“You’re sure?” Books asked. “Medicalexperiments?”
“Dear ancestors,” Maldynado said, lookingback the way they had come, toward the dead woman. “That’sdisturbing.”
Amaranthe tried not to think of Taloncreststanding over Sicarius, a scalpel poised. It did not work.
CHAPTER 11
When Basilard woke, his head ached worse thanit ever had after a night out carousing with Maldynado. He openedhis eyes to-thankfully-dim lighting emanating from a globe hangingbeside a metal door. The entire room-cubby might be a betterword-was made from dark gray metal. He lay on a narrow cot, staringat riveting running along ridges traversing the walls from floor tocurved ceiling. He had never been on a steam ship, but guessed thatwas his location. Engines somewhere rumbled, the reverberationspulsing through the floor and up his cot.
Was he being transported somewhere? Though hehad never sailed, he had seen maps of the empire and knew that onecould travel from the Chain Lakes down the Goldar River and all theway to the Gulf. From there, one could go…anywhere in the world.Had he been captured to be sold into slavery once again? This timesomeplace far away? Someplace so far away there was no chance hewould ever return home again to see his daughter?
The daughter you could have already gone tosee if you weren’t such a coward, he told himself.
Basilard sat up, and the pounding in his headintensified so much he groaned and grabbed his temples. Toughen up,he told himself. Sicarius would not bellyache so.
He sneered at himself. Why was he holdingSicarius up as a model to emulate?
When the throbbing calmed enough to handle,he swung his legs over the edge of the cot and found the floor-thedeck? Was that what ship people called it? The cold metal numbedhis bare feet. With a twitch of surprise, he realized everythingwas bare. He patted himself down, checking for…he did not knowwhat, but one couldn’t trust people who kidnapped one and stoleone’s clothing.
Soft, rhythmic clangs sounded beyond thedoor. Footsteps.
A scratch and thud echoed through the door.Basilard slipped off the cot and dropped into a defensive crouch.One that could easily turn offensive, if the situation permittedit. Though he should perhaps figure out where he was beforeattacking people. Who knew how long he had been unconscious?
Another thud sounded, then a clank. Multiplelocks being thrown? If so, they had secured him well.
The thick, metal door squeaked open.
A woman stood there, her long red hair pinnedinto a swirling dervish atop her head. Two men framed her. Theywore the black fatigues of army soldiers, though no rank pinsadorned their collars. One appeared to be “the muscle.” He crowdedthe hallway with broad shoulders and tree-trunk arms that evenMaldynado would have dubbed substantial. He aimed a pistol atBasilard, though the challenging sneer curling his lips said hewould be happy to battle barehanded or perhaps with the swordsheathed at his waist. The surname stitched on his jacket read,LEV. The second man had neatly trimmed gray hair and wielded aclipboard instead of a gun. His tag read, TALONCREST. Awarrior-caste officer involved in this scheme? Surprising.
The woman stepped inside first with noapparent fear of Basilard. The men followed after, one at a time,ducking and stepping over the raised frame of the door toenter.
“Greetings,” the woman said. “I havequestions for you.”
Though Basilard would not have been in a rushto answer their questions under any circumstances, he doubted itwas a possibility here. The soldiers would not understand his signlanguage, and he did not think the woman was Mangdorian. Thoughfair-skinned, she was not as pale as his people, and he thought shemight be Kendorian or perhaps from one of the island nationsbetween Turgonia and Nuria.
He touched the scar tissue at his throat andshrugged. Maybe they would not think to ask if he could read,though Arbitan had insisted Basilard learn that skill before hetook over as head of security for the wizard.
“You can’t speak?” the woman asked, eyesnarrowed.
Basilard shook his head and signed, Whoare you? more out of habit than because he wanted a response.In reflection, maybe he should not have done that. Maybe it wasbetter if they believed he could not answer their questions at all.Or would that mean they had no use for him?
The gray-haired officer’s eyebrows rose. “TheMangdorian hunting code?”
Basilard nodded.
“That answers your question, Litya.”Taloncrest scribbled something on his notepad.
“Yes, but race matters little for myexperiments,” the woman said in a lilting, almost musical accentBasilard did not recognize. “I prefer Turgonian stock, given thegoals of my clients, but your people have such muddied bloodlinesthat no one will be the wiser as long as we breed the foreignerswith darker skinned specimens.”
Breed? Basilard caught his mouth danglingopen, and he snapped it shut.
“If you don’t need him,” Taloncrest said,eyeing Basilard as he tapped his pen on his clipboard, “I’m sure Icould use him.”
“You can have them all for your cuttingsafter I’ve taken my samples.”
“Excellent,” Taloncrest said.
“I can move ahead with him as soon as mysister returns with the anesthesia ingredients.”
Cuts were nothing new to Basilard, butTaloncrest’s smile and the enthusiastic way he scribbled notes onhis clipboard made Basilard uneasy. As did the talk of “samples”and “anesthesia.”
“Your speed in the race,” thewoman-Litya-said, “is that typical for you, or do you believe itwas a fluke performance? Your agility must have impressed our boy,because he’d had another pegged as our last acquisition. I have nodata on you however.”
Basilard clasped his hands behind his back.These people had nothing good planned for him, so he saw no reasonto assist them.
“Taloncrest,” Litya said, “can you understandhis hand codes? Can you make him speak?”
Basilard raised his chin. They couldtry to make him speak.
The young soldier stepped forward at this, aneager smile tightening his lips.
“I don’t know enough of the signs,”Taloncrest said.
“Maybe he’s learned to write Turgonian?”Litya asked. “Or does anybody here read Mangdorian? They’re vaguelyliterate, aren’t they?”
Basilard thought about waving for a pen, ifonly so he could attempt to stab the woman in the belly with itbefore the men stopped him, but it was probably better to pretendhe could not write and did not understand much of what they weresaying.
“When Metya gets back, we’ll question himunder the influence of pok-tah,” the woman said. “If heknows anything, he’ll be eager to share it with us then, one way oranother.”
“It didn’t work on Sicarius,” Taloncrestmuttered, head down, scrawling notes again.
Had Basilard thought about it, he would haveassumed Sicarius was here somewhere, too, but hearing the namestartled him. He covered his surprise quickly and hoped nobodynoticed.
He waited, hoping they would say somethingthat would indicate whether Sicarius was alive or if they hadalready…disposed of him, but nobody spoke again. After Taloncrestfinished scribbling his notes, he nodded to the woman, and the trioleft.
The door clanged shut, and the locks thunkedinto place.
Basilard could only guess at what thesepeople were up to, but he knew he wanted to be no part of it. If hewas on a ship, steaming away from the city, he could not count onAmaranthe and the others finding him and rescuing him. He wouldhave to escape.