Wroth. They cannot afford to be, in their situation. Moreover, their lack of violent disposition is precisely the reason they have sought the employee they have.”
“Ace on the line,” Ryan grumbled. “All right. We’ll do our best not to chill anybody.”
Dark Lady thought about that a moment. “I will pay a slight bonus if you return my property without hurting anybody,” she said, with an emphasis on “slight.” “But do not try to deceive me. I assure you, I will know.”
Ryan held up his open right hand. “All right, I believe you.”
He leaned forward again. “Now tell us what you can about these robbers you want us to rob from.”
Chapter Four
“A mutie traveling circus,” J.B. said dryly, shaking his head. “The last one nearly killed us.”
A couple hundred yards away the wags of Madame Zaroza’s traveling circus showed a few yellow gleams of lights. They were mostly panel trucks, pulled up in a rough laager a bit over half a mile outside the ville of Amity Springs. Ricky, who had been expecting tents and lights, even if not currently on, was disappointed.
“Dark night!” Ricky heard J.B. exclaim—softly, because the Armorer was always in control. “Don’t pop out of nowhere like that, Jak. Almost blasted you.”
Ricky glanced around to see his friend, crouching on his haunches and grinning in the starlight like a white coyote.
“No sentry,” Jak reported in that weird abbreviated way of his. By now Ricky understood him as well as the rest of the group did. “Quiet. Mebbe thirty inside.”
“You find where this Madame Zaroza’s likely to be?” J.B. asked.
Jak nodded. “Center wag,” he said. “Got lights.”
“So the others are circled around it?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah.”
Sotto voce, Ryan asked Jak a few more questions. Jak answered in monosyllables volubly.
“Right,” Ryan said with decision a few moments later. “Here’s how we play it...”
He led his companions in a wide circle around the camp, counterclockwise to the northwest. Ricky realized he meant to avoid taking the obvious approach from the ville.
For a few moments they hunkered down in the crackling-dry grass. Ricky used the opportunity to catch his breath and try to still his heart. He was in good enough shape after a few months of tramping the Deathlands with his new family. But he still tended to tense up at the nearness of action. It wore him right straight down.
“You fit to fight, son?” J.B. asked him.
The Armorer was not what anybody would call a sensitive man, but he had a surprisingly perceptive way to him. Especially for somebody who mostly acted as if he was more comfortable working with machines and gadgets than people.
Like Ricky himself.
He nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak without panting.
Ryan gestured for Jak and Ricky to lead off to the wag circle. The rest stayed behind crouched in the concealment of the grass. Before he took off Ricky couldn’t help noticing that Ryan had his longblaster in his hands, ready to roar.
Running bent over, the two young men quickly crossed the hundred yards or so to the wags. They were camped in a wide area of bare dirt. From the looks and firmness it had been trampled clean of vegetation and packed down by the boots of ville folk avid to watch the show. That and the performers, likely, as well as whoever set up and took down the stages and signs or whatever they used.
I wish I could see the show, he thought. At least what they do .
They made it with no sign of detection, or any sign of life within the wag circle except the lights from the central mobile home. Breathing hard through his open mouth, Ricky pressed his back against the box of the show wag.
He realized—or his mind, over-revving, finally took note of something he’d been seeing but had been too mentally busy to take in—that the circled wags had paintings on the side of them. Not just the sign—Madame Zaroza’s Caravan of Curiosities—but images, fabulous images: a
“Ace on the line,” Ryan grumbled. “All right. We’ll do our best not to chill anybody.”
Dark Lady thought about that a moment. “I will pay a slight bonus if you return my property without hurting anybody,” she said, with an emphasis on “slight.” “But do not try to deceive me. I assure you, I will know.”
Ryan held up his open right hand. “All right, I believe you.”
He leaned forward again. “Now tell us what you can about these robbers you want us to rob from.”
Chapter Four
“A mutie traveling circus,” J.B. said dryly, shaking his head. “The last one nearly killed us.”
A couple hundred yards away the wags of Madame Zaroza’s traveling circus showed a few yellow gleams of lights. They were mostly panel trucks, pulled up in a rough laager a bit over half a mile outside the ville of Amity Springs. Ricky, who had been expecting tents and lights, even if not currently on, was disappointed.
“Dark night!” Ricky heard J.B. exclaim—softly, because the Armorer was always in control. “Don’t pop out of nowhere like that, Jak. Almost blasted you.”
Ricky glanced around to see his friend, crouching on his haunches and grinning in the starlight like a white coyote.
“No sentry,” Jak reported in that weird abbreviated way of his. By now Ricky understood him as well as the rest of the group did. “Quiet. Mebbe thirty inside.”
“You find where this Madame Zaroza’s likely to be?” J.B. asked.
Jak nodded. “Center wag,” he said. “Got lights.”
“So the others are circled around it?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah.”
Sotto voce, Ryan asked Jak a few more questions. Jak answered in monosyllables volubly.
“Right,” Ryan said with decision a few moments later. “Here’s how we play it...”
He led his companions in a wide circle around the camp, counterclockwise to the northwest. Ricky realized he meant to avoid taking the obvious approach from the ville.
For a few moments they hunkered down in the crackling-dry grass. Ricky used the opportunity to catch his breath and try to still his heart. He was in good enough shape after a few months of tramping the Deathlands with his new family. But he still tended to tense up at the nearness of action. It wore him right straight down.
“You fit to fight, son?” J.B. asked him.
The Armorer was not what anybody would call a sensitive man, but he had a surprisingly perceptive way to him. Especially for somebody who mostly acted as if he was more comfortable working with machines and gadgets than people.
Like Ricky himself.
He nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak without panting.
Ryan gestured for Jak and Ricky to lead off to the wag circle. The rest stayed behind crouched in the concealment of the grass. Before he took off Ricky couldn’t help noticing that Ryan had his longblaster in his hands, ready to roar.
Running bent over, the two young men quickly crossed the hundred yards or so to the wags. They were camped in a wide area of bare dirt. From the looks and firmness it had been trampled clean of vegetation and packed down by the boots of ville folk avid to watch the show. That and the performers, likely, as well as whoever set up and took down the stages and signs or whatever they used.
I wish I could see the show, he thought. At least what they do .
They made it with no sign of detection, or any sign of life within the wag circle except the lights from the central mobile home. Breathing hard through his open mouth, Ricky pressed his back against the box of the show wag.
He realized—or his mind, over-revving, finally took note of something he’d been seeing but had been too mentally busy to take in—that the circled wags had paintings on the side of them. Not just the sign—Madame Zaroza’s Caravan of Curiosities—but images, fabulous images: a
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