“Shou’ ne’er ha’ trust… a whorrr…”
The words trailed off, to be replaced by deep snoring.
“And because you called me that,” Inara said to his unconscious form, “I have even fewer qualms about doing what I just did.”
She peeled off the oval-shaped transparent patch on the tip of her index finger. It was an impermeable membrane coated on one side with a dose of the sedative. All of the drug should have transferred itself to Walter but she was careful nonetheless as she rolled up the membrane and slipped it into a pocket.
At that moment, a maid entered the hallway carrying a stack of folded towels. She took one look at Inara, and at the slumped, snoozing Walter, and her face fell in astonishment. She seemed on the brink of yelling.
Inara hurried towards her, adopting a mask of anxiety. “Help me,” she said. “This man just collapsed. I don’t know what’s happened. I think he’s unwell.”
The maid was unconvinced. “I don’t know who you are, lady, or what you’re doing here, but we’re told to be wary of all strangers, even fancily dressed ones.”
“I imagine so. For what it’s worth, I mean you no harm. That said, I can’t have you screaming the house down either.”
She was now only arm’s distance from the maid. There was no time for finesse or subtlety. She struck her a blow to the carotid with the edge of her hand like a sideways ax chop. The blow briefly interrupted the blood supply to the maid’s brain and stunned her temporarily, long enough for Inara to deliver a second deftly aimed jab to the vagus nerve in her neck. Instant insensibility ensued. Inara caught the maid as she fell, then dragged her to the doorway through which she had entered.
In a laundry room, amid shelves piled high with clothes and fresh linen, she laid the maid out on the floor, then went back into the hallway to fetch the towels the woman had dropped. She rolled up one of them and placed it beneath the maid’s head. Like Walter, the maid would wake up with a headache but at least a stiff neck wouldn’t be a problem.
Compassion was one of a Companion’s strongest suits, even when it came to visiting violence on others.
25
While Inara infiltrated the mansion itself, Shepherd Book was moving stealthily round the perimeter of the grounds. He had no idea where Elmira Atadema was being kept on the premises, so his only option was reconnaissance. With Inara busy indoors distracting and neutralizing whatever security personnel Hunter Covington employed, Book crept along, keeping low behind the three-bar fence that encircled the property and studying the building from all angles. He reasoned that Covington would have Elmira under lock and key in an upstairs room, in order to make it that much harder for her to escape. To that end, he surveilled the house’s upper story, looking for a window that was shuttered or barred or both.
The sound of a twig snapping behind him brought him whirling around. His stun gun was in his hand, fully charged and primed. Book almost pulled the trigger to unleash the electrified dart that would deliver a 50,000-volt shock.
“River?”
River Tam stood there, swinging her arms from side to side.
“I thought we told you to stay in the shuttle with Simon.”
“Simon wasn’t looking, so I came out,” River said. “To help you.”
“You’re no help to me here,” Book said gently but with a forceful undertone. “This is something Inara and I have to do. You’re best off keeping out of sight with your brother.”
“I know where she is.”
“What?”
“The woman. Elmira. She’s in there.” River pointed, straight-armed, towards the stable block.
Just as Book was asking himself how River could know this— and be so certain about it, too — Simon came scurrying up.
“River!” he hissed. “You shouldn’t have run away. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Here I am,” she said simply. “You found me.”
“Sorry, Shepherd. I’ll take her back to the shuttle. No harm done, I hope.”
“Wait just a moment, son,” Book said. “River, are you sure that’s where Elmira is?”
River nodded. “Uh-huh. I can see her. She’s sad. She’s chained up. Straw in her hair. She knows she’s going to die. Hunter’s mad at her. She sold him out, he says. ‘I’m going to fix you, woman.’” River’s voice had suddenly taken on a gravel-roughness and a masculine note. “‘See if I don’t. When I come back, I’m going to show you what happens to bitches that snitch to the authorities. They get cut. All over. Every part of their body. Every part. Cut till they bleed to death, but slow. Days-long slow.’ And she knows he’s going to do it, too.” Her voice had reverted to normal. “He’s not a man to lie about such things.”
“Where precisely in the stable block is she?” River, if she was correct about Elmira’s location, had just saved Book a considerable amount of time and effort. The stable block would have been the last place he looked.
“Easier if I show you.”
Book looked at Simon, then at his sister, then back to Simon.
“Are you asking my permission?” Simon said.
“Preferably, but even if I don’t, River’s coming with me.”
Simon debated inwardly. “Then I’m coming too. I already let her out of my sight once. I’m not doing it a second time. Who knows what we could be walking into?”
Book did not like having two people tagging along with him. One was bad enough. But he respected Simon’s decision and his concern for his sister’s welfare.
“All right. Just please stay out of the way. Leave the rough stuff to me.”
“Here we go.” River was already striding off towards the stable block. Book hurried to catch up, Simon at his heels. “Off to see the horsies.”
They were halfway there when River said to Book, “By the way, there’s a man just inside the doorway. He hasn’t seen us yet. You have ten seconds before he does.”
Again, Book wondered how the girl could have such knowledge. Those Dr. Frankensteins at the Academy had bestowed talents on her that were preternatural, that were even — although it seemed a mildly blasphemous thought — godlike.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He broke into a sprint, running towards the stable block as fast as his aged limbs would let him. Book was, in fact, in phenomenally good shape for a man of his advanced years, keeping himself that way through a routine of isometric strengthening exercises and abstinence from alcohol and narcotics. Within five seconds he had covered the thirty yards between him and the stable-block door. Two seconds later, he was inside the building and confronting the man stationed on guard duty, who was in the process of rising from the chair he’d been sitting on and raising the rifle that had been lying across his knees. The stun gun crackled in Book’s hand. The guard tumbled to the ground, juddering, like he was doing some kind of wild horizontal dance routine. His teeth were bared. An eerie, strangulated ululation escaped his throat. A wet patch spread across the crotch of his jeans.
“There’s another one,” River said from the doorway.
Book wheeled to see a second guard appear from the shadows of one of the looseboxes. He was drawing his pistol. Book hit the switch on the stun gun to detach the wire linking it to the dart hooked in the first guard’s chest. The gun was a two-shot deal, but it required closer range than he currently had. The second guard was a good five yards too far away. Book had no choice but to duck down and charge towards him, hoping he could bridge the gap in time. The guard was cocking his gun, however, and drawing a bead on Book. Book knew, with a dreadful certainty, that he was going to be too slow. The guard was going to shoot him before he could get him with the stun gun.