The sec man laughed harshly. “Sooner that happens the better for this ville.”
There was a mutter of agreement, then the three sec men wandered off along the corridor, leaving the main hallway of the house unguarded.
Ryan moved from the black space beneath the staircase, followed by J.B. and Doc. “Sharpe’s got Emma and he’s taking her to his zoo,” he said.
“And I fear that they have found the body of poor Master Morgan.” Doc bit his lip. “We should hasten to release Jak from his imprisonment. He was becoming markedly fond of the young lady. If anything were to happen to her.”
“You said that the blasters were being kept in there,” J.B. said, pointing through the curtained archway toward the dining room.
“What I heard them say. I confess that I would feel more comfortable with my Le Mat bolstered once more on my hip.”
To Ryan’s considerable surprise, the two guns lay unguarded on the table, exactly where Doc had been told. The old man picked up the gold-plated and engraved Le Mat, checked the action, watched by J.B.
Ryan tucked Jak’s satin-finish Colt Python into his own belt.
“Didn’t expect to find them unguarded,” the Armorer said. “Getting sloppy.”
“Sounds like Sharpe’s losing control.” Ryan glanced around. “When things start folding, they can run away like a brakeless war wag.”
“How true is the saying that the center does not hold,” Doc said in a sonorous voice.
“Yeah.” Ryan rubbed a finger down his stubbled chin. “Let’s go see about springing Jak.”
EMMA STUMBLED ALONG like someone in a drugged, waking dream. She was vaguely aware from the acrid smell that Sean Sharpe had dragged her with him into the first part of his mutie collection. He sent his guards away, shouting angrily at them that he wanted to be left totally alone.
The door to the rest of the ville was closed, though Emma registered that the baron hadn’t bothered to lock it. Once they were alone together in the relative stillness, Sharpe seemed to become a little more calm.
“There, now we can listen to the whispering voices, my own little doomie. We can find you a cage. Crude, I know, but it’ll have to do for a while. We can add comforts as you tell me more of your secrets.”
The young woman was feeling sick, her head spinning, prey to a vicious attack of vertigo. The rooms, with their cages and display cases, seemed to spin around her.
Sharpe stopped in front of the large sheet of plate glass that contained the sandy waste with the mysterious creature lying hidden within it, deep in the dry, barren earth. The overhead lamps turned the glass into a kind of mirror, reflecting the tall figure of the baron in his snowy robe, holding on to the black-clad woman, her face as white as parchment under the stark lighting.
Sharpe pressed his face against the cold glass, taping softly on it with his fingers. The surface of the pale sand rippled for a moment, so quickly that you could almost think that you’d imagined it.
“This was my favorite pet. Oh, yes, it was. Yes, it was. It was!” His voice became louder. Once again the sand trembled, but there was nothing to be seen.
“Death,” Emma whispered, but the baron was so busy with his ranting that he didn’t hear her.
“Let’s go on, shall we, doomie? Yes, we shall. Shall go on. All the way to the end.”
“ALONG THERE,” Doc whispered, gripping the huge Le Mat in the right hand, his walking stick in the other. “Hear the guards talking.”
Ryan and J.B. were three-quarters of the way up the rear set of stairs that led to the room on the third floor where Jak was still, as far as they knew, being held prisoner.
The Armorer crawled up to the top and squinted around, returning to Ryan and Doc. “Four of them, holding pistols. Seem kind of alert.”
“No way of making this quiet,” Ryan said. “Fire-blast! Then we might as well go in and open up. Have to let them know we’re loose and running some time. Ready? Then we’ll do it!”