by Rebecca York
“Yes, but don’t tell Gatroux.”
One of the men came out and gingerly handed Amber the knife. It was now cleaned of Tudor’s blood. She fixed the blade back inside the covering, then returned it to her hair.
“Thank you.”
Two of the men took off, running back to make sure the people at the camp knew they were no longer in danger.
Max turned to one of the Inheritors. “Can you get your chief back here? I need to tell him something important.”
“Oui.”
He rushed off, and a few moments later, the older man was back. “What do you need?”
“Where is your security chief?” Max asked.
“In the camp. One of us is always there.”
Just then, some of the invasion force came out of the house, many carrying loot from inside. Plates, bowls, ornaments and linens.
Gatroux gave them a stern look. “You must put those things back immediately.”
A man spoke up, his voice challenging. “Why? He doesn’t need this stuff anymore.”
“And you certainly have not earned it. But more important, there must be no clue that we were ever here.” The head man walked to the door and shouted a repeat of his edict. “Take nothing from the house. Put any loot back in its place. If you go against this, you may bring the authorities down on all of us.”
Rafe came out, a look of disgust on his face. “I found his torture room. You don’t want to see it.”
“No, I don’t,” Amber agreed.
“I will get a crew of men digging along the foundations,” Gatroux said.
“And get some breaking up the floor,” Max said. “That should speed things up.” He glanced at Amber then back to Gatroux. “This is your business as well as ours. Where’s that guy who led the hunt last night. LaTour?”
“He stayed back to help guard the women.”
“Oh, right.” Max pulled the head man aside and spoke to him in a quiet voice. Amber saw the leader’s eyes widen.
“This is a serious charge. Are you sure?”
“Yes. Tudor bragged about it—because he was sure we would never be able to pass on the information.”
“LaTour. A traitor,” Gatroux said slowly as if trying to wrap his head around the reality. “I thought he was just a hothead.”
“Maybe that’s how he started out,” Max answered. “We’d better go back to your camp and find him. If he’s not there when we get back, you’ll know it’s true.”
“Oui.”
“You go on. I’ll stay with the work crew,” Rafe said.
Max and the head man started to leave. Amber caught up with them and grabbed Max’s arm. “I’m going with you to confront him.”
“Women do not . . .” the head man began.
Max cut him off. “She saved our butts—and changed everything for you. If she hadn’t slit Tudor’s throat, we’d be dead, and the spy in your midst would still be happily finking you out. She’s earned the right to be in on this.”
“Oui. I understand.” He turned to Amber. “But we must hurry. Can you keep up?”
“Yes,” she answered. She was going to stay with the men if she used her last breath getting back to the camp.
They had come to the house in an airship. It took a lot longer to walk at a fast pace through the jungle. She followed the men, listening to them making plans as they wove through the vegetation.
When they arrived in the council clearing, Amber saw that the area had been cleaned so that there was no sign of the attack and the slayings. She wondered how many men had died, but she didn’t waste her breath asking.
Two men snapped to attention when they saw Gatroux. He crossed to them.
“It is urgent that we speak to LaTour.”
The two swamp rats exchanged glances. One of them shrugged. “I heard him say he would take perimeter guard duty.”
“Merde,” the head man muttered, then turned to Max. “You were right, I think he’s trying to get away.”
To the guardsmen he said, “We must find him. He was spying for Tudor.”
They looked doubtful.
Amber heard a gasp from the edge of the clearing and saw several women who were keeping their distance but listening avidly.
Max jumped into the conversation. “Tudor bragged about it—when he thought we were two dead men and a dead woman.”
“How do we know you are telling the truth,” one of the men on guard duty asked Max. “You have reason to . . . get him in trouble.”
She could see Max trying to stay calm. Gatroux had believed them, but it seemed the other men didn’t trust such a wild tale about one of their own people.
Max made a frustrated sound as the other man spoke up.
“He wouldn’t. You remember, his little sister went missing a couple of years ago. He was sure Tudor was responsible.”
It was obvious these guys would not be easily convinced.
Amber saw Max swallowing his frustration as he said, “Yeah, well you know he’s a man of action. I’m thinking that after his sister disappeared, he went after Tudor. Only Tudor caught him—and said he’d let LaTour live if he kept him informed about the situation here.”
The man didn’t look convinced. And the longer they stood here arguing, the more chance that the traitor would get away.
“Where is his hut?” Gatroux demanded.
“I’m not sure . . .”
A woman stepped forward. It was Paulette, one of the group who had joined Camille to get Amber ready.
She gave the guardsmen a steady look. “I can take you.”
Amber gave her a grateful nod as she stepped up beside her.
With the four men trailing behind, they crossed the clearing and headed into the group of huts.
Paulette led them to one of the structures, then stood back. Gatroux, Max and one of the guardsmen climbed the ladder.
Moments later, Max called down. “It looks like he took some of his stuff and cleared out.”
Amber turned to the man standing beside her. “Are you finally convinced?”
“What stuff?” the swamp rat shot back.
“A spear. A knife.”
“He would need that for guard duty.”
“Would he also need shirts and pants?”
“No,” the man conceded.
Amber wanted to say, “And while you’re arguing, you’re giving him a nice head start.” But she kept the bitter observation locked behind her lips. What good would it do to point out the obvious?
“How are we going to find him?” Max asked.
“He has a favorite dog,” Paulette said. “I think he will try to find LaTour if we ask him.”
Amber remembered the dogs that had greeted them that first day at the camp. Probably the animals had been the ones to find them on the night of their escape, not the men.
Paulette ran off and came back with a hound following closely behind. “This is Bernard,” she said. “He’s a good boy. Good Bernard.”
Amber saw the dog was pleased with the attention. He wagged his tail, then licked her hand.
One of the guardsmen climbed back into the hut and came out with a shirt.
“Not yet,” Gatroux ordered. “We must have more men.”
Amber waited impatiently while three more Inheritors joined the party.
“Will LaTour be armed?” Max asked.
The head man looked uncertain. “We know he has his spear. And I gave out our arsenal of beamers before we left for Tudor’s. I don’t know if he has one.”
“Great,” Max muttered, then looked at Amber. “I want you to stay here.”
“No.”
“Please,” he said, his voice thick. “I can’t risk having something happen to you now.”
The look in his eyes tore at her, but before she could speak, Paulette came up beside her. “I think you’ve done your part. Let him take care of it.”
The tone of the woman’s voice clued Amber into the urgency of her request. And the intensity of her exp
ression reinforced the conviction.
“All right,” she murmured.
“Thank you,” Max said, then turned to the group of men. “We’d better go.”
The man with the shirt held it out to the dog—who sniffed. “Find LaTour,” he said to the dog.
The animal barked, then started off for the gate.
Amber’s stomach clenched as she watched them go.
“I understand your worry,” Paulette said.
“Then why did you keep me from going with the search party.”
“Because of what the men who came back said. You were the one who saved your companions from Tudor, non?”
When it was put that way, she wanted to deny it, but under Paulette’s watchful gaze she had to say, “Yes.”
“Being saved by a woman is hard for a man to deal with.”
Amber started to speak, but the woman kept talking. “He may be glad you kept the monster from killing him. But in his own eyes, he needs to do something to redeem himself.”
Amber sucked in a breath. “He has nothing to redeem.”
“He thinks he does. Let him be the one to finish things.”
She could understand the logic of that and nodded.
“And you will come with us.”
Paulette led her to the hut where she had waited before the raid on Tudor’s house.
The two other young women, Maura and Jacqueline, were waiting for them, along with Camille.
Amber looked at the head man’s wife. “Did you know what was going to happen?” she demanded.
“My dreams gave me a warning. But I could do nothing to change things.”
“You knew men from the camp would be killed?”
“Oui.”
“And you said nothing?”
“Would they have believed me?” She answered her own question with a quiet, “I think not. And if I had said something, they might have decided that I was involved.”
Amber sucked in a sharp breath. “No.”
“They were worried about a spy. Maybe it was me.”
“No,” Amber said again, but she could see how they might have used her words against her.
Camille gestured toward a pile of comfortable looking cushions. “You look worn to the bone. Sit down.”
The moment the older woman said it, Amber felt a wave of fatigue sweep over her. She swayed on her legs, and two of the others caught her and helped her down. Suddenly she felt light-headed, and she knew she had been going on grit for the past few hours. If she had gone with Max, she would have been a hindrance, not a help.
Camille came over with a cup of something that smelled pungent.
“Drink this.”
“It’s not another sleeping potion, is it?”
“No, this will help restore your strength.”
She took a cautions sip. It was strong but not unpleasant.
She leaned back, closing her eyes, allowing herself to relax for the first time since she’d thought Max and Rafe were going off by themselves to take down Tudor.
For long moments, there was silence in the room.
Finally, Camille spoke. “We heard a little from the men who returned first. But they didn’t see the whole thing. Tell us what happened.”
She looked at the older woman. “You already know, don’t you?”
“I know some of it. But we want to hear all of it.”
Amber began to speak, telling the story of what had transpired since the airships swooped down on the camp. And as she spoke in a low voice, she realized she wasn’t just addressing these women. She was telling her friend, Esme. She would never see the slave back on Naxion, but she longed to let her friend know she was safe from the monster who had bought her.
“He thought he had me in his power, but I’m the one who walked away.”
She told how he had chained Max and Rafe to the wall, and how he had started hurting her. But he’d been too sure of himself.
“And that gave me the opportunity to slit his throat.”
She had been so wound up in her story that she’d forgotten the women in the room. But their gasps brought her back to the here and now.
“I don’t think I could do that,” Maura whispered.
“You could if it was the only way to save your life. And your man’s life,” Amber countered.
Maura nodded.
“That was a horrible experience,” Camille said. “Are you truly at peace in your soul?”
“I think so. I knew for a long time that if I fell into his hands, he would kill me—unless I could kill him first. I had thought about that because my guards had taunted me with my fate. They thought I could change nothing.”
“But you proved them wrong.”
“Yes, I vowed to get away from Tudor any way I could.”
“You are brave,” Maura murmured.
“No. I was desperate.” She looked at Camille. “And without that knife, I would be in a living nightmare now.” She couldn’t repress a shiver. “I have you to thank for giving me that weapon.”
“I had a feeling you might need it.”
Telling the tale was exhausting, and Camille could see it.”
“You should rest now,” she said.
“I’m too keyed up—worried about Max.”
“But there is nothing you can do. It is in the hands of the fates now.”
She wanted to beg Camille to tell her what was happening out there in the swamp. But she only pressed her lips together.
“Can I pray to my gods? Pray for his safety?” she asked.
“Of course. And if they consider your own valor, they will favor you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Max ached to take point, but he was the least qualified of this group to guide anyone through the swamp. The lead man, whose name was Allan, had put the dog on a tether so that he couldn’t run off into the dense underbrush as he led them toward LaTour. Dubois was also on the team as were three other young men—Paul, Tip, and Henri who had been eager to catch the spy. Perhaps they had been in the party searching for him, Amber and Rafe, and now they wanted to make up for letting LaTour get the better of them and the rest of the camp.
They kept up a steady pace, into a part of the bayou that Max had never seen. But several times he recognized a tree or a patch of brush that he thought he’d seen earlier.
“It seems like we’re circling around,” Max said.
“You are right,” Dubois said. “He headed off into the swamp where it will be hard to follow, but now he’s cutting back toward the river. I’m calculating he won’t be that far from camp when he reaches it. Perhaps he has a boat hidden in case he needed to escape. If he can get to it, he may make it to the city.”
“Kahlad. And then he can tell the authorities a slanted version of what happened at Tudor’s house.”
“Exactly.”
Max thought about the consequences. LaTour had been spying for Tudor, the man who had killed many of the Inheritors in the airship raid. Now, he could hardly go back to his old life. He’d have to join the civilized world and live in Port City. But to make it work, he’d have to send the wrath of the Confederation down on his kin group.
The dog tugged at the lead, impatient to find his friend, and Allan let the animal guide them into the greenery. There was no trail, but the Inheritors were skilled at travel through such country. The bayou was in their blood, from the time when they had lived in such a place on Earth, and the skill of navigating this wild land had been handed down through the generations.
The trek through the backcountry seemed endless, with the party having to pick their way around several sucking sand pits. Max had always thought of this area as “the swamp.” But now he noted that it wasn’t all of a piece. Sometimes they tramped through mostly brush. Sometimes they encountered small trees. Other times they sloshed through water.
The scenery changed once more as they rounded a curve and came to a grove of taller trees, growing densely together.
Dubois pointed.
“Patamas. The tallest trees in the bayou.”
All at once, the dog began barking and pulling furiously on the lead, heading for the trees.
“Watch out,” Dubois warned. “He says we’re getting close.”
Allan tugged the animal back sharply, just as an energy bolt sizzled through a screen of leaves.
All the men, including Max dived into bushy vegetation.
“I believe we have found him,” Dubois said as he eased along the ground, putting a large tree between himself and the direction from where the blast had originated. “And he stole a beamer.”
One of the younger men looked up, trying to penetrate the dense foliage. “Why would he trap himself in a tree?”
Max followed his gaze. “I think we would have missed him without the dog. He could have waited until he was safe, then slipped down and made for his boat.”
“Oui,” the security chief agreed.
Max and Allan belly crawled to Dubois so that the three of them could talk in low voices.
“Even now,” Allan said, “if he can keep us pinned down, maybe he can escape.”
Max muttered a curse. “We’ve got to stop him. What if you draw his fire, and I circle around back of him?”
“You don’t know the bayou,” Dubois objected.
“I want to make him pay for what he did,” he said, although he silently admitted that wasn’t his only motivation. After Tudor had captured them, Max and Rafe had ended up chained to a wall, helpless to save Amber. That failure had been eating at him ever since, and he was determined that this take down was going to be a success.
Dubois spoke. “You surely will not accomplish your goal—if you get yourself killed.”
Max sizzled with frustration, but he knew the security chief was right.
“What’s your suggestion?”
“Send the dog so we can pinpoint his location. He won’t shoot his favorite hound.” He added “I hope,” under his breath.
Allan spoke to the animal in a friendly voice. “Go find LaTour. He’s playing hide and seek with you. Find him and tell us where he is.” As he spoke, he detached the lead, and Bernard bounded off into the small grove, barking.
There was a shout of anger as the fugitive realized the ploy. The dog stayed at the base of a tall tree, barking and dancing.