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I ignore her and rifle through the stacked canvases, tossing several million credits’ worth of paintings on the ground, and pull out a small-framed oil-on-canvas painting. I laugh incredulously at the picture of Dalí’s dread monster: in bright, cracked colors soft watches drape over a tree branch and against the corner of a brown shelf. It is La persistencia de la memoria. I’m suddenly conscious of the blood on my fingers. “Gray!” the girl shouts. Wiping my hands, I carefully cut open the back of the frame and slide the canvas out, rolling it gently and slipping it into the bag. Feeling a bit lighter, I join the children.
“I once investigated this claim. They said it was lost in a fire!” I say with a laugh. “I knew they were lying.”
“Stealing even now,” the girl sneers. “You’re disgusting.”
“Quiet, hatchetface.” I grab the Duke by the back of his collar and push him through the entry room toward the double doors. “Everyone stick close to me. If anyone comes close, you stab them right in the jewels. Understand?” They both nod. The boy is a model of concentration. He paled when he saw the bodies I left on the floor, but now he’s lowered his head in anger. Same dead-set jaw as his father, but his hands shake as they hold the too-large razor. Pretend to be spawn of the Reaper all he likes, he’s just a terrified boy.
“You ready, little monsters?” They nod. I look at the closed door leading out of the antechamber back into the hall and feel the dread of what lies beyond it seep into me. “Let’s go.”
We open the door. Half a dozen guns roar. The door shakes and wood shatters as bullets and energy chew into it. I slam closed the door and duck with the children, hauling the Duke down into my lap. “You blind idiots!” I shout out over the Duke’s head. “I have your duke!” No one responds from the other side. “You, peek out there,” I tell the girl.
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“You’re the most expendable, look out there and tell me what you see.”
“Slag you.”
“Fine.” I grab the Duke and shove him out, then jerk him back. “What did you see?”
“Fuck you.”
“Will no one cooperate?!”
“I’ll do it,” Pax says. Before he can move, the girl shoves him back and darts her head to look through the holes in the door, then dips back to shelter.
“Four Obsidian braves, six Grays, three Browns. Six EFC-37 rifles, two GR-19 pistols, two Eaglefor PR-117s, a Vulcan 8k pulseFist. Couldn’t make out the rest.”
I stare at her. “So, no dolls for you, huh?”
“Was this your plan?” she asks. “How is this your plan?”
“Yap yap yap. You’re the one who got kidnapped, dumbass.” I rise to a crouch and push my gun against the Duke. “Tell them not to shoot.”
“Don’t shoot.”
“Louder, obviously.” He glares at me like he has a choice. I grab his balls through his robe and twist.
“Don’t shoot. This is your duke! Don’t shoot.” I dare a quick peek out through the door. A row of thorns clog the hallway. They look at each other in confusion.
“Tell them to put their weapons on the ground.”
“Put your weapons on the ground.”
I look out again. “Well, look at that.” They’re obeying. “We’re coming out,” I say. I push the Duke up and rise myself, using him as a shield, keeping an arm around his throat and the gun to his head. We shuffle out the door. I have to kick it open. Their fusillade knocked it half off its hinges. The children follow.
“Well, this is a bit awkward,” I say, facing the line of cutthroats. Some are
in their dusters, others look just roused from bed by the commotion. Their guns litter the floor. “I need you to back away. Down the hall. Then put your sacks and clams to the floor. If anyone rises or looks at me in a way that displeases me, I’ll relieve the Duke of his head. Crystal?”
The men look to the Duke.
“Do it,” he hisses. “Obey him.”
The thorns back away from their weapons and lie on the floor. There’s four Obsidians amongst them. Those I watch most carefully. Gorgo isn’t there. Not good. We move quickly through the ceded floor. Pax grabs a small plasma pistol from the ground. The girl turns up her nose at this in favor of her razor. They follow tight behind me as I lead them to the lift bank. Electra hits the button with her razor’s hilt. Pax’s pistol suddenly goes off. The sound explodes in my ear. Plaster rains from the ceiling.
“Halfbreed! What the hell was that for?” I snarl.
“One of them was reaching for something.”
