The large stained-wood doors to the building were reached via a short flight of stone steps, impressively constructed with a tapering sweep to reach a pinnacle by the doors, the wide base of the steps marked at each corner by a plinth that had, at one time, housed statues that were of the same stone as the building. These had long since been replaced with statues in beaten metal that were obviously Baron Silas Hunter, as they were identical to that which stood on the arch over the gates to Salvation. If there was a similar arch at each entry, then there were four statues surrounding the ville, and now at least two within the walls.
Baron Silas Hunter was obviously a man of some ego.
“So we get to meet the great man at last,” Ryan said to Crow as he stood in the back of the wag and stretched muscles cramped by too long a confinement after their explosive bout of action.
“Yeah, as soon as we deal with these assholes,” the foreman said, jerking a thumb at the still semiconscious workers in the back of the wag. “Wait there.”
“Nowhere else go,” Jak mumbled in reply. But if the Native American heard him, he failed to respond as he dismounted from the vehicle and joined Tex in walking around to the rear doors. Inside, the companions heard the lock being sprung, and then the doors were flung open, admitting light into the back of the vehicle that caused the pile of beaten flesh to stir a little more. It also caused Bronson to awaken, the mild sedative and painkiller administered by Mildred having made his journey a little easier.
“Help him out,” Crow said, taking Bronson by one arm. Ryan took the other, and the sec man was so disoriented and such a deadweight from his injury that it took all their strength to get him from the wag. While they did this, the doors to the building opened and a squad of sec men came down the steps. Three of them—armed like all the others with Uzis—took over from Crow and Ryan, and Bronson was taken into the building.
The companions climbed out of the wag and stood to one side under the eye of the sec squad. The seven-strong squad stayed silent, but kept their hands thoughtfully on their blasters.
“Hell, they’re okay,” Tex drawled, observing this, “but you should see what they did to those good ol’ boys in back.” He chuckled, indicating where the workmen were beginning to surface, groaning in agony.
“They’re with me,” Crow said dismissively of the companions, indicating them with a gesture. Then, turning, his attention to the wag, he pointed in. “Those stupes, on the other hand… Get them out and send them home. They’ll get their jack when they’re fit enough to come and get it on both feet.”
He left the sec squad to decant the still groggy workmen and send them to their homes to recover.
While Tex moved around to the front of the wag in order to take it to the wag bay where all Baron Silas’s vehicles would be stored, Crow began to mount the steps.
“Follow me,” he commanded without looking back.
Ryan exchanged glances with his people, and fell into step behind the Native American after whispering, “Triple red,” to the others, who all made small gestures of acknowledgment. Although they were unarmed, they could still be prepared to meet any danger as best they could, and without thinking they fell into formation, with Krysty and Dean followed by Doc and Mildred, J.B. bringing up the rear.
But there was little sign of danger once they entered the building. The doors were closed behind them by two armed sec men, but once they were in, there was little sign of any overwhelming sec presence. Instead, they took in the ornate plush with which Baron Silas Hunter had decorated his baronial palace. Rich hangings and plundered paintings sat over a rag bag of antique furnitures plundered and traded from many points. And always the intertwining wire and smelted iron rails that ran in decorative yet secure form across every window and opening.