“Aye, Mistress.”
She disappeared again, but they could all hear her heels clicking along the stone corridor. Michael sat down again at the long table, slowly, his hands trembling with the red-mist violence of his rage.
Harry Guiteau caught his eye and laughed. “Say what you like, lad,” he said. “Nothing’ll make a difference now. Cawdor, a word with you.”
Ryan sipped at his fresh chilled apple juice, then put the glass down, rising to move and stand by the burly sec man. “What is it?”
The answer was so quietly spoken that Ryan had to lean close to hear it. “If you care anything for that boy, then you’ll do wellwhen the end of the hunt’s nearto take him and cut his throat, quick and merciful. She” he jerked his thumb to the gallery, “won’t be either quick or merciful to him. Take my meaning, do you?”
“Yeah. Thanks for that.”
“Da nada, amigo.”
AFTER BREAKFAST, they were again escorted to their rooms and locked in.
The last words from Guiteau were that they would be brought downstairs once more, probably around noon. They should make sure that all of their possessions were together, as they wouldn’t be returning.
That was all he said, then refused to answer any of their questions.
Ryan stretched out on the big canopied bed, trying to relax, readying himself for what he knew might well be a terminal ordeal for all of them.
Krysty went into the bathroom. When she came back she lay down by him. “This going to be it, lover?”
He shrugged. “Been plenty of times we thought we might be catching the last boat downriver. I guess that one day it might be true. Might be now.”
“We have much of a chance?”
“Not much. Best sec men I’ve ever seen. Plenty of them. Armalites are in good condition. Horses. Likely they’ll give us a start of around ten or fifteen minutes. Not long enough to get far. Then they come after us and ride us down.”
“We split up?”
He nodded. “Haven’t thought it through, Krysty. Might be a chance of one or two of us getting away.”
“Or we can go down together?”
“Yeah.”
“How many are going to be hunting us?”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Probably the baron, his beautiful daughter and pretty well all of the sec men. In fact” He stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing, love. Just the tiny green shoots of a possible chance. Just a chance.”
WHILE THEY WERE RELEASED and herded together in the corridor just before noon, Ryan maneuvered himself next to the Armorer, heads close together, talking intently to him. Krysty watched, knowing that this was something that she could never share. She and Ryan were as close to each other as it was possible for any two human beings to be, but when it came to details of the arcane and intricate crafts of combat and death, Ryan would go to John Dix above all people.
At least it showed a glimmer of hope in what she felt was an utterly bleak situation.
As they were marched down, J.B. called out to Guiteau. “Sorry we don’t get to see the baron’s gun collection. Must be something special. Where’s he keep it?”
“North tower. You can get some satisfaction from the thought that all of your blasters are already up there, labeled and on show. But I guess you know that you won’t ever be getting to see them yourselves.”
Each of them had submitted to a cursory body check to make sure they weren’t carrying concealed guns. Most of them had knives, but they were ignored.
Baron Mandeville was waiting for them in the great hall, standing on a platform close to the main door, hands behind his back. He looked as though he’d just come from a bath, with his white hair still damp, and the scent of perfumed oils surrounding him. He was dressed in a heightened version of antique fox-hunting clothescrimson jacket, fawn jodhpurs tucked into highly polished riding boots, with short, blunt spurs. He had an unidentifiable revolver in a deep holster at his hip and carried a silver-handled riding crop.
“Stands there like he’s waiting for his sled and reindeer to go and deliver the Christmas presents,” Michael whispered, making Doc, next to him, splutter with laughter.