by James Axler
"Dr. Tanner?" Albert asked in concern.
Doc ignored the tears that trickled down his face. They would fade soon enough, just as all the others had. "I am all right, my diminutive companion. But please, honor me and entertain me with a discourse you have read, heard about or imagined. Something that would keep my mind occupied as I walk this winding path. And please call me Doc."
"A learned discourse, eh?" Albert asked. His voice brightened. "Do you know Percy Shelley and Lord Byron?"
"The authors of Prometheus Unbound and Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, to name but a couple of their major works?" Doc asked. "By the Three Kennedys, I would be remiss not having read their works, even more so not having heard of them."
"Those are the two."
Doc felt better already. Both poets were personal favorites of his. "Then pray tell me."
"Okay," Albert said. "Shelley and Lord Byron go into this bar, see…"
RYAN CROUCHED at the top of the hill that led down to Hazard. The ville was less than a quarter of a mile distant now. He surveyed it through his field glasses.
Krysty knelt at his side, her hand resting casually on his thigh. "Look at the houses, lover," she said wistfully. "All painted white and looking brand new."
"From here," Ryan said. "You get closer up, you'll see where the whitewash didn't quite cover."
"Still, it's a pleasant thought. What about the big building in the center? It looks like a hotel."
"It is," Ryan replied. The building was three stories tall, bigger than any other in the ville, and only the church steeple was taller. Pink-flowered green curtains filled the windows. A sign ran along the side of the building's second floor, reading Hazard Royale Inn.
"A bed would be nice, wouldn't it?" Krysty asked. "For a night or two."
"Mebbe," Ryan said. He shifted the binoculars, taking in more of the ville. Despite the ville's peaceful appearance, he didn't trust it. Memory of the thirty-seven people who'd been butchered by Liberty and his band at the bequest of the ville's elders stuck out in his mind.
No wag tracks showed in the beaten earth of the roads marked out in straight lines through the ville. Evidently it had rained lately, because great washouts still showed mud in the center of the streets. A few children played in the ville square under an old, tattered flag of the United States of America. A Civil War cannon, grimed over with rust that hadn't been removed despite a dogged attempt sat in the square atop a small, shaped hill partially covered by a carpet of yellow-and-white daisies. More daisies thrust out from the cannon's mouth.
Women talked in front of a two-story laundry that had a generous wooden porch and hand-lettered windows. Men sat and whittled on the benches in front of the laundry, while the women stood with baskets of clothes on their hips.
It looked idyllic, but the men wore weapons and so did some of the women. The ville wasn't a place that took kindly to strangers.
Ryan knew they needed a story. And the trading one sounded as good as any. "Albert."
The dwarf turned from where he'd been talking to Doc. "Yes, Mr. Cawdor."
"Just call me Ryan," the one-eyed man said. Too many people in the area might have heard the name, and Harvey Cawdor had given it a large disservice. "Does the ville have a healer?"
"Yes. Doc Kirkland."
"How's he fixed for medicines?"
"Most of what he uses are herbs that we grow around the ville," Albert replied. "The stuff you had to offer Liberty, the anesthetic and such, he'll be interested in."
"Figuring on doing some trading?" J.B. asked.
"Gives us as likely an excuse as any," Ryan said. "We show up at the ville, people are going to be talking. When you go see the gunsmith, make sure you keep those reloads out of sight. Man will probably know his own work and wonder how we came by those shells."
"Already figured it."
Ryan put his field glasses away. There wasn't anything else to do but the doing of it. "Let's move out."
Chapter Four
"You folks want to hold up there for a minute?"
Ryan stared at the lean, hard man that stepped off the porch near the laundry. He held up a hand and stopped the companions. The six members of his group, Dean included, spread out into a skirmish line.
"Something wrong?" Ryan challenged, shifting his grip on the Steyr. But he watched the way a handful of men spread out across both sides of the street behind the man that braced them.
"Just want to ask you a few questions is all," the man said. He was dressed in denim jeans and a green shirt that somebody had minded with care so that the fit was like a glove. Salt-and-pepper hair lay down neat and proper under a faded baseball cap advertising something called NASCAR. A hammered copper star on his chest read Sheriff.
"Sure," Ryan responded. "Day's not been so busy that I can't answer a question or two."
The man stopped ten feet in front of Ryan, his right hand on his hip just above the Colt .45 automatic on his hip. The restraining thong had already been slipped, hanging like a silent warning, from the holster. "Name's Dodge," the man said. "I'm sheriff of this ville." He gave an easy, affable smile.
Ryan waited, not making it easy for the man. Dusk was starting to settle around the ville, drawing long shadows through the streets. A number of people in houses on either side of the street peered through their windows. "Okay."
"I need to ask you what you're doing here, son."
"Came to do some trading," Ryan answered. The sheriff shook his head. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you probably come to the wrong place. Hazard's got most everything it needs. We try to be a self-sufficient community."
Ryan nodded. "That's what we heard when we started out this way. We didn't come with empty hands, Sheriff Dodge." He beckoned Mildred forward.
Mildred drew a lot of attention from the ville. Ryan had noticed only a handful of black people during his earlier observation, and none of them sported the colored beaded plaits woven into her hair.
She opened her pack under the sheriffs supervision, bringing out ajar of the topical anesthesia. The soft blue of the jellylike substance looked clear and clean against the glass walls of the jar.
"What's that?" Dodge asked.
"Topical anesthesia," Mildred answered. "If you got a healer in the ville, you can bet your ass that he'll be interested in this."
"If that's not enough," Ryan added, "we've got some jack to spend, too. Hazard may have all it needs, but we're running low on some staples."
"We don't run a charity here, mister," Dodge said flatly. "Nor do we cotton much to outlanders. We got our lives pretty much set, and don't like folks butting in."
"That's what we heard," Ryan agreed. He kept the edge of anger out of his voice with effort. "But we've been scavenging, came up with this topical anesthesia and thought mebbe a place getting as civilized as Hazard would want something this good."
"Do you know what a topical anesthetic is?" Mildred demanded.
"No."
"I do." The voice belonged to a man in a white blazer and wire-rimmed glasses. He had a bull's neck and his body was big to match. He stepped out of a small building called the Bottlefly Emporium, leaving the bat-wing doors swinging behind him. "I am Dr. Neil Kirkland, healer in these parts."
Dodge touched the bill of his baseball cap respectfully. "Guess you'd know about such things, Doc."
"If they have topical anesthesia from the predark days," Kirkland said as he approached, "these people shouldn't just be allowed to trade in our ville, Sheriff Dodge. They should be our honored guests." He stopped in front of Mildred. "Madam, if I may?"
"Of course." Mildred unscrewed the lid and removed it from the container, showing that the seal hadn't been broken.
Kirkland's furry eyebrows lifted in surprise. Despite the fact that he shaved his head, he sported a goatee and sideburns of fiery red hair. "Unopened?"
"Found it that way," Mildred answered. "Had no reason to open it so far."
"Are there more of these where you found this
one?" Kirkland asked.
Ryan regarded the man coolly. "We're talking about this one."
The healer raised a curious eyebrow, but evidently didn't take any offense. "I see. May I open it, then?"
"Are we going to be allowed in to trade?" Ryan asked, pushing his advantage.
Kirkland glanced at Dodge. "Sheriff, you may not realize it, but this is an absolute treasure."
Reluctantly Dodge nodded. From the way the sheriff acted, Ryan knew the healer carried a lot of authority in the ville. "I'll take your word for it," Dodge said.
"You don't have to take my word for it," Kirkland said. He looked back at Ryan. "Sir, whatever you want for this—within reason—in this ville will be yours. I do all the surgery in Hazard. If I can't get whatever you want for you myself, I can work out a deal with anyone in this ville. These hands are surgeon's hands, only one step removed from Saint Elvis's himself, may his voice never be silenced."
"You got yourself a deal," Ryan said.
Kirkland gave an expansive smile. Delicately his fingers ripped the aluminum-foil seal from the topical anesthesia. He smelled the stringent odor and smiled again. "Fabulous."
"You'll want to be cautious with that," Mildred said. "It'll go a long way because of the cocaine-type base."
Kirkland raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You know about such things?"
"I've done some cutting and stitching myself," Mildred acknowledged.
"Then I'd like your company for lunch or dinner sometime before you leave Hazard. My housekeeper prepares a fine table."
"If we can work it out," Mildred answered.
Ryan knew Mildred was only acting compliant. She wasn't going anywhere away from the companions until they were all sure everything was safe. The only security they had was with one another. And if the chance did present itself where she did accompany the man for a meal, she would also be in a position to ask questions they might need answers to themselves.
Kirkland dipped the corner of a handkerchief into the anesthesia, then handed the container back to Mildred and turned to the sheriff. "Remember a few months back when I had to pull that bad tooth of yours?"
Unconsciously Dodge rubbed his jaw. "Can't say that I'm going to forget anytime too soon. Meaning no disrespect."
"None taken. That was a frightful piece of business, and if I hadn't scraped the bone as well as I had, gangrene might well have set in, taking your life. And there's another tooth or two in that head of yours that I'm going to have to go in after one day soon. I'm sure you're not looking forward to that."
"No."
Ryan watched the men behind the sheriff. Most of them had stood down where they were, getting relaxed now. It took some of the edge off of the situation. He caught Krysty's eye, looking a question at her.
The redhead shook her head slightly, letting him know she was getting no negative feelings. Her mutie ability of precognition had pulled them through hard times before. There were times that Krysty had known the lies they were being told as soon as they were uttered. Evidently Kirkland was being totally honest.
The healer opened the sheriffs mouth and scrubbed the dampened corner of the handkerchief across the inside of Dodge's lower lip.
The sheriff stepped back and spit. "Now, that's some bastard vile tasting—" He stopped, then touched his lip, looking surprised. "Hey, I can't feel my lip!"
"Exactly," Kirkland said, motioning for Mildred to close up the anesthesia. "And for your consideration in this matter about letting these people into our ville, your dental work will be on me."
"As long as you do it with that stuff," Dodge conceded, touching his lip, "you got yourself a deal."
"You have my word on it," Kirkland said. He reached for the anesthesia.
Mildred kept the jar back. "We haven't talked trade yet."
Kirkland's forehead furrowed then it was gone. "Madam, I've given you my word that anything you want within reason is yours. What is it you would wish?"
"Rooms at the hotel for starters," Krysty spoke up.
Ryan nodded. "We'll dicker from there."
"As you wish." Kirkland glanced at Dodge. "Sheriff, make it so. And anything else they want, pass the word around to the rest of the ville that I'll be indebted to them."
Dodge inclined his head. "Sure, but they got Albert with them."
The doctor glanced at the dwarf for a moment in perplexed annoyance. "You've already met young Liberty, I gather?" Kirkland asked.
"Yeah," Ryan said. "We settled up with Liberty, then he sent the little man on with us. Said that way you'd know we'd already been through him."
"He's demanded his tribute, I take it?"
Ryan knew from the man's gaze that Kirkland was fantasizing about what Liberty had taken. "And gotten it. We had some playing cards and some knives, some self-heats he said he'd never seen before. I figure he got mebbe a little more than was fair. He didn't understand about the anesthesia."
"And you didn't further his elucidation?"
"Not when a man's already committing highway robbery on me," Ryan said.
"I'm surprised that he didn't follow you in."
"Didn't say he always did," Ryan stated. "Mebbe he'll be along."
"He's looking for the stickie tribe that's come down from the north," Albert said. "They cut sign on them a few days back."
"Hopefully he'll get them all." Kirkland took the topical anesthesia when Mildred offered it. "At any rate, I leave you in the sheriffs capable hands." He turned and walked back to the emporium.
Dodge waved two fingers. Two young men that favored him greatly came from the porch behind him. One of them carried a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun.
When he saw the weapon, Ryan figured J.B. was feeling better already.
"These here are my sons," Dodge said. "Ira and Tucker. They'll show you around the ville. When you go to bed at night, as long as you're in Hazard, one of them will be down in the hotel lobby. When you get up in the morning, one of them will be down in the hotel lobby. You get out of the hotel without them seeing you, could be I'll feel a little unfavorable about that."
"Sure," Ryan said easily. "But what if we don't plan on staying together?"
"Oh," Dodge said with a smile, "I got plenty more deputies."
Chapter Five
"Here are your rooms." The maid paused at the top of the stairs leading to the third floor of the Hazard Royale Inn and gestured toward a line of doors. She held out metal keys on circular plastic chips with numbers on them. "If there's anything else I can get for you, Aunt Maim said to let me know and I'll get it for you straight away."
"Are there bathtubs in the rooms?" Krysty asked, taking one of the keys from the girl.
The maid didn't look a day over fifteen. A mop of brown hair nearly hid her eyes, and every now and then a bit of a blue tattoo showed on the rounded cleavage she was showing above the unbuttoned green blouse. Her attitude about her job definitely wasn't enthusiastic.
"Yes, ma'am," the maid replied.
Ryan glanced at the hallway, getting its layout in his mind. It would be dark soon, and there was no guarantee they'd live through the night. A ville's hospitality generally extended only as long as their guests' usefulness remained. Even when there were signs of civilization in some locale of Deathlands, it tended to be superficial. Then again, Kirkland was a greedy man and might be wondering how to coax more anesthetic from them.
Clean and neat, the hallway formed a T at the top of the stairs. Six rooms lined the wall, promising small quarters, but at least the hint of privacy. Pictures covered the walls, set apart in hand-crafted frames. Upon closer inspection, Ryan saw that they were pages torn from a magazine. All of the pictures on the pages featured beautiful old wags that Ryan had seen in magazines himself. The two nearest him were of a bright red Corvette and a black Viper.
"Is it running water?" Krysty asked, getting impatient with the girl's reticence.
"No, ma'am. We'll have to bring it up in buckets."
Ryan faced
the girl. "Are baths extra?"
"No, sir. Aunt Maim said to give you whatever you needed."
"We'll have a bath, then," Krysty said. "And I want hot water. A lot of it."
"Yes, ma'am." The maid dipped her head and gave Ryan the rest of the keys, then fled back down the steps.
"Enjoying your newfound wealth?" Ryan asked with a grin.
"It's not often we're given the run of an entire ville, lover." Krysty put her key in the lock and turned it. The mechanism opened after a slight hesitation.
Ryan's hand strayed to the butt of the SIG-Sauer as he peered over Krysty's shoulder. But the small room beyond was clear. A bed filled the center of the room, with a small table and a chest of drawers the only other furniture. A glass door led out onto a small balcony that fronted Hazard's main street. The sun in the west was an hour or so from disappearing behind the hills.
"I want to enjoy myself for the few days this lasts," Krysty said, entering the room and looking around.
Ryan glanced at J.B., trading looks with his old friend. While they'd been with the Trader, they'd sometimes enjoyed the hospitality of a ville. But often that hospitality had come with a price. Like the Trader had always said, sugar-coated shit was still shit.
"Do a changeover at two in the morning," J.B. said. "Give you a knock on the wall, let you know."
Ryan nodded. "I'll take first watch. We'll sleep in when morning comes. Mildred and Krysty can keep an eye on things until we catch up on our sleep."
"I watch," Jak volunteered, knowing from experience that Ryan and J.B. were dividing up the time between them. "Not too tired."
"Figured you weren't," Ryan said. "Thought mebbe you could drift through the ville after dark for a while. Get the fastest way out of here mapped. Just in case."
