Sec men armed with homemade blasters stood guard at the open gateway, the man and woman watching the companions closely as they approached. The guards were tense about the open display of blasters, but they said nothing as Ryan and the others walked into the ville.
“They must get a lot of outlanders,” Krysty surmised.
Ryan frowned. “Or the guards are fools.”
Inside the walls, they found a bustling community built from the remains of a predark city. The houses and buildings were arranged in orderly rows, the streets clean hard-packed dirt. A gallows stood by itself, though no rope dangled from the killing bar. People walked about carrying baskets and buckets. The aroma of frying fish was in the air, along with the smell of horses.
“Whoever built this place knew what they were doing,” Mildred said in admiration. “See how far apart the lavs are from the public water well? No cholera here.”
“Good defenses,” Ryan agreed, gesturing to tall towers made from felled trees. Sec men stood guard holding crossbows, with strange curved axes hanging from thongs at their hips.
“Throwing axes,” Jak noted while straightening his collar, being very careful of the razor blades hidden within the fabric. “Mighty hard learn, kill good.”
Doing a recce, the companions entered the ville commons and watched a potter spinning bowls from red clay, a horde of children staring in fascination at the process. A fat woman was selling beer from a tub, while a white-hair tailor mended the shirt still on a burly man and a barber cut hair.
“Civilization,” Mildred said, sighing. “Such as it is.”
“Better than that junkyard ville,” Dean stated.
“True enough.”
Ryan worked the slide on his SIG-Sauer, ejecting a live round. The brass spun in the air and he caught the bullet, returning it to the clip.
“Now they know we’re armed and have ammo,” he said, holstering the piece, “that should hold down the chilling.”
The crack of a whip made Doc stop in the street, a hand going to his swordstick. “Mother of God,” he muttered.
Near a kindergarten jungle gym, now a coop full of cackling chickens, a line of people tossed shafts of grain on a millstone. The great slab of granite rotated along on top of another, grinding the wheat into flour. Four thick poles embedded in the top stone were being pushed along by a dozen people in chains, their backs bent to the arduous task. An overseer watched their progress and touched up their speed with the flick of his bullwhip.
“Slaves,” Doc said, starting forward.
Ryan stopped him with a grip of iron. “We don’t have the time or the firepower,” he said harshly. “First we take care of ourselves, then we’ll see what can be done about the slaves. Forget it for now.”
Radiating fury, Doc glared at Ryan, a vein in his forehead pulsating steadily. He knew the one-eyed man had never been a slave of another. A captive, yes. Forced to work and kill for some baron’s amusement, yes. But never a slave, and so he couldn’t really know the emotions welling within him. Slowly, the old man relaxed his stance. “Yes, you are correct,” Doc rumbled. “It is not a matter to be taken care of today.”
Ryan nodded and continued walking.
Leaving the marketplace in their wake, the companions reached a strip mall from predark days. The display windows were long gone, replaced with wooden boards, but it was still a mall. The supermarket was now a tavern, the bank a gaudy house. Some local toughs lounged outside, chatting to a young woman with an old face. Upon seeing Ryan walking their way, the men took their leave.
“Hey, miss!” J.B. called to the woman. “Over here!”
Dressed in the loose, revealing clothes of her trade, the blonde ambled toward them and opened her blouse, exposing small but pert breasts.
“Whatcha want, stud?” she asked coyly. “I’ll do ya right here for some of that brass I saw you flashing. Or we can go to my tent if you’re shy. I’m Dancing Feather, the hottest slut here, no matter what that bitch at the Red Bear tavern says.”
“That’s not what we want,” Ryan said, withdrawing a single 9 mm round and bouncing it in his palm. “Tell us about this place. Who’s in charge?”