“Was Dean hurt?”
The boy shook his head. “No, Ryan. Not too badly. I think they hit him harder than they hit me.”
There was something going on that Jamie hadn’t told them. Ryan was conscious of the way the boy’s eyes wouldn’t meet anyone’s face, his hands knotting and tangling in his lap, the rapid blinking, the way his tongue kept flicking out to moisten his dry lips.
Jamie hadn’t yet told them the truth. Not the whole truth.
“Go on,” Ryan said. “Who was there?”
“Man called Ditchdown. He had a funny white scar in his hair. And there was another one. He was in charge of the group that succeeded in capturing us. His head was shaved, and he had funny eyes that made me feel dizzy.”
“Straub,” Ryan said.
“They’ve given me a letter to take to my father. Then they let me go.”
Now the raw nerve was fully exposed. Jamie had reached the point where the deceit had to stop and the truth had to stand revealed.
Trader probed first. “I don’t understand, kid. Why did they let you go and keep Dean? I mean, doesn’t make any sense, does it? Like throwing out the gold and keepin’ the pyrites. In a manner of speaking. Well, you know what I mean.”
“Show me the letter,” Ryan said. “Unless there’s something else you want to tell us, Jamie. Something you haven’t mentioned to us yet.”
The boy closed his eyes, his hands gripping each other so hard that it looked as though the white knuckles were going to break clean through the skin.
“Yes,” he said finally. The single word seemed like it had been ripped out of the walls of his soul.
The others stood around him in a ragged circle. Silence crawled by.
“You expectin’ us to read your mind, kid?” Trader said. “Time’s passing.”
“Sorry. I’m so dreadfully sorry, Mr. Cawdor. I feel as though it were all my fault.”
“Go on,” Ryan prompted.
Jamie was on the brink of tears as he told his story to the listeners. “It wasn’t my idea,” he stammered. “I swear before all the gods of land and sky that it wasn’t. I didn’t know that Dean was going to do that. I was speechless.”
“Convenient,” Trader muttered, receiving an angry glance from Krysty.
Ryan patted the boy on the shoulder. “There’s times when words don’t come easy.”
“I argued with them.”
“You did?” Ryan nodded. “Brave, even if it might not have been the brightest thing to do. Dean can probably look after himself better in that kind of trap than you can. But I admire your nerve, Jamie. What happened next?”
SHAKING LIKE AN ASPEN in a hurricane, Jamie had protested. “He isn’t really the son of the baron. Can’t you see that? I am.”
Straub had laughed at him. “‘Course you are, child. I can just see some ragged-assed brat carrying a Browning Hi-Power in top-of-the-line condition while he rides with the son of a baron who’s unarmed. Highly unlikely.”
“It’s true.” Jamie’s voice leapt up the scale like a salmon going up a run of rapids. “He’s the son of an outlander. Name is Dean Cawdor.”
Dean had turned to him, grinning through bruised lips. “And I’m the King of Deathlands! Nice try, though. If we get out of this, Dad’ll thank you for that.” He looked toward Straub. “Can we get on with this. I could do with some food and a rest.”
Straub had actually smiled at him, something that was more frightening than any of the man’s other expressions. “Sort of spirit I expect from the son of a baron. Even if Weyman’s on the downslope to nowhere.”
At this moment, amid general laughter from the watching and listening brushwooders, Dean had taken a half step to bring himself beside the other boy, whispering out of the corner of his mouth. “Just fuckin’ do it, Jamie. Argue and we both get chilled. Bring my father and the others. You can do it.”
“Stop talking to each other,” Ditchdown snapped. “Won’t have it.”
They both kept quiet at the threat from a fist the size of a smoked ham.
“AND THAT’S IT?” Ryan asked. “They believed that Dean was you, and they gave you the ransom demand to take to the baron. Show it to me.”