Star Risk - 04 The Dog From Hell (2 page)

"At least," she said, "that old battle-ax didn't gut us for not using the servants' entrance."

Von Baldur, who had surprisingly said very little during the interview and was now studying the eight faces high above them, said, "This should be interesting."

Goodnight, thinking of Sims's smile, unconsciously licked his lips.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, it should."

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TWO � ^ � They'd rented not only an archaically named "charabanc," which was a twenty-passenger lim, but a driver, after discovering the British Community still insisted on very archaic driving regulations.

They piled the girls and their not inconsiderable luggage in, the driver muttering in some indecipherable dialect about getting paid by the pound, whatever that might have been. Then they lifted, taking the winding roadway through the nearby hamlet.

"How quaint," Goodnight muttered. "Freddie, where are we gonna be able to park the customers while we get our clothes replaced?"

"You might not want to do that," Sims said. "My charges can sometimes get, well, a bit mischievous when not closely minded."

"We do not," claimed one dark-haired girl, whose name, Goodnight remembered, was Erin. "We're as good as gold."

"Wonderful," Goodnight said, seeing a sign over a brick building that said saint george's kneecap, and showed someone in a medieval space suit slaughtering some poor alien. "Just bleedin' wonderful."

They went through hilly country lanes, then pulled onto a throughway. In the back of her mind Riss was grateful they were in a lifter�the road looked as if it'd been resurfaced about the time that guy with the space suit and long spear had been wandering about.

"Why do we not just lift and go directly?" Grok asked the driver.

The man started, as if surprised Grok could speak.

"Local regs, guv," he said. "Posh district, makes their own laws."

Von Baldur, feeling that he was among his own�or at least the class to which he aspired�relaxed.

"Don't get too comfortable," King said. "We have a tail."

All five looked back, and saw a rather nondescript lifter about a hundred meters behind them.

"You sure?" von Baldur asked.

"It's made the last three turnings with us," Jasmine said.

"That's no guarantee," the driver said. "This is the main road back to London."

Riss noted the driver wasn't shocked at the idea they were being followed.

"To make sure," von Baldur said, "take the next right, and go around on them."

The driver glanced at him, shrugged, and obeyed. They entered another tiny village.

The lifter turned with them.

"Interesting," von Baldur said, his hand sliding into his suit coat, coming out with a blaster.

"Here now," the driver said. "That's a gun! We have laws about things like that!"

"We have laws, too," Goodnight said, the small gun appearing in his hand, "starting with self-preservation."

"Perhaps it's just a follower." Grok said, as the charabanc turned back onto the main road. "And we don't care who knows we're headed for the spaceport."

"Negative," Riss said, seeing two more vehicles�one a heavy lifter, making the same turn they had�up ahead. "I count three, which makes it a crash team.

"The truck to stop us thoroughly, the front tailer to do whatever they're thinking of�which I don't think is a simple snatch, since there isn't room enough for us all in either the front or rear vehicles�and the last for a blocker.

"Somebody in this pig has nice friends."

"What's going on?" one of the girls asked. "Are those guns real?"

Star Risk ignored her.

"Just like that?" Jasmine asked. "No negotiation, no cheap threats or anything."

"Guess not," Riss said.

"Then I think we should mess with them severely, to quote Mr. Goodnight."

Sims, looking scared, tried to make soothing noises to the girls.

"How far's the nearest decent-sized burg?" Goodnight asked the driver.

"Five, maybe ten minutes," the driver managed. "And I want you to know I didn't bargain for this."

"We'll drop you off, then," Riss said. "Or we can figure it into your bonus."

"I'll have none of that," the driver said indignantly. "I've got my life savings in this here charry, and I'll not have anyone pottering about with it."

"Then shut up and drive," Goodnight said. "We'll need a blocker, M'chel, assuming we're going for a nice, simple, tidy thing, without too many bodies."

"I figured that," Riss said. "And it's my turn. Dig out some cash. We won't have time to mess around with cards."

"Aw shit," Goodnight said, obeying. "You get to have all the fun."

There was, thankfully, some traffic in the small city they flew through, which gave them a little cover. Goodnight saw a man in a rather strange uniform, wearing what looked like a blue multiple-user chamber pot on his head.

The driver looked hopeful when he saw the cop.

Goodnight leaned forward and jabbed him in the ribs with his gun. The man's face fell and he went on.

"At the edge of town," Riss ordered, "we'll do it."

"No kid," Goodnight said. "And there's your spot for the blocker."

"When I tell you, turn left," Riss said to the driver. "Not this street� not this one� now!"

The driver obeyed, and Riss went out the door, landing crouched, almost falling, then recovering. A passing kindly old lady looked shocked. Riss hid the gun sheepishly as the trio of followers went past, intent on the charabanc.

M'chel went back a block to a sign that read lifters to let over a small lot with economy lifts in it.

In a few minutes, she came in a nicely polished economy lifter, smiling at the still-babbling agent and calling, "We'll check it back in London, with a full fuel cell."

Muttering at her tendency to pull to the right lane, like all proper drivers should, she found an open space, pulled over to the side, and waited.

In about five minutes, the easily noticed charabanc came back through, then its followers. The driver of the lead lifter was looking slightly vexed, and was on a com, no doubt upset at being led onto a roundabout.

Riss pulled out, following behind the heavy lifter and the blocking vehicle.

The road opened up, but still stayed at two lanes.

They passed a school, then two large houses.

Riss decided it was time.

Quite illegally, ignoring the signs about the town's height limitations, M'chel punched full power, and took the lifter off to a height of three meters.

Someone on foot shouted at her, but she paid no mind. She increased lift, took her lifter over the rear blocking car, then over the heavy lifter. Paying no mind to the shriek of collision alarms, she cut power, nosed down and slammed her lifter into the lead follower.

Her vehicle bounced off the follower's hood and skewed sideways as it crashed�which she hadn't intended, but at least she was definitely blocking the road.

Her lifter almost rolled, then settled back on its landing struts, engine screaming.

Riss rolled out her door as the charabanc ahead grounded, and the Star Risk operators jumped out.

The driver of the following car lolled against the steering wheel, unconscious, blood dripping from his mouth.

His partner was digging for a gun, saw Riss's leveled blaster, and froze.

That lead vehicle wasn't going anywhere soon, but to make sure, M'chel put a bolt into its engine compartment.

She spun, crouched, and put two more rounds into the front end of the heavy lifter behind the two wrecks.

She dimly heard shouts and a scream, but Riss was running back to the charabanc.

She jumped in, and the others followed.

"Drive it, buster," she ordered.

The driver fish-gaped, then obeyed, lifting with a speed that suggested he must have something on his conscience.

"I would suggest you take off as soon as you can," von Baldur said mildly. "There may be some people coming around wearing uniforms who will have questions."

The driver obeyed.

Riss turned around in her seat.

All eight children, and their minder, had eyes like saucers.

"Now," Riss said, calming her overactive lungs, "that is Lesson One on one way to deal with drivers who follow too closely."

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THREE � ^ � They paid off the charabanc outside London and took three cabs to the airport itself.

M'chel was feeling a bit sorry for the driver, who'd have to contend with the law sooner or later, since his unwieldy vehicle wasn't the least bit anonymous looking. But he was suspiciously cheerful, especially after von Baldur gave him a tip that equaled his fee, which made her suspect he was more used to irregular customers than he let on, or else he had some impressive friends with badges.

She immediately forgot him, and began pondering who was after them and why.

Riss kept coming up with nothings, and so she asked Jasmine, the usual repository of wisdom.

She, too, was drawing a blank.

All Goodnight could offer was that one of the children had clearly irked someone with a criminal mind and a certain organization, which gave them nothing.

While they thought about who the villains could be, they had more than enough to do with their charges.

It started as Jasmine, being the normal paymaster, was shepherding luggage and tipping handlers.

Grok saw something odd, and inquired of the little girl bending over the drinking fountain just what she was doing. The girl was named Lis.

"Making punch," she said blandly.

"Which means?"

"Which means I'm wedging this bit of chemicals down beside the spout," she explained.

"Which makes?" Grok inquired.

"Which makes whoever takes a drink have a little taste of my chemicals," she said.

"Which makes?"

"Them pee bright purple for a while," Lis said gleefully.

Grok took the chemical block away.

At least, he thought, Lis was honest.

Goodnight was the next up.

Goodnight happened to see Megan holding her right hand very oddly as she strolled close to a prosperous young man wearing a vastly oversized collar-less jacket�the current style for men in Britain.

He recognized what she was doing, came in fast, took the girl by the arm, and moved her into a corner, a forced smile on his lips.

Kel was following closely.

"Bad stance," Chas hissed in thieves' cant. "That kind of dip is too easy to go shy, and bump the sucker wise."

Megan, who'd begun putting on an angry face, lost it.

"What should I be doing?" she asked.

"Not trying to teach yourself pickpocketing," Goodnight said.

"But I couldn't find any schools to teach me. Not in England," she protested.

"Tough. So you can stay straight, before somebody breaks off your ickle pretty fingers," he said.

"Who would do something like that to a sweet little girl like Megan?" Kel asked.

"Me." Goodnight said.

The two girls considered the expression on his face, and believed.

Arbra and Jo, looking terminally innocent, were strolling toward a duty-free jewelry shop. Grok intercepted them, and put on what he considered a friendly smile.

The two froze, seeing a face promising incipient anthropophaging and paled.

Grok had no idea what they'd been intending, but they went rapidly back to the main group. Grok himself decided to work on his smile.

Alice Sims was giving Von a severe, if very quiet, talking to, and Von was wailing loudly and contritely. Riss thought the wailing was maybe a little too contrite, theatrical, and eye-attracting. Suspicious, she looked around and saw Erin, in sad-faced conversation with a benevolent-looking elderly couple. She edged closer.

"You see, Reverend," Erin was saying, "when my beloved parents were dying, they gave me all of their Madagaskee money, which was to pay for my education here in England as a Bible translator. But no bank I've found will convert to English money. They tell me that what I need is someone who'll stand good for the amount until it clears, and I saw your faces, and knew that�"

That was enough for M'chel.

"Erin," she said, "it's time for prayers."

Erin glared in a most unholy way at Riss.

"In just a minute," she said sweetly.

"No," Riss said firmly, taking the girl's hand. "Now."

She dragged Erin away.

"I almost had them going!" she protested.

"Maybe," M'chel said. "And by the way, where were you going to get these Magawhatsit bills?"

"Oh, I'd figure something out," Erin said. "The important thing was for me to get my hands on their poke."

"Right."

Goodnight was watching Jo and Lithia slide down a corridor, past a sign reading baggage handling.

He went after them, taking his time.

He arrived in a back room. A knot of kneeling men looked up as Jo bent, picked up a pair of dice, and said, "All right, I can deal with any bets up to twenty pounds."

Bills and coins hit a blanket spread on the floor.

"You covered," a very light-skinned man said. "But I don't like takin' money from a babe."

As Jo started to cast the dice, Goodnight stepped in, took her hand, and slid the dice out of her grasp.

"Sorry, gents," he said genially. "Gambling's against the law, especially for minors."

"And who the hell are you," a large, scarred man growled, "nudging in like this?"

Goodnight bounced the dice in his hand.

"I'm a fool protector," he said. "Watch. A four and a two are faceup. I tap them once, then I let idiots like you put their money down, and then I throw."

He did so.

The dice bounced a couple of times, and six showed.

"They'll put out fours and twos all day long," he said. "Until somebody taps them for another set of numbers. Come, girls. Your warm milk and cookies are getting cold."

As he herded them back into the central waiting room, ignoring the snarls coming from the gamblers, a speaker came on: