Kingdom of Slaves

Chapter One

Chapter One

“I need to talk to someone.”

Kim Victor looked up from her typewriter at the voice, irritated at the interruption. She could feel the delicate threads of her last, unwritten sentence separating.

It was one of the girls from the back of the newsroom. Kim wasn’t sure what she did, obituaries or something. She was one of those invisible worker bees who speak to others only when their job requires it, go directly home at the end of the day, and make no lasting impression on those around them. Kim struggled to remember her name.

“I’m Charlene Weaver,” the girl offered helpfully. “You don’t know me; nobody does. I’ve never asked for help from anyone, but I need help now. I know you’re very busy right now, but could you come to my place tonight to talk?” The speech sounded rehearsed.

Kim looked skyward, as though seeking help from heaven, then flashed her famous “just kidding” grin and asked, “Why me?”

“I know, it’s not fair to ask.” Charlene looked down and started to turn away.

“Wait a minute,” Kim stopped her. This was a girl who expected rejection. She would have to be handled like an egg. “Where do you live?” she asked, wondering if it was concern or curiosity that prompted the question.

It was a small apartment, Spartan as a monk’s cell. Charlene’s personality had made no impact on the place. Kim sat in one of two living room chairs. Charlene knelt on a cushion at her feet, explaining cryptically that she was more comfortable that way. Kim had coffee. Charlene had none.

“I’m avoiding caffeine,” she said.

Kim looked at the girl on the floor, discovering that she was pretty. Somehow she had managed to go unnoticed by all those predatory males down at the Herald, or maybe they had noticed and her shyness had turned them away. Office romance seldom went unobserved, but Kim had never heard Charlene’s name mentioned by any of the office gossips.

She remembered how much of a stir her own break-up with Larry had caused. The stares of pity from her friends had been bad enough. The opportunists circling to offer her “comfort” had been worse.

Charlene stared at her own clasped hands as she spoke. Kim thought that she looked as though she were praying or confessing.

“I’m a very shy and submissive person in all ways. I don’t have many friends, and none of them are close. My father died when I was a child. My mother died last year. I’m alone most of the time. I had a brief affair with a married man about a year ago. The details of the affair are not important, but the man I was going with introduced me to a friend, and the friend told me about a place called Domain.”

“Domain?” Kim interrupted, her reporter’s instincts aroused.

“It’s a secret place, not a religious cult, but they’re jealous of their rituals there. I met one of their representatives, and he explained to me what Domain was about. After a time I asked to join them. I was interviewed and tested. When they were satisfied with me, I was given a month to put my affairs in order before going with them. I suppose they also wanted to give me time to change my mind.”

She shuddered slightly and muttered to herself.

“Excuse me?” Kim prompted. She was intrigued and longed to be able to take notes.

“I was going to be a Class A.”

“I don’t understand.”

Charlene shook her head. “I’ve told you too much already. Believe me, some things are better left secret. I know your reputation as a reporter. You won’t let go until you have the truth. That’s why your column is the first thing people read when they pick up the paper.”

“The second,” Kim amended, “they read the comics first.”

Charlene smiled, then sobered again. “I only told you about Domain so that you would understand my problem. I promised myself to these people. They were going to come for me on Saturday. Now I want to break that promise.”

“Why?”

Charlene put her hands to her mouth. It was the gesture of a child bursting to tell a happy secret. “I’m in love.”

“Aha!” Kim laughed. “Is it anyone I know?”

“No,” said Charlene quickly, “but you should. He’s a very special man. He seemed like an old friend the first time that we met. I never felt wanted and needed before. I realize now that I was looking for this when I promised myself to Domain. I had to belong somewhere.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound as though you need help making up your mind,” Kim laughed. “I don’t see that you have any problem at all.”

Charlene stared at the floor. “Only one, I feel it’s my duty to let Domain know I’ve decided not to come. My fiancée wants me to leave with him for Brazil on Thursday. I’ve no way to contact Domain. They are so careful with their privacy they wouldn’t even give me a phone number to call. Someone will be here to pick me up on Saturday, and I’ve no way of telling them not to come. I can’t just leave a note on the door. I’m afraid they may believe that I’ve betrayed them somehow.”

Kim said, “So the only way to handle it is for me to be here on Saturday morning to make apologies and explanations for you.”

Charlene nodded unhappily, “It’s too much to ask.”

Of course, Kim didn’t think it was.

***

Kim finished brushing her teeth, spat, and wiped her face with a towel, suddenly catching herself off guard in the mirror and really seeing herself as she was.

She was beautiful, but not vain, and usually glanced in the mirror only when grooming made it necessary. Now she looked hard, and tried to be objective about what she saw. Fresh from the shower, she was naked, innocent of makeup, which she had little use for anyway, and stark looking with her wet hair plastered tight to her skull. It looked dark now, but would dry to the color her mother called “dishwater blonde”, an unglamorous shade which never came in any bottle. It was glossy with good health, but cut short for the sake of convenience. Style and beauty were things she had never worked at. There was deodorant on her dressing table, but no perfume.

Yet the face that greeted her was striking, with fine features, high cheekbones, dimples when she smiled, and intelligent and determined blue eyes. She admitted to herself that she was probably not centerfold material. Her breasts were well formed, but not as heavy as most American men seemed to prefer. At five feet five, she lacked the long grace of a fashion model. She patted her hips and decided that losing five pounds would be a good idea—tomorrow.

Today she had to deliver a message and try to wheedle an interview out of some very secretive people. She still wasn’t sure how she would go about it, but asking questions was her business. She knew the world was full of people who were bursting to tell a secret or confess a sin. It was just a matter of finding the right trigger.

Dressing, she reflected that she would be twenty five in two weeks, and wondered uneasily at what age a woman might begin to consider herself a spinster. Only last month she had seen the last of her college friends married off. This latest wedding had been a particularly bitter experience. She and the bride had been roommates at school, and had tumbled into bed together one night after splitting a bottle of wine. The next morning, they rose and dressed without looking at each other, and by unspoken agreement neither of them ever mentioned the incident. At the wedding, there had been an awkward moment when Kim kissed the bride to congratulate her and saw her blush at an unwelcome memory.

Kim wondered if she was one of those closet lesbians who don’t discover their true nature until late in life. There had been no man in her heart since her breakup with Larry months ago. She wasn’t even looking right now; the bitterness of their parting had left her gun shy.

It was Charlene Weaver, or Kim’s envy of her, which conjured these thoughts. Charlene had found Prince Charming. Kim wondered if she would ever meet a mysterious stranger who would whisk her away to a magical place.

After dressing, Kim paused for a moment at the door to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, and found herself examining her apartment with the same critical eye she had used on herself. It was only slightly less Spartan than Charlene’s, furnished for utility rather than beauty. Only an overloaded bookcase and a few cheap prints on the walls told anything about the personality of the girl who lived there. Later she would wonder if it was a premonition that made her stand looking at the room for a moment before she locked the door.

She walked to Charlene’s apartment. It was a beautiful autumn day, the distance was not great, and the neighborhood was safe.

She unlocked the door with the key Charlene had given her and left it open. The apartment was bare now; not even a chair remained. Kim sat on the floor with her purse on her lap, all her movements echoing in the emptiness. She wished she had thought to bring a recorder. She had a thousand unanswered questions. Where was Domain? Who lived there? What did they do that had to be kept secret?

She knew that secret societies usually centered on politics, religion, or s*x. Charlene had told her it wasn’t a religious cult. That left politics or s*x, or a mixture of the two. Maybe it was a genetic breeding farm, selecting its human stock carefully and pairing them by bloodlines. Naturally, the first reporter on the scene would resurrect memories of Nazi Germany and twist the facts for maximum shock effect. The fear of that sort of misunderstanding would make them publicity shy.

Maybe it was a fiefdom of some kind. The name Domain inspired thoughts of the Middle Ages. Maybe someone was being deliberately atavistic like the Pennsylvania Dutch. Were the woods full of people in tin suits, sharpening their broadswords for the next crusade?

Kim looked up and saw two men standing in the doorway.

“Are you Charlene Weaver?” one of them asked her.

Kim stood up, clutching her purse. She hadn’t planned what she was going to say, but with the moment upon her the words came easily.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s my name.”