Mildred pointed to the walls. “Look there. Those faded numbers painted on the walls. That’s the Dewey decimal system!”
“This was a library,” Doc said. “Where are all the books now?”
Shard stared blankly. “Books?”
White-faced and sweaty. Ryan stumbled a bit, holding his side tightly. Mildred moved closer and gave him a shoulder for support. He said nothing, but accepted the assistance.
“Mildred, why would the kitchen be near the kennels?” Dean asked. “To feed the dogs?”
“Yes. But they also probably eat the dogs when they die.”
“Of course.” Shard smiled. “Roast dog is fine.”
“Which way to the kitchen?” Krysty interrupted, scanning the distant walls for possible enemies.
“To the tight. But the back gate is to the left.”
“What’s ahead?”
“That leads to the ward’s private quarters.”
“Don’t want to go there,” J.B. said, making a face.
Turning their backs on the door to the outside, they traveled deeper into the rapidly awakening prison. Reaching an intersection, they retreated nearby while a group of armed guards passed by marching information Turning the corner, Ryan encountered a sec man at a table assembling his blaster while drinking coffee. He left the body slumped over the table, head cradled in crossed arms as if the dead man were merely asleep.
“Won’t fool a sergeant of the guards,” J.B. commented.
“If they have one,” Krysty noted.
“Doubt it,” Ryan said, shaking his head to focus his vision. “These folks rely too much on intimidation.”
“Indeed,” Doc agreed. “The guards are so positive that we are terrified of them, they assume that we would escape as quickly as possible via the shortest route.”
“Sloppy,” Jak agreed.
“I would have caught us long ago,” Dean added.
Cutting through a storage room, then creeping down a flight of stairs past what smelled like a brewery, the companions froze as they spotted some slaves in tray rags listlessly mopping the floor.
Ryan asked Shard a silent question.
“They won’t report us,” he said. “That would involve meeting with the ward, a pleasure few survive.
“No reward for helping to capture intruders?”
“Stupe.”
Staying on the far side of the hallway, the companions moved past the workers quickly. The men and women bowed their heads, refusing to even look at the armed people walking in their midst
A locked door barred their progress for only a few moments, then they were inside a plush room of tapestries and carpeting. Sumptuous chairs, expertly patched in places, stood before a cold fireplace. A curtained alcove lay beneath a raised balcony and suits of old armor lined the walls in brickwork niches. It was a perfect place for an ambush, and Cawdor’s instincts flared.
“Just down there,” Shard said, starting to walk. faster. “Only a bit more.”
“Jak, shake the bushes,” Ryan ordered, leaning against the wall.
The rest assumed combat positions as the teenager grabbed a chair and threw it. The crude wooden projectile hit the. embroidered curtain, tipping it from the traverse rod and exposing three men in suits of armor, swords in their gauntlets.
“There they are!” cried one, starting forward.
At the cry, more men with crossbows popped up over the balcony on the second floor. Aiming at the armored sec man, J.B. cut loose with the Thompson, but the .22-caliber rounds bounced off the thick medieval armor. Mildred and Doc fired their .38 revolvers, the bullets denting chest plates and making the sec men stumble back a step.
A flurry of arrows hit the furniture around them as an older man with chevrons on his tunic called out for them to surrender. In response, J.B. hosed the balcony with a stream of .22 rounds, killing most of the archers. Then Ryan and Krysty cut loose with their Browning rifles. Neat holes appeared in the chest plates, and crimson sprayed onto the ripped curtain. The armored sec men fell to the floor, pumping blood.
“Plate metal armor?” Jak scoffed, kicking one to make sure he was dead. He was. “Stupe. Have blasters.”
“Guards might not know that,” Mildred said, dumping her two spent shells and sliding in fresh rounds.
“They do now,” J.B. observed, struggling with the bolt to clear a jam. The bent shell popped free. “Doc, sweep the balcony. I’ll cover.”