The Ace of Skulls

Thirty-Four

They found her in the snow, curled up in a foetal position. It was only by her size that he recognised her. She was smaller than the others.

Frey stared down at the blackened thing at his feet, and was numb. He thought Trinica had emptied him of grief, but now he found a greater emptiness still. Though she’d been distant of late, and sometimes he’d wished her away, he still remembered the old Jez.

He turned his face away. ‘Take her to the infirmary,’ he said to Malvery and Silo, who stood opposite. ‘Least we can do is put her somewhere proper.’

Malvery nodded. There were furious tears glittering behind his green glasses. ‘What about Pelaru?’ he said through a thick throat.

They’d discovered Pelaru nearby, unburned, but with a jagged piece of shrapnel the size of a dagger driven through his skull.

‘We don’t owe him shit,’ said Frey. ‘Leave him.’ It felt good to vent his spite on someone, even the dead.

He walked off, picking his way through the charred corpses. The snow was already covering up the scene, and melted slush was turning to ice. Nearby, the last of the Awakeners were being rounded up by Grudge and Kyne. The survivors had surrendered rather than freeze to death in the blizzard. They were being marched to the Wrath’s hold, where there was a cell for criminals that the Century Knights captured on their travels. What their fate would be, Frey neither knew nor cared.

He walked towards the blazing mass of pipes and rent metal that was all that was left of the hamlet’s generator. He stood so close that the heat on his skin became hard to bear, and his throat began to burn with the fumes. He welcomed the pain and the poison.

Jez was gone. The raw loss of that was almost too much to bear. This new tragedy was different to that of Trinica: more fundamental, closer to home. It wasn’t only that Jez would never speak, laugh, move again — although that in itself was awful enough. It was the knowledge that something irreplaceable had been taken out of his world. Members of his crew had left and come back before, but there would be no coming back this time. The life he’d come to love had been forever altered.

He let out a trembling breath. Tears wanted to come, welling up from the void in his chest. He wouldn’t let them. He stared into the fire and let the stinging of the fumes take the sting from his sorrow.

Jez. Damn it, why’d you do it?

Ashua had told him how Jez had gone alone into the fray, and how Pelaru had tried to stop her. She’d saved their lives more than once in the past that way, but never against such a number. He wondered, if he’d been there, if things would have been different. He wondered if he would have been able to stop her.

He felt like he’d abandoned her. He could have headed back to the hamlet when he found the road blocked off by Awakeners; instead he’d headed for the Ketty Jay. It seemed to make sense, but in doing so he’d left his crew to bear the brunt of the battle. And he’d taken too long, far too long to get back to them.

Don’t. You’re not responsible. You didn’t even want to come here, remember?

But whatever he told himself, it was small solace. Jez was gone. Nothing would be the same.

He heard boots in the snow. They stopped some way behind him, held back by the heat. ‘Frey,’ said Samandra. ‘We gotta talk.’

‘Not now,’ he said.

‘Now is exactly when we gotta talk. This won’t wait.’

He didn’t have the energy to resist. He turned and walked past her, without meeting her eye, heading back to the Ketty Jay. Samandra sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and followed after.

‘Tomorrow?’ Frey’s voice was flat and dead.

Kyne stood in the corner of the mess, his mask expressionless, without mercy, offering no space for Frey’s desolation. ‘Tomorrow. Maybe dawn, maybe dusk. Even if we set off now, we won’t reach Thesk till past nightfall.’

‘So go,’ said Frey. ‘You got what you wanted. You got your proof.’

‘Not exactly, Cap’n,’ said Crake. Anguish had made his face pale and puffy. Neither wanted to make decisions now, but Crake was slogging on anyway. ‘The Imperator said there’d be an attack on Thesk tomorrow. He said nothing about the Azryx device.’

‘But you got the readings, right? The readings we need to exorcise Trinica?’

Crake hesitated. ‘Well, yes we did. But-’

‘Then why should I care?’

Crake exchanged a glance with Samandra, who was sitting next to him at the table opposite Frey. Frey felt a bitter worm of resentment turn in his stomach. Look at them, the two of them, united. They had each other: who did he have?

‘What we got ain’t enough,’ said Samandra. ‘If they attack tomorrow, the whole Coalition fleet will pile in. That’s what they want. They’ll take out all our forces in one sweep.’

‘Not if you warn them about the Azryx device.’

‘We ain’t seen any Azryx device.’

‘We’ve seen it!’ Frey shouted suddenly, banging his fist on the table. ‘You were there in the Azryx city and you bloody well know what it can do! If the Archduke’s too damn stupid to listen then he’s welcome to kiss my arse and die with the rest of his pompous, shit-eating mob!’ He lowered his voice to an angry snarl. ‘You wanted us to give you proof? Well, we tried. And Jez is dead because of it.’

The room was silenced. Ashua scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. Silo showed nothing, as ever. Plome steepled his fingers and stared at them. The rest were elsewhere: Malvery was seeing to Harkins in the infirmary, where Jez’s body also lay. Frey felt it there like a weight on his aircraft, a dense presence impossible to ignore.

‘That’s a real constructive attitude you got,’ Samandra said, narrowing her eyes in sarcasm.

‘Screw you,’ said Frey. ‘Wonder how constructive you’d feel if it were Grudge that got burnt to a cinder?’

‘Quit your damn sulking! This is bigger than you!’ she cried.

‘Nothing’s bigger than me!’ he shouted back. ‘Me is all I’ve got!’ Samandra opened her mouth to reply, but Crake put his hand on her wrist to stop her, and she subsided.

‘Yeah, you’re not so diplomatic, are you?’ Frey sneered. He flicked a finger at Crake. ‘Let him try.’

Crake seemed shocked by his tone. He didn’t deserve to be treated like an enemy, but Frey wanted to lash out.

‘Cap’n,’ said Crake carefully. ‘This is the future of our country we’re talking about. Our entire way of life.’

‘Last I heard, the Coalition had us all down as traitors. Change of government might be to our advantage, don’t you think?’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Don’t I? You sure?’

‘It’s the only way to clear your names,’ said Kyne. ‘If you don’t care about your own, think of your crew. You want to be hunted the rest of your days?’

Frey sat back and crossed his arms. It was a pitiful threat as far as he was concerned. ‘By who? There won’t be a Coalition if the Archduke sends his fleet up tomorrow.’

‘All we’re asking is that you come back to Thesk and tell the Archduke and commanders what you saw. Second-hand information won’t be enough.’

‘Wait, our word wasn’t good enough before, but now it is?’ Ashua said.

‘Now we have no other choice,’ said Kyne. ‘And time has run out. Bree and Grudge will back you up as best they can. The generals might listen then.’

Frey began ticking points off his fingers. ‘I killed the Archduke’s son, or near enough as makes no difference. I came bloody close to killing Kedmund Drave. I ruined the Mentenforth Institute, the Archduke’s private collection, and destroyed spit knows how many priceless relics. I reckon I’m not far off when I say the Archduke would love to see me and my crew dead.’ He leaned forward, and anger seeped back into his voice. ‘And you want me to go back there and surrender? To throw myself on their damned mercy? Maybe get us all hung? For what? On the off chance that the most powerful men in the country deign to climb down out of their arses long enough to hear me out?’

‘If you’re telling the truth, the conviction against you and your crew will likely be quashed.’

Frey laughed. ‘Likely? That’s quite a promise.’

‘It’s not my decision. I can’t say what the Archduke will do.’

‘Then the Archduke can rot.’

‘Frey, you’ll be comin’ in of your own accord, with three Century Knights vouchin’ for your good character,’ said Samandra. ‘Such as it is, anyway. They ain’t gonna string you up.’

Frey was unconvinced, and it showed.

‘We could make you, if we wanted,’ said Kyne.

‘You could try,’ Frey replied darkly.

Crake leaned back in his chair and stared at Kyne steadily. ‘Use that voice of yours, Kyne, and I’ll know it,’ he said. ‘This is his choice.’

Frey was faintly surprised by that. He hadn’t expected Crake to stand up for him in this matter. But then, Crake had always suffered from an unhealthy sense of fair play.

‘No one’s makin’ anyone do anything,’ said Bree, with a glance at her companion. ‘Look, Frey. We all want the same thing here. We all want to stop the Awakeners, right?’

Frey looked around the room. He felt hunted. Most of the room was against him, it seemed. Everyone pushing him to do what was right, to put the good of the country over his own needs. How had it come to this? He’d resented the Coalition for most of his life; now he was supposed to swallow his pride and go crawling to them?

‘We had a deal,’ said Frey. ‘I help you get the Imperators. You give me what I need to help Trinica. I kept my part of the bargain. Now you want to change the deal?’ His gaze fell stonily on Crake. ‘I need to get to her. And I need your help to get the daemon out of her. You gonna leave me to do it on my own?’

Crake swallowed. He let the daemonist squirm for a moment. ‘Cap’n-’ Crake said, but Frey held up his hand. He didn’t want to hear whatever mealy-mouthed bullshit Crake had in store to make himself feel better about betrayal.

‘Do any of you understand?’ he said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. ‘The woman I-’ He lost the word; it came out as a breath. He screwed his face into a grimace, determined to express the depth of what he felt. ‘The woman I love is out there somewhere. Might be she’s dead and something’s walking round in her skin. Might be they’ve cut out her tongue by now.’ He felt frustrated tears prick at his eyes. They stood there, but didn’t fall. ‘Might be she’s trapped in there with it, trapped in some. . some torment I can’t even begin to imagi-’ His voice failed him again. He took a hard breath, let it hiss out through his teeth. ‘Do any of you get that?’

There was silence. They knew better than to pretend they did.

‘Cap’n,’ said Silo at last, his deep voice calm. ‘Whole Awakener fleet gonna be at Thesk tomorrow. Trinica gonna be with ’em, ain’t she? Strikes me that whatever way you wanna go, it’s all the same direction.’

Frey shut his eyes, trying to keep a lid on the emotions boiling up inside him. He hadn’t considered that. He wasn’t thinking straight.

‘We need to do this, Frey,’ said Crake. ‘The whole civil war might rest on what we do right here and right now. If we don’t give it our absolute best shot, we might be handing Vardia to the daemons tomorrow. We have to.’

Frey barely heard him. Why couldn’t they all just bloody well leave him alone?

‘You got a plan for how you’re gonna get to her?’ said Samandra, more gently than before.

Frey opened his eyes and looked up. ‘What?’

‘Y’know,’ she said. ‘How you’re gonna get past the Awakeners, and then past her crew. How you’re gonna subdue her or whatever. And then how you’re gonna get her back to a sanctum where Grayther can do his stuff?’ She turned to Crake. ‘If it works, I mean. You didn’t seem too confident about it before.’

Grayther didn’t say anything, but his face said enough.

‘No,’ said Frey. All the anger had drained from him and now he was weary, so very weary. ‘I thought I could lure her out, maybe. .’

He trailed off lamely. Lure her? She probably didn’t even know him any more. Yes, Crake might cobble together some daemonic device so he could tackle her, but his chances of even getting close were appallingly slender. He had no idea how to subdue her, for she wouldn’t come willingly, and he could never smuggle her out past her crew. His only chance was getting her alone, and he couldn’t see any way that could be done. The old Trinica he knew how to manipulate; but there was no telling what now walked in her place.

There was pity in Crake’s eyes, and that was what crushed him. He saw his delusion mirrored on his friend’s face. Suddenly it all seemed so absurd, so pointless, so pathetic. Love had made him wretched and desperate. But it was time to face the truth.

Trinica was gone, or beyond his reach. Jez was a blackened corpse in the infirmary. These things were irretrievable. And here he was among all these people, and all of them wanted something from him, leadership or sacrifice, decisions too important to delay. He felt crowded, panicked, suffocated. . but most of all, he felt bone tired. And with that tiredness came a kind of bitter peace, an acceptance that turned the storms inside him to calm: the bleak cold calm of a stony desert.

Let the world do with him as it would. He didn’t care.

He stood up slowly. There was a great weakness on him. His chair scraped against the floor as he pushed it back.

‘Let’s go to Thesk,’ he said, and walked over to the ladder that would take him up and out of the mess.

‘Cap’n,’ said Crake. ‘What are we going to do when we get there?’

Frey paused with one hand on a rung. He didn’t look back. ‘We’re going to surrender,’ he said.

Ashua was first out of the mess after Frey. She hurried down into the hold, her boots echoing in the silence, and had her hand on the lever of the cargo ramp before sense caught up with her.

What are you gonna do, Ashua? Where are you gonna go?

Well, there was the mansion. She wouldn’t freeze to death, at least, although it’d be cold with the generator out. The staff had aircraft to put them in touch with civilisation. No doubt they’d be flying out as soon as the blizzard cleared, to summon help. Maybe she could hitch a ride. Maybe she could steal one.

And go where?

She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut against the fear. She wanted to run. She wanted to run so badly. To remain on the Ketty Jay meant going to Thesk, to seek forgiveness for something she hadn’t even done. Presenting herself for the judgement of the rich and powerful so they could decide whether she was worthy to continue living.

This wasn’t her way. Damn it, this wasn’t even the Cap’n’s way. If Frey hadn’t been so broken down he’d have told them where to stick their absolution. Since when did they bow to anyone? Wasn’t the whole point of being a freebooter to be free?

But Crake, oh, Crake with his bloody trust in authority. And Malvery too, and Harkins. She knew what they would have said, if they’d been there. The idiocy of patriotism enraged her. She had to get out.

Now her heart was fluttering, and she trembled. She couldn’t breathe easily. Panic had her by the throat. She gritted her teeth and fought to pull herself back from the brink.

Easy, she said to herself. What’s wrong with you?

But she knew what was wrong. She’d seen it before in the slums. After a kid made his first kill, or after someone had walked out of a fight unscathed that left everyone else dead. She was shaken up badly. The adrenaline of the battle had drained away, and now the shock was setting in.

She took her hand away from the lever. There were no solutions out there. Just white emptiness and cold.

Ocken! she thought suddenly. Bargo Ocken! Than man owes you enough to set you up for a long time!

The thought of him drove her to her sleeping-nook, where she’d hidden the communication device under her blankets, between the pipes. She let the fabric curtain fall behind her. Once closed in, she felt a little safer. She dug out the device and turned it over in her hands. A small brass cube, with a button on one face and a small glass light on another.

Get off this craft right now. Get in touch with Ocken. Take your payoff.

An ascending hum sounded from all around her, making the pipes vibrate. The engines were warming. The Cap’n was preparing for take-off.

Beyond the curtain of her nook, she heard footsteps as several people made their way down into the hold. Voices came to her, getting louder as they neared the bottom of the metal stairs.

‘What about you? Are you coming with us?’ said Crake.

‘No, no, I don’t think so.’ She recognised the high, nervous tones of the politician, Plome. ‘Can’t see what help I’d be, to be honest. I shall stay here with the staff and see to things. They’re not happy about being locked up like that. And someone needs to explain to the Tarlocks what happened to their property. Not a job I relish, I tell you that!’

Bullshit, thought Ashua, who distrusted politicians of any kind. Youjust don’t want to be in Thesk when the fleet arrives tomorrow. Well, you might be a weasel, but you’ve got some sense at least.

She should go. Nothing was stopping her. Nothing but herself.

Ashua thought of herself as a loner, but as far back as she could remember, she’d never been alone. A child couldn’t survive on the streets of Rabban without help. Her earliest memories were peopled by benefactors and guardians. Adults who took pity on her, older children who fed and protected her, kids her own age who provided strength in numbers. Later there was Maddeus, father figure and employer both. Though she prowled the streets, tough as an alley-cat, she always had a home to go back to after he took her in.

And even when Maddeus sent her away, she had Shasiith, a city full of contacts and acquaintances to support her. When Shasiith had gone bad, when Jakeley Screed came after her and the Sammies were out for her blood, she’d jumped on board the Ketty Jay and found her support there.

But now there was nowhere left to go. And she found that she didn’t want to leave anyway.

Her life had been filled with companions of necessity, her friendships more like alliances, easily broken when the need arose. Even Maddeus, distant intellectual Maddeus, had put her aside when it suited him. But in her time on the Ketty Jay she’d found people she liked and, more importantly, whom she trusted: Malvery, Crake, even the Cap’n when he wasn’t being an arsewit. She respected Silo and was even sort of fond of Harkins. And Bess, well. . she couldn’t deny a certain affection for the golem, too. She’d always secretly wanted a pet.

She knew them now, and she’d seen how they were with one another. For all their bickering, they looked after each other, and the Cap’n looked after them. And she was part of that now. Maybe not as much as the others, but still. They wouldn’t drop her if things got tough. If she needed help, they’d give it. She believed that, and it touched her. She’d never had that in her life before.

Walking out now felt like a betrayal. She could face the Cap’n, maybe, but not Crake and certainly not Malvery. She’d have to slip away, and would hurt them worse by doing so.

She didn’t want to do that. But she didn’t want to die, either. The war was coming to Thesk, and they were heading right to its heart. Even if they weren’t treated as traitors, they’d be caught up in the fight. And this one would make the battle she’d just been through seem like a street-corner spat between children.

But it was that, or be alone.

The hydraulics kicked in with a thump, and the cargo ramp opened. A swirl of cold air stirred the curtain. It was bitter out there, but warm in her nook. The pipes radiated a drowsy heat, and she was protected in her hollow.

‘Are you sure you can straighten things out with Drave and the Archduke?’ Crake was saying as they walked down the ramp.

‘Drave’s a tough nut, but he ain’t stupid. He’ll listen to us,’ said another voice: Samandra Bree. So the other footsteps must have been the other two Century Knights. ‘ ’Sides, honey, if he don’t, there ain’t gonna be much left worth survivin’ for anyway.’

‘That’s a good point,’ said Crake. ‘I never thought of that.’

‘Optimism,’ said Samandra. ‘Keeps me young.’

Their voices faded. When the ramp began to raise, she almost bolted. But she balled up a blanket in her fist and gripped it hard, willing herself not to move. Finally the ramp closed with a boom that echoed through the hold.

She relaxed her hand. So it was done. She’d made her choice. She’d passed through a gate, and it had shut behind her. She felt better for it.

She looked at the device in her hand. Leaving or not, she still had a job to do. If the Awakeners were heading for Thesk, then the Thacians needed to know. Pelaru might have already told his people about the Awakeners’ secret weapon, but even if he had, he hadn’t known when or where the strike would come. Perhaps Ocken could get the message to someone who could help. Perhaps the Thacians could make the Archduke listen to Frey’s warnings. Vardia and Thace had been allies for a long time, united against Samarlan aggression. Thace wouldn’t want to see Vardia fall to the Awakeners and end up an ally of Samarla. That would make their neighbours twice as dangerous.

So she’d send the message. She’d do what she could for the good of the country. And after that, she was going to find Malvery, and she was going to get really, really drunk.

The engine room had always been Silo’s domain, and he went there once the Ketty Jay was airborne, to escape the prevailing mood. Here he could lose himself in the noise and heat, disappear among the walkways and pipes. Silo was a man comfortable with his own company, and right now he wanted no one else’s.

Jez’s death had hit them all hard. There was a sense of shock among the crew, but no time to grieve or heal. That was bad. Silo had seen his fair share of grief; he knew the kind of things it might make a man do, if he didn’t get it out. But there’d be no quarter yet. They’d been caught in a whirlpool for a long time now, since way back in the days of Retribution Falls. Now they were nearing the centre. It was down to them whether they’d be swallowed or spat back out.

Well, what gonna come, gonna come, he thought. Too late to pull out now.

Each of the crew were dealing with the tragedy in their own way. Crake had thrown himself into his work. He was on the Wrath with Kyne, in the Century Knight’s sanctum, using the readings they’d taken from the Imperator to knock up some countermeasures as best they could. And maybe when he was done, if there was time, he’d find solace in the Samandra’s arms.

Harkins was flying the Firecrow. That was where he was happiest. Malvery was drinking, and Ashua was drinking with him for company. She didn’t feel it like the others did, but she was there for the doc, and that was good. Malvery was the kind of man who needed to talk it out.

They’d survive. They’d get through. Silo had sorrow of his own, but his was more measured. Life as a slave, and later as a resistance fighter, had inured him somewhat to the pain of loss. Death was part of Murthian life, always at their shoulder. He’d honour his friend when the moment was right.

It was Frey that worried him. The Cap’n hadn’t been all there since he came out of the Awakeners’ base camp. This new blow might have been too much. He always was a self-destructive sort, but he’d always been defiant. Silo didn’t like what he saw in the Cap’n’s eyes at the mess table. It reminded him of people he’d known in the slave camps. The ones who’d been pushed too far, who’d lost too much. The ones who gave up, lay down and died.

At the base of the engine assembly was the curious device that Prognosticator Garin had attached while they were resident at the Awakener camp. Silo had taken the casing off some days before, but once he’d seen what was inside, he’d decided not to touch it. Most of it was familiar technology, but at the core was a small, spindle-shaped glass chamber. Coloured smoke swirled slowly inside, and little sparks of miniature lightning flashed within.

Azryx tech.

The tiny core was rigged up to simple broadcasting device. As to what it did, he had a good idea. They’d been fitting similar devices to every aircraft that joined the fleet. Common sense said that it had to be a countermeasure to their secret weapon. Otherwise, the Awakener fleet would fall out of the sky at the same time the Coalition fleet did. A guard they captured in the Azryx city told them once how the Sammies could fly certain craft in and out of it, ignoring the invisible field that sent delicate systems haywire. The Sammies must have sold that secret to the Awakeners too, along with the parts needed to make it work.

Having guessed its purpose, Silo didn’t want to fiddle with it in case he broke it. He reckoned it might come in handy.

He made his way up stairs and along walkways, stopping here and there to check on the machinery. Everything was running smoothly now the Ketty Jay had warmed up.

Least something runnin’ smoothly round here, he thought.

He spotted Slag among the pipes, curled up in his favourite spot. No doubt he’d been in the bowels of the craft the last few days, tucked up in the Ketty Jay’s core where the cold was kept at bay by heaters designed to protect the delicate machinery. Now the craft was running, he’d returned to the warmth of the engine room. The sight of him gave Silo a measure of comfort. In chaotic times, the cat was a reassuringly permanent fixture.

On impulse, he walked over to the pipes and reached out to tickle Slag behind the ears. Probably Slag would take a swipe at him for the liberty, but he was never fast enough these days.

Just before he touched him, he stopped. There was something profound in the cat’s stillness. A creeping suspicion came over him.

He reached out and laid his hand on Slag’s flank. It was cool, and no breath swelled it.

Silo bowed his head. He let out a long breath, let the surprise of it pass him by and the reality sink in. He knew death, knew that sense of departure when a living being became a framework. This one had been long expected, but still strange when it arrived. Eventually he felt a sort of peaceful melancholy, an acceptance of the inevitable.

‘You lived more ’n your share,’ he said slowly, his palm still flat against Slag’s flank. ‘Took on the world in your own way. Rest up now, old friend. You was a warrior. They never beat you.’

After that, he didn’t have anything to say. He took his hand away, and stood back from the pipes, and looked around the engine room. It all seemed different now. Something vital had departed the Ketty Jay, something indefinable. Yesterday she’d been alive to him; now she was just machinery.

Better the crew don’t know, he thought. Not on top of everythin’ else.

‘Rest up now,’ he said again, this time quietly, almost to himself. He picked up the dead cat, cradling him gently in his arms, and headed off into the maze of the stairways and walkways, until the clank of boots on steel was lost in the roar of the engines.