The sergeant didn’t turn from the haystack. “Excellent. Then start dragging the sewers.”
“In this weather?” The guard gave him a puzzled smile. “Sir, do you really think anybody could survive-”
Wheeling, Kissel backhanded the man hard, sending him to the ground in a tangle of rope and limbs. The noise sounded like a blastershot in the quiet stillness of the field. The other sec men tried to hide their sneers, and the slaves plowed on, neither slowing nor caring.
“Never question my orders,” Kissel hissed, his breath fogging from the evening chill. “Especially in front of the slaves! Now get going, and you will do the job personally.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard replied, rising hesitantly to his feet. He flinched as the burly sergeant made a sudden move toward him, but no additional strike was forthcoming. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Without delay.”
As the guard hurried off across the plowed field, the jingling was drowned out by the sound of a low purr announcing the approach of a motorcycle, Kissel turned to salute.
Braking to a halt in a plow fold, Lieutenant Anders killed the big engine of the BMW motorcycle and kicked down the stand, his boots resting on the parallel lines of turned earth. The soil was gray on top, dead and sterile as the moon, but rich, black and alive underneath.
“I can see the lack of success written on your face,” Anders declared with a scowl. When he removed his leather gloves, fresh blood left moist streaks on his embroidered silk cuffs, but no cuts or abrasions marked his skin.
“We’re looking everywhere, sir,” Kissel replied hastily.
“Up chimneys? Under floorboards? Inside the manure piles?”
“That was the very next place I was going to have the men check, sir.”
“Do so,” Anders said, scanning the darkening farmland. Kissel gestured to the bloody shirt cuffs. “Any luck with the prisoner you were interrogating?”
Anders took no notice of the remark. “The lady ward has contacted the scavengers, and they pledge nobody has climbed over the walls. Which means Ryan and his people are still in the ville. Mebbe even disguised as see men. Or slaves.”
“Disgusting.” Then Kissel glanced about quickly, and stepped as close as he dared to an officer. “Or mebbe the rebels have them?”
“There is no underground of armed slaves,” Anders said brusquely. “However, the matter is being looked into.”
“By our spies among the slaves, eh? I hear that the armory was blown apart by Ryan, and hundreds of blasters are missing.”
“You heard wrong,” the officer answered, turning his collar to the cold. “That explosion earlier was the testing of a new cannon. Nobody died, and nothing was destroyed. Understand?”
Kissel went ramrod straight and saluted. “Absolutely. You can count on me and my men, sir!”
“I sincerely hope so,” Anders said, kicking the BMW into life. The muted rumble shook him to the bone for a brief instant, then waves of warmth radiating from the engine soon vanquished the chill.
Forcing himself not to shiver, Kissel looked hungrily at the motorcycle, but said nothing. Such was the privilege of rank.
“If anybody asks, I’ll be reviewing the guards on the south wall. Time is short,” Anders added. “Our masters grow more impatient by the minute with our failures. If we don’t find Ryan soon, our beloved leaders will consult with the ward over this matter.”
The sergeant blanched, his eyes going wide.
“I concur with your opinion,” Anders said, revving the throttle a few times to clear the carburetor.
A single puff of dark smoke drifted from the fluted tailpipes. “If the heirs think there’s going to be another food riot, a mass escape attempt or a full-fledged attack on the Citadel, then we’re all doomed.”
“Amen,” Kissel whispered, then he snapped off a crisp salute. “We’ll find them, sir, or die trying!”
“That’s the general idea,” Anders said. He drove off, following the planting gully, a black-clad bubble of heat in the rapidly descending purple darkness.
THROUGH A PAIR of predark military binoculars, Amanda watched as the lieutenant moved off on his bike toward the south. “He’s doing a perimeter sweep,” she stated.
“Or checking that damn bridge,” Richard stated, squinting into the distance. “I told you we should have torn it down years ago.”