“That’s about as likely as Joe Montana missing a fourth-and-inches,” she said, seeing bewilderment. “Greatest quarterback ever lived. Played mainly for the Niners during the eighties. I mean, the greatest.”
“Young deer or a tender little piggy,” Ryan said. “Leave it to you.”
He and Krysty struck inland, following J.B. and Mildred until their greater speed took them ahead, out of sight.
“How’s the leg, lover?” Krysty asked once they were alone in the lush green wilderness.
“Had worse. Had better. From my experience of getting myself shot, the second day’s often the worst. Bleeding’s stopped and the bruise’s coming out. Got to stop the muscles all stiffening up. Bit of exercise like this is about the best thing I could do.” He grimaced as his stick slipped in some muddy grass and he stumbled. “Anyway, Mildred said she thought that it likely wouldn’t do me no harm.”
“Any harm.”
“What I said.” He grinned at her.
“Sure.” She took his arm over a rough patch of ground. “Looks like this might have been steps once. Part of a formal garden, mebbe?”
He gazed around where they stood. They were among some delicate flowering shrubs with pink-and-silver-fronded flowers. Ryan didn’t know the names of many ornamental plants. Trader often used to say that there wasn’t much point in knowing the names of something you couldn’t eat.
“Suppose there could be a garden somewhere under all this. A house even?”
She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “The scent of those flowers is wonderful, lover. If there is the ruins of a house, it could be buried in among those trees yonder.” She pointed to the northeast, where the tops of a grove of sturdy sycamores waved in the freshening morning breeze.
He hobbled after her, the end of the makeshift stick clicking off stone flags that lay just below a layer of grass. Doc had offered him the swordstick, but Ryan had refused it, worried that his weight might splinter the delicate ebony casing if he should suddenly need to throw his weight on it.
“Steps,” Krysty warned. “With sort of carved faces on the rocks over that little pool.”
The pool was dried up, long ago, maybe due to leaking conduits, but its green stained sides showed where it had stood. As they looked, a pair of tiny frogs, glittering like golden jewels, hopped across the path in front of them.
“This must’ve been a hell of a beautiful place once,” Ryan said, steadying himself for a moment on an ornamental balustrade. “Serious jack involved.”
“Unless it was some sort of a public park,” Krysty suggested. “Mebbe a museum or a gallery.”
“More paintings like in the redoubt? That I wouldn’t mind seeing.”
“All right to go a little farther?”
“Sure thing.” He looked around to the right at the sound of a gunshot, a flat, muffled echo. “Mildred’s target revolver. One bullet. Should mean we’ll be having some good eating when we get back to the raft.”
“You don’t mind us not moving south straightaway?”
“‘Course not. Why?”
“You’re a walking dude, Ryan Cawdor. Man who moves and wants to keep moving. Staying still in one place, even for a few hours, isn’t hardly in your nature.”
“Thing doesn’t move, then it rots.”
“Thing doesn’t put down roots and it’ll die,” she replied. “Mother Sonja warned me about marrying a gambling man or a traveling man. She would have liked you, Ryan.”
“Think so?”
“Know so.”
“Would I have liked her?” He answered his own question. “Yeah, I know I would. Sorry that I’ll never get the chance.”
“They didn’t say she was dead. Just up and vanished.” Krysty turned away, but Ryan caught the glint of sudden tears. “Mebbe one day”
“Why not? Look at Trader. Thought the old dog bought the farm years ago. Then there he was. Large as life and twice as bastard unpleasant.”
“Mother Sonja could be alive, couldn’t she?”
Ryan nodded slowly. “I don’t lie to you, love. Odds are she’s long dead. Way it is in Deathlands. But there’s a chance. Sort of woman who was your mother has to have something special going for her. Why not?”
Krysty sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Stupe to get upset on such a lovely morning in such a lovely place. Should be enjoying living, not getting maudlin and sad about theabout those who’ve gone.”