“What do you mean ‘worse’?” J.B. demanded.
“Blood for water,” Sparrow said, quoting the ville mantra. “But I also hear the Scorpion God likes it spiced with screams.”
Doc was in a torture chamber? Shitfire. Ryan swung around his blaster until it pointed at Sparrow. In spite of the evening chill, the fat man started to sweat.
“You kept your part of the deal,” Ryan said gruffly. “So we keep ours. Now leave before I change my mind.”
Sparrow nodded energetically and took off at a run down the street, Houston tagging along behind his corpulent master.
“If he talks, we’re dead,” J.B. said, tracking their departure with the Uzi machine gun.
Ryan turned from the man and the dog. “He wouldn’t do anything until he’s set his brother free, and then they’ll have to discuss whether they should side with Trader or Gaza.”
“Say, fifteen minutes.”
“Mebbe ten.”
Staying in the shadows as much as possible, the companions moved around to the front of the building and studied the two guards at the door. Both were large men holding bolt action longblasters, with a muzzle loading pistol tucked into their belts. They were smoking cigs and appeared bored.
“No other doors,” Krysty said, her hair a wild tempest of motion as her hands tightened on the crossbow. “We have to go in this way.”
“No problem,” Ryan said, removing the half-spent clip from the SIG-Sauer and gently inserting a fresh one.
Suddenly a bell began to ring from the keep and the guards jumped at the sound, casting away their smokes to slide their blasters off their shoulders and work the bolts.
“Shitfire, that must be the ville alarm,” J.B. cursed, ducking lower into the shadows.
“A single shot from them, and we’ll have the whole ville coming down our throats,” Dean added, glancing around. Lights were appearing from behind closed windows. “Whatever we’re going to do better be soon.”
“We move on my mark,” Ryan growled, steadying the SIG-Sauer in both hands. “Ready…go.”
Stepping into plain view, Mildred clicked on the nukelamp, bathing the two guards in its blinding light. Covering their faces, the men cursed as Krysty and Jak used the crossbows. The bolts took the men in the throats, neutralizing any chance of them crying out in pain. Gagging on their own blood, the guards staggered drunkenly about as the companions rushed across the open courtyard and finished the job with knifes. It was brutal and messy, but there was no other choice.
Jak and Dean pushed the bodies against the wall, while Ryan tried the door. It was locked tight. The one-eyed man got out of the way as J.B. rummaged in his munitions bag for some tools and got to work. The rest of the companions nervously stood around the man, watching the windows and side streets for any movements. The alarm bell continued to sound from the keep.
“Barred from the inside,” the Armorer said in frustration. “No way to open this without using a gren.”
For a long moment, Ryan stared hostilely at the door as if it were a living enemy. “Give me the sword,” he demanded.
Jak passed over the ebony stick. Unsheathing the blood smeared blade, Ryan wiggled the point between the door and the frame. It took some muscle, but he finally got the slim steel to slide all the way through, then he pulled it upward in a hard jerk.
There was a crash inside and the door swung open a crack.
“Bring them,” Ryan directed, slipping into the building with the SIG-Sauer leading the way.
The companions dragged in the bodies of the chilled sec men, leaving behind a wide crimson trail. But there was nothing they could do about that. Inside the temple oil lanterns burned in wall niches, illuminating a large empty room decorated with a wall tapestry of a blue scorpion. There was nothing else but a gate made of slim iron bars sealing off an arched doorway.
Reaching high, Mildred pulled down the tapestry and stepped outside to mop up the excess blood on the stoop, while J.B. went to work on the gate. As the physician came back in and tossed aside the gory cloth, there was a solid click and J.B. pushed open the gate.