James Axler – Cold Asylum

The atmosphere at the breakfast table had been distinctly strained.

The moment the lights snapped on, Ryan had realized that they were hopelessly trapped. Though they had some serious weapon power, it would have been simple suicide to open fire on the armed men above them.

Moving at Guiteau’s command, they’d slowly, one by one, laid down their blasters. It had been no surprise that the leader of the sec force had carried out his orders with efficiency and simplicity. Each of the seven companions had been led away, back to their rooms, under heavy escort.

Ryan had been kept to last.

Marie had disappeared, probably to her own chambers, to relish her triumph.

Guiteau slowly walked down to the hall, unable to restrain a smile. “Really triple-fucked now, outlander, aren’t we? Haven’t got the Trader to come rolling in to rescue you with his war wags rumbling and trumpets blowing.”

“Clever of you to notice, Guiteau. So, what happens now? Or are you waiting for orders from that sick-brain bitch?”

“Words, words, words. If it’s any consolation, Cawdor, the kid throwing up over the mistress doesn’t make a lot of difference. What’s going to happen on the morrow was going to happen the moment we saw you out in the woods. Just a matter of when, not if. The boy might have lived a few weeks longer if he’d played the game with the mistress. But it would all be the same.” He drew his finger across his throat. “You saw the butterflies in their pretty clothes? She lets them live awhile, while they don’t bore her. Within six months they’ll be all food for ravens.”

“Nice lady.”

“Sure. But talk doesn’t do a thing. You know that, Cawdor. There’s roads we’ve both been down.”

“Is there”

Guiteau shook his head. “Not a thing. You can’t threaten me, and you sure as shit don’t have anything to bribe me with. No. It’ll be done tomorrow.”

“How?”

The sec man grinned. “Me to know and you to find out, Cawdor.”

“Why feed us and entertain us first?”

“Part of the way the baron likes it. Part of his pleasure. Part of the sport.”

THEY WERE ESCORTED separately down to the hall for their breakfast. Maroon-uniformed men watched cautiously from the minstrels’ gallery above. Neither the baron nor his daughter had appeared by the time Ryan and the others were halfway through their meal, though Harry Guiteau had joined them, sitting and sipping a large mug of black coffee and nibbling silently at a sweet cinnamon roll.

The food was, surprisingly, just as good as it had been before, but it was served by armed men rather than by the aproned young women.

Krysty called out to the sergeant. “If you’re going to chill us, isn’t this a waste of a decent meal?”

“Not me going to chill you, lady. Not directly. And the chilling’ll be helped if you all eat well.”

It was the clue that Ryan had been looking for. The clue that gave the answer to the puzzling jigsaw.

“A hunt,” he said.

Guiteau looked sharply over his shoulder, to make sure neither of the Mandevilles was there, then glanced back at the prisoners, trying to school his face to indifference. “How’s that?” he said nervously.

“Of course. Skydark, Ryan!” J.B. punched his right fist hard into his left hand. “A hunt. Like that poor bastard we saw getting his belly ripped open. We run and they chase. That’s it, isn’t it, Guiteau?”

“No.”

“Lying bastard!”

“It’s not.” But his unease was obvious.

The woman’s voice came from above, drawing every head. “Oh, yes, Ryan Cawdor. You’ve guessed well.”

“Thanks.”

“Later this morning you and your friends will be taken out into the forest surrounding the ville and given a sporting chance of escape.”

“With our blasters?”

Marie shook her head, unsmiling. “You know better than that, outlander. But you may all keep your knives. See how kind we are?”

“You murderous, foul, evil bitch!” Michael was up on his feet, holding his index ringers crossed toward the woman. “Sooner you die, the sooner the earth’s a better, cleaner place.”

“When this day is over, I shall make sure that you are mine, boy.” To Guiteau she said, “Any man harms this fast-tongued lad in the hunt will swim the moat with thumbs and toes tied. Tell that to your people, Sergeant.”