Blood Harvest (16 page)

Mrs. Wyeth's child prodigy had been played like an amateur.

Mildred screamed in rage into the wind and night. “Fuck you!”

“In good time, Dr. Wyeth!” Basso profundo amusement boomed off the cliffs from out of sight in the dark. “In good time!”

Cafu, Leto and Luis could hardly contain themselves. If Ryan hadn't commanded their awe before, the fact that they were driving around in Baron Barat's wag, beat-up as it was, had cemented his godlike status. Ryan hadn't quite gotten around to telling them yet that they were headed back to Baron Barat's manse, and he was frankly worried what that might do to morale, much less the entire revolution. He really didn't see much other choice. He had a few hours to chill before making his dawn rendezvous with Jak on the beach. Mildred had gone missing on the manse grounds, and Doc was still a prisoner inside. Doubling back was just about the only plan that made any sense. Ryan was betting the baron and his son were out in the night hunting him, and only a skeleton crew would be guarding the grounds.

Cafu suddenly got wise. His hands slammed on the dash and he stared at Ryan in shock. He started babbling in rapid-fire Portuguese, and Leto and Luis went all excitable, as well. Ryan rolled his eye. Cafu started gesticulating wildly. Ryan grabbed him by the hair and yanked the wheel savagely. “Down!”

Twin blasts of lead ripped across the roof. Another tore at the fender as someone got smart and went for the tires. Ryan floored it and dark figures flung themselves out of the feeble headlight's glare and out of the way.
They swung around a curve and left the hunters shouting and blowing whistles behind them. Cafu rose and looked at Ryan sheepishly. They drove for a few more miles in silence. Twice they heard nightwalker hunting screams in the distance and the island men clutched their weapons tightly. Ryan cut his headlight as he caught the glow of the manse up on the hill. He stopped a few hundred yards from the gate where the woods and curve of the hill concealed them. Ryan chinked open his lighter. It was a risk but he had no common language with these men and he had to get the strategy into their heads. The three island men sighed at the wonder of the light in Ryan's hand. He handed it to Cafu and started talking and making pantomime with his hands. “You're going up the hill. Luis? You tell them you've seen me,
comprende?
You, tell them, you've seen me. Ryan.”

Luis watched Ryan point at the hill, point at his eyes and then himself. He nodded slowly. He pointed at Ryan, Leto and Cafu as he replied and made a circling gesture with his hand.

“That's right.” Ryan nodded. “You tell them you've seen me. Then me, Cafu and Leto—” Ryan punched his fist into his palm “—we sneak up on them from the side.
Bom?
”

The men nodded.
“Bom.”

Ryan took back his lighter and stepped out into the rain. They slogged up the hill, staying by the side of the road. Another scream tore out of the darkness, but it was far away. They stopped as they neared the edge of the grounds. Two men with auto-blasters stood sentinel in front of the shattered gate. Ryan put a hand on Luis's shoulder.
“Bom.”

Luis handed his club to Leto and ran out into the
road. His sandals slapped on the wet cobbles, and he began waving his arms and calling out. The sec men snapped up the muzzles of their blasters. Luis raised his hands and did a good job of cringing fearfully. He bowed and scraped and would not meet the sec men's eyes. One rammed the muzzle of his blaster into Luis's gut and dropped him gasping to his knees for his trouble. Ryan had Cafu and Leto shuck off their sandals, then they broke from the trees. They were out in the open but circling wide in the darkness. The wind and rain covered their approach. The wet grass beneath their feet made no noise as they charged forward in a hobble. Luis had the sec men's full attention. He yelped and flinched as the sec men gave him a few kicks to help the questioning along.

The sec men never saw what hit them.

Ryan rammed his sword through the kidney of one. The man went as stiff as a board and dropped his blaster. Ryan tore his blade free and chopped it into the side of the sec man's neck. Cafu's war club nearly took the other sec man's head off his shoulders. They dragged the dead sec men back into the darkness beneath the trees and Ryan went over their find. The two auto-blasters were rebuilt from a make he wasn't familiar with but they were heavy, .30-caliber, and each sec man had a spare mag. Both carried a short double-blaster in their belt and had another of the short stabbing swords on a baldric. Beneath their coats the sec men bore leather purses holding powder, lead shot and rock salt. One man had a set of heavy iron keys. Ryan held out a sword to Cafu. The old man hefted his tooth-studded club and shook his head. The old man had been swinging axes, mattocks and mauls all his life. He was old but
as strong and gnarled as an oak. The gunstock club with its pointed ivory pegs was right up his alley. Leto and Luis both took a sword eagerly and Ryan handed out the doubles to Cafu and Luis.

Ryan hid the extra auto-blaster under a dead man's cloak for later retrieval and hefted the remaining one. He took a moment in the gloom to familiarize himself with the selector and mag eject. He tucked the two spare mags away. They were as ready to mount a rescue as they were going to get. “Let's go.”

Ryan and his team moved past the gate and into the inner perimeter. All the lights were on. He stalked up the steps. His tiny squad of revolutionaries looked at one another fearfully at their own temerity. The door was locked. Ryan quietly tried keys and the second one fit. If it was bolted they were going to have to start climbing. He turned the key, swung open the spiked, oaken door and swept into the foyer.

The baron's expansive living room had been turned into a field surgery. Three dead men lay in the corner shrouded in purple-soaked sheets. The sec men Ryan had attacked lay on pallets moaning with broken bones. The old man he had clotheslined in the hall sat on a couch nursing a broken collarbone in a sling. Two sec men with slung, bolt-action blasters stood nearby grimacing. Two old and bent servants were mixing and passing out jiggers of the wine, Blood of the Lotus and blood mixture. The sec men Ryan had given the powder charge to the face lay on the table snarling while a balding man applied dressings. One of the most hauntingly beautiful women Ryan had ever seen held the injured man's hand. Her arms were purple up to her elbows from surgery. She murmured soothingly to Ryan's victim.

Ryan spoke softly. “Nobody move.”

Cafu, Leto and Luis filed in behind Ryan. The woman and the healer stared in shock. The two sec men shouted in open outrage and Ryan's cohorts cringed. The click of Ryan flicking his blaster's selector switch to full-auto was unnaturally loud and the shouting stopped. Ryan pointed his blaster at the woman. “Lady Barat.”

The woman stared down Ryan's blaster imperiously and shouted in Portuguese. Her voice rang with the unmistakable tone of command. Luis and Leto began to lower their weapons in long-conditioned subservience. Ryan brought his blaster to his shoulder. “Lady, I'm gonna—”

Cafu stepped forward. A plaster bust of Baron Barat stood in prominence by the entrance of the room. Cafu swung his club with a roar and the baron's effigy shattered like shrapnel. Cafu shook with rage as he pointed the club at the woman. “Fook Barat!”

Cafu had had enough.

Lady Zorime shook her head in cold anger. “You are no gentleman.”

“No,” Ryan agreed. “I'm not a gentle man. I want Doc. I want Mildred, and I want our blasters. Now.”

“Maybe—”

“No, mebbe. Now.”

The pale beauty lifted her chin in defiance. “And should I refuse?”

Everyone in the Barat barony seemed to have a fondness for rhetorical questions of defiance. Ryan's blue eye burned into Zorime's dark gaze. He knew she was willing to die for her family. “I won't hurt you. You're valuable.” Ryan cast his gaze over the injured
men triaged on pallets on the floor. “I'll kill your people. One at a time. Until you give me what I want.”

“I believe you would.”

“Tell your men to drop their blasters.”

Zorime nodded at her men. Their longblasters clunked to the floor.

Ryan jerked the muzzle of his blaster. “Swords.” The swords clattered to the wood. “Luis, Leto.” The two men gathered up the weapons beneath the scathing glares of their former masters. “Your men,” Ryan prompted. “On the floor.”

Zorime's fists clenched. Her men understood. They were equally enraged but they grabbed floor under Ryan's baleful blue eye and the black muzzle of his blaster.

“Now our blasters,” Ryan ordered.

Zorime went to a locked cabinet. She opened it with a key from a ring on her waist. Inside the gun cabinet were a number of blasters of old and new manufacture, including his and Doc's. Ryan slung his Steyr over his shoulder and hung the familiar weight of his SIG-Sauer on his belt. He stuffed his coat with spare mags and ammo.

Zorime and her people stared on frostily.

Ryan shoved Doc's LeMat under his belt and handed his sword cane to Luis. Ryan glanced at the man tending the sec man's face. “He's your healer?”

“Dr. Goncalves.” Zorime nodded. “What of it?”

Ryan examined the lady's bloody hands and nightshirt. “He trained you?”

“Yes.”

“Here's the deal. You go up. You get Doc. You bring him down. You come alone. If you don't, no matter what, I blow your healer's head off. Understand?”

Zorime's fists clenched. “I understand.”

“Hope you do. Get Doc.”

Zorime marched stiff-legged up the stairs.

Other than the occasional moan of the drugged and injured men the silence in the room grew uncomfortable. Dr. Goncalves gestured at Ryan. “Your injuries. Are—”

“Just fine,” Ryan finished. He looked toward the ceiling as he heard Doc's voice. He shook his head. Doc was apologizing to Lady Zorime for the inconvenience. Doc looked a little wobbly and he was favoring his side as he came down the stairs. He smiled happily at Ryan. “You came for me.”

“Twice,” Ryan admitted.

“I knew you would.”

Ryan shrugged.

Doc looked Ryan up and down. “Your injuries?”

“I tussled with some of their nightwalkers.” Ryan glanced at Zorime. “Killed four of them.”

Zorime gasped.

Ryan didn't even want to think about the swathes of his flesh that had been blasted into bruised and bloody ground meat. “Got rock-salted a few times.”

“Yes.” Doc winced and put an empathetic hand to his side where the baron had given him both barrels. “They saw fit to season me, as well.”

“You all right?”

“I have been well dosed with their Blood of the Lotus.”

“And?”

“To be honest, I believe it is doing me some good.”

It hurt his face, but Ryan gave Doc one of his rare smiles. “Saw you put your mark on the baron and his boy.”

“I wish you had been there, my friend.” Doc grinned exultantly in memory. “It was something to see.”

Ryan handed Doc his LeMat, cane and backpack. “We gotta go.”

Doc checked the loads. “How shall we proceed?”

“I got the baron's wag.”

“Capital!”

Zorime scoffed. “You have nowhere to go.”

“Mebbe. Could stay here,” Ryan countered. “Wait for your kin to come back.”

Zorime's eyes flared in sudden fear. Ryan looked at her long and hard. She was easy on the eyes. Ryan had a very serious distaste for hostage taking, but it was almost dawn. The people of the ville and their rad-blasted monster brethren were both hunting him. He had a rendezvous to make with Jak, and if they were right about the timer on the mat-trans, then Krysty and J.B. would be coming through come morning. Lady Zorime was an edge he needed. “Best put on your traveling clothes.”

Zorime flushed with anger. “I will not!”

Ryan's voice dropped. “You can come along or you can be carried.”

Zorime took a frightened step back. The two sec men on the floor started to push themselves up, but Cafu and Luis stepped on them. Zorime looked about herself helplessly. “I will come.”

Mildred huddled miserably on the beach. The storm clouds had been replaced by dreary overcast devoid of warmth as the sun rose. At some point exhaustion had overtaken fear and she had fallen asleep for a few hours. Raul was gone when she awoke. Mildred reread his message. The gargantuan son of a bitch had walked right up to her as she slept and written in the sand with his whale-butchering blade: You sleep like an angel.

She shuddered as she read his postscript.

Soon…

His sasquatch-size footprints went down to the water's edge and disappeared so she couldn't tell which way he had gone. If he had gone at all. Mildred clutched her driftwood club tighter. Like it was going to do her a lick of good. She jumped as a rope flopped down the side of the cliff beside her. “Dr. Wyeth, I presume!”

Mildred glanced up to see another gigantic son of a bitch staring down at her. This one was dressed all in black rather than a loincloth. The man leaned jauntily on his sword and doffed his hat. He was huge, but he wasn't a deformed monstrosity like Raul. He replaced his hat and smiled down past his smoked lenses. “Will you join us?”

Mildred hung her head. She had nowhere to go unless she wanted to start swimming. One look at the heaving
gray mush of the sea and the dim shadows of the other island in the distance told her she would never make it. She once again considered swimming out to one of the buoys and waiting for Jak there, but she was already chilled to the bone. She didn't think she could make it, much less hold on long enough. “Fuck you,” she managed.

It sounded lame even to her.

“Come now, Dr. Wyeth. You truly have nowhere else to go. Unless you would prefer to sit there and wait for night to fall once more…?”

Mildred shook her head and felt like crying again.

“There is no reason for you to be miserable while we await your friends. Come, we have blankets, freshly baked bread and mulled wine. As long as you behave, I give you the word of Sylvano Barbosa Barat that you shall have my hospitality and protection. None shall molest you.”

Mildred stifled a sob as she took the rope.

“Please be so kind as to leave the lumber below,” Sylvano cautioned.

Mildred dropped her club to the sand. She shook with the sense of betraying her friends and herself. She stood on the knot and twisted against the cliff as the big man and two of his friends hauled her up. She couldn't meet their shaded gaze as they lifted her to the cliff edge. Someone draped a shaggy wool blanket over her shoulders. Sylvano himself pressed a cup of hot, spiced wine into her hands. Mildred nearly sagged as the hot wine bloomed its warmth in her stomach. Another man pulled a biscuit the size of her fist from a covered basket. It was still warm from the bakery. Mildred tore into the bread knowing that she looked like a starving, homeless wretch who had surrendered. “Listen, I…”

Mildred gasped as she looked around her. She counted about two dozen men. Except that everyone was dressed in black, it looked like a civil war reenactment from her time. Long-barreled, single-shot blasters with bayonets fixed stood in tripods ready for instant use. The men all wore swords on white leather cross-belts and had put jaunty feathers in the bands of their wide-brimmed hats. A pair of men with optics scanned the sea. The cannons were the most disturbing development. Four of them sat on spoked wheels facing the channel. Plungers, powder kegs and pallets of ugly iron spheres the size of croquet balls were all at the ready. Mildred eyed a pair of ancient, highly modified Unimog flatbed wags.

Sylvano gazed upon the cannon proudly. “My father's innovation. I was but a boy, but we nearly lost our last battle with invaders. They came with predark weaponry. We were routed. Indeed it was Raul and the nightwalkers who turned the tide. We simply do not have the wherewithal to manufacture machine guns or other heavy armament. So my father looked backward rather than forward. Even predark our island had a blacksmith and a forge. My father has several books in his library about the Napoleanic Wars, some included specifications of rifled muskets and cannon.” Sylvano smiled bemusedly. “There was some initial trial and error, I admit, but in the end we perfected the ancient craft of artillerymen. Do you see the buoys? They ring the island, and serve another purpose besides guiding boats through the rocks of the channel.”

Mildred shoulders sagged wearily. “They're range markers.”

“Yes!” Sylvano was delighted. “Did you know my father has made me master of the cannon?”

Mildred was too depressed to come up with a snappy comeback. “Good for you.”

Sylvano was too happy with his artillery pieces to be bothered with Mildred's sarcasm. “I tell you, when the self-styled Vikings came some years ago, they sailed into the harbor, firing their blasters in the air, waving their axes and howling like the berserkers of old to Odin.” Mildred flinched as Sylvano made a huge triumphant, black-gloved fist. “We blasted them into matchsticks with our shore batteries!”

Mildred sighed despairingly. “Like you're going to do to my friends here.”

“Yes.” Sylvano lowered his hand. “I can see how these are no glad tidings for you. Let me offer you what silver lining I may.”

“And what would that be?”

“You are a medical doctor?”

Mildred didn't bother denying it.

“Then I suspect you well know you are far too valuable a commodity to be wasted. My father has authorized me to offer you terms. Both you, Dr. Wyeth, and Dr. Tanner would be considered assets to the community.”

“You know something, Sylvano? I've heard this speech before.”

“I'm sure you have. So consider wisely. Here you would be treasured and respected, working at your chosen profession with Dr. Goncalves, my sister, our interns, nurses and midwives. Think of Dr. Tanner. Would he not be more comfortable here? He could live out his remaining years, surrounded by books, a respected teacher of science and the sword. Like you, he might initially reject my proposal, but I suspect he would settle in quickly enough.”

“And you'd trust me to just settle in?”

“You would initially be on parole.” Sylvano shrugged. “However, once you had children I suspect you would become invested in our community.”

Mildred recoiled. “Yeah, right.”

Sylvano gestured out at the sea. “We have occasional visitors to our isles as you know. We know of your Deathlands, Dr. Wyeth. Is there any place there you truly wish to return to? Do you truly wish to continue randomly hurling your body through the void, from mat-trans to mat-trans until your luck runs out?”

“No offense, but this island wouldn't exactly be my first choice.”

“None taken, I am sure you have seen many. However, in our defense, here everyone is well fed. The air is clean. We have survived, and thrived in our own way. Sometimes in this world compromise equals survival.” Sylvano gazed down at Mildred from his great height. “And in the end? You really have no choice.”

“What about the rest of my friends?”

“Tell me about them,” Sylvano suggested.

She remained silent.

“Then, I can only speak for the fate of Ryan and the albino. They have proved themselves very dangerous men. Even hobbled, I do not believe they could be trusted among us.”

“So you're going to slaughter them. Just like you always planned.” Mildred shook her head bitterly. “Not much of a bargain there, Sylvie.”

“There is more. I give you my word on this, and I have the authority to speak for my father, the baron, as well.”

Mildred couldn't think of any other plan than to keep him talking. “Do tell.”

“The fact is, no one in living memory who has gone through the mat-trans on the escarpment has ever returned. Whether this means that it hurls them to some terrible fate or the machinery has been programmed to prevent it, we do not know. If you help negotiate the surrender of your companions, the male warriors among your party? They will be sent through.”

“Just like that?”

“We will keep their blasters, and any valuable tech they have, of course.”

“Great, a blind jump with jack shit for the other side.”

“They will have each other, Dr. Wyeth, and they will be sent through alive. Along with food, water, kit to make fire, and I will give each a sword in hand to face whatever awaits them.” Sylvano's face grew hard. “This is the limit of my generosity. Should you refuse, you will next deal with my father, the baron, and you will find him a far harder bargainer.”

Mildred already knew everyone's answer. Ryan and Krysty would both rather die than be parted. When the islanders found out J.B. was an armorer, they would hobble him and put him to work. Jak had come up the very hardest way in the Deathlands. There was nothing more important to him than loyalty. Mildred knew he would never willingly leave her or Krysty behind. Doc might agree to the bargain if he thought it would save his friends, but he abhorred human iniquity in all its forms. In the face of the slavery and the blood harvesting, it wouldn't be long before he tried something stupid. As for herself? Mildred had to admit she loved J.B., but she wasn't quite ready to settle down. Particularly here on goddamn vampire island.

Sylvano waited for an answer.

A lookout's cry gave Mildred a moment's reprieve. “Sylvano!”

Sylvano ushered Mildred firmly toward the cliff edge. He took the offered binoculars and scanned the gray sea. He handed the optics to Mildred and pointed obligingly. “Dr. Wyeth?”

Mildred's spirits sank as she looked out to where Sylvano pointed. An open boat was cutting across the strait. Three men and a woman in the local peasant garb clutched the sides as well as staves. A man in black sat among them. It was hard to tell at this distance, but it looked like his hands were bound. A smaller man sat in the back with his hand on the outboard. He was dressed in the local ville black, but white hair fluttered beneath his hat and Mildred would recognize Jak's silhouette anywhere. A dog stood at the prow with his paws on a tiny cannon and his snout lifted to the breeze.

“It seems your friend has done some recruiting, and, as suspected, he has Father Joao.”

Mildred felt a glimmer of hope. “You want to talk a trade, Sylvie?”

“You?” Sylvano snorted. “For Father Joao?”

“Why not?”

Mildred's stomach sank as Sylvano and the lookout both laughed. “I fear you are far more valuable than the good Father. I also fear that Sister Isle's society and spirituality have been corrupted, first by the Russians and now irretrievably by your friends. I fear a far stricter social order will have to be put in place. I fear…” A cold smile crossed Sylvano's face. It was pretty clear he had very little use for the good Father. “Father Joao may need to be martyred in the name of the island.”

The lookout laughed.

Sylvano took back the binoculars. “You can save both if you wish, Doctor.”

“Oh, how's that?”

“You will go back down onto the beach. You will entice them to land. Your friend is brave, but I think if he suddenly finds himself looking down the barrels of a dozen rifles and four cannons, particularly if you are down on the beach with him, he will surrender. If we have you, Dr. Tanner and the albino, and this Ryan sees the escarpment blockaded, then perhaps he can finally be brought to heel.”

It was Mildred's turn to snort. “No one brings Ryan Cawdor to heel.”

Sylvano's voice dropped again. He was tiring of the conversation. “Then he will see reason, or he will see his friends exterminated, if he has not been slaughtered already by Raul and his clan. Now, enough of this. I wish an answer from you.” Mildred struggled for something to say. She stepped back as Sylvano drew his sword. “And I warn you, Doctor, whatever you choose, I do not wish to hear the words
fuck you
cross your lips again.”

Mildred gulped.

Sylvano took a step forward and Mildred found nothing but the edge of the cliff beneath her heels. Sylvano's voice thundered. “The moment they cross the buoys, I fire! If you wish your friends to live any longer, you must choose! No matter what transpires, you will serve the ville! You must choose whether you do it willingly, or you whether you must be hobbled and broken to it! But you must choose!”

Hot tears stung Mildred's eyes. “I…”

“Choose!” Sylvano roared.

“I…”

Sylvano lowered his sword and shook his head sadly. “I am not a cruel man, Dr. Wyeth. I will not make you watch.” He nodded to the lookout. “Rafa, bind her and put her in the cab of one of the trucks where it is warm. Put a man to watch her.”

Sylvano raised his voice. “Filho! Alexandre! Ready your crews! Prepare to run out the guns! All else, to arms!”

“No!” Mildred sank to her knees.

Sylvano cocked his head. “No?”

Mildred wept. “No.”

“If your friend surrenders, he will live. Those with him will not face reprisal. You have my word. Regardless, you will not be harmed, and your life among us will be made as pleasant as possible.” Sylvano put a hand on her shoulder. Mildred no longer had the wherewithal to shake it off. “I do admire you, Dr. Wyeth.”

Mildred felt like nothing but a coward and a traitor, but she saw only a single option. Keep Jak out of the cannons. Keep him alive a little while longer. Mildred wiped her eyes and took the rope Sylvano handed her. They lowered her down to the sand. Mildred picked up her driftwood club for no other reason than it made her feel a little better. No warning came down from the cliff. She turned and the rope was gone and there was no sign of the ambush above. She scuffed her feet through Raul's love note as she walked slowly to the surf line and waited.

It wasn't long before Jak's boat appeared out of the gray. Mildred raised her club and waved it. The Sister Islanders all waved happily. Mildred's stomach clenched as Jak piloted the boat past the buoy marker but no salvo of cannon fire tore the dawn. Mildred half
wished a dozen rifles would blast into her back and end her misery.