The Black Lung Captain (34 page)

From their vantage point - a path set into the hilside - they had a good view of the docks below. The main landing pad was cluttered with ugly, blockish aircraft.

Flying bricks, Jez liked to cal them: she didn't have a high opinion of Yort design. Nearby, in the workshop area, sat other craft in various states of disrepair. Two colossal hangars dominated the scene, their arched metal roofs patched with unthawed snow. The
Delirium Trigger
, battered and blasted, was slowly easing herself into one of them. Crake watched as she was swalowed up, then turned to Frey and said:

'I'm leaving.'

Frey stared down at the docks, his face grim. He didn't speak for a long time. 'You coming back?' he said eventualy.

'I hope so. When I've done what I need to do. I'd intended to stay on long enough to help you get hold of that sphere - I thought it the honourable thing - but now, wel . . .'

'You can't put it off for ever, right?' The wind blew black strands of hair around Frey's face. 'No teling when, or if, we'l find that bastard.'

Crake nodded.

'Something's been eating at you a long time,' Frey said. 'Ever since you came aboard, you've been on the run.'

Yes. From the Shacklemores. From myself.

'Some things . . .' Crake began. He knew that Frey didn't require an explanation, but he felt compeled to try. 'Some things, a man can't live with on his conscience. I thought I could keep ahead of it, you see? Keep on the move.'

'I get it, Crake. We al get it. That's why you were such a good fit for us.'

Crake was grateful for his understanding. Frey wasn't the kind who asked questions. A man's past was his own on the
Ketty Jay.

Mostly, he reflected, that was a good thing. On Frey's crew, your only judge was yourself. But the conspiracy of silence had its downside. How could you be sure who was your friend and who wasn't, when they'd never seen the worst of you? When the secrets came out, who'd stand by your side?

What would happen to Jez, now? Could they forgive her for what she was?

And what if they found out about
his
crimes?

He couldn't face that. It was time to stop procrastinating. He'd made a promise to Bess. He'd atone for what he'd done. He'd find a way, somehow, to bring her back.

He looked out past the docks at the city beyond. Iktak was not a pretty sight. Its black stone buildings were bunkers against the cold. Most of it had been built underground, as al Yort settlements were. White ghosts of steam rose from the massive pipes that crawled across the landscape. Industrial chimneys smoked like restless volcanoes. A joyless place, more like a vast refinery than a place for people to live. A city of factories, waiting for winter's return. Without its cloak of snow to hide it, it was brown and bare and miserable.

Til be taking Bess,' he said.

'Thought you would,' said Frey. 'What'l you do with her? You can't have her walking around.'

'I'l put her to sleep, box her up, have her delivered to where I'm going.'

'Mind if I ask where that is? In case I need to find you?'

Crake took a slip of paper from his pocket, and handed it to Frey. He opened it and read the address.

'Tarlock Cove? Don't you have a friend there?'

'That's him. Plome. I'l be there some of the time. If not, I'l leave word for you. I'l be traveling a lot.'

'Traveling?'

'I have a few visits to make.'

A half-dozen, actualy. Six names and addresses, given to him by Plome. Six people who, between them, could lay their hands on the best daemonic texts in the land.

I expect you've been all tied up in research, trying some new method or something, ain't you?
Malvery had asked him once.
Maybe working on
something really special?

The doctor's voice had been sarcastic then. Pushing him, making him look at himself and what he'd become. It was an alcoholic's warning to a man he saw heading down the same route. And it had worked. Spit and blood, it had realy worked. Crake was going to miss having a friend like Malvery. He was going to miss al of them, except Pinn.

But it couldn't be helped. Because now he
was
working on something realy special. He was going to learn how to reverse what he'd done to his niece. He was going to bring her back to life.
Real
life, not the half-life she led inside a suit of armour. From that dim-witted thing that was more like a pet than a human, he'd extract the little girl inside, and restore her. Somehow.

If it sounded like madness, so be it. If he had no idea where to start, then he'd find a place. Whatever it took, there
had
to be a way.

He'd had a long talk with Plome, after their brush with the daemon in his sanctum. The politician was frankly in awe of him by then. Plome was the kind of daemonist who dabbled but never dared too much. Crake represented the man he wished he could be, if only he had the courage. Seeing him master the monster in the echo chamber had made him something of a hero in Plome's eyes.

Crake took advantage of that. He explained his plan. And he secured Plome's promise that he could make use of the politician's sanctum to conduct his experiments in.

'Hang the risks!' Plome had said, flushed with the excitement of their recent encounter. 'I'd be honoured, Crake! Honoured!'

Crake and Frey stood together for a time, neither quite knowing how to end it. Finaly, Crake spoke up.

'I need money.'

'Oh?' Frey replied neutraly.

'Plome's agreed to help me out, but it won't be enough. What I'm up to . . . it's expensive business.' He looked over at his captain. 'I believe I played some part in obtaining al that money from Grand Oracle Pomfrey at the Rake table.'

'I'd have won it from him anyway, fair and square,' Frey said stiffly.

'Possibly,' said Crake. 'Or maybe he'd have got up and left with his winnings, too drunk to play on. We'l never know.'

He hated himself for asking. No matter how valid his claim to those ducats, he stil felt like a beggar.

'Alright,' Frey said, not without a little bitterness. 'I've already had to shel out for new windglass for the autocannon cupola, but you can take half of what's left.

Rot knows, you've earned it in your time on my crew.' He jabbed Crake in the chest with his finger. 'Don't you breathe a word to the others though, or they'l be on me like vultures.'

'I won't,' said Crake.

'Hey, why don't you take the compass?' Frey suggested suddenly. He lifted his hand, to show the silver ring on his little finger. 'It's your device, after al. That way you can come find us, if you change your mind. Just folow the compass back to me.'

Crake smiled. He'd made the ring and compass almost as a joke. Two daemons thraled together, one always pointing toward the other. It was so absurdly simple in comparison to what he'd be attempting.

'And who'l track you down next time you go missing in a Rake den, or in some woman's bed?' he said. 'Better the others keep hold of that.'

Frey looked crestfalen. 'Alright,' he said. 'That's sensible, I suppose.'

'It's just . . . it's something I have to do. I don't know how long it'l take, but . . .'

'I know.'

'I'l leave word at al of your mail drops when I'm finished.'

'Do that'

Frey had closed up. Crake had hurt him.

'Thank you, Cap'n,' Crake said eventualy, as if that would salve his feelings.

'Frey,' he said. 'It's just Frey, now.'

There was something terrible and final in that. Crake suddenly wanted to take it al back, to stay on the
Ketty Jay
with the people he cared about. He wanted to ask for their help, to have them share in his mission. But he couldn't. It would mean teling them what he'd done. Like Jez, he was going to hold on to his secret to the end.

They walked back down the path towards the docks. Despite the warmth of his furs, Crake felt as cold as he'd ever been in his life.

Twenty-Three

Hawk Point — The Whispermonger —

A Curious Alliance — Grist As A Boy

'Another day, another rat-hole,' said Frey with forced cheeriness, as he brought the
Ketty Jay
in over Hawk Point.

The settlement below had a blank, starved look to it. It was crushed into a mountain pass, deep in the Splinters, blanched by the hot spring sun. Carefuly laid rows of buildings betrayed its orderly origins, but it had long since turned ramshackle. Brown strips of withered flowerbeds rotted on the main street. Slates had gone missing from the roofs. Though the town centre stil had a ghost of its former pride, the outskirts had decayed into shanties.

Frey had never been here before, but he'd seen its like a hundred times. Another dying outpost, founded on high hopes and promises of freedom, only to end up violence-ridden and destitute. Honest traders came here to escape the cities and the crushing grip of the Guilds, but without Guild bribes the Ducal militia paid it no attention, and soon the criminals took over. Before long, the dreams of the first settlers had falen into ruin, and they abandoned their failed town to try again elsewhere.

The Coalition Navy traditionaly showed little interest in out-of-the-way, insignificant places like Hawk Point. Which made the presence of one of their frigates al the more unusual.

'What are
they
doing here?' Trinica muttered. She was standing at Frey's shoulder, one hand on the back of the pilot's seat. Jez sat at the navigator's station, behind him. Individualy, they made Frey uneasy; together, it was al he could do not to jump whenever one of them spoke.

'Stil a wanted woman, Trinica?' he asked.

'Of course. Quite a bounty on my head, last I heard. Though I think they have other matters to worry about right now.'

'You mean al that about the Sammies arming up in the south?'

'Amongst other things.'

'Like their mortal enemies, the Awakeners, trying to steal some terrible doomsday weapon that could possibly destroy vast swathes of Vardia?' Frey suggested.

Trinica ignored the jab. 'I'd be surprised if they knew about that at al.' She watched the frigate turning slowly in the air above the town. Its thrusters glowed, and moments later they heard a low roar that ratded the cockpit.

'Looks like they're heading off,' said Frey.

Trinica tutted. 'I hope they haven't disturbed my contact. He'l be far less agreeable if he's agitated. Not that he's
usually
very agreeable.'

'Are you sure this feler's any good?' Frey asked.

'The best. When I need information, he's the first one I go to.'

'Realy? I know lots of whispermongers, and I never heard of Osric Smult.'

'You wouldn't have,' said Trinica, and left it at that. Frey felt his hackles rising at the slight edge of disdain in her voice.

Calm down
, he thought.
Don't let her know that she gets to you.

'Wind from the north, Cap'n,' said Jez from behind him. 'You'l get some heavy push on the way in.'

Frey made a grunt of acknowledgement. Jez had been subdued ever since she emerged from the infirmary. She went about her job quietly and with her head down, saying only the bare minimum to fulfil her duties. Frey, for his part, was fine with that. He didn't want to tackle the question of Jez right now. He had enough on his plate.

The problem was, he felt betrayed. A Mane, a damned
Mane,
here on his aircraft! He'd been hearing tales of those sky-ghouls since he was old enough to fly.

He'd never have hired Jez if she'd told him about her condition in advance. Not that he'd have done differently in her shoes, but that was hardly the point.

The point was, she let him care about her. She didn't tel him, and she let him care about her, and then he found out. That was the betrayal.

Not only was she the best navigator he ever had, and utterly invaluable, but he
liked
her. She was a friend. She was, in fact, Frey's
only
female friend. For the rest, friendship was just an inconvenient on the way to sex. But he'd felt almost brotherly towards Jez.

Largely it was because she wasn't up to his standards as far as women went, but it was also because he respected her. There weren't many women Frey respected, but Jez was one of them.

He knew there was something off about her, of course he did. But he'd never thought . . . wel, not
this.

Now he was repulsed by her, and afraid, and guilty for feeling that way. He knew she was the same old Jez, but at the same time she wasn't, and that confused him and made him angry and frustrated. He was mad at her for that.

Why did she have to screw everything up by being a Mane?

The tension was scarcely less outside the cockpit. Morale was low throughout the crew. Like him, everyone was nervous around Jez. They didn't quite know what to make of her since they'd seen her rip the head off an Imperator with her bare hands.

There were other problems, too. The departure of Crake and Bess had left a hole bigger than anyone would have thought. Malvery missed the daemonist most of al: he was gloomily drinking himself stupid. Meanwhile Harkins had taken to sleeping in the cockpit of his Firecrow, and hardly set foot on the
Ketty Jay.

Whenever he did, Slag emerged to drive him off. Silo kept his own counsel, as ever, but Pinn was becoming a handful. He'd been depressed ever since he got that letter from his sweetheart, but he became downright mutinous at the news that Trinica Dracken would be traveling with them. It took al of Frey's powers of coercion, and a few good old-fashioned threats, before he'd consent to go anywhere with a woman he loathed.

Pinn's opinion of Dracken was shared by the rest of the crew, although none of them were as vocal as he was. Even Frey had decided he didn't much want her on board. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but having her here destroyed the one safe haven he had in his life. When he was flying the
Ketty Jay
he could pretend that he was a mighty captain, free to find adventure wherever it lay. A lord of the skies! But Trinica's presence punctured al his ilusions. Reflected in those black, black eyes, he saw himself as she must: captain of a heap of junk, leader of a miserable crew, a man who'd made nothing of himself.