James Axler – Cold Asylum

Guiteau shrugged. “Nothing I can do until I get some orders.”

“Sure. Your kind always shuffle off behind that excuse. ‘I was only obeying orders.’ Must be one of the most convenient lies in all history.”

“Soften it, Mildred,” Ryan said quietly.

“But it’s”

One of the entrance doors to the central block of the ville opened, spilling a great flood of golden light over the stone yard.

Silhouetted against it they could see the figure of a man. Guiteau made a half bow, laying his gloved right hand across his heart in a sort of salute.

“Baron.”

Nathan Mandeville’s voice was friendly, deep and warm, the sort of voice you might associate with a winter’s evening in front of a roaring log fire.

“Sergeant Guiteau, my daughter tells me we have some welcome guests.”

“Aye, sir.”

The baron looked to be close to six feet tall, very well built, possibly running to fat. But with the bright lights behind him, it was impossible to make out any details. There was a silver halo floating around his head, making it look as though he could be white-haired.

“Our evening meal will be served within the hour,” he said, waving a hand to include them all. “We hope that you’ll join us. Perhaps stay a day or two. I would relish the opportunity to show my little ranch to some fresh eyes.”

Ryan nodded. “Kind of you, Baron. We’ve had a hard time of it coming here.”

Mandeville clapped his hands together and actually did a clumsy little jig of pleasure. “I am delighted, Cawdor. But the doctor there is trembling with cold and wet. Yes, I heard of your brave rescue, but I shall expect to have a personal account of it while you share my humble repast.”

Ryan thought that Guiteau gave a quiet snort of amusement at that, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Sergeant.”

“Aye, Baron?”

“West wing for our new outlander friends. Rooms are being prepared and we shall eat” he glanced down at something that flashed golden on his wrist “in fifty-eight minutes from now. That is at thirty minutes after eight, if you have a chron. Hot water is in each room.” He started to turn away, then changed his mind. “My dear child, who is notably observant in such matters, tells me that you, Cawdor, and the beautiful lady with hair like flame arewhat had they used to call it? An item. Yes. That was it. And Dix, who has such an unusual line on scatterguns, and the black lady are also perceived as a couple.” He paused. “Two double rooms and three single ones.”

“Baron?” Ryan said.

“Yes, I’m aware that the boy is your son. And his room will be adjacent to yours, Cawdor. That was what you were going to ask, was it not?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Mandeville spun on his heel and took a step back into the dazzling light, the door closing immediately behind him. Once more Ryan had the feeling of servants waiting for precisely the right moment.

Guiteau let his bream out in a long, silent whistle. “So far so good, outlanders. Follow me and I’ll show you to the west wing and your rooms.”

“Thanks.”

“One thing, Cawdor.”

“What is it?”

“Sun Crest really is not a good place to wander around. Stay where you’re put and move when you’re told. And if the baron or Mistress Marie tells you to jump, your only question is ‘How high?’ Understand?”

“Clear as crystal,” Krysty replied. “Now. Can we go find that hot water?”

GUITEAU SHOWED THEM into a vast, galleried hall, where other servants took over.

Ryan would have appreciated some leisure to admire the furnishings and the astonishing richness of the ville, but they were whisked up a wide stone staircase and then hurried into a maze of narrower passages and corridors, all lined with paintings and with ancient arms and armor hung on the oak paneling. The servants bustling about them were all female, in maroon blouses and surprisingly short maroon skirts, and low-heeled boots of soft red leather.

They looked to be mostly in their early twenties or late teens, and there was one young woman to each of the guests. None of them spoke.