Memphis Run

Chapter Ten

“Damn!” General Thayer muttered. “Not again.”

“So what have we here General?” demanded the sole occupant of the chamber in a high-pitched voice.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, standing on Thayer’s right, scrutinized the spacious room, taking his bearings. A huge chandelier supplied ample lighting. All four walls were covered with large, colorful posters of men and women, some singly, others as part of a group, and the majority were playing musical instruments. The musicians displayed a preference for black leather clothing. A soft, thick green carpet covered the floor. In the middle of the chamber a dais had been erected, a circular platform consisting of four polished mahogany steps and a magnificent gilded throne.

“Don’t be bashful, my dear Thayer,” said the man seated on the throne.

“Come. Come.” He gestured, beckoning them to approach.

“I don’t believe it,” Sergeant Boynton exclaimed softly.

Rikki was likewise surprised, and he studied the man as he advanced.

The King was a model of contrasts. On the one hand, he was a strapping, muscular man well over six and a half feet tall, with short black hair, a trimmed mustache, and a Vandyke beard. On the other, he was wearing totally incongruous attire: red, spiked, high-healed shoes; black, fishnet stockings; and a lacy, slinky red dress. Thanks to excessive makeup, his lips were a bright red, his cheeks pink.

General Thayer halted at the base of the dais and saluted. “We have a prisoner for you, sir.”

“So I see,” the King stated, resting his chin in his right hand and inspecting the Warrior. “Where did you find him?”

“We were on a routine patrol southeast of the city,” General Thayer detailed. “He walked into an ambush we set.”

The King smiled at Rikki. “You’re a bit on the small side, but maybe you’re big where it counts,” he said, and winked.

Rikki, for one of the very few times in his entire life, was dumbfounded.

“Was he alone?” the King asked.

“No, sir. There were two men and a child, a girl, with him,” General Thayer answered.

His forehead creasing, the King made a show of looking around the Throne Room. “How odd. I don’t see any of them.”

“They escaped,” General Thayer said sheepishly.

The King suddenly straightened, his green eyes locked on the Spartan.

“Oh? Such inefficiency is inexcusable.”

“I know,” General Thayer admitted.

“Did we sustain any casualties?”

General Thayer mumbled a response.

The King leaned forward. “I’m sorry. My hearing must be going. I didn’t catch that.”

Thayer squared his shoulders and looked up. “Yes, sir. We lost twenty-nine men.”

Rikki saw the King’s face flush scarlet, and for several seconds it appeared as if the King was about to explode. Instead, the ruler’s eyes narrowed and he spoke icily.

“Twenty-nine?”

“Yes, sir,” General Thayer said. “But don’t worry. I’ve sent a platoon to deal with the other two men and the girl.”

“Why should I worry, my darling general?” the King asked. “Just because three years of hard labor were required to muster one hundred and twenty volunteers into my army? Just because, in one day, in one fight with three men and a child, you have succeeded in allowing almost one-fourth of the Hounds to be wiped out? Is that sufficient cause to worry?”

General Thayer did not respond.

The King rose slowly, his fists clenched. “I’ll worry if I damn well want to worry!” he snapped. “I will not allow my timetable to be disrupted by your carelessness!”

Thayer stared at the floor.

“Look at me!” the King bellowed.

The Spartan complied.

“When I appointed you as my commander in chief, I assumed I was appointing a man of competence. After all, you were a highly ranked official in Sparta.” The King paused, glowering. “I even overlooked the report of your breach of Spartan discipline. And what do I get for my compassion? An incompetent who can’t defeat three men and a little girl!”

“They’re the ones from St. Louis,” General Thayer declared.

“What?”

“The pair we heard about,” General Thayer said quickly. “The two who beat the Leather Knights. This is one of them.”

Cocking his head, the King scrutinized Rikki. “He is? Why didn’t you say so before?” He descended the dais to the bottom step and stood in front of the Warrior. “You don’t strike me as being very formidable.”

“He is, sir. Take my word for it,” General Thayer said.

“What’s your name?” the King demanded.

“Rikki,” the martial artist answered.

“And where are you from?”

Rikki kept silent.

“He won’t tell us a thing, sir,” Thayer stated.

Rikki gazed at the bushy black hairs bristling over the King’s chest and protruding from the top of the red dress, his features impassive.

The King unexpectedly smiled. “There’s no need to be obstinate with me, little man. We can be friends.” He reached out and traced his right forefinger along the Warrior’s chin.

And Rikki suddenly understood an earlier comment by General Thayer:

“The Hounds bring one of the locals here, and the King, as he likes to put it, vents his biological urges. The type depends on his mood.” The type depends on his mood.

“If you’ve fought the Leather Knights, then your enemies are my enemies,” the King was saying. “The Knights have been a thorn in my side for too long. I intend to bring them to their knees. We can work together.”

“No,” Rikki said.

The King blinked rapidly in disbelief. “No?”

“No.”

“You’re refusing my generous offer before I’ve fully explained my terms?” the King snapped.

“I will not assist you,” Rikki stated.

“But the Knights are your enemies,” the King reiterated.

“You’re mistaken,” Rikki informed him.

The King placed his hands on his hips. “You have fought them before, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Rikki responded. “But one fight does not mean they’re my enemies. Temporary adversaries, would be more like it. The perfecting swordmaster embraces everyone in friendship, unless he is greeted with hostility. The Leather Knights were once my foes, but they might receive me cordially were I to pay St. Louis a visit now.”

Grinning broadly, the King gazed at Rikki in amazement. “The perfecting swordmaster—!” he said, and laughed heartily.

“I’ve never seen anyone use a sword like he does,” General Thayer commented.

The King glanced at the general’s right side. “Is that his sword?”

“Yes, sir.”

With an imperial air, the King extended his left hand.

General Thayer drew the gleaming katana and gave the sword to the ruler.

“Superb. Simply superb,” the King remarked, hefting the katana. “Such intricate craftsmanship. Where did you obtain this?”

“It was bequeathed to me by those I’m pledged to protect,” Rikki detailed.

“And who, pray tell, might they be?”

“I cannot say.”

“There are ways of forcing you to talk,” the King said. He pointed at a door in the center of the right-hand wall. “The Dark Lord can extract the information.” He paused and smirked. “Have you heard about the Dark Lord?”

“Yes,” Rikki acknowledged.

The King studied the Warrior for over a minute, and his smirk vanished. “You are different than most men. I don’t detect any fear in your eyes.”

“Fear is a delusion,” Rikki said. “To one with faith, there can be no fear.”

“Faith?” the King repeated, snickering. “Whose faith? Yours or mine? Faith in what? In a god or in the workings of nature?”

“Faith in the Spirit.”

The King pursed his red lips. “You intrigue me, little man. I find you to be a pleasant diversion from the drudgery of greatness. I want to know you better.”

“I request to be released,” Rikki said. “I am traveling through this territory in peace. Your men attacked me without provocation.”

“You were caught in my territory,” the King declared. “Accordingly, you are subject to my will. I’ll decide your fate.”

“I must warn you,” Rikki mentioned. “I will escape, and more of your men may be harmed. You can prevent further bloodshed by setting me free.” He paused. “If you don’t release me, you also risk the wrath of my friends. They’ll come after me, and if they arrive in Memphis while I am still in your custody, they’ll slay everyone who stands in their way.”

“Should I tremble now or later?” the King quipped.

General Thayer looked at the Warrior with a worried expression. “My platoon will stop your friends.”

“What will be, will be,” Rikki said enigmatically.

The King returned the katana to the Spartan. “I want my guard doubled as an added precaution.” He gazed at the small man, trying to read Rikki’s stolid countenance. “Not that I believe you, you understand, little man?”

“Your reign will be a short one,” Rikki predicted.

“Now who’s mistaken?” the King asked, ascending slowly to his throne.

He seated himself with a flourish, clasping his hands in his lap. “My reign will last for decades, and I will be remembered as a great conqueror.

Alexander the Great. Attila the Hun. And myself, Aloysius the First. Future historians will rank us as the three mightiest military men of all time.”

“Your name is Aloysius?” Rikki queried.

“Aloysius is the name I have chosen, and none is more fitting. Do you know what it means?”

“No,” Rikki admitted.

“I chose the name after my vision, and my name, like my presence, is sacred.”

“Vision?” Rikki said.

Aloysius the First settled in his throne. “Over three years ago the vision came to me. At the time I was a lowly scavenger, a nameless vagabond like so many inconsequential others. I didn’t even know the identities of my father and mother.” He stared at the chandelier. “And then, late one night, after I took the acid, while I was tripping, the vision came to me and opened my mind.”

“What is acid?” Rikki inquired.

“You’ve never used acid? LSD?”

“No,” Rikki said.

“You must be from the moon,” Aloysius commented sarcastically.

“Everyone knows what acid is. It’s a drug, a hallucinogenic. Have you ever used any drugs?”

“I’ve used herbs,” Rikki said. “Our Healers administer them to remedy illness.”

“Herbs?” The King snickered. “Acid isn’t an herb, little man. Acid is a potent psychedelic, like mescaline. I’ve used both many times. But I never saw a vision like the one I had that night.” He smiled, his voice lowering.

“I saw my destiny revealed. I saw myself as the ruler of the world. I saw myself on a throne just like this one I had built, and every person on the planet was bowing at my feet, hailing me as their undisputed ruler.” He looked at the Warrior. “What do you think of that?”

Rikki couldn’t resist the opening. “Does the word insane mean anything to you?”

General Thayer tensed, taking an audible breath.

Sergeant Boynton glanced at the martial artist in dread.

To their surprise, Aloysius the First grinned. “I would expect such a reaction from someone with your limited mentality. How could you possibly comprehend my magnificence? I always knew, deep down, that I was special, that there was a higher destiny in store for me. And now, thanks to my vision, I am claiming my heritage.”

Rikki looked at General Thayer. “And you serve this madman?”

Aloysius cackled. “Mad, am I? You pitiful moron. In three years I’ve accomplished the impossible. Look around you. Once this was an empty, abandoned mansion, but under my direction this estate has been restored to its former grandeur. I took the rabble of Memphis and transformed them into an unstoppable army—”

“I thought General Thayer trained your men,” Rikki interjected.

“And who selected the good general as commander in chief?” the King demanded. “I did! I now control everything within fifty miles of my capital. In six months I’ll control one hundred miles. In a year the Midwest will be mine.”

“Never happen,” Rikki said.

“Why not?”

“The Leather Knights and the Technics, to mention just two factions, will oppose you, and both outnumber your army. Then there’s the Russians, the Freedom Federation—”

“The Knights and the Technics outnumber me now, but not for long. As for the Russians, they have their hands full governing the territory they took during the war. They won’t interfere with me until it’s too late.”

Aloysius leaned forward. “What do you know about the Freedom Federation?”

“The Federation is stronger than the Knights, the Technics, and your Hounds combined. They’ll stop you if no one else does.”

“You think so? Let’s see how smart you are.” The King paused. “I’m not as ignorant as you seem to believe. I know there are different groups in control of certain cities or areas, and I’ve heard stories concerning the Federation. Yes, I face stiff opposition. But it will all crumble before an army over a million strong.”

“A million?”

“Yes,” Aloysius the First declared, his eyes radiating a maniacal sparkle.

“The first three years have proceeded slowly, because I’ve had to consolidate my forces and selectively pick my targets. We’ve wiped out dozens of small communities and towns, and we’ve defeated Technic and Leather Knight patrols. The word is spreading about us. More men have flocked to my banner in the past three months than in the previous years.

And why? Because I’m taking my recruits from the largest group of people in the Outlands, the scavengers.”

Rikki’s brow creased as he contemplated the implications.

“I’m no fool, swordmaster. Sure, there are a few areas already under the control of one group or another, but there is more land not under any control whatsoever. The Outlands embrace more territory than the controlled lands. And who lives in the Outlands? The outcasts, the nomads, the looters and raiders, the scavengers. There are millions of them. Millions!”

The madman spoke the truth. Rikki gazed at the King with dawning insight. A Family Elder had once calculated there were three to four million people living in the Outlands, some living in farming or mining communities, but the vast majority homeless wanderers who roamed the land preying on anyone and anything.

“I can see you’re beginning to appreciate my vision,” Aloysius said, noting the Warrior’s change in expression. “If I can gather the scavengers to my banner, there will be no stopping me. The Hounds of Hades will sweep over the land like a horde of locusts, devouring everyone stupid enough to resist me. The word is spreading, even as we speak. I’ve sent messengers out to the farthest corners of the Outlands, bidding every able-bodied scavenger to enlist in my army, promising them a share in the spoils. They’ll be flocking in from all over.” He smirked. “Do you still think I’m an idiot, swordmaster?”

“There is a method to your madness,” Rikki conceded.

“Genius has often been labeled insanity by the simple masses.”

“Backing up a bit,” Rikki said, “there’s something puzzling me.”

“What?”

“You say that your name, like your presence, is sacred?”

“Nobility is deserving of veneration,” Aloysius the First declared, “especially when the nobility borders on divinity.”

“You consider yourself divine?”

The King straightened. “Once my destiny is manifest, everyone will recognize the truth.”

“But if you’re divine, what does that make the Dark Lord?” Rikki asked.

“I’m the Dark Lord’s chosen disciple. I’m the anointed one,” Aloysius said.

“Do you take your orders from the Dark Lord?”

The King scowled. “I take orders from no one. You might conceive of the Dark Lord as my advisor and executioner, responsible for terminating those who would besmirch my dignity.”

“But the Dark Lord is not omnipotent,” Rikki observed. “He only kills one victim at a time.”

“One is enough,” Aloysius the First stated, and stared at the door in the right-hand wall. “I’ll tell you what. Since you’re so curious about the Dark Lord, it’s fitting that you meet him.” He stood and motioned at General Thayer. “Bring the swordmaster. I want to see if his courage is a facade.”

The madman laughed at some private joke.

And Rikki suddenly recalled another statement General Thayer had made: “The important thing to remember is that if the King takes you in to meet the Dark Lord, you’ll never come out again.”