scream of outrage and fury from Mildred. Still flat on his back he turned his head to see her grappled from behind by what looked like the Wolfman from an old-days movie poster. She had her ZKR 551 revolver in hand; one furry paw had her by the wrist and her gun hand thrust straight up over her head.
The .38 cracked off with a bright yellow flash.
Ryan’s handblaster came out. He pointed it at the center of the vast chest of the lizard mutie, who was looming over him like a colossus.
White light dazzled him.
He cranked out three fast shots. They were completely blind. His ears rang from an explosion so sharp and savage he barely heard the 9 mm blaster go off.
Ryan wondered if he was shot. He felt no pain, except in his stinging eye, which saw nothing but shifting purple-and-orange blurs. He’d been shot before and knew a person didn’t always feel it—at first.
The SIG was wrenched from his hand. Still unable to see anything other than what now looked like giant balloons floating inside his own eye, he grabbed at the hilt of his panga. Instead his own arm was grabbed and yanked clear. He felt the broad-bladed knife being pulled from its sheath.
His arm was released. He sat up.
Slowly a semblance of vision returned. He still had big balls of color floating in his vision field, and the night, which had been lit by stars and the glow from Madame Zaroza’s Winnebago, looked dark as four feet up a coal miner’s ass. Around him he heard his friends moaning. He became aware of shapes on the ground, and others standing over them.
Then he could see well enough to start confirming his worst fears: all his friends were on the ground, and all their enemies were standing over them.
“Okay,” growled the immense lizard mutie. “Time to give these rubes a stomping to remember us by.”
“Hold on, everybody,” a calm and quiet voice said.
Everyone froze. Ryan turned his head toward where the voice had come from.
It was J.B. The Armorer stood between the back of one trailer and the snout of a parked motor wag. He had his fedora tipped back on his high forehead. A placid half smile was on his face and the muzzle of his Smith & Wesson M-4000 shotgun was aimed at the small of the back of a stocky, middle-aged woman with flowing skirts and big hoop earrings.
“Playtime’s over,” J.B. called. “All you folks just sort of step back now.”
“Don’t do it!” she commanded brusquely. “Don’t give in, no matter what happens to me. You know what happens when you give in to the rubes.”
“Sorry, Z,” the hairy dude said in a surprisingly high and piping voice. “No can do. These people play for keeps, and we know that without you we’re nothing.”
She looked around at the rest. “Anybody?”
She slumped. “Oh, well. It was worth a try. And the Beauty said they didn’t mean to hurt us if they could help it.”
“We didn’t really mean to hurt you people, either,” the lizard man said in a deep, rasping rumble. “Just rowdy you up some. We can’t let the rubes think they can get away with picking on us, you know?”
Picking himself up, Ryan paused and cocked a brow at him. “Yeah. You know, I think I do.”
“So, no point in standing out here in the cold,” Madame Zaroza said. “Thanks for giving your best, everybody. Go back to bed. And you people—” she looked hard at Ryan to make clear whom “you people” meant “—might as well come on in and enjoy a nice pot of tea.”
Chapter Six
“For a bunch of performers,” Ryan said, “you sure took us down pretty quick.”
“You got the advantage of us in the end,” said the wiry man with the hair cut short to his narrow skull and the vest full of knives.
“By cheating,” the enormous lizard mutie rumbled.
“That’s enough, boys,” Madame Zaroza said. “That’s behind us now. Anyway, we never give a mark an even break. Why would these folks do any different?”
Seated in a wooden chair across from her, Krysty noticed that the
The .38 cracked off with a bright yellow flash.
Ryan’s handblaster came out. He pointed it at the center of the vast chest of the lizard mutie, who was looming over him like a colossus.
White light dazzled him.
He cranked out three fast shots. They were completely blind. His ears rang from an explosion so sharp and savage he barely heard the 9 mm blaster go off.
Ryan wondered if he was shot. He felt no pain, except in his stinging eye, which saw nothing but shifting purple-and-orange blurs. He’d been shot before and knew a person didn’t always feel it—at first.
The SIG was wrenched from his hand. Still unable to see anything other than what now looked like giant balloons floating inside his own eye, he grabbed at the hilt of his panga. Instead his own arm was grabbed and yanked clear. He felt the broad-bladed knife being pulled from its sheath.
His arm was released. He sat up.
Slowly a semblance of vision returned. He still had big balls of color floating in his vision field, and the night, which had been lit by stars and the glow from Madame Zaroza’s Winnebago, looked dark as four feet up a coal miner’s ass. Around him he heard his friends moaning. He became aware of shapes on the ground, and others standing over them.
Then he could see well enough to start confirming his worst fears: all his friends were on the ground, and all their enemies were standing over them.
“Okay,” growled the immense lizard mutie. “Time to give these rubes a stomping to remember us by.”
“Hold on, everybody,” a calm and quiet voice said.
Everyone froze. Ryan turned his head toward where the voice had come from.
It was J.B. The Armorer stood between the back of one trailer and the snout of a parked motor wag. He had his fedora tipped back on his high forehead. A placid half smile was on his face and the muzzle of his Smith & Wesson M-4000 shotgun was aimed at the small of the back of a stocky, middle-aged woman with flowing skirts and big hoop earrings.
“Playtime’s over,” J.B. called. “All you folks just sort of step back now.”
“Don’t do it!” she commanded brusquely. “Don’t give in, no matter what happens to me. You know what happens when you give in to the rubes.”
“Sorry, Z,” the hairy dude said in a surprisingly high and piping voice. “No can do. These people play for keeps, and we know that without you we’re nothing.”
She looked around at the rest. “Anybody?”
She slumped. “Oh, well. It was worth a try. And the Beauty said they didn’t mean to hurt us if they could help it.”
“We didn’t really mean to hurt you people, either,” the lizard man said in a deep, rasping rumble. “Just rowdy you up some. We can’t let the rubes think they can get away with picking on us, you know?”
Picking himself up, Ryan paused and cocked a brow at him. “Yeah. You know, I think I do.”
“So, no point in standing out here in the cold,” Madame Zaroza said. “Thanks for giving your best, everybody. Go back to bed. And you people—” she looked hard at Ryan to make clear whom “you people” meant “—might as well come on in and enjoy a nice pot of tea.”
Chapter Six
“For a bunch of performers,” Ryan said, “you sure took us down pretty quick.”
“You got the advantage of us in the end,” said the wiry man with the hair cut short to his narrow skull and the vest full of knives.
“By cheating,” the enormous lizard mutie rumbled.
“That’s enough, boys,” Madame Zaroza said. “That’s behind us now. Anyway, we never give a mark an even break. Why would these folks do any different?”
Seated in a wooden chair across from her, Krysty noticed that the
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