Rising from the soft cushions, Krysty shivered more at the thought than the cold floor, then remembered slashing his throat. No, Langford was dead— no doubt of that.
Goose bumps running along her skin, Krysty stepped off the floor and onto a rug. Ah, better. Across the bedroom was a fireplace with a cheery blaze, a couple of chairs set tandem and a large table covered with what looked like her clothing. As Krysty padded over, a young girl rose from one of the chairs holding a blaster, then gasped and fell to her knees bowing.
“Morning,” Krysty said.
The girl raised her face and touched her throat, shaking her head no.
Ah, a mute, as Mildred called them. Most were deaf and dumb, but obviously this one could hear, just not speak. A perfect bed warmer for any baron.
Walking past the kneeling girl, Krysty examined the articles on the table, running fingertips along the patches. There were new buttons, and her boots shone.
“Your work?” she asked.
A head nod, shoulders braced for a strike.
“Excellent work,” Krysty said, looking at the inside seams. “Well done…ah, what do I call you, girl?”
Rising timidly, she touched the toe of the cowboy boot.
“Steel?” Krysty asked.
A head shake.
“Silver,” she stated, and the girl nodded. “Well done, Silver. Should be the head seamstress for a big ville with talent like this. Predark clothes aren’t this well made.”
Silver blinked rapidly.
“Baron not much with compliments,” Krysty stated. “Even when they were due, eh?”
A shy smile and a vigorous head shake.
“Well, that changes today. New baron, new rules,” Krysty announced, stepping into her khaki jumpsuit.
Quickly getting dressed, she was amazed that somebody had even curried her bearskin coat. The thing never looked so good. Lying nearby were her weapons, cleaned and oiled. Along with the baron’s matching set of knives and two blasters.
“Where are the others?” Krysty asked, strapping on a gun belt. She checked the load in her blaster and tucked it into her belt. Only a few rounds were left. The baron’s weapons she left where they were. Too many was the same as not enough.
Silver bowed again and gestured toward the door.
“Take me to them,” she said, giving her first command as a baron.
Silver scurried to unlock the bedroom door. On the other side was a long hallway without furniture or windows. Krysty recognized it as a killzone. Invaders would have no place to ambush the baron, or hide when he shot back.
Proceeding to the far end, Silver gave a coded knock on a heavy door banded with iron. On creaking hinges, the massive portal was pushed aside by frowning sec men, longblasters in their hands, but then both of the guards beamed smiles and saluted. “Good day, Baron,” they chorused.
Not used to such servitude, Krysty merely nodded in passing and started down the wide brick stairs and into a tremendous room with cinder-block walls. It was obviously the throne room. At one end was a dais and a massive chair covered with intricate carvings of mushroom clouds and other symbols of war. Swords and axes decorated the walls. Four chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, but only one was lit, casting most of the room into shadows, including the chopping block, the neck rest stained dark with old blood.
Crossing the room, her boot heels clicking on the floor, Krysty paused by the dais and noticed the bullet holes, then went to the chair and easily found a knife and a blaster tucked away in hidden folds. Even here, Langford had expected betrayal.
Silver patiently waited for Krysty to decide to continue.
Going to the windows, Krysty threw back the shutters and saw it was night outside. “How long did I sleep?” she asked.
The girl went to a lantern and, touching it, raised just her forefinger.
One lantern burn. About eight hours. It was the same day.
“Good,” Krysty said, then her stomach rumbled. “But you better show me that dining hall fast before I start eating the throne.”
The girl was startled, then almost allowed a smile to cross her pretty young face as she darted across the room.