“Unfortunately, their daughter Lucia was killed by the muties last night,” the baron said sadly. “So this is a time of joy and sadness. Joy, that we have two more citizens, and sadness at their terrible loss.”
“Must have been a redhead,” the rat-faced man muttered, and many others growled agreement.
“It’s awful,” Ryan said, hoping to prompt more information.
The blacksmith nodded glumly. “If my wife gave birth to a redhead, I’d do the babe a favor and drown her on the spot.”
The words were said so casually, but with such vehemence, Ryan didn’t doubt the man for a moment. What the hell was the redheaded baron doing with the girls? It wasn’t really Ryan’s problem, until he realized Krysty’s situation. If her hood slipped, the woman might be taken captive and find out what was happening to the females of the ville.
Quickly easing his way deeper into the attentive throng, Ryan reached the edge and frantically searched for the woman.
“We are also here to punish a traitor!” the baron boomed, raising the med kit high. “This woman is Patrica, the madam of our gaudy house. Favored with easy work, she has grown fat, but her work is important and we did nothing. So some of this is our fault for allowing her to think she was above the law.”
“None are above the law!” shouted a teenager near the huge baron.
“None,” the redheaded man agreed, and the crowd roared its agreement.
Elbowing his way through the throng, Ryan heard the words, but was concentrating on every hooded person in the crowd. He found Krysty amid some bare-chested men holding shovels, and grabbed her shoulder.
“Don’t show yourself,” he whispered.
“Why?” the old woman demanded, sliding back the hood to expose a wealth of gray hair. “What do you want? Who are you?”
“Sorry, wrong person,” Ryan apologized and moved on quickly.
On the platform, a gang of sec men pushed a fat woman into view, coils of rope binding her. A cloth gag filled her mouth, and even from this distance, Ryan could see the blind panic in her face.
“This is our enemy, and all that is to transpire will take place here in the justice square,” the baron said formally. “I hide nothing in the darkness of basements or hidden rooms.”
The guards lashed the fat woman to a wooden stake, binding her at the neck and waist. The prisoner struggled frantically and achieved nothing. A sec man removed her gag, and she spit out another wad of cloth.
“It was a mistake!” the woman screamed in desperation. “I hadn’t gotten to the baron yet when they caught me. I have done nothing wrong!”
“Lies!” the redheaded teenager spit. “When we went to pay her the reward for finding the doctor bag, the sec men found a cache of blasters in her room. Not one, or two, but many!”
The crowd voiced its shock and disapproval.
“Even one blaster is punishable by the Machine,” the baron intoned, spreading his arms. “But why so many? Who needs more than one?”
He advanced upon the bound woman, shouting at every step, “Why were you building an armory? Are you working with outsiders to overthrow the ville? Confess, traitor, and die a clean death!”
“Liar,” a man whispered to the person next to him. “Big words, and a knife in the back is all you get here.”
“Just like they did my cousin who found the searchlights,” the other man agreed, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.
“No, it serves her right,” a young blonde in a colorful dress said with a sneer, hands on her hips. “That bitch Patrica was the meanest madam a slut ever worked for.”
Ryan stopped at those words and stared at the struggling prisoner on the platform. She was his key to the baron? Oh hell. Good thing he already knew where the med kit was.
“Mercy!” the madam shrieked. Blood trickled down her forearms as she tried to escape from the ropes.
Clearly, the baron wasn’t moved by the outburst, almost as if he had heard it all far too many times before. “Strip her.”
Leonard approached with a knife and cut away her clothing, until the woman was nude to the waist, her giant breasts squeezing out either side of the wooden post.