"I can't think what we could do about it," she said.

Althea rose from her squat before the radio.

"I can," she said.

Chapter 8: Sexember 13, 1303 A.H.

"Al-"

"It's going to happen, Martin." Althea bent over the huge retort, rotating it slowly and carefully as she dripped ammonia into the mass of peat and watched for the telltale color change. "You can help or you can stay out of it. Frankly," she said, "I'd recommend the latter."

"Why not at least talk to Patrice and Alvah first?"

"Do they have tactically useful information?"

"Well-"

"I didn't think so," Althea said without looking up.

Martin's voice was thick with worry. "How do you know you won't have to hurt some innocent third party?"

"I don't."

"But then-"

"Martin," she said, careless of the growl that seeped into her tone, "I am doing this."

He fell silent, watched her for a moment longer, and departed. She fixed her thoughts on explosions and flames.

The more, the better.

She strode up the walk toward Kramnik House with the step of an avenger.

-Al- Not now, Grandpere.

-Now is the only time, Granddaughter!

The intensity of the telepathic "shout" stopped her a few feet from the mansion's door.

All right, what?

-You're about to take a step you'll never be able to retract. I guarantee that everyone on Alta will learn about it in less than an hour. Have you thought through the consequences?

What consequences, other than Bart's freedom and his future?

-These: If you pull this off, how will your neighbors' attitudes toward you be changed? Who will Jacksonville look to for the resolution of future unpleasantnesses? What impact will that have on the rest of our clan? On the future of your enterprises, in this area or anywhere else on Hope?

I don't see how it matters. No one else is likely to step forward. Rothbard, Rand, and Ringer, no one else around here is willing or able! Should I hang back from this because there'll be a price to pay? Allow that self-absorbed bastard to imprison an innocent young man because there might be a few repercussions?

-Al, even if you could guarantee that the price will be all yours, it will be a load you shouldn't have to carry. That no one should have to carry!

Should, eh? I've got this major soft spot for should. I hear it a lot from people who don't want me to do whatever I've decided to do. Sometimes it even works. I love you, Grandpere, but should isn't going to stop me today.

-Al- Forget it, Grandpere. I'm freeing Bart and I'm doing it today. We'll take it from there.

She knocked at the mansion's door and stepped back a pace.

The door opened to reveal Ellen Kramnik, Sebastian Kramnik's youngest daughter. The normally cheerful, winsome young woman's face was puffy and tear-streaked.

"Things not so good at home, El?"

She nodded. "Uncle Doug isn't listening to anyone."

"I know." Althea looked away. "It's why I'm here. Will you let me in, so I won't have to use this?" She held up the flat oblong package that held her homemade breaching charge.

Ellen's gaze sharpened. "What would it do?"

Althea grimaced. "Blow the door off its hinges."

"Oh." Ellen's face twitched. "I shouldn't, you know. Uncle Doug will be very angry."

Althea took a deep breath, let it out gradually, and forced her brightest smile.

"Believe me, El, once I'm done with him, he'll have lots of reasons to be angry. You won't even blip his radar. Just let me in and take me to where he's keeping Bart."

Ellen Kramnik opened wide the door of Kramnik House and stepped to one side.

Ellen led Althea to the end of an ordinary-looking hallway, and indicated an ordinary-looking door at the back of the mansion. The noise of the looms in continuous operation had risen steadily as they walked.

"Closet?" Althea said.

"Sort of. It's a storeroom for loom supplies."

"Ah. Is that a steel door?"

"I'm not sure."

Althea grinned. "Let's find out." She waved Ellen to one side, backed up as far as the corridor would allow, and launched a full-power side kick at the door latch's junction to the jamb.

The jamb gave way with a sharp crack and a flurry of splinters. The door, though it turned easily on its hinge, seemed undamaged. Althea turned to her guide and shrugged.

"Doesn't make a lot of sense to mate a steel door to a masonwood jamb, does it?"

Ellen's expression was pained. "I guess not."

The door swung back against the wall to reveal a modest storeroom. It contained shelves loaded with a wide variety of machine parts, half a dozen small barrels of assorted lubricants and solvents, and Barton Kramnik, gagged and elaborately bound to a wooden chair. He spied Althea in the doorway and his eyes went wide.

A storm of footfalls alerted them to the imminent arrival of uninvited company. Althea donned her sweetest smile, casually pulled her needlegun from its holster, and turned to level it at the approaching Kramnik horde.

"Ladies? Gentlemen? Can I help you in some way?"

The crowd clotting the corridor rumbled to a halt. At its head was a middle-aged man she didn't recognize.

"What are you doing here, Morelon?" the leader spat.

Althea gestured casually with her needler. "Why don't we start with why you weren't here well before me." She jerked her head toward the open door of the storeroom. "Were you aware that your patriarch was holding one of your kin prisoner and incommunicado because the poor fool dared to entertain the thought of marriage to one of my kin?"

The leader's face drained of color. Althea stared him full in the eyes.

"Well?" she said. "Did you know?"

For a long moment the only sound in the hallway was the churning of the looms in the mill hall beyond.

"We...did," the leader said. "Some of us did, anyway."

"But you chose to permit it."

The leader hung his head. The faces of those behind him had become abashed...those that hadn't gone utterly gray.

Althea sauntered up to the leader as if there were nothing of any import in prospect. She put her free hand to his chin and forced him to look at her.

"What's your name?"

"Everett Kramnik."

"Pleased to meet you, Everett," she said. "My name is Althea Morelon. Where's Douglas at the moment?"

He said nothing.

"You know," she continued, "just in case it isn't perfectly obvious, I'm not in a good mood." She gestured at the fragments of the door jamb. "I'd rather not go home this way. It would help a lot if you were to give me what I ask for." She looked around. "Would any of you like to find out what I'm capable of? The hard way, I mean."

No one spoke. Everett Kramnik shook his head.

"Then go find Douglas and bring him here, right now. You," she said, pointing to another in the crowd with her needler, "get over here and get Bart untrussed from that chair. As for the rest of you, you can hang around if you like, but I won't promise that you'll enjoy the entertainment." She smiled grimly as Everett Kramnik scurried off.

"What are you going to do now?" a Kramnik woman said hesitantly.

"Now?" Althea looked off as if pondering it. "Now we wait."

The audible diffidence of the knock on Douglas Kramnik's office door caused him to frown.

"Come in."

The door opened partway. His cousin Everett's head poked into the office.

"Doug? There's...stuff going on downstairs. You might want to have a look at it."

Douglas rose from his desk, followed his cousin down the stairs, saw the large mass of Kramnik kindred assembled in the corridor, and stopped. A few of them turned to look at him. They seemed afraid of something.

"Uncle Douglas?" His niece Ellen's alto wobbled uncertainly over the heads of the crowd. "We're over here."

He pushed his way through the throng to its far edge, muttering impatiently. His eyes lit first on the loosely swinging door of the storeroom, then on the furious face of Althea Morelon. Before he could react, the young woman took him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

He groped for his needlegun, only to find that it had been ripped from its holster. It hardly mattered; the muzzle of Althea's needler was pressed firmly against his crotch.

"I have some special rounds in this thing, Doug," Althea purred. "Hyperesthetics. They amplify nerve responses to the point where a tap from one finger feels like a roundhouse kick. Took a while to season, so I'd rather not waste them. Are you willing to talk nice?"

He nodded. Althea stared hard into his eyes for a moment more before releasing him and backing a step away. Her needler remained leveled at his midsection. His kindred stood silent and immobile.

"I want you to explain to us all why you imprisoned your scion." Althea flicked a hand at Barton, who had been released from bondage and was plainly unhappy. "Be extremely specific. I'm not willing to listen to a load of self-justifying nonsense."

Douglas swept his gaze swiftly around the Kramniks in the corridor. He couldn't detect much sympathy there.

"To keep Bart from marrying your cousin Nora and leaving our clan." He clamped his lips against any further explanation.

"I see," Althea said. "Bart? Does that square with your understanding?"

Barton looked accusingly at Douglas. "With one little addendum," he said. "Dad wanted a favor from Adam Grenier. I don't know the details. They had that part of their conversation behind a closed door. But just before that he'd been arguing to Adam that you were still going to undercut his cargo business."

A murmur ran through the watching Kramniks.

"Tell us about this favor, Doug," Althea said.

He tried to shrug it aside. "I was just suggesting that he shouldn't-"

"I will ask Adam Grenier for confirmation," Althea said. "If his account doesn't match yours in all particulars, I'm going to come back here even angrier than I am right now."

Douglas looked once more to his kinsmen. He read even less support in their faces than before.

They won't defend me. Not to this bitch, at least.

I'll have to try to brazen it out.

"Why don't you speak to Adam first, Althea?" He folded his arms across his chest. "Frankly, I'm indisposed to let you in on the details of a commercial agreement you're not a party to. I'd be surprised if he feels any different." He nodded at her weapon. "Of course, you could always try your unique methods of persuasion on him."