“Heard that there was about a hundred of you,” Krysty said.
Steele looked worried for the first time. “I don’t think Brother Wolfe would like—”
“Fuckin’ sure he wouldn’t,” Owsley interrupted grimly. “I’d button the flap, Josiah.”
“Not trying to spy on you,” Ryan said calmly. “Just interested.”
Steele sniffed. “I guess—” He stopped speaking as Doc suffered another of his violent sneezing, coughing fits. “Hope he’s recovered for the testing,” he said.
“What’s the testing?” Mildred asked. “Brother Wolfe’ll tell you all about that. I was saying about defending the ville. I reckon that we’re sort of out of the way up here.”
“What’s altitude?” Jak was staring around him with undisguised interest.
“Varies around here. Average about twelve thousand. Some serious up and downing during skydark and through the long winters after.”
Owsley was moving on again. Now they were in the middle of the ville, approaching the large building that stood at its core. Ryan walked with Steele, the others close on his heels, all of them finally stopping a few paces from the open front door of the main house.
A figure loomed from the shadows inside, and an echoing voice carried out to them.
“By the blessed saints! It’s my old friend, One-Eye Cawdor. I always swore that I’d chill you next time I saw you. And here you are!”
Chapter Nineteen
Suddenly Ryan was aware that they were surrounded by armed men.
There were at least twenty, most in clothes similar to those worn by Steele and Owsley. Most were clean shaved, though Ryan spotted a couple with neatly trimmed mustaches. He thought one of them was the youngest of the trio that they’d run into back at Mom’s Place, but he had other things to worry about.
They had been waiting for their arrival, setting them up. That was all too obvious.
The men, mostly looking middle-aged, were in doorways of houses, some with the barrels of their Winchester 94 rifles protruding from windows. Others had circled behind the outlanders, standing in a rough skirmish line. Most with long blasters, a few with revolvers.
“Don’t even think about it, Cawdor,” urged the voice from the darkness.
“Wasn’t thinking about a thing. Except that this was a fireblasted sort of a welcome to the Children of the Rock. Not friendly, Brother Wolfe.”
The man still lingered just inside the doorway of the house. “It’s Brother Wolfe, is it now, Cawdor?”
“What else should it be?”
The laugh was warm and friendly, the kind of laugh that sent a finger of ice down the spine.
“What else should it be? I can recall the names that I got called by Trader and his renegades.”
So. That was it. The Trader had ridden the length and breadth of Deathlands, and for many of those years he had been accompanied by his two lieutenants, John Dix and Ryan Cawdor. Some of the time they’d left good, warm feelings behind them in the villes they’d visited. Some of the time they hadn’t. Ryan blinked away the thick red mist of half-remembered blood and sighed. “Times long past, Wolfe.”
“Not worth forgetting,” Doc added in his usual runic, inconsequential manner.
“Don’t know you, old man,” the voice said. “I heard word of all of you, here and there.”
“You going to show yourself? Or just give the sign to have us gunned down?” J.B. asked.
“Hold your tongue, Armorer. Think I don’t know you, Dix, with your gleaming glasses and your favorite hat? Carrying an Uzi, I see.”
“Take some of you whoreson bastards with me, Wolfe. If it comes to that.”
“Not the place for a firefight, outlanders,” Owsley said at their side. “Be your blood spilled in the dirt. Best way with strangers. Dead man won’t betray you.”
Ryan looked coldly at him. “Any shooting and I swear I’ll take you with me.”
“Big talk for an old one-eyed man,” said the voice from the doorway, followed by the laugh again.
Ryan was suddenly angry, irritated by the ambush they’d walked into like wet-eared stupes and not ready to play games any longer with the hidden man.
“You come out now, Wolfe, or I promise you we’ll start shooting.”