The Ace of Skulls

by Chris Wooding

  Harkins didn’t care about their grand plan. He was only concerned with making it to tomorrow.

  Another shell exploded close by, shaking him violently in his seat. He screamed again.

  ‘Will you shut up, you brown-arsed pansy?’ Pinn yelled at him through the earcuffs. ‘I can’t think straight with you howling in my ear.’

  You can’t think at all, you fat moron. Harkins imagined himself saying it, pictured the look of shock on Pinn’s face. Maybe he’d be so angry he’d choke on his own porky cheeks and fly into a building. Wouldn’t that be fun?

  But Harkins didn’t say anything. Pinn would only come back with something worse, and double his humiliation. He’d long ago learned that defiance got you nowhere.

  The flak eased off as the guns aimed at other craft, and now they were all but invisible again. He looked for the Ketty Jay, having lost her momentarily, and found the glow of her thrusters in the dark. Pinn’s Skylance was somewhere nearby, tracking the larger craft just as he was.

  Harkins tried to ignore the explosions and concentrated on following the Cap’n. He wasn’t too sure where they were going – he didn’t concern himself with stuff like that – but he wasn’t too happy that the whispermonger was calling the shots. He didn’t like newcomers at the best of times, and especially foreigners, who were not to be trusted. Even Silo, whom he’d known for years, made him uneasy on account of being Murthian.

  Then again, most people unsettled him for one reason or another. And none more than Jez, nowadays. He couldn’t believe he’d actually fancied her once upon a time.

  Another explosion lit up the Ketty Jay’s lumpy, ugly form in silhouette. She slewed away to port and Harkins followed, his teeth gritted with the effort of keeping quiet. He’d flown through much heavier fire than this before, but it distressed him nonetheless. At least you could see your enemy in a dogfight. With anti-aircraft guns, you were just waiting for a shell to come from nowhere and blow you to pieces. The tension was awful.

  He tried to reassure himself. It’s not so bad. Looks worse than it is.

  And it was true. Muzzle flashes lit up small patches in the broken sea of buildings beneath them, but there were not many guns, and their shots were speculative. Already he saw Coalition craft sinking down towards the streets, their belly lights coming on as they dropped below the flak, easing themselves into their designated landing spots.

  ‘How’d he get to be such a good pilot when he’s such a chickenshit?’ Ashua’s words from last night. He thought she was probably trying to be kind, but she had a rough way of showing it which he didn’t like.

  You’d be scared too, if you’d seen what I have, he told her in his head. Two wars. Friends shot down, and then more friends. So many brushes with death that he’d lost count. It was enough to crack a man, and it had.

  He heard engines growing to starboard, and looked over as a troop carrier slid through the sky twenty metres off his wing. A distant flash threw light on its flank, illuminating the insignia of the Coalition Navy. Just for a moment Harkins was back there, back in the war, back in formation. Flying into battle against the Sammies with that familiar cold fear in his gut, but also the strength that came from cameraderie, the knowledge that he was part of a unit, the pride of fighting with his companions for a cause. In that world there had been no ambiguity, no uncertainty, no questions. He had a purpose and a place.

  Something warm swelled in his chest at the memory. He wasn’t always a coward. He’d been brave once. He could be brave again.

  The Ketty Jay banked off to port, heading away from the Coalition craft. Harkins followed, and the troop carrier faded into the dark.

  The sight of that Coalition insignia had lasted only an instant, but the feeling took a long time to fade.

  The Cap’n put the Ketty Jay down in the courtyard of a half-demolished mansion. The walls of the yard were mostly broken and had slumped into heaps of rubble and brick, but they were still high enough to provide concealment on three sides. Belly lights came on as they neared the ground, flooding the cracked square in harsh whiteness. They descended fast and landed with a jarring thump.

  ‘Everybody out!’ Silo yelled, as he opened the cargo ramp. They moved at his command, hurrying down into the yard, where they took up defensive positions, their breath steaming the air. He went out with them, surveying the area for signs of the enemy. As soon as Pinn and Harkins had landed, the Cap’n killed the lights. His outflyers’ engines faded to silence. Silo listened, and heard distant gunfire over the sound of autocannons and anti-aircraft guns. Nothing moved in the shadows. They were well hidden; it was a good spot.

  Frey, Jez and Pelaru made their way down the ramp. Some of the crew were carrying backpacks, all but empty except for ammo. They’d be used to carry loot. Crake’s pack was heavier, full of daemonist equipment. Bess stamped and clanked along behind him. She seemed agitated; the sounds of combat in the air had excited her.

  Pelaru gave her a glance, but no more than that. Silo watched him narrowly. Most people were more than a little fazed by their first sight of an eight-foot metal golem. That meant he either knew about her already, or he was used to stranger things.

  Ain’t sure about that one, he thought. Ain’t sure at all. There’s somethin’ between him and the Cap’n. Him and Jez, too.

  Harkins and Pinn had clambered out of their cockpits and joined them on the ground by now. ‘Harkins,’ said the Cap’n, ‘you stay here with Bess, make sure no one gets near the craft. They’re our only way out of here, and I don’t plan on getting stuck in this dump.’

  ‘Yessir!’ said Harkins, saluting. Frey gave him an odd look. If it had come from anyone but Harkins, he might have suspected he was being mocked. Nobody saluted on the Ketty Jay.

  ‘We’re not taking Bess?’ Pinn complained.

  ‘You reckon she can climb over these?’ Frey replied, indicating the piles of rubble that surrounded them. ‘She’s too clumsy for this terrain. She’ll hold us up. Besides, the idea is to stay out of any fights.’

  ‘You picked an awfully strange location for it, then,’ said Crake, who was watching the explosions overhead.

  ‘No sense standin’ about. You heard the Cap’n. Get movin’!’ Silo barked, ushering them towards the ruined walls.

  ‘Think I liked him better when he didn’t speak,’ Pinn muttered to Crake as he trotted off.

  They clambered over the precarious rubble pile with a certain amount of knocks and bruises. On the other side was a narrow street, narrowed further by the slopes of bricks and debris that had fallen into it. There was nobody about, but Silo could hear pistols and rifles not too far away. The ground troops had engaged.

  ‘Which way?’ Frey asked Pelaru.

  The whispermonger consulted a small cloth map and compass. After a moment of deliberation, he pointed.

  ‘That map accurate?’ Frey asked doubtfully as they headed off. It looked hand-drawn.

  ‘It’s a copy of the one Osger was using,’ Pelaru said. ‘He believed it was. So do I.’

  The whispermonger glanced at Jez then, and quickly away. He didn’t show much beneath his unflappable veneer, but Murthians were the same way, and Silo was adept at picking up small signs. He saw the slight flush of Pelaru’s cheek, a hint of anger, the way his pupils dilated fractionally.

  Reckon he likes her, he thought, and was faintly amazed. Reckon he likes her and he don’t like that he does. What’s that all mean?

  They headed up the street, shotguns and revolvers at the ready. The night was crisp and brittle. Black and broken buildings rose up on either side, silhouetted by flashes in the sky. The sound of gunfire and autocannons had them all on edge. They ran with shoulders hunched, expecting to be shot at.

  Silo wasn’t sure what the Cap’n was up to, bringing them to a place like this, but he had his suspicions. The Cap’n hadn’t mentioned Trinica once since she left him back in Samarla. That was evidence enough that he was hurting about it. He’d chased that woman to the North Pole be
fore. He’d taken on the Manes to save her. Only a fool would think he’d given up now.

  Silo understood. He knew what love might make a man do. And better this than following some patriotic dream of joining the war on the Coalition’s side, as Malvery would have it. The civil war wasn’t their fight: Silo and Frey agreed on that. They might have helped start it, but that didn’t mean they had to die in it.

  Yet here they were. The Cap’n had assured the crew that the heavy fighting was elsewhere in the city, and even though this was supposed to be a rescue mission, it was really all about the loot they’d find in that temple. But that was only a sweetener to justify the risk they were taking. There were easier pickings than this to be found, and they all knew it. It was a measure of their loyalty to the Cap’n that they went along with it anyway.

  Frey consulted with Pelaru at a junction, and they turned a corner into a wide street. They were in a newer part of the city, where the stones were not as ancient as the twisted, winding lanes at its heart. Here, some walls and buildings had resisted the last quake. They survived partially or in sections, mazy with creepers. But now the explosions overhead were disturbing the fragile structures. Huge pieces of stone came tumbling down from a crumbling tower that overlooked the street.

  ‘Watch yourselves,’ said Frey quietly.

  They moved on. The ground had split and bucked in chunks and slabs, and they were forced to navigate their way through the uneven terrain.

  ‘Just like home,’ Ashua murmured, slipping up alongside Silo, her eyes scanning the darkness.

  ‘Someone’s gonna turn an ankle on this ground,’ Malvery grumbled.

  ‘If that’s the most we have to worry about,’ Crake said, ‘I’ll be—’

  He was cut off by a volley of gunfire. Stone sparked and puffed. Silo felt a bullet whip past him.

  ‘Down!’ Frey yelled, and they scrambled for cover as more bullets came their way. They crammed themselves behind rubble shields and made hasty barricades of tipped-up blocks of road.

  ‘Up the street!’ Ashua called. Silo saw gun flashes there; dark figures with rifles peeped out of concealment. He aimed and loosed off a blast with his shotgun to keep their heads down for a moment.

  ‘I see four!’ said Ashua.

  ‘Five,’ Jez corrected.

  One of their attackers went scampering across the street, switching cover for a better angle. Ashua leaned out and fired her pistol. There was a squawk from the darkness.

  ‘Four,’ Ashua said.

  ‘Cap’n,’ Silo said. ‘They in cover. Ain’t good. We can go back, work our way around.’

  Frey thought about that for a moment. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Scout it out. Find us a path.’

  Silo grunted and headed back along the street, keeping low. Once, there had been a time when he wouldn’t have raised his voice. Once, he’d been content to take orders and take no responsibility for anything. Those days were past. The Cap’n had made him his second-in-command, and he took his new position seriously. He wasn’t the man he’d been when he came on board the Ketty Jay, starving and running for his life. He had the Cap’n to thank for that. Most of the others had similar reasons to thank him.

  The Coalition weren’t his people. The Awakeners weren’t his people. Even the free Murthians back home didn’t much want him any more, now that Ehri was leading them. His people were the crew of the Ketty Jay, and it was his job to keep them safe.

  So keep ’em safe.

  He made his way back to the corner and looked around to check the coast was clear. It wasn’t. He saw a half-dozen men coming warily up the street, no doubt drawn by the Ketty Jay’s landing. Men with rifles, closing in on their position. If the crew were caught between the two forces, they’d be cut to pieces.

  Mother, he thought. Now we got a problem.

  Malvery popped up from cover and let fly again with his shotgun. He didn’t have much hope of hitting anything, not with the enemy scrunched down like that. It didn’t stop him trying, though.

  Silo was signalling from the corner. ‘Ashua, Pinn, Crake!’ Frey said. ‘Go help Silo. I could do without more Awakeners crawling up my arse.’

  More gunfire came their way as they scampered off. Malvery listened to the zing and whine of ricochets. Wasting bullets, the lot of them. They were trapped here for the moment. He took a pot-shot anyway, for something to do. He had to let off the tension somehow.

  ‘What are we here for, Cap’n?’ he snarled, suddenly angry. ‘What are we really here for?’

  Frey looked across at him. So did Pelaru. Neither said anything.

  ‘Better be bloody worth it,’ he growled.

  He wasn’t even mad at the Cap’n, not really. He’d been getting these little fits of frustration more and more often lately. Malvery was usually a jolly sort, slow to anger and quick to forgive, and he didn’t like himself when he got in these moods. It was just this whole damn war. This war, and his part in it.

  A new battle started up on the corner: Silo and his team scrapping it out with the Awakeners coming up behind them. Malvery kept his mind on what was ahead of him. He peeked out from hiding, saw nothing up the street but a jumble of broken shapes. The artillery fire overhead was petering out, and the night crackled with pistol shots. Most of the Coalition craft were down now, their troops storming the Awakener positions.

  Something bounced near him and rolled to a halt near his feet. Something bright and fizzing. Dynamite.

  ‘Oooooohbollocksbollocksbollocks!’ he babbled as he scrambled towards it. He scooped it up in one meaty hand and lobbed it away. A second later there was a dull bang in his right ear and he was knocked flat. Suddenly everything was muffled, except for a high-pitched whistling that seemed to go on and on. He looked about, dazed, not quite sure where he was until Frey seized him and pulled him down.

  ‘Doc! Doc! You alright?’

  Malvery managed a nod. Dimly, he heard somebody shooting. The Awakeners must’ve managed to sneak closer than they thought if they were within throwing range.

  Beyond Frey, Pelaru was firing over a barricade at somebody up the street. Malvery frowned. Something was wrong. It took him a moment to realise what it was.

  ‘Where’s Jez?’ he asked, his voice sounding thick inside his skull.

  Frey looked around. ‘Where is Jez?’

  There was a sharp crack from somewhere nearby, and a cry. An Awakener came stumbling out from cover, holding his back. He was a Sentinel, dressed in a grey, high-collared cassock. Pelaru sighted and shot him neatly through the head.

  For a whispermonger, that feller can certainly handle a gun, thought Malvery. He was coming back to himself now, the shock of the dynamite fading. Thankfully it hadn’t been too near when it went off. Or the fuse hadn’t been cut half a centimetre shorter.

  There was another crack: a rifle shot. Frey looked up and Malvery followed his gaze.

  ‘There she is,’ said the Cap’n, with a little smile on his face.

  She was crouched in the remnants of the ruined tower, sighting through a gap in the wall at the street below. How she’d got up there so fast, Malvery couldn’t say, but she had an elevated position now, which made the Awakeners’ cover all but useless. When she was on her game, Jez was a phenomenal shot. And she was on her game tonight. Another shot, and a scream from the darkness.

  ‘Come on,’ said Frey. ‘Let’s give her a hand.’

  They opened up with their weapons, blasting away down the street. It was more to cause chaos than anything, because Jez was handling the sniper work. She took out another Sentinel. The last one was flushed out and fled. Frey shot him in the back, which was his preferred angle of approach when it came to killing someone.

  ‘Silo!’ Frey yelled. ‘How we doing back there?’

  ‘Got ’em pinned down,’ came the reply.

  ‘Leave ’em. We’re clear this way.’

  Jez hopped out of the tower onto the lip of a wall and dropped four metres to the ground, landing like a cat. Pelaru stared
at her. She stared back, her head tilted, like something feral studying a curious new find.

  ‘Good one, Jez,’ said Frey.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Malvery, mustering up a camaraderie he didn’t really feel. ‘Nice work.’ He slapped her on the shoulder, and her head snapped round. He thought for a moment she was going to attack him.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, without the slightest emotion in her voice.

  Malvery took his hand away, unsettled. He harrumphed and headed off after the Cap’n, eager to be away from her. He liked Jez, he really did. He just didn’t know how long he could handle having her on the crew.

  Silo and the others caught them up as they reached the end of the street and found a five-way junction. One side of it had caved in, but most of the buildings were still standing. Pelaru checked his map again again scanned his surroundings intently.

  ‘Do you actually have any idea what we’re looking for?’ Frey asked impatiently.

  Pelaru’s face cleared, and he pointed at a doorway with an ancient coat of arms still barely visible above it. ‘That,’ he said.

  Seven

  The Pumping House – Fictions – Crake Loses His Dignity – A Precipitous Crossing – Wards

  Pelaru led them across the junction, once they’d established that there were no troops around. Frey hurried everybody after him. He wanted to get off the street. The Awakeners that had been fighting with Silo’s team would come up on their rear if they weren’t quick.

  The doorway was the entrance to a tall, narrow building which stood at the junction between two roads. Its roof had fallen in and chunks of the façade had broken off, but the structure was intact otherwise. Frey glanced at the coat of arms as he approached. It belonged to some duke or another, possibly the symbol for the Duchy of Banbarr, within whose borders Korrene lay. It didn’t look very grand, so it was likely some kind of municipal building. There were letters carved across the frontage, but the stonework was too shattered to guess at the words.