oilskins and a broad-brimmed hat, cradling some kind of rifle. Hick-boy out hunting.
This wasn't any kind of professional operation. Which made even less sense.
Someone else was floundering through the undergrowth parallel to the path, making enough noise to be heard above the thunder and the rain. The man on the path walked directly under Eason, and kept on going. There was a commotion away towards the ocean. Someone screamed. It choked off rapidly, but not before Eason got an approximate fix.
«Whitley? Whitley, where the hell are you?»
That was the one Eason had heard blundering about, shouting at the top of his voice.
«Come on, let's get out of these bloody trees,» the one on the path yelled in answer. «Now shut up, he'll hear us.»
«I can't fucking hear us! And what happened to Whitley?»
«I don't bloody know. Tripped most likely. Now come on!»
The figure on the path started to advance again. Eason landed behind him as thunder shook the creaking trees. He focused, and punched. Powered by an augmented musculature, his fist slammed into the back of the man's neck, snapping the spinal cord instantly, shoving fractured vertebrae straight into his trachea, blocking even a reflex grunt from emerging.
The body pitched forward, squelching as it hit the muddy path. Eason snatched up the rifle, checking it in a glance. His synaptic web ran a comparison search through its files, identifying it as a Walther fluxpump. Basically, a magnetic shotgun which fired a burst of eighty steel pellets.
The breech was fully loaded with twenty-five cartridges. Satisfied, Eason plunged back into the undergrowth, crouching low as he closed the gap on the second intruder.
The man was leaning against a tree trunk at the edge of the lawn, peering through the branches at the house. Eason stood three metres behind him, pointed the fluxpump at his legs, and fired.
«Who are you?»
«Jesus God, you shot me! You fucking shot me. I can't feel my legs!»
It was another bovine islander, same as the first. Eason shook his head in wonder, and moved the fluxpump's barrel slightly. «In three seconds you won't feel your prick if you don't answer me. Now who are you?»
«Don't! God, I'm called Fermoy. Fermoy, OK?»
«Right. Well done, Fermoy. So what are you and where do you come from?»
«I'm a shipwright over on Boscobel.»
«Where's Boscobel?»
«An island, nine kilometres away. God, my legs!»
«What are you doing here, Fermoy?»
«We came for the man. You.»
«Why?»
«You're wanted. There must be money for you.»
«And you thought you'd collect?»
«Yes.»
«Who were you going to give me to, Fermoy?»
«Torreya.»
«Why her?»
«You were running from Kariwak. We thought she must want you. You wouldn't be running, else.»
«Who told you I was running?»
«Ross.»
Eason stared down at him, teeth bared in rage. That drunken
«This morning. We were drinking. It came out. You know what he's like.»
«How many of you came?»
«Three, just three.»
So Tiarella had been right about that. «And how many people on Boscobel know I'm here?»
«Only us.»
«Right. Well, thanks, I think that's covered everything.»
The third bounty hunter, Whitley, was easy to find. He lay, strangely motionless, in the centre of a broad circle of mangled undergrowth. Eason took a couple of cautious steps towards him, fluxpump held ready.
A vivid lightning bolt sizzled overhead.
Whitley was wrapped from his neck downwards in what looked like a spiral of tubing, thirty centimetres thick, jet black, glistening slickly. He was gurgling weakly, drooling blood. Eason squinted forward, every nerve shrieking in protest, and switched his retinal amps to infra-red. The coil of tubing glowed pale crimson, a length of it meandered through the broken grass.
»
The snake's head reared up right in front of him. It was a demonic streamlined arrowhead seventy centimetres long, the jaw open to show fangs the size of fingers. A blood-red tongue as thick as his forearm shot out, vibrating eagerly.
Training or not, Eason lurched back in terror.
«Solange won't hurt you,» Tiarella shouted above the storm. «He's affinity-bonded to me.»
She was standing behind him, her rain-soaked nightshirt clinging like a layer of blue skin.
«That
«Solange? Yes. He's another of my father's designs. But I'm not sure he was supposed to grow this big. He does eat rather a lot of firedrakes, you see.»
The real horror was the lightness of her tone. So matter-of-fact. Crazy bitch!
Eason took another couple of steps back. The snake had been on the island the whole time. She could have set it on him whenever she wanted and he would never have known. Not until the very last instant when it came rustling out of the thick concealing undergrowth.
«Do you want to question this one?» Tiarella asked, gesturing at Whitley.
«No.»
Her eyes fluttered shut.
Whitley started screaming again as the coils round him flexed sinuously. The sound was swallowed up by the crack of snapping bones, a sickeningly wet squelching. Eason looked away, jaw clenched.
«I'll take their boat out and scuttle it,» Tiarella said. «Everyone will think the storm capsized them. You can bury the bodies. Somewhere where Althaea won't find them, please.»
• • •
«She asked me how old I thought you were,» Rousseau slurred, then burped. «I said thirty, thirty-five. Around there.»
«Thanks a lot,» Eason said. He was sitting with the old man, their backs against a fallen tree trunk on the lagoon's beach as the gloaming closed in. A bottle of Rousseau's dreadful home-brew spirits had been passed to and fro for over an hour. Eason wasn't drinking any more, though he made it look like he was.
«You're a good man. I see that. But Althaea, I love her. The two of you together, it's not right. Who knows how long you're gonna stay, eh? These people, your enemies, they could find you. Even here.»
«Right.»
«She would cry if you left her. She would cry more if you were taken away from her. You understand? I couldn't stand to see her cry. Not my little Althaea.»
«Of course. Don't worry. I like Tiarella.»
«Ha!» He coughed heavily. «That's a mistake, too, my friend. She's a harsh, cold woman, that Tiarella. Cracked up completely after her Vanstone died. Never shown a single emotion since, not one. She won't be interested in you.»
Eason grunted his interest and passed the bottle back. A sheet of low cloud hid the stars and moons. Balmy
