This was perfect. When her people had spread the white cough among the previous norms of the ville, it chilled them fast enough, but then new norms arrived in the big ship Constellation with its many cannons, and her tribe dared not attack.
Ah, but now the new baron was going to sneak away from the ville, taking most of the good blasters with her. The moment the outlanders were gone, her people could attack, and finally cleanse their home of these invaders. But by tomorrow night, maybe sooner, the island would be theirs once more. Nothing would stop them this time. Praise be the maker.
Chapter Fifteen
The companions spent the night in the baron’s bedroom, sharing the huge bed in shifts, the door blocked with the heaviest trunk, a roaring fire in the fireplace to forestall any unwanted intrusions.
In the morning, they stayed alert at the dining table, while pretty young girls in oddly low-cut clothing served the men and Mildred breakfast, and older women more sensibly dressed for kitchen work served Krysty.
Not born a fool, Ryan could see what was happening and offered Krysty a slice of pineapple from his plate. But when the redhead reached for it, a serving girl darted forward and knocked the plate to the floor.
“Please forgive me, sir,” the girl gushed, almost spilling from her clothing as she bent over to clean the mess.
“The comfort of my kin is very important to me,” Krysty said sternly to the busty server. “So I will be tasting everything brought to the table before they eat. Is that clearly understood?”
“But I…as you command, Baron,” the girl muttered, and promptly raced into the kitchen. The older women came back in a few moments with different food.
“We could smell it had gone sour,” the matron explained, trying to hide a scowl as she filled their wooden mugs with coconut milk.
Ryan took her wrinkled arm and held it firmly in his grip. She gasped, and he offered the mug. “Taste it and make sure,” he ordered.
The matron nodded eagerly and drank, spilling some down her clothing. “See? Nice and fresh, sir.” She managed to smile, tears in her eyes. “Very good. Just harvested.”
“Go,” Ryan commanded, releasing his grip.
She stumbled back a step, then darted into the kitchen, cradling the arm as if it were broken.
“What is wrong with these people?” Mildred muttered, releasing the grip on her blaster.
“Poison the latrine seat next,” Jak growled, sniffing a slice of grilled breadfruit before chancing a bite.
“Act normal, eat fast,” Ryan said, cutting up a smoked fish to look for hidden needles. It was clean. “We’re leaving on the noon tide. With or without the backpacks.”
Squinting at the warrior, J.B. started to speak, then closed his mouth with a snap. Yeah, made sense. What good were glasses if he was riding the last train west?
“That is,” Krysty added softly, feeling watched from every direction, “if they let me leave.”
WATER SPLASHING around his neck, Dean reached over the gunwale of the dugout canoe and handed his father the ebony stick.
“That’s almost everything,” Ryan said, opening the stick and checking the blade within. The steel shone as if freshly polished, its day underwater causing no noticeable damage. There was just the med kit and J.B.’s munitions bag remaining.
Ryan had originally planned on using the local oyster divers for this job, but after the incident at breakfast, he wasn’t letting anybody near their blasters and grens.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, rocking to the motion of the waves.
“Fine,” the boy replied, kicking steadily. “This is easy.” Dean was stripped down to his shorts and a pair of woven sandals, around his waist a canvas ammo belt with the pouches full of rocks. Just enough to balance the natural buoyancy of the human body so he only had to expend strength swimming, and not endlessly fight to stay submerged.
“Any sign of the med kit?” Ryan asked, holding out a canteen and pouring some of the warm coconut milk into the boy’s mouth.
Swallowing gratefully, Dean waved, sending a spray of water in the direction. “Sure! Ten feet over that way.”