James Axler – Cold Asylum

While they tried them out, in tiny waisted glasses, the baron became more expansive.

“Your weapons were mentioned earlier. Indeed, they were one of the first things that my dear daughter” he blew a kiss to the stone-faced Marie “noted about you. I have a profound interest not just in blasters, swords and daggers, but in all forms of weapons and all forms of fighting. Do you have any special skills among you?” He positively twinkled. “I cannot believe that such a sturdy group is without combat talents.”

Everyone looked at Ryan, waiting for him to give them a lead.

“Most of us can fight some,” he replied guardedly, uncertain of what lay behind the question.

But he was always aware of another of the Trader’s aphorisms, this time relating to how you dealt with any baron, particularly in the heart of his own ville. “Trust half of what you see and nothing of what you hear.”

“Cautious, Cawdor. Very cautious. Every now and again we have small contests, competitions, games Call them what you like. Just within Sun Crest. Helps to keep everyone on their toes, you understand.”

Ryan felt a slight pressure against the side of his thigh as Krysty moved her knee to touch him. They had been together long enough for him to be fully aware of the hint of a warning in that moment.

But her feeling that something wasn’t quite right simply complemented his own concern. Here was this amazingly wealthy ville and this jolly, outgoing baron. In Deathlands the two things simply didn’t go together. How, for instance, had Baron Mandeville obtained such wealth?

“Look forward to watching these games,” he replied.

“And taking part?”

“Perhaps.”

“Good, good. Now, I have some special genuine coffee shipped up to me from the Blue Mountains of the western Indies. Can any of you be tempted?”

Everyone around the table nodded enthusiastically. What generally passed for coffee sub in Deathlands had its origins in acorns or burned sugarcane or any of a hundred other bizarre concoctions.

The servants shimmered into sight again. Ryan had noticed that Harry Guiteau had joined the fops at the lower table and thought he caught an exchange of glances between the sec men and the lady of the ville. He wondered whether Guiteau had been checking out their rooms, and guessed that he probably had.

But he wouldn’t have found anything potentially harmful to their cover story. Nobody carried documents or identity cards to prove who they were.

The coffee was served from what Mildred told him were Georgian silver pots, into tiny, paper-thin cups of the finest Oriental porcelain.

The sugar had been so processed that it had turned almost white, and the cream was fresh.

“Can I ask you a question, Baron?” Ryan asked.

“Anything you want to know?”

“All of this.” He gestured to the vaulted dining room around them. “This ville. Didn’t come cheap, did it?”

“No.” The man’s belly laugh was so deep and infectious that everyone around the long table found themselves grinning. Except, Krysty noticed, the Mistress Marie.

“You rob the bank in jack city?”

“Something like that, Cawdor. Now, more liqueurs? If not, then perhaps it’s time for us all to withdraw to our beds. Busy day tomorrow.”

The question had come and gone, unanswered. But Ryan had seen the drop in temperature in those merry little eyes, the narrowing of the lips under the magnificent white beard, the visible tightening of the knuckles around the handle of the silver cream jug.

Mandeville’s wealth was obviously an off-limits area.

It was also clear that the evening meal was at an end.

The baron rose quickly, but his daughter was already gone from the table, the heels of her shoes clicking over the gray flagstones as she disappeared without a word.

THE YOUNG WOMEN APPEARED to shepherd the guests to their rooms, with Mercy Weyman leading the way.

As they all paused in the main corridor before splitting up for the night, she clapped her hands together, the sudden movement making the keys at her belt jingle softly.

“One thing I must tell you, ladies and gentlemen. Baron Mandeville is, like all men in his position, sometimes subject to threats from the lawless elements without the walls. As a consequence there is stringent security within Sun Crest. There is a strict curfew operated, and the ville is ceaselessly patrolled by armed and vigilant sec men.”