The Amtrak Wars - Ironmaster Part 21

Her voice faltered. 'A lord who lives by the Eastern Sea."

'Is he the guy who gave you those fancy clothes?"

She answered by kissing the tips of his fingers.

'And is that why you washed off your body-paint?"

His question met with a pregnant silence. He tried again. 'You want to tell me about it?"

Her reply, when it came, was in a barely audible whisper. 'What has .

. . happened is . . . is the will of Talisman."

'Yeah, sure, I understand all that,' said Steve. 'Just take me through it from the top of page one."

They did not have long before Su-Shan and NanKhe returned with three trays of hot food, but it was time enough to make Steve wish he hadn't pressed her for an explanation. Knowledge might indeed be power, but whoever coined the maxim omitted to mention that there were some things it was better not to know. Steve was learning that young men who seek truthful answers to every question often find the process extremely painful. On top of which, the delicious aroma from the a.s.sortment of goodies the trio next door were preparing to tuck into was absolute torture.

He did not have to endure it for long. As the door to the next cell was slammed shut, the bottom half of his door was opened and he was ordered out. Mentally bracing himself for some sort of physical a.s.sault, he exited on his hands and knees - and was not disappointed.

A leg hooked his hands away and a kick in the b.u.t.t sent him sprawling face down in the dirt. It didn't look promising, but the subsequent flurry of blows proved to be something less than a serious attempt to injure him. If the four armed d.i.n.ks had wanted to break a few bones they could have done so easily. No. They were just out to ruin his composure. Show him who was boss.

Grinning broadly, they hauled him to his feet and continued to roust him all the way across the arena.

Steve could not see much of anything beyond the circles of light cast by the swaying lanterns, but it looked as if all trace of the earlier mindless slaughter had been removed. His escort pushed him up a flight of rough-hewn steps on to the terrace linking the second her of caves and brought him face to face with the main man. He was sitting cross-legged on a mat laid against the side-wall. There were another ten or twelve guys with him. The cave was lit by more yellow lanterns and the air was thick with smoke which caused Steve to cough on entering.

Several of the d.i.n.ks had pipes like the one used by Mr Snow. They weren't smoking rainbow gra.s.s, but Steve's nose told him that a touch of the old happy valley weed had been added to the mixture. The wild bunch were also swallowing capfuls of the pale yellow liquid Side-Winder had introduced him to. Sake. His escort pushed Steve down on to his knees in front of the honcho and helped themselves to some juice.

In view of what had taken place earlier everyone seemed cheerful enough, but Steve could sense an undercurrent of tension. The jovial atmosphere had a brittle, knife-edge quality which gave him the feeling that they could - at any minute and with equal cheerfulness - tear him limb from limb. One misjudged word or gesture was all the pretext they needed. Mindful of Mr Snow's warning to avoid prolonged eye-contact, Steve tried to ignore the ring of strange, hairless faces with their dark, almost jet-black eyes. He focused through on to the wall behind them and willed himself to stay calm.

Come on, Brickman! You've been in tight corners before. You can face these guys down. They're like the death-birds. Show yourself weak and defenceless and they move in for the kill. You've already shown them you're a top gun. Be strong!

Nothing to it...

His hairless host drained his cup and held it out sideways for someone to fill it. 'Do you have a name, gra.s.s-monkey?"

Steve looked him straight in the eye. 'Yes. Brickman."

'A-barick a-man-uh..."

'No, it's all one word. BRRickmaNN."

'Ahh-so... Barickmann-uh."

'Right." What the h.e.l.l...

The stocky j.a.p snapped his fingers and pointed to Steve. A hand came out of left field and stuck a cup of sake under his nose.

'I'd rather have something to eat."

'Later, perhaps. First we drink to your courage, then we. talk.

After that - who knows?"

One of the d.i.n.ks said something. Everybody fell about.

'What's so funny?" asked Steve.

'He say you may find you have no stomach for food." Ohh, yeah.

Boy... what a terrific sense of humour . . .

Steve took the offered cup and raised it level with the j.a.p's.

'Kanpai!" Steve took his cue from his host and downed the contents of the cup in one gulp.

In introducing him to sake, Side-Winder had omitted to warn Steve about the alarming impact alcohol can have on the central nervous system when poured into an empty stomach. The sake exploded inside him like a small bomb.

Steve felt the heat rise back up his gullet and set fire to his ears.

His eyes went out of focus. He swivelled his head round sharply in an effort to unclog his brain and regained a measure of control by sheer willpower. He had to squint in order to see straight but, when the smoke cleared, he was left feeling extra-sharp, supremely confident and utterly fearless.

Steve favoured his host with a gracious bow from the waist. 'May I be permitted to know who I have the honour of addressing?"

The j.a.p hesitated. It was probably the first time a Mute had asked him a question. 'I am samurai-captain n.o.buro NakaJima."

'Then permit me to salute you, Captain." Steve bowed again, then met n.o.buro's eyes as he straightened up.

'And which domain-lord do you serve?"

n.o.buro chewed over his response. This gra.s.s-monkey would pay dearly for his insolence but first, it was necessary to ask him certain questions on a man-to-man basis, however distasteful that might be.

Torture could have produced the answers and might yet have to be used by others, but n.o.buro was constrained by the samurai code of behaviour.

The reason this outlander now sat facing him instead of being skinned alive then slowly dismembered a joint at a time was because he had single handedly vanquished seven of Lord Se-Iko's samurai. However honourable his motives, he would eventually have to be put to death, but his redoubtable courage and skill as a fighting man and his proud beating demanded a certain measure of consideration from his peers.

'We have no domain-lord,' he said finally. 'Lord Naka-Jima is dead, his family dispossessed. We are ronin. Wanderers who owe allegiance to no one."

'You surprise me, Captain,' replied Steve. 'You say you are a samurai - but do the n.o.ble warriors of NeoIssan venture forth to capture women?

And can one believe that you would sacrifice thirty to forty of your valiant men to secure such a worthless prize?" He saw the puzzlement in n.o.buro's eyes and added: 'I saw them fall to their pursuers in the river valley. Samurai from the same house as the men who found death here."

The j.a.p's face hardened. 'The fate of my kinsmen is none of your business, gra.s.s-monkey. Let us discuss yours."

Steve set down the empty cup and bowed. 'I am at your service, Captain."

'Gra.s.s-monkey,' began n.o.buro, 'I find myself in, uhh -' He broke off to search his limited Basic vocabulary for the right word - 'delicate, uhh situation.