James Axler – Shadowfall

Eventually, having swilled it out with bowls of near-scalding water, using cotton swabs to pick away any remaining specks of stone, Mildred was satisfied.

“It’ll do,” she said.

Jak heaved a great sigh of relief as she dried the wound, then applied a length of bandage that swiftly became pink from leaking blood.

“Thanks, Mildred. Better.”

But it was giving him a lot of trouble, meaning that he walked with a limp on the right side.

Trader paced around the room, slapping his hands together, fired up, ready to go again.

“That mealy prick says he’ll give up the ville, then what do we do?”

Krysty sat next to Ryan, holding his hand. “Problem is that the ransom is meaningless. They think they’ve got his son. We all know that they haven’t.”

“So he’ll tell us to go bite the fresh air?”

Ryan shook his head. “Lots of barons would. Not sure about Weyman. I think he’ll listen a lot to Jamie. Partly his fault they’ve got Dean. We’ll find out over supper.”

J.B. stood by the window, looking out across the darkening land. “I agree. I’d lay my jack on him wanting to help us out.”

“My suspicion is that the baron will do what he can to hang on to his power,” Doc said, “which will probably mean having to assist us in attempting to save dear Dean. Of all the barons I’ve seen during my time here in Deathlands, I have to say that Weyman seems the most decent.”

“Losing his power,” Abe commented.

Doc smiled at the little gunner. “They say power corrupts and that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Perhaps it makes for a better class of baron if they are weakening somewhat. What think you?”

Jak had been doing kneebend exercises against the foot of the bed, wincing at the strain it put on his leg. “Waste time talking. Know soon enough.”

ONE OF THE SERVING WOMEN at the supper table kept crying until she was taken away from her duties.

“Micah’s daughter,” Rainey said. “Lost her mother only six months ago from the flux.”

Neither the baron nor his son had appeared when the first course arrived at the long refectory table, though the sec boss said that he’d received orders to get started on the meal on the understanding that Weyman and Jamie would be down to join them a little later.

The soup was a rich mix of tomatoes, leeks and potatoes, with succulent chunks of braised pork. It was perhaps a little too heavily salted for Ryan’s taste, but the wholemeal bread made it more palatable.

Rainey was deeply on edge, only toying with his bowl of soup. He played with the cutlery, staring out across the room toward the shuttered windows.

He sighed suddenly and looked over at Ryan. “Well?” he said.

Ryan read the subtext in the single word! “We’ll go after the brushwooders. Bring out Dean and take some blood payment for the three dead men.”

“We don’t have the practice. Not for a drag-them-down-and-kick-the-shit kind of firefight. Been too long. We’re all too slow for Straub and his butchers.”

Trader tipped up his bowl to drain its dregs. He put it down and belched his satisfaction. “Tell you what, sec man,” he said. “Danger is when someone doesn’t know that they’re weak. You’re lucky. You got all of us to ride with you and shoot with you.”

“One or two of us aren’t at our best,” Ryan said, “but there’s nothing to stop us coming along.”

“Stupes.” Mildred shook her head. “I know none of your wounds are seriously life-threatening, but they’re all nasty enough. You all need at least two or three days rest. Make sure the infection’s cleared up.”

Ryan knew in his heart that the woman was right. The middle of his back was extremely sore, and he was aware that he couldn’t turn or bend anywhere near as quickly and freely as he would normally.

Jak answered her first. “True, Mildred.”

J.B. also nodded. “I can get by, but that’s the best I can say.”

Ryan looked at Trader. “Seems like the old times have just come around again,” he said. “Best you take charge of the raid.”