A Gluttony of Plutocrats (The Respite Trilogy Book 1)

by Ella Swift Arbok

  I reached out a hand to close the computer, but Newton called out to stop me. “Stay under cover for a few more seconds.”

  I rested for another half minute, during which time a cruiser raced upriver at a great deal more than the legal eight miles an hour. On legs that protested I forced a trot, no longer caring about cover. I had pains I couldn’t account for; I had tomorrow, if I lived, to worry about them.

  Snow fell, whipped across the water by a strong northerly wind.

  I rounded a bend and pulled up. There was Sy’s boat, drifting down to the ocean. It passed me, almost within reach, with no one on board. It bumped against some submerged obstruction and veered to the bank. I grabbed a rope and soon had both ends secured.

  The cabin heater had been left on, showing they had left in a hurry. I sat in welcome warmth, connecting to Newton once again.

  He didn’t wait for an invitation to speak. “Lemuel, listen. This is what I have learned by monitoring your combi. Bandstorm’s cruiser arrived at the clearing a few minutes ago and is moored alongside. Bandstorm, Briggs, the girl Emily, and your friend Mabel Dunbowing disembarked, together with a guard. Apart from Briggs, they are all in the clearing now. Emily and Mabel are bound.”

  “Sy?”

  “Not with them, and both captives say she wasn’t on the boat.”

  No Sy? But Mabel and Emily couldn’t have handled the boat without her.

  Bandstorm had declared his hand. No bluff. He had the power.

  Again, I ran.

  Blood drummed through my ears. I pressed on, scouring the bank and river for signs. I called Sy’s name, though my voice was hoarse. I took another step, another deep breath, and almost tripped against something soft, cold, and wet.

  Sy lay half-in, half-out the water, her head hidden in rushes. I grabbed and heaved without knowing if she was alive or dead, then fell back on new snow, pulling her across my body, letting freezing water drain over me. I whispered her name. Then I screamed it.

  Three times I pressed against her back, hoping to free water trapped in her lungs. None came. I put a fingertip against her neck to test for a pulse

  She shivered. She was alive but in a desperate state.

  Hypothermia? But she must have been in the icy water for only a few minutes.

  Her life was failing.

  I eased myself free, kept one arm around Sy’s rib cage, and struggled to get us both to our feet. Her eyes, half-open, turned to me but gave no sign of recognition. She could have broken bones for all I knew, but if I didn’t get her moving and get her warm soon, nothing else would matter.

  I dared not think of failure. While she lived, there was hope.

  She wore no shoes. Her overcoat, sodden and cold, had become a burden. I put my arm underneath it and eased it from her shoulders.

  I had a glimmer of a plan. The boat was warm and dry. I half carried her forward, letting her feet touch the ground. “Move, Sy. Walk. You have to move.”

  Sy lifted a foot, setting it down on the same spot.

  I tried again, an arm around her waist, guiding, encouraging. Together, we moved but made little progress. I couldn’t support her for long. “Keep moving, Sy. I’ll stay with you, as long as it takes.”

  We stepped along the canal path. Again, Sy shivered—a weak motion that soon faded. Why do we shiver? I wasn’t sure of my ground, but it could do no harm. “Sy, shiver. Keep doing it. It’ll help.”

  We made slow progress, but the shivering became more regular and stronger. By the time I saw the boat, I felt it was no longer forced. I pointed. “Look, just by the bend.”

  Sy stared.

  She struggled on, a few more steps on unsteady feet, over snow-covered cobbles, in wet socks.

  The chattering of her jaw slowed then stopped. Frost glistened on her eyebrows and hair. Not shivering anymore? What could have been a sign of improvement alarmed me.

  I picked her up in my arms and slogged along the path. “Shiver, Sy. Please shiver. Force yourself.”

  Sy shivered in bursts. She muttered.

  I bent my head. “What?”

  “Mabel…hates me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Again, Sy struggled to talk. “Pushed me in.”

  One mystery solved. That’s why Sy wasn’t captive like Mabel and Emily.

  Almost at the boat, I sat her on the ground and leaned her back against a tree trunk. I tightened the moorings then helped Sy aboard.

  The blessing of heat. Sy lay, pallid and limp, on the bench that had become our bed.

  I put a towel within reach. “Get your clothes off. I’ll help.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Not tonight, Lemuel.”

  “What? No, you have to get dry and warm.”

  She didn’t have the strength to resist.

  Once everything was off and I had dried her body, I eased her under the covers. “Snuggle down. And keep shivering. I’ll get dry clothes. And food?”

  She nodded.

  I folded down the table and soon had Newton’s wrinkled face in view.

  He cocked his head. “Well?”

  “Newton, look at Sy. Hypothermia? What should I do?”

  He looked. “Sy, cough please.”

  She coughed.

  The screen turned to face me. “The sooner you can get her warmed from within, the better. Warm milk if you have it, with plenty of sugar. Is she thoroughly dry? Her hair?”

  We spoke for a few moments while milk heated in a saucepan.

  I raised Sy’s head, letting her sip slowly. “Newton thinks I should cut your hair off. It’s too thick to dry well.”

  She made no objection.

  I clipped with nail scissors—it was all we had—dried her stubbly scalp, and wrapped her head in towel that had been warming by the heater. For an hour, I nursed her. I found dry clothes for both of us and helped her dress.

  Sy stood with a little help. She looked around the cabin. She looked out the window. “Where are we? Where’s Emily?”

  She had to know.

  I turned to Newton. “What’s the latest?”

  Sy gasped when he gave his news. “We have to go.”

  Newton shook his head. “Ms. Heyho, you are in no state to face these people.”

  I started to speak, but Sy thumped my shoulder. She glared at the screen. “Newton, we don’t need your permission. We are going with or without your help. Which way? How far?”

  She was in a stronger state than Newton or I had realized.

  He smiled. “Good. Maybe you are ready.”

  “How far, Newton?”

  “A mile, upriver.”

  Sy stayed in the cabin.

  I started the engine and set off ahead.

  We were free, Sy and I. We could have gone in any direction on foot or along the river. We could have summoned Newton and fled to the security of Madagascar, leaving Emily and Mabel hostage to the master. Why would he harm them? He would know they couldn’t help him. But he was furious, he was vindictive, and he was capable of great cruelty.

  I won’t say I didn’t think about it, but I didn’t put the thought to Sy, knowing she would despise the cowardice it revealed. And if I ever write the story of my life, I doubt I shall have the courage to acknowledge that moment of dreadful weakness.

  At a walking pace, our engine made little sound. I cut it and drifted to the bank when I saw light reflecting off the water ahead of us.

  Chapter 22

  In fading light, we stepped from the houseboat. Sy gripped the aft mooring rope. I’d have let the boat drift to the ocean, but to Sy, it was home, with Madagascar no more than a dream. Once she had both moorings secured, we took what cover we could.

  Most of the trees between the clearing and the river had been felled. Their trunks lay stacked in piles. The once-charred circle from which my landing craft had fled glistened under new snow. On the west side, hiding us from the road, a ten-yard strip of woodland was all that remained. That would be the best way to approach the hut whil
e remaining out of view.

  A wooden table ran alongside the hut, with a bench on either side of it. On the bench nearer the hut were two figures. Mabel sat with her head resting on her arms against the table. A smaller figure, Emily, sat upright, her hands in her lap. The only other occupant of the clearing, in the black uniform of Draco security, paced nearby, a glowing cigarette in his mouth.

  Crouched behind a woodpile, we were too far from them to be heard. I pointed to lights on the river. “That looks like Briggs on the boat.”

  Sy nodded. “Where’s Bandstorm?”

  “In the hut, maybe. Now, here’s our problem: we have the elm rod against two armed men.”

  “Two?”

  What to say? If I told Sy my suspicion about Briggs, I might be endangering her life on a hunch. But not to reveal a potential ally could be to miss a chance for victory. “Sy, it’s possible—just possible, no more—Briggs could be on our side.”

  She leaned over until our shoulders touched. “Linnet has said nothing.”

  I took out my scarf. Would the light of its screen be visible to the guard? Desperate to speak with Newton, I had to take a chance. I waited until the guard had his back to us, kept the scarf low behind our cover, and made the connections.

  I needn’t have worried. The screen took shape, facing away from the hut. In muted tones, Newton’s face appeared. His voice also was subdued. “Time could be critical. I believe you are in trouble.”

  “Damn right we are, with no weapon except the elm. Does Bandstorm still have the combi?”

  “Yes, in an outside pocket. But from sound alone, I cannot tell which side.”

  Sy touched my arm. “You lit my fire, remember?”

  A flame? It might work. “Newton, could you trigger a flame from the combi if I gave the word?”

  “And spoil Mr. Bandstorm’s rumpardskin overcoat? Of course. So could you, although from here you would have to shout. Listen, Lemuel. Bandstorm is extremely angry. I have heard him. You made a fool of him, and you beat him. If he gets hold of you, he will kill you—to use his own phrase—‘inch by tormented inch.’ Risk anything, even death, to avoid capture.”

  What I didn’t need was a reminder of the danger I faced. I needed courage and belief in my own invulnerability. Instead, my tongue froze. I couldn’t speak. Newton had said no more than I expected, but his reminder of Bandstorm’s cruelty left me numb. I tried again. “What do you know…” My voice faltered. “Justin Briggs. What do you know about him?”

  “Bandstorm trusts him.”

  “So do I.”

  Newton raised an eyebrow. “Human instinct is not one of my strong points.”

  Human instinct? That’s what got us into this mess, but I had nothing better to guide me—except, perhaps, for Bandstorm’s hatred and anger. Might there be a way to use that in my favor?

  Sy crouched beside me. “Bandstorm has left the hut.”

  I peered through the loose pile of wood.

  Bandstorm stood by the guard, his death-black, ankle-length coat flowing outward from his immense shoulders. He and the guard exchanged words, and the guard walked to the woodland strip, a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Bandstorm turned around and paused as he faced the woodpile of our cover. He bellowed. “Oneway, are you out there? I know you’re there somewhere.”

  To the west, gray clouds took on an orange glow. Little daylight remained. Even if the clouds parted, there would be no more than a sliver of a moon. Light from the hut’s windows wouldn’t illuminate the woods. Could I find a way to take advantage of the darkness?

  Bandstorm turned to the west, away from the hut. “I have your friends here. What shall I do with them? Think about that.” There stood a man who had once threatened to crush my skull. If he wanted to goad me into action, he had succeeded. He couldn’t be sure I was around. But once Respite’s Respite was discovered, he would have strong cause to suspect.

  I took the elm from my backpack and held it to Sy. “Remember how this works? You take the riverside. And, if you can find no other way, trust Briggs.”

  We had no certainty to rely on. Our lives were at hazard, with a knife and a scarf as our defense. “I’ll go to the woods and find a way to reach the combi. Then we’re safe. What can possibly go wrong?” I forced a smile.

  Sy moved away, half-crouched. “Keep the elm. I’ll create a distraction.” She ran toward the river.

  I called after her as loudly as I dared to take the rod. She ignored me.

  The guard had finished his search of the woods. He made his way back.

  With my scarf pocketed and the elm’s blade fully extended, I edged around to the west side to the strip of woodland, much of it leafless, between the clearing and the road. I hacked through undergrowth and came out on the road side. From the south shone the headlamps of a single car that had somehow evaded the roadblock. I waited until it passed, then ran around and cut in level with the hut, close enough to require caution.

  Bandstorm called out again. “What about the hag? You know what I can do.” He turned to the guard. “Check the lumber stacks while there’s light, and then go check on Briggs.”

  Again, I waited.

  The guard moved around the woodpile. He turned toward the river. “Master, there’s a boat there. The one we stopped earlier, I think.”

  Bandstorm ordered him to check it out.

  Once the guard reached the side of the hut, I whispered to my scarf, “Newton, the flame. Do it now.”

  Ten seconds later, still nothing. I wasn’t thinking straight. In the form of a scarf, Newton couldn’t hear me. But in the form of a combi, he could. I shouted the words and took cover behind a tree.

  “Guard!” Bandstorm’s voice boomed. “Come!”

  I peeked out.

  Bandstorm peered toward the woodland.

  The guard came at a run. “Sir, your coat!”

  Flame burst from Bandstorm’s side.

  Bandstorm cursed. He reached for a buckle, struggled with it for a moment, pulled it open, and reached for the next. By the time he had removed the coat and flung it to the ground, his short coat also had begun to smolder.

  The guard picked up a handful of snow and rubbed it against Bandstorm’s side. He turned the rumpardskin long coat over and pressed it into snow.

  “Should’ve all burned,” Emily said, her voice shaky but loud.

  Mabel shushed her.

  With one hand on his burnt side, Bandstorm jabbed the other toward the table. “Guard, slap her. Slap her hard.”

  The guard didn’t move. “Sir, the Offenses Against Children legislation clearly states—”

  “How dare you quote the law to me? Slap her now.”

  The guard hurried to Emily and slapped her on the face, sending her tumbling from the bench. With her hands bound together, she landed on her side and rolled to a sit.

  Mabel raised her head. “Takes a tough man to slap a child.”

  Someone moved, at the north end of the hut, ducking as he passed its window. Briggs? He paused, out of Bandstorm’s sight, and pressed his back against the stone wall, hidden in shadow.

  Bandstorm glanced around the clearing. “Damn you, Oneway. You’ll pay for this.”

  What was Briggs up to? If he had captured Sy, it was possible he knew where I was.

  Bandstorm picked his long coat from the ground and emptied its pockets, piling their contents on the table. He tossed the coat to the ground again, took a cigar from a box, and lit it himself. Also from that pile, he removed a small gun.

  I desperately needed a plan. How could I draw him within range of my blade? If he thought he heard me…was it worth a try? With the heel of my boot, I broke a twig. No reaction.

  I picked up a dry branch and snapped it in my hands, good and loud.

  Bandstorm checked the side of his gun then pointed it in my direction. “Is that you, Oneway?” He fired, hitting the tree I had sheltered behind. Nothing wrong with his directional hearing.

  I cried out, then m
oved several steps to the side as stealthily as I could.

  Bandstorm pushed himself from the bench. “Guard, he’s hit. Go get him.”

  So far, so good. All I had to do was to kill the guard, take his gun and kill Bandstorm before he had a chance to grab Emily as a shield—all that while praying I’d judged Briggs correctly.

  The guard edged toward me. Halfway, he paused. An arc with his flashlight halted at the slit of my hood, then moved on. “Sir, could he have a weapon?”

  “Not a gun. He would’ve used it by now. Maybe a knife.”

  A few steps separated us. One strong lunge with the elm, and I would reach him. But the undergrowth contained wood and thorns. Even if I didn’t trip, the guard would have time to step back. I waited for him to lean closer.

  Bandstorm called, “Stop. It’s a trap.”

  Damn. He knows me too well.

  The guard frowned but didn’t question the master.

  Could I rush him and get back to cover? He still held his gun pointed close to my direction as he backed away. The moment had passed.

  Bandstorm walked back to the table. He paused by Emily and raised a boot to her shoulder. With a thrust, he pushed her over, then held the boot above her head.

  Emily rolled clear. “Killing me won’t help you. He don’t care.”

  Bandstorm lifted the combi from the table, turned it in his hands, then tossed it back. “Oneway, come face me, or I shall have some fun with your friends here. You know the sort of fun I enjoy. Guard, what is your name? No, it doesn’t matter. There’s brandy in the hut. Bring me a bottle and a glass.”

  I was running out of time. From the moment I saw Emily and Mable bound, I knew they would be used to draw me from cover. What hope did I have against two armed men?

  The combi could kill one, but only one. I had to act. And I had to shout. “Newton, prime to kill. Kill Bandstorm.”

  Bandstorm bellowed. “Damn you, Oneway!” He shot again in my direction, missing me by inches.

  The guard hurried from the hut, gun in hand.

  Nothing from the combi.

  I ran over in my mind how the combi killed. A particle no larger than a grain of sand would fly from its body, adjusting its direction with filament wings too small for the naked eye to see. It would enter the target’s brain, where it would vaporize in a mild explosion, the power of which would depend on whether it had identified the target species. Bandstorm was too close for the wings to adjust direction.