Free Ironheart by Allan Boroughs Page A

tied with a thick leather belt and had shaggy black hair
with one furry eyebrow that ran right across his forehead. His beard was plaited into black ropes and there were pieces of bone tied into the ends. He looked like a story-book troll that had crept
out from under a mountain.
    ‘Not bad, if I say so myself His voice sounded as though he liked to gargle with gravel every morning. ‘That’s nine hits in a row. Who’ll stake me a hundred gold Crowns I
can’t make it a straight ten?’
    As they drew closer India’s blood froze. Standing to one side, wearing the same furious look she had seen in the alleyway, was Sid the Kid. She felt his stare on her like a beam from a
cold lighthouse.
    The Director turned towards them. ‘You’ll be that Brown woman, I daresay.’ He spat on his hand and held it out to Verity. ‘Lucifer Stone.’
    The hand was black and grimy but if Verity was dubious about taking it she never let it show.
    ‘How was your trip to London?’ he said with a smirk.
    ‘It’s an honour to meet you at last, Director,’ she said, ignoring the sniggers from the group. ‘I hear a lot of talk in the Northern territories about what you have
achieved here.’
    India noticed how all the men followed Verity with their eyes.
    ‘I’m proud of this town, Mrs Brown,’ he said. ‘Twenty years ago there was nothing here but a few reindeer herders. Everything you see here has been forged from the
mountains with my own hands.’
    Verity looked impressed. ‘Well, with all that going on, it’s a wonder you can still find the time for target practice.’
    Stone puffed out his chest. Something in the way he brandished his gun reminded India of Mehmet. ‘This is still a frontier town, Mrs Brown, and I like to keep my skills sharp. Let me show
you!’
    At the far end of the roof stood a large contraption on wheels that looked like an old-fashioned catapult, designed for bashing down castle walls. Stone gave a signal and a man in overalls wound
a handle which pulled back a flexible metal arm until it nearly reached the ground. He took a large green fruit from a pile and placed it into a basket at the end of the arm.
    ‘Watermelons,’ explained Stone. ‘We have them specially imported. Nothing explodes like a watermelon when you shoot it.’ He looked around. ‘Except maybe a
man’s head, no?’ The group laughed on cue. He hoisted the gun to his shoulder. ‘Pull!’
    The steel arm snapped to attention and the melon was flung in a high arc away from the roof. The gun blasted once and the melon burst into pink mist, casting a thousand fragments of red flesh
into the street below. Everyone applauded again.
    ‘Bravo, Mr Director,’ said Verity.
    India didn’t clap. She didn’t think there was anything special about being able to hit something the size of a watermelon.
    ‘That’s a bit of a waste, isn’t it?’ she said, earning a scowl from Sid. Verity flashed her a warning look, as Stone’s eyebrow formed a thick V shape.
    ‘Mr Director,’ said Verity quickly, ‘may I introduce my, er, business associate?’
    Sid sneered and whispered something into his father’s ear. Lucifer Stone examined India closely. ‘Ah yes, the daughter of John Bentley if I am not mistaken. You seem to have
inherited your daddy’s unfortunate habit of speaking first and thinking later. I assure you our watermelons aren’t wasted.’ He walked to the edge of the roof. ‘I combine my
shooting practice with my welfare programme. Look!’
    In the icy courtyard below was the most wretched group of men, women and children that India had ever seen. Despite the cold, they crawled on their hands and knees to pick up the shattered
pieces of fruit from the filth and cram them into their mouths.
    India’s hand went to her mouth. She knew what it was like to go hungry and she understood how it could drive you to do just about anything. ‘That’s horrible,’ she said.
‘Why are you tormenting them? Why don’t you just