The current chem storm was nothing like that, but the acidic taste was strong enough for Ryan to want to get out of it as quickly as possible.
It was obvious that everyone felt the same.
Rubberized capes appeared from nowhere to shelter the baron and Mistress Marie. They both headed toward the towers of Sun Crest, surrounded by a posse of sec guards. Ryan saw Michael at the woman’s side.
The rest of them made their own way toward the fortified walls through the rising wind. The thunder was ceaseless, and one flash of purple lightning struck close enough in the forest for Ryan to be able to catch the bitter stench of ozone.
He glanced back once over his shoulder to see that the corpses had been left to lie where they’d fallen, the tumbling rain already washing away the thick blood.
“WISH WE COULD HAVE LUXURY like this after every chem storm, lover.” Krysty was drying herself on a large white towel after enjoying a hot, scented bath. Their clothes had been taken away by the bevy of servants and were being dried.
Ryan had asked for some cream to ease the irritation of the acid rain penetrating behind the patch over his missing left eye, burning the tender flesh of the raw socket. The girl had brought him some light cream balm within a couple of minutes.
“Looking forward to a meal now,” he said.
“I think the day went well”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“I’m not.” She had rubbed her hair dry, and it was now tumbled across her shoulders in a torrent of fire.
“Guiteau knows more than he lets on.”
“Something bad?”
Ryan nodded. “Has to be. Baron says he’ll show us his guns tomorrow. Real proud of them. What then?”
“We move on, I guess.” Krysty helped herself to a nectarine from a ceramic bowl of fresh fruit. “Mmm, tender and juicy. Think he’ll try to stop us?”
“Mandeville? Trader used to say that you never trust a man who smiles a lot.”
“How about trusting a woman with the blackest hair in all of Deathlands?”
“Marie? Sort of woman that makes you want to count your fingers after you’ve shaken hands with her. Doc sometimes uses that old-time predark word ‘evil’ when he’s talking about someone. Guess that applies to Marie.”
“You best have a word with Michael, over the meal, Ryan. Set the boy straight.”
“Guess so. Long as Marie hasn’t got her claws into him too deep.”
Krysty ran the tips of her fingers over his cheeks. “Could use a shave, lover. Then the clothes’ll be back. Down to the meal. And a long talk to Michael.”
Nearly everything happened like she said. Apart from Ryan having a quiet word of warning with the teenager.
That wasn’t possible. Michael never came down to eat in the galleried dining hall.
Nor did Marie Mandeville.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Michael Brother was two floors above the dining room in the exotic suite of chambers at the top of the tower that dominated the east wing.
“They belonged to my stepmother, Fuschia,” Marie explained. “After her sad death, I took them over for myself. You like them?”
“Sure. When did your mother die?”
“Stepmother, Mickey. Fuschia wasn’t my real mother. She died during the troubles when my father took power. Fuschia choked to death on a plate of strawberry jelly. Quite a mystery at the time, you know.”
Michael was stretched out across the biggest bed he’d ever seen. Though he was stark naked, he wasn’t feeling cold. A large fire of applewood crackled sweetly in the hearth.
A number of tall, slender vases of beaten silver stood around the rooms, all filled with wonderfully scented tapers. He remembered incense from his years at Nil-VanityRussian musk, summer lime, patchouli and sandalwood.
He felt wonderfully at ease. His limbs seemed slightly too heavy for his body, a thought that made him giggle to himself. He turned his head to admire the wondrous pattern on the coverlet, small squares of brightly colored satins and silks, sewn together into a pattern that seemed to draw the eye inward.
“More brandy?” Marie asked.
Michael blinked owlishly. The woman was sitting with her back to him, at the table where they’d just finished eating. She was wearing a loose robe, with a wildly complex embroidery of a fire-breathing dragon on it. Her long black hair shone with an unnatural luster. He wanted to go and brush it for her, with the ivory hairbrush with the handle carved like an erect male organ. Then he remembered that he already had brushed her hair for her. Before or after the meal.