Iron Jackal (54 page)

He followed the corridor beyond. Bess trudged along behind him, swinging the head as she walked. Crake and Ashua trailed after.

There was a row of cell doors to his right. Each door was solid metal, with a riveted porthole for viewing the cell, and a sealed slot.

‘Ugrik!’ he yelled. ‘I’m looking for Ugrik! Anyone seen him?’

There was no reply. He peered into the first cell. It was plain and bare, with a bunk, a chamberpot and little else. There was a Sammie in there, dressed in a plain hemp shirt and trousers. He was pacing the room, and as he saw Frey he ran to the porthole and began frantically saying something. His words were muted by the soundproofed door. The Sammie indicated the slot below the porthole, miming that Frey should open it. Frey didn’t bother. Then Bess leaned in behind him, and the Sammie silently screamed and retreated to the back of the cell.

He looked in on the other prisoners, and their reaction was much the same. There were Sammies and Daks in here. None of them looked particularly dangerous. Frey wondered what was so terrible about them, or what knowledge they possessed, that would merit putting them here.

Each of them reacted in the same way as the first. They’d heard the explosions outside, and thought they might be rescued. He seemed like salvation, until they saw the gore-spattered metal monster he’d brought with him. Then they were less keen to leave the protection of their cells.

In the last cell on the corridor there was a Yort.

He was sitting on his bunk, picking at his fingernails. A short man, but broad-shouldered and stocky, wearing the same prison uniform as the others. His hair was a deep red, matted and dirty. It hung in three thick braids down his back, and his long beard was braided too. There were bones and beads and little ornaments tangled in amongst it all.

Frey unbolted and opened the slot in the door. The Yort looked up. He was in his mid-forties, his face lined and weathered. There were blue stripes inked on his cheeks, above the line of his beard, and a ring through his nose like a bull.

‘Ugrik?’

He got up and stood there grinning, exposing wide-set teeth. He had odd-coloured eyes: one green and one blue. Frey wondered what he was grinning at.

‘You Ugrik?’ he said again.

‘That I am,’ Ugrik replied.

‘Remember that relic you had when the Sammies caught you?’

‘That I do.’

‘Can you take me to where you found it?’

Ugrik was still grinning. ‘Maybe I can, maybe I can’t.’

Frey wondered if he was a moron. He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘And maybe I’ll leave your bearded arse to rot in this cell. How’s that?’

Ugrik came up to the porthole, and pressed his face to the glass. He rolled his eyes to take in Frey’s companions. The sight of Bess didn’t seem to perturb him in the least.

His eyes rolled back and fixed on Frey. ‘You messed with it, didn’t you?’

Frey pulled off his glove and slapped his corrupted hand up against the glass, right against Ugrik’s face. Ugrik didn’t move back, but regarded the hand from the distance of a few centimetres. Far too close to actually see anything.

‘How long?’ Ugrik asked.

‘Tomorrow night, at full dark.’

Ugrik paced away from the porthole. Frey put his glove on again. His patience was wearing thin. Maybe they’d tortured him, or addled him with drugs. ‘Look, do you want out of here or not?’

‘Here’s the deal, stranger,’ said Ugrik, with his back turned. ‘I’ll let you break me out of here on one condition.’

‘You’ll
let
us break you out?’

‘Aye.’

‘What’s the condition?’

‘That you take me straight back to where that relic came from.’

Frey blinked. If he’d been prone to migraines, he’d be getting one about now. He looked to Crake, but the daemonist was equally bewildered.

‘Ugrik,’ said Frey. ‘Am I right in thinking you’re mad as a bag of otters?’

The Yort looked over his shoulder and grinned. ‘I’m not the one with the black spot on my hand,’ he replied.

Frey opened his mouth, then shut it again. He’d just roused a small army, organised air support, and fought his way through a fortified compound to get to this man. After going through all that, a little gratitude and cooperation wasn’t too much to ask. It was all getting on top of him a bit.

He took a long, calming breath and walked away up the corridor. ‘I really,
really
don’t have time for this,’ he said. He thumbed over his shoulder. ‘Bess, get the door. That feller’s coming with us.’

Thirty-Five

The Infirmary
–
Consequences
–
A Bitter Parting

J
ez lay on the operating table in the
Ketty Jay
’s infirmary. If he ignored the fact that she was covered head to foot in other people’s blood, Frey would never have guessed that she’d been tearing people’s throats out an hour ago.

She lay serenely, unmoving. Her chest didn’t rise or fall. She wasn’t dead, as far as he could tell. Well, no more dead than normal. It was just that she wouldn’t wake up.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ he asked Malvery.

‘Dunno,’ said the doctor. ‘She passed out the first time she did this. Was out for a while, as I recall. Second time she didn’t, but I reckon she had it a bit more under control then. This time . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t do much but wait and see.’

It was lucky they’d found her at all. One of the Murthian slaves had rescued her, in fact. He’d tripped over her, lying unconscious on the quarry floor. Seeing that she wasn’t a Dak or Sammie, he figured her for an ally and helped her. Nobody equated her with the shrieking horror that had terrorised the enemy; most of them had only seen her in shadowy glimpses, if at all.

Frey felt bad that he hadn’t thought to search for her. He’d just assumed she’d be alright once it passed, that she’d take care of herself. It only now occurred to him that maybe, in this state, she couldn’t.

‘What is she?’ asked Ashua, who was the only other person in Malvery’s cramped, squalid infirmary.

Frey reckoned there was no percentage in keeping the secret. Ashua had seen her flip, after all. In fact, she’d been remarkably calm about it. He liked that. A level head was a rarity on the
Ketty Jay
. It was almost a shame he had to boot her off.

‘Jez is a half-Mane,’ he said. ‘Long story.’

‘A Mane?’ she asked. ‘I thought they were just stories.’

‘Maybe in the south,’ said Frey. ‘Up north, they’re pretty bloody real.’ He gave her a sharp look. ‘Mention this to anyone and Bess will punt you into the sea.’

‘No one would believe me anyway,’ she said.

Frey was satisfied enough with that. He turned to Malvery again, who was stroking his moustache and examining Jez, as if the key to her recovery might be visible somewhere on her body.

‘What about Pinn?’

‘He’s okay. I slipped him something to knock him out. Give us all some peace. Where’s the Yort?’

‘Eating out the pantry in the mess. That feller can put it away. He was making a fuss about how he couldn’t eat “unblessed meat” or some such rubbish, so I left him to it.’

‘Oh, that’s a Yort thing,’ said Malvery. ‘They only eat wild meat, and it’s gotta have some ritual done over it right after the kill.’

Frey shrugged. ‘More meat for us.’

‘What’s the plan now, Cap’n?’ said Ashua. It still sounded faintly like she was taking the piss when she called him Cap’n, but it was hard to tell through the mask.

‘Soon as it gets dark, we get out of this fog. Ugrik’s given me coordinates. He reckons he can navigate if Jez can’t.’

‘You trust him?’

‘Not a great deal of choice,’ said Frey. ‘Besides, if he’s messing us around, I’ll only have a day or so to regret it.’

Crake appeared in the door of the infirmary. ‘Visitor for you, Cap’n,’ he said. ‘She’s in the cockpit.’

Frey’s shoulders tensed. He’d been hoping to put off this moment as long as possible. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

The door between the cockpit and the
Ketty Jay
’s main passageway was closed, which was unusual. He opened the door with some foreboding.

Trinica was sitting in the pilot’s seat, looking out through the windglass. Outside, the day was rapidly dimming. The
Delirium Trigger
hung malevolently at anchor in the yellow murk. Shuttles flew back and forth, ferrying the Murthian slaves from the ground.

‘Shut the door,’ she said. He did so. That was when he noticed that the air in here was clear, and that she didn’t appear to be wearing a mask. There was a whirring sound. He looked about for its source.

‘It’s an air filtration system,’ she said. ‘It removes the smoke in case of a cockpit fire.’

Frey was bewildered. He took off his mask and inhaled. ‘How long’s
that
been there?’

‘Since I had the
Ketty Jay
overhauled for you in Iktak.’

He knew that voice. The words came out slow and tired, as if the act of speaking them was an effort. It was the voice that came from the blackest depths of her darkest moods.

‘Trinica . . .’ he began.

‘Five men,’ she said. ‘Two went down in Equalisers. The rest were killed on board, when the frigate got a shot past our armour.’

Frey had that inadequate, paralysed feeling he got when he had nothing to say that would make things better. He tried anyway.

‘We got our man,’ he said. ‘We couldn’t have done that without you. I’ve got a chance, now. You gave me that.’

‘Five men died to give you a
chance
?’ Her voice had sharpened.

Frey listened to his instincts this time, and stayed quiet.

She got up and turned away from the windglass, but she still didn’t look at him. She was wearing a grey cloak over her black outfit, a deep cowl gathered around her shoulders. A breather mask hung from her hand, the kind that covered the whole face, with lenses for eyes. Her own eyes were that awful, empty black of the pirate queen that had stolen the woman he’d once loved. The black of the Iron Jackal’s eye.

‘You shouldn’t have asked me,’ she said.

‘You’d rather I died?’

‘Those were my men. Men who trusted me.’

‘Men who knew the risks,’ Frey pointed out.

She shook her head. ‘I see it in them, Darian. The doubt. Even Balomon. Even my bosun.’

‘You’ve led them all this time. They’ll forgive you.’

‘It’s not about
forgiveness
,’ she hissed. A flash of anger, quickly gone. ‘They’re not stupid. They know why I did it.’ Her eyes tightened. ‘You made me weak.’

Frey bridled at the accusation. He couldn’t help it. Diplomacy went out the window when he argued with Trinica.

‘Hey, I did
exactly
the same for you, back in Sakkan!’ he snapped. ‘I put
my
crew at risk to save
your
neck, and at considerably greater bloody odds.’

He was surprised to see her flinch at his tone. It took the sting out of him.

‘They owe me,’ he added, more gently. ‘Don’t they get it?’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Trinica. He hated when she did that.

‘So explain better,’ he said, the edge creeping back into his tone.

‘They see what’s going on between us!’ she cried. ‘And now people have died for it! People who they respected, people who were friends and companions!’ She caught herself before her anger could get out of control, and suddenly she was tired and mournful again, the fire doused. ‘I’m in charge of fifty cut-throat men. Men like that don’t take orders from women. But they take orders from me. You know why? Because I don’t let them think of me that way. They want me ruthless, Darian. They want me cruel.’

She met his gaze, and he saw tears glittering in her black eyes. ‘You’re taking that away from me,’ she whispered.

Something terrible was coming. He sensed it. Suddenly it was hard to breathe.

‘I know you, Trinica. That isn’t how you are.’

‘No,’ she said, and she held out a gloved hand to him. ‘You
knew
me.’

Lying in her palm was a silver ring. A ring he’d given her once, in place of the one he should have given her all those years ago. The ring that linked them together.

‘Take it,’ she said, her voice cracking.

‘No,’ he said. The words sounded distant. Blood was beating in his ears. ‘It’s yours.’

Then she tipped her hand, and the ring slid from her palm and fell to the floor of the cockpit. ‘I don’t want it.’

He felt suddenly weak, and sat against the edge of the metal desk at the navigator’s station. He couldn’t take his gaze from the ring on the floor. It felt as if something dark was thundering towards him. He was shocked that anything would unbalance him so much.

When he looked up at Trinica, she was wearing the breather mask, and pulling the cowl over her head. She turned her face towards him, and he couldn’t see anything of her any more.