J.B. looked at Ryan and then cast an eye over the food and drink that lay on the table. There were meats, vegetables, and some strange breads and biscuits that seemed of uncertain origin. Ryan’s eye met the Armorer’s over the top of the man’s spectacles.
“Crow,” Baron Silas said, noticing their exchange and grasping the meaning.
The Native American and the baron both reached for food and also took some of the wine. They began to eat and drink, and only when they had observed this did the companions join them.
“You disappoint me,” Baron Silas said through a mouthful of bread. “I’d expected less overt distrust.”
“Sometimes the obvious can pass you by,” Ryan answered.
“But what good would it have done?” Baron Silas continued, washing down the bread with some wine.
“Didn’t have to do any good—mebbe just a little prod,” Ryan replied.
The meal continued with little small talk. The companions exchanged a few words with one another about the meal, and any attempts by the baron to draw Ryan further were met with a bland response. They were too aware of the serving girls, who could possibly catch any comments that the baron or Crow may miss. The Native American, for his part, ate his meal in silence.
When they had finished, the serving girls gathered everything that was left on the table and took it away. The two armed sec men—who had remained impassive in the doorway throughout—followed them out and closed the doors behind them, but not before the Native American had joined them. To all the companions, the fact that Crow had also departed meant that the real business was about to begin.
They sat for a few moments in silence, the baron composing his thoughts.
“So do we get to hear why we’re here now, or is there a cabaret?” Mildred asked.
Baron Silas fixed her with a stare that indicated that, for the moment, he wasn’t sure whether she was serious. Then he began.
“Salvation means a lot to me. A hell of a lot. Not just because it’s made me rich, with more jack and booty than I know what to do with—which is never a bad thing—but because it’s something that’s taken a long time for me to build. I was just a kid when I first came here. My daddy brought all of us from a ville called Dallas that used to be a big predark place. ‘Cept as how there wasn’t much left of it after, on account of all the oil wells and refineries firing the whole area after the nukecaust. When it was okay to settle again, there just wasn’t much left to settle.”
“They tried to farm that land, but my daddy always had this theory that the old wells shouldn’t be dry. They weren’t used up in the days before sky-dark, so why shouldn’t there be some left, and why shouldn’t we all exploit that, seeing as how fuel is the most valuable thing that there is these days?”
Doc pursed his lips, blowing through them. “That is a sound piece of reasoning, I would say. And surely any baron who was sitting on such a potential source of trade and jack would jump at the chance?”
Baron Silas allowed himself the luxury of a small grin that made him look as friendly as a sidewinder. “Well, now, you’d think it might, and mebbe it would have if there was any sense to anything. But Baron Angus Eddison of Dallas didn’t want that. It was a small ville, and he couldn’t devote time and manpower to getting the wells investigated or opened again.”
“So why not form alliances as you obviously have?” Krysty asked.
“Because there ain’t no one in these parts who’d pitch in unless they knew as they were onto a good thing, and there ain’t no one who Baron Angus’d trust anyways. Stupe thing is that the only man he ever trusted was his son, Christian, and it was Christian who had the old man chilled so as he could take over. I’ve got an alliance with Christian, but I can’t say as I’d trust the fucker. Then again, he’d be a fool to trust me,” Baron Silas added reasonably.