The companions were in sight of the ville, having just breasted a rise in the snake-back trail. They spotted the drifting gray smoke from among the trees, finally seeing the building itself.

"It resembles a Victorian boarding school," Doc stated. "Look at those Gothic chimneys and the proliferation of gables. By the Three Kennedys, but I swear that it's the most elegant ville that I have yet seen."

The house was built from gray stone, weathered over the years, stained with creepers and lichen on the second and third floors. The mullioned windows with leaded lights contributed to the impression of age and style.

"Handsome," Mildred agreed. "If it was privately owned, then he must've been a fat cat."

"Fat cat?" Dean repeated. "What's that mean?"

"Jack rich," she replied.

The boy nodded. "Like a gold rat. I get it."

Trader spit in the leaf mold that lay all around them. "We goin' to visit this baron, or do we stay here and chatter the day away?"

"We go visit the baron," Ryan said.

RYAN CHECKED out the defenses of the ville as they trudged wearily toward the main gates. It had been one of his special tasks when he rode with the Trader. Most of the war wags' crews, when entering a strange ville or frontier pesthole, would appear uninterested and would wave and shout to the inhabitants, greeting sec men in the same way, making it appear like they didn't care about the way a place looked.

But Ryan and, sometimes, J.B., would be hidden away, using the ob slits, carefully taking note of every detail of the defenses and the layout of the buildings, reporting to Trader within the hour and giving him a sketch plan that showed the relevant points of strength.

And weakness.

The ville of Baron Weyman was solidly built, looking as though it probably dated from around the latter half of the nineteenth century.

The outer wall was a dozen feet high, granite, lipped with iron points, some of which had corroded and rusted. Threads of razored barbed wire still hung here and there, plaited around the remaining spikes. In its day it had to have been a formidable barrier, but now it wouldn't have stopped a determined ten-yearold.

There was a set of double gates, made from wrought-iron, in a complicated pattern of leaves and vines. Two sec men stood by the gates, each holding a crossbow. Beyond them there was a cobbled courtyard, with the house closing in on three of its sides. The first-floor windows were barred, with ironbound sec shutters. A wide path lead around the side of the building to what Ryan guessed was probably the stable area of the ville and the sec force's living quarters.

"What a fine building," Doc said admiringly. "Such a truly superb setting at the foot of the mountains."

Trader looked at him as though he had serious doubts about the older man's sanity. "What you are looking at, Doc, is a pretty peach with a rotten center that is just sitting here waiting to be plucked."

"You the outlanders that Rainey warned us to expect?" one of the guards called.

"Yeah."

"Go straight on through. Main door to the ville's ahead of you. Rainey's inside someplace. Likely he'll take you to meet Baron Weyman."

They filed through the gates. Ryan turned and looked back along the trail, J.B. stopping at his shoulder.

"Thinking what I'm thinking?" the Armorer asked.

"I'm thinking that the trees and bushes should be cut right back for a good hundred paces. Way they stand now, any stupe mutie could crawl in close enough to rush the gates."

J.B. adjusted his glasses. "Crossbow can be deadly in the right hands. But it's one of the slowest weapons in Deathlands. Can take fifteen or twenty seconds to crank it up and loose a second bolt."

"And in twenty seconds a charge could be through the gates and into the house."

"Right. I've seen a crossbow quarrel go clean through an inch of planed oak. For a man on watch,

assuming that there's a serious shortage of decent blasters, give me a good yew longbow every time."

Ryan agreed. "Seen Apache and Oglala have six arrows in the air at once from a longbow."

"You two coming in?" Krysty stood by the heavy front door to the ville.

Bill Rainey had appeared behind her, with a young boy at his side. Ryan immediately saw the passing

resemblance between his own son and Baron Weyman's boy. But Dean was stronger built, broader across the shoulders and his hair was longer.

And he carried a Browning Hi-power 9 mm blaster at his hip.

"Come ahead, outlanders," the sec boss called. "Baron's waiting to greet you."

He pointed at Dean. "Come and meet Jamie Weyman, young Cawdor."

Dean took a couple of steps, giving a casual half wave to the other boy, who came directly down the short flight of stairs, hand extended toward him.

"Welcome, Dean Cawdor," Jamie Weyman said in a confident, clear voice. "Welcome to my father's ville."

"Thanks. Yeah, thanks." He hesitantly shook the other boy's hand.

"Think they'll hit it off, lover?" Krysty whispered in Ryan's ear.

"Mebbe."

A LARGE ENTRANCE HALL led toward a wide staircase of stone. The carpet had obviously once been rich and ornate but now looked dusty and threadbare.

The walls were wood-paneled, with rectangular spaces where paintings had probably once hung. There was a notable absence of any kind of decorationno decent draperies, no china, no furniture of note. Just the barest essentials.

Rainey led the way up the stairs toward a shadowed landing with a number of doors. Ryan followed, with the rest of the group trailing along behind him. Dean and Jamie Weyman brought up the rear. The baron's son was keeping up a flow of bright chatter, while Dean was limiting his replies to monosyllables.

"I heard that you and your companions had a confrontation with the mutated pigs."

"Yeah. We did."

"Was the legendary wild boar, called the General, among them?"

"Mebbe."

"It has a damaged tusk on one side. That enables one to recognize it."

"Yeah, it did."

"What does your father do for his living?"

Ryan half turned, wondering what his son would reply to that one.

"Helps people."

Jamie was intrigued. "Helps them, Dean. That's really most interesting. How does he do that? Is he a

teacher of some sort, or perhaps he is a doctor?"

"Mildred's a doctor."

"Ah, I must admit that your father didn't appear to be the sort of a man who would have medical skills. I

hope you don't mind my saying that."

"No."

They reached the top of the stairs, and the conversation briefly halted.

Krysty was right at Ryan's shoulder, and she whispered in his ear. "Never heard a more grown-up little

man than that Jamie Weyman. He talks better than I do, and he can't be more than eleven years old. Can't

see him and Dean really becoming the closest of friends, can you?"

Before Ryan could answer, Rainey was beckoning for them to follow him along the corridor, past shuttered casements, pausing before a closed door.

"Baron's in there," he said. "When you've finished, come on down to the eating room, left at the bottom of

the stairs, and I'll get some food rustled up for you."

The sec boss knocked on the door, waiting to hear a muffled voice call for them to enter. Then he turned and strode away along the passage, ruffling his fingers through the hair of the two boys as he did so.

Ryan turned the handle and opened the heavy door.

The room was so dimly lit, with heavy shutters drawn across the windows and only a single oil lamp for illumination, that he thought for a moment that there was nobody there. Then he saw a gray figure, wearing a gray coat, sitting in a deep, gray armchair to one side of an empty fireplace.

"Come in, outlanders. I hear from Bill Rainey, excellent fellow, incidentally, that you were on your way.

As far as Bill is concerned, ask him if there's anything you want or need. Food, beds, that sort of thing." The man waved a languid hand. "But do come in where I can see you properly. Oh, is that my son and heir I spy bringing up the rear as usual?"

"Good day, Father. This is my friend, Dean. He's the same age as I am, aren't you, Dean?"

"Yeah."

"I'm delighted to meet you all. You're Ryan Cawdor, aren't you? Fellow who's a little deficient in the

optical area?"

"What?"

Doc was at his heels. "Baron means you've only got one eye."

"Oh, right. Yeah. Shall I introduce you to the others?"

"No, no. Not here and not now. There is some sort of poor meal prepared for you. I shall join you there in

a short while. Do go on down and enjoy whatever humble repast there is on offer."

He paused. "Jamie, perhaps you would remain with me for a few moments longer?"

"Of course, Father. Can Dean stay, too?"

"I think not. He should go with his friends. You will have plenty of time to see him later."

He waved his hand. "Now, outlanders, off you go to eat."

Like young children being dismissed by their wise and elderly principal, they all filed out, J.B. quietly