And plenty of the wonderful coffee. Nobody said more than a few words, everyone concentrating on the rare sybaritic pleasure of eating fine food in the finest surroundings.
As they’d walked down from the floor with the bedrooms, Ryan had been sharply alert, trying to work out the lay of the land, the strengths of the ville. And the weaknesses.
So far he hadn’t managed to spot any weaknesses. Just as Doc was draining his fourth cup of strong sweet coffee, Baron Mandeville made his appearance. The first clue to his arrival was the scraping of the chair legs on the flags as Guiteau stood upright. He was wearing a crimson cap of fine wool, perched on top of his snowy curls. The Father Christmas outfit of the night before had gone, replaced by a dark green jacket over a pair of tailored black pants that were tucked into neat ankle boots. Ryan noticed what tiny, trim feet he had. A small pearl-handled revolver in a holster was at his belt.
It crossed Ryan’s mind how often frontier barons went in for ostentatious blasters, rather than selecting dull and functional weapons.
“No, sit down, sit down,” he said, beaming and waving his pudgy little hands. In fact, the only person to stand had been his senior sec man.
“Thanks for the bed and lodging,” Ryan said. “Couldn’t have been better.”
There was a chorus of agreement from all around the table. Doc wiped his mouth with his swallow’s eye kerchief, barely managing to stifle a belch.
“I think that your table is as fine as any in the history of man,” he commented.
“Very welcome, Doctor. All of you” he spread his arms wide “are most welcome.”
Ryan stood. “If you want us to go, then we’ll move along, Baron.”
“No, no, no!” Each repetition rose up the scale into an anguished squeak.
Guiteau broke the sudden silence that followed. “Baron wants you to see his collection of predarkies this morning. Then, after you take a break for some more food, there’ll be the postnoon combat skills.”
“We can watch these tests?” Mildred asked.
It seemed that Mandeville hesitated for a moment. Then his smile returned like the sun from behind a cloud. “Of course. But better than that. All of you can take part in any of the events that take your fancy.”
“Are there prizes?” J.B. queried.
Guiteau laughed, smothering the sound behind a cupped hand, trying to turn it into a cough. The baron turned toward him as though he were going to say something. He changed his mind. “Prizes for those who do well and please me.”
“And those who do badly and do not please us will also get their own reward.”
None of them had been aware of her entry. But Marie Mandeville was leaning over the rail of the minstrels’ gallery above them, her hair falling straight down on either side of her pale oval face. She was in shadow, but Ryan again got the uncomfortable feeling that the woman was staring directly into his face, trying to stare into his soul.
Nobody asked her what she meant, but the sense of the unvoiced threat hung in the air like the remembered hiss of a venomous reptile.
“Good morning, my dear. Did you enjoy your ride?”
“No. The bitch of a mare nearly foundered under me. I had to spur her and lash her until the blood flowed to the ground to get her home.”
“Will you eat?”
“After you’ve gone. Guiteau.”
“Lady?”
“Remain behind.”
“Lady.”
Mandeville was still near the main doors, and he beckoned to them. “Come then. I shall show you my pictures and my weapons. I am proud of both.”
Ryan was standing close to Guiteau, who whispered softly, “I remembered where I seen you before. Long years ago, in another place. Trader’s man.”
“That a problem?”
“Not for me. Nothing’s a problem for me. Nothing in Sun Crest touches me, Cawdor.”
The rest were filing after the baron. Marie still watched, motionless, from above.
Ryan smiled at the sec man. “You can’t be a diamond swimming in a sea of shit forever, Guiteau.”
“No?”
“No. Doesn’t take long before you’re just another shit-covered diamond.”