Damn her. Damn her and her terms of truce.
She was no longer the woman he’d loved. The woman he loved no longer existed. Instead, he was haunted by her ghost.
‘Why take the risk, Darian?’ she said. ‘If you go back there, they’ll hang you.’
‘If I don’t go back, they’ll hang my crew for sure.’
‘Since when did that matter to you?’
He didn’t know the answer to that. It wasn’t really important. It had been an accumulation of moments: a clutter of drunken laughter, of triumphant grins, of gunfights and arguments and sarcastic little quips. The feeling had crept up on him stealthily, and by the time he was aware of it, he’d been overtaken.
Maybe he’d decided it when he chose to trust Jez with his ignition code? Or when he’d given it away to Trinica in order to save Crake’s life? Maybe it was that he felt the need to repay Jez’s loyalty: she’d come back, and he admired her for that.
He didn’t know when it had started to matter. He just knew that it did. He wouldn’t abandon his crew, no matter what the risks were now.
Trinica saw the decision in his eyes. A faint respect crept into her tone. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Look at you now.’
But Frey was in no mood to be congratulated. He pressed the tip of his cutlass harder under her chin, tipping her head back. A spot of bright red blood bloomed against her white skin. ‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you.’
‘There isn’t one,’ said Trinica. ‘This is your chance, Darian. You take me back, I die anyway. So I promise you, I won’t go quietly. You’d better kill me now. I’d rather you did it than them.’
Her voice was utterly without fear. It was Frey who was afraid. He had no doubt that she meant what she said. She’d throw herself onto his sword rather than allow herself to be taken prisoner. She didn’t just expect death, she welcomed it. At that moment he understood how she’d become one of the most dreaded pirate captains in Vardia. Everything inside her had died with their baby. How could you kill the walking dead?
He looked upon the woman he’d once loved, her chin raised, gazing coolly at him. He knew he’d never be able to do it. Because he owed her. He’d turned her into this creature when he left her so cruelly. Maybe he wasn’t entirely responsible for the death of his child, but he bore some of the blame. He’d inspired her to do it. And, bitter as it was, he couldn’t lie to himself any more.
Trinica had suffered enough. It was written all over her.
He lowered the cutlass.
‘You’ll be hunted now,’ he said. ‘Not a freebooter any more. A straight-out pirate. The Navy will never leave you alone.’
Trinica stepped back, one slender hand going to her throat, covering the cut there. She stared at him with a strange, wounded tenderness.
He couldn’t bear it. ‘Get out of here,’ he told her.
‘You’re not what I thought you were, Darian,’ she said, and there was something soft in her voice, something that reminded him of a voice from long ago that had once melted his heart. He dared not let it do so again.
‘Goodbye, Trinica,’ he said. And then she turned and ran down the corridor, and he watched her go until she was lost from sight.
By the time Frey returned to the courtyard, the battle had ended. Six of the militia had surrendered. The rest lay in various states of death and dismemberment on the floor, their blood turning the dust into red mulch. Of the Century Knights, Colden Grudge had suffered a superficial wound on his brow. He was covering the Duke and the surviving militia with his autocannon. There had been no opportunity to use it earlier, due to the close-quarters fighting, but he looked eager enough to be given the excuse now.
Kedmund Drave looked up as Frey appeared, alerted by the rousing cheer from the caged wagon where his crew were imprisoned. Frey had stashed the charts and compass he’d taken from Trinica, and his cutlass was jammed through his belt. He walked with a tired step.
‘Didn’t expect to see you back,’ Drave commented.
‘Just eager to help out the Coalition,’ Frey replied. ‘Call me a patriot.’
‘Dracken?’
‘She got away.’
‘You think she might warn the others? Orkmund and his men?’
‘I’ve made sure she can’t get to them. But we should move quickly. They won’t attack while there’s no one to give them a signal, but they’ll get wind of what’s happened here sooner or later.’
‘Tell us where they are. We’ll deal with them.’
Frey laughed sardonically. ‘No. I’ll tell you what’ll happen. You assemble a strike force of Navy aircraft. I’ll lead them into Retribution Falls. Without me, you won’t know where you’re going.’
Drave stared at him, searching for signs of deceit. Frey wasn’t intimidated. Numbed by his recent torture and the shock of facing his own extinction, he’d become impenetrably calm again.
‘I’ll need my craft, and my crew,’ said Frey. ‘And I’ll need my navigator back too. How did she find you, by the way?’
Samandra Bree had wandered over by this point. She tilted back her tricorn and smiled disarmingly. ‘She told us she’d made the acquaintance of a very important fellow called Air Marshal Barnery Vexford at a party at Scorchwood Heights. Apparently, she had to do some quite appalling things to him to secure an audience with the Archduke’s representatives at such short notice. He is quite a filthy old man.’ She patted him on the shoulder. ‘You do have an admirably loyal crew, Captain.’
Frey could only imagine how loyal Jez had needed to be.
‘Once they heard where you were, they sent us,’ said Drave. He looked around himself, at the dead lying on the ground. ‘By the Duke’s reaction, I’d say her story and yours have some truth in them.’
‘I want pardons,’ said Frey. ‘In writing.’
‘You’ll get them,’ said Drave. ‘When you’ve led us to Retribution Falls. Not before.’ Frey opened his mouth to protest, but Drave held up one metal-gloved hand. ‘Pardons can be revoked. Makes no difference if you have a piece of paper or not. If you’re telling the truth, and you do what you say, then you’ll get what you want. But you double-cross me, and there’ll be no place in the world that’s safe for you.’
Frey met his gaze steadily. Threats couldn’t faze him now. ‘Then I suppose we’ll just have to trust each other, won’t we? Now get my men out of that cage.’
Thirty-Six
The Return To Rook’s Boneyard—Jez Is Brought To The Fold—The Daemons Between Harkins And Pinn—Frey Takes A Risk
‘Turning up ahead, Cap’n. Hold steady till you see it.’ Frey made a murmur of acknowledgement and Jez went
Back to her charts. The Ketty Jay slid on through the mists of Rook’s Boneyard.
Behind Frey, Crake consulted Dracken’s compass and warned them where the deadly floating mines were hiding in the murk. His voice was muffled by the mask he wore. Frey wore one too.
Jez didn’t. She’d given up pretending she needed to.
The cockpit was dim and stuffy, and sounds gave back strange echoes. Dew ran down the windglass, and the soft growl of the Ketty Jay’s thrusters filled up the silence. Jez sat in her chair at the navigator’s station, plotting their course as efficiently as ever. She absently tapped out a sequence on the electroheliograph with her left hand, warning those who followed of the location of the mines, half her mind still on the calculations.
Frey took off his mask for a moment and yelled, ‘How we doing back there, Doc?’
‘They’re still on our tail!’ Malvery bellowed back from the cupola, where he had a view of what was going on behind the Ketty Jay. Only he could see the huge shapes in the darkness that drifted after them like malevolent phantoms.
‘Bet you never thought you’d see the day when you’d be leading a flotilla of Navy craft,’ Jez grinned, looking over at the captain.
‘I never did,’ he agreed with a wry twitch of the lips, then put his gas filter back on.
There was a dull explos
ion as a mine was detonated by one of the Navy minesweepers, clearing a path for the fleet behind them. It had been slow progress over many hours, gradually creeping closer and closer to Retribution Falls, removing all threats along the way. Since the other craft didn’t have compasses of their own, it was just too risky to try to bring the whole strike force through the mines in single file.
Jez wondered how far the sound carried through the choking mist and deep, sharp canyons. She wondered if they might find the denizens of Retribution Falls waiting for them when they arrived. But despite the danger all around them and the certain knowledge of the conflict to come, she felt content.
The sounds of the Ketty Jay soothed her. She’d come to know its tics and groans and they were reassuring. The navigator’s seat had found her shape, as if it had somehow moulded itself to her buttocks and back, and its form seemed natural now. The muggy heat of the cockpit had become cosy, a warm sanctuary from the hostile world that waited outside.
It was a strange experience. So much time had passed since the Manes had attacked that small village in Yortland that she’d forgotten what contentment felt like. Three years she’d been wandering, hiding, always afraid of discovery. She’d never put down roots or allowed herself to care for those around her.
But here, at last, she felt like she was home. She’d found her place. She was here to stay.
Her reunion with the crew had been unexpectedly touching. Malvery had almost crushed her ribs with a hug, before planting a big, whiskery kiss on her cheek. Frey was similarly effusive. Pinn slapped her on the arm; Harkins babbled, jubilant. Silo nodded respectfully, which was as close as he ever came to a joyous outburst. Even Crake seemed happy to see her, though there was a wariness in his eyes, as if he expected her to reject his handshake.
‘Thank you,’ he said, simply.
‘I brought Bess,’ she said, thumbing behind her at the open maw of the cargo hold. ‘She’s in there.’
Crake’s eyes filled with tears and his face split into an uncontrollable grin that was half a sob; then he hugged her, clutching her tightly to him. She was surprised enough to hug him back. Of all people, Crake had been the one who should have been most enthusiastic in his loathing. He was smart, and knowledgeable in the hidden ways. He’d have guessed her nature by now.
And yet he embraced her, as the others did.
She’d hoped that at best they would let her go on her way. She’d hoped that they’d be grateful enough for their rescue that they’d keep her secret from the Century Knights, no matter how dangerous they knew her to be. The idea of taking her back was ridiculous. They might tolerate an openly practising daemonist on board, but how could you get on with a woman whose heart didn’t beat, who didn’t need to breathe or sleep or eat? How could you ever trust someone like that? Robbed of the common vulnerabilities of humanity, how could you ever know what they might do next?
She’d accepted that they might turn her in. Gratitude didn’t apply to monsters. They might try to destroy her. She’d been ready for that. It was an acceptable risk.
But they greeted her like an old friend.
She hardly dared believe what was happening. Surely they were just relieved at escaping execution, and hadn’t had time to think it through? If that was the case, then their suspicions would grow as soon as their happiness faded. She couldn’t bear that. She had to know if they accepted her as she was or if they simply hadn’t taken in the truth yet.
‘I suppose . . .’ she said, once Crake had released her. ‘I suppose I owe you an explanation.’
‘No,’ said Pinn, beaming.
Jez frowned at his abruptness, and the twinkle of amusement in his piggy eyes. ‘No, I mean, you must be wondering how I did it.’
Silo shrugged.
‘Not really,’ said Frey.
‘Nope,’ said Harkins.
‘Couldn’t give a dog’s arse, frankly,’ Malvery added.
She looked at the faces of the crew, and she began to understand. Perhaps they knew exactly what she was, perhaps not. But it didn’t matter, because they didn’t care. She was one of them.
‘You?’ she asked Crake.
‘I already know how you did it,’ he said. ‘No need to tell me.’ His smile was warm. Bringing Bess back had indebted him to her for ever. Bringing the Ketty Jay back had won the hearts of the rest of them.
Seeing their grinning faces, joined together in a conspiracy of support, she at last let herself believe. The grin spread to her face too.
‘Well, then,’ she said. ‘That’s that.’
* * *
Harkins flexed his fingers on his flight stick and tried not to throw up in his own lap. His stomach had knotted into a ball and his breath came in shallow pants that offered little relief from the crushing anxiety that pressed in on him. He hunkered down in the cockpit of the Firecrow, eyes darting nervously here and there. He wished the mist would clear. He was also afraid of what he’d see when it did.
Only the metal cocoon of the Firecrow kept him together. The sense of safety it afforded stopped him panicking completely.
It seemed so long ago that they’d left the Firecrow hidden in a remote cave next to Pinn’s Skylance. The Cap’n had deemed it too dangerous to travel into Rook’s Boneyard in convoy. He’d been right: without masks, the deadly fumes from the lava river would have caused both Harkins and Pinn to crash.
Their fortunes hadn’t gone too well since then, though. The Firecrow was Harkins’ only security, and without it he was lost. He’d spent most of the subsequent days in blubbering fear; first hiding in the Ketty Jay so as not to venture into Retribution Falls, then trembling in Dracken’s brig on the Delirium Trigger, and later waiting to die in his cell at Mortengrace. Superstitiously, he blamed his bad luck on his separation from the Firecrow. He should never have deserted her. He wouldn’t do so again if he could help it.
Vast, angular shapes glided past to port and starboard like undersea leviathans. Smaller fighters hove between them, their lights bright bruises against the serene fog. Harkins made minute course corrections and fretted about a frigate clipping his wing and sending him spiralling to a fiery death.
The mines petered out after the lava river. Presumably the pirates reasoned that anyone without a compass to detect them would be dead by that point. He’d hoped that leaving the mines behind would ease the tension a little, but he found that it increased it instead. They were on the final leg of the journey. Soon they’d reach the enormous, marshy sinkhole where Retribution Falls lay. Soon the fight would begin.
Survive, said Frey. That’s all you have to do. Don’t take any risks. Look out for each other.
The Cap’n had persuaded Kedmund Drave to let them bring the Ketty Jay’s outflyers. They were invaluable pilots, he’d said, and they’d need every craft in the fight. Harkins and Pinn were useless sitting on board the Ketty Jay. Since their fighters didn’t have Navy markings, they could sow havoc among the pirates, who would be unable to tell them apart from their allies.
Harkins had pointed out that this worked both ways, but Frey had assured him the Navy would know who they were and what they looked like. Harkins wasn’t quite so certain. He could just see a Navy frigate firing a shell up his exhaust in the heat of the moment.
The flotilla was packed in tight, a tentative train behind the Ketty Jay. Harkins was tucked inside it, with Pinn somewhere nearby. The mist was beginning to thin out noticeably. He could make out the detail on the nearest frigates, their gun turrets and armoured keels.
He fingered his silver earcuff. Having a daemon clipped to his ear only added to his unease, but Crake had offered them and Frey had insisted.
‘Anybody out there?’ he said. ‘This is . . . um . . . this is Harkins. Just wondering if anybody’s out there. Say something if you are.’
‘Clam it, Harkins,’ said Pinn’s voice in his ear, making him jump. ‘Crake said to use these things only when we had to. They’ll drain you if you start gibbering.’
‘Oh. I
was just testing it, that’s all. You think the Cap’n can hear?’
‘He’s too far ahead. They’ve got a short range. Now shut up.’
Harkins snapped his mouth closed. His ear was tingling where the cuff touched his skin. He didn’t really understand all this daemonism business, but it made him feel a little better to hear a familiar voice.
Ahead, the fleet was beginning to break up and spread out as visibility improved and they dipped below the mist into clear air. Harkins’ heart thumped against his thin ribs as craft started to accelerate around him. Beneath them was a river, running along the canyon floor. The last stage of the journey. The moment was imminent. He wanted to curl up and hide.
Then at last the canyon gave out and the river plunged away down the sheer wall of the sinkhole. They’d arrived at Retribution Falls.
It lay as the Ketty Jay had left it, a shabby assemblage of scaffolded platforms and ramshackle buildings, steeped in the rancid marsh air. The great sinkhole, many kloms across, was ribboned in slicks of metallic ooze. Where the earth broke through the water, rotting dwellings grew like scabs.
But Harkins wasn’t looking at the town. He was looking at the aircraft. Hundreds of aircraft.
The fleet had grown in their absence. The landing pads were choked with fighters and heavy attack craft. Battered frigates floated at anchor; clusters of caravels and corvettes hung pensively over the town; shuttles and small personal craft hummed through the air.
There must have been three hundred, at least. Harkins felt his stomach clench and his gorge rise. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t eaten anything that morning.
A swarm of fighters was already scrambling to meet them as Harkins came out of the canyon. They’d been alerted by the sight of the first Navy craft at the head of the convoy. Retribution Falls kept a standing defence force, it seemed, ready to go at a moment’s notice. But those few craft aside, the pirate army had been caught completely by surprise.
The guns of the Navy frigates bellowed in a deafening cascade, making Harkins shriek inside his cockpit. Their opening salvo ripped a flaming scar across the sprawling town.
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