The Ace of Skulls

by Chris Wooding

  ‘How about you?’ she asked the whispermonger. ‘Isn’t it your job to know everything?’

  Pelaru gave her a faint smile. ‘And if I gave it away for free, how would I eat?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you’d eat just fine,’ said Frey, with the merest hint of sulkiness. ‘Fighters coming in.’

  There was a Navy frigate to the south of the city, hanging in the early evening sky. Several small shapes had detached from it and were approaching. They were hard to make out against the mountains, but since it was a Navy frigate, it was a safe bet they were Windblades.

  Frey touched his earcuff. ‘Nice and easy, Pinn. We’re all friends here, remember? Stay off the trigger.’

  Crake shifted uneasily and his gaze returned to the city. He didn’t like the idea of going down there, and not only because of his lifelong aversion to getting shot. It was something deeper than that, something that had been nagging him for weeks now.

  It wasn’t the idea of stealing from the Awakeners that bothered him. It was the aristocratic sense of honour that had been instilled in him by a stern and industrious father. There was a clear enemy here, a threat to the nation and his way of life. He felt he should be participating in this war rather than living off it.

  Besides, it was in his own interests to see the Awakeners defeated. They’d persecuted daemonists for more than a century and poisoned the populace against them, forcing them to practise the Art in secret or risk being lynched. If the Awakeners won, the persecution would only get worse.

  But if they lost, if they were driven out . . . well, what might that mean for daemonism? What great strides in science might they make if daemonists were allowed a university, a library, a place to share their views without fear? Maybe then their profession wouldn’t be so fraught with danger.

  Maybe then no more daemonists would have to suffer the tragedy that he had.

  ‘Ready on the heliograph, Jez,’ said Frey. ‘We want to let ’em know we’re on their side.’

  Jez, hunched over her desk, reached for the press-switch by which she could send coded messages. There was a signal light on the Ketty Jay’s humped back, bright enough to be seen on all but the brightest day. Most aircraft didn’t have the daemon-thralled earcuffs that the Ketty Jay’s pilots used. It gave the crew an edge that had saved their lives more than once. Crake felt a small sense of pride at that.

  Frey picked up a mug of coffee from the dash and sipped at it, watching the windblades approach without much concern. ‘So what do we tell ’em, Pelaru?’

  ‘Tell them that I am aboard, and I have important information for their leader. He knows me.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Who’s in charge down there, then?’

  ‘Kedmund Drave.’

  ‘Shit! Shit! Ow!’ Frey hissed as he spilt burning coffee over his fingers. He put down the mug and flapped his hand in the air to cool it off. ‘You could have told me that before!’

  ‘You didn’t ask. You and he have some history, then?’

  ‘Few years ago, Frey emptied a shotgun into him, point blank,’ said Ashua with a wicked smile. She liked that story.

  ‘Suffice to say I’m not his favourite person,’ said Frey. ‘Jez, do the business.’

  Jez began tapping on the press-switch, signalling to the approaching Windblades. She hadn’t looked up from her desk since Pelaru had entered. The Thacian was making such a show of ignoring her that his interest was obvious to everyone.

  What’s going on between with those two? Haven’t they only just met?

  Crake cleared his throat. ‘Any, er, any other Century Knights down there apart from Drave?’ he asked Pelaru, as casually as he could manage. Frey cackled knowingly, and he felt his cheeks growing hot.

  ‘Some, I believe. Morben Kyne. Colden Grudge. Samandra Br—’

  Frey clapped his hands and twisted in his seat to grin at Crake. ‘You hear that?’

  ‘One word, Frey . . .’ Crake warned.

  ‘What?’ Frey protested innocently. ‘You should be happy. That girl’s a knockout.’

  Crake hurried out of the cockpit, face burning, Ashua’s laughter in his ears. Samandra Bree. Spit and blood, just the thought of her made his heart beat faster. Samandra, who he hadn’t seen since she decked him in the Samarlan desert. Samandra: loud, vulgar, wonderful.

  As he headed for his cramped quarters, he began calculating how much time he had before landing. Enough to trim his short blond beard and do what he could with his hair. Enough to pick out his best coat and apply a little scent. Enough to make sure his hands were clean and his fingernails clipped.

  Samandra.

  The dangers of Korrene had paled into insignificance all of a sudden. Today, he was both the happiest man alive, and the most terrified.

  The Coalition’s forward base was near the eastern edge of the city, set around a cracked landing pad surrounded by a clutter of ruined buildings and broken streets. There were a dozen craft there, tough military models, Tabingtons and Besterfields. Shuttles flew back and forth from the freighter to the south. Portable anti-aircraft guns scanned the sky.

  Half the pad was taken up by the camp. Tractors pulled trailers loaded with crates between the tents. Generals debated over maps. Squads of blue-uniformed men smoked and waited restlessly.

  The Windblades escorted the Ketty Jay down. Pinn and Harkins landed their fighters alongside. They’d barely touched the ground before a half-dozen men came heading over, led by the formidable figure of Kedmund Drave.

  ‘Let’s get out there and meet our fans,’ said Frey, who seemed rather jolly at the prospect of an argument.

  They assembled down in the cargo hold, all but Bess, whom Crake had left dormant and hidden in the back. He thought it best if she stayed asleep: she wasn’t much help in delicate negotiations.

  Silo pulled the lever and the cargo ramp opened up. The stink of prothane and aerium gas slipped in from outside, along with the noise of men and machines.

  ‘Best smiles, everyone,’ said Frey, and they followed him down to meet the welcoming committee.

  Kedmund Drave was a man with a fearful reputation. He was the Archduke’s attack dog: stern, implacable, ruthless. They said he could smell treason; they said he could look into a man’s heart and root out a lie. And when you saw him, you believed it. He had a face that looked like it had never known a smile, cheek and throat scarred, eyes grey as stone, cropped hair the same colour. He wore close-fitting crimson armour beneath a dust-stained black cloak, a two-handed sword across his back, pistols at his waist.

  ‘Captain Frey,’ he said. ‘Just when I thought I had trouble enough.’

  ‘There’s always room for a bit more,’ said Frey. ‘How are you, Drave? Been a while.’

  ‘And haven’t you been busy since?’ said Drave, with an unmistakably dangerous insinuation which Crake didn’t much like.

  Crake’s eyes went to the man standing nearby. Many of the Century Knights were familiar to the public through ferrotypes and broadsheets or children’s trading cards. Morben Kyne’s was a picture that nobody forgot.

  He was cloaked in black like Drave, but his armour was even finer, delicately moulded to his body, the colour of burnished copper. A large-bore pistol that was more like a cannon hung at his hip, along with a pair of exquisite shortblades.

  But it was his face that was most arresting; or rather, the lack of it. A deep cowl hid him partially, but Crake could still see the bronze mask beneath. It was smooth but etched with rows of tiny, strange symbols. The mouthpiece was rectangular and protruded slightly, like the radiator grille of a motorised carriage, giving him a mechanical look. And indeed, he might have been some kind of automaton, for there was not a millimetre of skin to be seen. Artificial eyes shone from the shadow within the cowl, pallid green glitters in the dark.

  ‘Pelaru,’ said Drave, switching his attention to the whispermonger. ‘Didn’t expect to find you keeping such company.’

  ‘Captain Frey graciously agreed to escort me to you,’ Pelaru replied
. ‘I have information.’

  ‘Don’t you always? And what’s your price?’

  ‘That we can discuss in private.’

  Crake stopped listening to the conversation as he caught sight of the woman striding purposefully towards them across the landing pad. His insides fluttered with delighted fear.

  It was her.

  She was dressed with typical practicality. Grubby coat, scuffed boots, hide trousers. Twin lever-action shotguns, a cutlass at her belt. And that tricorn hat, made famous by the Press and ten thousand ferrotypes. She walked right up to him, ignoring Drave and the others.

  There was intention in her step. He suddenly realised she was going to hit him again.

  ‘Miss Bree,’ he began to protest in an embarrassingly high voice. ‘I think you should—’

  She swept off her hat, her dark hair falling free, then grabbed the back of his head and kissed him on the mouth. After a moment she let him go, stared hard into his eyes.

  ‘You,’ she told him firmly, ‘are late.’

  Frey laughed. Drave made a noise of exasperated disgust. Pinn called him a jammy turd.

  ‘Mind if I borrow him?’ she asked Frey. ‘You kept him from me long enough.’

  ‘Be my guest,’ said Frey, smiling. ‘Just bring him back in one piece.’

  ‘Comin’?’ she asked Crake, and before he could reply or even get over the shock, she was away. He looked awkwardly around at his company and then followed.

  By the time he’d caught her up, he found his voice again: ‘I tried to see you.’

  ‘I know you did,’ she said, still walking. ‘Adrek at the Wayfarers told me you’d been by.’

  ‘Three times,’ he told her, getting breathless from keeping up. ‘Whenever we were near Thesk. I sent you letters.’

  ‘I got ’em,’ she said. ‘That was sweet of you. Meant to send some back, but I’m not too much for writin’. This damn war, I been all over everywhere, barely had time to—’

  ‘Hey!’ He grabbed her arm. It seemed an unconscionably brave thing to do once he’d done it. She stopped and spun back towards him, looking faintly surprised. After that, there seemed no elegant way out of the situation but to seize her and kiss her properly.

  Happily, she didn’t batter him for the liberty.

  They slowed down a little after that, took their time, got used to one another again. Crake was still in something of a daze. He was used to being wrongfooted by her lack of propriety, but he’d never been so glad of it as today.

  They walked through the camp, stepping over bits of uncleared rubble and cracks where weeds had pushed the stone apart. The air was still and cold, taut with expectation. A medical tent was being prepared – last night’s casualties had all been ferried to the frigate by now, Samandra explained – and scouts hurried here and there with messages. All around the edge of the landing pad, the crumbled city pressed in. They were an island in a sea of ruin.

  ‘Quite a thing we started, ain’t it?’ Samandra said, looking over to the west where the sun was sinking through a long wing of feathery cloud towards the shattered skyline. Crake wasn’t sure if she meant their relationship or the war, so he made a noise of agreement and waited for her to clarify.

  ‘We ain’t found the Azryx tech yet,’ she went on. ‘We know the Sammies were selling it to the Awakeners from those records Malvery found in the city, but that’s about all we do know. Not how much, not what it does, nothin’ like that. Even if they got something we should be scared of, might be they don’t have the first clue how to make it work. Still, it got the Archduke and his lady going. Final straw, as far as they were concerned.’

  ‘They took their time doing something about it. The Awakeners have been a plague on this country for years.’

  ‘Politicians, huh?’ She grinned. ‘Reckon they were a bit wary of ticking off half the population.’

  ‘It can’t be half of them fighting for the Awakeners. The country would be a bloodbath.’

  ‘Half of ’em are believers,’ said Samandra. ‘But there’s a long way between a believer and someone willin’ to fight and die for a cause. Specially when you’re fightin’ against somethin’ you don’t much want to.’

  ‘They’re siding with us? Even in the country?’

  ‘You should’ve seen the parades in Thesk when the Lady Alixia was born. They love the Archduke and Archduchess, and they love having a new heir. Most people’ve had it pretty good since the Coalition took down the monarchy. Besides, it ain’t the belief in the Allsoul we’re tryin’ to stamp out. People can believe what they want. It’s the sons of bitches stealin’ from their pockets we’re tryin’ to take down. The ones at the top.’

  ‘I imagine Maurin Grist’s research that showed the Awakeners were employing daemons in their ranks must have shaken things up a bit, too.’

  ‘Some of ’em are scared by that,’ she agreed. ‘Rumours been flying since midsummer. They’re beginnin’ to think it just might be true.’ She jammed her hat back on her head and adjusted the tilt. ‘People ain’t stupid. It’s just the fanatics we’re fightin’. Don’t matter what you tell them.’

  Crake found himself lost in admiration for her penetrating insight into the popular attitude. Then he shook himself and realised that he was probably just in love.

  ‘And what are the Awakeners doing here?’ he asked, waving a hand to indicate the city all around them.

  ‘That we don’t know. But whatever they’re up to, we caught ’em on the hop. Been driving ’em back towards the chasm. Soon they’re gonna have to run for it or we’ll push ’em off.’

  ‘Can’t you just fly over the top, get behind them or something?’ Crake said.

  ‘They brought anti-aircraft guns. Not like ours, but enough to take down anythin’ overhead. So we have to fly at night, and then you can’t see a damn thing among the broken buildings. They’ve got the chasm at their back, so gettin’ over that way would be more trouble than it’s worth.’ She pursed her lips in consternation. Crake found that unbearably pretty. ‘They’re dug in tight. Question is, what are they doin’ here in the first place? Where’s the sense fightin’ over Korrene?’

  ‘Because the Allsoul told them to?’

  She gave him a wry look.

  ‘I’m serious,’ he said. ‘They believe in predictions and patterns and all of that. I mean, they really believe the Allsoul can show them the future. Maybe one of the Grand Oracles just flipped the wrong card and they ended up invading this heap of rubble.’

  ‘So what would’ve happened if they flipped the right card?’

  ‘They’d have tried to invade the sea.’

  She laughed at that, a loud and indelicate laugh not at all befitting a lady. It was music to his ears anyway. ‘I’d love it if they were that dumb,’ she said. She tipped back her hat and scratched under the brim. ‘Anyway, probably we’ll never know. Goin’ in for a big push in a few hours. If this don’t drive ’em out, nothin’ will.’

  She looked him over as if something had occurred to her. ‘Wait, why are you here anyway? I mean, not that I ain’t glad.’

  Frey had told them to keep it quiet, but Crake had promised himself he wouldn’t deceive Samandra again. Not after last time. It was an easy decision to make.

  ‘Officially, we’re escorting that whispermonger, Pelaru. Unofficially, we’re looking for his business partner. He disappeared in the fighting, while he was searching for treasure or something. Honestly, I didn’t ask too much. It’s important to the Cap’n, that’s all I know.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Samandra. ‘Frey and his schemes, eh?’

  ‘You have to admire his sense of adventure.’

  ‘That you do.’

  ‘Well, no doubt you’ll be able to get in there and get your hands dirty if that’s what you’re after. We’ve already got half the Shacklemores working for us, nobody’s going to say no to a few more guns.’

  Crake felt his mouth go dry. ‘Half the—?’ he began, and then stopped.

  ‘Yeah
. Shacklemores. Look.’ She pointed over at where a group of men were bivouacked on the edge of the landing pad, dressed in dour trench coats and low black hats, cleaning their shotguns. ‘Lot of bounty hunters have gone merc for the Navy. Pay’s better in these troubled times.’

  Shacklemores. Spit and blood, after all this time I’d almost forgotten they were after me.

  Samandra became concerned. ‘Oh, hey, you’ve gone all pale. You worried about the fight? I forget how shit you are with a gun sometimes.’ Then she grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about a thing, you brave little daemon-botherer. I’m gonna be needed on the front line, but you got your friends to look after you. Come the mornin’, this’ll all be over, and after that I’m damn well due a couple days off.’

  When he didn’t reply, she nudged him. ‘Well? How about it?’

  ‘How about what?’

  ‘Two days. Leave. Go somewhere?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Do I got to throw myself at you?’

  It suddenly clicked into place. ‘Oh! Er . . . yes! Yes, of course! And if the Cap’n has a problem with it, well, I’ll just quit or something.’ He gave her an unsteady grin.

  ‘Well, alright then.’ She smiled. ‘So you just keep yourself safe till then, you hear?’

  Crake glanced at the Shacklemores one last time, then looked away before they could notice his attention. ‘I aim to,’ he said.

  Six

  Harkins Takes Flak – A Warzone – ‘Now We Got a Problem’ – Dynamite – Jez Is On Her Game

  Harkins screamed as the night sky exploded in front of him. He banked away from the blast, his Firecrow rattling and shuddering as it was battered by concussion. Shrapnel pinged off the canopy, inches from his head.

  All across Korrene, the darkness was lighting up. Anti-aircraft guns spat explosive shells at the half-seen shapes slipping low over the city streets. Tracer fire drifted up from colossal autocannons. The Coalition aircraft flew without lights, sallying out from the safety of the forward base. They were ferrying hundreds of soldiers to strategic drop-points in the heart of the shattered city. From there, they intended to encircle the Awakener troops and drive them out for good.