“Better than Langford,” Krysty replied, ignoring the ministrations while she hacked off a piece of the bread and stuffed it whole into her mouth. After a short prayer to Gaia, she swallowed and ripped off a crab leg to crack the shell apart and start picking out the sweet white meat.
“I told them to bring enough for five,” Ryan said, pouring her some coconut milk. There was no wine or beer. But he would tell her about that later.
“Smart move,” Krysty mumbled, tossing the hollow leg onto an empty platter and starting on another. Crab was a favorite of hers, and they didn’t find much of it in the deserts of North America. Doc said it was kin to spiders, but she had eaten those and the two tasted nothing alike.
“Aside from your hunger, you’re fine,” Mildred announced, returning to her chair. “Just some bruises, abrasions and a minor flesh wound. Although those ribs need to be watched. You start having any trouble breathing, let me know.”
Nodding her agreement, Krysty put aside a wooden mug of water and began shoveling the kelp into her mouth. It was surprisingly good.
“How do we stand?” she mumbled, sucking a loose strand off her chin.
“The people worship you and tolerate us,” J.B. said, blowing a smoke ring at the ceiling. The seaweed cigar was very similar to tobacco in taste, if not appearance. Four more were tucked into the pocket of his clean shirt.
“Langford major buttwipe,” Jak added, cleaning his nails with a knife point.
“From what we can discern, dear lady,” Doc rumbled, brushing crumbs off his shirt, “he ruled by sheer intimidation.”
“No rewards for loyalty?”
“None,” Ryan stated, leaning back in his chair.
“Which explains the party over you chilling the man.”
Even over the fireplace, they could hear faint sounds of celebration from the ville. Laughing, singing, even the occasional gunshot.
“To be blunt,” Doc added, “unloved would be a polite way of assaying his general social demeanor.”
“Got that right,” J.B. agreed, stubbing out the butt of the cig on a dirty dish.
Seeing the Armorer without his glasses brought her attention to the pressing matter of ammo. “We have to get those backpacks,” she said urgently. “I’m down to five rounds.”
“Same here,” Mildred agreed.
“Less,” Dean admitted, and placed a flintlock on the table. “That’s why I have one of these now.”
Jak made no comment. Langford had owned a .357 Magnum pistol, and the teenager had taken all of the spare ammo off the dead man. It fit his own blaster just fine. Doc had done the same with the baron’s Navy Colt .44, reaping a harvest of primer caps and lead for his Civil War hand cannon.
“Five for the Steyr, one clip for the SIG-Sauer,” Ryan said, taking a sliver of wood off a small dish and began picking his teeth. “But even with torches it’s too dark. We’ll send divers to reclaim our backpacks at first light.”
“Under tight guard,” she added.
“Bet your ass.”
Krysty drew her belt knife to smear honey on another piece of bread. Then she paused, recalling where it had last been, and dipped a finger into the gooey sweet to do the job.
“Also, your sec men aren’t too happy to get replaced by us.” Ryan said, watching them through the windows as they stood around the fountain outside. A man hatefully glanced their way, caught Ryan’s eye and hastily looked away.
“Tough,” Krysty said, looking in to the courtyard. The sec men stood straighter and stopped talking. “Probably only afraid you’ll take away their privileges in the gaudy house.”
“Langford was a human, by the way,” Mildred said. “Just really strong and heavily muscled. Not a thing out of the ordinary. I cut him open to check.”
“And to make sure he was dead,” Ryan added grimly. “But it’s a good thing we’re not planning on staying here. The ville is a pesthole. Seen cleaner ruins after a shitter exploded.”
“Disgusting,” Dean added, holding his nose.
“The latrines are far enough away from the wells,” Mildred announced. “But not by anybody’s plan. Pure chance.”
“Lots of slaves, but they’re all captured pirates. For some reason, Langford didn’t use slave labor.”