Ingolf bit back I?m no man of yours, Denson, and the policeman?s grin replied: For this you are, like it or not.
Aloud Denson went on:?They?re staying here because you are here, and because that Rudi guy is coming back for you. If he is.? ?Ah,? Ingolf said, and smiled wolfishly.?I bleed for you. I won?t say from where. And Rudi will flap his arms and fly like a duck before he abandons friends. Or anyone he promised to rescue.? ?Oh, one of those, is he? That type gets more throats cut than evil bastards like me.? ?I?ll take Rudi?s word for it on who needs fighting,? Ingolf said.
Then he blinked to himself. You know, I really believe that, he thought. Life?s not dull around Rudi Mackenzie, or safe, but you don?t have to worry about him. A man could do a lot worse than be the one who had his back. One way or another he?s going to need good men, and not just on this trip.
He thought of Mary, who was after all the Mackenzie?s half sister, and grinned to himself.
And I could do a hell of a lot worse than be his brother-in-law. Half brother-in-law. Whatever.
Denson looked at him slit-eyed, evidently distrusting his good cheer. ?You said the Cutters had plans of their own? They do. Evidently they?ve got a real hard-on for all of you; especially the big redhead, but they want you all dead in the worst way, and it?s starting to sink in with them that Tony thinks you?re too much fun to kill and isn?t going to change his mind. Not anytime soon. And then your friend-the big redhead-sent a message, saying he?s gotten the stuff. The wagons.? ?He did?? Ingolf almost-squeaked.
Denson laughed.?Yeah. Surprised me no end too. I thought the wild-men would be tanning his hide for a drum over there by now. And that made the Cutters decide they could get you all at one swell foop, if they timed it right.?
He nudged the bundle at his feet. It clinked significantly; Ingolf stiffened. He recognized the metallic shink sound of chain mail, and the rattle of a boiled-leather scabbard against something hard. ?What they forgot,? Denson said,?is that the State Police is a police force, not just the…?
He grinned like a shark and made an odd gesture with his hands spread and the first two fingers of each crooked. ?…?Royal Guard? quote unquote. We?re not the fucking National Guard, either, just parading around in tin shirts and breaking heads hup-one-two-three-left-right. We find things out. And we?ve got informants all over the place, including the guest quarters of the Bossman?s House. Those guys should really be more careful how they plot where the help can hear. I know all about them now.? ?Why not tell the Bossman?? Ingolf asked.
To himself: You don?t know as much about the Church Universal and Triumphant as you think, Denson. But I?m not here to tell you what the monks at Chenrezi told me. ?That might get rid of the Cutters, though not until they start to bore Tony. It wouldn?t get rid of you guys. Tony really likes that Arminger chick. Got the hots for her, maybe, and he likes the stories she tells. What I?m going to do is let my problems… sort of solve each other. The timing will be close, though. Get moving. You?re going to Dubuque.?
Ingolf nodded slowly.?So, what?s in it for me, Denson?? ?Longevity,? the State Policeman said.?And a better view.?
He toed the bundle over. Ingolf grabbed it, snaked the awkward length through the bars. There was the padded jacket, the short mail shirt that went over it, the weapons belt with his new shete-what they?d called a dao in Chenrezi-and bowie and tomahawk, shield and quiver, bow in the case beside them. He left the kettle helmet looped over the shield and tied down with a rawhide thong. ?Don?t put the ironmongery on right now. Figured you?d want a shower and some strong soap first. And keep the shete wrapped; it might attract attention.?
Ingolf nodded reluctantly. He did stamp his feet into the boots; it was amazing how much better they made him feel… which was the demoralizing point of taking away prisoner?s footwear, of course. ?What about after we get out?? he asked. If we get out, he added to himself.?I presume we?re not all that welcome in Iowa, so how do we leave?? ?Oh, your friend Tancredo took care of that,? Denson said, with a crooked smile.?And wouldn?t he just shit if he knew we knew about that ship he rented? Nice little gaff-rigged river pedal-galley.? ?What if we get caught in Dubuque?? ?Well, that?s where killed while resisting arrest could come back into the picture. So don?t screw up.? ?You?re an evil bastard, Denson,? Ingolf said. And now I know you need me, so I can say so. In fact, you?d fit right in with the Corwin people, some of them.?I think you?ve got a hole where your conscience should be.? ?People say it runs in the family. But we survived the Change without morals when billions died fully equipped with theirs. Plus I?m a rich, powerful evil bastard, and most of the other survivors ended up hoeing beans twelve hours every day, and living on cornbread and fatback with some hick farmer kicking their ass. Now follow me.?
The sound of the key grating in the lock made Ingolf release a breath he hadn?t been conscious of holding; that was when his gut decided that he really was getting out of here-if only into mortal peril. The feel of the blade and the weight of the mail shirt in his hands put his shoulders back, and a swing into his stride. Eyes glittered at them from the cells, reflecting a little of the light of the lantern Denson carried; he cupped a hand around the chimney to blow it out when they reached the steel door and the sections where the gaslights were left on all night.
But at least it?s mortal peril I can do something about. The helplessness was the worst part of being locked up.
A squad of Denson?s men waited outside the door at the end of the corridor, most of them holding their crossbows at port arms, along with a scared-looking screw Ingolf recognized without affection from his habit of spitting in the prisoners? food before he pushed it through to them, and laughing when they complained. As they passed, Denson jerked a thumb over his shoulder and spoke: ?Don?t you men hear the riot?? ?Riot, sir?? the sergeant of the squad said. ?Yeah, the criminal scum are out of their cages and running wild. Go to it, men! I wouldn?t be surprised if you had to kill them all to reestablish order.? ?Yessir, that riot,? the sergeant said. ?Stack the bodies in the corridor.? ?Yessir.?
Then he nudged the turnkey with an elbow; the man was still gaping in thick-witted bewilderment. ?What about this sad sack of shit, Captain?? ?Ah, too bad about the way the prisoners hauled him through the bars and took his keys off his dead, mangled body,? Denson said. ?Still, it was fucking careless of him to get that close to the cells, right??
The turnkey blinked in alarm as the words began to penetrate; the sergeant grinned. ?Dead men contradict no tales,? he said.
And struck again with his elbow-this time into the man?s throat, a quick savage jerk of a blow without warning, and then followed it with a steel-toed boot to the side of the head when the man collapsed. One of his men dragged the body behind the file of troopers as they went through the massive door and then closed it behind them with a clunk and a rattle. Ingolf winced as he and the police captain walked away, and then again. Faint from the cell block he?d shared came the sound of screams, screams and then the deep tung of crossbows.
Denson?s doing me a big favor, Ingolf thought. Why doesn?t this make me feel as optimistic as it should? ?Don?t sweat it,? Denson said, at the gray of his face.?It isn?t you, right?? ?Right,? Ingolf said tightly.