SmarmSlut Queen: Greetings, fellow M7 fans, and welcome to another installment of our story.

SmarmSlut Master: We hope you've been enjoying it as much as we've enjoyed bringing it to you!

SmamrSlut Adept: Yes, SmarmSlutting is a full-time job!

Queen: (cracks whip) Hey! Did I say you could talk?

Adept: Look we're in on this story too!

Master: Yeah, we have a right to be heard! We got our own ideas on running things around here!

Queen: Yeah, like what?

Master: Well, for instance, we should give them more clues as to who we are!

Queen: But shouldn't we let them try and figure that out for themselves? Besides, it's not like we're all strangers to this list! We've posted other stories before under our real names!

Adept: Yeah, but this is the first time we've gone incognito! And the challenge is, can they figure out who the three of us are?

Master: Well what if we told them that a story they might know one of us by is-

Quenn: (cracks whip again) OK that's enough!!! Don't make this too easy for our friends out there! Well, here's the next part of Ashes of the Mind, in which things are starting to heat up for our darling General. And join us next week when things really cracking!

(cracks whip)

Master: Ow!!! Hey! My nose!!

Queen: Whoops, sorry!!

*************

Ashes of the Mind, pt 5
by the Smarm Sluts


The afternoon sun was beginning its descent to the western horizon by the time Ezra and JD neared the Branford Asylum. The trip had been mostly a silent one; JD was highly apprehensive and a little excited at the unique nature of the assignment, and Ezra was contemplating this new and challenging role. JD wore his usual brown checkered suit and bowler, but Ezra had adopted an entirely new wardrobe; gone were the flashy clothes and black gambler's hat, replaced by a sedate suit of dark blue and black, topped off by a plum cravat. His appearance was altered enough to earn an occasional glance from JD; Ezra looked downright respectable.

As the tall, dark building loomed into view, Ezra cleared his throat. Now just take it easy here, son-let me do the talking. You just keep an eye out for any signs of the felons."

JD nodded, feeling his heart beat faster. "Sure, Ezra."

Ezra gave him a close look. "Try to relax, JD, you look like you're about to go to your own hanging."

The younger man sighed and gave a wan smile. "Uh, sorry, it's just-I ain't never been in one of these, Ezra. Never really seen a crazy person."

Ezra pursed his lips, then shrugged. "I must confess I am not thrilled about dealing with the insane either, but with any luck our contact with them will be brief."

"Hmm." JD looked at the large building nervously. "Should we talk to em? Ask em questions?"

"I would advise against it," was the firm reply. "They might turn informant, and besides, the less contact we have with them, the better. We are here to find escaped criminals, not commune with the unsound."

JD nodded, feeling a little safer, and they rode in silence for a short while.

"Oh, JD?"

The young man looked over. "Yeah?"

"I have decided that, in order to better persuade our good Mr. Branford that we are indeed Federal officials, it would be best if he not suspect my region of origin."

The other man looked puzzled. "Meanin' what exactly?"

Ezra looked at him with a smile, and said in a voice without any trace of a Southern accent, "It means I get to be a Yankee, son."

JD's mouth dropped, then he laughed. "Hey, Ezra-wow, that was amazing! You don't sound at all like yourself when you do that!"

His companion grinned, highly pleased at the effect his performance had on JD. "One must have a wide range of talents for my line of work, my friend," he said, his original tone back in place. "But I thought I should warn you-Branford must be convinced that we are both government officials from the East. Well," he sighed, sitting up straight and looking at the dark building ahead, "the time has come for the charade to commence."

With that they rode towards the asylum.


Branford sat calmly in his office, doing some last-minute tidying up and giving final instructions to Jed, who seemed slightly anxious.

"Don't worry, Mr. Maxwell," Branford assured him in his smooth, honey-tinged voice, his black eyes perfectly calm. "You just keep our guests in the hold quiet while this damned inspector's here, and he won't suspect a thing. I've handled these situations countless times."

Jed fidgeted and grasped his weapon firmly, his thin, grizzled face twitching. "Yeah, well, I'll feel a hell of a lot safer when he's gone. I ain't paid my good money to get caught in a crazy house."

Branford smiled easily as he rose from his desk and adjusted his black silk vest. "You will find your money well spent, my friend, as do all who pass through my doors. Every one of your kind that I help to freedom is one less victory for the damned Yankee government, and I have no intention of jeopardizing my cause."

A guard poked his head in. "They're comin', sir."

"Right." Branford eyed Jed keenly. "Get to the hold and stay quiet. There's enough food down there for two days, in case they extend their visit. I'll notify you when they're gone."

Jed hoisted his rifle and gave his host a grim look, half gratitude and half warning, then he hastened out of the room towards the secret passage to the felons' ample quarters. Branford sighed and smiled as he smoothed back his thick black hair. This might even be a little fun.


"Try not to look nervous, JD," Ezra whispered as they approached the entrance of the asylum. "You're supposed to be an experienced assistant."

JD nodded, but found it hard to look casual as they passed through the massive iron gate. As hard as he tried not to, JD shivered, thinking how awful it must be to live in a place like this. Ezra, he noticed with envy, looked completely collected, as if he'd seen such sights every day.

A wide set of stone stairs swept up to the large front door; two guards approached them as they rode up, their rifles at the ready, their faces unfriendly.

"Good day," Ezra called out as they reined in, and JD still wondered at the perfect lack of accent in the Southerner's voice. "My name is Mr. Hancock, and this is Mr. Stowe. We're the inspectors sent by the government to tour your facility; I believe you are expecting us."

"Yes, of course," said a pleasant voice, and both men watched as Branford's tall, broad figure stepped out of the door, his face wreathed in a wide smile. JD examined his fine black clothes and handsome face; this guy doesn't look so bad, he thought.

"Welcome to my facility, gentlemen," Branford said warmly, extending his hand as he descended the steps. "My name is Mr. Silas Branford, and you must allow me to cooperate with you in every way possible."

The two men dismounted and handed their reins to a couple of attendants who had appeared from the livery. Ezra palmed the notebook he was carrying and drew himself up, smiling as he shook Branford's hand. "Thank you, sir. You'd be surprised how much resistance we meet, when all we want to do is ensure the health of the unfortunates in our care."

Branford nodded. "Of course, sir. Please come in."

They mounted the stairs, JD feeling somewhat uneasy as the bright light of day was swallowed up by the gaping, dark mouth of the doorway as they passed through into the building. It felt as if he was entering a nightmare. But he remembered Ezra's instructions,and tried to look official.

They found themselves standing a wide, long, dim hallway; a few wooden sticks of furniture marked human habitation, but there was no decoration on the bare gray walls. All along the hallway there were heavy-looking doors with iron locks and grated windows on them. JD saw them and bit his lip.

Ezra, however, glanced at his pocket watch with a casual air and regarded the sinister hallway with a perfectly blase attitude. "Charming decor, Mr. Branford."

The response was a smile. "Well, we hardly see fit to spend money on finery, Mr. Hancock, when it can be put to much better use in the service of our suffering residents."

"Yes, yes," Ezra said, opening his notebook and writing something down. "Well, we would like to make this as brief and painless as possible for all concerned, sir. May we be allowed to conduct a thorough and immediate inspection?"

"Certainly," Branford said as he gestured to one of the guards. The man came forward and handed him a ring of keys, from which Branford selected one with instinctual swiftness. "I must warn you gentlemen that some of our residents may seem violent, but rest assured that all precautions have been taken to insure your safety. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you during your visit."

Ezra glanced at the rifle-toting guard and nodded. "Very considerate of you, I'm sure."

"Not at all," Branford replied as he maneuvered the key into the lock and twisted it. he looked up, his black eyes sharp with sincerity. "I will do anything to maintain the integrity of my operation. Shall we?"

The door was pulled open; JD braced himself, while he saw Ezra grip his pen a little tighter. A blast of damp, foul-smelling air greeted them as the door was pulled open; a cacophony of noise assailed their ears. Branford handed the keys back to the guard and went ahead, followed by the guard; Ezra went after him, with JD bringing up the rear; trying to fight down the nightmare feeling, which only seemed to be getting worse.

They found themselves in a large, dark room, lit only by two grated windows at the end of the hall and several flickering oil lamps placed high on the walls. As their eyes became used to the light, they could see several inmates in various attitudes of idleness or despair; they all wore the same gray clothing, suspiciously new-looking. As soon as Branford and the others appeared, a tense silence gripped the room; JD noticed that many cringed a bit and shrank away.

They're afraid of us, JD thought with surprise as they stepped down onto the straw-strewn floor.

There was silence as they took in their surroundings; many inmates were chained to the wall, others crouched in silent misery or shaking with spastic tremors. Some were lashed into straitjackets, and here and there small groups huddled together in fear. JD was horrified, and found it impossible to hide it; he'd expected wild-eyed, inhuman lunatics, but these people looked sad and lost.

If Ezra was affected, he didn't show it. He simply sniffed and looked around. "Which portion of your asylum do we have here, Mr. Branford?" he asked calmly as he wrote something down.

"This is where we keep the less dangerous patients, sir," was the slightly proud reply. "As you can see, they are efficiently clothed, and restraints are used when necessary. We regret it, of course, but it's better than letting the poor creatures hurt themselves."

"Indeed," Ezra noted, closing his notebook and straightening his black coat. "We'd like to look around a bit, check your sanitation and living conditions privately. If you'll excuse us?"

The response was a courteous nod. "We'll await you outside when you're ready to continue your tour, sir."

With that, he and the guard left the room. As the door closed JD grabbed Ezra's arm.

"This is-"

Ezra gave him a shocked look. "Is something wrong, Mr. Stowe?"

JD staggered a bit, remembering, and released his grip. "Oh-ah, no. No, of course not."

"Good. Proceed with your inspection, sir, and do not disturb the inmates."

With that he walked off, leaving JD to open his own notebook and go about the task of looking for clues to the presence of the escaped criminals.

In the hallway, Branford paced in a relaxed manner; he knew the inmates would say nothing of the operation, as they had all been given a taste of what would happen to them if they did. Footsteps attracted his attention; he looked up to see another of his men running towards him.

"You're wanted, sir. He says it's urgent."

Branford gave him an annoyed look. "Who does?"

The guard was now close enough to lean over and whisper, "Mr. Maxwell."

Branford sighed and looked at the closed door; if he wasn't there when they came out they might get suspicious. But Maxwell didn't seem the type to send up false emergencies...

"Very well," he said, and turned to the other guard. "If they come out tell them I'll be back in a minute."

With that he hurried after the guard down the hall.

Ezra walked along the east wall of the room, pretending to jot down defects and carefully study the conditions, all the while looking for clues-seams of hidden doors, inmates only acting crazy, anything. With practiced ease he overlooked the pitiful gazes and dumb stares of the insane inmates; after a lifetime of learning to manipulate his emotions, it was a simple matter to view the situation from a cold, unfeeling plane. He felt sorry for them, of course, but since they were insane, he had no way to read them as he could most people, and he was certainly unable to manipulate them to his advantage; so he simply looked past them to the task and hand, giving it his full attention.

In another part of the room, JD was having less success in keeping himself remote from what he was seeing; it was all so horrible. They look so scared, he thought as he walked along, pretending to take notes as the inmates huddled against the wall at his coming. they were clean and their clothes were new, but JD could see bruises on their bodies, and the hollow vacant stares of their eyes. Some of them were shaking violently, others were mumbling incoherently as he passed, ignoring him completely.

As JD came to the corner by one of the windows, he heard a soft whimpering noise; looking down he saw a thin, young blonde woman, her hair hanging in dirty strings as she hunched over something in her arms. She sensed that he was looking at her, and raised her eyes; the young man was taken aback by their size and clear blue color. There was a lost look of immense sadness in their depths, and JD could not help being washed over by sympathy.

He glanced back to make sure Ezra wasn't watching, and crouched down quickly, smiling at her.

"Hi," he said quietly.

She stared at him for a moment, silently, then gasped, "Are you here to help my baby?"

JD started a little; so that was what she was holding. He looked down at the wrapped bundle in her arms and tried to give a smile.

"Well-sure. Hi, kid."

She gave a tremulous smile to the child and said in a soft, scratchy voice, "Helen, say hello to the nice man."

She held out the bundle, and JD blinked; there was no child in the wrappings, only what looked like a tied-up bunch of dirty rags. Startled, he looked up to see the girl's face brightened by a proud smile.

He pursed his lips, unsure what to do; she seemed to waiting for something, so JD pursed his lips and said with as much sincerity as he could muster, "Uh, she's beautiful, really."

She laughed a little as she drew the bundle close to her breast, rocking it slightly. He sat for a moment; for some reason he didn't want to just get up and walk away.

"So, uh, what's your name?"

She didn't look at him. "Madeline," was the brief reply, then she went back to cooing to the bundle of rags.

"Oh. OK, Madeline, um..."

Suddenly she began to tremble, anguished noises clutching at her throat. She looked up, her blue eyes filled with tears.

He paused, then gently touched her arm. "hey-are you all right?"

"She's not moving," Madeline replied in a terrified whisper, holding the bundle out. "Please help her-what's wrong with her-"

JD was speechless for a moment, not knowing what to do next. He'd seen his mother calm people when they were upset; he tried to remember what she did. After a few minutes he reached out and gently stroked her arm as she stared terrified at the inert rags.

"Hey, it's OK, she'll be all right," he said gently, thinking, that's what mama would say, and what she wants to hear-maybe that'll help, she's so scared
. "Don't worry..."

Somebody grabbed the right shoulder of his coat and hauled him to his feet; frightened, JD twisted his head around and confronted the piercing green eyes of Ezra.

"Mr. Stowe," he said in a stern, official voice, "a word with you, please?"

Madeline gasped, her tears stopping as she hugged her phantom baby close. JD gave her a reassuring smile as he straightened his coat.

"Don't worry, it's OK."

She instantly relaxed and then ignored him, going back to talking to her bundle of rags.

"This way, Mr. Stowe."

JD followed Ezra to a place away from the inmates; once there the gambler turned to the young man with a peeved expression.

"I told you not to do that, son," he hissed, opening his notebook and pretending to go over its contents with JD in case anyone was looking.

JD sighed. "Aw, jeez, Ezra, the poor woman was cryin'. I can't ignore that."

"Well, you're going to have to," was the terse reply. "No real inspector would have done that, and if we're suspected we will be in very real danger. You must ignore your sympathetic feelings in this case if we are to be successful."

JD pursed his lips, remembering their earlier discussion in the woods. "Intellect over emotions, right?"

"Precisely. the sooner you achieve that, the sooner we can leave this place. I for one do not wish to remain a moment longer than necessary."


By the time Branford got to the hold, Jed was almost beside himself with tension. As soon as the black-haired warden made his appearance, Jed approached him.

"We got trouble, Branford."

The other man smiled. "I assure you everything is under control."

"No, it ain't," Jed insisted. "They're on to you."

"Who-those inspectors? Nonsense-"

"Branford, you dang blind fool!" Jed exploded. "They ain't inspectors!"

The other man blinked, then grew serious. "What do you mean?"

Jed took a deep breath, as if his thoughts were so chaotic he had to organize them before speaking. When he did, his tone was low and serious.

"I caught a glimpse of 'em through the window as I was goin' downstairs. The guy in black, he's a lawman. Name's Ezra Standish, works in a town called Four Corners."

Branford's face registered recognition. "I've heard that name-a few of my guests have come from there. Said they had seven lawmen protecting the town, real hard cases."

Jed nodded. "He's one of 'em, an' I'll bet the other guy is too. It's all a con, an' I bet they were sent here to find you out."

Branford scowled. "I must commend his acting abilities-I am usually quite adept at identifying such impostors." After another moment of thought he looked up at Jed. "Well, my thanks for your tip, Mr. Maxwell. I'll be extra cautious with him, send him on his way in no time. He won't find anything."

He turned to go.

"Hold it."

Jed's tone was urgent and angry; when Branford turned back to him the man had an ugly glint in his eye.

"I got a special grudge with this guy," he growled. "He got my gang busted up. I ain't gonna just let him walk outta here. Look-"

He leaned over and pulled a roll of money from his boot, holding it up.

"You want money, well here's the $300 I was goin' to Mexico on. You let me have Standish an' I'll be happy enough to go there broke."

Branford expression remained calm, but his eyes gleamed eagerly. "What about his associate?"

Jed shrugged. "I don't care-don't you got ways to deal with troublemakers around here?"

A dark smile slid over Branford's face. "Indeed we do. It would be easy enough to make it appear that Mr. Standish and his friend never arrived here-accidents happen all the time in these wilds, don't they?"

Jed nodded, his own expression highly amused. "Standish cost me everything, Branford, an' I want him to pay. I'd imagine a man of your correctional interests might enjoy watching. For that, and this here $300, I'd say we have a pretty fair deal."

The other man's eyes sparkled at the prospect. "I'm always looking for new ideas to keep my inmates in line. I accept your deal, sir, in exchange for the money now."

Jed shook his head. "Half now, half when Standish is dead."

Branford paused, thought, then nodded.

"Very well. I have a feeling this will be both amusing and profitable. Only I have a feeling that to get your money's worth you aren't planning to kill him too quickly."

His partner smiled as he doled out half of the cash and handed it over. "Oh, you can bet on that, Branford. You can bet on that."