Before his hostage could try to break away while the dead man fell from his staggered horse, Jak drew the .357 Magnum Colt Python and placed the barrel against the back of the man’s head. He pulled on the reins, swinging the horse back in the direction where the surviving coldheart had gone to brush in front of Dean. The man was gone.
Jak raked the area with his gaze, but he didn’t see Dean, either. Both of them had vanished. Then he spotted movement to the right of the tree where Dean had been. But he had no idea if the movement belonged to friend or foe.
“I THOUGHT WE HAD an understanding between us, Albert,” Doc said. “I must point out your present behavior is less than exemplary, to say the least.”
“This old man talks a lot, doesn’t he?” Cobb asked. He stepped behind Doc and grabbed a handful of the old man’s hair.
Doc managed to hold himself in check despite the pain, but he feared his scalp was going to be torn loose. He kept his hands out at his sides, but he was waiting for an opportunity.
“Cobb, I didn’t want him hurt,” Albert exploded. And Doc thought that was a strange thing for a man to say while holding him at gunpoint.
“You shouldn’t have brought him here,” Cobb said. “I don’t know that I can trust him.”
“Well, I do,” Albert growled.
“Might I suggest,” Doc said, “that you have a most peculiar way of showing it.”
“It’s your own bastard fault, Cobb,” Albert accused. “If you hadn’t started to tell him about the plague, I wouldn’t have had to draw down on him. We could have taken our time about telling him proper and all.”
“What do you mean about not telling him about the plague?” Cobb demanded. “Shit, everybody around here knows about Kirkland’s plague.”
“Doc don’t,” Albert said. “And neither do his friends. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
Doc’s mind raced, trembling at the edge of uncertainty by the bizarre turn of events. He struggled to maintain his hold on reality as voices crashed and warred in the back of his fragmented mind. He was reminded of a frigate that he’d shipped on, not knowing where, not remembering why, and certainly without knowledge due to his own patchy history of when that had occurred. The black water seemed to hover around him again, and his arms recalled the strain of holding on to the rigging.
Cobb kicked at the back of Doc’s knees, causing the old man to drop to the floor. Still holding a handful of hair, Cobb bent to bring his face close to Doc’s. “That right, gray hair? You don’t know anything about the plague?”
“I know about several plagues, sir,” Doc answered, locking eyes with his tormentor. “Name the particular one to which you’re referring.”
“Kirkland’s plague,” Cobb said. “The one he’s infected everybody in Hazard with.”
“I must admit, that is one with which I am not immediately familiar.” Taking advantage of Cobb’s proximity, Doc swung his head forward, cracking his skull into the other man’s face. “However, I must object to such rough usage.”
Blood spurted from Cobb’s nose as he reared back and cried out in pain. He clapped a big hand over his face, dropping the cane.
Doc reared to his feet and grabbed the sword stick. Though his mind whirled dizzyingly, he twisted and jerked the cane with practiced ease, baring the hidden blade. Words came to him from Shakespeare’s Macbeth as he turned to face Albert. ” ‘Lay on, Macduff, and damn’d be him that first cries, “Hold enough!’ ”
“Chill the crazy old fucker!” Cobb yelled, glaring up from the bloody mask his face had become. “He broke my goddamn nose!”
Doc stepped toward the dwarf, assuming a fencer’s stance, the sword blade moving into position before him. “I’ll not allow my life to be ripped from me so untimely, and my blade go unsullied,” the old man declared. He watched the door from the periphery of his vision. Two men moved into place, blasters in their hands, as well. He could never make it through them.
“Doc,” Albert said calmly, “I didn’t mean any harm. I just didn’t want you to go acting stupe when you heard about the plague.” Slowly he holstered his blasters. He spread his arms away from his sides, then walked forward until his throat was wedged tight against the sword blade. “I wouldn’t chill you. Wouldn’t let anybody I know chill you. I owe you and your companions my life. God’s truth on that.” His Adam’s apple bobbed against the sword point, starting a thin line of blood that ran down his neck. “Just wanted to get your attention. Stick me if you want to.”