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Shouts from upstairs, a man's voice issuing orders to search the house.
"Yes," Valentine answered softly.
"Two men in a big van and two more in a patrol car. They're all armed and coming in. Gotta go," Frat said. Valentine finished tying his parang sheath on his leg and picked up his rifle.
"Hey, kid," an unknown voice barked. "Get outta that bed and get up here."
"I'm coming," Frat answered, voice cracking from strain. "Don't point that shotgun at me, okay?"
Gonzalez blew out the tallow dip in case the smell was wafting up to the living room.
They heard Mr. Carlson's voice, angry and scared, as he descended the stairs from the second story into the living room. "What in the heck is all this, Toland?"
"Orders. You're wanted for questioning."
"Orders? We'll see what Major Flanagan has to say about that!"
"He gave the orders, pard," the harsh voice answered. "Think your days of being under his wing are over. Your little girl stuck a steak knife into Mr. Brass Ring's neck-"
"Oh, my God!" Mrs. Carlson gasped.
"-a couple of hours ago," Toland continued. "Your brother is fucked, and he knows it, and he thinks the only way out of the jam is to arrest everyone here."
"Can I at least tell my hired help to take care of things while I'm gone?"
"The Breitlings? We're supposed to arrest them, too. Where's those two from up north, the guy who was seeing your daughter? The major wants him brought personal to his office."
"They left after dinner," Frat volunteered. "David was pissed about the whole thing with Molly."
"Shuddup, Sambo. If I want your opinion, I'll slap it out of you. Carlson, is he right?"
"Yes, you searched the house, didn't you?" Carlson said, voice still tremulous.
"Which way did they go, and when?"
"After dinner. They didn't even eat with us. I think they went north, but I dunno. I've had other things on my mind today than watching them leave. You should leave us alone and go after them; they probably put her up to it."
A rattling came from above. "I got them leg irons, Sarge. Should we link 'em up now?"
"Yeah. Pillow, go out to the car and radio that we got the Carlsons in custody. Also put out a general call to pick up two men on horseback. One's got a bum hand. You other two get busy with those shackles."
Valentine touched Gonzalez on the shoulder in the darkness, and they felt for the door. They cut across the shadowed basement, listening to the rattle of chains as the patrollers fixed the family into the leg irons. Valentine led the way up the basement steps, keeping to the edges to lessen the sound of boards creaking. They padded through the kitchen barefoot, Valentine with his repeater to his shoulder and Gonzalez with his held against his hip. Valentine paused for just a second to listen at the corner between the kitchen and the front living room, attempting to place the occupants by sound. All he could hear was a frightened crying from young Mary Carlson and the sounds of shackles being clicked closed and chains passed through steel eyes. He gestured to Gonzalez, who moved to the kitchen door of the house.
With a quick sidestep Valentine rounded the corner, gun tight to his shoulder, a shotgun-wielding man already in his sights. "Nobody move," he said, in a low tone. "You with the shotgun, put it on the floor, holding it by the barrel. You two with the chains, facedown on the floor!"
As he spoke, Gonzalez opened the back door, holding the rifle in his armpit, and disappeared into the darkness.
The patrollers, conditioned by years of practice in using their guns to bully unarmed farmers and townspeople, complied with alacrity. The Carlsons, dressed in their bedclothes, kicked the weapons away from the uniformed Quislings.
"Okay, you with the stripes, facedown, too. Good. Spread eagle, gentlemen. I've got eight shots in this repeater; the man who moves gets the first one. Frat, get the guns away from them, before they get any ideas."
Frat began collecting pistols and shotguns. "This'll cut it, Carlson," Sergeant Toland said, speaking into the floor. "Before, you were just wanted for questioning. This means you're all dead within a day or two. Not an easy death, either, if the Reapers-"
A pistol thrust into the sergeant's mouth cut off the imprecations. "Shut up, Sarge. When I want any of your lip, I'll blow it off," Frat said, cocking the revolver.
"Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, start putting the shackles on them, hands and feet, please," Valentine said.
The screen door swung open, and the fourth patroller entered, his fingers laced behind his head and the muzzle of Gonzalez's gun pressing him behind the ear.
