The Ketty Jay was running for the storm.
‘How’d you know that was there, you clever bitch?’ he murmured, out of grudging respect for Jez. He naturally assumed it wasn’t the captain’s doing.
He checked where the Equalisers were. Behind him now, but closer still, flying in tight formation. Organised. Disciplined. Soon they’d be within firing range.
He shook his head and spat into the footwell. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ he snarled. He was bored with the chase and angry at his nagging headache. The fact that the enemy were flying in such neat formation inexplicably annoyed him. If someone didn’t do something soon, those Equalisers would start taking shots at them, and Pinn was damned if he was going to present his tail to four sets of machine guns.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Let’s play.’
He broke away from the Ketty Jay in a high, curving loop. At its apex, he rolled the craft to bring him right-side up again. The pursuing fighters were below and ahead of him now. They’d seen the threat but were slow to react, unsure if he was fleeing or fighting. Nobody expected a single craft to take on four: it was suicidal.
But death was a concept that Pinn wasn’t really smart enough to understand. He didn’t have the imagination to envisage eternity. Oblivion was unfathomable. How could he be scared of something when he only had the vaguest notion of it? So he dived down towards the pursuing fighters with a whoop of joy, and opened up with his machine guns.
The Equalisers scattered as he plunged among them like a cat among birds. They banked and rolled and dived, darting out of his line of fire as he cut through the formation and out the other side. Lesser craft would have been tagged, but the Equalisers were just quick enough to evade him.
Pinn pulled the Skylance into a climb, rolling and banking as he did, making himself a difficult target. G-forces wrenched at him. His hangover throbbed in protest at the abuse, but the adrenaline was kicking in now, clearing away the cobwebs. He fought to keep track of the Equalisers as they wheeled through the sky. Three of them were reorganising, continuing their pursuit of the Ketty Jay. One had peeled off and was angling for a shot at Pinn.
One? One? Pinn was insulted. Ignoring the fighter that was trying to engage him, he flew towards the main formation. They’d streaked ahead, dismissing him. They thought they’d got too much of a head start while he was turning around. They thought he had no chance of catching them.
They were wrong.
Pinn hit the thrusters and left his pursuer aiming at empty sky. The Skylance howled gleefully as it accelerated, eating up the distance between Pinn and his targets. He came in from directly behind, growing in their blind spot. He was forced to fly straight to avoid notice, but he was acutely aware that by doing so he was allowing the fourth Equaliser to line up on his tail. He held steady for a dangerous moment, then loosed off a fusillade at the nearest plane.
Whether it was luck, instinct, or skill, the pilot spotted him an instant before he fired. The Equaliser banked hard and the bullets chipped across its flank and underwing, instead of hitting the tail assembly. Pinn cursed and rolled away just as the Equaliser on his tail sent a volley of tracer fire his way. The Skylance danced between the bullets and dived out of the line of fire.
Pinn jinked left and right, keeping his movements unpredictable.
He twisted his neck round, trying to get a fix on his opponents. The most important factor in aerial combat was knowing where your enemies were. He kept up a frantic evasion pattern until he spotted two of the Equalisers dwindling in the distance, continuing their pursuit of the Ketty Jay. The plane he’d damaged was still in the air and still a threat, though it was trailing a thin line of smoke that made it easy to find. Burned by his sneak attack, that pilot had decided to deal with Pinn.
He felt better once he’d located the fourth Equaliser. He had two of them on his tail now. They respected him enough that they couldn’t turn their backs on him. Now all he had to do was keep them busy awhile.
He launched into a new sequence of evasions, leading them away from the Ketty Jay as he corkscrewed and twisted and rolled. The Equalisers homed in on him from different angles, doing their best to trap him, but he could see their tactics and refused to play along. The one he’d damaged was limping slightly, a little slow and clumsy, and its pilot couldn’t lock in with his companion. Their manoeuvres were pretty but came to nothing. Sporadic machine-gun fire chattered behind him, but it was more hopeful than effective.
I should just turn around and take these bastards out, thought Pinn. But then he caught sight of the Delirium Trigger, much larger than he remembered when he last looked. Their aerobatics had allowed the bigger craft to catch them up, and Pinn didn’t fancy dealing with her guns on top of everything else.
The Ketty Jay was barely visible in the distance. He’d taken two of the Equalisers out of the chase, and he’d delayed the other two and bought the Ketty Jay time to reach the storm. He’d done his part.
He reached over and grabbed a lever underneath the dash. The Skylance had been built as a racer long before he’d modified it for combat, and it still had a racer’s secret weapon installed. He levelled up and aimed for the horizon.
‘Bye bye, shit-garglers!’ he yelled, then rammed the Skylance to full throttle and engaged the afterburners. The Skylance rocketed forward, slamming him back in his seat with enough force to press his chubby cheeks flat against his face. His pursuers could only watch, hopelessly outpaced, as the Skylance dwindled into the distance, carrying its whooping pilot with it.
* * *
‘Two still with us!’ called Malvery from his cupola. ‘Pinn’s drawn off the others.’
Frey grinned. ‘I’d kiss that kid if he wasn’t so hideous and stupid.’ He looked about. ‘Where’s Harkins?’
Jez pointed up through the windglass to the Firecrow hanging high on their starboard side.
‘Tell him to engage,’ he said, then shifted in his seat and hunched forward over the controls. ‘Keep ’em off my tail.’
Jez reached over to the electroheliograph and tapped a rapid code. The lamp on the Ketty Jay’s back flashed the sequence. Harkins gave a wing-waggle and broke away.
The winds were rising as the storm clouds rolled ever closer. Frey’s admiration for Jez had grown a great deal in the moment he saw those thunderheads appear on the horizon. She’d been right on the money. Again. It was an unfamiliar feeling, having someone reliable on his crew. He was rather liking it.
‘Wind is from the northwest today, and it’s sunny,’ she’d said. ‘Warm air rising off the mountains up the side of the plateau, cooled by the airstream coming down from the arctic. This time of the day, this kind of weather, you’re gonna get a storm there.’
The kind of storm a small fighter craft couldn’t handle. But a bigger one, driven by the notoriously robust Blackmore P-12 thrusters—that kind of craft could make it through.
Crake stuck his head round the door. ‘Anything I can do?’
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Bess was upset. All the explosions, you see.’
‘We’ll try and keep it down,’ Frey replied dryly. ‘Get me a damage report from Silo.’
Crake ran off down the corridor to comply. Frey returned his attention to the storm. The Ketty Jay rocked and shivered as the winds began to play around her. Machine-gun fire sounded from behind them.
‘There goes Harkins,’ Frey said. ‘Malvery! What’s going on back there?’
‘They dodged round him! Still coming!’
‘Well make sure you—’ he began, but was drowned out by the heavy thudding of the autocannon as Malvery opened up on their pursuers.
Frey cursed under his breath and swung the Ketty Jay to starboard. He heard the chatter of machine guns, and a spray of tracer fire passed under them and soared away towards the clouds.
‘Will you hold still?’ Malvery bellowed. ‘I ain’t gonna hit anything if you keep jigging around like that!’
‘I’m jigging around so th
ey don’t hit us!’ Frey shouted back, then banked again, dived, and yawed to port. The Ketty Jay was a sizeable target, but she could move faster than her bulk suggested. Her pursuers were still at the limit of their range, but they were catching fast.
‘You know the worst thing about flying an aircraft like this?’ he asked Jez. ‘You can’t see behind you. I’m just guessing where those sons of bitches are while they take pot-shots at my arse. I wish, just once, someone would have the guts to take us on from the front so I could shoot ’em.’
‘Sounds like it wouldn’t be a very wise tactic, Cap’n,’ she replied. ‘But we can hope.’
The storm was filling the sky now. They were flying in low, and the thunderheads had swallowed the sun. The cockpit darkened, and the air got choppier still. The Ketty Jay began to rattle around, buffeted this way and that.
‘Let’s see ’em aim straight in this,’ he murmured. ‘Signal Harkins. Tell him to get out of here. He knows the rendezvous.’
Jez complied, tapping the electroheliograph.
A few moments later, Malvery yelled: ‘Hey! Harkins is turning tail! That yellow toad was supposed to be—’
‘My orders!’ Frey yelled back. ‘He can’t follow us into the storm. It’s up to you now.’
‘You’re giving orders now?’ Malvery sounded surprised. ‘Blimey.’ Then the autocannon began thumping again in clipped bursts.
Crake appeared at the door. ‘Silo says the engines have taken a hit and they’re overheating, but it’s nothing too serious. Other than that there’s only minor structural—’
There was a shattering din as a salvo of bullets punched into the Ketty Jay’s hull from behind. She yawed crazily, hit a pressure pocket in the storm and plunged fifteen metres, fast enough to lift Crake off the ground and slam him to the floor again. The engines groaned and squealed, reached a distressing crescendo, then slowly returned to their usual tone.
Crake pulled himself up from the floor, wiping blood from a split lip. ‘I’ll get a damage report from Silo, shall I?’ he enquired.
‘Don’t bother,’ said Frey. ‘Just hang on to something.’
Crake clutched at the metal jamb of the cockpit door as the Ketty Jay began to shake violently. Frey dumped some of the aerium gas from the tanks to add weight and stability to the craft, letting the thrusters take the strain instead. Getting the balance right was crucial. A craft like the Ketty Jay, unlike its outflyers, wasn’t aerodynamic enough to fly without the aid of its lighter-than-air ballast. It couldn’t produce enough lift to maintain its bulk.
The thunderheads rushed towards them, inky billows flashing with angry lightning. Wind and pressure differentials began to shove them this way and that. The world outside darkened rapidly as they hit the outer edge of the clouds. A blast of blinding light, terrifyingly close at hand, made Crake cower. Jez glanced over at him and gave him a sympathetic smile. He firmed his resolve and stood straighter.
‘Doc! Are they still with us?’ Frey howled over the rising wail of the wind. There was no reply. ‘Doc!’
‘What?’ Malvery cried back irritably.
‘Are they still with us?’
A long pause.
‘Doc! ’ Frey screamed.
‘I’m bloody looking! ’ Malvery roared back. ‘It’s dark out there!’ Then, a moment later, he boomed a triumphant laugh. ‘They’re turning tail, Cap’n! Running off home!’
Jez beamed in relief.
The Ketty Jay was pushed from beneath by a pressure swell and veered steeply, dislodging Crake’s grip on the jamb and sending him careering into a wall. It was black as night outside. Frey flicked on the headlights, but that only lit up the impenetrable murk that had closed in on them.
‘I can’t help noticing we’re still in the storm,’ said Crake.
Jez supplied the answer, since Frey was concentrating on flying. ‘We need to put some distance between them and us. Otherwise they might just pick up the chase again when we emerge.’
‘And what happens if some of that lightning hits us?’ he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
‘We’ll probably explode,’ Frey said. Crake went grey. Jez opened her mouth to say something but at that moment the craft was shaken again. Frey could hear things clattering about in the mess, and something cracked and burst noisily out in the corridor. Water began to spray everywhere.
‘Is this tub even going to hold together?’ Crake demanded.
‘She’ll hold,’ Frey murmured. ‘And if you call her a tub again, I’ll kick you out right now, and you and your metal friend can fly home.’
‘What, and miss my chance to attend Gallian Thade’s Winter Ball? Just try and—’
There was a stunning flash of light and everything went black. All lights, inside and out, were suddenly extinguished. There was a brief sensation of unreality, as if time itself had been stunned. The air snapped and crawled with wild energy. For long seconds, no one spoke. An uncanny peace blanketed the chaos. The engines droned steadily, pushing them through the storm. The darkness was utter.
Then the lights flickered on again, and the Ketty Jay began to rattle once more.
‘What was that?’ Crake whispered.
‘Lightning,’ said Jez.
‘You said we’d explode!’ Crake accused the captain.
Frey only grinned. ‘Time to get out of here,’ he said. He hauled back on the control stick and the Ketty Jay began to climb.
The ascent through the clouds was rough, but the turbulence was nothing the Ketty Jay couldn’t handle. She’d seen worse than this in her time. Though she was jostled and battered and harassed every klom of the way, Frey fought with her against the storm, and the two of them knew each other well. Frey didn’t realise it, but a fierce smile was plastered across his face as he flew. This was what being a freebooter was all about. This was how it felt to be a lord of the skies. Outwitting your enemies, snatching victory from defeat. Braving the storm.
Then the clouds ended, and the Ketty Jay soared free. The dark carpet of thunderheads was spread out below them as far as they could see, obscuring everything beneath. Above them was only an endless crystalline blue and the dazzle of the sun.
‘Malvery?’ Frey called.
‘All clear, Cap’n!’ came the reply.
Frey looked over his shoulder at Jez and Crake, who were glowing with excitement and relief.
‘Good job, everyone,’ he said. Then he slumped back in his seat with a sigh. ‘Good job.’
Eighteen
Civilisation—A Musical Interlude—Fredger Cordwain—Vexford Swoops In—Morcutt The Boor
The night was warm, and the air shrilled with the song of insects. Lush plants hissed and rustled in the tropical breeze. Electric lamps, hidden in the foliage, lit up an ancient stone path that wound up the hill, towards the lights and the distant music. Northern Vardia might have been frozen solid, but here in the Feldspar Islands winter never came.
Crake and Jez disembarked arm in arm from the luxurious passenger craft that had shuttled them from the mainland. Crake paused to adjust the cuffs of his rented jacket, then smiled at his companion to indicate his readiness. Jez tried not to look ill at ease in her clinging black dress as they made their way down from the aircraft. They were greeted at the bottom of the stairs by a manservant, who politely asked for their invitations. Crake handed them over and introduced himself as Damen Morcutt, of the Marduk Morcutts, whom he’d recently made up.
‘And this is Miss Bethinda Flay,’ he said, raising Jez’s hand so the manservant might bob and kiss it. The manservant looked at Crake expectantly for elaboration, but Crake gave him a conspiratorial wink and said, ‘She’s rather new to this game. Be gentle with her, eh?’
‘I quite understand, sir,’ said the manservant. ‘Madam, you are most welcome here.’
Jez curtsied uncertainly, and then the two of them went walking up the path towards the stately manor at the top of the hill.
‘Small steps,’ murmured Crake out of the corner
of his mouth. ‘Don’t stride. Remember you’re a lady.’
‘I thought we agreed that I was a craftbuilder’s daughter,’ she replied.
‘You’re supposed to be a craftbuilder’s daughter trying to be a lady.’
‘I am a craftbuilder’s daughter trying to be a lady!’
‘That’s why the disguise is flawless.’
Crake had spent the last week coaching Jez in the basics of etiquette. She was a fast learner, but a crash course in manners would never convince anyone that she was part of the aristocracy. In the end, Crake had decided that the best lies were those closest to the truth. She’d pose as a craftbuilder’s daughter—a life she knew very well. He’d play the indolent son of a wealthy family who had fallen in love with a low-born woman and was determined to make her his bride.
‘That way, they’ll think your mistakes are naïve rather than rude,’ he told her. ‘Besides, they’ll feel sorry for you. They’ve seen it all before a dozen times, this breathless romance between a young aristocrat and a commoner. They know full well that as soon as it gets serious, Mother will step in and you’ll be dumped. Nobody’s going to waste a good marriage opportunity on a craftbuilder’s daughter.’
‘What a charming lot you are,’ Jez observed.
‘It’s an ugly business,’ Crake agreed.
It was an ugly business, but it was a business Crake had known all his life, and as he made his way along the winding path through the restless trees towards Scorchwood Heights, he felt an aching sorrow take him. The feel of fine clothes on his skin, the sound of delicate music, the cultured hubbub of conversation that drifted to them on the warm breeze—these were the familiar things of his old life, and they welcomed him back like a lover.
Seven months ago, he’d taken all of this for granted and found it shallow and tiresome. Having an allowance great enough to keep him in moderate luxury had permitted him to be disdainful about the society that provided it.
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