The Black Lung Captain

Sixteen

The Thade estate sprawled across the forested hills, an island of carefully maintained paradise. Raked paths meandered round well-tended lawns and willow-fringed lakes, past fountains and gazebos built in pre-Revolution style. Statues of monarchs and dukes stood on plinths. A glassy arboretum was perched on a hilltop. Next to it was a hunting lodge and an observatory with the lens of a huge brass telescope poking through a slit in the dome. At the centre of the grounds, a vast manse sat foursquare and impressive, with walls of robin's-egg blue, tall windows and alabaster eaves.

Frey lounged in the back of the open-top motorised carriage, and let the sun warm his skin. This far south, springtime felt like summer. A manservant sat on the driver's bench up front, gripping the steering wheel as if it was something unfamiliar. He was dressed in a stiff uniform of white and cream, and doing his best not to sweat and ruin it.

Frey ran his knuckles over the leather of the seat and looked out at the estate as they puttered up the drive. All of this was Amalicia's. And this place was only a fraction of her holdings. He knew the Thade family was rich, but he hadn't quite imagined the scale of it.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

What would their reunion be like, he wondered? He had to admit to a certain amount of trepidation. After all, he'd been indirectly responsible for the death of her father. But then Amalicia had been rather keen on getting him hanged anyway. She hated him for cloistering her in an Awakener hermitage. That was also Frey's fault, since he'd been the one who deflowered her, but Frey wasn't about to take the blame for her father's prudishness.

Gallian Thade's death made Amalicia the head of the Thade dynasty and the inheritor of all that he saw before him and more. But still, girls were apt to get cranky when you got their dads shot by the Century Knights. He just hoped she was in the mood to look on the bright side.

The carriage pulled up in front of the house where half a dozen manservants were lined up outside the grand double doors. As he was dismounting, the doors were thrown open and Amalicia walked through.

He caught his breath as he saw her. She was more dazzling than he remembered. She must have been twenty-three by now, or thereabouts, but she seemed unaccountably mature for her age. More the elegant young lady and less the frisky, fiery girl. Her long black hair had been cut short to show off her neck. She wore riding boots, hip-hugging trousers and a silk blouse. There were hints of silver at her throat and wrist.

'Darian,' she said with a smile, as she descended the steps. Frey managed to get down from the carriage without falling. He gawked at her, dazzled. This was the woman he'd forgotten about, the woman he'd left behind in an Awakener hermitage without a second thought? This was the one whose letters he'd been ignoring? What was wrong with him?

She presented her hand. He stared at it for a few moments before realising what he was supposed to do, then raised it to his lips and kissed it.

'Come inside, please,' she said.

He followed, dazed, wrongfooted by the change in her. She was confident where before she'd been arrogant. Assured where she'd been spoiled. She'd grown to suit her new role quickly and well.

The entrance hall was colossal, with a curving staircase of polished stone. Thin pillars drew the eye to the arched moulding on the ceiling. Valuable urns rested on pedestals with the casual precariousness only found in houses that didn't have dogs or children in them.

A manservant stood by the doors to a drawing room. He opened them and Amalicia led Frey through into a beautiful room with gold-chased panelling and a fireplace that would embarrass a duke. Settees and divans were arranged near a side table of sweetmeats and refreshments. A servant was pouring tea as they entered.

Amalicia clapped her hands. 'Leave us,' she said. 'Darian and I have a lot of catching up to do.' The servant scurried out, and the handsome manservant pushed the doors closed. As he did so, Frey caught his gaze. The manservant winced in sympathy, and then the doors clicked shut.

Frey didn't like that wince. He had a dreadful premonition of what was coming. He turned around to see Amalicia advancing on him with terrible purpose, her serene, aristocratic smile turned to an ugly snarl. 'Now wait a mi—' he began, but he was interrupted by the heel of her riding boot connecting with his jaw hard enough to send him tumbling over the back of a settee.

He was still seeing stars as she pulled him up by the collar of his shirt. Where was the pretty, cultured lady of a moment ago? Surely she couldn't be this rabid harpy, drawing back a bunched fist to drive into his eye socket?

'Where . . . were . . . you?' she screeched, punctuating each word with a savage strike to the face. 'Where . . . were . . . you?'

'Will you let me explain?' he spluttered. A couple of his teeth felt loose.

'No! You always do that! You explain, and I stop being mad, and I forgive you and then you leave me again! You're a liar, Darian. A damned liar!'

'I never lied to you!' he lied.

She stared at him, open-mouthed, and then kicked him between the legs. 'Don't you dare try and weasel out of this one! Don't you dare!'

He barely heard her words. They seemed to come from a great distance away, floating through a fog of perfect agony. There was a strange, sad void in his lower belly, a grey pall of aching misery, as if his guts were attending the funeral of his reproductive system.

'Why weren't you there when I got out of that hermitage, Frey?' she demanded. 'Where was my dashing buccaneer lover waiting to sweep me off my feet? What about all those things you said?'

Frey tried to protest that she wouldn't have got out of there at all if not for him, but the only noise that emerged was a shrill whimper at a pitch audible only to bats.

'Not a word! For a year!' Amalicia shrieked. 'Don't even pretend you didn't get my letters, Frey! I sent them everywhere!'

Frey held up a hand and swallowed against a hard lump in his throat that may or may not have been one of his own testicles. 'I thought . . .' he croaked. 'I thought . . .'

'Thought what? Thought I'd forgotten your promise? Thought I'd forgotten that you said you'd marry me?'

Technically, Frey had done no such thing, but he thought it unwise to argue the point, given his present situation. 'I thought . . . you'd reject me.'

'You thought what?'

He caught his breath. The ache in his groin was a little less unbearable now, enough that he could manage a coherent sentence. 'I thought I wasn't good enough for you.'

'Oh, that's just rubbish!' Amalicia scoffed. 'What an excuse!'

'Look around you!' he said, swinging out an arm. 'You see? Look at what you have! You're a lady. Sure, you loved me when your father was alive. What better way to piss off Daddy than by hitching up with some lowlife freebooter, right? But the game's changed now. Daddy's gone. We dreamed of running away, but now there's nothing to run away from. What do you need me for, when you have all this?'

Amalicia looked shocked. 'It was never about that!'

But she was already on the back foot, and Frey kept pushing. 'Don't you think I know what would have happened next? The society balls, the dinner parties, mixing with the rich and powerful? How long would it have been before I embarrassed you? How long before you got bored of me and found someone who knew how to eat soup without slurping?'

'Darian, that's not true,' she protested, but it came out weak and unconvincing. She'd been so busy being angry and lovesick that it had probably never occurred to her until now.

'It is true, and you know it,' he said, getting delicately to his feet with the help of a nearby chair. He felt himself to be sure everything was still where it was supposed to be.

Amalicia stamped huffily over to the windows, frustrated at having her righteous wrath blunted. She crossed her arms and stared out over the lawns of her estate. Regrouping. After a moment she whirled and came back. 'So you just decided it was over?' she snapped. 'You just left without a word?'

'No,' he said. 'I always meant to come back to you. But not as some filthy pirate. I wanted to come back as a man worthy of a lady like you. I wanted to come back rich and respectable. But I failed you, Amalicia. I failed.'

The Pinn Defence. Neat, deadly, and virtually impossible to refute. Nothing cut a girl's legs out from under her like a noble justification of an apparently ignoble act. The angrier they were, the worse they felt when you sprang the trap.

Tears shimmered in his eyes, more from the pain in his pods than sorrow, but that didn't matter to Amalicia. Her anger blew out like a candle.

'You didn't think you were worthy of me?' she asked, and he knew by the tone of her voice that she'd forgiven him right then. It was that I-can't-believe-how-sweet-you-are-you-delightful-thing kind of tone that, in Frey's experience, was generally employed in response to a thoughtful and unexpected present, or one of his rare displays of tenderness.

'I've tried to go straight, tried to make my fortune by honourable means,' he said. 'I could start a business, maybe buy some land. But . . .'

'Spit and blood, Darian. All this time you've been thinking I wouldn't want you?'

Frey held his aching jaw. He could feel a bruise forming where her heel had caught him. 'You mean you do?' he asked, with the expression of a man who hardly dared to hope.

'Of course I do, Darian! Why do you think I was writing to you all this time?'

'After everything I've done, you still want me?'

'Yes!' she laughed. She took his rather damaged face in her hands and gazed up into his eyes. 'Yes! I never stopped wanting you.'

'Oh, Amalicia!' he hammed. 'I've been a fool! A damned fool!'

The melodrama was lost on her. 'Darian!' she swooned, and she kissed him with such brutal passion that he feared she'd end up swallowing one of his loosened teeth.

'Come on,' she said eagerly, as soon as they'd surfaced for breath. She tugged him towards a door. 'The bedroom's this way.'

Frey clutched at his pulverised groin. 'I'm not sure I can . . .'

'Darian,' she said, with an unmistakable warning in her voice.

Frey took a steadying breath. 'Alright,' he said. 'I suppose I'll manage.'

*

It took a while to entice his traumatised equipment into action, but once he got going, he managed a passable performance. Amalicia didn't seem to mind that he was sub-par. She detonated with a scream that had Frey hurriedly clamping a hand over her mouth in case the household guards should burst in and shoot him.

Later, they lay in bed together. She was curled up against him, he on his back, looking up at the ceiling. 'What are you thinking about?' she asked him.

'Nothing,' he replied.

What he was thinking was how fine it was to lie here in an expensive bed with a beautiful young woman beside him. They could lie here all night and all day, if they wanted. And the next night, and the next. He'd never have to go back to his mouldy bunk on the Ketty Jay, with that threadbare hammock hanging over his head, always threatening to snap and crush him beneath an avalanche of luggage. How would it be, to live this way?

That was what he was thinking, but he said none of it.

She stirred against him and raised her head. 'Why did you come back?' she murmured.

'I came back for you.'

'Darian,' she said, the word a gentle threat. 'Why now? And don't tell me it's because you couldn't stand to be without me a moment longer.'

Frey had been about to say exactly that. He had to think a moment. Eventually, too drugged by post-coital lethargy to come up with anything clever, he told her the truth. 'I need your help.'

She tensed in his arms.

'Wait, hear me out,' he said. 'I found a way to get rich. Really rich. I wanted to be worthy of you, remember?'

'I remember,' she said suspiciously. Now that the first chaos of passion had settled, she was getting sceptical.

'Thing is, I can't do it without your help.'

'You need money, then,' she guessed, icing up.

Yes. Always. 'No!' he said. 'What do you take me for?'

'I don't know, Darian. I don't know what to think.' Now she was sullen and resentful. Frey was already having trouble keeping up with her moods. He remembered why he kept leaving her. A familiar irritation crept into his thoughts, but he kept it from his voice. 'I'm trying to get something. Something very valuable that the Awakeners have.'

'Ah.'

'Your father was a great friend of the Awakeners, of course. I sort of assumed you still have connections with them, even if you don't like them much. So I wondered if—'

"What do you need?' she interrupted.

'This . . . thing. It's a metal sphere. Very valuable. They have it inside a compound up in the Splinters. Place is like a fortress. I need a way to get in, or a way to get it out.'

'A sphere,' she repeated. 'Valuable.'

'Yes.'

"I don't suppose I want to know any more than that.'

"Good policy. If it makes you feel better, it's rightfully mine. Well, mine and my colleagues, anyway. They stole it from us. We want to steal it back.'

'And once you have it, you'll be rich?'

'Astronomically so, apparently.'

'And then you'll think yourself worthy of me?'

'Absolutely.'

She rolled over in bed, facing away from him. She managed to convey her sadness and disappointment through the set of her bare shoulders, though Frey couldn't work out how.

'I'll see what I can do,' she said.

They had breakfast on the south terrace in the morning, overlooking a calm lake edged by drowsily nodding trees. The sun was strong, for they'd slept in till past midday, and Amalicia was all smiles again. Frey enjoyed himself immensely. Etiquette made him awkward, but being waited on hand and foot was an experience he didn't think he'd ever get tired of.

'A man could get used to this,' he murmured, as he took his third glass of sparkling breakfast wine. Amalicia gave him a sideways glance and said nothing.

Later in the afternoon, they walked in the gardens, among the flowerbeds and the arbours. Frey wasn't much for plant life, but he was feeling quite grand today and more than a little buzzed from the wine. The presence of a beautiful woman who plainly adored him wasn't exactly unwelcome, either.

They'd been ambling around for some time when a manservant approached and whispered something in Amalicia's ear. She smiled and nodded.

'Plotting something?' Frey asked, watching the manservant retreat down the path.

'Actually, yes,' she said. 'I've secured us invitations to a soiree in Lapin.'

'A party?' Frey exclaimed. 'What did you go and do that for?'

'Because that's where you'll find out what you want to know.'

Frey scratched the back of his neck. The thought of a society party made him uneasy. Give him a good old life-threatening gunfight anyday. At least there, if someone was wittier than you, you could just shoot them in the face.

'It's a very exclusive soiree,' said Amalicia. Frey felt his nerves tighten another notch. 'Among the guests will be three Interpreters and a Grand Oracle.'

'Three whos and a what now?'

'High-ranking Awakeners, Darian,' she explained patiently. 'There are only four Grand Oracles in all of Vardia, and they are second in power only to the Lord High Cryptographer himself.'

'And you think they might know something about the sphere?'

'I'm sure you can get something useful out of them. You're a resourceful sort.'

'That I am,' he said. 'But do you think they'll even talk to me? I mean, look at me. They have handkerchiefs that cost more than my entire wardrobe.'

Amalicia gave him an up-and-down appraisal. 'Yes, we'll have to tidy you up a bit. But I shouldn't worry. They'll accept you as long as you're with me. And you'll find that the great and good are a lot less formal in these small, private gatherings than they are in public. We aristocrats get up to all kinds of things when the commoners aren't looking.' She smiled to show she was joking. Sort of.

'I'm not very good with polite conversation,' said Frey. 'It's more Crake's thing.'

'Don't fret, my darling. I have a scheme in mind. You see, there's always a games room at these little affairs. And this particular Grand Oracle is very fond of Rake.'

Frey's eyes lit up. 'Rake, you say?'

'Sit him down at a table, ply him with drink, lose some hands to him. He'll be your best friend in no time.'

Frey chewed his lip. 'I could do that. I'd still feel better if Crake came too, though. Another pair of ears in the room. He's an aristocrat; he wouldn't embarrass you.'

Amalicia tutted. 'Very well. I'll see it's done. But he'd better behave himself, Darian, or I shall be very put out.'

'Don't use his real name on the invitation.'

Amalicia rolled her eyes. 'Such reputable company you keep. I'll say he's your cousin. How's that?'

They walked for a little while.

'Why are you helping me, Amalicia?' Frey asked at length.

'Because I love you, of course,' she replied.

'Not because you want to get back at the Awakeners for all that time you spent in the hermitage?'

A wicked smile touched the edge of her lips. 'What kind of petty, vengeful woman do you take me for?' she asked with exaggerated innocence. 'The soiree is in a week. Until then, you're mine.'

Frey was allowed a brief visit back to the Ketty Jay to explain things to his crew and to tell Grist what was happening. Grist was enraged at the delay, but there was little he could do about it. He'd left some of his own men keeping watch on the compound where the sphere was hidden, in case the Awakeners moved it, but Frey thought it a futile exercise. Aircraft probably came and went all the time, and there was no telling if any of them were carrying the sphere, and no chance of following them anyway. Even small aircraft would be spotted in open sky and chased off.

His duty to his crew done, Frey returned to Amalicia. The days that followed were slow and luxurious. He spent the majority of them in bed, occasionally rising to enjoy exquisite meals or to wander the grounds of the Thade estate in the sun. On the second day Crake visited, and they were fitted for new clothes and seen to by a barber. When their transformation was complete, they looked a strikingly handsome and sophisticated pair. Frey spent the evening resisting the urge to preen.

Amalicia, for her part, was sweetness itself. Gone were the rapid and occasionally violent mood swings he remembered. She was attentive, considerate and sexually voracious. Frey had a wonderful time in her company, and he basked in the attention she lavished on him.

'You still want to run away, Amalicia?' he asked at one point. 'Still want to go slumming round Vardia in a battered old aircraft with a bunch of inept alcoholics for company?'

The sun fell on one side of her face as she sipped her glass of wine, and she looked devastatingly serene. 'No,' she said. 'Do you?'

It was a question Frey spent a lot of time pondering, during those heady days. What was there for him back on the Ketty Jay? Sure, he had friends, and that was worth something. But was it worth the endless toil, the frustration, the danger? How much further would his luck take him before he caught a bullet somewhere vital, or his craft got shot down?

Sooner or later, a man had to stop wandering and plant his flag. Wouldn't this be a fine place to do it?

She'd marry you, if you asked her. You know she would. She's loved you all this time.

But even thinking it made him restless. How long before he got bored? Bored of her, bored of all of this? The fine food and quality booze were undoubtedly attractive, but there were only so many gardens a man could wander. Sleeping on silk sheets with a pretty young woman was all well and good, but what about after a month? A year? A decade?

Amalicia, for her part, was obviously on her best behaviour. He knew what she was doing. Seducing him with her lifestyle. Intoxicating him with the dream of aristocracy. Think what your life could be, Frey, she was saying. Why carry on with this foolish scheme of riches? I have all the riches you'll ever need.

With money like hers, he could do whatever he wanted. He could build a dozen orphanages. He could make a mark, something to leave behind that said: Here was Frey. He might not have been perfect, but at least his life meant half a shit.

But already he felt caged.

Damn it, what was wrong with him? This was exactly what he thought he wanted. It was everything he'd decided he needed to fill the yawning chasm that had opened up inside him. And yet now that it was within his grasp, he didn't want it.

It took five days of living in luxury with a perfect woman to make up his mind. After the soiree, he was leaving.