The Black Lung Captain (17 page)

Spanners gave him a look. 'Stil in the
Ketty Jay,
far as I know. She ain't goin' anywhere, and nobody's stupid enough to try gettin' inside with that golem waitin'.

Don't intend on tanglin' with
that
beast twice.'

Twice?
Frey thought.
Who are these people?

Then he heard the rumbling of engines overhead. He looked up to see the prow of a frigate gliding into sight from behind the peak of a nearby mountain. His heart had already sunk into his stomach; now it felt like it was trying to make its way down his leg with the intention of tunneling through his foot and heading underground.

He knew that frigate. That black, scarred monster, built like an ocean liner, her deck laden with weaponry.

Trinica Dracken's craft: the
Delirium Trigger.

He watched the shuttle descend from the frigate with a deep sense of trepidation.
She
would be on it, of course. The woman he'd loved, once, back when they were both young and didn't know any better. The woman he'd deserted on their wedding day. The woman who'd tried to kil herself in her grief and only succeeded in kiling the baby in her womb.
His
baby.

But that was a long time ago. Before she became one of the most feared pirates in Vardia. Before she robbed him of a fortune outside Retribution Fals.

Before she changed into something else.

They waited at gunpoint, surrounded by armed men. Their own guns had been unloaded and left in a heap a short distance away, along with their blades and other weaponry. Frey's cutlass rested on top of the heap; assorted knives, machetes, clubs and a set of knuckledusters were scattered around it.

A cold wind blew across the landing site. Frey tried not to shiver in his wet clothes. He clamped his jaw, which was threatening to tremble. He wouldn't show any weakness. Not to her.

The shutde touched down, and a ramp opened to let the passengers out. His stomach was a painful knot of anticipation. Damn it, how did that woman do this to him? Half of him hated her, the other half craved seeing her again. It had been more than a year since he'd last laid eyes on her, while she was depriving him of a hard-won chest of ducats that could have made him a rich man.

He'd imagined a reunion many times since, in many different ways. But always in circumstances more favourable than this.

Then he saw her. She stepped off the shuttle, her bosun by her side. Slender, dressed head to toe in black. Chalk-white skin, short blond hair hacked into clumps. Red lips, garishly painted. She wore contact lenses to blacken her irises, making her pupils seem wide as coins. Everything about her was calculated to unsettle. She dressed like Death's bride, or perhaps his whore, and people caled her both.

The very sight of her made him angry. He couldn't help it. How could she bury her beauty under this horrifying facade? Her very existence was a blasphemy against the girl who lived in his memory. His idealised portrait of perfect romance. The love that might have been.

How could she do that to him?

'Trinica Dracken,' Grist muttered. 'I heard of her.'

'Yeah,' said Frey. 'Me, too.'

He recognised her bosun from their last meeting. A squat man, with matted black hair that hung untidily around a swarthy, simian face. His skin was puckered in a patch over his cheek and throat, a burn scar, visible above the colar of his shirt. Frey tried to keep his eyes on the bosun as they approached, so he wouldn't have to look at Trinica. But his gaze kept going back to her, and eventualy he gave in to it.

She stopped in front of them and looked them over. Her black eyes lingered a moment on Frey before passing by with scarcely a glimmer of recognition or greeting. Then she looked at Spanners.

'This is al they had on 'em,' he said, holding out the metal sphere.

'Then that's what we came for,' Trinica said. 'Mr Crund?'

Her bosun took the sphere from Spanners. Grist glowered and seethed at the sight. Frey fancied he could feel the heat of the rage coming off him.

'Captain Grist, Captain Frey,' said Trinica, nodding at both of them. 'It's been a pleasure.'

And with that, she turned and walked away. Crund departed with her. The armed men who'd surrounded them backed off towards the shuttle, keeping their weapons trained on the captives.

Frey stared after her. Stunned.

That was it? That was
all
? No 'Long time, Darian?' Not even the banter of old adversaries? He'd waited a year to see her again and that was al she gave him?

She'd robbed him doubly this time. It wasn't just that she'd taken the sphere from them; it was that she'd done it with such a shattering disregard for his feelings.

He'd thought about her ever since their last meeting, reliving that final smile she'd given him. A smile that came from the old Trinica, the briefest glimpse of the young woman he'd loved. He believed in that smile. He'd convinced himself that young woman was stil there, buried under the heartless criminal she'd become. He'd fantasised about meeting her again, teasing out that smile once more.

But she, apparently, hadn't given him a moment's consideration.

They stood in silence as the shuttle rejoined the frigate. Nobody was quite sure what to say. They watched as the
Delirium Trigger
lit its thrusters and slid out of sight over the mountains.

'I realy hate that bitch,' Frey muttered.

'How did she know?' Grist snarled. There was danger in his tone, like the ominous rumblings that precede an earthquake. His face was red; he was almost choking with rage. 'How did she find us? How did she
know
?' He turned and faced the group. '
Which one of you told her?'

Frey was intimidated enough to take an unconscious step back, but Malvery was uncowed. 'Calm down, mate,' he said. 'We've not been out of your sight since you came to us with the job. It's hardly gonna be one of us.'

Hodd raised a quivering hand. 'Remember that I, ah, approached several people before I came across your good self, Captain Grist. It's entirely possible that

—'

He got no further. Grist gave a below of rage, and punched him in the face with appaling force. Hodd squealed as he fel to the ground, holding his bloody mouth, eyes wide with fear and distress. Grist stamped over to the heap of weapons, scooped up a machete, and stamped back towards Hodd, who'd got to his knees and was making incoherent shrieking noises through his hands.

'Here, wait a minute . . .' said Malvery, but his protest was halfhearted. None of them realy thought he'd do it. Not until he swung the machete with al his might and buried it in the side of Hodd's neck.

Time stopped for Frey. The shock of the moment froze them al where they were. Hodd gaped blankly.

Then he coughed, and a flood of red spiled from his throat and over his lips. His hand came up and felt for the grip of the machete, as if trying to work out what it was. He made a feeble attempt to pul it free, but his hand slipped on the blood that had already coated the handle. It squirted from the wound in grotesque pulses.

His eyes had that terrible look in them. A look Frey had seen many times before. The look of a man who couldn't quite believe his time was up.

He keeled over sideways and was stil.

Grist stared down at the explorer, his chest heaving. Nobody said a word. They watched him carefuly, waiting to see what he'd do next.

'We're gonna get the sphere back,' he said eventualy. 'We're gonna get it back, you hear? Your crew and mine. We'l track that woman down and we'l have what's ours and more besides.
Nobody
steals from Harvin Grist.' He took a breath, straightened, and looked over at Frey. 'You in, or not?'

Frey looked back at him. Trying to judge the depth of the mania in Grist's eyes. His first appraisal of the man had been seriously off. There was a blackness at his core that Frey didn't like at al.

To give up his shot at a fortune was no easy thing. This was the second time Trinica had stolen from him, and that was hard to take. But even so, he could have walked away. He was getting in over his head, and he knew it. Might as wel play with dynamite as have a partner like Grist.

But she'd scarcely acknowledged him. That was what burned. Al this time, al that had passed between them, and he meant less than nothing to her. He felt snubbed and humiliated, and he wanted to make her pay for that. He wanted revenge. She'd never walk al over him again.

'I get Hodd's five per cent,' he said, motioning toward the dead man.

Grist snorted in disgust. 'Fifty-fifty it is, you bloodsuckin' bastard,' he said. He turned his back and walked off towards the
Storm Dog.
Crattle folowed him.

'Another mission ends in resounding success, then,' Malvery said sarcasticaly. He headed for the
Ketty Jay.
The others drifted away after him, al except Jez, who was eyeing the corpse of Hodd.

'You sure about this?' she said doubtfuly.

'No,' said Frey. 'But we're doing it anyway.'

Jez nodded to herself. 'Right you are, Cap'n,' she said. Then she, too, walked off towards the
Ketty Jay,
and Frey was left alone.

Thirteen

The Butcher's Block — Pinn Gets A Letter —

Advice From A Drunkard

Marlen's Hook stood between the Blackendraft ash flats and the Scourfoot Desert, an outpost of humanity in the most i. lifeless of places. To the west were the Hookholows, their sharp tips peeping over the edge of the high Eastern Plateau. Restless volcanoes hidden among the mountain peaks filed the sky with a grimy haze which was carried on to the plateau by the prevailing winds. The land was gloomy and bleared.

The port was built on a blunt lump of black rock that thrust dramaticaly upward from the ash-crusted earth. The heart of the settlement was on the flat top of the rock, where there was a landing pad for aircraft. It was the only place in Marlen's Hook that had anything recognisable as streets.

Jez stood at Frey's shoulder as he brought the
Ketty Jay
in towards the landing pad. She'd been to Marlen's Hook twice since joining Frey's crew, and she never looked forward to returning. The place was a lawless den of thieves and cut-throats. The Coalition Navy ignored it because it was so remote from civilisation, and because the ash in the air clogged up engines and lungs alike. Just being here was bad for your health.

She turned her eyes to the horizon, where the day was burning down in shades of pink and yelow and purple.
Still,
she thought,
at least it makes for a
dramatic sunset.

Outside the central mass of the town, shanty dwelings had gathered in clots. Tents and lean-tos crowded for space. Buildings clung to the sloped flanks of the rock wherever they could, forming a rickety maze of plank walkways and chiseled stairs. Shadows stretched long fingers eastward, or pooled in the holows.

The
Storm Dog
was ahead of them and below, descending towards the port. Powerful beam lamps shone up from the landing pad, cutting through the murk, guiding her in. The
Ketty Jay
folowed, her outflyers trailing behind.

'Wel,' said Frey. 'It may not be pretty, but if anyone knows where Dracken might be found, they'l be down there somewhere.'

'Let's hope so, Cap'n,' Jez said neutraly. Frey was just talking to fil up the silence. She could tel he was ful of doubts, just as she was. The atmosphere on the return journey from Kurg had been strained. The crew had retreated to their quarters or occupied themselves with solitary tasks. Hodd's murder had sobered them.

Nobody missed the explorer, but nobody thought he deserved what he got, and they were al wary of Grist now. They didn't like throwing their lot in with someone like that. They'd rather give up on this whole thing.

But the Cap'n had decided otherwise. He'd got the bit between his teeth, and he wasn't going to stop. Jez wished she knew what was going on in his head. He'd been different ever since Grist had turned up. The old Frey would have known when to retreat. He would have folded his hand and got out while they stil could.

But something had lit a fire under him. There was a kind of doggedness in his manner that she hadn't seen since they got tangled up in the Retribution Fals affair.

She sensed they'd be folowing this through to the end.

But if Grist was a dangerous aly, then Dracken was an even more dangerous enemy. Her involvement was unlikely to be a coincidence. There was more to this than a simple treasure hunt. She just hoped the Cap'n knew what he was doing.

Meanwhile, Jez had preoccupations of her own. Now that the shock had worn off, she'd had time to process everything she learned aboard the dreadnought.

Foremost among them was this: Manes were daemons. Daemons that took over the bodies of men and women.

She had a daemon inside her.

The thought was horrifying. Ever since she'd first realised she was dead, she'd thought of the Mane part of her as an infection, a disease that she must resist if she wanted to retain her humanity. But now it was different. Now she was
possessed.
The enemy was inteligent, and it was within her. Not some mindless force of transformation, but a malicious invader that knew her thoughts and plotted her overthrow.

She held up her hand in front of her and stared at it. The arrow wound she'd sustained on Kurg had already closed up. There was no trace of a scar, and her fingers worked fine. Once her ability to heal rapidly had seemed a useful side effect of her condition; now it was just more evidence of the dreadful entity within her.

Her skin no longer felt like her own. She was violated. Somehow, she had to expel the invader.

This can't go on,
she thought.

For years she'd lived in fear of herself, hiding from her felow humans, afraid to make friends or to stay in one place. She'd tried to resist the creeping influence of the Manes, hoping to drive it back by wilpower alone. She'd told herself that she would have been consumed long ago if not for that.