Ketty Jay 04 - The Ace of Skulls (69 page)

He wanted her to look at him for ever, but she had only seconds. She’d mastered the daemon briefly, but it wouldn’t stay down for long. With her terrified gaze, she implored him.

Ignoring the pain that wracked him, he laid his left forearm on her shoulder to steady himself, his shattered hand dangling uselessly at the end. He leaned in close, so that his bloodied lips brushed her ear, and he could feel the flutter of the pulse at her throat.

‘I love you,’ he said. And he drove the point of his cutlass into her with all the strength in his body.

A soft whimper escaped her as the blade passed through her and thrust out of her back. Her eyes, still fixed on his, tautened with the agony of it. She took in half a breath, and then her eyes rolled up, her head tipped back and her legs gave way.

He caught her with his left arm, clutched her to him and kept her there as she jerked and shuddered. The air warped and bent, distorting their surroundings like a fairground mirror; aethereal screeches filled the hold; a hurricane raged around them. He held on to her with one arm as if she was the only thing that would stop him from being blown away. With his other, he gripped tight the hilt of the cutlass.

He’d slain her once before with this blade, back in the Azryx city, when the Iron Jackal had taken on her form as a ploy to delay him. The daemon in his cutlass had destroyed the daemon then, just as it fought the daemon inside her now. But that had been a deception; this time it was real. To save her, he’d killed her.

He’d killed her.

The wind died and the screams died with them, and still he held Trinica. He held her till the shivers stopped and the trembling ceased and she hung there in the circle of his arm, her cheek against his shoulder, her eyes closed. He held her till the silence returned.

It was that silence, in the end, that broke him. The absence. He took in a breath, not caring how his broken ribs stabbed at him, and he let out a raw cry of rage and anguish that echoed from the cold walls of the hold. He pulled the blade from his lover’s body and threw it aside, and with Trinica still held against him he drew his second pistol and fired it over her shoulder at the Azryx device: once, twice, three times. The transparent casing that kept the gas inside cracked in two places, and a chunk of the bonelike exterior was blown away, revealing strange machinery which sparked with dangerous energy. He fired till his drum was empty, and kept firing after that, and would have gone on if a gloved hand hadn’t closed around the revolver and taken it from his hand. He turned his head and glared into the impassive mask of Morben Kyne.

‘It’s over,’ said Kyne.

Frey pulled Trinica hard against him, encircling her with both arms now, and sobbed helplessly, like a child. He felt her blood seeping through his shirt; or maybe it was his. He didn’t know. He didn’t know where his wounds ended and hers began any more. He just knew that she was gone, and that knowledge was everything.

The light in the hold dimmed and changed. The gas in the Azryx device had begun to change colour, moving from shades of putrescence and bile to a deep arterial red. Gangrenous black swirls appeared at its heart, and little worms of lightning crawled around the cracks in the casing, questing fingers seeking a way out. One of the cracks shot out a new branch, doubling in length under the stress from inside. A low pulsing sound was coming from the device, threatening in tone, getting louder.

‘We have to go,’ Kyne told him, his voice a flat buzz.

But Frey didn’t want to go anywhere. He didn’t care about the device, or the war, or the dull boom of artillery from beyond the
Delirium Trigger
’s hull. He’d been emptied out. All he wanted was to bring Trinica back, as if by force of will he could undo what had been done.

But he’d learned enough of the world to know better. There were no second chances, just illusions to grasp for. Phantoms, in the end.

He heard a strangled cry, and there was Balomon Crund, his swart face aghast. Behind him was Crake, gazing at his captain with sorrow in his eyes. Frey couldn’t stand it; he had to look away. Let them leave him here with her. Let him stay in this place, and be done with it.

There was a banging on the door they’d come through. Crake seemed grateful for the distraction, and he hurried over. ‘Crund. The code for the keypad,’ he said. When the bosun didn’t reply, Crake snapped at him. ‘Crund!’

Crund grunted a few numbers at Crake, and he punched them in. The door opened this time, and Samandra came through.

‘ ’Bout time!’ she said. ‘What’s the idea, locking me out there? I had to shoot ten of the bastards before they got the idea and buggered off . . .’ She tailed away as she saw the look on Crake’s face, and then noticed Frey and Trinica, standing in the centre of the hold. It might have been the end of a slow dance, the last lovers clinging to each other, reluctant to quit the floor. But the music was over now.

The pulse from the Azryx device was getting louder. Crake ducked in fright as an arc of lightning crackled and jumped across the hold to feel its way up one of the pillars. The air stank of burnt ozone, and the hair on the backs of Frey’s hands stood up on end.

Samandra eyed the machine uncertainly. ‘Er, fellers? Remember what happened when we took out that generator back in the Azryx city? This might not be a hundredth the size, but damned if I want to be near it when it goes.’

Crake walked over to Frey. He reached down and picked up the cutlass. ‘Frey,’ he said.

‘Leave me,’ Frey whispered.

‘I can’t do that, Cap’n.’

‘I said
leave me
!’ he shouted.

And then Trinica coughed, and blood ran from her lips down the side of his neck.

The two men exchanged a look of pure disbelief. Crund shouted: ‘She’s alive!’

Frey felt himself ignite. ‘She’s still alive,’ he said. ‘She’s still
alive!
’

‘Well, it was a daemon blade you stabbed her with,’ said Crake. ‘I mean, it always did know what you wanted. Maybe it missed the vital organs on purp—’

‘Stop explainin’, honey,’ Samandra told him gently. ‘Ain’t really the time.’

‘She’s alive!’ cried Frey again. He hadn’t heard a word of what Crake had just said. He was dazed by the sheer wonderful, impossible joy of it.

‘Well, if you want her to stay that way we best get out of here and get her to a doc,’ said Samandra. ‘Give her here, Frey, you look like you can barely walk.’

‘I’ll carry her!’ said Crund fiercely. When Frey hesitated, the bosun pulled her from his arms. Frey staggered, and Crake slung his arm round his friend to stop him from falling. The pain of his bruises and his shifting ribs stole the breath from him, but he forced it down, stayed on his feet, spat out the blood that kept coming up into his mouth. Balomon picked up Trinica with ease, holding her like a baby in his brawny arms.

Another bolt of lightning snapped across the hold, and a pile of crates exploded. ‘Let’s get goin’!’ Samandra cried. Together, they hurried towards the exit as fast as they were able, while behind them the Azryx device began to tear itself apart.

She’s alive
, Frey thought.
She’s alive. She’s alive
.

But for how much longer?

Forty-Five

Bleeding Out – A Farewell in Her Eyes – ‘What’d I Miss?’ – Getting Sentimental – A Debt is Paid

T
he
Delirium Trigger
shook and groaned as they hurried through the gloomy corridors up towards the light, carrying their wounded. An explosion boomed through the hull and she keeled to port, sending them careering into a wall. Running footsteps sounded from around corners, the rough shouts of soldiers and pirates. Occasional gunshots could be heard.

They stopped to bind Trinica’s wounds once they were a safe distance from the hold. It was a delay they could hardly afford, but Crake didn’t complain. He saw the desperation in Frey, the haggard hope on his face. He didn’t think as much of Trinica as the Cap’n did, but he knew love. If Trinica bled out before they got her to a doctor, no victory would make up for it. The Cap’n had got them here; they all owed him.

It was a quick job, and they were almost done when a trio of pirates came hurrying round the corner. Samandra and Kyne had their weapons up in an instant. The pirates were about to raise their own guns when Balomon Crund barked at them.

‘Hold there!’

Their eyes fell on him, and Trinica lying next to him.

‘Cap’n’s down,’ he snarled. ‘The
Trigger
’s goin’ with her. Abandon ship! Get to the shuttles! Abandon ship, you jackals!’

They didn’t need another prompt. The pirates backed away warily, turned tail and ran. Crund picked Trinica up and they set off again.

Crake had his arm round Frey, and the Cap’n’s broken hand flopped over his shoulder. His breath was laboured and short. He did his best not to make a sound, but the occasional suppressed grunt and gasp told of the pain he was in. Blood kept coming up in his mouth, and however much he spat out there was always more.

Bleeding inside
, thought Crake, and a cold fear sank into him.
Hold on, Cap’n. You can make it
.

But his weight seemed to increase as Crake dragged him along, and Crake knew it was because Frey was weakening, supporting himself less and less with his legs.

You can make it
.

They’d almost reached the deck when the explosions from outside multiplied sharply. The sound of detonations became constant, now far, now near, a thundering percussion rolling around in the distance, which occasionally sprang loud upon them and rattled their teeth.

‘Do believe that’s the anti-aircraft cannons,’ Samandra muttered. ‘Could’ve done with them holding off a mite longer.’

So the Azryx device had failed. How much longer before that failure became catastrophic, and it obliterated them? Crake didn’t dare think. Any moment could be their last, every passing second a gamble against mounting odds, and oblivion waited at the end. To even consider it might crack him.

There was still chaos on deck, but the combat had ceased. The
Delirium Trigger
’s crew – what was left of them – had given up the fight and were making their escape. The sky was full of fire and smoke. Anti-aircraft shells burst all around them in deafening, shattering blooms. Tracer fire chattered up into the night. Great looming frigates sank through the air, their guts ablaze, the drone of their engines descending with them. The Coalition soldiers had battened down, pressed against the gunwales, sheltering themselves from the barrage.

Celerity Blane raced over to them as they emerged through the doorway. She gave Samandra a harried smile and then looked at Crake. ‘All here? Good,’ she said in a jaunty aristocratic accent. ‘Now how about we open up that aircraft and get out of here, eh? Before we all die, I mean.’

‘Reckon someone’s already ahead of you,’ said Samandra, looking past her. And Crake saw that the cargo ramp of the
Ketty Jay
was indeed opening up, which was strange, because there was nobody standing near the keypad on the landing strut, and nobody but the crew knew the access code. Frey had made sure of it, in case anyone got any ideas about leaving without them.

So someone was opening it from the
inside
?

The ramp touched down. Some of the soldiers had already seen it and were hurrying that way, but they came skidding to a halt and then backed off, their guns ready. Stumbling out of the aircraft was a small, blackened figure, a charred scarecrow that limped onto the deck.

Crake stared, unable to believe his eyes.

‘No!’ Frey cried, his voice bubbling with blood. He spat and hauled in a breath. ‘Nobody shoot!’ he yelled with as much volume as he could manage.

‘Put them guns down!’ Samandra shouted, with considerably more.

The soldiers didn’t put their guns down, but they didn’t fire either. They fell back, moving aside for the stranger. Some of them scrambled to get away. Crake could feel the fear emanating from her even at this distance. Not like the focused power of the Imperators, just the instinctive terror caused by the presence of a daemon.

Onward she came, looking to her left and right, staring curiously at the people around her as if she wasn’t quite sure what they were all doing there. As she advanced, pieces fell from her, great burned scabs peeling away from her face and limbs, leaving her moist and raw beneath. She walked hunched over, like a wounded animal, and as more of her flaked away Crake saw more of what lay beneath.

A gaunt body in ragged overalls. Sallow skin, stretched taut like parchment over her bones. Teeth long and pointed. Fingernails like talons. Eyes a mix of yellow and red. A ghoul of the skies. A Mane.

Jez, and yet not Jez. Not any more.

Then the soldiers cried out and cringed down, and even Samandra stepped back and swore under her breath. As the wreck of a nearby Awakener frigate dipped out of sight, a great black prow broke through the smoke with a bellow of engines. A colossal mass of dirty metal and spikes and rivets, ploughing towards them through a hole in the convoy, ignoring the explosions all around it. Thick chains trailed in its wake like great tendrils, dangling behind and beneath it. The sight of it oppressed them, robbed their courage, nailed them to the spot.

A Mane Dreadnought. And it was coming right for them.

At the sight of it, Jez began staggering forward faster, heading towards the aft end of the
Delirium Trigger
’s deck. She’d found strength from somewhere; her limp hampered her less. She let out a screech as she went, something inhuman, which cut through the air and froze Crake’s blood.

She’s turned. She’s really turned at last
.

As if she’d heard his thoughts, she stumbled to a halt, and turned her head and stared right at him. She looked from him to the Cap’n and back again. And horrible though it was, her face softened a little, and for a moment Crake saw in her the old Jez he’d known. His friend and companion. The woman he’d shared his darkest secret with.