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Barb goes BATS

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messaline said:
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Mmm Delacroix, j’adore :enamorado:
 
Barbaria1 said:
14.

Bound by our wrists to the back of a cart, @Kathy, @messaline and I were led through the streets of Cruxton town on our way to the gaol. We were bared to the waist, as the Countess @Wragg had insisted that she would not stand for any of her servant staff being driven from the manor stark naked. For the sake of decency she made sure we were given skirts to wear before we departed.

“Otherwise, what would people say?” she had pronounced with a shudder. “We must keep up appearances!”

And so we trudged along, with @Harsh Martinet and @Loxuru, who were brandishing whips and felt it their duty to see that we moved along briskly, applying them liberally to our backsides whenever we faltered.

Although night was falling and it was well after curfew, the rattle of cart wheels on cobblestone pavements, along with the steady crack and zing of whips, punctuated by our gasps and cries, were sufficient to attract plenty of attention. Windows were thrown open as we passed so that the good folk of Cruxton could lean out, take in the scene and offer their jeers and taunts.

Our route took us for a distance along the town’s high street, and then through a welter of lanes and back-ways until we reached the very edge of town, for we were not directly headed for the town gaol. Martinet and the Graf had been ordered to detour by way of the Vicarage, where they were to take the Vicar’s Scottish altar girl, @Eulalia, into their custody.

Just before we left the high street we were joined by the good Vicar, @Praefectus Praetorio, who had caught up with us after remaining behind to pay his respects and bid adieu to the Countess Wragg. He was needed, of course, to direct us to the Vicarage. And given that none of us had ever set foot near, much less within, the premises, he decided to regale us, between stinging lashes, with a quick history of the place.

“The Vicarage of Cruxton stands on glebe land first gifted to the church by Baron Raoul de Wragg, seigneur de Conches-en-Ouche, companion of William the Conqueror,” he explained proudly. “The first Norman Vicarage of rude stone construction was completed in 1072 and sited near the arched and vaulted Norman church. The site remained the same through seven centuries, though the parsonage was rebuilt more than once.”

“Amazing!” said Kathy, hoping to win favor by acting impressed.

“In France, every stately house is older than that!” sniffed Messaline indifferently

“Owww!” I cried as Martinet and Loxoru delivered a double lashing to my back.

“The house as you soon will see,” continued the Vicar with unabashed pride, “is a symmetrical, three-story edifice of red brick with a grand, ivy-covered entrance.”

And indeed it was exactly as he described. I craned my neck to look up at the pretentious facade that towered over us as we pulled up to the entrance, while doing my best to ignore Kathy’s yelps and shrieks as she took three harshly applied lashes for meandering off the gravel drive and stepping on to the immaculately manicured lawn.

“In France, the clergy … they do not live so outwardly as Kings …” commented Messaline with a haughty huff and a toss of her blond tresses.

“Punish her for that, if you would, please,” snapped the Vicar peevishly.

“Of course,” said Martinet, applying the lash vigorously.

His honor assuaged, the good Vicar invited us all inside. Martinet and Loxoru exchanged quizzical glances, but decided that they must do as they were told. So we were freed from the cart and ushered, huddled together, into the entrance hall, which was impressively quarried with black and white marble and simply paneled. On the walls were dozens of portraits of prior vicars, all managing a look of holy disdain and condescension. In the corner was a fine piece of cabinetwork … a triangular cupboard in dark mahogany, with carved doors and drawers with inlays of light wood … which Messaline promptly declared to be of inferior quality compared to those she had seen in France.

But the Vicar wished to direct our attention to the right, off the entry, where a narrow wooden staircase wound its way up to the servants' quarters in the attic, just under the eaves.

“There we’ll find my altar girl, Eulalia,” instructed the Vicar, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But given the time it takes for these old bones to ascend those steep stairs, it would be best if you fellows would go up and get her. You’ll find her at the end of the low, narrow passage leading off from the landing, locked in a tiny room behind a heavy oak door secured by a massive padlock. Here are the keys.”

“Why more than one key?” replied Loxoru quizzically.

“Yes, yes. You’ll need a second key as I left her chained naked to her bed this morning after administering her daily caning and before leaving to pay my daily regards to the Countess at Cruxton Abbey. The girl submitted almost gratefully to her thrashing and probably doesn’t pose a flight risk. But one never can be to careful, you know, especially given her recent penchant for ritualistic occult behaviors.”

“Right, leave it to us. We’ll bring her down straight away,” called Martinet, already half way up the staircase with Loxoru clumping along not far behind him. “You watch the others, Vicar. And keep a very close eye on them. They’re all witches you know!”

TBC
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Late to this chapter, sorry Barb.

"... We were bared to the waist, as the Countess @Wragg had insisted that she would not stand for any of her servant staff being driven from the manor stark naked ..." - how very considerate of the good Countess ...
 
15.

The Vicar @Praefectus Praetorio, @Kathy, @messaline and I watched and listened from below in the entry hall as @Harsh Martinet and @Loxuru found there way to the small room at the very end of the Vicarage’s cramped attic-level servants’ quarters where the Vicar had confined his Scottish altar girl, @Eulalia.

At first, all we heard was a great deal of fumbling and cursing. Then Loxoru reappeared at the top of the stairs to announce that there was insufficient light up there to see what they were doing.

The Vicar told the Graf to wait while he found some tapers. He disappeared momentarily, and could be heard rustling about somewhere within. When he reappeared, he thrust two lit candles into my hands, which were still bound at the wrists, and said, “Take these upstairs and help out!”

I did as I was told, ascending the narrow stairs awkwardly, given the restricting shackles and chains on my ankles, but managed the climb successfully. From there I followed Loxoru to the end of the narrow corridor.

As the men unlocked the heavy door and entered the space beyond, they were glad for the lit tapers that I held high. I followed them into a tiny, windowless cell, the air very close and very chill. The only objects in that small space was a rough-hewn frame with metal slats and neither mattress nor straw and a small wooden wardrobe. Curled up on the hard surface of the bed frame was a naked girl, a heavy iron manacle on her right ankle, attached in turn by a short length of iron chain, to a corner of the frame.

She sat up suddenly as they entered, her eyes blinded from the light of the candles after the time spent in the pitch dark. When she could make out the men, a look of terror came on her face, and she cried, “Who be ye? Wharen's my master?"

They laughed at the question and Martinet, stooping to unlock her ankle, scoffed. “If you mean the Vicar, he’s downstairs waiting. He sent us for you. He has condemned you as a witch! Now come along peaceful girl, or we’ll have to hurt you.”

“And we wouldn’t mind doing that either, witch,” Loxoru warned as he grabbed what looked like a broom head of straw from her hands and threw it to the corner.

“Nae. My Weeker Man!” she cried, trying to recover the object.

"I warned you," growled Martinet, as he drove his fist into her flat tummy, driving out her breath and doubling her over. "Leave you evil tokens behind. You're bound to burn, witch."

They each grabbed an arm and shoving me roughly aside, dragged the girl out the door and down the hall to the wooden stair.

I remained behind for a moment, wondering what to do. I hesitated to follow as she was making quite a ruckus, howling like a banshee, promising shrilly that someone would die.

Wondering whether I might just remain where I was and trust that no one might notice, I backed deeper into the room. I could hear the Vicar trying to calm her … as well as the threats shouted out by Martinet and Loxoru.

And then it happened. As I retreated over the warped and loosened floorboards, I lost my footing, stumbled backwards and landed hard on my tight little. Both candles went flying. One skidded across the floor, coming to rest against a wall near where Eulalia’s straw wicker man had come to rest after being taken from her. The straw caught fire and flared up to ignite the torn and peeling paper coverings on the wall above. Meanwhile the other candle which had flown straight into the wardrobe, had started a sudden conflagration among the articles of clothing dumped within.

I screamed in terror, struggled to my feet and hobbled towards the open doorway as fast as my shackled ankles would allow, reaching safety just as the entire room, the air within it pregnant with dust, combusted with a mighty roar into a flaming inferno.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I yelled “Fire!”, although quite unnecessarily so as the others, all standing below, we’re looking straight at me, their upturned faces, illuminated in the glow of the flames, registering their shock.

All except Eulalia, that is, whose eyes were screwed shut in intense concentration. Her arms were held high, hands and fingers crossed. I stared at her in disbelief. She looked as though she had just summoned up from somewhere deep within her tormented soul, the very dark powers needed to conjure up the unfolding disaster … and indeed, she probably had!

TBC
 
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Wow! What a great chapter and unexpected turn of events. I am trembling with fear and anticipation of the horror to come next. I hope and pray it turns out OK. Will the vicar save all those portraits of his predecessors?? Imagine the tragic loss! And damage to that beautiful vicarage. What a crime against nature!
Oh. And the witches still need to be burned.
 
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It would be a tragedy if these witches were accidentally burned to death before they could be properly burned to death! Great chapter @Barbaria1 , marred only by the inexplicable absence of the dashingly sexy and extravagantly intelligent magistrate known as Montycrusto., ;)
 
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