James Axler – Shadowfall

There was a set of double gates, made from wrought-iron, in a complicated pattern of leaves and vines. Two sec men stood by the gates, each holding a crossbow. Beyond them there was a cobbled courtyard, with the house closing in on three of its sides. The first-floor windows were barred, with ironbound sec shutters. A wide path lead around the side of the building to what Ryan guessed was probably the stable area of the ville and the sec force’s living quarters.

“What a fine building,” Doc said admiringly. “Such a truly superb setting at the foot of the mountains.”

Trader looked at him as though he had serious doubts about the older man’s sanity. “What you are looking at, Doc, is a pretty peach with a rotten center that is just sitting here waiting to be plucked.”

“You the outlanders that Rainey warned us to expect?” one of the guards called.

“Yeah.”

“Go straight on through. Main door to the ville’s ahead of you. Rainey’s inside someplace. Likely he’ll take you to meet Baron Weyman.”

They filed through the gates. Ryan turned and looked back along the trail, J.B. stopping at his shoulder.

“Thinking what I’m thinking?” the Armorer asked.

“I’m thinking that the trees and bushes should be cut right back for a good hundred paces. Way they stand now, any stupe mutie could crawl in close enough to rush the gates.”

J.B. adjusted his glasses. “Crossbow can be deadly in the right hands. But it’s one of the slowest weapons in Deathlands. Can take fifteen or twenty seconds to crank it up and loose a second bolt.”

“And in twenty seconds a charge could be through the gates and into the house.”

“Right. I’ve seen a crossbow quarrel go clean through an inch of planed oak. For a man on watch, assuming that there’s a serious shortage of decent blasters, give me a good yew longbow every time.”

Ryan agreed. “Seen Apache and Oglala have six arrows in the air at once from a longbow.”

“You two coming in?” Krysty stood by the heavy front door to the ville.

Bill Rainey had appeared behind her, with a young boy at his side. Ryan immediately saw the passing resemblance between his own son and Baron Weyman’s boy. But Dean was stronger built, broader across the shoulders and his hair was longer.

And he carried a Browning Hi-power 9 mm blaster at his hip.

“Come ahead, outlanders,” the sec boss called. “Baron’s waiting to greet you.”

He pointed at Dean. “Come and meet Jamie Weyman, young Cawdor.”

Dean took a couple of steps, giving a casual half wave to the other boy, who came directly down the short flight of stairs, hand extended toward him.

“Welcome, Dean Cawdor,” Jamie Weyman said in a confident, clear voice. “Welcome to my father’s ville.”

“Thanks. Yeah, thanks.” He hesitantly shook the other boy’s hand.

“Think they’ll hit it off, lover?” Krysty whispered in Ryan’s ear.

“Mebbe.”

A LARGE ENTRANCE HALL led toward a wide staircase of stone. The carpet had obviously once been rich and ornate but now looked dusty and threadbare.

The walls were wood-paneled, with rectangular spaces where paintings had probably once hung. There was a notable absence of any kind of decorationno decent draperies, no china, no furniture of note. Just the barest essentials.

Rainey led the way up the stairs toward a shadowed landing with a number of doors. Ryan followed, with the rest of the group trailing along behind him. Dean and Jamie Weyman brought up the rear. The baron’s son was keeping up a flow of bright chatter, while Dean was limiting his replies to monosyllables.

“I heard that you and your companions had a confrontation with the mutated pigs.”

“Yeah. We did.”

“Was the legendary wild boar, called the General, among them?”

“Mebbe.”

“It has a damaged tusk on one side. That enables one to recognize it.”

“Yeah, it did.”

“What does your father do for his living?”

Ryan half turned, wondering what his son would reply to that one.

“Helps people.”

Jamie was intrigued. “Helps them, Dean. That’s really most interesting. How does he do that? Is he a teacher of some sort, or perhaps he is a doctor?”