Chapter Twelve

 

"Kirkland cut off your arm?" Ryan asked. He tore one of the fancy biscuits in two and spread honey butter across it.

 

"That isn't all." She waved to the maid, who had returned and stood in the shadows. "I'm afraid his vengeance was quite complete."

 

Reluctantly the maid rolled the wheelchair back. Aunt Maim pulled back the blanket across her legs and revealed that she only had one of those, as well. The other was perfect and slender, poking down from the hem of her dress, her foot encased in a jade green slipper.

 

"The animal took her arm, her leg, her breast, her eye, her ear," the maid said in a shaking voice.

 

"That's enough, Jocelyn," Aunt Maim ordered.

 

The maid subsided, but cried quietly into the palm of one hand. "You were so beautiful," she choked out.

 

"I still am," the hosteler said in a firm voice.

 

But Ryan heard the quaver in her words. "You still are," he agreed.

 

The woman covered her leg and her stump with the blanket and nodded her head in appreciation. Color touched her cheeks. "Thank you. I am not told that by enough men these days."

 

She glanced at Krysty. "I beg your indulgence."

 

"Of course," the redhead replied. "What Ryan and I have together has been through a lot. Neither of us is afraid to speak his or her mind."

 

"More people should be able to conduct their lives in such a fashion. Push me forward, please, Jocelyn."

 

The maid gently wheeled the chair under the table, then she stepped back into the shadows.

 

"I apologize for the inconvenience in your meal. I know discussion of such matters is not good for the palate."

 

"The meal's good," Ryan said. "I don't see how anything short of getting chilled is going to interfere with that."

 

"I'll pass your kind words on to the cooks." Aunt Maim sipped her drink.

 

"Cutting things down to the bone here," Ryan said, "I suppose there's a reason why you asked us here and not the rest of our people."

 

Aunt Maim regarded him with her one dark eye, resting her chin on her only hand. "Of course."

 

"Like to know what that is."

 

"You're a direct man, Ryan Cawdor."

 

"I had a friend who had a way of looking at life. Over, under or around. That was his philosophy, and it stood him in good stead."

 

"And where is this friend now?"

 

"Chilled, mebbe. Mebbe getting laid and planning his next big trade." Ryan didn't think much about how he'd left it with the Trader, but the thoughts remained with him. The Trader and Abe had perhaps given their lives to save those of the companions. "But let's cut back to the chase here."

 

"All right." The woman paused. "I want you to kill Kirkland."

 

"Couple things I see wrong with that," Ryan said. "Chief among them is the possibility of the plague chilling us right after we chill him."

 

A wicked smile curved Aunt Maim's perfect face. "That's only if you believe the plague is really a plague."

 

"Why did Kirkland do this to you?" Krysty asked.

 

The smile stayed in place, but all warmth seemed to drain out of the expression. "I was lucky this was all he did in a sense," the woman said. "He could have taken both of everything. He has before."

 

Ryan cut another piece of meat and put it on his plate.

 

"Kirkland worked for a baron farther east. I've even heard rumors that he spent time in Newyork. I don't know the truth of it. I first met him in a caravan headed west, through the Shens. That's how I heard about you, Ryan Cawdor. You've been gone for some years, and no one had heard of you recently."

 

Ryan continued eating without comment.

 

"Kirkland had a lot of jack," Aunt Maim went on. "I didn't. So I got close to him. Made myself available. He got interested back. I hadn't planned on a relationship with him. I don't really care for a man's sexual attentions."

 

And that, Ryan knew, explained the maid's interest in the hosteler.

 

"But I do know what a woman's face and figure can do to the right kind of wrong man. I heard about how he was going to start up a ville of his own. That ville became Hazard. Seeing an opportunity for myself, I offered my services as a hosteler. He put me into business here, for a percentage of everything I made. I thought that was fair, since it was his investment capital we were working with. I've managed a few places before, and even ran card games."

 

"Kirkland expected something more, though, didn't he?" Krysty asked.

 

Aunt Maim nodded, then sipped her drink. Her eye drifted away and became unfocused, her memories trapped in the past. "He made no bones about it. On the way over, he'd tried to be more forceful about our relationship, but the wag master didn't put up with behavior like that. And the opportunities were few."

 

"That changed when you hit Hazard," Krysty said.

 

"Yes."

 

"You could have kept on going," Ryan said.

 

"Easy for you to say, sitting there in that chair. But I see you found your way to Hazard and stopped, as well."

 

Ryan couldn't say anything to that.

 

"At the time I felt that I couldn't go on any farther. The plan was to stay here in Hazard for a time, get some jack set back, then move on."

 

"Only it didn't work out that way," Jocelyn erupted in a hoarse voice rich with raw emotion. "That fucking animal came in here on her, made sure none of us was around to help defend her. By the time we got back, it was too late."

 

Aunt Maim's fingers circled around her glass absently. Her smile was crooked, distant and totally without mirth. "Kirkland trapped me in my office and made his intentions known."

 

Ryan waited, listening for what he knew would come. Rape was one thing on War Wag One that Trader and his hardcases wouldn't put up with.

 

"I couldn't fight him. And if I did, I knew I'd have to chill him quick if I was able. I kept a straight razor strapped to my thigh those days. Back then I was able to defend myself. So I gave in and offered oral sex. He liked the idea, said it would be a good prelude to the festivities he had planned. So I did, hoping that he was all bluff and that he wouldn't be able to get it up a second time."

 

Ryan waited, giving the woman time to gather her thoughts.

 

"Soon as he was finished with my mouth, he turned me over on my desk and started hauling my skirt up." The woman licked her lips.

 

Jocelyn stepped up behind her and patted her shoulders, tears flowing freely down the woman's cheeks.

 

The hosteler continued. "I was desperate that he not see me. I knocked the lantern from the desk, and it caught the rug on fire. The rest of the room was concrete blocks at that time. I hadn't had time to recondition and remodel in there yet, and business then wasn't what it became as Kirkland built up the population of Hazard. The kerosene burned the carpet."

 

"Laid flat across the desk, I was brutally sodomized. Kirkland told me he was saving the best for last. When he finished that time, he flipped me over. I tried to get to my razor, but he knocked it away. Then he saw mymy male member staring back up at him instead of what he was expecting."

 

Ryan had no comment for that. He glanced briefly at Krysty while Jocelyn tried to comfort "Aunt" Maim.

 

"You see," Aunt Maim said, wiping at her eyes, "I was stuck. Do you know what it's like to be trapped in a body, in a gender, that you know can't be your own?"

 

"No." Ryan's voice was tighter than he wanted it to be, but the story had caught him completely by surprise.

 

"I found a healer back east who had access to some predark meds. I talked him into going this far with me." She waved her hand at her chest. "But he didn't have the skill to make the final changes. I heard there was an enclave out in the west, somewhere along the Cific, that still handled operations like this. Have you ever heard of such a thing?" She looked up through her tears hopefully.

 

Ryan shook his head.

 

"No," Krysty said gently.

 

Aunt Maim used her napkin to wipe at her face. "It would be funny, don't you think, that I came out all this way and endured what I've endured only to find that I was chasing a lie?"

 

"I wouldn't think so," Krysty said sympathetically.

 

"We all have to chase dreams in there somewhere," Ryan told her.

 

"I'm going to be a lot slower these days," the hosteler replied, slapping the wheel of her chair.

 

"Kirkland cut her in a fit of rage," Jocelyn said. "Knocked her out and took her back to his office. He cut off her arm and her leg, then her ear and her breast, took out her eye, thenthen he cut off her penis. He vowed that he'd make her half the man she'd hidden from him. He spent weeks taking care of her, making sure she was going to live, before he returned her to us."

 

"You see," Aunt Maim said, "I was still the best hosteler he could put into this place." She glanced around the dark room with pride. "He couldn't take that from me, and he would only have been hurting himself by trying to put someone else in here. But I have to wonder how many days I've got left now that Kirkland's tightened his control over Hazard. Not many people come to the hotel these days."

 

"Well," Ryan said, "I'm here to tell you that you still set a fine table."

 

"Thank you." Aunt Maim fixed her single eye on Krysty. "Your lover is a man, Miss Wroth, so he's probably already got his mind made up as to how he's going to handle the situation with Kirkland. But I'd like you to persuade him, if you can, to kill this monster before you quit this place."

 

"Ryan usually can't be talked into anything," Krysty said.

 

"Please try. Strangely one of the things that hurts me the most is the fact that Kirkland denies everything that happened that night. When I tried to tell the original settlers in this ville all those years ago what happened to me, he stated that his vengeance was only an example to let them know what would happen to anyone who tried to steal from him. That if they weren't willing to give him his half, he'd take his half out of them." Her voice cracked, but she made herself go on. "He denied that he'd ever desired me or taken advantage of me."

 

"He's a bastard monster," Jocelyn said, putting her hand on Aunt Maim's shoulder. The one-eyed woman shoved Jocelyn's hand away.

 

Krysty shot Ryan a look. He kept silent, knowing there was nothing either of them could say.

 

"I apologize for interrupting such a good meal with my tale of woe," the woman announced after a short, uncomfortable silence. "And now I find myself feeling inadequate for any other conversation." She waved at Jocelyn, who pulled her chair out from under the table. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll turn in for the evening."

 

"Of course," Krysty said.

 

Jocelyn turned the wheelchair and pushed Aunt Maim away.

 

"Do think about what I said, Mr. Cawdor," the hosteler called back. "I hadn't cheated Kirkland out of any of his proceeds before the night that he ruined me, but I've cheated him out of plenty since. I've got a lot of jack put back for a rainy day. A large chunk of that is yoursif you chill Kirkland."

 

Ryan picked up a knife and cut a thick slab of cherry pie sitting in the middle of the table. The berries and the cooked sauce ran out, thick and dark as spilled blood across the small plate he put it on. "Like a piece?" he asked Krysty.

 

"I'm afraid I've lost my appetite, lover."

 

Ryan placed the pie in front of her. "If you've got the space, eat. We're not staying in this ville one chron tick longer than we have to. Don't know when we'll have it so good again."

 

Krysty picked up a fresh fork and started in. "So where do we go?"

 

Ryan cut another piece of pie and put it on a plate in front of him. "Back to the redoubt. Shortest distance to the safest point. Liberty and his gang weren't the only guns Kirkland has access to."

 

"There's always the sheriff and his men."

 

"Yeah." Ryan sectioned off a bite of pie with his fork. "Once we get back to the redoubt and get inside, nobody will be able to follow us."

 

"Hopefully we'll end up somewhere better than this," Krysty said.

 

"Can't see how it would be much worse."

 

 

 

J.B. OPERATED the reloader with skill. Lantern light filled the room, kept tight underground so no one outside would know what was going on. His chron showed it was almost eleven o'clock. He knew Mildred would be pushing past the irritated stage into the worrying stage, but there wasn't anything to be done about it at the moment. His work had to be completed if the companions were to be properly outfitted.

 

Phillips, Anna and the weaponsmith's sons and daughters-in-law helped with the making of the flechette rounds for the M-4000. Ammunition in 9 mm, .38 and .357 was plentiful. Most of the work Tinker Phillips did was in those calibers. The special loads for Doc's Le Mat blaster had to be hand tooled, as well, but after the Armorer had explained and shown Phillips and his clan what had been needed, the shells were assembled quickly.

 

J.B. readied another line of shotgun shells for packing. Anna brought over a plastic box of flechettes, deadly little triangles cut from thin sheets of metal with a die press. Together, they worked the flechettes into the plastic shotgun casings. Phillips also kept a number of shotgun casings on hand, which made the job faster and easier. They were already primered and powdered, needing only the loads to be set into place. Usually the gunsmith filled them with double-aught buckshot.

 

"Are you really going to help us?" Anna asked as she helped J.B. pour the flechettes into the plastic casings.

 

"By helping ourselves," the Armorer answered truthfully. "From what you tell me, Kirkland let us into Hazard for a purpose. I don't see that he's going to just let us walk back out of here. Over, under or around. That's what Trader used to say. And that was only if you couldn't go through something. If Kirkland tries to stop us, which he's going to have to do, I've got a feeling Ryan will go out of this ville roughshod right through the bastard."

 

"If people here see you ride out of the ville, they'll follow," Anna said. "It'll be enough to break Kirkland's hold over them. They'll leave, too."

 

J.B. tapped the end of one of the shotgun shells into place and sealed it. "Might not have to leave. Best thing might be to mebbe just have a necktie party at a local gallows with Kirkland as the guest of honor. The ville's set up in a good place. Folks can make a living trading off travelers coming through the Shens."

 

"Mebbe you're right."

 

"Something to think about," the Armorer said.

 

Anna poured more flechettes into the casings. "But you're not going to stay?"

 

"No."

 

"Why?"

 

"My friends and I," J.B. said, "we're looking for something."

 

"What?"

 

J.B. shook his head. "Won't rightly know until we find it."

 

"Could be you'll spend an awful lot of time just looking," Anna said.

 

"Could be," J.B. agreed. "Can't help but get about the doing of it, though." And he turned his attention back to the shotgun shells.

 

Anna went away, her face a mask of blank emotions.

 

After a few minutes Phillips joined J.B. The old man rubbed his hump and waited until the Armorer glanced over at him. "You do good work," Phillips said. "The things I heard about you, I guess they were all true."

 

"Mebbe not all," J.B. replied, "but enough. When it comes to gunsmithing, I know my way around. A man learns to be careful around something he's working with that can blow his fool head off if he thinks he knows his business before he does."

 

"One of the two most dangerous fields in the world," Phillips agreed.

 

J.B. took off his glasses and cleaned them, waiting. Phillips had something to say, so he let the man choose how and when to say it.

 

"Well, fuck me," the old man growled. "You're a hardcase, J. B. Dix."

 

"Been said a time or two already."

 

"Can't believe I'm seeing it, but I think Anna likes you. There's ways you got that remind me, and probably her, of Eddie. Set your mind to it, you probably couldn't do much better."

 

"Kind of quick to even be thinking such things, isn't it?" J.B. asked.

 

"Most folks get a short shake at life in the Deathlands," Phillips said. "Hell, I know. I may be racking up some years myself, but I've buried a wife and three children. Things like this, you know what you want. Anna, she knows what she wants."

 

"Couple hours ago," J.B. said, "she was all set to ventilate me."

 

"Mebbe she would have, too. Something to think over, J.B."

 

"Can't." The Armorer tapped another shotgun shell together. "I've already got somebody."

 

"She hold a candle to Anna?"

 

J.B. looked at the old man. "Best tread lightly when you go there."

 

The old man's gaze met J.B.'s squarely. "No harm meant, for fuck's sake. Just asking. Conversation, that's all."

 

J.B. let the silence between them hang for a moment. "Yeah. The woman I know holds a candle to Anna."

 

"Well, I guess that's that."

 

The Armorer nodded. He turned his attention back to his work. From the way things were going, he figured they'd be done by three or four o'clock. He felt tired, but he forced himself to go on.

 

And he thought about Mildred, wishing there was some way to get a message to her.