There was something about the voice that nagged at Ryan’s mind. It had a quite strong accent, though the way of speaking was accurate and educated. It was almost as if the man out there had learned English from a book as a second language.
“Time is of essence. I am extremely sorry, but if you will not defend yourself, I must take appropriate action and terminate your unworthy existence.”
It was the letters l and r that gave the man some difficulty.
“Extremely” almost, but not quite, came out sounding like “extlemery.”
“I can’t fucking well see you,” Ryan said angrily. “Lightning blinded me.”
“Ah, so sorry to hear such unfortunate news. I did not know that. But.” There was a long sigh. “I fear I must carry on with expediting your passing, though it will bring me little honor. And you none at all.”
Another lightning bolt hissed through the damp air, and an instantaneous rumble of thunder, that seemed to make the marrow of the bones vibrate, so close to the derelict house that the epicenter of the storm had to be within a quarter mile of where Ryan was standing.
With his eye shut, Ryan had been saved from being blinded all over again. But he had seen the vivid light through his closed lid. Now he cautiously opened his eye again, finding the shreds of high cloud away near the horizon were allowing some watery moonlight to illuminate the garden-and the man who was standing there, less than fifty feet away from Ryan, under the dark leaves of a dripping rhododendron bush.
He was below average height, barely five feet three inches tall, slenderly built. His face was sallow and his eyes almond-shaped. His mouth was partly open in a friendly smile.
He was wearing a long skirt, richly embroidered, that brushed the grass. Above it was an ornamented breastplate of steel, chased with silver dragons and flowers. He wore a magnificent helmet, that looked like bronze, and had two crescent moons on top, like twin horns.
The stranger was holding a long-bladed sword in both hands. Ryan noticed that the hilt was long and narrow, unlike any other sword he’d ever seen.
The combat stance was also unusual, slightly crouched, one small foot advanced in front of the other, the sword pointing back behind him.
There was something about the appearance of the Oriental-looking man that rang a tiny, distant bell for Ryan, a picture that J.B. had once shown him of Chinese warriors from medieval times-or, was it Japanese?-a still picture from some vid that the Armorer said was very famous.
But it slipped away from Ryan, driven by the urgency of his own position.
“You are now able to be seeing better, perhaps?” The question was solicitous, as though it were a good friend’s inquiry about his health.
“A little.”
“Good.” The man sounded delighted. “We begin.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Seeing the way the man was dressed, with the trailing skirt, it suddenly occurred to Ryan that this might be one of the pair that they’d tracked within the gateway. He also remembered that there had been rumors, increasing for some time, of a mysterious group of Oriental bandits, raiding here, there and everywhere, all across Deathlands.
“No. No point and no time for such closeness.”
He shuffled toward Ryan, a halting step at a time, breath hissing between his teeth. As far as the faltering moonlight showed, the man wasn’t wearing a blaster. Ryan yearned for the SIG-Sauer, knowing that he could easily have laid the Japanese on his back, staring open-eyed up into the drizzle.
For a moment he wondered if this was one of the strangers from the redoubt. If so, then where was his companion? Ryan felt a prickling between the shoulder blades, and he risked a glance behind him.
The house stood there, ghostly with its peeling paint and empty windows.
There was another rumble of thunder, a little farther away. Ryan knew that Jak would have awakened at a whispered footfall anywhere in the building, but would sleep happily through the worst chem storm.
“If I may offer a humble suggestion? It is wise not to turn away from me.”