“You aren’t leaving it there, are you? What’s next?”
“No, I’m not leaving it there. What do you think? Neila and I, we thought to use some fairy weed on her. Didn’t work.”
Selkirk scowled. “She immune to it?”
“God no. The opposite. She drank two glasses of the stuff and you couldn’t shut her up. Trouble is, nothing she said makes sense. Except one thing.” Bannion waited for his cousin to ask the inevitable.
“What?”
“Said she had to pee. Then a couple minutes later she had to go again.” In spite of his chagrin, Bannion chuckled. “One of fairy weed’s lesser known side effects, as I recall. I told Neila to call me when it wears off and we’ll try questioning her again.”
Selkirk laughed out loud. “What does Harrison have to say?”
“He says she saved his life a couple times and he owes her. Says she’s a good person and wants us to lay off. He’s getting old—and soft.”
“Yeah.” Selkirk got up and took his dishes over to the bucket standing in the old, chipped enamel sink and dropped them into the soapy water. Somebody, Auntie Doris or Neila or one of the girls would wash them in the morning. A clan leader didn’t concern himself with actual kitchen chores, just the allotment of them. “Time was,” he said, obviously still thinking of the Harrison Bell of his own youth, “he’d’ve showed no mercy to a stranger appearing out of nowhere the way she has.”
Bannion mopped up a final spoonful of gravy with his last roll and pushed away from the table. “What do you want me to do?”
“Sic Nate onto her. Getting information out of someone like her should be easy for him. Listen close to what she has to say. Ask smart questions and hope her answers add up.”
“Hope? Cousin, we don’t survive by hope. We need the truth.”
“Yes. We do. That’s your job. Yours and Nate’s.” Selkirk yawned wide enough for Bannion to see his back molars. “I’m giving the party a miss and going to bed. I plan on sleeping a solid eight hours on a real mattress and not worrying about a thing. I’ll leave that to you.”
“Thanks.” Bannion grinned openly for the first time since he met Lily Turnbow this morning.
“You’re welcome.” Even as he headed for the back stairway leading up from the kitchen to the second floor bedroom, Selkirk had the last word. “Just remember, cousin. Disarming somebody who conjures fireballs out of nothing might prove a real chore.”
“No lie.” Despite the feather lightness of Auntie Doris’s rolls, the clan leader’s last warning made Bannion’s dinner lay heavy in his stomach. It reminded him again of the young woman’s hunger and the way her skin pulled over sharp bones as though resurrected from a husk.
Though he might be forcing the conviviality, he’d join the patrollers celebration in the big barn, he decided, walking out into the cold, clear night. A sky filled with a million brilliant stars showed the way. There’d be ‘shine and hard cider at the party, and probably even beer if Harrison had managed his annual end-of-harvest trade for barley from some of the farmers.
He planned to have a word with Harrison tomorrow. Time the old bugger passed his recipe for Artesian spring-brewed onto the younger generation. Harm was old enough to learn, if only Neila could be persuaded.
Warmth and music and laughter poured from the barn as he entered. Kira Shandy was there, wearing a swirly red skirt and light moccasins. She bore a pitcher of foaming beer, which answered one of his questions, and carried a handful of real glass glasses.
“Join us, boss” she said, laughing up at him, “we’re tying one on.”
He wasn’t adverse to tying one on, especially with her.
“We’re not on patrol now, Kira,” he said, taking one of the glasses and holding it out for her to fill. “Call me Bannion.”
Chapter 11
Early this morning as Lily played possum, Neila Bell had awakened her father-in-law, helped him dress, and taken him away in a wheelchair whose tires creaked. She left the bedroom door open afterward, possibly to make it easier to keep Lily under observation.
Lily guessed the healer would’ve been surprised to learn that by so doing, nearly every word spoken in the tiny hospital was audible to one blessed with extra keen hearing. Even activity in another room couldn’t drown out the discussion between Neila and Bannion when the patrol leader joined the healer in the hospital kitchen. Lily knew they were in the kitchen because she heard pots rattling and smelled food cooking. But nothing, including the rumble of her empty stomach, could keep her from listening to their conversation. Why should it when she was the object of debate?
First came the mutual “mornings,” good or otherwise. Neila offered tea and Bannion accepted. Another man, one with an altogether softer voice than the patrol leader’s, also murmured assent. Regular stuff. Conversation between the trio became more personal, some making Lily almost smile, like when Neila said, “Looks like you didn’t get enough sleep, Bannion. Too much partying?”
Her use of the common phrase eased Lily with its normalcy. These people were strange, almost foreign seeming, but at least one thing was familiar.
“I tried,” Bannion replied. “Turns out I wasn’t in the partying mood.”
“Kira Shandy, the girl in the pretty red skirt was,” the other man said on a teasing note. “And you didn’t seem to be objecting too strenuously.”
“Shut up, Nate,” Bannion replied. He didn’t actually sound mad, though.
Ah, yes, Lily thought. Nate. The amber-eyed man who’d rescued her. That’s why his voice was familiar.
Listening intently, she heard Neila’s sigh. “You did get laid, didn’t you? I saw you eyeing the Shandy girl yesterday. She didn’t strike me as unwilling, and she’d make a good match for you.”
A clatter of breaking glass was overlaid by Neila’s titter, and Bannion exclaimed, “ ‘Sus, Neila! Get personal, why don’t you?”
Nate chuckled.
“Well, did you?” Neila asked again.
“No, as a matter of fact, although I think Kira …” Silence, then, “I drank a few beers before going back to the barracks, is all. Too much on my mind to begin courting a woman.”
Lily snorted to herself. Courting a woman?Courting?
“Too much on your mind, my ass,” Neila scoffed. “First I ever heard men had anythingbut getting laid on their minds, especially after winning a battle.”
This time Nate laughed out loud, and Neila said, “You better hush yourself, Mr. Quick. You need a woman to keep you warm, too.”
“Don’t start matchmaking for me, Neila,” Nate said. “You know I’m immune.”
“We’ll see,” she replied.
Bannion, having ignored that last byplay, turned serious. “I’m not so sure we did win that battle. Mags got beat, all right, but I’m thinking a certain stranger’s unusual abilities had about as much to do with the victory as our armament. Speaking of the woman, is she awake? That damn fairy weed you gave her wear off yet?”
Lily didn’t smile this time.The woman. He meant her.
“I think so,” Neila said. “Bren, she’s night nurse this week, said the woman hasn’t been up for a few hours.” Metal banged on metal. “Her clothes. They belong in the museum.”
“What about them?” Nate asked.
“Let me show you.” Light footsteps hurried across a floor. “Look, Nate. Her pants and coat have clasps—I seem to remember they were called zippers. And they actually work. Fabrics that never came off of any loom I ever heard of. A coat light as a cloud, but warm as an April day. And for closures, instead of buttons or hooks and eyes, there’s this stuff that sticks to itself when you press two sides together.”
Duck down and Velcro, you simple woman,Lily answered in her mind. And don’t kid me. People have been using down for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years to keep warm.
“Where do you think she got them?” Neila went on. “Do you think she found a stash somewhere, hidden away these last hundred years?”
Nate answered first. “You’ve talked to Harrison, Neila. You know what his idea is and I think he’s right. Or maybe somebody oughta just askher.”
Now Bannion sounded hard. “Which is my intention, cousin. I’ll add that to my list of questions.”
Astonished, Lily froze, missing most of the cousin’s next exchange. She was stuck somewhere around the stash comment. What did Neila mean, hidden away for a hundred years? And what were they doing, going through her things? They were treating her like an enemy. Made her wonder what they had planned for her, that’s for sure. Her heart pounded uncomfortably hard.
She wasn’t prepared for a third degree. Her mind seemed incapable of thinking straight right now, with everything out of whack. Trying to convince these people she was not a threat seemed an insurmountable task. And maybe it wasn’t true, anyway. Maybe she was a threat. It all depended on them. One thing for certain; she wasn’t going to roll over just because they outnumbered her.
Beneath the quilt, Lily touched her breast. She still had on her bra and, yes, her panties, which left her wondering again if this was a real medical facility. Who ever heard of a hospital that didn’t supply a gown that left the patient’s bare bottom sticking out? The fact she wasn’t wearing such a gown was, perhaps, a hopeful sign. Had these people intended total intimidation, they would’ve stripped her naked and taken away her blanket. Having her most intimate parts covered, if only by lacy underwear, provided a measure of reassurance. An errant memory of leaping from bed in front of them all returned to her. What the hell was in the stuff Bannion called “fairy weed,” urging her to such uncharacteristic abandon?
She found herself wishing for a more of that false courage, so that instead of being forced to act the invalid in this narrow bed she could stand up straight and meet them face-to-face. Or maybe “in your face.” What was she, anyway? A player? Or a victim?
The answer to that was one of many things she needed to get up and discover. But how? There was no closet here, only a couple pegs for hanging things. Empty pegs, in this case, because as she now knew, they’d taken her clothing to examine and not left even a robe behind for her to cover herself with. They’d even taken her packer boots.
From visits to a rudimentary bath facility during the night, Lily knew there were four doors opening off the hall. If she occupied one room, another patient the second, and the third was the bath, that left one other; the kitchen where these people sat around gabbing. Everything happened in kitchens in these old-timey places, didn’t it? That’s where her clothes would be.
Scowling, she got out of bed, shivering a little. Was there no heat in this place for God’s sake? Stripping the blanket from the cot, she wrapped it around herself and padded barefoot to the door and peeped around the edge.
No one in sight.
Curling her toes against the cold floor, Lily stepped into the hall and tiptoed toward the kitchen. If she hoped to get her clothing back, there was only one way to do so.
Confrontation and demand—all very politely, of course.
“When can we expect Selkirk?” Neila was saying. “I’m surprised he hasn’t been over to see this woman.”
“You know how Selkirk is about the Cross-up people,” Bannion said. “They make him powerful nervous. For that matter, so do the traders. And the Techs. And the Mags.”
Lily understood nothing of that bit of yappity yap.
Neila laughed a little. “That’s my brother. An organizer and wise leader for his people, but not a diplomat or a warrior. That’s why he has you. He trusts you to be the public face of the clan.”
“Yeah,” Bannion muttered, “which puts the target directly on me.”
“I never noticed it bothered you before. Are you afraid of her? One small woman?”
“You’re damn right I am,” he said, sounding grim. “You didn’t see her in action, cousin. If you had—”
Lily figured that must be her cue.
“Good morning, folks. Is breakfast ready?” she asked brightly, striding into the kitchen as if she were an honored guest instead of a suspect, or a prisoner, or God only knew what else. Made her day when everyone jumped as though guilty of nefarious deeds. And so they were. Clothing theft, if nothing else.
Deliberately, she allowed the blanket to slip, exposing her shoulders. “I’d like my clothes and my shoes back before I eat, please.”
She caught Neila’s glance toward a tall armoire set against the far wall. Before either of the two men or the woman could stop her—not that they tried—Lily sidestepped and flung open the cupboard doors. Her clothes hung from wooden hooks. The packer boots sat side-by-side beneath.
“Thank you,” she said, as if they’d handed them over with their complements. Dropping the blanket to the floor, Lily first snatched her britches, yanking them over blue bikini panties. Next came her T-shirt, hiding the matching blue Victoria’s Secret bra. Her goose bumps flattened. Satisfied with that much, she leaned against the wall and jammed her feet into socks and shoes. After that, she took her time, tying the laces into precise double bows.
The O’Quinns, silent as porch posts, stood back and watched her dress. Eyes hard and intent, Bannion folded his arms across his chest and stared. Neila pursed her lips. The other man—he of the roan horse who’d snatched her out of the midst of mutants creatures—seemed only amused.
Had her near nudity offended them? Lily wondered. Nah, she decided in the next moment. She’d heard them talking about getting laid. Nothing prudish about that.
Finished with the shoe strings, she looked up. “You aren’t burning those eggs, are you, Neila?” Smelled like she might be, but even so, her belly rumbled.
Neila leapt into action, jerking the cast iron frying pan from an old wood-burning stove that looked familiar to Lily. Flipping the bread toasting in the half-open oven, the woman cast a perturbed glance at her cousins. “Sit,” she said, finding her voice. “All of you. I’ll have this on the table in a moment.” She added, “Burned or not.”
Lily didn’t care about the quality. At this point, she was ready to eat anything. Clomping over to the table, she sat in the chair Nate, in a surprising display of manners, pulled out for her. Bannion sat opposite, silent and wary.
Pleased with the reception she got with her assumed aggression, she folded her hands to hide a tremor and looked Bannion in the eye. “You have something to ask me? Fine. I’ll answer if I can. I have questions for you, too.”
Neila slid a plate of eggs and toast and a small piece of what smelled like venison steak in front of her, and pushed a pot of honey closer.
“Eat up,” Neila said. Plates, heaped high, clattered onto the table for Bannion and Nate.
Lily picked up her fork and knife. “I’m starved. You go ahead and talk if you think you must.” She cut into the steak. Yeah. Venison, for sure, with plenty of garlic and pepper for seasoning. The first bite almost melted between her molars. Umm, bliss.
“Generous of you,” Bannion said dryly. He loaded his fork with egg, but didn’t put it in his mouth. “Who are you? That’s what we need to know. Where are you from? What sect? And why are you here? Is it about that trouble with the Techs?”
Lily crammed toast into her mouth, chewing as she tried to make sense of all that. Sect? Techs? What in the world was he talking about? The only question that made sense was the one asking who she was.Again. Had no one been listening yesterday?
“Who,” she asked after swallowing the toast, “are the techs?” Although concentrating on her first real meal in at least three days, Lily didn’t miss the cockeyed look Neila sent her cousins. She had the feeling they were adept at reading each other’s nonverbal signals.
“Just tell the truth.” Bannion said. “Let’s go at this as cooperatively as we can.” He ate, finally, as though he were almost as hungry as she.
Neila carried four cups of dark tea smelling of herbs and spices over to the table. She set them down and pulled out a chair for herself. Her hair was loose this morning, silver strands g
linting at her temples.
“Do you have coffee?” Lily asked, longing for a jolt of caffeine. “I’m not much of a tea drinker. Not that this doesn’t smell nice.”
“Coffee?”
The woman’s startled expression was hard to miss, and the way her glance shifted to Nate, who shrugged.
“Sorry,” Lily said. “If drinking coffee is against your religion, I don’t mean to—”
Neila clicked her cup onto the bare wooden table. “We know we owe you for Harrison’s life, Ms. Turnbow. But don’t think that gives you any special privileges. You’ve been sick and I’ve cared for you. We’re even, I think.”
“Grudging hospitality,” Lily corrected, as though talking to herself. “And since when does “care” include dosing one with psycho drugs?” Then louder, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was asking for the moon.”
“Not the moon,” Nate cut in almost apologetically. “But coffee is in short supply. The Traders haven’t been around yet. Maybe later this week.”
In Lily’s opinion, his explanation, or apology, however he meant it, was pretty lame. Not to mention downright wacky. What was with these people, anyway? Harrison Bell, and to a lesser degree the young fighter, Jacob Felix, were the most normal she’d met, and that wasn’t saying much.
She ran Nate’s words through her mind again. Traders? Did he mean they only bought coffee from some outfit like Craven’s? Why did she find that unlikely?
“I’m not fussy,” she said, pushing a little harder. “Grocery store brands are plenty good enough.” Tensing, she waited to hear what he had to say, but there was only another meaningful exchange of glances between the cousins.
The silence held long enough to finish eating, although somewhere in there she lost her taste for the food. She sipped the controversial tea. At least it was hot, and free of drugs.
Nate finished about the same time as she, Bannion soon thereafter. Shoving his plate aside, he fixed a steely look on her and made a steeple of his fingers. “Enough of this fiddle-farting around. My patience is about worn out. You know what I want. Start talking.”
Hereafter Page 12
