“Problem?” the Armorer repeated. “What kind of problem are we talking about?”
“Best the skipper tells you himself. But it could involve some shooting.”
Ryan laid his right hand on the butt of the SIG-Sauer. “We’re ready.”
“Sure are,” J.B. agreed, showing the Uzi to the two officers.
“I’ll come,” Jak said.
“We can all come,” Mildred added.
The officer hesitated. “Captain said he didn’t want to start a panic. Asked if just the two of you could come. Might need the rest of you later.”
Ryan considered the request. His first thought was that it might be part of some dark plan of the Magus and Wolfram, but it didn’t seem likely. He would back himself and J.B. against any sec-man ambush they might try.
He turned to the others. “Be back soon. Go straight down to our cabin and keep the doors bolted.”
Krysty tugged at his arm. “Don’t like this, lover. Got a bad feel.”
“Got to take some chances,” he said. “They could have chilled us any time, before we knew they were aboard.”
“Quick as you can, sir,” the mustached officer said, glancing at a gleaming silver half hunter that dangled from a chain across his midriff.
Ryan nodded. “Don’t forget. Keep the bolts across. And if we aren’t back in sixty minutes from now”
“No harm’ll come to you or your friend, sir,” the other officer stated. “I reckon we can more or less guarantee that.”
“Glad to hear it.” He kissed Krysty on the cheek, tasting the fog in her hair. J.B. kissed Mildred, and the two old friends followed the sailors across the deck. Within ten paces they’d vanished into the mist.
J.B WAS ALONGSIDE RYAN, “You sure you’re sure about this, compadre?”
“You sure you’re sure?”
“We’re ready for anything they might try.”
“Guess so.”
One of the officers turned to make sure they were following him, smiling encouragingly.
The calliope was still going at full blast, pumping out a jazzed-up version of “This Land Is Your Land,” drowning out any other sounds.
A set of iron stairs loomed out of the swirling mist ahead of them, and they climbed to a higher deck, continuing toward the high bridge.
“She’s stopped,” J.B. said, head on one side. “Feel the vibration. Paddle’s not turning.”
The sun was veiled, and the morning was as dark as late evening. It was also bitterly cold, and Ryan decided that he might go down and indulge in a brandy once they’d finished with whatever it was that Captain Huston wanted from them. He hurried along the deck, shoulders hunched against the cold.
“Nearly there, sir,” one of the sailors called. “One more lot of steps.”
The higher they went, the thicker grew the fog. Ryan remembered Doc’s saying about not being able to see your hand in front of your face. It was very nearly true.
“In here.” The officer stepped aside from the half-glassed door onto the control area of the Golden Eagle. It was flooded with light from several oil lamps, and Ryan and J.B. blinked, dazzled by the brightness. They were able to make out the stocky figure of Captain Huston, gold braid glinting on his uniform, standing by the sailor at the huge wheel.
But there were other people standing on the bridge of the stern-wheeler. One was enormously fat, another skinny with metallic gloves, a cruel smile slashed across his reconstructed face, and three or four sec men, all with drawn and cocked blasters.
Ryan felt his heart sink. It was a trap after all, though he couldn’t quite see the scope of his enemies’ plan yet. He was aware of J.B. tensing at his side, half lifting the Uzi.
“A hasty action would be regretted by everyone, John Dix,” Wolfram said in a warm, buttery tone, “and would mean the deaths of your friends.”
“Your absent friends,” the Magus added.
The calliope suddenly stopped playing, and they all heard the noise that it had been masking, the noise that Jak thought he might have heard a few minutes earlier.
It was a powerful engine, revving up somewhere on the port side of the Golden Eagle.
Then Ryan saw the plan.
“They’ve lifted Krysty and the others,” he snapped. Pushing one of the burly sec men out of his way, he threw open the door and ran out into the fog, going to the port side, peering past the red navigation light in the gloom. J.B. was at his shoulder. Oddly nobody had tried to stop them.