving orders and appropriating whatever he desired. And there was nothing I could do about it. The idea galled me. Powerless as I was, there had to be something I could do to him.

Another lugubrious sniffle reminded me that I was not alone. Luke knuckled his eyes with his fists until he was able to talk again. "So I got to stay 'ere 'cause I can't go 'ome without no money. Maybe some lords will come out 'unting and I can take care of their 'orses." He managed to infuse some optimism into this last statement.

I put my hand on my belt pouch and considered. I couldn't let Krone have everything his own way. It was a small gesture of defiance and blunted by the fact that Krone wouldn't know about it but it was the only thing within my power to accomplish. I reached into my pouch and fished out a gold coin. "Here's your pay. Now get your stuff and get out of here." I dropped the coin into his hand and closed the pouch securely.

He clutched it with both hands, his mouth framing an O of surprise. Even so, he almost dropped it. "Sir! Thank you, sir! Oh, thank you so much!" He babbled the words over and over again until my patience began to fray.

"You're welcome." I brushed the last of the straw from my clothing, adjusted my cloak and checked that my dagger was handy. There was no other choice: I would have to return to Barnesdale and somehow acquire a horse without too much expense. Perhaps I could steal one. I pushed open the stable door and stepped outside.

The sun was climbing over the horizon and the shadows around us were long on the ground. I examined the clouds carefully but they didn't look as if they held snow. If the good weather held, I would be back at Barnesdale by mid-afternoon. Crossing the courtyward, Luke behind me still whimpering his gratitude, I decided that I could save some time by taking the main road. The gates were shut and resisted my efforts to open them but I finally persevered.

Luke followed me out into the road, blubbering all the way. The unwelcome idea that he might actually follow me all the way to town occurred to me. I turned around to disabuse him of the notion in a forthright manner. He gazed at me with puppy-like devotion, then he looked past me and his eyes rounded with horror. "Sir! Look out!"

I whirled in my tracks and confronted three men. The largest one pointed at me with a stout stick that had been carved into a point at one end. "There he is! By God he must have flown here for us to have missed him!" He took a firm grip on his weapon and ran at me. "At him, boys! Don't let him get away this time."

I backed up to the gate, trying to keep an eye on all of them at the same time and fumbling for my dagger. I had seen them only once before but the memory came back sharp and clear. Christmas night at the Blue Boar in Barnesdale. These were the men who'd invaded the second floor and murdered Joya's maid while she slept.

“Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."

Magda
- Friday, August 04, 2000 at 18:44:08 (PDT)

What about the Brandon Alexander, or the Gruber Gimlet?
Cindie
- Friday, August 04, 2000 at 12:01:35 (PDT)

The conference room:

The Director allows the gathering to bring itself to order--no tapping of a spoon against a water glass in lieu of a gavel, or anything of that nature. Besides, from the look of some of the attendees, he would most likely be lynched if he made any such noise at what could still be considered an early hour. He recognizes the symptoms of narrowed eyes, creased brows, an occasional wince at any sound louder than someone clearing his throat.

"Back on duty," he teases. "The party is over. It's time to work."

Groans, as expected--but mingled with laughter. Looking about him, The Director can see other signs as well: a general lightening of the atmosphere, the release of tension. If eyes are narrowed and brows are creased, it is only the aftermath of the celebration. His cast is more relaxed than it has been for months, and so the party had served its purpose.

And besides that, he thinks, it was fun!

Aloud, The Director begins: "Thank you all for appearing here so promptly . . ." Discreet giggles, as a final scattering of cast members edge through the doorway and try to sink into their chairs as unobtrusively as possible.

The Director lets the giggles die away. "So promptly," he continues. "We all have work to do, so I'd like to try and keep this brief--a quick, general review of your storylines and where they're going. There will be the usual private meetings as well, but I thought this would get us all back on the same page. Now . . ."

The Director opens his folder and glances over a thick sheaf of notes, then scans the table. "Mary Anne. And Claudia."

"Yes?" replies Claudia. Mary Anne is trying to stifle a yawn behind her arm, so that what emerges is a rather garbled "Sir?" The two women glance at each other, then look away quickly to keep from giggling, until The Director's level stare brings them under control.

"Claudia," he says evenly, "we know that your character is on her way to the Palace. What happens when she gets there?"

"Well . . ." begins Claudia, looking down at some pages rather hastily grabbed from the printer cache on her computer. "Obviously, she'll be questioned by The Empress--but there's the question of whether she'll try to make contact with The Interrogator or not. Or if she'll be allowed to."

Mary Anne is awake now. "Or encouraged to," she adds quietly.

The Director's gaze sharpens. "You have something to add?"

"Oh, lots." The mischievous smile. "My character has business to attend to at Delaford, you know. The scenes with Therese--"

"Yes, we're far behind on those."

"I know. But there's the question, with the Interrogator storyline . . ." Mary Anne grins at Mister I. " . . . of whether The Empress would summon Mary Anne to the palace as a witness in the proceedings. After all, she has been The Interrogator. Who better to reveal all of HIS secrets?"

A murmur goes around the table.

"It's an interesting idea," acknowledges Mister I, who has leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, steepling his fingertips as he considers the possibilities. "A great deal of potential, but some problems as well."

The Director nods. "Which we'll save for a private meeting. Don't give up the idea, but concentrate first on the scenes with Therese. Then, we'll see."

"But wouldn't--" puts in another voice, and as an abupt silence falls, Neva looks a bit frightened. "Sorry, maybe it's too soon for me to be talking here--"

"Not at all," reassures The Director. "This is why I wanted you to attend this meeting. Even if you haven't decided just where you fit in yet, it's good practice for you to see how we do things. You were saying?"

"I was saying--" Neva looks at Mary Anne, who smiles encouragingly. "If that happened and Mary Anne had to go to the palace, wouldn't Brandon have some trouble with that?"

Laughter from all around the table. "Some trouble . . .?"

"--lock her in her room--"

"He'd have a wall-to-wall fit!"

"--but as a loyal subject she'd have to go--"

"Well, he'd go with her!"

Seeing Neva's discomfort, The Director raises a hand for quiet. "Neva, I have to thank you. I believe they're all awake now." A pause. "There must indeed be some possibilities in it, to provoke that sort of reaction. I'll think about it. Mary Anne, write down any ideas you have and send them to me--and brainstorm this with Claudia."

"The Indiana Jones method, hmmm?" smiles Claudia. "We're just making this up as we go along."

Mary Anne shrugs. "Works for me."

Mister I makes a parody of groaning and hiding his face in his hands. "Those two working on my storyline together--I should have stayed in bed."

Mary Anne, catching the twinkle of his eyes through his fingers, contents herself with sticking out her tongue at him while Claudia wads up a napkin and flings it in his general direction. Neva sinks back into her chair, sighing in relief that her first participation in an FOF meeting has gone so smoothly.

Meanwhile, The Director has turned to Sandy, just in time to hear Alexander offering his condolences to Mister I. "At least Mary Anne and Claudia have never put you through a sandstorm, so far as I know--"

Mister I adopts a sepulchral voice of doom. "Give them time, Dane. Only give them time. My character is imprisoned in a dungeon; a sandstorm is the least of his worries. I'm certain those two devious females--" A mock-glower at Mary Anne and Claudia, who respond by rubbing their hands together and cackling gleefully. "--shall inflict something quite imaginative upon me."

"You should feel honoured, Alex," puts in Sandy--who does not miss Dane's fleeting look of pleasure at the sound of her voice pronouncing his name. "The way you looked after that sandstorm sequence . . . well, I understand there's going to be a drink named after you."

Struck by a dire suspicion, Dane turns upon Sandy with his trademark withering glare. "What drink?"

"The Sandy Alexander . . ."

MA--yeah, I know. Awful, just awful. ;-)
Magda, I think you're right about the rabbit (based on comments from friends who hunt)., - Thursday, August 03, 2000 at 20:06:50 (PDT)

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