A whisper emanated from his helmet’s trans-comm. Brigid’s voice asked, “Are you there?”
Very, very quietly he replied, “Here.”
“When we heard the shots”
He interrupted, “Are you in the gateway?”
Peevishly she responded, “Yes, and we’re waiting for you.”
Laughter floating down the passageway commanded his attention. “You’ll have to wait a little while longer.”
Scrambling sounds echoed, and the blond-haired figure of Baron Sharpe appeared on the third-from-last step of the stairway. Crawler dragged himself along at his heels. The mutie swiveled his head to and fro, like a hound casting for a scent. A trio of black-armored wraiths followed at a distance of fifteen feet, pausing on the landing.
Baron Sharpe hummed to himself, swinging the barrel of the Copperhead in short arcs. Crawler reached out and tugged him to a halt by a wide pant leg.
“Your friends don’t want to play with them,” he said petulantly, gesturing behind him to the Magistrates. “Tell them to wait here for you.”
Baron Sharpe obligingly turned around, waving the Mags back. “Stay there. Don’t follow me. You’ll spoil the game.”
“But, Lord Baron” began Miles.
Crawler twisted half around, screeching, “Obey your baron!”
The Magistrates stared, dumbfounded, at the crippled creature. Despite his status as a favorite of the baron, he was still a mutie, and muties did not speak disrespectfully to norms, especially if the norms were Magistrates.
“You piece of shit,” snarled Deylen, “who do you think you’re talking to?”
Crawler made a derisive, spitting sound. “Show him, Lord Baron.”
“Okeydoke,” replied Baron Sharpe amiably, and squeezed off a 6-round burst from his subgun at the Magistrates.
The baron’s aim was pathetic. Out of the six rounds he fired, only two found living targets, and then on the inoffensive Cameron and Miles. The bullets didn’t penetrate the armor, but the kinetic shock hurt them, numbed them, sent all three men, crying out in pained surprise, retreating hastily up the stairs.
Kane watched the events with wide, confused eyes. He didn’t feel relieved or grateful to Crawler for taking three opponents out of the play. Rather, his mind raced with suspicions and extrapolations. The doomie had an ace on the line, but Kane had not the slightest shred of an idea what it might be.
Crawler tugged peremptorily on the baron’s belled pant cuff. “Let’s go.”
If Baron Sharpe noticed the distinct lack of deference in the mutie’s tone, he didn’t show it. He obeyed as Crawler slipped off the steps onto the floor and took the lead.
Within moments, they were abreast of Kane’s hiding place. He tracked the baron’s overlarge head with his blaster, intending to allow him to pass by, then step out behind him once he was certain he had the drop.
Instead, Crawler came to a halt. Thrusting his head forward, he peered into the darkness. Kane sensed a wispy touch, reminiscent of the time the blind psi-mutie Morrigan had telepathically probed him.
The sensation vanished almost immediately. Crawler, with a harsh laugh in the back of his throat, pointed directly to Kane. “There is your playmate, my Lord.”
Baron Sharpe turned swiftly on his toes. Eagerly he exclaimed, “Good! This game was starting to tire me. Come out! Olly-olly-oxen-free!”
Treading stealthily, Kane stepped out of the doorway, leading with his Sin Eater. Quietly he said, “Both of you make like statues. Lose the blaster, Baron.”
Baron Sharpe gazed at him for a moment, then his high-planed face registered deep disappointment. “He’s only another Magistrate. You’ve truly let me down, Crawler.”
The mutie ignored the accusation. Addressing Kane, he rasped, “What are you waiting for? Chill him.”
Both Kane and the baron’s eyes fixed on Crawler. Kane instinctively knew the astonishment glimmering in Baron Sharpe’s eyes was a mirror image of that in his own. His face worked through a number of emotions, finally settling on an expression of incredulous anger.
He kicked Crawler full in the mouth with the toe of his boot. He barked, “What kind of cheap trick is this?”
Crawler spit out blood and trembled with laughter. “A trick to rid the world of a disease!”
Baron Sharpe cried out in fearful fury. He stepped back, swinging up the Copperhead, leveling it at Kane. “Treachery! My own servants plot against me!”