Far Called Trilogy 01 - In Dark Service (45 page)

‘You are having trouble sleeping, Jacob of Weyland?’

‘Tonight, yes. But it’s not a regular complaint.’
The sleep of the innocent, isn’t that what Mary always used to say.
And maybe that was the problem. He’d abandoned any pretence of that after the slavers had burnt the town.

‘Then you are lucky. It’s ironic, but before I joined the guild, I always read a novel to help me get to sleep. Now I do little but read and write and record, I am constantly surrounded by books, and I find it far harder to drift off than I used to.’

‘Reading trade figures and political updates from distant shores would have my eyelids nodding,’ said Jacob.

Iaroia stood on her toes and kissed Jacob; the touch of her silk dress like static electricity where it brushed against his skin. ‘If you need to wear yourself out, there are other ways…’

He gently pushed her back, ‘You’re an attractive woman, Iaroia. But I’ve buried a wife and I’ve no heart left for repeating what I shared with her.’

‘A pity,’ sighed Iaroia. ‘Such opportunities are rare, here. The locals are dolts, and it is not the done thing with guild members you have to treat fairly as subordinates.’

‘That sounds a wise policy.’

‘It’s honourable to grieve for someone you’ve lost. But it can also become an excuse.’

Jacob stared down at the head of the hold. ‘An excuse for what?’

‘For cutting yourself off. For making yourself cold to all others around you. And it’s a cold business, I think, which you’re about.’

‘I reckon that would only matter if I had a choice. Goodnight, Iaroia.’

‘Goodnight, Jacob.’ He watched her shut the door and disappear deeper into the hold. Then he headed back towards the bunk room. He suspected he was going to find it even harder to sleep now.

The radio operator finished decoding the message; the device used to decipher the communication far larger than his radio, all bulky rotating discs and dials connected to its keyboard. The discs were called rotors. He had learnt that in his brief training session, after both machines had been secretly delivered to the palace. Even though the radio operator had rung the bell for a messenger to come, he still felt a frisson of fear as footsteps came up the tower. How silly was that? The radio room with its unfeasibly small set was concealed at the top of one of the palace towers, just like the aerial used to receive night-time messages. And if anybody came poking unauthorised about the quarters of the grand duke’s secret police, they would get exactly what they had coming to them. But still. The guild of radiomen never took lightly to rivals crossing the demarcation line and poaching on their territory. And the strictly non-guild radio operator never wanted to be the poor sod who had to go before the grand duke and explain why all the guilds the city depended on were withdrawing from Hangel in protest. That would not be a life-enhancing choice, he suspected. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was the courier after all. A fellow officer with the secret police.

‘Anything important?’ asked the courier.

‘Orders concerning a group of visitors that should be passing through.’

‘Airmen?’

The radio operator shrugged. ‘Dead men, I’d say. But that’s need to know.’

‘And who needs to know?’

‘The chief first, then the colonel of the city guard.’

The courier tucked the message inside his jacket. ‘Business as usual, then. Don’t go to sleep.’

‘Don’t tempt me. This is the first message we’ve had for weeks.’

A muffled scream echoed outside the tower’s arrow slit. That cry must have been impossibly loud to carry all the way from the dungeons. The two men exchanged glances.

‘Won’t be sleeping through that.’

‘Try not to.’

No, it wouldn’t do to lose a solid, peaceful job like this one.

TEN

TO SAVE A LADY

Duncan sprinted through the rock corridors, ignoring the heat, ignoring the ache in his legs, ignoring the angry shouts of workers he pushed past. Blinking sweat out of his eyes, he kicked high in the air as he ran, low gravity giving him the bounce he needed to check the corridor ahead for any signs of the Vandian traitors and Princess Helrena’s daughter. If he didn’t find the turncoats before they left and detonated their charges, then the soldiers and the little girl would be the sky mine’s only survivors. Duncan heard a thumping sound ahead, the chamber full of air circulation machinery. He was nearing the main hangar’s entrance. That was where the traitors’ shuttle would be; ready to carry them away to safety, clear enough distance to condemn every Weyland slave worker to a terrible death.
If they’ve already left, pray that you’re caught in the main blast.
Not consigned to one of the rock’s splinters, thrown about as the fragment tumbled down towards the ground, getting heavier and faster with every second before the final killing impact against the dead zone. Or maybe Duncan would get lucky… be marooned on a shard with a working antigravity stone attached to it. Waiting for a rescue that might or might not be mounted, his throat constricting from dehydration; headaches and intense kidney pain as he lingered in the dry, ash-filled sky. Not knowing if his sister was dead or alive. Taken as a slave a second time by whichever imperial inherited Helrena’s sky mining charter.
Yes, that would be luck
. The magnetic detonator clutched in Duncan’s hands nearly slipped out of his damp fingers as someone came barrelling after him down the corridor.
Carter Carnehan!

‘What the hell?’

‘Some of Helrena’s people have been paid off by her rivals!’ Duncan shouted at Carter, desperately pushing through the workers blocking the passage. ‘They’ve wired the blasting powder stores to go off. Assassinate the princess… murder us all in a “mining accident”.’

‘Where?’ yelled Carter, shoving aside workers as carelessly as Duncan as he suddenly realised what was at stake.

‘Making for the hangar. If they take off…’

‘Damn them all! Isn’t it enough that we have to beat their rivals’ slaves to take these dirty rocks for them? Now we’ve got to fight in their feuds?’

‘Traitors have snatched the little girl, Lady Cassandra Skar. Granny wants her back, and her unwanted daughter-in-law dead into the bargain.’

Carter’s face was flushed with anger. ‘And the rest of us are “just too bad”.’

Just too bad?
That was about right.

‘If they’ve left,’ growled Carter, rounding the corner. ‘There are transporters for us, too.’ They were seconds away from the hangar now.

‘Not without Willow!’

Yes, Duncan could see Carter agreed with him at least that much. ‘I’ll ram their ship,’ said Duncan. ‘If that’s the only way.’ If he could find a pilot willing to do it.

The two men pelted into the hangar’s open space. Dozens of crews worked inside, hammering and patching up the simple, robust transporters. Pilots helped with the work, manoeuvring around arresting wires, overseeing engine testing. Carts laden with refuelling drums and heavy equipment lay scattered about. And there, by the hangar’s opening, sat the shuttle, an elongated silver steel dart, maybe ninety feet long, with engines that could angle to lift its weight up, before powering the craft forward through the skies like a javelin hurled by a god. It squatted behind the box-like landing lens the hangar crew used to guide in mine pilots, and in front of the craft, heading for a lowered ramp, was the departing party of Vandians – three of them, an officer and two soldiers, the guards holding a girl between them.
Must have drugged her to stop her calling for help
.

With his free hand, Duncan pulled out a couple of blasting caps and tossed them to Carter, their magnetic bases making them cluster together. Carter pulled the detonators apart. ‘Reckon that armour of theirs is metallic?’

‘One way to find out.’ If it was ceramic or the queer material the Vandians called plastic, this was going to be one short fight. The two of them raced across the chamber, the noise of their boots muffled by the repair crews’ beating hammers. Duncan rotated the clockwork timer mechanism, setting it for three seconds. Just striking a Vandian could earn you the death penalty. Duncan wondered what they’d get for what they were about to do? Duncan yelled in fury when it was too late for the three Vandians to do anything about it. He slapped a charge on the back of the closest soldier’s breastplate as he kicked the feet out from under the man. Carter barrelled into the second guard, a dull clunk from the charge attaching to the back of the armour. The officer had a pistol palmed in his hand, ready to use it if anyone challenged their unscheduled departure with the princess’s daughter. This assault surely counted, and Duncan just managed to yank the man’s arm up and the lieutenant loosed a couple of shots towards the hangar’s stone roof. One of the soldiers struggled to unhook his rifle from the shoulder strap. The guard Carter had slammed into had his sword half pulled out of its scabbard. That was when both charges went off, the double blast scouring across Duncan and the traitor he was struggling with, knocking both of them off their feet. As bad as the explosions burnt Duncan, the soldiers had taken it worse. Both charges focused into the soldiers’ armour, just the same as if the men’s plate had been metal blasting powder barrels… saw-teethed smoking holes left where the explosives had detonated. Duncan’s ears rang as he tried to pull himself up. The officer staggered to his feet first, the pistol rising in Duncan’s direction. The lieutenant’s brush-mounted helmet had fallen away, but he’d been protected from the blast by his golden armour, ornamented with a circular laurel wreath above an eagle. Another charge flew through the air towards him, hurled by Carter, but the officer contemptuously slapped it aside, his attention wavering for a second between the two slaves who had dared to attack him – something that was surely unique in his career so far. Duncan used that second of indecision to snatch a fallen rifle by the barrel, swipe the weapon’s butt at the officer, smashing fingers protected only by black leather gloves, sending his pistol tumbling away. Then Carter slammed into the lieutenant as the Vandian went for his short-sword, both of them tumbling back onto the shuttle’s ramp. They rolled about the slope, struggling fiercely. The officer was going for something dangling from his belt. For a second, Duncan thought it might be a dagger… but a device that resembled a trigger guard without a blade attached came up.
The detonator!
Duncan lurched forward and jabbed out with the wooden butt of the rifle, cracking it hard against the officer’s head. The traitor collapsed unmoving.

‘That’s the best day’s work we’ve done in the sky mines,’ coughed Carter, wiping the soot from the detonator caps off his face. ‘I could get real used to killing Vandians.’

Duncan moved over to where Cassandra Skar had fallen during the melee. She was breathing shallowly, but only, he guessed, from whatever sedative that had been used. Chloroform, judging by the blisters around her mouth and nose. The young aristocrat lay behind an open tool crate, and its blackened sides had absorbed the caps’ back-blast. ‘She’s okay.’

‘She’s our ticket out of here,’ said Carter. He had picked up the unconscious officer’s detonator, as well as the hand gun, checking its magazine and counting the rounds. ‘As much as she was for these three dogs.’

Duncan stared back in rising horror. ‘You can’t be serious?’

‘You know I am. We’ve got weapons. We’ve got the daughter of the imperial bitch working our people to death out here. Let’s find out how much Helrena values the life of her golden-haired whelp.’

‘She’s just a young girl!’

‘Like the ones who died in Northhaven when the skels raided, you mean?’

‘You can’t do it.’ Duncan pleaded through gritted teeth.

Carter raised the detonator. ‘Princess Helrena’s warship is still anchored to the sky mine. She’s going to fly us all back home to the league, just as fast as she dragged us out here. Every last damn Weylander on the station. If she doesn’t, her daughter is either going to die real slow or real fast, and her mother can visit the stealers with us, because I’ll blow the station to hell rather than go back to being a slave again.’

‘You’ve lost your mind!’

‘No, Duncan. We’re either going to live free or die free. We’re dead men walking, all of us. It’s only a matter of time.’

‘What about Adella? She’s been carried off as a house slave. We can’t leave her behind in Vandia as a damn toy for Baron Machus?’

‘One life, against the thousands being worked to death in the sky mines?’

‘Is that what you call love? Doesn’t she mean anything to you?’

‘Adella would want us to break out. If she could send word to us, she’d beg us to escape and leave her behind. You know that as well as I do. Either of us would do the same in her boots.’

‘I never knew what a cold-hearted bastard you were. I won’t leave Adella behind, not if I live to be a hundred.’

‘Then you can stay,’ said Carter, his eyes cold and hard. ‘But you won’t make a century; I give you a decade or less. Hell, maybe they’ll make you foreman of this floating hell for sticking with the job.’

Duncan fingered the butt of the rifle. ‘You willing to shoot me to prove the point?’

‘What do you think?’ smiled Carter, grimly. ‘It’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? You were willing to put steel in me back home to keep me away from Adella. Here, you’d do the same if I try and walk away.’

‘Please don’t do this,’ begged Duncan. ‘I’m responsible for Willow. I don’t want her hurt.’

‘You’re in the wrong damn place, then. We can die fast or die slow. We can die free or have our corpses tossed off the station as wastage.’ Carter held up the detonator. ‘Even if I fail, dying quick is going to be a mercy to us all. And I really have got a taste for killing Vandians, now.’

It was a shared interest. Carter crumpled with the explosion of the pistol in the shuttle pilot’s gloved hand, the last of the conspirators silhouetted against the cabin lights in the open hatch. The detonator tumbled down as Carter fell off the ramp. Duncan fumbled for the rifle even as the pilot’s pistol swung around to point directly towards him.
Too slow by a country mile
. The pilot wasn’t wearing armour, so his uniform exploded in gobs of blood and fabric as five rapid shots walked across his chest. Duncan twisted around, still trembling in shock as Princess Helrena Skar and her Vandian bodyguards came striding forward. It was the princess’s pistol barrel that smoked, the stink of cordite filling the hangar, and Owen stood with the imperials. He bent down to check on Carter before turning towards Duncan. Unsurprisingly, the imperials weren’t bothering to tend to a mere slave, making for young Lady Cassandra, fanning out to check the traitors were dead and the shuttle empty of conspirators.

‘The blasting powder stores,’ spluttered Duncan.

‘Princess has her people defusing the firing mechanism,’ said Owen.

‘Carter?’

‘Bullet grazed his thick skull. He’s out, but he’ll live, with another scar along his noggin to remember the day.’

‘You discovered the dead soldiers?’

‘Yes. And I did what you would have done if you had been thinking straight,’ said Owen, nodding towards the Vandians. ‘I ran like hell for the people with guns. What the hell were you thinking? Charging a group of trained and heavily armed guardsmen with nothing but detonator caps?’

‘It worked, didn’t it?’

‘You’ve been working alongside your hot-headed friend for too long,’ said Owen. ‘You’re starting to sound like him. What were you talking to Carter about before that turncoat came out shooting?’

‘That we ought to check the cabin for crew.’

‘Got that right.’

Princess Helrena strode over to the Weylanders, nudging Carter’s prone body with her shiny black boot. The aristocrat stared down at Duncan. ‘You two fools again. The skels’ punishment cage wasn’t lesson enough for you?’

‘I saved your daughter’s life,’ spluttered Duncan.

‘You killed four Vandians. A crime with only one punishment.’

‘Only killed two,’ said Duncan. ‘You shot the pilot. And I just club­bed the lieutenant into unconsciousness, like a good hitter’s trained to. You can find out who’s behind the attempt on your life.’

She nodded, then swivelled and a shot exploded from her pistol as she put a bullet through the downed officer’s forehead.
So much for taking him alive
.

Blood, brown and dark, pooled towards Helrena’s boots as she turned back towards Duncan and Owen. ‘I already know who’s behind this outrage. That bitch Circae and the families that support her. Anybody else trying to assassinate me would have left Cassandra to die in the station alongside me.’

‘They didn’t touch the turncoats’ guns,’ lied Owen. ‘Look at the rents in their breastplates. Blasting cap damage. And this pair saved your house’s heir.’

‘And every slave in the sky mine. Which was, I suspect, far more the point of their desperate assault?’ She went across to where her men were gently placing Lady Cassandra in a stretcher, examining the young girl before having a terse conversation with the men. Helrena walked back to Duncan and Owen. ‘If she was hurt, I would have had ordered every worker in this mine pushed into the sky.’

‘But she’s fine,’ said Owen.

‘Yes, she is.’ Helrena waved her pistol down at Duncan. ‘You shall live. It’s far too expensive replacing slaves, these days.’

‘I’d live better with the woman I love returned by my side.’

The princess snorted. ‘I am a royal of the upper-celestial caste, troublemaker… a daughter of the imperial emperor; do you mistake me for a village matchmaker?’

‘Adella Cheyenne,’ continued Duncan. ‘She was taken off the station by Baron Machus.’

Princess Helrena shook her head. ‘Then she is far beyond my gift. The baron is an ally. I would not offend him by asking for the return of one of his new house-slaves.’

Duncan tried to protest, but the princess raised a hand. ‘You know nothing of life beyond the sky mines. If you did, you would never request anyone you cared for to be returned to labour up here. Or are you so arrogant to think that your woman would prefer to live a short and brutish existence in the name of “true love”, even inside the sky mines?’