by Rebecca York
The hothead raised his voice. “I knew you wouldn’t listen.”
“And look what almost happened. We have a chance to rid ourselves of a murderer, and you were about to cock it up.”
LaTour’s face reddened, and he turned away. As Amber watched him, she couldn’t repress a surge of worry. Obviously, he didn’t like being reprimanded in public. What if he tried to make trouble again?
But there was nothing she could do about him on her own. She’d have to trust the elders.
The leader beckoned the three outlanders to his side. “We will return to the camp where you can clean up and change your clothes.”
“Yes, thanks,” Max said.
The older man looked around at the crowd. “Let them follow close behind me.”
He started back through the crowd, and this time the men made a path for him—and for the three fugitives they had tracked through the swamp during the night.
Amber wrapped her arms around her shoulders, trying to avoid touching any of them. She wasn’t sure what these men had been prepared to do to her, Max and Rafe, and she was glad she wouldn’t have to find out.
Gatroux was waiting for them on the porch.
“Walk where I do,” the head man said. “I wouldn’t want you to fall into a tarn.”
“We already did that,” Max muttered.
The men who had formed the search party held back and Max stepped behind the leader—with some of the other older men behind them.
Amber knew that in this male-dominated society it would be natural for Rafe to fall in line next, but he held back, swept out his arm, and said to Amber, “You go ahead.”
She gave him a grateful look and stepped behind Max.
Gatroux turned and focused on Amber for a moment. She thought he might order her to step back. Instead, he faced forward again and started walking. And Amber hurried to keep up with the men’s long-legged strides.
In the dark the swamp had felt like a place of danger. It still was, but in the daylight she could enjoy the bright flowers, the bird calls and all the variations in the foliage.
As far as she could tell, there was no path, but Gatroux seemed sure of where he was going. And in a surprisingly short time, she saw the small houses on stilts rising above the foliage.
She felt a pang as they neared the village. What would the women think when they saw her again? She’d helped them cook. Then she’d helped steal a bunch of knives—which probably wasn’t the best opening for renewed relations.
Chapter Nineteen
As she’d expected, the women and children watched them enter the compound. Some of them looked surprised, and she wondered if they’d expected the fugitives to be dispatched in the swamp or brought back in bonds.
Others seemed fearful. And still others looked at Amber with respect, as though she’d done something none of them would have dared.
The line behind them broke up, and many of the men went to the females, speaking to them in low voices that nevertheless made a swell of sound around the small clearing.
As the story spread, Amber felt like everybody was focused on them and talking about what had happened. She reached for Max’s hand, wishing she wasn’t the center of attention. True, she’d made these people pay attention to her twice before. But that had been her choice. This was a spontaneous expression of interest that made her wish she could disappear into the hut where she and Max had started the night.
She saw a woman detach herself from the group and recognized Camille, who had shown her to that hut the night before.
Was it only that long ago?
She spoke in low tones to Amber. “You will want to clean up and change your clothing.”
“Yes, thanks,” she said, then glanced at Max.
“Go on,” he said, then looked at Camille. “Where should we meet again?”
“She will stay with the women until dinner while the men make plans.”
Max’s eyes flashed. “No, she will come to the meeting where we discuss how to proceed.”
Into the sudden silence, the head man finally spoke. “Women do not plan attacks.”
“This whole deal was her idea. She was willing to risk her life to free herself from this man. If you can’t include her, we will have to go back to our ship. And you can keep enjoying Tudor’s presence in your territory.
Again, there was silence while Max and the older man stared at each other.
It was Gatroux who blinked first.
“If that is your wish, she may join us at the council circle,” he said stiffly.
“Thank you,” Max said just as stiffly.
“I’ll bring your wife when she’s finished,” Camille added.
One of the young men came up to Max and Rafe. “And I will show you where to wash.”
Amber followed Camille to a smaller bathhouse, where a curtain closed off the door and there were only two washstands and toilets. And in one corner, there was a shower arrangement.
“You’ll have some privacy here.”
“Thank you.”
Camille looked toward the door, then said. “Gatroux does not give in lightly.”
“You seem to know him well. Are you his wife?”
“Yes. I know his moods, his likes and dislikes.”
“You have been with him a long time?”
“Yes.”
Amber nodded, wondering if she and Max would be together for years—or only for a few more days.
Camille spoke again, pulling Amber’s thoughts away from Max. “You are brave to go up against the man in the big house—Tudor.”
“It was either that or hide from him for the rest of my life.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “But it’s not just about me. It makes me sick to think what he’s done and what he will do in the future if he’s not stopped.”
Camille gave her a respectful look. “I admire your determination. I will be waiting outside when you finish.”
“Thanks.” Amber eyed the shower. “How do you use it?”
Camille walked to the spray device and pulled on a cord. Water came from a metal circle in the ceiling.
“The water has been warmed by the sun. When you’ve washed, change into the fresh clothes I’ll set there.” This time she pointed to a small table just inside the door.
Again, she thanked the woman. When Camille had left, Amber turned to a long mirror propped against the wall. She might have washed last night after her adventure in the sucking sand, but she still looked like she’d spent the night sleeping with livestock.
Pulling off her grungy clothes, she dropped them in a pile near the door and headed for the shower.
It felt wonderful to wash her hair and body, although it was a little awkward. She found you had to leave one hand on the pull cord to keep the water flowing, so she alternated between soaping herself and rinsing, luxuriated under the warmth flowing down on her and luxuriated in how good it felt to be doing something normal.
Not wanting to use up the water supply, she finished as quickly as possible. As she dried off, she eyed the clothing that had been laid out for her.
Camille or one of the other women had given her back a dress from the collection the “traders” had brought.
It was a perfect fit and a good color for her hair and skin.
“Are you dressed?” the older woman called from outside the wash shed.
“Yes.”
“Let me help you dry your hair.” Her hostess came in with a towel of some soft material Amber didn’t recognize.
“Sit down.”
She sat in a chair facing a small table and a mirror, where Camille rubbed her hair vigorously with the towel.
Flushing slightly, she said, “I’m not used to having anyone do things for me.”
“Then just relax and enjoy the attention.”
She took the advice, closing her eyes and letting the rubbing of the towel relax her. And to her surprise, it took only a short while to dry her hair.
When she was finished, C
amille reached into her pocket and brought out what looked like a hair ornament. “I have something for you—to pin it up,”
She displayed the slender shaft with a pointed tip and beads covering a bauble at the end. “It will keep your hair up. And it will do something else.”
As Amber looked at her inquiringly, the head man’s wife pulled on the beads at the top of the shaft. Underneath the cover was a thin and very wicked-looking knife.
Amber eyed it in surprise. “A secret weapon?”
“You may need this if you get close to Tudor,” Camille said.
The words made Amber shiver. “That wasn’t exactly the plan.”
“Keep it with you—as an insurance policy.”
Camille showed her how to arrange her long tresses on the top of her head, then use the sheathed knife and a few more pins to hold the knot in place.
“Why do you have such a weapon?” Amber asked.
“There are women here who . . . need protection from the dangerous attentions of a man. But this weapon would only be used in extreme cases.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Now you must attend the council and make sure you are heard when the men make their plans. If you contribute an idea, make them think it came from them.
Amber smiled, thinking the men here didn’t have as much power as they assumed.
Camille led her to the open area, which was near where they had eaten the evening before.
###
Max picked at his plate of food he’d taken from the serving table, knowing he wasn’t going to eat much until Amber arrived. The head man had sent her away with the women to clean up. Then a group of guys had escorted Max and Rafe to the washhouse and kept guard while they cleaned up and put on fresh clothing. They were never allowed out of someone’s sight, and Max understood why. He, Rafe and Amber had come into the camp with a false story. Now they had another story. He knew the Swamp Rats hoped it was true. They saw the trio as a way to get rid of a man who had toyed with their lives for years. But they weren’t willing to completely trust the pretend traders.
Once again Max looked up. And this time he saw Amber. His breath caught in his chest as he watched her walking toward them. He’d been secretly afraid they would keep her away from the “man talk.” Now here she was—all cleaned up and looking breathtakingly beautiful.
She was wearing one of the dresses they’d brought to sell, but something about her seemed different.
After a moment he figured out that her hair was artfully piled up on top of her head with only a few seductive tendrils hanging down.
He crossed rapidly to her, glad to see that she seemed as relieved to see him as he was to see her. Instead of commenting on their feelings, he said, “I like the way you’ve done your hair.” “Camille helped me fix it.”
“It’s perfect.”
She flushed, hesitating for a moment, and he thought she was going to say something else about getting ready for the meeting. Instead, she asked, “Did you know she’s Gatroux’s wife?”
“No.”
“She’s got a lot of experience dealing with male egos. She told me to make sure the men listen to me—and to make them think that any good ideas I had came from them.”
He laughed. “I’m all for that.” He gestured toward the table “You should get something to eat. It’s all finger food.”
“Which is?”
“Food that’s easy to eat while we have a meeting. We’ve got chunks of fruit, cut vegetables and sandwiches.”
“Sand?”
“No meat or cheese between slices of bread so you can pick it up easily. I think a guy named Sandwich invented it a long time ago so he could eat while he was at the gambling tables.”
She knew about gambling. It was one of the ways the guards at her training camp had amused themselves.
“Okay.” She filled a plate.
“You may want the tea to drink,” Max said.
“You’re drinking beer?”
“No,” he answered. “I want to keep my mind sharp.”
“What kind of tea?”
“I don’t know, but it tastes good. Spicy and a little sweet.”
She poured from the pitcher into a pottery cup and took a cautious sip. “You’re right. It’s good.”
There were high tables scattered around the area, where they could set down their plates and cups and eat while standing.
They were halfway through the meal when Gatroux and several other men came in. Again, there were no women in the group.
One of the men had brought a rolled-up sheet of paper which was tucked under his arm.
He walked over and addressed Max and Rafe. “My name is Henri. I have some information for you.”
“I’m Max,” he answered.
“Rafe,” his friend said, then flushed and glanced at the head man. “I gave you a false name when we first arrived because Tudor knows my real name—but not Max’s.”
The head man nodded.
Max returned to the introductions. “And my wife is Amber. What have you got for us?”
“I have worked inside Tudor’s house many times,” he said, “It is not like our dwellings.”
“Yes. It’s much larger,” Max said. “And more solid.”
Henri nodded. “I have walked through the rooms, and I have drawn the interior from memory.”
He unrolled the paper, and they all peered at the drawing.
“I don’t understand,” Amber said. “This looks like a set of boxes. Where is the house?”
Max could understand her confusion. Probably she’d expected to see a facade with a front door.
“It’s a floor plan. It shows the rooms of the house as though there’s no roof and you are looking down on them from above.” He pointed. “See, this is the front door. You walk into a reception area—and from there into other rooms.”
He mentally traveled through the grand edifice, then stopped, looking inquiringly at the man as he indicated one side of the structure where there was only a large blank space. “What happened here?”
“I have never been allowed in that area. There is a stout door with a lock.”
“So, we don’t know what’s in it?”
The man spread his hands. “It could be a storehouse for goods he steals from the bayou. Or it could be where he takes the women to . . .” He stopped and made a waffling motion with his hand. “There is always a guard.”
Max nodded. Beside him, Amber pressed her arms against her sides.
Rafe jumped into the conversation. “And this is another door to the outside?”
“Yes.”
“There are only two?”
“Two that I know about. There could be a hidden entrance—or an escape route. That would make sense for a man like him.”
“Right.” He thought for a moment. “Do you know who built the house?”
“Men from the city.”
“So we won’t be able to get any information from them.”
“How many guards does he have and where do they live?” Max asked.
“When I am there, I see perhaps four or five. Others may be sleeping—here,” He pointed to a building that was separate from the main structure.
“Right. He wouldn’t want the nasty guards sleeping in his palace,” Rafe muttered.
“So, anyone in there could be eliminated in a stealth attack,” Max added, then asked, “How are they armed?”
“All of them have the powerful beamer weapons, but some also have those long guns.”
“Cannons?” Rafe asked.
“I think that’s what they are called.”
“Great,” Max muttered.
“All of the rooms are furnished?” Rafe asked.
“I think so.” Henri pointed to a side room. “This is the place where a servant prepares food.”
Max nodded. His gaze narrowed as he thought about communications at Tudor’s estate. Except for the swamp dwellers, most people on Danalon carried comms units. Max and Rafe d
idn’t use them when they were on a job because every unit had a tracker which would give away their whereabouts.
He looked at Henri. “Where is his main comms center?”
The man pointed to one of the rooms.
“And does he wear a personal unit?”
The man looked blank. “Does he talk into a device that lets him communicate with others on the estate—like his guards?”
“Yes.”
Max and Rafe exchanged glances. “If he knew he was under attack and sent a distress call, that would be a problem,” Max said.
“Right. We wouldn’t be dealing with just the house guards. We’d be fighting off the authorities from Port City.”
“We’ll have to get in there before anybody realizes what’s happening and get his communicator away from him,” Max muttered. “Perhaps our best bet is to take out a couple of the guards and change into their uniforms. That way, Tudor won’t know he’s under attack.”
Still thinking about logistics, he asked, “Does the house have a basement?”
Henri laughed. “We were talking about the ease of taking the house down into the bayou. A basement around here would fill with water.”
“Duh.”
Max racked his brain for other questions to ask. He’d been in a lot of impromptu skirmishes, but he’d never planned a military assault.
Before he could think of anything, Amber asked, “Do you see much traffic in and out of his compound?” she asked the group.
Several of the men shot her a disapproving look. But others shook their heads in answer to her question. “He comes to the bayou, but we see few outlanders,” one of them answered.
“Good,” she murmured.
Max turned to Gatroux. “The guards have standard weapons. Are you going against them with knives and spears?”
The head man kept his gaze steady. “We have a few beamers. But we rely on our knowledge of the bayou.”
“Like how?”
“You will find out—as you found out we could track you.”
Max nodded, wanting more information but he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t get it.
“When do you want to attack?” the head man asked.
“When do you think is best?” Max countered.
Gatroux looked thoughtful. “Two in the morning.”
