The Black Lung Captain

Twenty-Two

'Darian, Darian, Darian,' said Trinica Dracken, as if to a wayward child. 'What am I going to do with you?'

She was wearing a slight, contemplative smile. Lightning flickered outside: sharp shadows lunged across her ghost-white face.

Frey leaned back in his chair and took an idle survey of her cabin. Brass and dark wood. Electric lights, set low. A bookcase with novels and manuals and maps. Foreign tides were mixed in among them. Trinica had been schooled in Samarlan and Thacian from a young age. The advantages of a privileged upbringing, Frey supposed.

'You could start by giving me back all the money you stole from me outside Retribution Falls,' he suggested. Then he grinned. 'On second thoughts, keep it. It'll just about cover the damage to your aircraft.'

Trinica sat behind her desk, next to a cracked window of reinforced windglass. The cabin had been tidied and cleaned before his arrival -Trinica liked to be neat - but she couldn't disguise all the evidence of the pounding the Delirium Trigger had taken. Outside in the corridor there were the sounds of running feet, and the air smelled of burnt oil.

'You shouldn't have robbed me,' said Frey. 'I let you off the first time, on account of our previous good feeling towards each other. But twice? Not a chance.'

She gave a derisive snort. 'Yes, Darian. Grist has run off with your treasure and your crew is languishing in my brig. You've certainly come out on top this time.'

'You didn't do so well yourself.'

'I'll survive.'

'So will I.'

'Ah, but that's my decision now, isn't it?' she said. Her black eyes hardened. 'You've inconvenienced me greatly.'

Frey made a do-I-look-like-I-care face. 'I didn't ask you to get involved. Actually, I seem to recall I had the sphere first.'

'You've cost me men and fighter craft. Good men, some of them.'

'Oh, piss off with your threats, Trinica,' Frey snapped. He was suddenly irritated at her. Just the sight of her wound him up. 'What would you have done? You robbed me again.''

'I rather expected you to chalk it up to experience and move on,' she said.

'Well, you expected wrong,' he said sullenly. 'I thought you'd have learned by now: you don't know me half as well as you think you do.'

He tapped his fingers on the arm of his seat. Impatient, agitated. It was hard to keep his cool around her. She had a way of making him lose his temper. It frustrated him. He could be the soul of charm around other women, but her mere presence was enough to have him behaving like a surly adolescent.

'I wish you'd scrape that shit off your face,' he said at length. 'You always had great skin.'

Trinica made a distracted noise of agreement. 'I did take very good care of myself, back then. You remember my dressing table, I'm sure. Groaning under the weight of my cosmetics.'

'You'd spend an hour making yourself look like you weren't wearing make-up.'

'It's easy to become obsessed with the unimportant, when nothing you do means anything.'

Frey made a sweeping gesture to indicate the Delirium Trigger. 'And this does?'

'Oh yes. The power of life and death. I'm very important to you right now.'

Frey couldn't argue with that, but he didn't like to concede the point. He was still bitter about the way she'd snubbed him back on Kurg.

Trinica was watching the rain pouring down the outside of the window. The storm had eased and the sky had lightened a fraction. It was nearing dawn. Frey had spent hours in the brig, awaiting an audience. The second night he'd had without sleep. He needed a big dose of Shine and a day-long nap.

'The Awakeners are baying for your blood,' she said. 'They're not at all happy about what you did to their aircraft. I gather your golem notched up quite a bodycount in there.'

Frey shrugged, picking at the arm of his seat with a fingernail. 'I gave them a chance to surrender,' he said. Then he looked up. 'What are you doing working for the Awakeners again? Don't tell me you're starting to believe that junk about the Allsoul?'

Trinica laughed: a cold, humourless cascade. 'Please, Darian. Me, a warrior of the Allsoul? It was money. Just money. They pay extraordinarily well for someone reliable and discreet. And they were very impressed with the work I did for Duke Grephen on their behalf.'

'As I recall, that didn't work out too well for Grephen.'

Trinica tilted her head, staring at him curiously, as if she'd only just noticed him. 'He paid me to catch you. I caught you. What happened afterwards was no concern of mine.'

Frey didn't want to hash out the past any more than he had to. 'So the Awakeners hired you again. Presumably so they wouldn't get their hands dirty?'

'They were very keen that their involvement was known to nobody except me.'

'What's their interest in the sphere?'

'I didn't ask,' she said.

Frey waited expectantly. When she said nothing more, he prompted her. 'Come on. You must know something. Indulge my curiosity. It's not like it makes any difference now.'

Trinica considered that for a moment, and evidently decided he was right. 'They told me an explorer named Hodd had approached one of their faithful, a rich patron called Jethin Mame. He came begging money for an expedition to Kurg to find a crashed aircraft. Mame sent him away, but eventually it was mentioned to someone important at a party somewhere, and the Awakeners suddenly became interested.'

'Enter Trinica,' said Frey.

'I admit, I didn't think much of it. Sounded like a fool's errand to me, and they were only offering to pay on delivery. I didn't think I'd find anything, so I wasn't prepared to waste my time.'

'What changed your mind?'

'You, my dear Darian,' she said. 'The Awakeners had their spies hard at work. By the time they contacted me, they'd already heard of Grist. They knew Hodd was with him, and they knew he'd been asking about for you.'

'And you just couldn't resist.'

'I do like to be a torment,' she admitted. 'And it really was very easy. Hodd had told Mame where the landing site was. When I arrived, you were already there. So I thought I'd wait and let you do the work.'

Frey had to restrain himself from picking a book off the shelf and flinging it at her. A heavy one, with sharp corners.

'Haven't you had enough of revenge yet?' he asked.

'Not while you're alive,' she said. 'Speaking of which: give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you.'

Frey recognised that line. He'd asked her that very same question in Mortengrace, Duke Grephen's stronghold, with a sword at her throat. Part of him wished he'd done her in then, but another part - some absurd, ridiculous part - was glad he hadn't.

Damn, he hated her. But damn, how he loved to do it.

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. 'We both know you won't kill me. There's no point to it. The sphere is gone. You've already been paid for its delivery, I assume. So where's the profit?' He raised an eyebrow. 'Besides, you'd miss me.'

Trinica laughed, and it was genuine this time. Frey knew the difference. This one made him feel warm. 'You're remarkably sure of yourself these days,' she said. 'And what about my men who were killed? The damage you've done?'

'It's all in the game, Trinica,' he said. 'You don't get to be a terror of the skies without taking a few knocks. You know that; don't pretend you don't. Besides, it was mostly Grist, if you think about it.'

'No doubt you had a hand in it.'

'No doubt I did. Tell you what: forget killing me for a minute. I've a proposition.'

Trinica raised an eyebrow. 'A proposition? And such a strong bargaining position you have. I can hardly wait.'

Frey took a mental deep breath. It was a proposition, alright. A plan that Frey had formulated during those few hours he'd spent in the Delirium Trigger's brig. Usually, he'd discuss his ideas with his crew, but this one he kept to himself. He knew what they'd say. He could see a hundred ways in which it was a bad idea. And yet, he'd been itching to tell Trinica ever since he'd walked into her cabin. It had taken an effort to stop himself blurting it out the moment he sat down.

She's a snake, Darian. Just remember that. It doesn't matter what you once had. The way she was at Kurg, that shows how much she thinks of you. She'll turn on you if you let her.

'The way I see it, we have no reason to fight. But we do have a common enemy. And he has something we both want.'

Lightning flashed and slow thunder rolled outside. Trinica leaned forward over her desk. She made a cradle with her knitted fingers and rested her chin in it. 'Darian,' she said, amused. 'You're surely not suggesting we join forces? After all we've done to each other?'

'You and me,' said Frey. 'We'll find Grist and get that sphere back.'

'And why would I want to do that, if I've already been paid for retrieving it?'

'Because you're the dreaded pirate Trinica Dracken, and Grist just gave you a lashing like you haven't had in years. Your crew will talk. The moment this craft gets into dock, everyone's going to know how the Storm Dog beat you.'

The slightest flicker of anger passed over Trinica's face.

Gotcha, he thought.

'I make it a month at least before the Delirium Trigger's up and ready for a fight again, even at the best workshops in the land,' Frey said. 'Grist's trail will be cold by then. But the Ketty Jay can be running in a matter of hours. Soon as we get some new windglass for the cupola and Silo gets his hands on that bloody engine.' He paused for a moment to let that sink in. 'The Ketty Jay can't take on the Storm Dog. But the Delirium Trigger can. And with me on your side, next time it'll be you who has the element of surprise.'

She watched him carefully, sizing him up. Her contact lenses made her irises black, turning her pupils huge. An illusion calculated to intimidate and unsettle. But Frey knew what colour her eyes were, underneath.

'You'll never find him without me,' he said. 'And I'll never beat him without you. I know the man and you don't. I need your contacts, you need my aircraft. If we pool our resources, if we get going right away . . . well, we might just catch that son of a bitch.'

Trinica unfolded, lounging back into her chair, spreading across it.

Her mannerisms were different to the girl Frey remembered. Odder. Her moods slipped from playful to maudlin to angry. One minute she was mumming horror, the next she was genuinely wrathful. A powerful leader, a cruel killer, then a child. Fractured states of mind, reflections in a broken mirror.

He knew that something must have cracked inside her at some point. Had it been when he jilted her on their wedding day? After her failed suicide attempt? After she lost their baby? Or in the years of horror that followed, as a brutalised concubine on board various pirate craft? No way of knowing. But he'd set her on that road. It hurt him to think of it.

'You're suggesting that I travel with you on the Ketty Jay?' asked Trinica.

'Just until the Delirium Trigger is fixed.'

'Darian, do you really think you're being wise?'

'When have I ever been wise?'

It was true that he had his doubts about whether they could stand each other for several weeks, but he was certain of one thing. He needed her. Whatever his feelings, or hers, this was too important.

Thousands will die.

'Do you know what that sphere does?' he asked.

'No,' she said. 'If anyone does, it would be a high-ranking Awakener. But thanks to your elegant work in bringing their aircraft down, all the high-ranking Awakeners on the All Our Yesterdays are dead.'

'One of them wasn't,' said Frey. 'He told me something. "Thousands will die," he said. I'm not certain what that sphere is, but it came from a Mane dreadnought, so I'm pretty sure it's gonna end up being bad news. I'm also sure that Grist knows exactly what it is, and he's planning to use it, or to sell it to someone who will.'

'You think it's a weapon?'

'Maybe.'

'And you intend to prevent him using it.'

'Yes!'

Trinica got out of her seat and stretched. 'There I was thinking you wanted to sell it and make a fortune. How civic-minded you've become.'

'This isn't the time for your bloody sarcasm!' Frey snapped. 'That bastard made mugs of us both, and I owe him for that. But if he unleashes whatever power is in that sphere, if it does what I think it might . . . Well, I played my part in making that happen. So I'll play my part in stopping it."

Trinica looked surprised. Then her expression softened, and just for an instant, he recognised the face of the woman he'd known.

'You're right, Darian,' she said. She lowered her gaze. 'It seems I really don't know you half as well as I thought.'

Frey was wrong-footed by the sudden capitulation in her voice. He wasn't used to submissiveness from her. But the moment passed, and when she spoke again she was crisp and sharp.

'Alright,' she said. 'Your aerium engines still work, I noticed. Float your craft and we'll tow you to dock. I'll leave my bosun in charge of the repairs to the Delirium Trigger and come with you. We have an understanding?'

'We do,' said Frey. He got to his feet and held out his hand. She came out from behind her desk and took it. Her grip was cool.

'This is an alliance of necessity,' she said firmly. 'Nothing more. When this is over, we are enemies again.'

'Best of enemies,' Frey said with a grin.

A wry smile touched the corner of her painted lips. 'Best of enemies,' she agreed.

When Jez came back to consciousness, she found herself in the Ketty Jay's tiny infirmary, lying on the surgical table. She recognised the grubby ceiling and the smell of rum in the air. Malvery was there, standing next to her. Silo sat in the corner.

She was still wearing her jumpsuit. Malvery hadn't attempted to treat her. There was nothing he could do to help. They'd simply put her here and waited to see what happened.

The doctor peered at her over his green-lensed glasses. 'You alright?'

She gave a small nod and stayed where she was, staring at the ceiling.

'Hmm,' said Malvery. He made a show of looking about for something, then patted her awkwardly on the arm and left.

He's scared of me now. And so he should be.

Jez listened to the room, and to Silo's breathing. The Ketty Jay was airborne, but the engines were quiet. They were being towed, then.

Presumably by the Storm Dog. Apparently, the Cap'n's plan to abscond with the sphere hadn't gone entirely as hoped. She didn't really care.

She felt achingly, horribly lonely. Lonelier than she'd ever felt in her life. She'd been there, among the Manes. She'd shared them. And now they'd gone again. It was like she'd awoken from a dream of happy crowds to find herself abandoned on an endless sea.

She remembered everything that had happened. The Imperator's terrible influence, how she'd quailed and cowered with the rest of them. She'd been pressed to the floor by the weight of his presence. Then, the trance. Surging up and overwhelming her. Her enfeebled human mind had been incapable of resisting or controlling it. It took her eagerly, a mad beast finally uncaged. And everything became different.

That feeling. The power of it. She'd been more than just flesh and blood then. Her small body had become the sum of thousands. The world had gone dim and yet been stark with detail. She saw the curl of the smoke along the roof and she could track its pattern. She smelt the terror of her companions. She felt the savage joy of the Manes, her invisible brothers and sisters behind the Wrack, as they welcomed her among them. And she heard the mad voice of the Imperator, a thrashing mess of harmonics tearing into her consciousness.

She had to extinguish it.

The urge to rid herself of her opponent was primal, unquestionable. She used her gun at first - a human weapon, which proved ineffective. Then she went in with hands and teeth.

Strong. Fast. Terrible.

With the death of the Imperator, her humanity had rallied and driven the Mane part of her into retreat. But the pain of loss it brought was unbearable. The sense of inclusion, the warmth of the Manes, all of it had disappeared. Better that she'd never known it at all, than to have it and then be shut out.

She was thrown back to the world she'd always known. Except that now her crew knew what she was. They'd seen it. And she was ashamed and frightened.

'Say something,' she murmured.

Silo got up from his chair and walked over to her. She turned her head to look at him. So hard to read a Murthian's expressions. Was it just Silo, or was it a trait of their kind? Perhaps generations of slavery had taught them never to show their real selves. Jez had learned that lesson on her own, and look where it got her. She was sick of the secrecy. They all put so much effort into being alone.

'Damn your silence,' she said. 'Tell me what you're thinking, for once. You talked to me in Kurg. Why not now?'

'That was then,' said Silo. 'Words don't never do justice to a man's thoughts. What you care 'bout mine?'

'Because I counted you as my friend, Silo. I want to know if you still are.'

'That ain't changed. Whatever you be, that ain't changed.'

'Then what has?'

Silo didn't answer. Instead, he said, 'Remember what I told you, back in the rainforest?'

'You said it wasn't any good trying to ignore your bad side. You have to face it down. Master it. Make it a part of you.'

A calloused hand slipped over hers and tightened. Jez felt tears gathering.

'Now you know,' he said, sadly. 'Now you know.'

Evening found Crake and his captain leaning on a wooden railing, wrapped in furs, their breath steaming the air. The sun was setting in the west, throwing a bleak light over the tundra. The great plain was depressingly barren. Only the hardiest of shrubs and grasses grew in the frozen earth, in the lee of the stony hillocks that rumpled the landscape. A spiteful wind nipped at their faces. Even in spring, a mere hundred kloms or so north of the border, Yortland was bitterly cold.

From their vantage point - a path set into the hillside - they had a good view of the docks below. The main landing pad was cluttered with ugly, blockish aircraft. Flying bricks, Jez liked to call 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 swallowed 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 eventually.

'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, well . . .'

'You can't put it off for ever, right?' The wind blew black strands of hair around Frey's face. 'No telling when, or if, we'll 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 compelled 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 all 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 all 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'll you do with her? You can't have her walking around.'

'I'll 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'll be there some of the time. If not, I'll leave word for you. I'll be travelling a lot.'

'Travelling?'

'I have a few visits to make.'

A half-dozen, actually. 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 really worked. Crake was going to miss having a friend like Malvery. He was going to miss all of them, except Pinn.

But it couldn't be helped. Because now he was working on something really 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. Finally, Crake spoke up.

'I need money.'

'Oh?' Frey replied neutrally.

'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 all 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'll never know.'

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

'Alright,' Frey said, not without a little bitterness. 'I've already had to shell 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'll 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 all. That way you can come find us, if you change your mind. Just follow the compass back to me.'

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

'And who'll 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 crestfallen. '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'll take, but . . .'

'I know.'

'I'll leave word at all of your mail drops when I'm finished.'

'Do that'

Frey had closed up. Crake had hurt him.

'Thank you, Cap'n,' Crake said eventually, 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 all 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 telling 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.