“Someone coming this way,” he said.
“Take him with the panga,” J.B, whispered, “Can’t risk noise now. Unless we’re trapped and have to blast our way out of the ville.”
Ryan nodded, bolstering the SIG-Sauer and unsheathing the panga.
DOC TOOK a long slow breath, let it out and took another.
“Come on,” Morgan whispered. “Get a move on, Doc, or we’re both in it head-deep.”
There was the faint sound of the bolt sliding back. “Ready or not, here I come,” Doc called.
The door was flung open, and the sec man had a moment to glimpse the old man holding the ornamental hilt of a slender sword, the point aimed at his chest.
“What the.” he began.
And didn’t finish.
The Toledo steel pierced him below the breastbone, a little to the right, sliding between the guarding ribs, puncturing his heart and beginning to kill him.
The thrust had been perfectly directed, and Doc twisted his wrist as he withdrew the point, increasing the lethal effect of the wound.
Morgan took three faltering steps back, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You done me with a fuckin’ little sword, Doc.”
“I’m really most awfully sorry, Master Morgan,” Doc said, his face paler than usual. “Not the way of a gentleman, but I have learned during my eternity in the hell called Deathlands that the way of a gentleman means very little.”
The strings went down and Morgan fell heavily, banging his head against a washbasin, rolling on his back. He coughed, and blood flecked his beard. His right hand reached for the butt of his pistol, but with no great urgency, as though to remind himself that it was still there.
Doc watched him carefully, not wanting to lunge again at a dying man.
“Done for me,” Morgan whispered.
“Indeed, I rather fear that I have. Did you say that the two handguns were on the table in the dining room?”
Morgan struggled to speak, then laid his head down and became still.
“Touch‚,” Doc said, starting to giggle with nerves.
THERE WAS A LOUD KNOCK on the door of the bedroom. Jak let go of Emma and stood, hand going for one of the concealed knives. “What?” he said.
“Where’s that lazy fucker Morgan? Went off with the old man?”
“Don’t know,” Jak said.
“Better get back quick. Baron’s just sent the order to fetch the doomie woman.”
“Come in and get her,” Jak said, his fingers gripping the taped haft of one of the slender blades.
“Not stupe, son. I open the door and we keep you covered. Woman walks out. Now.”
“It’s all right,” Emma whispered. “I’ll go. It’s written that I have to go and see him.”
“But we won’t-”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Yes, we will. We will see each other one more time, my love. Very soon.”
J.B. WAS FLATTENED against the wall, the Uzi braced at his hip.
Ryan waited until the door began to open, then he hefted the panga and started to swing it down in a murderous arc-at the silvery head of Dr. Theophilus Tanner.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Baron Sharpe sat sprawled in a deep chair in his own bedroom, hardly looking up as the slender black-haired woman was shown in, waving a hand to dismiss the escorting sec men.
“Morgan’s gone and.” one of them began.
“Out of my sight,” Sharpe snapped. “You can tell me later, but not now. Oh, no. Not now.”
Emma stood silent, hands folded in front of her, her face as pale as an enclosed nun.
The baron wore a long white robe, made from harsh toweling material, roughly knotted at his waist. His feet were bare, his blond hair unbrushed and damp, as though he’d just finished having a shower.
“So,” he said, nodding as if he’d just come out with some unbelievably wise saying. “So, you are here.”
“The deal was that you let Doc and Jak go if I tell you what you want to know. Does that still hold?”
He stood. “Perhaps we should go and view the quarters where you will be living from now on. With the rest of my pets. You and the old fool and the bloodless boy.”