Retribution Falls (25 page)

Crake was sitting atop the toilet, elbows on his knees, one hand on his forehead with his fingers clenched anxiously through his hair. Finally he understood the true seriousness of their situation. Unwittingly, they’d become entangled in a power-play for the greatest prize in the land. The only problem was they’d been inconvenient enough not to die when they were supposed to. Now they were hunted, both by those who thought they were responsible, and those who wanted them silenced. Small fry dodging the mouths of the biggest fish in the sea.

Thade’s voice was soothing again. ‘Dracken will have him soon. She guessed that he’d go to Quail, and she surmised he’d go after your daughter rather than coming for you. I am learning to respect her intuition where Frey is concerned.’ He paused. ‘She also believes he might try something tonight.’

‘Tonight?’

‘It’s his best chance of getting close to me, in amid all the chaos. But do not fear. She has men undercover all over my manor, and in the port on the mainland. The Delirium Trigger itself is hiding up in the night sky, waiting for a signal if the Ketty Jay should arrive.’

Crake felt his stomach sink. First the Shacklemores, and now Trinica Dracken was here? One step ahead of them already? This was getting altogether too dangerous. It was only through Amalicia’s invitations - and because nobody knew Crake and Jez were part of the crew of the Ketty Jay - that they’d remained undetected thus far. Crake was beginning to wish he’d never got involved in the first place.

The lavatory door rattled, making him jump. He looked up. There was a pause, then the door rattled again. A moment later, there was a sharp knock on the door.

‘Is someone in there?’

It was the butler. Crake was frozen to the spot. He said nothing, in the futile hope that the man outside would go away.

‘Hello? Is someone in there?’ He sounded angry. There was a knocking again, firmer this time.

The door was locked from the inside. Crake decided that he’d do better to own up, before the butler got really furious.

‘I’m in here,’ he said. ‘Be out in a minute.’

‘You’ll be out right now, sir!’ said the butler. ‘I don’t know how you got up here, but these are the private rooms of Master Thade.’

‘Do you trust her?’ said Grephen, from downstairs. His voice was suddenly faint. They’d moved away, walking into another room. Crake strained to hear over the voice of the butler.

‘Dracken? As much as I trust any pirate,’ Thade replied. ‘Besides, we need her. She’s our only link to—’

‘Sir! I must insist you come out here right now!’ the butler cried, knocking hard on the door.

‘Give a man a moment to finish his business!’ Crake protested, delaying his exit as long as he could. He had the sense that something important was being discussed here, but the words were becoming harder and harder to hear as the speakers moved away.

‘. . . we . . . no one else?’ Grephen asked. ‘I . . . uneasy about . . .’

‘. . . Dracken knows the . . . has charts and . . . device of some kind. Only way . . . can find that place. She . . . our . . . has to be escorted in . . . out . . . secret hideout . . .’

‘Sir!’ bellowed the butler.

‘I’m coming!’ cried Crake. He flushed the toilet, and was dismayed when the sound drowned out the last of the conversation from below him. Unable to hold out any longer, he unlocked the door and was immediately seized by the arm. The butler was a short, balding, red-faced fellow, and he was in no mood for Crake’s weak excuses. The daemonist was escorted roughly along the corridor and down the stairs, past the startled manservant who was supposed to be guarding them.

‘Sir will please stay downstairs from now on, or he shall be thrown from the premises!’ the butler snapped, loud enough to draw titters from the guests nearby. Crake blushed, despite himself. He hurried back towards the ballroom as the butler began to vent his anger on the hapless manservant who had let Crake pass minutes before.

Once in the ballroom, he looked for Jez, and found her with Vexford. The older man was towering over her, drunk on sherry and success, bawling about his outrageous exploits during the Second Aerium War. Crake strode up to them and took Jez by the arm.

‘Cra—’ Jez began, then corrected herself. ‘Sweetheart!’

‘We’re going,’ he said, pulling her away.

‘Here, now, you boor!’ protested Vexford, who was still in mid-story; but Crake ignored him, and Jez was propelled away. Vexford grabbed her wrist to stop her.

‘Sir!’ she exclaimed, breathlessly.

Vexford leaned closer and murmured huskily in her ear. ‘I have a large estate, just outside Banbarr. Anyone in the city will know where it is. If you ever tire of this ruffian, you will be most welcome.’ Then she was pulled away again by her impatient companion.

‘It’s been a great pleasure, sir!’ Jez called over her shoulder. ‘I hope to meet again!’ Then the crowd closed around them, and she turned to Crake with a narrow glare. ‘You left me alone with him,’ she accused. ‘He smells of sour milk and carrots.’

‘We’ll talk about it later, dear,’ said Crake.

‘I don’t think I want to marry you any more,’ she sulked.

Twenty

A Guest On The Path - The Letter Knife - A Bad End To The Evening

The crowd on the lawns had thinned out considerably - most of them were in the ballroom now - and the chorus of night insects was in full voice. Crake pulled off his earcuff and threw it into a flower bed as they passed. It was useless without its partner, and he wasn’t about to retrieve it from Thade’s pocket. He’d make more, and better.

‘So I take it you found out what you wanted?’

‘I found out more than I wanted,’ he muttered. ‘But right now I’d like to get off this island as quickly as possible.’

Crake looked up into the moonless sky as they walked, fancying he might see a patch of deeper black in the blackness: the Delirium Trigger, lurking in wait. Jez, having picked up on his obvious agitation, stayed silent.

They crossed the lawns and came to the old path that led to the manor’s landing pad. Here, passenger craft ran a shuttle service to the port of Black Seal Bluff on the mainland. The Ketty Jay was hidden in a glade a few kloms out from the port. Shaken by his near-miss with the Delirium Trigger, Frey hadn’t dared set down in Black Seal Bluff itself. A sensible precaution, as it turned out. Dracken’s undercover spies would have spotted the craft immediately.

They’d been fortunate so far. They’d received more than their share of luck. But the circle was drawing tighter now, and the closer they got to the truth behind the destruction of the Ace of Skulls, the more it constricted.

The path down to the landing pad was wide and deserted, with a knee-high drystone wall on either side. It wound down the hill, occasionally bulging out into small rest areas with carved wooden benches. Weeping bottlebrush and jacarandas overhung the wall, obscuring sections of the path. Electric lamps, set in recesses, lit their faces from below. Bats feasted on insects in the blood-warm darkness overhead.

Crake was so intent on getting down to the pad and away that he was surprised when Jez suddenly tugged him to a halt.

‘Someone’s there,’ she said. She was staring intently into the foliage, a distant look in her eyes, as if she was seeing right through the leaves and bark to whoever hid beyond.

‘What? Where?’ He tried to follow her gaze, but he could see no sign of anyone.

‘He’s right there,’ she murmured, still staring. ‘On the bench. Waiting for us.’

They stood there a moment, not knowing what to do. Crake couldn’t fathom how she could sense this mysterious man, nor how she knew his intention. But he didn’t doubt the conviction in her voice. They couldn’t go forward without passing him, and they couldn’t go back. Crake suddenly wished they’d tried to smuggle in weapons, but it was forbidden for guests to carry arms.

Yet he couldn’t just stand here, trapped, a child afraid to move in case he disturbed the spider. That wasn’t the way a man ought to act. So he steeled himself, and walked on, Jez following behind.

A dozen paces later the path twisted and widened into a circular rest area, hidden by the trees. There was an ornamental stone pool, with a weak jet of water bubbling from a spike in its centre. Sitting on a bench, contemplating the pool, was Fredger Cordwain. He looked up as Crake and Jez arrived.

‘Good night,’ said Crake, without breaking stride.

‘Good night, Grayther Crake,’ Cordwain replied.

Crake froze at the sound of his name. He tensed to run, but Cordwain surged up from the bench, a revolver appearing in his meaty hand. He must have assumed the rule against carrying arms didn’t apply to him.

‘Let’s not make this difficult,’ Cordwain said. ‘You’re worth just the same to me dead or alive.’

‘Who’s this?’ Jez asked Crake. It took a moment before he realised she was still playing in character. ‘Sweetheart, what’s this about?’

Cordwain walked towards them, his weapon trained on Crake. ‘Miss Bethinda Flay,’ he said. ‘If that is your real name. The Shacklemore Agency have been after your “sweetheart” for several months now. I’m ashamed to say it took me a little time to recognise him from his ferrotype. It’s the beard, I think. I don’t have a good memory for faces.’

‘But he hasn’t done anything!’ Jez protested. ‘What did he do?’

Cordwain stared at her levelly. ‘Don’t you know? He murdered his niece. An eight-year-old girl.’

Jez looked at Crake, stunned. Crake was slump-shouldered, gazing at the floor.

Cordwain moved around behind Crake, took his wrists and pulled his arms behind his back. Then he shoved the revolver into his belt and drew out a pair of handcuffs.

‘Stabbed her seventeen times with a letter knife,’ he said conversationally. ‘Left her to bleed out on the floor of his own daemonic sanctum. That’s what kind of monster he is.’

Crake didn’t struggle. He’d gone pale and cold, and he wanted to be sick.

‘His own brother hired us to find him,’ said Cordwain. ‘Isn’t that sad? It’s terrible when families get to fighting among themselves. You should always be able to trust your family.’

Tears gathered in Crake’s eyes as the handcuffs snapped closed. He raised his head and met Jez’s gaze. She stared at him hard, shock on her face. Wanting to be reassured. Wanting to know that he hadn’t done this thing.

He had nothing to tell her. She could never condemn him more that he already condemned himself.

‘If you don’t mind, Miss, I’ll have to ask you to come along with me, too,’ said Cordwain as he adjusted the handcuffs. ‘I’m sure you understand. Just until we establish that you’ve no connection with this—’

Jez lunged for the pistol sticking out of his belt, but Cordwain was ready for her. He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her off balance, shoving Crake down with his other hand. With his hands cuffed behind his back Crake was unable to cushion his fall, and he landed painfully on his shoulder on the stony ground.

Jez slapped and punched at Cordwain, but he was a big man, much stronger and heavier than she was.

‘As I thought,’ he said, fending her off. ‘In on it too, aren’t you?’

Jez landed a fist on his jaw, surprising him. But the surprise lasted only a moment. He backhanded her hard across the face: once, twice, three times in succession. Then he flung her away from him. She tripped headlong, flailing as she went, and cracked her forehead against the low stone wall of the pool.

The terrible sound of the impact took all the heat out of the moment. Cordwain and Crake both stared at the small woman in the pretty black dress who now lay motionless on the ground.

She didn’t get up.

‘What did you do?’ Crake cried from where he lay. He struggled to his knees.

Cordwain drew his pistol and pointed it at him. ‘You calm down.’

‘Help her!’

‘I said cool your heels!’ he snapped. He moved over towards Jez, crouched down next to her, and picked up a limp hand, pressing two fingers to her wrist. After a moment, he let it drop, pulled her head aside and checked for a pulse at her throat.

Crake knew the result by his expression. He felt a surge of unbelievable, irrational hate. ‘You son of a bitch!’ he snarled, getting to his feet. Cordwain immediately thrust his weapon towards him.

‘You saw what happened!’ Cordwain said. ‘I didn’t mean for that!’

‘You killed her! She wasn’t anything to do with us!’

Cordwain advanced on him. ‘You shut your damn mouth! I told you I could take you in dead or alive and I meant it!’

‘Well, you’d better take me dead, you bastard! Because even a Shacklemore doesn’t get to kill innocent women! And I’m going to make absolutely sure that everyone knows what you’ve done.’

‘You need to stop your talking, sir, or I will shoot you like a dog!’

But Crake was out of control. The sight of Jez, lying there, had freed something inside him. It unleashed all the rage, the guilt, the horror that he kept penned uneasily within. He saw his niece, still and lifeless, her white nightdress soaked in red, her small body violated by vicious wounds. He saw the bloodied letter knife in his hand.

That was the day he began to run, and he hadn’t stopped since.

‘Why don’t you shoot?’ he shouted. ‘Why don’t you? Save me the show trial! Pull the trigger!’

Cordwain backed off, his gun raised. He was unsure how to deal with the red-faced, spittle-flecked maniac who was stumbling towards him, his hands cuffed behind his back.

‘You stay back, sir!’

‘End it, you murderer!’ he screamed. ‘End it! I’ve had enough!’

And then something moved, quick in the night, and there was a terrible, dull crunch. Cordwain’s eyes rolled up into his head and he crumpled, folding onto himself and falling to the ground.

Standing behind him, a rock from the drystone wall in her hand, was Jez.

Crake just stared.

Jez tossed the rock aside and took the keys from the Shacklemore man. She walked over to Crake, turned him around, and undid his handcuffs. By the time they’d fallen free, he’d found words again.

‘I thought you were dead.’

‘So did he,’ she replied.

‘But he . . . but you were dead.’