Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(93)
Kurokawa took a deep breath and regarded her stiffly. “I have many pistols, Lady Sandra, and Savoie will be ready.” He took another calming breath before continuing briskly. “You will not be molested by my men again. If your husband kills you, as you say, I cannot prevent it. Otherwise, you’ll be safe . . . for now.” He nodded at the dark shapes gathered around Diania, kneeling next to Horn. “See to your man.” He tugged at the tight, ornate tunic under his pistol belt, then wrinkled his nose. “I had no idea you were living in such squalor. I will have fresh clothes sent over immediately.” He bowed his head. “As before, this conversation has been quite enlightening.” He started to stride away, then stopped. “You are most observant, most astute, but if Captain Reddy still lives”—he reminded her of that uncertainty with evident satisfaction—“he can come whenever he likes. Tomorrow or a year from now. It makes little difference to me. When he does, he will still find you in my power, and we may well discover the strength of his resolve. Either way, I will destroy him. Good evening.” With that, he turned a final time, and his round form disappeared into the night.
“A word of advice, Signora,” Rizzo said as he passed. “I beg you. Do not antagonize him. He is most dangerous when he appears most reasonable.” He touched his hat. “Buona notte.”
“What did Roly-poly-san and the Eye-Tye want?” Horn asked moments later when Sandra knelt beside him. Adar had finally lowered himself to the sand, exhausted, but the others had formed a protective circle around him and Diania.
“How are you feeling?” she asked instead, as Eddie handed her what was left of his T-shirt, soaked in water from the cistern.
“I’ve felt worse after a night on the town in Shanghai,” Horn replied. “Damn Jap hit like a girl.” His teeth shone bright in the dark. “No offense.” Sandra chuckled. She could see black blood streaming down the China Marine’s face from a cut somewhere on his scalp, and his hair was matted with it. But he seemed able to move, so he was probably telling the truth. There was danger of a concussion, though, so they’d have to watch him.
“He was very brave,” Diania said quietly, tenderly, dabbing at his head with part of her shirt she’d torn from around her slim midriff. There was clearly no doubt in her mind where the confrontation had been headed, and what it would’ve meant for all of them. In the end, probably none of them would’ve survived. But Horn had tried to protect them. Protect her.
“I was an idiot,” Horn objected. “I should’ve just held back and watched you ladies kick their asses. But what did the bigwigs want?” he pressed.
Sandra sighed. “I don’t really know. I don’t think it was to gloat, for once.” She thought about it while she squeezed water from Eddie’s shirt over Horn’s head and let Diania mop it away. She had a vial of polta paste in her precious bag, and a needle and thread. She’d stitch the wound when she could see it better. “I think Matt really hurt them,” she said at last, “and maybe now would be a good time for him to come.” She shook her head. “It was so weird. Rizzo seemed almost panicky, and Kurokawa protected us, and then said we’ll get new clothes. It was like . . .” She snorted. “Like the condemned man on the gallows, bobbing his head and trying like crazy to dodge the rope, but still so arrogant, so slippery about it, you could hardly tell.”
? ? ?
Maggiore Rizzo joined Kurokawa on the seat of the rickshaw, even as Kurokawa snapped at the two Grik holding the poles to proceed. The rickshaw jerked into motion and their guards fell in, trotting alongside. It was five miles back to Kurokawa’s residence, and would take about forty minutes to get there at this pace. It was a good thing they’d been closer, at Riku’s ammunition factory, when the enemy attack began. They’d been able to see a great deal from there, and telegraph reports from around the harbor and the surrounding facilities had given them a more complete picture. In spite of his rage and frustration, it had actually been Kurokawa who guessed what might happen at the prison compound. Rizzo did beg him to intervene, but decided he’d meant to from the start. Still, when they set off, Rizzo wasn’t entirely sure Kurokawa didn’t mean to do exactly what his men attempted: kill the prisoners in retaliation for the raid, and rip his greatest vengeance from the women. Not getting an answer, Rizzo had reasoned with him, then threatened to depart—with his planes—if anything was allowed to happen to them.
Though a dedicated fascist and firm supporter of the League, he was unhappy with what Gravois had set in motion. Surely an accommodation could’ve been reached with the Alliance instead of this madman. They were half a world apart, after all, and need not come into direct conflict for decades, if ever. Who knew what the future might bring? But the policy of encouraging the warring parties to tear each other apart had been set in motion long ago and had succeeded quite well. Peace between any of them was clearly impossible. Best to make the most of it. But he’d personally been horrified by what Captain Laborde and Savoie had done to Amerika, and then by the treatment of the survivors brought here. The League had treated its own prisoners, human and otherwise, abominably, as it systematically subjugated the Mediterranean. Laborde had participated in that, was a product of it. Suspicions regarding his support for the pre-Revolutionary regime in France had probably made him even more zealous than others to prove his commitment to the League. But Rizzo liked to hope that one day, when the hard work of establishing civilization on this world was done, they might rebuild a measure of humanity to populate it.