Ever After Chapter 5

THE PRISONERS

I.

There was a fight, of course. They couldn't be expected to give up without a fight. Fred held Steed at bay with the machine gun pistol while Emma Peel attacked Tara King. They exchanged karate strikes and blocks, then Emma delivered a blow a bit too slowly and Tara King grabbed and twisted her arm behind her back, tripping her simultaneously face first down onto the floor. A karate chop to the neck and Emma Peel lay still. Steed started to rise but Fred lifted the machine gun pistol menacingly and he subsided back into his seat, giving his best insouciant look.

Tara King stood up, her face glowing triumphantly as she gazed from Fred to Steed.

''Youth over age every time,'' Fred said.

Good thing Emma was unconscious, Steed thought.

''What happens now?'' he demanded. Tara King peered into her handbag - a large, white, squat leather bag which looked as if it were about to sprout arms and start grabbing things, and removed two pairs of handcuffs. She knelt and applied one pair to the wrists of Emma Peel. Then she began patting Emma down, found the walkie talkie in her jacket pocket and removed it. She rolled Emma over and completed the search, finding the gun which had been tucked into the waist band of her trousers. She held it up to Steed. ''So she thought she could defeat me without using her gun? Self-confidence goes before a fall, eh, Mister Steed?

''So I've heard,'' Steed said with a chagrined smile.

Tara King took the machine gun pistol from Fred, and held it to the head of Emma Peel. ''Let Steed...my Steed, put the handcuffs on you.''

Steed rose to his feet and put his hands behind his back, allowing Fred to cinch them together tightly. Then Fred searched him, and found the walkie talkie in his jacket pocket.

They were remarkably lax, Steed thought, as Tara King brought a pitcher of water and poured it over Emma Peel, causing her to sit up gasping. They'd searched them superficially, but they hadn't examined the soles of their shoes, his belt, things like that...didn't they read Modesty Blaise or watch James Bond movies?

Tara waved the machine gun pistol at them. ''Parked behind Steed's Bentley is my car. Get into it.''

''Where are we going?'' demanded Steed.

''To the Village.''

''You can't let Mrs. Peel go like that,'' Steed objected, nodding at her wet hair and face as she gave him a Peelish look.

''She'd draw attention without even trying,'' Fred told Tara King.

Tara brought out a towel from the lav and wiped Mrs. Peel's face and hair. Emma gave her a Peelish look as well.

They were herded out into Tara King's car and placed in the back seat. Fred drove, with Tara King right beside them. Tara flashed the machine gun pistol at them. ''Any attempt to escape, Steed, and Mrs. Peel will suffer for it. And vice versa, Mrs. Peel.''

Steed and Emma Peel exchanged glances. Emma Peel closed one eye in a wink. Steed's head inclined unobtrusively to anyone except Mrs. Peel.

When Tara King looked back at them via the rear view mirror, which she did frequently, she found Steed with his eyes closed, and Emma Peel snuggled close to him, with her head against his shoulder. Tara King's lips would curve in a triumphant smile. They were defeated...she had defeated them.

Far behind, a car...not a white van but a hastily traded-for, much more unobtrusive car, followed them.

II.

''Shouldn't we be blindfolded?'' John Steed said, a couple of hours later.

Tara King turned to face them, smiling her triumphant smile once again. ''It's not necessary,'' she said smugly. ''You won't be leaving. No one escapes from the Village.''

''You're very confident,'' Emma Peel said.

''The Village has been in existence for five years, Mrs. Peel, and no one has ever escaped. No one ever wants to escape. You won't want to, either. All of your wants and needs are cared for. All of your desires are met. It's a paradise.''

''From which we can never leave.''

''Well, if you're going to look for a down side...there'll be no pleasing you.''

They were driving down a long road between two Welsh mountains. The road seemed to go down and down...and down and down...until it swallowed them up and they were driving through darkness. The car came to a halt, and they were suddenly surrounded by men dressed in white form-fitting suits. Steed and Emma were unceremoniously dragged from the car.

''Good-bye, Steed, Mrs. Peel,'' said Dr. Tara King.

III

''What a quaint village,'' observed Emma Peel. She was walking arm and arm with John Steed down the gently rolling pathways of the village, with its quaint gingerboard houses, its seemingly pastoral simplicity...the men and women all dressed in the same outfits - men in black shirt and slacks, women in white dresses and carrying sun parasols.

''It will drive me crazy in a week,'' Steed said out of the side of his mouth.

''That's undoubtedly their plan.'' Emma sided back to him.

Steed paused and addressed himself to the lighting of a cigar.

''How many days are we going to give them?'' she asked as he attempted to blow a smoke ring.

''None at all. I say we make our move tonight.''

'''Tonight?'' Emma nodded. ''Audacious, Steed.''

He smiled and blew one smoke ring inside another. ''They'll expect us to wait a day or two, to feel our way around and get the lay of the land. They'll also be expecting us to be trying to get out.''

''As opposed to taking over the asylum with the help of the inmates? I don't know if that's going to be possible, Steed. Everyone here looks pretty contented.''

''Bunch of sheep,'' Steed said disparagingly.

Emma glanced around, twirling her parasol. ''Except for that man...there.''

Steed casually glanced in the direction that her parasol was twirling, and as casually glanced away. He saw a tall, brooding man standing on the edge of a gigantic chessboard, contemplating the game..a loner - the only person they'd seen who was not with someone else...a man whom he recognized. ''It's John Drake. He died, a year ago.''

''Time to bring him back to life, then.''

John Drake turned around. He was tall, an inch or so taller than Steed, with a lankier build. Brown hair cut short, face handsome in a gaunt sort of way, eyes angry. He stared at them for long seconds. Then he turned and walked away.

IV.

John Steed gazed downward with eagle eyes, searching, probing...finding. Ah, there was another straight-edged piece. He picked it up and fit it into the border he was building. ''Ever read 1984, Mrs. Peel?'' he asked, quietly. It was hard to hear, over the loud jazz music on the Victrola, but Steed and Emma Peel were so attuned to each other's voices that they had no problem.

Emma Peel was sorting through the pile of pieces, separating out those with matching colors. They were busy working on a jigsaw puzzle featuring a fantasy golf links.

''Years ago, Steed,'' she said, absently, using her long fingers to turn over piece after piece. ''I was never impressed with it. Orwell wasn't much of a science fiction writer, in my opinion. And it was boring.''

''Quite...but I was thinking more along the lines of the surveillance in the book. Big Brother is watching you.''

They turned to look at the big screen television set behind them. Although it was switched off, one button on it glowed red. Was it watching them?

''How many residents would you say this Village has?'' asked Emma.

''About...two hundred,'' Steed said, musingly, pouncing on another piece.

''And there can't be two hundred...watchers...watching them.''

''You wouldn't think so. Surely there couldn't even be one hundred watchers...watching them.''

''Ye-es.'' Steed glanced at the big black box again. ''I envision a rack of television sets, with cameras alternating between each one.''

''Hard on the neck, looking up and down all those television sets every few seconds,'' Emma commented, discarding one piece she'd been trying to fit into another with a sigh and moving on. ''And sound.'' she continued. ''Hard on the ears, listening to a jumble of hundreds of people talking to each other.''

''But at night, that changes.'' said Steed. ''Everyone is supposed to be asleep, and nobody's talking. The watchers have it easy. They see someone moving, they hear someone talking, and they set off an alarm. Nights are not our friends.''

Emma glanced out at the sunset. ''So what are you saying? We're not going to wait for the witching hour of midnight?''

Steed fit a final piece into place, and the border was complete. ''No time like the present, Mrs. Peel.''

They stood up as one. Steed held the front door open for her and they went out into the fresh air.

''Going somewhere?'' asked John Drake.

IV.

The next morning Emma Peel and John Steed slept late and awoke betimes.

Waves of sunlight poured in through the open windows, rolling over the furniture and saturating them with warmth.

Then came the voices. Murmurs of discontent.

Steed rolled out of bed and padded to a window. He stood to one side, peering out cautiously. All of the inhabitants of the Village seemed to be out in the streets, looking around, lost as sheep.

''The natives are getting restless,'' he told Mrs. Peel.

Emma propped several pillows behind her back and sat up comfortably, looking as smug and as satisfied as an oriental potenate. ''They're missing their television in the morning.''

''No radios, no television, no electric can openers, no cooking,'' said Steed. ''Which reminds me, I'm hungry.''

''Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Steed. And tepid water.''

Steed sighed.

Among other things, they had spent the night before in snipping away at the electrical system of the Village. It was now quite dead.

Steed glanced out of the window again. ''Uh oh,'' he said.''

''What's the matter?''

''A mob seems to be forming. And they're not heading our way.''

''How silly of them.''

There was a rustle of silk and Emma joined him at the window. Steed was right.

''They're going to John Drake's,'' Steed snapped. ''He's the only discontented one here, and they know it. They think he's done this on his own.''

''We'd better get dressed for action,'' Emma replied, whirling away from the window.

III.

There were bicycles in the Village. Old fashioned bicycles, the kind with a very large front wheel and a very small rear wheel. Several of those bicycles had been cannibalized and now Steed and Emma rode down the streets on fast bikes, the kind with which you could really get some speed up if you needed to.

They rode past John Drake's house, and paused. ''It's like a scene out of Frankenstein,'' Emma said sadly. ''I'm surprised they don't have pitchforks and flaming torches with them.''

A mob was milling around Drake's house, but they had not yet acquired the courage to go in after their quarry. They were working themselves up to it, however. Steed and Emma exchanged glances, in essence saying, 'leave them,' and then pedaled on. They made for the high ground.

There was only one 'high ground' around the pastoral village. Now it contained a stack of wood laid out as a bonfire. John Drake had never returned to his house but had spent the rest of the night creating it. Emma and Steed biked up to it and dismounted. John Drake appeared, none the worse for wear for having spent the entire night out in the open.

''They're bound to come up here sooner or later,'' Drake said in his abrupt manner.

Steed looked at his watch. ''Noon. We have to hold out until noon.''

''Why so sure it will be noon?''

Steed shrugged. ''Noon. Midnight. Those are the times when Things Happen.''

It was all too easy, thought John Drake, as his eagle eyes were the first to see the dot on the horizon. He nudged Steed and then pointed to it. Steed nodded and looked at his watch. Good old Mrs. Gale. You could always depend on her in a crisis. But it was too easy, thought Drake. For two years he'd struggled to leave this place, and never succeeded. And now...just like that...a helicopter was coming over the horizon. And here they were, just waiting for it. He hid his face in his hands for a second or two. Hope was springing within him, and he was all too familiar with that old story, of a man imprisoned by the Inquisition. He too thought he'd been about to escape, and just as he'd breathed freedom's sweet air, the Inquisitor had appeared and drawn him back, deliberately crushing all hope at that penultimate moment. Could it happen this time as well?

The helicopter was closer now, and they could hear the steady beat of its rotors. Drake lit the bonfire. ''That will bring them coming,'' he commented.

Steed and Emma nodded. ''Only to be expected that we'd have to fight a few people before we made our escape,'' Steed said. ''That's the way of things.''

''The people I want to fight are at 3 Stable Mews,'' Emma said coldly.

Steed nodded. ''We'll be taking care of them next. No holds barred, this time.''

It happened very fast. The helicopter, a huge one, swooped in. It landed right beside them on the hilltop. There was a woman piloting it. Mrs. Catherine Gale, Drake deduced. They piled into the rear and Mrs. Gale took off again, sweeping the helicopter into a wide arc and returning the way she came. The madmen of the Village were still a hundred yards away from the top of the hilltop as they passed over them.

Drake looked at his hands. He took a deep breath. ''Rather anticlimactic,'' he said, hoarsely. ''But, God, how good it feels.''

IV.

Cathy Gale dropped them off at a small county airport nearest London, and then took off to return the helicopter to whomever she'd borrowed it from. John Drake offered to come with them to 3 Stable Mews, but Steed declined with thanks. ''This is something just between the four of us,'' he explained, and Drake nodded.

''Keep in touch,'' he said, extending a hand.

Steed nodded, tapping his blazer pocket where various code names and addresses now dwelled. ''Will do.''

V.

John Steed and Emma Peel arrived once more back at 3 Stable Mews. They looked at each other.

''We can't go home again,'' Emma Peel said sadly.

Steed shrugged. ''Wherever we are will be home. America was rather nice. That California...we'd be right at home there.''

Emma nodded. ''California...here we come. Well, let's leave on a happy note.''

Simultaneously they climbed out of the car and made their way up to the false Steed's flat.

This time, Steed didn't pussyfoot around. He raised a foot and kicked the door in. He was in in a flash, just in time to shove the false Steed back into his chair. ''Ladies first, old man.'' he said, cheerfully.

Tara King rose to her feet slowly, her face a frozen mask of consternation. Emma Peel waited for her, standing on the balls of her feet, snapping her fingers rhythmically. She wanted Tara King to make the first move. Steed smiled inwardly. Mrs. Peel was going to have some fun.

Tara grabbed a vase from a nearby table and flung it at Mrs. Peel. Emma moved her head out of the way with a sinuous twist of her torso, but otherwise remained unmoving. The vase crashed behind her and shattered into a thousand pieces. The two Steeds winced simultaneously.

Tara glanced around for something else to throw. Her eyes caught the swords hung on the wall. With a long stride she was there and ripped one down. She did not have the decency to flick a sword over to Emma. The age of chivalry had withered away, as far as Tara King was concerned.

Tara brought the sword around in a swinging arc. Emma ducked underneath it and lunged forward, burying her shoulder into Tara's diaphragm and literally picking her up and carrying her several feet, slamming her back into the wall. Tara gasped and lost her grip on the sword. Emma caught it before it fell to the floor and backed up. She gestured with her head for Tara to get the other sword.

But Tara King wasn't a swordswoman, and Emma Peel was. Tara merely advanced, carefully. She'd judged Emma's character correctly. Emma wanted to do this mano a mano. She tossed the sword to Steed, and then turned her attention back to Tara King, just as Tara had known she would. But the rest of the fight did not go as Tara had expected. They exchanged karate blows and blocks, in much the same way as they had done a few days previously. Only this time, Emma Peel's blows were very fast and very sure very no-holds-barred. Tara King wasn't prepared for the increase in speed and precision, and she was extremely disconcerted by the beatific smile on the older woman's face. When the final blow came that knocked her unconscious it was almost a relief.

Steed looked at Fred with a beatific smile of his own.

''Our turn now, eh, old chap?'' Fred said.

Steed shook his head.

''Not at all, old chap. Although I could beat you to a pulp, make no mistake about that. But there's no point in proving it. We've won, you've lost.''

''Hardly sporting of you, old chap.'' Fred said.

Steed only grinned. Coldly.

''I'm still John Steed,'' Fred said tightly.

Steed nodded. ''And you're welcome to him. But you're to leave us alone, understand?''

Fred blinked at him. ''I beg your pardon?''

''We're going away, Fred. We're going to make new lives for ourselves. You and Tara King can keep Department S.''

Fred blinked again.

''That's it?'' he said.

Steed nodded. ''If knowledge of the Village were to get out it would seriously undermine the work of all of our secret service departments. If knowledge of what you did to Mrs. Peel and myself were to get out, it would also undermine things. So knowledge isn't going to get out. And Mrs. Peel and I are sick to death of Department S, which could do these types of things to loyal agents, so we're just going to go...elsewhere.''

''I see,'' said Fred. ''So that's it, is it? You're just going to leave?''

Without warning Steed whipped the sword around so the edge was just under Fred's chin. To his credit Fred only blinked.

''We're just going to leave,'' Steed replied. ''And as long as no one tries to find us, or interfere with us in any way, all will be well.''

''I'd nod if it wouldn't mean giving myself rather too close of a shave,'' Fred said. ''But your terms are accepted. You're free to go.''

''Thanks,'' Steed said laconically. He removed the sword from Fred's throat and stood up.

''Mrs. Peel?'' he said.

''Ready, Steed,'' she said, calmly.

John Steed and Emma Peel exited the flat, closing the door of 3 Stable Mews behind them.

''California,'' John Steed said musingly. ''Hollywood, you think?''

Emma nodded. ''Hollywood. I think I'll make a good actress.''

''Mrs. Peel,'' said John Steed, ''You'll be the best. Especially with me as your agent.'' He took her arm, and they walked out into the sunshine of a new day.