'Course I do,' Grist said. 'That's the split we agreed.'
'Right. You agreed to cut me in on forty-five per cent of a fortune. Almost half your money. It was your operation; you were just bringing me in. Nobody offers terms like that. I'd have been happy with seventy-thirty.'
'So you've a blade to my throat 'cause I was generous?'
'I'm not done. You could have come here with your own crew and kept it all. The only reason you needed me was because of Crake. A daemonist. Because you thought a daemonist might be able to get through this mysterious door Hodd found. In fact, you offered me forty-five per cent of the profits on the off-chance that my daemonist could help you out. People only offer that kind of money if they aren't intending to pay it. Easy to make promises you don't have to keep.'
'If you say so, Cap'n.'
'You made out you had no idea of the nature of that barrier, or even if there was something worth finding behind it,' said Frey. He leaned closer to Grist, smelling the sweat and smoke of him. 'But you took a pretty big risk and went to a lot of trouble to get my daemonist here. And it just happened to be right up his alley, isn't that right, Crake?'
Crake nodded uncomfortably. 'Straight daemonism. Nothing to it.'
'You said yourself, you're not a gambling man,' Frey said to Grist. 'So I reckon you knew. You knew what this craft was, and you knew what that barrier was. In fact, you knew a lot more than you were saying.'
'I knew,' said Grist. 'Now take that damned sword out of my face. No one's gonna hurt no one, are they, Crattle?'
'No. Cap'n." said the bosun. He relaxed a little, but his bulbous eyes were still wary in the lanternlight.
Frey let the point of his sword drop away from Grist's neck, but he kept it hovering nearby. Just in case.
Grist sucked resentfully on his cigar and glared at Frey. 'I knew she were a A lane craft. Knew it from Hodd's description, first time I met him. I come from the North; we all know about the Manes, more than you southern boys. They're just a spooky story to you. Us, we got to live with the threat of 'em. I even seen a dreadnought once, though it were gone in the fogs before I could decide to chase it or run.'
'You knew that door was protected by daemonism. That's why you needed Crake.'
'Aye,' said Grist. He was calming a little now. His tone had lost some of its darkness. 'Ain't the first time a Mane craft got downed. Back in the early days, when the Navy used to give a shit, they'd run patrols all over the North. They shot one down, got a good look at it. Then its mates all turned up. The Navy got out of there sharpish, but they took some gear with 'em, and they tested what they found.' Smoke seeped out between his teeth. 'Daemonism. Everyone thought the Manes might be daemons, but the Navy pretty much proved it decades ago. Never got round to telling nobody, though. Reckon they didn't want the panic.'
'You know a lot about it, though,' Crake put in. 'Navy reports on a crashed dreadnought? How does a man like you get access to information like that?'
'A man like me?' Grist said, with a dangerous stare. 'You don't know nothin' about me. I got my ways.'
'So you knew it was a Mane craft and you knew you needed a daemonist,' said Frey. 'I suppose you also knew your promise of treasure was worth dogshit, then.'
'Not true,' said Grist. 'Ship like this, it'll be full of stuff. Genuine Mane artefacts? They'll fetch ducats like you won't believe.'
'Not without the seal of the Explorer's Guild,' Frey replied. He looked at Hodd, who cowered a little. 'That's what you said, isn't it, Hodd? Back at the village? You didn't go through channels, did you? You haven't been paying your Guild membership. Nobody actually knows what Mane artefacts look like, so no one's going to believe we didn't just make the stuff ourselves if it doesn't come Guild-approved. We won't get a tenth of the value, selling it through fences.'
'You'll still make your money, and get your split,' said Grist. 'Fifty-five, forty-five. I been dealing with you fair.'
'It's hardly vast bloody wealth, Grist!' Frey cried. He was getting angrier as Grist's fury diminished. He was annoyed that he'd allowed himself to be played for a fool. He turned his wrath on Hodd, who was an easier target than the burly captain. 'What were you thinking?'
Hodd quailed. 'Erm . . . well, I was rather hoping ... I mean, once we came back with all those artefacts, they'd have to listen to reason. They'd have to let me back in!'
Frey, who knew next to nothing about the Explorer's Guild, looked at Crake for confirmation. Crake shook his head. 'They wouldn't,' he said. 'Probably wouldn't even let him in the building. If you're not a paid-up explorer, you're not allowed to make discoveries. Best you can hope for is that someone else who is Guild registered recreates your expedition and steals the credit.'
'Aye,' Grist agreed. 'What a system. Makes me glad to be a smuggler. At least it's honest work.'
'But surely ... I mean . . . it's a crashed Mane dreadnought!' Hodd blustered. 'It's only been a few years I haven't been paying the fees! They'd make an exception!'
Silence. Sceptical stares. A raised eyebrow from Crake, as if to say: Really? Would they?
Hodd turned on Grist, flailing his arms about in a huff. 'Well if you thought that, why did you come at all?'
'That was my next question,' said Frey.
Grist indicated the metal sphere with the nub of his cigar. 'That thing,' he said. 'You could've taken whatever you wanted. But that would've been part of my share. I came here for that.'
'I figured that much out,' said Frey. 'So what is it?'
'It's a power source,' Grist said. 'Like nothin' you've ever seen before.' His eyes drifted to the sphere, and they took on that hungry look again. 'When them Navy boys looked over that dreadnought they shot down, they couldn't find nothin' that looked like a prothane engine, nor any sign of aerium neither. The science fellers reckoned it had to be powered by somethin' else.' He scratched at his bearded cheek. 'Somethin' like this.'
'This is what you came looking for?' Crake asked, peering closer at the sphere.
'Ain't it enough?' Grist asked. 'A power source that don't need aerium or prothane? If you could figure it out, you could power a fleet with these things. You'd never need to refuel. Allsoul's balls, it'd be a revolution! The Fourth Age of Aviation!' He nodded his head towards the sphere. 'You know what this is worth to the right people? There ain't enough numbers in the world.'
'I've got some. Fifty-five, forty-five,' said Frey. 'Like we agreed.'
'Aye,' said Grist, reluctantly. 'Fair's fair. I reckon even fifty-five per cent'll be more money than I can spend in a lifetime.'
'Don't forget my five per cent!' Hodd chimed in hopefully.
'Aye, yes, five per cent for you,' said Grist, waving him away.
Frey lowered his cutlass. 'The deal stands, then.'
'The deal stands,' Grist agreed.
Frey slid the blade back into his belt. The tension in the room eased down a notch.
'Better let me run some tests on that sphere before anyone touches it,' Crake suggested. 'Don't want anyone dead. I'll go get my equipment.'
'I'll come with you,' said Frey.
Frey was at the doorway when Grist spoke. 'One more thing, Cap'n Frey,' he said quietly. 'Draw a blade on me again and it'll be the last thing you do.'
'If I have to draw this blade on you again, Captain Grist, it'll be the last thing you see,' Frey replied.
They retreated to the antechamber, where Crake began gathering up his equipment and moving it down to the room with the sphere.
Frey didn't help. Instead he took his lantern and went and stood in the passageway outside the antechamber. He needed a little air, or as much air as he could get in this place.
Frey leaned against the chill metal wall and listened to his heart slow. Damn, he'd been frightened. Hadn't shown it, but he'd felt it inside. There was something about Grist. He'd caught a glimpse of the man under the grins and the laughter and the backslapping, and it had scared him. Something black and furious and maniacal.
He hadn't forgo
tten Gimble's fate either, the careless way Grist's bosun abandoned a wounded crewmate to die. A captain's nature was reflected in his crew, Frey reckoned, and that didn't speak well of Grist. Partnering up with him seemed like less and less of a good idea.
But he was committed now. And to be fair, Grist hadn't done anything Frey wouldn't have done himself, if he were in Grist's boots. So what if he'd kept some secrets to himself? A lie by omission was barely a lie at all, really. At least Frey had figured it out in time.
Maybe they could still come out of this rich. But he'd have to keep a close eye on Grist. That was for certain.
You don't know nothin' about me, Grist had said. That, at least, was the truth.
He thought about heading off to search for Silo and Jez, but decided against it in the end. No sense everybody getting lost. If they weren't back by the time Crake was done, they'd all search together. In the meantime, he daydreamed about the kinds of things he could spend all that money on. This time, he promised himself, he wouldn't fritter it away. He'd do something worthwhile. No blowing it on cards and booze and women.
Maybe he'd build an orphanage. After all, he'd have money to burn. Might ease his conscience a little. It'd go some way to making amends for a squandered life, anyway. Besides, a man could do pretty much what he wanted, as long as he could say he'd built an orphanage. You could shoot someone and it'd be okay. What kind of monster would hang a man who'd built an orphanage? A man who'd helped out all those little kiddies?
Presently he heard footsteps, and saw lanterns. Silo and Jez, back from their travels. He had no idea why Jez had wandered off, and he didn't care to ask. Jez looked a little shaken, but they both appeared unharmed.
'Everything alright?' he asked.
'Fine,' said Jez. 'Just went for a look around.'
'Find anything exciting?'
'A few things,' she said. 'Did Crake get through the door?' Frey noted the rapid change of subject, but he was happy to let it pass for now. 'Yeah. It was some daemonism thing. Apparently Manes are daemons. Did you know that?'
Jez went white. 'No . . .' she said. She swallowed. 'No, Cap'n. I didn't.'
'Are you alright? You look like—'
He was cut off by the sharp sound of gunfire.
Eleven
Gunfire — The Beast-Men Of Kurg — Death Or Glory —
Frey's Mathematics — A Debt Soon Repaid
Frey ran through the antechamber, towards the room where the metal sphere rested on its pedestal. Grist, Crattle and Hodd were coming the other way, faces underlit by their lanterns.
'We heard shots . . .' Crattle began.
'The lookouts,' Frey said. 'Trouble outside.' He pushed past them, into the room where Crake was working. Tuning rods were arranged all around the sphere, linked by cables to the resonator. Crake was squatting in front of it, scribbling down readings in a notebook.
'Tell me that wasn't gunfire,' he murmured.
'Get moving. We need to get back to the others.'
'I'm not leaving my equipment!' Crake protested. 'There's no way I could afford to—'
'Alright! Gather it up! I'll send Silo down to help you.'
On cue, Silo appeared in the doorway. 'Cap'n.'
Frey was wrongfooted by Silo's unusually fine sense of timing. 'Erm . . . Help Crake,' he said.
'Cap'n,' replied Silo, brandishing the packs they'd brought the equipment in. Crake began frantically disconnecting everything. Grist loomed into the already crowded room.
'Is that thing safe or not?' he demanded, pointing at the sphere.
'I don't know!' Crake said. 'I haven't had time! It takes tests, procedures, careful study—'
Grist reached past him and snatched up the sphere.
'However,' Crake continued, 'a reckless disregard for one's own life will do just as well.'
There was another volley of gunshots from outside, snapping through the silent, empty dreadnought.
'Pack up your junk and catch us up!' Frey snapped at Crake. He ran out of the room, with Grist and Crattle hard on his heels. Grist had the sphere under his arm, which Frey wasn't happy about, but now wasn't the time for arguments. He'd make damned sure he didn't let the captain out of his sight, though.
They found Jez sitting by the doorway, a distant look in her eyes. Shell-shocked. Frey didn't have time to wonder what was wrong with her. He hauled her up. 'On your feet, Jez. You alright to shoot a gun?'
She shook herself and focused on him. Her face firmed. 'Yes, Cap'n.'
'Come on, then.'
They backtracked through the dreadnought. The gunfire intensified as they approached the breach where they'd entered. Finally they saw daylight ahead. There, crouching among their abandoned packs in the cover of a bulkhead, was Tarworth. He was using the rifle that had been his crutch to fire out into the undergrowth. Frey reached him first. Tarworth looked up, and his eyes were afraid, but he said nothing.
Frey peered out around the ragged edge of the rip in the dreadnought's hull. Beyond was the forest, steeped in weak daylight. It was alive with movement. Leaves rustled. Half-glimpsed figures rushed this way and that. A few dozen metres ahead of him, he could see the ridge they'd clambered down to get to the floor of the defile. That was their only way out, as far as he knew. The other three sides were sheer.
The undergrowth heaved and Pinn and Malvery burst out of it. They raced towards him, firing wildly over their shoulders and yelling. A spear followed them and buried itself in the ground centimetres from the doctor's foot.
'This way!' Frey cried. He drew Gimble's revolvers and fired covering shots into the undergrowth, aiming at nothing.
'Where do you think we're bloody running to?' Malvery howled back.
They bundled in through the breach and flung themselves into cover, just as Jez, Grist and the others caught up with Frey.
'Where's Ucke?' Grist demanded of his crewman.
'He was out there,' Tarworth said. 'I don't—'
'He's done for,' Malvery panted. 'They got us by surprise. He was the first one. Didn't stand a chance.'
They clustered on either side of the breach, looking out, seeking targets. It wasn't easy. They never stayed visible for long.
'There!' Jez cried.
Frey caught a brief sight of one of their attackers as it loped through the undergrowth. It looked almost like a man, but it must have been seven feet tall, thickly built and covered in black, shaggy hair. It wore beads and was wearing some kind of crude armour, made of hide or leather. In one hand it carried a carved wooden club, decorated with painted symbols and bands of colour; in the other was a spear.
'The beast-men of Kurg,' Hodd breathed, rather unnecessarily.
'Thanks, Hodd,' Frey replied sarcastically, reloading his revolvers. 'I wasn't sure for a minute there.'
'We saw some smaller ones,' said Malvery. 'Ugly little things. Red fur instead of brown.'
'Those,' sniffed Hodd, with a disdainful look at Frey, 'are the females.'
'Those are the native women?' Pinn cried, with the unique anguish of someone whose dreams have just been violently shattered. 'What happened to the sex-crazed tribes of warrior women?'
'Oh, they're rumoured to live in the northern tundra,' said Hodd. 'Actually, there's quite an interesting story I once heard—'
'Will you two shut it?' Frey cried. 'I'm trying to think of a way out of this!'
'Think hard, Cap'n. They've cut us off,' Jez muttered. She took a potshot at something moving in the undergrowth. 'We're trapped in the defile. More of 'em moving up all the time.'
'Where?'
'Over there.' She pointed out into the forest. There was a meaty impact, and she pulled her hand back with an arrow sticking through the palm. Frey stared at her.
'Ow,' she murmured. She went faint, staggered back and sat down heavily. Malvery went to attend to her just as Silo and Crake came running up the passageway, their packs loaded with Crake's gear.
'What's going on?' Crake demanded of the group in general.
'Can't you do something, Crake?' Pinn asked. 'You're a daemonist, aren't you? Make them die or something. Shoot fireballs!'
'Daemonism. you bloody dullard, is a science and an art!' Crake declared indignantly. 'I'm not some two-bit stage magician. If you want to make them dead, use your gun. It's what it's there for.'
Fat lot of good you are, then,' Pinn muttered.
Frey shook his head in exasperation. Pinn never failed to get a rise out of Crake, even when he was in his blackest humours. He was pleased that his crew were just about capable of working together as a unit nowadays; he just wished they could do it without all the bitching and bickering. But then, he supposed, they wouldn't be his crew.
'Malvery?' he called. 'How's Jez?'
'She's okay, Cap'n. Won't be playing the piano for a while, though. Now grit your teeth, Jez, that arrow's gotta come out.'
'Why does it have to come ouaaaaaAAARRGH!!’
'There, now. That wasn't so bad.'
Jez was still whimpering as Malvery applied the bandages. Grist hunkered up next to Frey. 'We can't let 'em shut us in,' he said. 'If we don't move now, there'll be too many of 'em.'
'There's probably already too many of them.'
'Well, then there'll be even more,' said Grist. 'We can't stay here. Might be this breach is the only way in and out of this dreadnought, but might be there are others. We don't know 'em, but maybe the beast-men do. They could get in behind us.'
Frey chewed his lip. 'You're talking about a death-or-glory break for freedom, aren't you?'
'Might be I am.'
'I hate those.'
'Done many?'
'Not lately.'
'Don't worry.' Grist laid a heavy hand on Frey's shoulder. 'I've done a few. They always work out.'
'Well, 'course they do,' said Frey. 'If they hadn't, you wouldn't be here to talk about it.'
Grist chewed over the logic of that. 'You want to live for ever or somethin'?'
'I told you. Yes.'
'Sirs,' said Hodd, breaking into their debate. 'Might I make a suggestion?'
The Black Lung Captain Page 11
