Authors: Denise Hall
Instead, for my next half-thought-out act of defiance, I settled for not abasing myself before the Mountain Lord, Tane. My sisters in suffering must have thought me insane.
They were probably right.
There are three postures suitable for a Judgment female to take up when in Tane's presence. The first was automatic and meant dropping to one's knees with hands behind backs and foreheads pressed low to the floor until permission to rise was 49
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given. This was terribly uncomfortable, but any woman foolish enough not to immediately assume this position in his presence was immediately rewarded with the most brutal of whippings.
If permission to rise was granted, then posture number two was automatically assumed and the humiliation increased because we were then expected to sit back on our heels, spreading our knees wide apart, exposing ourselves completely to his eyes.
If the "honor" was granted to "present" that meant we must take one hand from behind us, part the folds of our sex, arching our hips up and out, as if pleading to be taken by him. Woe be to any female who refused any of these steps.
Woe be to me, for that's exactly what I did. Upon Master Boyden's command, my companions dropped to their knees before Tane. As the guards interpreted each instruction, they clasped their hands in supplication behind them, then bent until their heads were well down and they saw nothing but carpet. And there I stood, surrounded by irritated men dressed all in black and the naked, quaking, huddled forms of my sisters. I was still afraid, especially when Master Boyden fixed me with a hardening stare, but I hid it much better than I had at the medical center.
"Get down on your knees," he bit out sternly.
I fixed my eyes stubbornly on Tane. "I will do nothing for your pleasure."
Standing at Boyden's side, Tane arched a brow at me incredulously. "You say that with such determination. How sad, since that is going to put us at direct odds. I find myself 50
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suddenly just as determined to see you on your knees, begging for the privilege of pleasuring me."
I met Tane's black stare squarely and, in a voice that did not waver, announced, "I want to go home. I'll be nothing but trouble for you until you let me go."
"My, you are spirited, aren't you?" His eyes roved me slowly from head to toe. To this day I believe the only reason I did not suffer more horribly right then was because it was the first time he'd encountered such a bold and foolish show of rebellion. He turned to Master Boyden, almost laughing as he said, "Is there something about me that indicates I like spirit?"
"Not that I've ever noticed," Master Boyden replied in perfect English.
"If you force me to remain here," I said evenly, "I will make you all as miserable as I am."
There was a grand flaw to my logic. While it took time for me to recognize the error in my thinking, Tane spotted it right away. It made him laugh in fact, and he indicated the women cowering around my feet. "They are all going to love you." His black stare bored straight through me as he said, "Master Boyden, give our New-Comers a nice, warm, Welcome-to-Judgment strapping. Nothing too severe, mind you. Six strokes every morning and evening for the next week or two.
That should be sufficient. Except for Red, here. Escort her around her new home, introduce her to the masters. I'd like them to lend a hand in welcoming our misbehaving miss to her new life."
"I won't stay here!" I said loudly.
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Boyden's hand flexed, and he laughed mirthlessly. "I do believe I will be the first."
"By all means," Tane murmured. "On second thought, something firmer than a broad hand maybe required in this case."
I glared as he walked past me to pick up the hairbrush from the floor. Boyden chuckled darkly as Tane placed it directly into my hand. I would have dropped it, but he closed my fingers around the handle and tightly held me thus.
"You will give this to each of the masters, all twenty of them," he told me softly, his countenance darkening intently as he stared right through me, all the way to my soul. "You will accept their greetings with the utmost respect, because if you do not—if you defy me any more today—I will have you welcomed by every master, sub-master, and guard within these walls. Strapped to the block in the Assembly Hall and with the cane, I will have you welcomed. By your second introduction, I guarantee you will pray for the softer salutations of this hairbrush. Am I clear to you?"
My throat feeling so tightly constricted I all but choked on the word, "Yes."
The corners of his lips turned barely upwards in victory.
"What do you say?"
The look I gave him was by no means respectful. Hateful would have been more accurate. And in a voice no louder than a whisper, I said, "This one loves her Master."
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The detective rolled his pencil between his massive hands,
watching me as I, in turned, watched the floor. Two other
detectives were standing against the wall to my right, just
opposite of a long mirror that took up another corner to
corner from left to right. I had been brought to the police
station again, but not to lock me in a cell or take my prints.
This time the Detective lay a black metal box with a tiny
window on the table between us.
"This is a tape recorder," the Detective explained. "Have
you used one of these before?"
One of the detective beside me snorted with laughter. He
was a very unpleasant man. I did not like him.
"No, sir."
"Well, this will be fun then," the Detective said, getting up
from his chair. He came around the table to me and held the
recorder up to my mouth. He pressed a button. "All you do is
say something. Anything. Uh, how about your name. Say
your name."
"Mischief."
He clicked some more buttons in turn and when he held up
the recorder again this time the box spoke to me: 'All you do
is say something ... Anything ... Uh, how about your name ...
Say your name' ... 'Mischief...'
My eyes widened and I squealed with delight as I reached
for the box. Though it never left his hand, he let me touch
and examine it from all angles. Then the Detective sat down
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and pressed the buttons again. "We're going to record the
conversation, if that's all right with you?"
He looked at me questioningly, and it was horribly
startling. Oh, the masters here were so strange. Since I did
not protest, he continued on.
"That up there behind me," he thumbed over his shoulder
to another box up on the wall, its round glass eye pointed at
the table. "That's going to record us, too. Now, it's just a
formality. We do it to make sure that everything that what
gets said in here isn't accidentally distorted or turned around
or misunderstood later. Okay?"
I could hear the bustle of activities in the outer room, the
insistent ringing of the phones, the clamor of many voices
talking all at once. But in this room with me, all was suddenly
strained and quiet.
The Detective turned and looked up at the camera again,
then he leaned towards me. "Remember what I said outside?
You can have a lawyer, if you want one. But you're not in
trouble—"
He stopped when I nodded my head. I knew I was raising
the mountain of trouble I was already in just by arguing with
him.
"No, no," the Detective said emphatically. "You're not in
trouble with us at all. We want to ask you some questions is
all. But, um..." He looked back up at the camera and I looked
too. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but we
need to you say 'yes' or 'no' out loud so the box can hear
you. Okay?"
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Never had any master asked me so many questions. I
liked the Detective, but I could not imagine him at Judgment.
He was too weak-willed. "Yes, sir."
"Would you like to sit down?" the Detective asked,
gesturing to the chair.
"Yes, sir." I knelt on the floor. Though his face disappeared
from view, I could see his knees and was contented.
"Oh, for God's sake!" the mean detective snapped. "This is
a waste of time. Mischief, my ass. The woman's a mental
retard or a faker or something. Her pimp or her john did that
to her and she's acting nutty to get out of trouble."
"Shut up, Jim," the other detective—a blonde, tall man
with a paunchy belly—popped a toothpick in his mouth. He
pushed away from the wall and came to me, sliding a chair up
beside me. "Come on, honey. You don't have to sit on the
floor. Sit up here where the camera can see you."
He took my arm, trying to guide me to the chair, but I
pulled back. Shaking my head, I felt my eyes filling with tears
again. My chest heaved as I panted, fighting the panic rising
inside me. The blonde detective stopped pulling my arm
instantly and the Detective quickly came around the table to
me.
He touched my tussled hair. "No, no, you don't have to be
scared. We're not going to hurt you here. You're not allowed
to sit on chairs?" At the shake of my head, he just patted my
shoulder. "That's okay, we'll all just sit on the floor. How
about that, huh?"
There was a knock at the door and Jim went to answer it.
He took the envelope a woman passed through to him.
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"Are those the fingerprint results?" the Detective asked.
"Nope," Jim said, a frown marring his brow. "Nothing came
up on the computer. She hasn't been arrested before."
"Of course not," the Detective said with a grin to me. "We
got us a good girl here. Isn't that right?"
I didn't know how to answer. I could think of no way to tell
him just how disobedient and full of faults I was. My Master
was constantly forced to correct me because of them.
"Look at this," Jim said, passing a sheet of paper with a
picture on it to the Detective.
"Callie McGuire. Red hair. Green eyes. Five-foot-two.
Hundred and three pounds. Sounds about right."
"We got a match?" the blonde detective asked, reaching
for the paper. He looked at the photo, then at me. "What's up
with the computer? It couldn't give us a clearer picture than
this?"
"It didn't come off the computer," Jim said. "It came off
the fax. We sent her stats back East to missing persons in
case she wasn't local. They had to do some digging to come
up with this. Look at the date, gentlemen. Our little 'Mischief'
has been missing for more than ten years."
* * * *
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Master Shipe was a brawny man of perhaps thirty-five years. His face wore a constantly soured expression and he sported a scraggly beard because he loathed to shave. He was muscular, the hard lines of his arms bulging and rippling as he propelled himself aggressively through the halls with the aid of one crutch. Shipe had only one leg, the left being a mere stump that ended just above the knee. And though I later learned that he had a prosthetic, to date I have never seen him wear it.
An inspector of sorts, Shipe's sole job was to search our barracks, our beds, and our bodies for contraband or imperfections. He went about this task with frightening, single-minded purpose. His hawk eyes never missed a wrinkled bed, a disheveled uniform, or so much as a hair out of place. His favored implement was the switch. Wherever he went, there was always one within easy reach of him and he needed very little excuse to ply its sting to any unfortunate who happened to catch his eyes. He was, in fact, in the midst of this when Master Boyden brought me to him for a taste of Judgment's special brand of welcome.
Six women of varying ethnic groups were lined up against the wall of their barracks, hands flat against the stone, feet wide apart, the skirts of their too-short uniforms flipped up to reveal six naked, cringing bottoms in various states of woe.
Shipe was viciously at work on the third from the end, his switch barely glimpsed as it rose and fell so rapidly upon its still-as-stone target. The two bottoms that preceded his current victim were red and welted, and one quite bruised along the lower swells. The women themselves—impossible 57
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though it was for me to believe—made little sound at all. In fact, the only thing I heard was the whip of the implement slicing the air, the crisp, meaty impact, and the softest of grunts and gasps from the owner of the bottom he thrashed.
Three pairs of quivering buttocks that he had yet to get to, clenched nervously with each invigorating smack.
I don't know how that girl could remain standing there, so silent and so still, her only motion being the involuntary juddering of her bottom as the lissome switch bit into it. I hadn't held anywhere near that still.