“You might as well forget it,” Claude told her. “If you resort to violence, they’ll collar you. That fellow playing the flute told me about a prisoner who went bonkers and attacked a mess attendant. Soldiers clubbed him down and put one of those gray metal neck-rings on him. When he stopped screaming and recovered his senses, he was as mild as milk. Couldn’t get the collar off, either.”
Felice swore more eloquently. “Are they planning to collar us all, then?”
Claude glanced around, but nobody was paying the slightest attention to them. “Evidently not. As nearly as I can judge, the gray collars are a crude type of psycho regulator, probably linked to the golden ones worn by the Lady Epone and other exotics. Not all of the castle personnel wear collars. Soldiers and guardians do, and straw bosses like the worthy Tully. But the stablehands don’t have collars, and neither do the mess attendants.”
“Not in sensitive positions?” suggested the nun.
“Or maybe the hardware is in short supply,” Claude said.
Felice frowned. “That could be. It would need a sophisticated technology to manufacture things like that. And so far, this outfit looks damn Mickey Mouse. Did you see how that mind calibrator kept fritzing out? And no running water in those reception rooms.”
“They didn’t bother to take any of my pharmaceuticals,” said Amerie. “The collars must protect the guards from any drugging we might be tempted to try. Handy gadgets. No slave overseer should be without some.”
“They may not need to collar people to keep them down,” Claude said, grim. He gestured at the dormitory’s listless inmates. “Just look at this crew! A few lively ones tried to escape and they were fed to the bear-dogs. I think that most folks falling into a nightmare like this are so traumatized that they just float for a while and hope things won’t get worse. The guards are cheerful and spin yarns about the good life waiting for us. The food’s not bad. Wouldn’t you just take it easy and see what develops, instead of fighting it?”
“No,” said Felice.
Amerie added, “The women’s expectations aren’t quite so rosy, Claude.” She told him tersely of their interview with Epone, and of the origins and reproductive predicament of the exotic race. “So while you may be able to live peacefully building log cabins, Claude, Felice and I are going to be turned into brood-mares.”
“Damn them!” whispered the old man. “Damn them!” He stared at his big hands, still strong, but blotched with liver spots and corded with blue veins. “I wouldn’t be worth a fart in a teacup in any real dustup. What we really need is Stein.”
“They took him,” Amerie said, and explained how Tully told her that the Viking had been “treated” to prevent further trouble. They all knew what that had to mean.
“Are any of the others here?” Felice asked.
“Just Richard,” said the old man. “But he’s been asleep ever since I was put in here this morning. I couldn’t wake him, either. Maybe you ought to take a look at him, Amerie.”
The nun took her pack and followed Claude to Richard’s bunk. It was surrounded by empty beds for a reason that was easily apparent. The sleeping man had soiled himself. His arms were folded tightly over his breast and his knees were drawn up nearly to his chin.
Amerie lifted one eyelid, then took his pulse. “Jesus, he’s close to catatonic. What could they have done to him?”
She searched in her pack and came up with a minidoser, which she pressed to Richard’s temple. As the bulblet collapsed and the powerful drug entered the unconscious man’s bloodstream, he gave a faint moan.
“There’s a chance this might bring him around if he’s not too far gone,” the nun said. “Meanwhile, will you guys help me clean him up?”
“Right,”, said Felice, starting to shuck her armor. “His pack’s here. He ought to have other clothes.”
“I’ll get water,” Claude said. He headed for the washroom, where there was a stone tank supplied by a conduit from the fountain. He filled a wooden bucket and brought soap and quantities of rough towels. As he sloshed back between the bunks, one of the Gypsies eyed him.
“You help your friend, old man. But maybe he’s better off the way he is. Useless to them!”
A woman with a hairless head clutched at him. She wore wrinkled yellow robes and her Oriental face was ravaged by scars, an unusual sight. Perhaps they were part of her religious devotion. “We wanted to be free,” she croaked. “But these monsters from another galaxy will enslave us. And the worst of it is, they look human.”
Claude pulled away from her. Trying to ignore other cries and whispers, he made his way to Richard’s bed.
“I gave him another shot,” Amerie said grimly. “It’ll bring him around or kill him. Damn, if only we could give him a sugar drip.”
The knight gave a shout “They’re starting to saddle the faerie steeds! Well soon be on our way to Narnia!”
“See what’s going on, Claude,” Felice ordered.
He pushed through others who were hurrying outside and managed to get close to the perforated wall nearest the central court. Stablehands were leading pairs of chalicotheres from the corral to ranks of hitching rails across the yard. More servitors brought out piles of tack and started placing pads on the animals’ backs. To one side, eight of the beasts were segregated for special treatment, their bronze-studded harness and other equipment marking them as soldiers’ mounts.
An amused voice at Claude’s shoulder said, “Don’t seem to think we’ll need much guarding on the trip, do they?” It was Basil, the Alpine hiker, watching the proceedings with interest “Ah! There’s the explanation. Catch the clever modification of the stirrups?”
Bronze chains dangled from them. They were padded with narrow leather sleeves and would probably hang loosely enough about the ankle to be only minimally uncomfortable when fastened.
The saddling took some time and the sun westered behind the castle. It was obvious that they were scheduled for a night march in order to avoid daytime heat on the savanna. A squad of four troopers led by an officer wearing a short blue cloak came marching to the compound gate and unbarred it. The soldiers were attired in light bronze kettle-helmets and piece-armor, worn over tan shirts and shorts. They were armed with intricately pulleyed compound bows, bronze short swords, and vitredur lances. As the soldiers entered the pen, the prisoners fell back. The officer addressed the crowd in a matter-of-fact voice.
“All you travelers! It’s nearly time to move out of here. I’m your caravan leader, Captal Waldemar. We’re gonna get to know each other pretty good in the next week or so. I know you’ve had a hard time, some of you, staying in this hot compound while you waited for the contingent to be complete. But things will be better soon. We’re on our way north to the city of Finiah, where you’ll be making your home. It’s a good place. A lot cooler than here. The journey is about four hundred kilometers and it will take us about six days. We’ll go by night for two days here in the hot country, then switch to day travel when we hit the Hercynian Forest.
“Now, you travelers, Listen! Don’t give me any trouble and you’ll get good food at stations along the way. Fuck up and you’ll be short-rationed. Make me really unhappy and you won’t eat at all. Any of you travelers who think you’d like to escape, just think about the fossil zoo waiting bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for stragglers on foot. We got sabertooth cats like superlions and hyenas the size of grizzly bears. We got wild boars bigger’n oxen that take a human leg off with one bite. We got rhinos and mastodons that’ll stomp you to death if they even catch sight of you. And the deinotheriums, the hoe-tusker elephants, they like to use people for cute tug-o’-war games and then dance on the pieces! They only stand four or five meters at the shoulder, by the way. You escape the big buggers and you can get nailed by the small fry. The creeks are full of pythons and crocs. The woods have poisonous spiders with bodies like peaches and fangs like gaboon vipers. You get away from the animals and the Firvulag will track you down and play devil-tunes on your mind until you go mad or die from the horrors.