Charles Ingrid - marked man 02 The Last Recall (5 page)

Teal held up a seamed palm. "I know. I know." He leaned close. "The only way to stop Bartholomew is to oppose him."

Thomas looked away in desperation. The wolfrat gave out a shattering squeal as one of the dinner guests approached. His tusklike teeth snapped the air, just missing the man's boots. He vaulted the beast's withers and straddled him.

"Sometimes," the judge said, "you've got to do what you've got to do."

"I'm not a DWP. You need somebody with a strong mechanical background and a good analytical mind. I'm Intuitive—that's what being a Protector is all about. I'm not your man."

"Then find me one, and you'd better make it quick." Teal raised his voice. "Leo, get down from there. You look like a damn fool."

The cobbler perched on the wolfrat looked up, face pale and lips thinned, but he stayed atop the wolfrat as though his life depended on it. Thomas' gaze slid away, saw the adoring girl watching Leo, and looked back. More than Leo's life evidently rode on the wolfrat's back.

The vigorous belling of the dinner gong pealed through the air. The wolfrat bolted in response, springing airborne. The pegging rope broke with a snap. The cobbler's audience scattered with a scream as the wolfrat lunged free. Leo flew backward, head over heels, and landed with a hard bump.

Thomas jumped forward as the wolfrat's eyes blazed with the knowledge that it was now free. Its razor jaws snapped and tore sleeves and skirts, victims just escaping its mayhem as it plunged through the crowd, on a direct path toward Thomas. It gave a bull-like squeal.

Wolfrats never forgot a quarry. He'd been trailed for weeks through In-City ruins by the monsters. The corner of his mouth quirked now in wonderment. Had he eluded this killer once before?

He reached for his power. He sent a spear of fear and amazement at the creature, hoping to slow it down long enough for him to reach his weapons.

His touch did more than slow it down. The wolfrat slewed to a halt, sides heaving, glowering eyes shuttered in reaction. Before Thomas could do more, a shuriken sliced through the night and sank deeply into the wolf-rat's mangy neck. Lady stood, hand still outstretched from its throwing as the poisoned edge did its work and the creature fell to its side. It kicked its way into death.

Teal stood up. "Get that pile out of here."

The quiet crowd galvanized into action. Lady retrieved her throwing star and tucked it back into the waist of her skirt. Two or three of the judge's staff materialized and dragged the carcass off into the dark. Thomas watched them go.

At his back, Judge Teal said quietly, "Thank you, Thomas. I have little doubt the beast was after me."

Thomas blinked. He turned on his heel. He said nothing, his mind examining the idea that the wolfrat had single-mindedly been bent on running him down. But the judge had been behind Thomas. Suppose someone had scent-baited the creature and turned him loose on the judge's property? Bad luck the creature had been roped and hauled in for sport. Good luck the wolfrat had gotten loose. Bad luck a pair of Protectors had been in the way to spoil a nasty accident.

Teal clapped his hands together. "I think I heard the dinner bell! Ladies and gentlemen, let's barbecue!"

Blade moved forward then, thoughts clicking. He paired with Lady. "Nice work," he said.

"You, too. I didn't know you could stop a full grown wolfrat in his tracks like that."

"Neither did I." He patted her waistband. "I hope you washed your hands."

She gave him a smile. "I'll let you lick my fingers clean."

"I knew it," he bantered. "You're still mad at me about the nester.''

The joy left her face. "Yes," she said quietly. She did not speak another word as they shared a warm, damp towel and were seated together at the long dining table.

Mosquito nets had been hung, big black spidery webbed nets to protect the diners. There were four massive tables and a scattering of small ones on the side lawn. The smoke from the pit barbecue hugged the ground like evening fog and even Lady's ire could not shake Thomas' appetite. It had been too long since breakfast.

Thomas looked up to see Art Bartholomew's warty face beaming across the table at him. "Sir Thomas! It's been a while."

"Not long enough," Blade responded.

Governor Irlene had accompanied Art to the table. She leaned forward on one elegant elbow awaiting the platter of meats which was being passed down and now looked in astonishment at Thomas. "You can't mean that."

The expression in the man's gray eyes flickered. "No doubt he does. We'd all like to put the massacre far behind us. I believe that unfortunate wedding is the last time Thomas and I met."

"You believe correctly."

If Art had taken offense, he did not show it. He had other interests he wished to pursue. "That trail led you to the College Vaults."

He knew well that it did. The discovery of the fabled underground society had been the talk of the Seven Counties for months. Thomas retrieved the meat platter as it was passed to him and held it for both Irlene and Lady to make their selections.

"The man who ran it, the dean, I think he called himself—do you think he was human?"

"Human," Art said, but what he meant was
human,
old human, pure human. Thomas watched as Lady picked out several choice cuts for him and then passed the platter down the table. Art Bartholomew's intense gaze had never left his face.

"I think," Thomas answered slowly, "he might have been. They kept their society closed. Even the eleven year plague seemed to affect them little."

"And he took the whole community with him," Art said. "All those people, out of spite."

"Yes." Blade did not elaborate. After the explosion, there had been a few prisoners, people Denethan's troops had absorbed quickly. The Mojave mutant community needed fresh blood more than the Seven Counties. Blade had let them go. His whole definition of humanity had been redefined by example of the dean, anyway. He saw in Art's face now an echo of past feelings.

Boyd, an elbow down from Lady, busy buttering an ear from the last of the corn harvest, said, "The eleven year plague passed us by entirely. What luck did you have down here?"

"Well enough," Lady said, smoothing her napkin over her lap. "We only had one unwanted pregnancy. We're letting that one run its course. Some mutations are favorable."

Her voice and unspoken accusation fell into Art Bartholomew's silence. The genetic engineering that scarred all their bloodlines was especially prey to the wild virus that cycled through their communities approximately every eleven years. It altered their aberrant DNA even more—wildly unpredictable and unwanted. Men and women affected chose sterility rather than pass on those aberrations. Plague babies were commonly abominations and were killed rather than suffer life. Lady had always been against that. "Life was life," she said. Who were they to judge its quality?

Again, Art chose to reinterpret the obvious. "Your county is indeed fortunate. We, too, got off lightly. Perhaps the virus is losing strength or perhaps we're adapting against it."

"That would be good news," Irlene said. She passed down the squat clay bowl of barbecue sauce. Its mustard and honey aroma along with other flavorings in the tomato blend perfumed the air. "Only one, Lady? Really?"

"Yes. We have hopes the plague is done this cycle."

"Can I make an announcement to that effect?"

Lady Nolan smiled brilliantly. "Ah," she said to Irlene. "Politics raises its ugly head."

The governor had the grace to blush. Lady added, "It would be premature. Perhaps when the candidates are promoted, we can make a statement."

Art cut his brisket slices neatly. He speared a chunk and looked up at Thomas. "If the plague appears to be leaving us, perhaps now is a good time to schedule a salvage run to the Vaults. Surely the explosion couldn't have destroyed everything."

Though the other diners had been engaged in lively conversations of their own, this drew their notice. Thomas felt the pressure of their attention. This is what they had come to, so hungry for any crumb left behind no matter how corrupt. And yet, he'd known that some day he'd be asked to go back to the College Vaults. He had unfinished business there. But not yet. He wasn't ready yet. He and Lady had nearly died there, not once, but twice.

"No," he said. "Not everything, but I think the timing for such an expedition should be considered. Those foothills can be treacherous in rainy season. Maybe next spring, after elections."

Art's face never changed as he swallowed the whole chunk of meat on his fork. Then he speared a second bite and that one he chewed. "But you agree an expedition is called for?"

"Yes."

A victory was a victory, no matter how small. Bartholomew relaxed. He never saw the next blow coming.

"I understand the nester I executed today came from your corner of the counties. How did the water situation get out of hand in the first place?''

"What do you mean?"

Thomas shrugged. He took a slice of freshly cooled bread and used it to butter his corn with. "I mean that nesters don't readily foul water. It sounds to me as though you have a range war threatening to blossom under your nose."

Bartholomew's position concerning nesters and water was well known. He'd threatened many times to cut them off despite the policy of the Seven Counties. "If they needed water," he bit off, "they'd scarcely be poisoning it."

The cattleman from Santa Barbara let out a laugh that was too loud. "Thomas, you've got a mind like a coyote, but the councilman has you there. If you've been hinting he's been too busy politicking to help run his county, you've got him. But damnitall, man, as you said yourself—even a nester knows better than to poison water. He deserved what he got."

"Oh, there's no doubt of that," Thomas said deliberately. "I Read the truth in him."

There was a sudden pallor to Art's warted expression. He sat back in his chair, sucking his teeth for bits of meat. He met Thomas' expression silently. Blade merely smiled and began to eat his corn. There was nothing like the implication of a Protector's powers to strike fear in an ordinary man.

Lady and Irlene took up the gap in conversation, comparing a new herbal compress for headaches. Comfrey was said to work wonders. Thomas ate in relative silence, his thoughts on Two-handed Delgado who was ramrod-ding Boyd's herd for him, and Boyd, and Art Bartholomew. No nester would readily poison the only water that was available to him. Unless it was already bad.

Your eyes, your truth.

"You haven't been listening to me," Lady said, placing her hand gently over his.

Thomas looked up suddenly. "No," he said. "I haven't." "I asked if you were headed back to Char—to the school after you finish the circuit.''

"They've requested my help in promoting the candidates, so I guess I'll have to."

Governor Irlene smiled. "No rest for the wicked, eh, Thomas?"

"It appears not." He stood. "I've been on the road since before dawn and I think, ladies and gentlemen, I shall call it a night. Judge and Mrs. Teal, the meal was excellent and so was the company.''

Judge Teal gazed at him somberly. There was a hint of disappointment in his nod. Thomas pushed his chair out and left the diners, weaving his way through the other tables. He skirted the splash of blood which marked the wolfrat's fall.

The edginess which had driven him all night suddenly had a name to it, and that name was justice.

"Thomas!"

He stopped for Lady. She was slightly out of breath when she caught up with him on the pathway between the bathhouse and the stables.

"You'd have thought I asked you to marry me, the way you left the table."

"Did you? I wasn't listening."

"No, dammit." She brushed her ash brown hair from her temple. Both eyes, brown and blue, looked angry. "You're not going back to the school."

"No." How she knew, he wasn't sure, but he thought that even without a Protector's Intuition, she would have seen it in him.

"Where are you going and what are you going to do?"

"I'm taking the nester's body back to his clan. I think there's something going on that we don't know about, and we should."

She stood in a flicker of moonlight. She said nothing until he asked, "What do you think?"

It was then he saw the tears of regret in her eyes. "I think," she forced out, "that you're doing too little too late." With a swirl of skirt, she left him alone in the night.

Chapter 3

No one protested when he took the nester's body. The counties had mounted a guard, but people had been drifting in and out of the courtroom basement all afternoon and evening to view it and the guards seemed to think it was about time someone took the exhibit off their hands. The basement cold room had kept the corpse in fairly good condition, but Blade had no hope that it would stay that way on the journey. He swaddled it, putting fresh herbs and flowers in the wrappings to preserve it as well as he could. A travois would be the best method of transporting it, but his gelding wouldn't pull a cart and Blade thought he might object to dragging the travois. So he bought a burro, signed the credit chit in the judge's name, packed it, and left.