Mr. Preston cleared his throat. “You both know how I fell in love with Valeria, and decided I wanted to have a new life in Las Anclas. But I wasn’t sure what I should do, or who I should tell. When I headed back to Gold Point, Sera met me outside the walls and told me she was pregnant. I thought she should know that there was another town where no one could order your head chopped off on a whim.”
Paco’s shoulders tensed as he crossed his arms. Yuki wiped his damp hands down his pants.
Mr. Preston had paused, as if waiting for Paco to respond, but when the pause turned into a silence, he continued in the tone adults used when they reminisced. “My first thought was to tell Ian I wanted to move to Las Anclas, and ask him to leave it alone. Back then, civilians were allowed to leave Gold Point if they wanted. Soldiers had to get permission, but it was usually granted. Ian was my friend. I thought he’d let me go.”
Paco was still. Yuki could feel him listening intently.
Mr. Preston sighed. “Luckily, I talked to Sera first. She and Ian had gotten close while I was gone. He’d confided in her that he’d killed the crown prince the year before—his own brother! It was while Sera, Omar, and I were on a training mission. Ian had made it look like an accident. His brother had argued with him about his plan to make Gold Point into an empire. Sera convinced me that if I told Ian how I felt, he wouldn’t hesitate to put my head on a pike.”
Paco said bitterly, “And that’s my father.”
“It takes more than blood to make a father, Paco,” Mr. Preston replied. “Ian Voske is nothing to you, no more than that girl sitting in jail right now. You are your mother’s son.”
Chapter Twenty-Five. Las Anclas.
Kerry
Kerry estimated that an hour had passed before Preston and Sheriff Crow returned, and wondered why they’d given her so little time to terrify herself. In Gold Point, prisoners were usually left alone overnight. She remembered Ross huddled in the corner of the cube, trembling, his hair and shirt soaked with sweat. He must have sat like that all night . . .
Kerry shook her head, driving out that image and the unpleasant feelings that accompanied it. It was time for the Prisoner Game—and she meant to win.
Sheriff Crow dismissed the deputy, and she and Preston sat in chairs just out of Kerry’s range.
“How does Voske get his information?” Preston asked.
Excellent. Other than the time frame, everything was going exactly as expected. Kerry could definitely handle these people.
She hastily reviewed the order of her lies. Start with the one everyone in Gold Point believed. “He found an artifact. It shows anything you want to see and hear. He always keeps it with him.”
Preston and Sheriff Crow didn’t look surprised. Like Kerry had thought, they’d heard those rumors in Las Anclas. Good. Maybe they’d believe it.
“How is it powered?” Preston asked.
Kerry considered possible answers, then remembered what her father had said: ‘I don’t know’ is always safe.
“I don’t know.” She tugged at her collar. Time to test them. Would they give her a carrot right away? “Can I get a drink of water?”
Preston said, “No.”
Simultaneously, the sheriff said, “Earn it.”
“I did earn it,” Kerry protested.
Sheriff Crow dangled a carrot. “Tell us something everyone in Gold Point doesn’t already know.”
Kerry pretended to think. “Um . . . it only works about ten minutes every day.” By the way Preston’s eyes narrowed and the sheriff’s chin lifted, they found that plausible. Gold Point citizens also found it a plausible explanation for why her father knew some things, but not others.
“Who found it?” demanded Sheriff Crow.
“A prospector,” Kerry replied.
“What prospector?” That was Preston.
“Her name is Pru.”
“When did she find it?”
“Three years ago.”
“Where?” The questions were coming faster, almost interrupting her answers.
“Somewhere out east. In the mountains.”
Sheriff Crow asked, “Is your father watching Catalina?”
Kerry hadn’t thought of an answer for that one. Who cared about Catalina? They didn’t even have a military, just traders and winemakers and goat-breeders and entertainers. “Um . . .”
Preston snapped, “Making up lies?”
“No!” She gulped in a deep breath. Did that sound upset that they disbelieved her, or rattled because she’d been caught in a lie? “I don’t know.”
Now she sounded weak. She had to do better. She’d been trained to resist interrogation by the king of Gold Point!
“How many soldiers in your father’s army?”
“Enough.” It would be plausible for her to refuse to answer that. She waited for the threat of violence.
It didn’t come.
“When is your father planning to attack Las Anclas?”
Today, I hope. She tried not to think of Santiago. Surely Kerry getting captured would be a bigger priority for Father than exploring the ruined city.
“Well?”
“I don’t know!”
Sheriff Crow leaned in. “Where did that prospector find the device?”
“I don’t know,” Kerry repeated. “Father never told me.”
She saw the trap a second after the sheriff closed it.
“The truth now,” Sheriff Crow said warningly. “How does your father get his information?”
Time for the second lie. It would sound better if she let them threaten her first. She folded her arms and kept quiet. Would threats be enough, though? Maybe she should let them hit her.
But they just sat there, watching her. Were they trying to outwait her? It was strange—they’d followed the script she’d been taught, except that they hadn’t gotten to the threats yet.
Kerry decided to prompt them. “Can I have some water? I’m so thirsty.”
Preston said, “Answer the question.”
Sheriff Crow said, “If you’re honest with us, we’ll give you some water.”
Ah-ha! Preston was playing the tough captor, and the sheriff was the nice one. Kerry knew that game. She addressed the sheriff. “Promise?”
The sheriff nodded.
“Well,” Kerry said, dragging it out like she hated telling the real truth. “It’s not a device. It’s my brother Sean. He’s Changed. He can turn invisible. We tell everyone that he ran away, but really he’s out spying. He’s been all over your town.”
“Liar,” Preston said so sharply that Kerry jumped. “I look for Sean every day. He’s never been inside our walls.”
“I need water,” Kerry said. “It’s hot in here. I could get heat stroke.”
Preston retorted, “You think I care? Did you think you were taken as a hostage? Your father doesn’t do trades. You’re only valuable as a source of information. So you had better start producing, or you can sit there and die of thirst.”
Jennie and Indra had argued over whether it had been right to take her as a hostage to exchange her for Ross. Preston must be lying. Or had Jennie and Indra staged that argument so she’d cooperate all the way here?
Preston’s chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “Start talking, or I walk out of here and don’t come back until it’s time for your execution.”
The sheriff stood up. Kerry stared at her back as she walked out the door. Preston stood, too.
“Wait!” Kerry said. “Give me some water and I’ll tell you everything.”
Preston put his hands on his hips. “No lies, now. No clever little pauses while you think up your next answer.”
“I promise.”
The sheriff returned with a glass of water and set it on the hard-packed dirt of the floor, out of Kerry’s reach.
Kerry licked her dry lips. “There’s a spy in your town. I don’t know who it is, and I swear I’m not lying about that. Father didn’t tell me because he was afraid something like thi
s might happen.”
Preston’s eyes widened—he was going for it! “How long has this person been here?”
She’d thought that one out. Everything she said had to fit with the actual time that Pru had Changed three years ago. “I think—I’m not sure, but I think it’s someone who’s been here for a long time, but only started talking to us a few years ago.”
“How many years?”
“About three.”
The questions started coming faster and faster. “How are they passing the information on to your father?”
“He has someone meet them.”
“Where?”
“Outside of town somewhere.”
“Where exactly?”
“I don’t know. Not very far.”
“When was the last time they met?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know every time it happens.”
“When was the last time that you know about?”
“After the battle.”
Preston leaned forward. “Is the person Changed?”
He obviously wanted her to say yes. Kerry had been trained to take advantage of exactly this moment, when you realize what your captor already wants to believe. But if she agreed, she might get some random Changed person in town killed. Not that she cared about anyone in Las Anclas. Then again, this would be her town someday. Her people.
“I don’t know,” Kerry said.
“You’re lying. You made up the entire story.” Sheriff Crow kicked over the water glass.
Kerry barely kept herself from lunging after it. She forced herself to look away from the puddle darkening the floor, and it was a good thing she did, because she caught the quick glare that Preston sent at Sheriff Crow. The sheriff thought Kerry was lying, but Preston believed the story. Perfect. Now to drive a wedge between them.
Kerry turned to Preston. “You were hoping I’d say the spy was Changed, whether it’s true or not. You hate Changed people.” Now she deliberately moved her head to gaze at the sheriff. “What’s it like to work with someone who can’t stand to look at your face? In Gold Point, someone like you would never have to put up with that.”
She sneaked a peek at Preston, whose lips were pressed in a line. Excellent! “My father values our Changed citizens. He’s Changed himself. It’s not too late to go where you’ll be appreciated.”
Sheriff Crow gave a short laugh. “Nice try.”
Preston started to stomp out. Before he reached the door, a man popped in. “Mr. Preston, the patrols have searched all the way to Sepulveda Arroyo. There’s no sign of pursuit.”
“Thank you,” Preston said. “Tell the bell ringer to signal the end of Lockdown. There is no danger from Gold Point.”
With that, the sheriff and Preston walked out, without even a backward glance.
Kerry flopped onto the narrow cot. The cell really was hot, and she really was thirsty. Her head ached. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually tricked Preston, or if he’d been playing her. Being interrogated was much harder in real life than it had been at prisoner-of-war camp, even though nobody had hit her here.
But now that she thought about it, nobody had hit her very hard in training. Maybe they hadn’t pushed her as much as they should have. Father had said they wouldn’t go easy on her, but maybe they had out of fear. She’d never been afraid of the trainers.
Even her night in the hell cell hadn’t been that bad. It had been cold and uncomfortable, but she wasn’t afraid of small places. She’d even gotten some sleep, knowing that her breakfast would be waiting in the palace when the training was over. Kerry wished she was back in the hell cell right now.
As soon as the lights were out, she’d create a trowel and see how hard the wall was.
*
Finally. Finally, it was quiet. Kerry waited until she was sure it was about three in the morning. Nobody would expect her to make a move at that hour.
In the coal-black darkness, Kerry held out her hand and created a pickaxe. She began to quietly dig into the adobe of the north wall of her cell. If she could make a hole big enough to fit through, she’d dash to the wall, evade or kill the sentries, and flee into the desert.
One scrape at a time, careful, slow, steady. After an hour or so had crawled by, she’d dug a hole about the size of her fist. But she resisted the urge to hurry. She had time—so long as nobody heard her.
Light glared on. She instinctively threw up her hands, blinded. There was a scrape of metal against metal. A fist slammed across her cheek and jaw, knocking her down.
She sprawled onto her stomach. Before she could summon a weapon, a knee thumped painfully into her back, knocking her breath out, and her hands were pinioned to the floor.
Preston’s voice roared, “Sheriff!”
Kerry lifted her head, one eye blurry and throbbing. The sheriff appeared in rumpled practice gear, her long black hair loose and messy.
“Look at the wall,” Preston snarled. “Your prisoner needs watching twenty-four-seven.”
Preston’s knee lifted, and his hard fingers closed on Kerry’s collar and slung her against the back wall.
Before she could recover, he was out of the cell. The door slammed shut.
“You had no call to hit her.” The sheriff turned to Kerry. “A half-inch more and you would have hit stone. Feel free to keep tunneling if you don’t believe me.”
Preston stomped away, as the sheriff called, “Deputy!”
A young man walked in.
“Watch her.” The sheriff pointed to a chair out of Kerry’s reach, and walked out with Preston.
Kerry turned her back on the deputy. Her face hurt, but Preston hadn’t knocked out any teeth or broken any bones. She’d been hit that hard during sparring. She could take it. What’s more, it made Preston predictable. Maybe later she could make use of his temper. As Father said, true power lay in understanding other people and using their weaknesses against them.
She lay down on the cot. Sleep would make time pass faster. But she’d scarcely closed her eyes when roaring voices broke into her doze.
The sheriff and several deputies hustled four yelling, staggering drunks into the jailhouse.
“Ooooh my darrrling, ooooh my darling . . .” a man bawled at the top of his lungs—off-key.
“You won’t get away with this,” a woman slurred. “My uncle, I mean my cousin—my uncle’s cousin is on the council!”
Iron rattled as other cells opened and slammed shut.
It couldn’t be as late as Kerry had thought. She had totally miscalculated. She covered her ears in disgust, but her hands were no match for four loud drunks.
“Hey! You can’t put me in here! This is a supply closet!”
“Shut up, Pham. You’re always complaining.”
“You shut up. It’s your fault.”
“You shut up! Why did you have to throw your beer in Jack’s face?”
“It was flat! Jack’s an idiot. You’re an idiot. Let me out of here, you idiot!” Iron bars rattled.
Through it all the fourth drunk caterwauled his way through three verses of “My Darling Clementine,” Kerry’s least favorite song of all time. Bankar liked to sing it to annoy her.
At least it only had ten verses.
The singing drunk got to verse four, paused . . . then started over at the beginning.
“Shut up!” all three of the other drunks bellowed.
The singer sang louder.
I’d rather be in a hell cell, facing torture, she thought. No, this IS torture. I bet Preston got them drunk on purpose!
Drunk Two threw up.
Chapter Twenty-Six. Las Anclas.
Jennie
“Jennie. Time to wake up, honey.”
Jennie groggily opened her eyes, wondering how she’d gotten into bed. She remembered leaving the princess at the jail, coming home, and Ma and Pa making her eat a bowl of stew. She must have fallen asleep at the table.
Ma was leaning over her bed. “I’ve got your breakfast waiting.”
Jennie never slept this late. It was strange to see sunlight coming in at that angle. She found both her parents in the kitchen, which rarely happened during the day. No one else was around, which was also rare.
“We kept some corn muffins warm for you,” Ma said, as Pa cracked a couple of eggs into the frying pan.
“What’s going on?” Jennie asked.
Pa turned away from the stove so Ma could read his lips. “There’s going to be a town meeting to discuss and vote on the situation with the princess.”
“The town is voting?” Jennie asked, alarmed. “You mean they might not even do the hostage exchange?”
Ma said gently, “It’s hard to say how the town will vote. To me, the princess is just a girl. But to others, she’s the mutant daughter of our worst enemy. And Ross is also Changed. I wish it was a simple situation, but it’s not.”
“It seemed simple enough to me.” The anger Jennie had felt when the bounty hunter had tried to kill Ross rose up again. Her voice rose to a shout. “I know kidnapping is wrong! But I had to do something to save Ross.”
Pa slid the eggs on to Jennie’s plate. “We’re not second-guessing a choice you made in the heart of enemy territory. It’s just a fact that quick decisions can have very long-lasting consequences.”
“I had to do something,” Jennie repeated. Staring down at her eggs, she muttered, “I don’t even know if I want to be a Ranger anymore.”
The moment she said it, she hoped that Pa hadn’t heard and Ma hadn’t seen her lips.
“Maybe that’s for the best,” said Ma. “I don’t think it’s right for someone your age to have to make those sorts of decisions.”
Jennie had thought she’d had her fill of horrible moral dilemmas. But once Ma implied that she wasn’t mature enough to handle them, her temper boiled over. “Well, someone has to.”
She left her breakfast uneaten and flung herself out. She hated fighting with her parents—she hadn’t slammed the door on them since she was thirteen.
She started for the town hall, then realized that she didn’t know when the meeting would be. Then she turned toward the Ranger practice yard. But what if Mr. Preston was there?
Hostage Page 19
