Iron Jackal (61 page)

When she looked back, she saw that her tracks were filling up as fast as she left them.

She’d been here too long. It was time to leave. Time to will herself awake.

Where was Rinn? She’d enjoyed talking with him. She wished she could recall what they’d talked about.

Listlessly, she drifted through the settlement. It seemed like she was the only person in the world now. Just her and the cold and the turning, tumbling flakes of snow.

Adarik. That’s what it’s called. This tiny little town where I died. Adarik
.

Why had it taken her so long to remember a thing like that?

She came out onto the main thoroughfare, and there was the dreadnought. The ropes and chains that hung from it dragged softly against the snow as they were brushed by the wind.

They were singing up there. The baying, discordant animal howls touched chords inside her. She found herself wanting to howl with them. There was freedom in it, and release. There was no self-consciousness among the Manes. Each knew its fellows intimately. Each was connected on a level that was at once primitive and near-divine. She listened, and swayed to the sound.

She’d been here too long. There were things she needed to do. Her people needed her.

She walked over to one of the dangling chains. It swayed before her.

She’d been here too long. It was time to wake up.

She grabbed hold of the chain and began to climb, up towards her brethren at the top.

Harkins was scared.

This was nothing new, of course. But today it was a different flavour of fear, and one he hadn’t tasted for a long while. Tonight, he was scared because he was alone.

Well, alone except for
her
.

He stood in the passageway, just out of sight of the infirmary door, jigging from foot to foot. A lantern dangled from each hand. The spare was necessary, because if he only carried one it might suddenly go out, and then he would probably die of a heart attack.

The
Ketty Jay
was eerily quiet, and a terrifying dark lurked beyond the lamplight. The sunset was a meagre glow, filtered through sand banked up against the windglass of the cockpit, which lay at the end of the passageway. Hardly enough to see by. Without engines or power, the
Ketty Jay
was just a lump of metal, still baking from the heat of the departing day. The floor underfoot seemed foreign and unfamiliar: the decks slanted forward because her nose was buried in the desert.

He wasn’t used to being here when it was empty. There was always
someone
around, even if it was only Bess. He’d have even taken the cat for company right now, that hateful bag of mange, but Slag had buggered off into the depths of the
Ketty Jay’s
circulation system and wasn’t coming out.

He should have gone with the others. Maybe they could have squeezed him on to a Rattletrap. After all, he was only skinny.

When they heard him volunteer to stay behind, he could tell what they were thinking.
Same old Harkins
. As if all his recent bravery had just been a phase, and they knew he’d return to type in the end.

But they were wrong about him. Staying here was being brave. Staying here alone with
her
. That was braver than chasing off after the Cap’n with a gang of gun-toting companions.

There was something he needed to do. And he needed to do it alone.

He checked on the knife in his belt. Good and sharp. He might only get one chance at this.

He took a deep breath, let it out shakily, and then peered through the doorway to the infirmary.

She was still there, on the operating table. Lying still as death.

That was a relief. If she hadn’t been there, it would have been worse. He didn’t think his sphincter had the sheer clench-force to handle an event like that.

He crept into the infirmary, fighting the awkward slope of the floor, and laid the lanterns on the top of the cabinets. Their flickering light reflected from the glass doors of a dresser, behind which hung Malvery’s surgical instruments. They gleamed in the light. They were the only clean thing in here.

The smell of blood made his stomach roil. Jez’s clothes were soaked in it, and it had long dried and begun to reek. Flies hummed around the room. The
Ketty Jay
ticked and creaked as she cooled.

He licked his lips.

‘Jez?’ he whispered hoarsely. Then, realising that even the cat would have been hard-pressed to hear him, he coughed lightly and said ‘Jez?’ with a fraction more volume.

She didn’t stir. He took a step towards her, extended one trembling finger, and gave her a sharp poke before springing back across the room in anticipation of violent reprisals.

There was no reaction, so finally, he drew out the knife.

‘I’m sorry, Jez,’ he said. ‘I mean . . . I really am. I didn’t want to have to do this. Not . . . not to you.’

He crept closer again, his coward’s instincts fearing some trick. Had she heard him, and was waiting to spring when he got close enough? Did she sense what he intended?

He swallowed.
Be a man
, he told himself.
Finish this
.

‘I never knew,’ he said, his voice giving him the confidence to take another step. ‘They said you were a Mane, but . . . Spit, I didn’t realise . . . I mean, I only saw
you
, the
nice
Jez, the one who was always . . . always kind to me when everyone else laughed.’ His eyes went from the blade to her. ‘I never knew how it’d be . . . to see what you really are, underneath.’

Still she didn’t move. Not so much as a muscle.
Maybe she’s already dead. That’d make things easier
.

He couldn’t allow himself any excuses. He crept closer, the lanterns throwing his shadow across her. He brought up the knife. It was shaking in his hand.

‘This . . . it’s really for the best,’ he said.

The edge of the knife came closer to her throat.

‘I’m doing this for us.’

He firmed his will, and made ready to do what had to be done.

‘You see . . .’ he said. He took another breath, and then the words all came out in a tumble. ‘The thing is, I just don’t fancy you any more.’

With one hasty movement, he grabbed up a lock of her hair and sheared it off. He put it to his face and sniffed it. He was appalled to find it stank of old blood. He retched and stuffed it in his pocket.

It was while he was wiping his mouth with his sleeve that he saw her eyes were open. His heart kicked in his chest and dread flooded him. She was staring at him, like she’d heard him, like s
he knew what he’d done!

‘It’s a memento!’ he shrieked.

She looked around blearily. ‘Harkins?’

‘I just wanted something to remind me of the romance!’ he gabbled.

Jez was deeply confused. ‘What . . . er . . . what romance?’

She lifted herself up on her elbows, and that was the final straw. Harkins’ attempt at explanation degenerated into a gibbering wail and he took to his heels at full speed.

He didn’t get far. In his panic, he’d miscalculated where the doorway was. He caught his shoulder on the edge of it, caromed into the corridor, and charged head-first into the wall. The impact was a shower of stars, and then he was being dragged down into the dark.

The last thing he heard was Jez calling his name in a tone of utter and complete bewilderment.

‘Harkins?’

Then nothing.

Frey took off the fingerless glove and showed his palm to Samandra Bree.

‘Ew,’ she said. ‘That is one manky hand.’

‘Shows what you know. This is one of the finest curses you’re ever likely to come across,’ Frey said, prodding at it. ‘Straight from the Azryx! Ten thousand years old!’

‘Looks like gangrene to me,’ said Samandra, unimpressed.

Frey snatched his hand away and put the glove back on. ‘Anyway,
now
do you believe him?’

They both looked at Crake, who was standing a short way away, gazing at Samandra with the plaintive eyes of a recently whipped dog.

‘There wasn’t any other way,’ he said quietly. ‘The Cap’n was going to die otherwise. I’m so very, very sorr—’

‘Save it,’ said Samandra, crushing him. ‘I ain’t interested in your apologies. What I’m interested in is what
those
fellers have to tell us.’

She nodded towards the Samarlan guards, who were trussed up against a tree. One had been gagged with a sock. The other was talking rapidly to Silo and Ashua, no doubt encouraged by Silo’s knife resting just beneath his kneecap. Frey vaguely wondered if he should send Malvery over there to make sure Silo didn’t get out of hand – he tended to, when Sammies were concerned – but the Murthian seemed surprisingly calm.

Once everyone had stopped pointing guns at each other and decided that they were on the same side for the moment, the Century Knights and the crew of the
Ketty Jay
had led their prisoners back into the depths of the undergrowth. They needed to get off the patrol route for a quick and dirty interrogation. Frey chafed at the small delay, but he went with it. He reckoned he had a much better chance of getting to where he needed to be with the Century Knights on board, and they might come with him once they’d satisfied themselves here. Besides, their encounter with the patrol had made him wary. He wasn’t so sure that getting the relic back to its rightful place would be as simple as he’d hoped.

‘The way I see it,’ he said to Samandra, ‘I’ve led you to the most important find since they discovered New Vardia. Wanna know why the Sammies pulled out of the war? Wanna know what they’ve
really
been up to for the last eight years or so? Look down there.’ He waved vaguely in the direction of the excavation, then folded his arms. ‘I reckon that more than cancels out a few smashed-up museum pieces and some petty theft.’

‘Oh, you do, do you?’ Samandra said.

He was stoic in the face of her scorn. ‘Yep.’

Her expression showed him nothing. She flicked her gaze to Crake, and her eyes hardened. He cringed. Then she stalked over to the prisoners. Grudge followed her, glaring at Frey as he passed.

Crake sidled up. ‘She hates me,’ he lamented.

‘What? Samandra? No! Didn’t you see that look?’

‘You mean that look of pure loathing she just gave me?’

‘You joking? That wasn’t
real
loathing. That was
I’m not ready to forgive you yet
loathing.’

‘I had no idea there were such subtle variations,’ said Crake.

‘Well, I know women, and take it from me, there are,’ Frey assured him confidently. ‘And it means she
is
gonna forgive you eventually. You might have to jump through a few hoops first though.’

‘You really think so?’ The hope in Crake’s eyes bordered on pathetic.

Frey squeezed his shoulder. Cajoling his mates through heartbreak was comfortable territory. ‘You had honourable intentions, right? You were trying to save my life. She knows that now. You just gotta give her time to get over being angry.’

Crake watched her uncertainly.

‘Of course, she might be a while torturing you before she does,’ Frey added.

‘I deserve it,’ said Crake unhappily.

‘That’s the spirit! They love it when you come out with that kind of stuff.’

‘But I do!’ he protested.

‘Keep it up,’ said Frey with a wink.

Crake gave up trying to persuade him and mooched off to the other side of the clearing, where Malvery and Pinn were loafing against a tree. There was a pile of backpacks there: Crake’s portable equipment, which he’d insisted they bring. Bess lurked nearby, doing her best to be quiet. Every so often she made to lunge after a passing butterfly, before remembering her instructions and withdrawing, chastened. They’d kept her at a distance once Silo picked up the trail of the Century Knights, otherwise they’d never have got close enough to spring the ambush. Bess was incapable of being stealthy.

Frey watched the four of them. There was such a feeling of unbearable warmth glowing in his chest that he feared he might disgrace himself and well up. They’d never stop taking the piss then.

They’d come after him. He left them behind, and they followed him anyway. Even after he’d absolved them of all responsibility for his life. Even after all the screw-ups and disasters he’d put them through. They’d found the daemon-thralled compass in his quarters, jumped in the remaining two Rattletraps and chased off after him. They could only fit six in all, so Harkins had stayed behind, to keep an eye on Jez, who still hadn’t recovered.

‘Is anybody
not
tracking me?’ he’d asked when they told him, but secretly he was overjoyed. Being everyone’s centre of attention was never a bad thing. He wondered if he’d subconsciously left the compass behind on purpose.

The loss of Trinica was an ache that nothing could soothe, but it seemed a separate thing to the love he felt for his crew right then. Strange that he could be so happy and sad at the same time. Maybe, given time, his feelings might sort themselves out; but there was no time to be had right now. He had a job to do, and his men were relying on him.