The Black Lung Captain (40 page)

But there was Bess, looming hugely in his mind, demanding that he save her.

He refused to fail. And if none of his learned peers had any advice for him, then he'd damn wel have to do it himself. His time on the
Ketty Jay
had taught him a little about how to handle the underworld, and it was to the underworld he went. He talked to some people, greased a few palms, and al of it led him here.

Yet, for al that he felt he'd taken matters into his own hands, he never quite felt in control. And now, as he folowed in the footsteps of the doctor, he wondered what he'd been thinking.

It's not too late to turn back
, he thought.
You don't have to do this.

But he did. He had to do it for Bess.

The basement level was mostly used for storage and was deserted. They walked a little way and took another set of steps down. The level below was dirtier than the last, and barely lit at al. There was a deep thrumming noise from somewhere nearby: a massive boiler, vibrating through the wals. Despite the boiler's proximity, it was freezing down here, and it stank of something unpleasant that Crake couldn't identify, something dank and cloying and vile. He could hear rats scurrying in the dark.

He began to jump at shadows. Each step took him further into a nightmare. If the cab driver was bad, this was worse. What had he got himself into? Where was this doctor taking him? The clean corridors he'd passed through seemed like a distant memory now. Ahead, a ceiling light flickered, turning itself on and off at random. Crake could barely keep stil. He desperately wanted to be gone from this place.

Be strong
, he told himself.
Don't fail her.

The doctor stopped in front of a metal door and unlocked it with a key.

'This is the deal,' he said. 'After we're done here, I lead you out of the front door, past the nurse on reception. I'l meet you at the back entrance at midnight. Half the money on acceptance of the merchandise, half on receipt. Are we understood?'

'Understood,' said Crake. He could barely force the word out through the dread that took hold of him.

'I need hardly remind you to be discreet,' said the doctor.

'No,' he said. 'You needn't.'

The doctor gave him an uncertain look, noticing his distress. He made no comment. Instead, he opened the door and went through. Crake folowed.

The room was tiled and white and grubby. Three gurneys were positioned against the far wal, three shapes underneath, covered by white cloths. The doctor passed from one to the other, puling the cloths away.

Lying there were three little girls, their skin white, eyes staring upward. Al of them Bess's age when she died, or thereabouts. Each had a Y-shaped row of stitches, running from shoulders to breastbone to pelvis. So appalingly young and innocent. Crake stared at them, horror constricting his throat. Shame and self-loathing filed him. He reeled and steadied himself against the door frame.

I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't. . .

'Wel?' said the doctor, indicating the corpses. 'Which one did you want?'

Twenty-Seven

Meaningful Conversations — Jez Clears The Air —

The Happy Amputee — A New Lead - Departures

Marduk was a cold, bleak and bitter place, even with summer coming on. It was the northernmost of the Nine Duchies, sharing a mountain border to the west with Yortland, which was the only colder place on the continent. Cruel winds blew down from the arctic, off the Poleward Sea. The month of Thresh had begun, heralding the start of the summer, but there was little of summer here.

Frey and Trinica walked along winding, slushy trails. Beyond the nearby buildings, snow-capped mountains rose hard and black. It was not yet dusk, but the peaks had swalowed the sun and the town of Raggen Crag was in twilight.

Neither had spoken for a long time. Wrapped in thick hide coats with furred hoods puled over their heads, they wandered the paths of Raggen Crag without purpose or intention. It was enough, just to walk.

Lights glowed in the windows of the houses, which had been built in groups, huddled together for warmth. The sound of rumbling industrial boilers could be heard within. The roofs and roads were piled with drifts of dirty snow. Black arctic birds swung overhead, or sat on the heating pipes and puffed up their feathers.

It was a grim and simple settlement, like many others Frey had visited lately. They must have hit twenty-five towns in the last thirty days, and stil Grist eluded them. There were sightings, hints -enough evidence to keep them in the chase - but nothing that had brought them closer to their target.

Every day, Frey scoured the broadsheets. But there was no sign of any disaster. No doomsday weapon unleashed.

What was Grist up to? What did he mean to do with the sphere he'd stolen? What was he waiting for?

If Frey was frustrated, his crew were doubly so. They were tired and bored. None of them cared about this mission the way he did. Nobody wanted to be dragged around a miserable duchy like Marduk while summer was wasting in the south. Pinn was almost permanently drunk, and Malvery had taken to joining him.

Harkins was hardly ever seen on the
Ketty Jay,
he only came on board for brief visits, and even then he was so skittish that Frey could barely get a sensible word out of him. Silo was his usual self. Jez stayed out of everyone's way. Crake and Bess were gone.

But there was Trinica. At least there was Trinica.

Having Trinica on board hadn't been easy at first. No matter how much they tried to get on, their history always lay between them. The spectre of their unborn child kept them apart. Neither could forgive the other for that. There were so many sharp edges to their conversations.

But they persisted, driven by their common cause. Their encounters with Osric Smult and Professor Kraylock had convinced them that they needed each other, if they wanted to find Grist. In the days that folowed, they worked wel together. Trinica knew people who wouldn't even open the door to Frey. Frey, in turn, knew lowlifes who were beneath Trinica's notice. Trinica had a way with the high-borns; Frey knew how to butter up drunks. Between them they scoured the inns and drinking houses of the remote northern settlements, plumbing the locals for information.

But there was little information to be had. Grist had disappeared, seemingly without trace.

As time passed, they got used to each other again. The barbed comments came less often. Conversations were no longer loaded with implications. They were no longer walking on eggshels.

More and more, Frey found himself forgetting that they were supposed to be enemies. And it seemed Trinica was forgetting too.

It wasn't al plain sailing. The longer he spent with Trinica, the more he was exposed to her rapid, jagged changes of mood. She was prone to black depressions which made her difficult company. But he learned to ride out her fits of anger and her sulen episodes. Because for every storm there was a period of clear skies and sunlight, where she was suffused with childish joy. or testing him with a wry and wicked wit. For those times, there was little he wouldn't endure.

This evening she was thoughtful, and there was a kind of quiet sadness to her. He wasn't sure where it had come from, but he'd long learned to stop searching for cause and effect where Trinica was concerned. She was a different woman to the one he'd left behind, but now she was free of that ghoulish make-up he could almost believe the last twelve years had never happened.

'I'm worried about your crew,' she said suddenly. They were the first words spoken for half an hour.

He blinked. 'You are?'

'Aren't you?'

He thought about that.
Worried
wasn't exactly the word he'd use. He was aware that the atmosphere aboard the
Ketty Jay
wasn't good, but he'd assumed it would sort itself out without any interference from him.

'It's just this whole Grist thing,' he said. 'Once we catch the bastard, they'l be alright.'

'They won't, Darian. They're coming apart. I know it's mostly my fault, but stil—'

' Your
fault? How's that?'

She gave him a look, her pale face framed by the furred rim of her hood. 'You must see that they hate me.'

Darian plucked at the back of his glove. '
Hate
is a bit strong,' he said. 'If we held a grudge against everyone who'd ever screwed us over, we'd have to leave the country. It's not like we've never been ripped off before.'

'Ah,' she said. 'But I'l bet you never invited the thief on board afterwards, though.'

'That's true. Except once, and that was to kick the shit out of him.'

She sighed, blowing out a plume of steam. Their feet crunched through the thin crust of old snow that lay on the paths. Two townsmen walked past leading a shaggy beast of burden, which was towing a piece of machinery on a cart. Frey had seen several of the creatures over the past month but he stil wasn't exactly sure what they were. Something between a cow and a ram, he supposed, but since they came buried under a mass of knotted and tangled fur, it was difficult to tel. Al he knew was that they were immensely strong and they stank like a mouldy underwear drawer. He vaguely wondered if they were good to eat.

'Listen,' she said. 'You were never the best at seeing what was in front of you, so I'l explain. Your crew resent me. Not only because I stole from them, but because I'm taking up your time.'

'You think they're
jealous
?' he scoffed. 'Trinica, they're not children.'

'Some of them aren't far off,' she said.

'S'pose you're right at that.'

'Darian, they've lost a friend in Crake. Even I can see that, and I never knew him. At times like that, when things are uncertain and times are bad, a crew looks to its captain for guidance and reassurance. But you're not there. You're with me. They can't understand it, and they don't like it. Darian, do any of them even know we were almost married?'

'No,' he said, uncomfortable. 'I think you're making a bit much of this, though.'

'No, I'm not. I would have said something weeks ago, but I didn't want to tel you how to run your crew.'

'I've done alright so far,' he said. He was on the defensive, and it came out snappy.

'You have. But now you need to do better,' she said. 'Being a captain, it's more than just making good decisions and giving the right orders. It's about trust.

You're like the head of a family. They need to trust you, and you need to trust them.'

'They do trust me!' Frey protested. 'Why do you think they've stuck with me?'

'It's a testament to their loyalty that they have,' she said. 'But it won't last forever. You're barely talking to your navigator. For what reason, I can't tel, but it's been going on for a month. The rest of your crew don't realy understand why they're being dragged through town after town, because you haven't explained to them why it's important to you. And al of them are feeling the loss of Crake, but their captain doesn't appear to care.'

'I
do
care!'

'But they can't see that.'

Frey didn't like the way this conversation had turned. He knew she was trying to help him, but he stil didn't like to be criticised. He bit back a sarcastic comment and tried not to look surly.

When she spoke again, her voice was gentle, cushioning the content. 'You let things fester,' she said. 'It's your way. You're not good at talking about the things that realy matter, so you avoid it instead. You wait and hope that everything wil turn out wel.' She paused, gazing at the ground before her. 'Remember when you left me, Darian?'

'Of course I do,' he said, prickling.

'You were unhappy for so long, weren't you?' Her tone was sad, sympathetic. It confused him. He'd expected an attack.

'I just . . .' he began, but already the words were clogging up. Damn it, he could never say how he felt and make it sound right. 'It was like I was trapped,' he managed at last. 'I was nineteen.'

'You were angry with me for asking you to marry me. For getting pregnant,' she said it matter-of-factly.

'I wanted to be with you,' said Frey awkwardly. 'I just didn't want to marry you. That's a big thing, you know? I was just a boy. I had a thousand things to do with my life.'

'But you didn't
say
that. You didn't say any of it.'

Frey was silent. He remembered how it was, on the day of the wedding. How he'd left it til the last minute, and when there was no other way out, he ran.

'I've thought about that day a lot,' Trinica said, as they trudged down a slope between two clusters of houses. Back towards the tiny landing pad and the
Ketty
Jay.
'I wondered what things would have been like if you'd spoken up earlier. Or if you'd married me anyway, despite your reservations.' She bit her lip, closed her eyes, shook her head. 'I can't see it. Any way you cut it. Wouldn't have worked.'

'I was nineteen,' said Frey quietly. 'So were you.'

'Yes. I was, once.'

The landing pad came into view. The lamp-posts were on. A dozen craft, none bigger than the
Ketty Jay,
rested there. As they approached, they could hear the sound of short, sharp impacts. Jez was there, buried inside a fur-lined coat, chipping ice from the landing struts.

Trinica stopped. Frey stopped with her. 'What?' he asked.

'You should go and talk to her,' Trinica said.

'About what?'

'About whatever's going on between you. I'l walk a little more.'

Frey felt suddenly unwel. 'I don't know what to say,' he protested feebly.

Trinica was firm. 'Anything's better than nothing.'

Frey watched Jez working away in the yelow lamplight. Trinica was right, of course. She was always smarter than he was. She never let him get away with anything. She decimated his excuses. Saw right through him when he tried to weasel out of things. He remembered that about her. She pushed him, always. She wouldn't let him be weak.

You're like the head of a family,
she'd said. And that was true. He'd told himself that they were al adults, that they could handle their own problems, but in his heart he'd known that he just didn't want to deal with them himself.