“Is it still a popular attraction for tourists?” Mildred asked, then shook her head. “But you don’t have such things as tourists now in Deathlands, do you?”
Straub smiled gently, like a wise uncle responding to a foolish but lovable niece. “Tourists. I’ve read the word. People on vacation. I have asked the guards and most say it was once popular, but not many go now. Elvis Presley is fading away into the past like a vampire at dawn.”
Doc drained his coffee cup and wiped his mouth with a spotless linen napkin. “Few names have survived, have they? Even I have heard of Elvis. We all have. Yet who can remember many of the main political figures in the world at the time the nukecaust broke across Earth?”
The door opened at the end of the dining hall, and the guards snapped to attention.
In came the Countess Katya Beausoleil, baron of her own powerful ville. She was wearing a pantsuit in maroon cotton, the pants tucked into a pair of black Western boots. Her only jewelry was a large uncut opal set in white gold, on a silver chain around her neck.
“Is everyone ready?” she asked.
Straub leaped to his feet and bowed and nodded. “Everyone is looking forward to the expedition, Countess.”
“Did I say you were coming?”
“No.”
“Do you wish to come?”
“Only if you wish me to come. If you wish me to stay, then I wish to stay.”
“Creep,” Mildred whispered loud enough for the man to hear. He turned toward her and for a moment the fawning devotion vanished, and she winced at the physical impact of the look of burning hatred that daggered in her direction. Then Straub blinked and the anger was totally gone, replaced with a bland smile.
“I wish you to come with us. I shall drive my own two-seater, and you will ride in the armawags with our guests and with the sec men. You think twenty will be enough?”
Straub thought about it for a moment, his black eyes closing as he considered the combat logistics. “There have been no reports of serious trouble from the city in months. The muddies keep to their own swamps. It was unfortunate that I was so far from home without an escort. And my thanks yet again to the outlanders for my salvation.”
Katya looked around the room, then turned on her heel, hesitated and swung back. “I will take one of the outlanders with me in my wag.” Her eyes roamed along the line of friends.
“Surprise me, bitch,” Krysty mouthed just loud enough for Ryan to hear.
“Perhaps the old man would enjoy the trip?”
“Bullshit,” Krysty muttered.
“No. My men would think it an honor to ride with me. Therefore, the honor must go to the leader of the group. That is you, is it not, Ryan Cawdor?”
“Best surprise, no surprise.” Ryan was puzzled at the depth of genuine anger he detected in Krysty’s whispering voice. It wasn’t that important.
“Very well. Let’s go.”
THE CAR WAS a two-seater Mercedes sports car with gull-wing doors. The countess told him the model, but autowags didn’t much interest Ryan. A something-or-other SL, he thought she said. Despite his lack of interest, Ryan had to admit that the vehicle, with cream upholstery, was in amazing condition.
The engine was smoother than anything he’d ever heard, and he wondered what she was paying for gas processed to that sort of standard. She touched the pedal, and he was pressed back in the soft seat. The car thundered onto the gravel driveway in front of the house and skidded to a halt. Three armored trucks waited there, and one of them set off in the lead at her signal.
“We go next.”
Ryan saw Krysty sitting in the back of one of the other wags with Doc and Jak, and he lifted a hand in a wave. But she didn’t respond.
THEY DROVE AT A GOOD speed. Despite the rain of the previous day, the roads had dried out and they moved at the center of a whirling dervish of reddish gray dust. Ryan tried to see where they were going, but it was impossible to make out any details from the Mercedes.