Reaching a tall flight of stairs cut into the very granite of the mountain, he started to climb at an easy lope. A hundred slaves had died cutting the staircase, and fifty more while decorating it with fancy designs. But that was only fitting for the man who ruled the thousand known islands of the entire world. Once, an outlander found on the beach had claimed to come from the mainland. Brandon shot him in the face on the spot. Such foolish talk could make others think of leaving, undermine the power of the barons and their sec men. Absolutely intolerable.
At the top of the stairs, the lieutenant walked slowly across fields of manicured lawns edged with flowering gardens. Sec men saluted as he passed.
Passing a splashing fountain, Brandon headed straight for the front door of the baron’s castle. It used to be a post office building, but its thick walls and lack of windows made it a perfect fortress. The glass door had long ago been replaced by thick wood bound by straps of iron. Three of the four doors were closed, the open doorway guarded by an armed sec man standing stiffly at attention.
“Morning, Private,” Brandon said as he tried to enter, but the young sec man stood his ground and didn’t move.
“Halt!” the teenager ordered, and snapped the bolt on his longblaster. “Password, sir!”
Contemptuously, Brandon sneered at the youngster. “You know who I am and what I do to idiots who annoy me. Now get out of the way!”
The sec man paled, but swung the barrel of the Weatherby .30-06 rifle toward the sec chief. “Password or die,” he said calmly. “Your choice.”
The two stared at each other, then the lieutenant made a move for the pistol at his side. Instantly the guard shifted his aim and fired. The holster jerked, a ragged scar in the polished leather where the round had plowed through.
“Next one goes in your face,” the teenager stated, sweat dripping off his cheeks and dampening his shirt.
Suddenly a squad of sec men raced into view carrying a wide assortment of weapons.
“Excellent.” Brandon smiled, easing his stance. “Good response time and fine shooting, Sergeant.”
“Private, sir.”
“Not anymore,” Brandon said. “Nor are you working for internal sec. You’re with me now, a private guard for the baron himself. I need a new XO on the boat, and I think you’ll do.”
“Me, sir? Thank you, sir!”
“What’s your name, son?”
“Hannigan, sir. Thor Hannigan.”
“Meet me down at the dock, slip 2, PT 264. We’ll talk later, Sergeant Hannigan.”
“Aye, sir!”
“The rest of you men are dismissed!” Brandon shouted.
Relaxing, the other sec men shouldered their weapons and walked back to their assigned posts. Beaming a smile, Brandon tried to get past the boy, and the longblaster was shoved into his face again.
“Nice try. Password or die,” Hannigan said low and dangerous. His finger was already putting pressure on the trigger, and any attempt to knock the blaster aside would only set it off.
In cold fury, the lieutenant stared at the man, then slowly nodded. “Excellent,” he said. “Black dust, I’ll take you on as crew! The password is broken sword.”
“Pass, sir,” Hannigan said, lowering his weapon to port arms.
Watching his step, Brandon walked inside, then turned. “Don’t forget to pick up that spent brass,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the spent round on the ground.
Hannigan sneered. “That’s for privates, not me.”
“Good man,” he grunted. “You’ll go far.”
Proceeding down the main corridor, Brandon went past the dining hall, the armory and then the soundproof doors to the dungeon. Whimpering and the thump of metal on flesh could be heard softly from within. Soundproof, his ass. Damn door needed repairs again. Too many near escapes had damaged the jamb once more. When would the men learn to cut the hamstrings of prisoners so they couldn’t run, even if they got free from the shackles? Time for more beatings.
Stopping before the entrance to the throne room, the lieutenant smoothed his hair and made sure the flap on his holster was buttoned down tight before entering. The baron had more rules on sec than he did.