by James Axler
"Wanna say that to his face?" the first voice asked, chuckling.
"Hell no!" the second answered.
Ryan realized that was nearly the exact conversation Jones and a sailor had held in the skiff. Had to be a local joke. Obviously the baron wasn't well loved, or even liked for that matter. Few were, unlike his nephew Nathan Cawdor. Not liked and not feared, if they told jokes behind his back. This info might just work in their favor.
Trying not to splash, Ryan moved toward the direction of the second voice and waited until a face appeared from above. Instantly he grabbed the man's throat in an iron grip and hauled the sec man into the shadows. The prisoner tried for his blaster, but Doc snatched it away and splashed about in the water as if trying to swim.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," the first voice complained. "The moron fell in again. Maggot, Bruiser, haul the stupe out of there before he drowns."
"Why us?" a young voice demanded.
"Nobody here but us, and I ain't gonna do it. Go."
Two men jumped into the chest-deep water and the companions charged, swarming over the sec men and taking them captive in a heartbeat.
"Shitfire!" a bearded man standing on the dock cried out as the companions came into view with knives to the throats of his men.
"Hold by order of the baron!" he shouted, backing away from the outlanders. But then a large hand reached up over the side of the dock and grabbed hold of his right boot. Unexpectedly the sec man found himself tumbling into the sea. He hit hard, water going up his nose, choking the guard for a moment, then he was roughly hauled from the harbor onto the beach by a one-eyed man who looked grimmer than death.
"Y-you're the people from the skiff!" the sec man sputtered, blowing water and bubbling snot out his nose. "How the hell can you still be alive?"
"Mebbe later," Ryan said, sliding his blaster under the man's chin while he took his weapons. The local baron really had the sec men scared, or was it something else? When the man was unarmed, Ryan pushed the SIG-Sauer into his chin until the sec man was looking into the sky. "Why did you shoot at us? Talk quick."
"Why? Doing you a favor, idiot," the man muttered through a clenched mouth. "You're already aced. Guess I am, too, now that I've touched ya. Use the blaster on us both and end it quick and clean. Don't wanna die puking blood for days."
Ryan almost released the man in the shock of understanding. "Think we're hot, eh?" he growled.
"Of course ya are! We seen ya using the river. Must a gone right past Forbidden Island." He was trying to wiggle away from touching Ryan. "Got no idea why you're still walking. Should be aced long ago. Guess I'm a dirt-eater myself now."
Lowering the SIG-Sauer, Ryan lifted the sec man off the ground. "Do we seem weak?" he breathed into the man's face. "Hair falling out, gums bleeding, puking our guts out? Triple-stupe bastard. We never got close to the reeking pesthole!"
The sec man stared at Ryan as if expecting him to topple over, the flesh falling from his bones. But as it became clear this wasn't going to happen, the man started to quake in fear.
"It's true," the man whispered. "You're not hot. Gods above, the baron will use the cage on me for this fuckup. Let me go! I'll risk the jungle. Please! Have mercy!"
"Not my problem," Ryan stated, shoving the sec man toward the gate. "I got a deal for the baron and you're part of the price. Lead the way."
"To the baron?"
Ryan shook the man hard. "Start walking."
Suddenly there was a commotion on the wall, and a metal gong began to sound. The sec man on the beach started running back at top speed.
"More coming," Jak announced, clicking back the hammer on his damp pistol.
Instantly J.B. worked the bolt on his Uzi and swung the weapon back and forth. "Where?" he demanded anxiously. "Which direction, dammit!"
Shocked at the outburst, Krysty stared at the man until she noticed how hard J.B. was squinting. Soaking wet, the Armorer was dressed as always, combat boots, Army fatigues, fingerless gloves, leather bomber jacket and tilted fedora. But his wire-rimmed glasses were gone. Without those, the gunner was nearly blind.
"To the right," Mildred said softly, moving behind the man.
Turning fast, J.B. triggered a burst into the air in that general direction, and the sec men stopped in their tracks. The stutter of the rapidfire echoed across the harbor like a million ghostly blasters.
"Cease firing!" a new voice commanded as the gates of the ville swung open wide.
The companions formed a firing line as a group of armed men walked from the gateway. Most held flintlock muskets, a few hastily loading crossbows, but one man was a bald giant, taller than even Ryan. All muscle, the goliath was wider than two men, and stood bare chested, bandoliers of brass ammo crisscrossing his Herculean torso. Cryptic tattoos in swirling patterns covered both arms, and matching knives with carved bone handles were sheathed at the belt buckle. The baron carried a huge revolver in each hand, a steel Magnum and an Old West revolver, the black-powder blaster very similar to the monstrous LeMat carried by Doc.
"So they're not hot," the baron stated as a greeting. "Corporal Williams, you're a fool."
"The outlanders lie, my liege," the prisoner countered.
The aim of his hand cannons never wavering for a moment, Baron Langford glanced at a shiny device strapped on his wrist.
"No, it's the truth," he announced. "I can tell these things. Corporal, you wasted pounds of black powder for no reason, and chilled a dozen of my men. Guards, put him in the cage. The little one."
"No!" the corporal screamed, and struggled to break away from Ryan.
Curious to see what would happen, the Deathlands warrior released the man. The corporal staggered away and then pulled a small concealed knife from his boot, plunging it into his belly. Before he could do so again, the guards had him in their grip.
"Leave the knife there, it'll make his time more…memorable," Langford directed as the guards carefully carried the bleeding prisoner into the ville. The bleeding man continued to beg for death until he was out of sight. Now the baron turned his attention to the companions.
"Unusual blasters," he said.
Ryan didn't reply.
"No smoke when the rapidfire fired."
"Wanna see it again?" J.B. offered.
"Not right now." Langford weighed the answers. "I'm Langford, baron of this ville. Who are you?"
"Nobody important," Ryan replied.
A crowd of people had gathered at the gate in the brick wall, slaves holding brooms, pregnant women, children, a blacksmith in a leather apron, his face burned from the forge, probably most of the ville. None were venturing out of the short tunnel, but watched from within the barrier.
"I saw the skiffs. Is the Constellation damaged somewhere on a beach?" Langford asked pointedly.
"Sunk by pirates," Ryan answered, seeing no reason to lie. "Jones and the others chilled in the harbor were all that remained of the crew."
Blast. Years of salvage and repairs gone. Men could be easily replaced, but not the ship. He had dozens of dugout canoes, a couple of trawlers and the racing yacht, but nothing like the oceangoing Constellation.
A scream wassailed from within the ville, the onlookers cringing at the sound. The sec men chuckled and nudged each other with their elbows.
"Williams has been introduced to the cage," Langford said, smirking.
"Don't care," Ryan said bluntly. "We're here to trade with you, not him."
The baron pretended to think for a minute. "I'll swap you a dozen slaves for that rapidfire."
Ryan shook his head. "No deal."
"Two dozen."
"Don't want slaves," Ryan countered. "Need a ship."
"Okay, a trawler for the blasters." Then he added, "And ammo."
"Weapons aren't part of any deal," Ryan stated curtly. "We're here to offer information."
The baron snorted a laugh. "For a ship? What kind of info could possibly be worth that?"
While the two men talked busin
ess, the sec men started to spread out across the beach. The companions shifted their positions to match them, and the sec men retreated to the gate. But more appeared on top of the wall carrying longblasters.
"Out here?" Ryan asked, glancing at the crowd of people watching them from the tunnel. The wall had to be ten feet wide, but then it was built to stop cannonballs.
Langford shrugged. "Inside, outside, makes no difference. This is my island."
Fair enough. Ryan stepped closer and spoke softly. "We know the formula."
The baron wasn't impressed. Many times over the years, he had heard men tell him that, usually while they were being stuffed into a cage, trying to bargain for a fast death.
"The lord baron deals harshly with folks about such matters," Langford whispered back, confident the breeze along the shore would hide their words. "Very harshly."
"Doesn't matter. We can also tell you how to make it better than him," Ryan added. "The powder he sells isn't as strong as the stuff he uses. Right?"
That was correct, but Langford wasn't ready to concede anything yet to the cocky outlander. "Mebbe," he hedged. "But that's common enough knowledge. Gotta tell me more."
Debating the options, Ryan chose the truth. "Three ingredients," he said. "But they have to be mixed in just the right amounts, or it's as useless as dirt."
Now the baron felt a surge of excitement. Rumors among the slaves told about three chems. But this was the first confirmation of the fact. Maybe he was being offered the real thing.
"Perhaps we should continue this in private," Langford offered slyly, trying to ooze charm. "Over dinner in my palace."
Another scream sounded from within the ville, but Ryan already knew that getting out of the ville was going to be a lot tougher than going in. Dinner would be drugged wine, poisoned food and then a long lifetime in a small room with many knives until the companions had told the baron everything they knew.
"Out here is fine," he countered, grateful for all those years he traveled with the Trader learning to cut a deal. The baron was no fool. "Or we could talk on one of the trawlers."
Away from the longblasters, where only the cannon could strike? Langford thought. Fuck that. "Tell me an ingredient first," he offered in reply. "Then we talk on the ship."
On the ground, a blue crab scuttled by, unconcerned with the world of the humans.
"Sulfur," Ryan said. "You call it flash. The yellow powder that smells like bad eggs and comes from a steam vent near your volcano."
Trying not to show it, Langford was stunned beyond words. The outlander knew everything! So the lord baron had lied, it was part of black powder and not something for his disease. The healers used flash to treat minor wounds. They healed faster that way, so it seemed only natural to assume the lord baron was doing the same for his strange illness. Another lie. Had the fat bastard ever said anything that was true? Probably not.
"Good enough," Langford grunted, tucking away his blasters. "What's your price for the rest?"
"The trawler and a load of shine," Ryan said doing the same.
The baron waited for the rest of the demands, but no more seemed to be coming. "That's it?"
"All we need."
His suspicions confirmed, the baron began to get truly angry. It was much too cheap. This was a trick. Or some sort of loyalty test from Kinnison to see if he would deal with whitecoats. Well, it wouldn't work!
"Well, I don't deal with traitors!" the baron shouted, backing away from the man so the snipers would have a clear target. "Chill these bastards!"
The crowd of people turned and ran, while the sec men cut loose with their flintlock miniballs humming past the companions. The range too great for the crude smoothbores.
Trapped on the open beach, the companions dived to the ground, and J.B. cut loose with a full stuttering stream at the group of sec men. Mildred fired the shotgun while Ryan shot the baron twice in the chest, then aimed for the guards at the gate, the 9 mm blaster chugging hot lead death into their midst. Ryan had no idea how the talk had gone sour so fast.
Meanwhile, Jak raked the beach with his Colt Python, taking out the nearby guards, Dean hit a sniper on top of the wall and Doc slammed the pommel of his knife into the temple of the other sec man they had been holding as a prisoner. As the groaning man fell, the scholar grabbed his flintlock. The discharge was louder than his LeMat, but the .75 miniball slammed into the man with the crossbow, spinning him, and the arrow hit the wooden gate, going in a good foot. The rest of the sec men retreated along the tunnel firing at every step, the billowing smoke soon hiding them from sight.
"Head for the trawler!" Ryan shouted, rising and shooting as he sprinted. That would give them cover from snipers until reaching the jungle.
Firing at more sec men appearing on top of the wall, Krysty raced after the man but tripped in the sand and came down hard. Trying to move, she found a gnarled hand clamped on her ankle, then her wrist, and Baron Langford stood, pulling her close. Point-blank, she fired the S&W at the man, but he only grunted as the .38 bullets slapped into his chest. Then the baron wrapped tree-trunk-size arms around Krysty, pinning both arms at her sides. The pressure was incredible, and her blaster soon dropped from numb hands.
Drawing his revolver, Langford started backing toward the gate, holding the trapped woman as a human shield. Ryan and Mildred both took aim, but held off firing, afraid to hit their friend. Barely able to breathe, Krysty clawed for her belt knife but was unable to find it with her clumsy hands. His arms were so tight that all of the sensation was fading from her body. In desperation, she drove a knee into his crotch. Firing his weapon, Langford only squeezed harder, making her ribs creak.
Risking a shot, Ryan got the baron in the shoulder, and he fired back with the booming revolver. Langford's arm jerked as blood spurted from his shoulder and the heavy combat round plowed into the sand between Ryan's boots.
Fireblast! The son of a bitch had to have a dozen slugs in him, and was still moving. He had to be some sort of mutie, norm on the outside, but who knew what lay under the human-looking skin?
Now the baron and his captive were directly between the companions and the sec men, neither side able to fire for fear of hitting one of their own. Only Langford was free to shoot, and he emptied the revolver at the companions, then tossed the blaster away and drew the black-powder Colt .44 to start firing again. But the companions were back in the water, the angle of the beach making it hard to get a bead on them.
Reaching the mouth of the tunnel, Langford paused and grinned in triumph. "Drop your blasters, or the bitch dies!" he bellowed, brandishing the Old West hand cannon, trails of smoke snaking from its pitted muzzle.
A wild rage boiling inside, Ryan started to charge, then forcibly held himself back, knowing that if they attacked or surrendered, they would get chilled. Desperately he tried to conceive of a third option, but every plan ended with Krysty dead. They were going to have to leave her behind. It was a choice between her or all of them. The Deathlands warrior felt madness tug on his sanity as he realized there was no way around the awful decision. Shooting at the wall around the gate, he tried to keep the baron off balance and buy some time.
"Gotta go," Jak said urgently, wading closer. "Come back later."
"Not yet," Ryan growled, splashing through the surf.
J.B. started to charge, and Mildred held him back. "Don't want to lose you, too," the physician stated bluntly.
Furious, the Armorer did as she asked, cursing his inability to help.
SWIRLING COLORS FILLED Krysty's vision, and only the thundering blood in her ears could be heard. Death was near, and Krysty knew she had only one chance. Calling on Gaia to aid her, mentally saying the prayers that would summon inhuman strength, the woman experienced a rush of electric power that banished the pain and returned the feelings to her arms. Now Krysty tried again to break free from the baron's grasp, and his arms parted easily, his face reflecting his utter astonishment.
As she got loose, Langford aime
d his blaster and Krysty knocked it aside, the miniball tugging at her khaki jumpsuit as it tore a new hole in the cloth.
His left wrist throbbing, Langford dropped the exhausted weapon and threw a punch. Krysty swayed out of the way, feeling it brush her chin, then leaned in and hit him twice with blows that would have aced a norm. Snarling, the baron buried a fist into her stomach, but the blow, although devastating, seemed to have no effect on her.
Backing away, she kicked dirt in his eyes, but the giant laughed and grabbed for her throat. Krysty feinted to the right, and incalculable agony shattered the universe. Langford had yanked loose a handful of her animated hair.
In spite of the pain, Krysty swung out her legs for a trip, and the baron cursed as he landed sprawling, red filaments still clenched in his fist. The sight fueled her anger, and Krysty rolled on top of the man to slap cupped hands onto his ears. Howling, the giant rose to his knees, throwing her off. Rolling to her knees, Krysty saw trickles of blood flowing down his neck and knew she had successfully burst his eardrums.
Spinning on a heel, Langford kicked at her, lightning fast. The boot scraped her side, and Krysty swayed out of the way just in time to avoid the expected second kick from his other boot.
Her hand brushed one of the dropped blasters on the ground, and she threw it at his face. He ducked and then lunged, arms splayed wide for a deadly bear hug again. Krysty dropped and rolled, the baron plowing into the wall of the tunnel, shaking the huge structure.
As he turned, Krysty stepped in close and rammed the heel of her hand into his nose, intending to drive the fragments into his brain. She heard the bones snap and felt them move. Instantly the baron's face went slack, and he fell to his knees drooling. Fumbling for her belt knife again, this time she found it and slashed him twice across the throat, then stabbed the blade into an armpit to sever the major artery hidden there.
Langford limply fell forward onto the ground. He shuddered all over just once, then went completely still.
Minutes later, as Krysty weakly stood in the tunnel, a faint sound permeated her consciousness. Dozens, maybe hundreds of people were chanting, their voices swelling in power in volume until the very ground seemed to shake with the endless repetition—-their hailing her as the new baron.
