The Ace of Skulls

Twenty-Seven

‘Hey!’

Marinda froze. She looked slowly over her shoulder, like a child dreading the monster they imagine stands behind them.

‘Wait up!’ Pinn called, as he hurried across the clearing towards her.

He had to dodge his way through. This part of the Awakener camp was busy in the hot afternoon. Groups of sweltering men were loading cargo into aircraft. Cassocked figures hurried here and there, locked in agitated conversation. Teams of mercenaries carried out weapons checks while the mangroves stirred restlessly in the hot breeze from the south.

She must not have seen him, because she was walking away at some speed when he caught up with her.

‘Hey! It’s me!’

She turned around, brushed her hair back behind her ear self-consciously, levered an unconvincing smile onto her face. ‘Artis,’ she said. ‘What a surprise.’

‘Ta da!’ he sang, spreading his arms wide. He wagged a finger at her. ‘You are a hard woman to find.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s the preparations, you see.’

Pinn looked about. Now that she mentioned it, he’d noticed a certain increase in activity over the last couple of days. He hadn’t thought much of it, to be honest. He’d been preoccupied with his quest to find Marinda. The Awakener camp was a big place.

‘What are we preparing for?’ he asked.

‘Leaving,’ she said. ‘Soon it will be time for the great assault, and we. . What are you wearing?’

Pinn struck a pose, the better to show off his shabby, dirt-smeared beige cassock, an ill-fitting imitation of hers. He still had the Cipher painted on his head, though sweat had reduced it to a blue smear. ‘You like it?’ he asked. ‘I’m a Speaker, like you!’

‘Artis,’ she said patiently. ‘That’s actually quite offensive.’

‘Just thought I’d get into the spirit of things,’ he said, unfazed by her disapproval. ‘Can’t blame me for being keen!’

She glanced about as if searching for escape. ‘Well, it’s very nice to see you again, but I really must be-’

‘You weren’t at the meeting place,’ he said. ‘Not yesterday or the day before! What about my lessons?’

‘I, er, I understood that your crew had left. There was quite a stir about it. A lot of people were very angry, as I recall.’

‘Not me!’ said Pinn. ‘I stayed. I’m a follower of the Allsoul, through and through.’

‘I see,’ she said. ‘And a Prognosticator knows about this?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ve talked to three of them now. They said I was alright, ’cause I chose the Allsoul. Not like the others. That lot are traitors.’

She regarded him sceptically. Pinn wasn’t quite sure if he was telling the truth or not. His memory always was a bit fuzzy that way. He remembered running away into the swamp while everyone was occupied with shooting at the Ketty Jay. He remembered the flak exploding in the sky. After that, there was a lot of wandering about. It was easy to get lost in a camp this size. He’d slept rough one night; later on he’d just walked into a tent and taken a bunk and no one had disturbed him. He queued up and ate at mess tents. He got drunk at a makeshift bar that had set up its own still. A few people remarked on the fake Cipher on his forehead, but whatever he’d said had convinced them he was harmless. He thought he might have talked to a few of the higher-up Awakeners at some point, but that could have been his imagination. Well, anyway, they’d understand. After all, he’d stayed behind: how could they doubt his loyalty?

And all the time he’d been searching. Searching for Marinda. Those sweet, understanding eyes. That youthful, pretty smile. Those round, firm-

She caught him looking. His gaze flicked back up to her face. ‘So how about my lesson?’ he said, without missing a beat.

‘Oh, I really couldn’t. It’s the preparations, you see. I have so much to do.’

‘ ‘‘Teach those who would be taught’’,’ Pinn said, frowning and speaking in a deep voice to imitate the Prognosticator that had ordered her to give him lessons. He hadn’t learned a thing in the time since, but he’d enjoyed staring at her a lot. ‘Listen, I’ll tell you what. You don’t even need to give me a lesson today. I’m gonna give one to you. I’m gonna read the future!’

‘You’re, er. . Pardon?’

‘I’ll show you!’ he said. ‘Come on! Where’s that bowl of yours?’

He took her by the hand and dragged her off in the direction of a nearby tent. She protested weakly, but soon gave up. It was usually easier just to do what Pinn wanted. Reasoning with him was too exhausting.

There were a dozen or so crates in the tent, but it was mostly empty. Most of the supplies had been loaded into nearby aircraft. Part of the preparations Marinda kept talking about, Pinn guessed. He didn’t care. He just wanted her to himself for a bit.

She had the bowl with her, of course; she always did. It was in a bag along with a flask of milk and her long, sharp needle, its tip blunted by cork. He had her hold the bowl and poured some milk into it, then he took the needle from her, pulled off the cork and held it up.

‘Now I’m just going to prick your finger-’ he began.

‘No! Noooo, no, no,’ she said, backing off. ‘Dangerous. You shouldn’t be doing that.’

‘Come on, it can’t be that hard.’

‘There’s a technique to it,’ Marinda protested.

‘Yeah, I saw your technique on that old lady you stabbed through the hand.’

Her face hardened. Pinn detected a bad move on his part. ‘Er,’ he said. ‘What I mean is-’

‘Wait!’ she said. A slow smile spread across her lips. ‘I have an idea. You want to read the future, you can read your own. I’ll pierce you.’

Pinn suddenly felt a whole lot less enthusiastic about his grand plan to impress her. ‘Erm,’ he said.

‘Come on, give me your hand,’ Marinda said briskly. ‘Here, hold the bowl and give me that needle. Now your finger. Come on!’

Before he knew quite how it had happened, Pinn found himself holding out his finger over the bowl of milk. He wished he’d thought faster, found some reason to argue. But she certainly seemed a lot more eager now.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Just be gentle with meeeaaAAAAAHHH!’

She grabbed his hand and plunged the needle deep into his finger. The pain was spectacular. Pinn gritted his teeth to prevent himself from calling her something unforgivable.

‘Oh, don’t be a baby,’ she said maliciously. She yanked his hand down and held it over the bowl. Blood squirted into the milk. It was terrifying to see that much come out at once. ‘There you go. We need enough to get a good reading. You are a beginner, after all.’

As soon as he was decently able, he pulled his finger away and stuck it in his mouth. ‘I said be gentle,’ he complained as he sucked it.

She enjoyed that, he thought. She actually enjoyed it.

She took the bowl of bloody milk from him and set it on a crate. When she looked back at him, he was staring at her with the eyes of a wounded and pathetic animal. She sighed and softened a little.

‘Give me your hand,’ she said. Fearfully, he did so, but this time she only wanted to bind the wound with some dressing from her pack. He gazed at her fondly as she wrapped his finger. So tender, he thought.

‘Now, then,’ she said when she was done. ‘Why don’t you try to read your future? See if the Allsoul’s gift is within you.’ She was gentler now, perhaps guilty for jamming a needle in his finger so hard that he felt it in his elbow.

Pinn composed himself and walked solemnly over to the bowl. He bent over and studied it. ‘Hmm,’ he said.

The blood swirled slowly in the milk, forming arcs and clusters of spots. None of it meant shit to him. He was slightly disappointed — part of him had expected divine abilities — but not deterred. The plan didn’t call for the intervention of the Allsoul, just a little creativity.

‘I see it!’ he said. ‘I see it, clear as day! The Allsoul is speaking to me!’

‘Are you sure?’ Marinda asked doubtfully. She came up to his shoulder and peered into the bowl. ‘What does it say?’

‘It says. . In the very near future. .’ Pinn traced the line of a swirl with his finger. ‘You and I will go off into the undergrowth and bang like rabbits!’

Marinda burst out laughing. It wasn’t quite the response Pinn had been expecting. He’d imagined something closer to a swoon.

‘What?’ he complained. ‘You have to. The Allsoul said so. You can’t deny His Whiskery Majesty.’

Marinda was holding her side and leaning against a crate. ‘Stop!’ she begged. ‘Oh, dear, no! Don’t say anything else!’

Pinn thought this was all pretty rude, and by the time she’d got herself under control, his mood had blackened to a thunderous sulk.

‘Heretic,’ he said peevishly.

She took a few deep breaths and wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘Artis, you haven’t done your research, have you? It’s very sweet that you’ve got a crush on me. . Wait, no, actually it’s not, but anyway. . Look, the thing is, Speakers are celibate.’

‘Yes!’ said Pinn, brightening. ‘We should celebrate!’

‘Celibate,’ said Marinda. ‘Thoughts of lust distract the mind from communion with the Allsoul. Speakers don’t have relations with anyone else.’

Pinn just stared at her. She’d said a bunch of words but they didn’t seem to mean anything. She put it more plainly for his benefit.

‘No sex,’ she said. ‘No kissing.’

‘Hand job?’ Pinn suggested hopefully.

‘Not that either.’

‘Shit,’ said Pinn. ‘Really?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Pinn considered that for a short while. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He frowned and hmmed. Finally he arrived at the conclusion of his mighty cogitation.

‘Your religion bites arse,’ he said, and walked away.

After that, Pinn did what any hero would have done in his shoes. He headed for the bar.

The drinking tents had been set up mainly for the benefit of the mercs, who’d inevitably rampage if forced to stay sober for too long. Pinn stormed his way towards the central clearing of the Awakener camp, where the tents and stalls clustered thickest. On his way he pulled his cassock over his head and flung it into the mangroves. Damned thing was too hot to wear over his regular clothes anyway. He stopped at the edge of the path, where the swamp water lapped close, and wet his hands. Then he rubbed them all over his forehead until he’d reduced the smeared Cipher to a faint bluish smudge.

‘Stupid bloody Awakener bloody shit bloody,’ he muttered to himself as he walked.

The central clearing was busier than usual. Preparations for departure were in full swing, and the atmosphere was feverish with the anticipation of battle. There was a sense of time running out. People crowded the stalls and bars to spend their pay packets, to enjoy their last days in this company, to eat and drink and carouse in case they never got another chance. It all had the feeling of a particularly grubby and slightly dangerous fete.

The first drinking tent Pinn found was warm and muggy. A row of tables passed as a bar. Barrels and a still stood behind them, along with a crate of bottles and a rangy barman who looked like his face had melted in the heat. More barrels were placed upright around the tent to serve as tables. They were surrounded by stools, most of which were occupied even at this early hour. Pinn took a stool at the bar, ordered a grog and set to it.

Most of the first couple of hours were spent grinding his teeth and calling Marinda all the names he could think of. It took several drinks before he’d mellowed enough to stop hating her, and to start feeling sorry for himself.

He’d really made a mess of things this time. Here he was, in the middle of nowhere, with no idea where his mates were and no idea how to find them again. And all because of some stupid woman with a great big bloody tattoo on her forehead. What had he been thinking?

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and stared at it. His atrocious handwriting stared back at him. Each line had been crossed out.

Jurny.

Deth.

Dark hared stranger (not hot)

Find sumthin important

Trajedy on sum-one deer (emanda?)

You will beleeve!!

He balled it up in disgust and threw it over his shoulder. That was what he thought of prophecies. He could make prophecies too. He prophesised he was going to get hammered flatter than cowshit, and bollocks to anyone who tried to stop him.

Just then he caught sight of something on the ground by his stool. A crumpled ferrotype, that must have fallen from his pocket when he pulled out the piece of paper. With some effort he reached down and snagged it between his fingers, then brought it up to the bar and smoothed it out.

Looking back at him was Lisinda. Gentle, doe-eyed Lisinda. Lisinda of the soft hair and fulsome bosom. He’d crumpled up her picture on the way out of Korrene, meaning to deface it later, but he’d forgotten about it since then.

He gazed at her in wonder. It was almost as if fate had delivered her to him. She’d come to him in his time of need. A bit creased, but even so. A reminder. A message.

Lisinda.

He slammed his hands suddenly down on the bar. The barman stared at him.

‘I’ve made a terrible mistake,’ he announced.

There was only one thought in his mind as he blundered out of the tent and into the sunlight. Lisinda, Lisinda, Lisinda. Why hadn’t he seen it before? She was the one for him. She’d always been the one. She didn’t care about riches or great deeds. She’d loved him, and everything about him. And he loved her. He’d always loved her. He’d just forgotten about it till now.

Married or not, he was going to get her back.

The journey back to the clearing where he’d left his Skylance wasn’t quite as short as he’d imagined. In fact, it took him the best part of three hours to get there, by which time he was sweaty, exhausted and beginning to get a hangover.

The early evening sun baked him steadily as he staggered down the dirt path that finally brought him to his destination. He stopped, wiped his knuckles across his brow and scanned his surroundings. There were the freighters whose crew had tried to stop the Ketty Jay escaping. There was the spot where the Ketty Jay had sat. And there. .

A whimper escaped his lips.

There was the empty space where his Skylance had once stood.

Pinn lay in bed, his covers tucked up under his chin, wide-eyed in the dark. Six years old and scared.

The wind rattled the window in the frame. The house creaked. Shadows pooled, slicks of congealed dread.

Something awful was coming.

The first footstep on the stair. He clutched the blanket tight, squeezed his eyes shut, rolled on to his side so his back was to the door. Another step, and another. Go away, I’m not here.

But the footsteps came on relentlessly, up the stairs to the landing. They fell slow and heavy, closer and closer. The knowledge of the inevitable outcome squeezed his heart and pressed down on him hard.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

Don’t come in, don’t come in.

The creak of a turning handle. The whine of hinges as the door opened.

He wanted to run. He wanted to shout. He wanted to throw off his blankets and show them he was awake. They couldn’t get away with it if he could see them. They couldn’t possibly do it if he could see them!

But nothing he did made any difference. It was always the same. He couldn’t move or make a sound. He was forced to replay that night exactly as it had happened.

He lay there, pretending to be asleep. Long, delicate fingers ran through his hair; a palm rested gently against the side of his head.

‘I love you,’ his mother said, quietly.

Why had he pretended to be asleep that night? Maybe he’d planned to jump up and surprise her. Maybe he’d been angry about something and sulking. Whatever the reason, the sound of her voice drove it from his mind. It confused and frightened him. Those three words, never spoken before, now delivered in a tone of sadness and loss. He had the sense that something important was at hand, and he froze.

She got up and walked out of the room. He heard the whine of the hinges again. With that, the doom of his dream was complete. With that, she was gone for ever, without trace or reason.

The click of the latch as the door closed was like a gunshot. He jerked awake and sat upright. Standing in front of him was a lean, sag-faced man with straggly black hair turning to grey. He stared at the man. The man stared back. Pinn took a few moments to work out who he was.

The barman. He was back on the same stool that he’d left earlier in the day when he went off to get his Skylance. His clothes had stuck to his skin in the tepid and moist air, but his mouth was dry.

He turned his head carefully to the left and surveyed the bar with the suspicious expression of a man who didn’t quite know how he’d got to where he was, and was wondering if he’d been tricked somehow. It was dark outside, but hanging lanterns provided light. Fat moths circled them and occasionally managed to find a way inside, a decision they quickly regretted. The tent was noisy with conversation and the sound of night insects from the trees outside.

‘You want another?’ the barman asked.

Pinn made a wheeling motion with his hand. Keep ’em coming. The barman stuck a mug of grog in front of him.

‘That one’s on me,’ said a voice to his right. Pinn rotated blearily and came face to face with a man who looked like he’d just shambled out of a burrow. He was short and squat, with long, shaggy hair that hung in unwashed clumps over a grizzled face of surpassing ugliness. Half his throat was covered with a disfiguring scar.

‘Do I know you?’ Pinn asked, squinting.

‘Should think so,’ came the surly reply. ‘We crossed paths more than once.’ He raised his mug and grunted. ‘Balomon Crund. Bosun on the Delirium Trigger.’

Pinn vaguely remembered him, but he wasn’t sure if his presence here was a good thing or not. Still, anyone who bought him a drink was alright as far as he was concerned. He clanked his pewter mug against Crund’s and took a long pull to wash the sticky gunk from his mouth.

For a while they sat drinking in silence. Crund didn’t seem much inclined to speak, which was odd, since buying a drink tended to imply that conversation would follow. Pinn began to feel slightly uneasy, but not enough to take his mind off his booze.

‘Wasn’t sure you’d still be here,’ Crund said at last. ‘Thought you’d run off with the rest of ’em. Couldn’t think why you’d leave your craft behind though.’

‘You know where it is?’ Pinn asked sharply.

‘Aye. They’re gathering all the fighters ahead of the big take-off. Engineers jacked it and they flew it off to put with the rest of ’em. Someone else’ll be flying it, I suppose.’

‘Not bloody likely!’ said Pinn, steadying himself on the bar as he got to his feet. ‘I’m gonna get it back!’ His hand slipped off the edge of the bar and he fell off his stool and into Crund. Crund shoved him back onto his stool. ‘Tomorrow!’ Pinn finished with a flourish.

‘So they gave you the boot? Your crew?’

Pinn snorted. ‘I gave them the boot.’

‘You an Awakener now, then?’

Pinn scowled. ‘The Allsoul,’ he raised his mug towards the roof of the tent, ‘can pucker up and plant a great big sloppy kiss on my balls.’

The barman raised an eyebrow at that, then walked off towards the other end of the bar to serve somebody else. A cautionary voice in the drunken stew of Pinn’s brain belatedly warned him to remember where he was, but nobody else appeared to have heard him over the din of conversation.

Suddenly he felt maudlin and sighed. ‘I stayed behind. Did it for a woman. Probably shouldn’t have.’ He looked up. ‘Speaking of women, how’s old Chalk-face doing, anyway?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t she a daemon or something these days?’

Crund’s hand tightened around his mug, and his face became taut and grim. ‘That’s what I’m here about.’ He fixed Pinn with a hard stare. ‘We gotta talk.’