Ketty Jay 04 - The Ace of Skulls (19 page)

He brought the
Ketty Jay
down in a small clearing shared by a couple of freighters that looked like they’d been assembled from junkyard scraps and cutlery. He powered down the engines and flopped back in his seat in relief.

Trinica
, he thought.
Here I am at last.

‘Trouble, Cap’n,’ Silo called down the corridor from the cockpit.

Rot and damnation, what now?
Frey thought. He’d been staring critically at himself in the grubby mirror above the metal sink in his quarters. There were heavy bags under his eyes. He’d only snatched a few hours’ sleep since they set off for Korrene the day before yesterday. After flying all night, he looked fit for the knacker’s yard. Not the face he wanted to present to his long-lost love.

He tore himself away from the mirror – even at his worst, he found a ghoulish fascination in his own reflection – and went to see what the matter was. He found Ashua dragging Abley up the corridor at gunpoint. His hands were tied before him with rope.

‘I warned you, didn’t I?’ she told him. ‘Cap’n, where can we shoot this little bastard where he’ll make the least mess?’

‘Whoa, whoa! Don’t anyone shoot anyone till someone tells me what we’re shooting people about,’ said Frey.

Ashua pulled the terrified Abley to a halt, and pressed a pistol to the side of his head. ‘There’s a bunch of armed Awakeners out there, that’s what. And they want to come in. I call that quite a bloody coincidence, don’t you?’

‘Where’s Harkins and Pinn?’

‘Here! Here!’ Harkins said, stumbling out of his quarters in his long johns, with the imprint of a pillow stamped into one side of his face. ‘Thought I’d catch some sleep. Er, it was quite a long flight. Sorry, Cap’n.’

‘And Pinn?’

From the door behind Harkins, there came an intake of breath as if someone were cranking up a ballista, followed by a despairing wheeze like the lamentations of the damned.

‘Is he snoring or dying in there?’ Frey asked.

‘Er . . . well . . . when he’s asleep, it takes a bomb to wake him,’ Harkins said. Then he dropped his voice, glanced back through the door and covered one side of his mouth. ‘It’s probably because he’s an enormous lazy turd,’ he added bravely.

Well, that put paid to the idea of flying off. He wasn’t going to leave the Skylance and Firecrow behind.

Silo came out of the cockpit and into the corridor. ‘They lookin’ pretty impatient, Cap’n,’ he advised.

Frey was beginning to feel flustered. First bags under his eyes, and now this? ‘Where’s the doc, then?’

‘He won’t be getting up, Cap’n,’ said Jez, who’d appeared out of her quarters. ‘He was drinking pretty hard yesterday.’

Frey was glad to see her up and about. She’d put on new overalls and washed, and she looked more focused than he’d seen her in a while. That, at least, was heartening.

He made a quick decision. ‘We’ll have a pretty hard time explaining away a dead man if they come aboard,’ he told Ashua. ‘Bring him. Silo, you too.’

He headed into the infirmary. Ashua pushed the prisoner along after and Silo followed. Frey picked his way through Malvery’s medicine cabinet until he found a bottle with the right label. ‘Hold him still,’ he said absently.

‘I didn’t tell them! I swear! I did what you said!’ Abley was wailing, as Silo wrapped strong arms round him to secure him.

Frey found a wadded rag, tipped some of the bottle on it, and then slapped it over Abley’s nose and mouth. ‘That’s enough out of you,’ he said.

Abley struggled for a moment, but not hard enough to break Silo’s hold. His eyelids fluttered as he breathed in the chloroform, and then he went limp.

‘Give me a hand,’ he told Silo. Between them, they hauled Abley to the operating table and left him there.

‘If he’s shopped us, Cap’n, I’m coming back to shoot him, unconscious or not,’ Ashua promised.

There was a banging on the cargo hold door, faintly heard. Frey straightened, arranged his hair a bit, and went back out into the corridor. ‘Ashua, Silo, come with me. Jez, find Pelaru, make sure he stays quiet. I don’t trust him not to sell us out. Harkins . . .’ He waved at the air, unable to think of anything useful that Harkins could possibly contribute. ‘I don’t know, get dressed or something.’

‘Cap’n!’ Harkins saluted smartly and disappeared back into his quarters. Frey shook his head. He couldn’t get used to that saluting thing.

They made their way down to the hold. Frey thought their numbers were thin for a confrontation, but he didn’t want a firefight here, which was why he’d given Jez a job to keep her out of the way. He didn’t need her making everyone nervous. And anyway, if it came to that, they always had Bess.

Oh, damn it. Bess
.

He could hear her clanking around as they came down the stairs to the floor of the cargo hold. Without Crake’s whistle to put her to sleep they were going to have trouble hiding the fact there was a daemonist’s golem on board. And that would take some explaining to a bunch of Awakeners.

‘Ashua. Go back there to the sanctum. See if you can shut her up.’

‘How am I supposed to do that?’ Ashua protested.

‘I don’t know. You’re the smart one. Be creative.’

Ashua muttered something about how creative he’d feel with a rusty fork rammed sideways up his arse, but she did what she was told.

So now there were two of them. The captain and his first mate. He smoothed his rumpled clothes as Silo went over to the lever that opened the cargo ramp.

‘Let’s look like we’ve got nothing to hide, eh?’ he said. Silo pulled the lever and then returned to stand by his captain.

There were a dozen of them waiting outside, and most of them were carrying rifles. There were Sentinels in grey cassocks, an Acolyte in beige, and an assortment of men who looked like mercenaries. At the head of them was a tall man in a black cassock, high-collared and single-breasted like those of his companions. He had a long flowing moustache and a shaven skull, with the Cipher tattooed prominently on his forehead.

‘Brothers!’ Frey called out happily, throwing his arms wide.

‘That,’ thundered the man in black, ‘remains to be seen.’

They came up the ramp and into the cargo hold, spreading out to cover the area with guns. Frey didn’t count that an encouraging sign. The man in black walked up and stood squarely before him.

‘My name is Prognosticator Garin,’ he said. ‘And you are Captain Darian Frey.’

‘I’m pleased that my reputation precedes me,’ he said, though in this case he really wasn’t. If word had got back that he’d been robbing Awakener vessels, this wouldn’t go well.

‘We recognised your aircraft,’ said Garin. He glanced at Silo, then turned his attention back to Frey. ‘And now I’m wondering why you are here.’

Frey thought about playing the religious conversion angle, but he knew he’d never make it stick. So he went with what he knew. The best lies were closest to the truth.

‘Look, mate,’ he said confidingly. ‘I know you lot are into your Allsoul and stuff, but to be honest, that’s not for me. The idea of my destiny being mapped out before me and all that, I don’t much like it. I’m a simple man at heart. But I see the way the common folk rally round your banner, and I think, well, whose side do I want to be on? The Dukes and all those pompous city types? Or down here with the salt of the earth?’

‘Don’t try me with speeches, Captain Frey,’ said Garin, his arms folded.

‘Sod it then. We’re here for the mercenary work,’ said Frey, shrugging. ‘The only mercs the Coalition are hiring are Shacklemores. They want everyone on their side all disciplined and legal. Their loss. We reckoned you fellers might put up some coin for a few fighting craft and some experienced pilots.’

‘And so you found your way here. Very enterprising. I can’t imagine that would have gone down very well with the daemonist on your crew. A man by the name of Grayther Crake?’

Ah. That’s what this is about
.

‘It didn’t,’ said Frey. ‘So we kicked him off. Bloke was a pain anyway.’

Garin raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s interesting. Rumour has it you were fast friends.’

‘Rumour has it your Imperators are all daemons,’ Frey replied. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear.’

A smile touched the side of Garin’s mouth. ‘You’re far from the first pirate to join our ranks,’ he said. ‘It’s regrettable, but in order to fight the Archduke’s persecution, we’ll take the measures we must.’ His smile faded. ‘But if a man allies himself with the faithless, he’d better be ready for betrayal. You won’t object if we search your aircraft? Just to see if you’re telling the truth about your daemonist.’

The thought of Awakeners crawling all over his beloved aircraft, poking through his possessions, made Frey want to punch that stupid moustache off Garin’s face. But he didn’t see that he had much choice in the matter, so he hid his feelings behind a broad smile. ‘Of course,’ he said, with admirable control. ‘Take a look around. Silo, why don’t you go upstairs and warn the crew that men with guns are going to be there shortly?’ He looked at Garin. ‘Don’t want an incident, do we?’

Silo did as he was told. Garin motioned to some of his men to follow the Murthian. ‘Keep the crew up there until I’m done with the Captain,’ he instructed them. He told the others to search the cargo hold.

‘What’s through there?’ he asked Frey. He was pointing towards the back, where crates and tarp separated off a section.

‘Crake’s old sanctum,’ Frey said. He saw no point in lying. He also saw no point in mentioning Bess.

Immediately, Garin strode off across the hold towards it. Wrong-footed, Frey stood there a moment, said ‘Er,’ and then hurried after him, frantically thinking of ways he could explain the golem away.

The Prognosticator pushed aside the tarpaulin curtain and stepped into the sanctum, with Frey at his shoulder. Frey’s heart sank a little at the sight of it. It didn’t look good, with that weird daemonic circle drawn on the floor and the chalkboards covered in formulae and all the books and equipment and stuff. The whole thing looked like a cross between a mad scientist’s laboratory and the domain of someone who should be in a padded cell.

‘Hi, Cap’n,’ said Ashua chirpily, straightening up from a bookcase with an armload of books. ‘I was just packing away Crake’s stuff, like you told me to. Who’s this?’

I could kiss you, you wonderful thing
, Frey thought. ‘This is Prognosticator Garin. He just wants to make sure we don’t have any daemonists on board.’

Ashua smirked. ‘Not any more!’ she said.

‘He got sort of snippy about leaving,’ said Frey. ‘Some rubbish about money we owed him. So we kicked him about a bit, then threw him off.’

‘No honour among thieves, eh?’

‘We prefer to think of ourselves as wealth distribution experts.’

Garin studied the room sceptically. Frey glanced about and found Bess in a shadowy corner. She was standing entirely motionless. He narrowed his eyes and peered closer. Two little glimmers peered back at him from the darkness behind her face-grille. Frey looked away quickly as Garin turned to him. The Prognosticator gave him a penetrating glare.

‘I’m not at all sure that what you’re telling me is the truth, Captain Frey,’ he said. ‘But I’ve ways to find out. Follow me.’

He swept out of the sanctum. Frey pointed at Ashua on the way out.
You
, he mouthed,
are amazing
. Ashua did a little curtsey. Bess tried one too, creaking and squeaking as she did so.

‘What was that?’ Garin called from outside.

‘Just Ashua tidying up!’ Frey replied hastily, slipping through the tarp.

They walked back to the far end of the cargo hold, where the Acolyte had assembled a small brazier from pieces in his backpack and was in the process of lighting it. ‘Are we having a barbecue?’ Frey asked, mildly confused.

Garin ignored him. One of the Sentinels came down the stairs into the hold. ‘Can’t see any sign of him, Prognosticator,’ he said. ‘We’re looking through the engine room now, but there aren’t too many places to hide on a craft like this.’

‘I see,’ said Garin. On a piece of cloth, the acolyte laid out a brush, a small pot of ink, a pair of tongs, and a white oval stone the size of a hand. ‘Anything else?’

‘There’s an unconscious man in the infirmary.’

‘Abley,’ said Frey. ‘He took a bullet through the leg when we were fighting the Coalition in Korrene. It was a bad one. We had to put him out.’

Garin seemed to have lost interest. He picked up the brush and began painting something in black ink on the stone.

‘What’s in here?’ asked one of the Sentinels, rapping the butt of his rifle against the lashed-up pile of chests in the centre of the hold. Frey didn’t turn to look, but his heart sank a little. The relics. All the relics they’d stolen were in those chests.

He pretended to ignore the question. Garin hadn’t noticed. There was nothing quite so withering than when you spoke and no one listened.

The Sentinel didn’t repeat his question. He gave one of chests a cursory jiggle but found it closed tight. Eventually he wandered away, slightly embarrassed.

Frey let out his breath. He needed these people off his aircraft. What was Garin
doing
, anyway?

‘Hold this,’ said Garin, passing him the stone. ‘Careful. The ink’s wet.’

Frey held the flat stone in his hands. Written on the stone were two words. Darian Frey.

‘Say it aloud,’ Garin instructed him.

‘Er . . . Darian Frey,’ he said. ‘That’s me.’

Garin took the stone back carefully and put it over the brazier. The Acolyte, a young carrot-headed boy, watched eagerly. Some of the other searchers began returning to the hold, having found no trace of Crake. They gathered round the brazier, fascinated.

‘What exactly are you doing?’ Frey asked, when he couldn’t stand it any more.

‘I am asking the Allsoul whether you are a deceiver, or whether you truly want to aid our cause.’

‘I truly want to aid it if you
pay
me,’ Frey corrected. ‘I presume your little barbecue can handle the difference?’

‘I’d not be so flippant if I were you. Your freedom, and likely your life, rests on this.’