Toying with a strand of her blond hair, Amanda took a sip from her silver goblet. “Or did you mean to say, he is dead?”
“The reports say alive,” McGregory gushed, bowing apologetically. “However, I have received reports of him in the east, north and southern sections of Novaville, all at the exact same time.”
“What? Impossible!” Amanda stated. “Has this information been confirmed?”
“I double-checked before reporting. It’s true. A one-eyed man with black hair and blasters has been seen.”
“It’s a feint,” Richard declared, wiping a band clean on his shirt, “to lure us away from the south wall.”
Petulantly, Amanda dashed her chalice to the floor. “Or more likely, the fuel storage dump.”
“He’s going to ignite our stock of gasoline to cover their escape!”
“Or as a prelude to their attack.”
“Where is Anders?” Richard demanded, standing and buckling on his blaster belt.
McGregory smiled uncertainly. “Unknown, my lord.”
“Then this your responsibility, Captain. Find Anders or Kissel. Have them split our forces. Send half here to protect us, split the other half again, and send in one group to defend the fuel storage, and hold back the rest as reserves in case it explodes.”
Amanda nodded at the wisdom of the arrangement. Her brother was a fool in most matters, but survival wasn’t one of them.
“However, don’t remove the guards on the tank,” she said. “And elevate the order on Ryan and his people to kill.”
“My lady?” the man said, confused. “But I thought-”
“Do it,” Richard commanded. “They should go to Eugene, but this isn’t the time. Shoot on sight. Bring us their bodies.”
“Yes, my lord!” The bald man bowed and started to leave.
“One moment, Captain,” Richard said softly.
Frozen in place, the man turned slowly. “Y-yes, my lord.”
In slow deliberation, the son of the ward drew one of his blasters and fired. McGregory flinched, but felt no searing stab of pain. But a slave slicing a loaf of bread at the dining table dropped the carving knife, staggered backward and fell over, gushing blood.
“We said a random death every hour,” Richard stated, holstering the blaster. “And it will continue until the outlanders are lying dead on this floor before us. I’m a man of honor.”
“I just want them dead,” Amanda stated. “You have until dawn. After which there will be a new captain of the guard.”
Forcing a smile, McGregory acquiesced and depart with even greater haste then his arrival.
THE ROOM WAS DARK and smelled slightly of mold and mildew, like a damp cellar, sealed off and forgotten. Off in a corner, a bolt holding down a metallic screen twisted to the left, the right and then steadily turned counterclockwise. A hand reached through the grilled opening of the air vent to catch the bolts before they disengaged and fell to the floor. With a muted screech of rusty metal, the grating was forced off, angled sideways and pulled into the air duct. There was some scuffling, then, swinging out his legs, Dean wiggled free of the confining duct and dropped to the ground, his stocking feet hitting the concrete with soft pats. He stood in the blackness, trying to listen with his whole body. There was no sound, except for the thunderous beating of the heart in his chest.
Shielding the lens of the flashlight with his palm, Dean moved amid the boxes and shelves of the storage room, easily locating what he was assigned to find. Moving to the door, he prepared his tools and knocked on the wood just below the hinged inspection hatch, a small affair no larger than a few inches.
A surprised grunt came from the outside, followed by the scraping of a chair leg on stone. Then the hatch swung aside and a squinting face appeared in the opening framed by light. There was an almost musical twang and the sec man stumbled backward, a crossbow quarrel embedded to the fletching between his eyes.
A few seconds later the door swung open and Dean came out, pocketing one of J.B.’s lockpicks. A crossbow was dangling around his neck, along with a full quiver of quarrels. Sliding on his boots, Dean removed the dying guard’s ring of keys and headed down the corridor.