The Ace of Skulls

Twenty-Six

The sun beat down on Frey’s shoulders, shining bright in a cloudless sky. The sea spread out before him, glittering in the midday heat. Insects creaked and hummed; birdsong filled the air. The Barabac Delta had been sultry even in winter, but here in the Feldspar Islands, further south and near the equator, there were no seasons to speak of. Just the same perfect day, over and over.

He stood on a stone balcony overlooking the Ordic Abyssal. Far below, waves rolled against the feet of the cliffs. At his back, tiered gardens rose up the slope, a private wonderland of shady paths, splashing brooks, covered walkways and secret arbours. Statues peeked from hidden nooks. Domed gazebos rose above the foliage. Along the coast to his right he could see the roof of a mansion, just visible through the trees.

Another time he might have found this place beautiful. It was the kind of paradise where a man might find contentment for a while. But there was no contentment here, and the beauty couldn’t touch him. He felt cut off from the world. His body occupied a space, but he was connected to nothing. His responses were automatic, predetermined. Sometimes he felt like he was watching himself, a disinterested observer of someone else’s life.

He existed, but nothing more.

What am I doing here? he thought to himself.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to end up. He’d never asked for much. He’d never seriously coveted wealth and power. All he’d wanted was the freedom to do what he wanted. But somewhere along the line he’d acquired a crew that he cared about. Somehow he’d fallen back in love with a woman he thought he’d left behind.

And then he’d lost her. They’d forced a daemon into her body, into her mind. He tormented himself night and day by imagining how that felt. Was she still awake in there, screaming silently as the daemon pulled at her nerves like a puppeteer, making her limbs dance? Or had she been crushed by the onslaught, leaving nothing left of the woman he’d known? Would he ever get her back, or would the attempt claim his life and that of every friend he had?

There is hope. Crake had told him that. But he wasn’t sure he could let himself believe it. Hope was a dangerous thing for all of them. Giving up now might save everyone. Everyone but Trinica, anyway.

This was why he never wanted responsibility for anyone but himself. It hurt too damned much when you lost them.

‘Captain Darian Frey,’ said a voice behind him. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

He turned away from the vista, and put a smile on his face for Amalicia Thade.

She was wearing a dark blue dress, cut low at the neck to show the necklace of precious stones that lay against her collarbone. Black hair tumbled over her shoulders. She was smiling, the easy smile of a young woman who knew how to use it as a weapon. Her skin and features were flawless, her eyes dark and mischievous. She was even more breathtaking than the last time he saw her, when he’d been aiming a gun at her head.

‘Amalicia,’ he said, warily. ‘You look well.’ Despite her appearance, he feared her a little. Not many people had beaten him up quite so savagely and frequently as Amalicia had.

‘Marriage agrees with me, I think,’ she said, holding out her hand to show him the ring on her finger. He made a pretence of admiring it.

‘I heard,’ he said. ‘Congratulations. And where is your, er, husband?’

‘Harbley’s away on business, I’m afraid. I believe it’s best you and he never meet, anyway. I don’t think you’d get on.’

‘Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’re right.’ Harbley Trove sounded like the kind of stuffed-arse ponce that Frey couldn’t bear. Athletic, good-looking, heir to a vast fortune, he was rarely out of the gossip section of the broadsheets. Frey still remembered the day when Pinn came dancing gleefully up to the cockpit to show him the article. Amalicia had given up her fantasy of marrying a pirate captain and chosen a heroic aristocrat with a nose so proud and noble you could use it to mine for coal.

She touched his face lightly. ‘You look terrible. Have you been sleeping?’ she asked with false concern.

‘It’s been a rough couple of days,’ he said neutrally.

‘Shall we walk?’ She offered her arm to him, and he took it. The touch brought back faint memories of sex. She’d been willing, unskilled and over-enthusiastic. It was hard to square up the squealing young woman he remembered with the elegant lady that walked beside him.

‘I take it you haven’t come to apologise,’ she said.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘But I reckon I should anyway. I never was all that good at getting out of situations like that.’

‘You could have handled it better,’ she said. ‘But don’t fret. Water under the bridge. I should thank you, actually.’

‘Let’s not go that far.’

‘Well, if you hadn’t run out on me, threatened to kill me and broken my heart, I’d never have met Harbley.’

‘Glad it worked out for you, then,’ he said. She was trying to draw some resentment or regret from him, eager to see him lament what he’d lost. He didn’t have it in him to play along.

‘It’s good to see you again,’ she said. But there was an ever-so-slight hint of frustration behind her smile, and she didn’t quite mean it.

‘You, too,’ he said, and didn’t mean it either.

They walked out of the sun and down a dappled avenue. Trees rustled overhead, and they passed a carved stone font that trickled with clear water.

‘So, are you going to tell me to what I owe the pleasure of this visit?’ Amalicia prompted.

Frey wondered how to put it. This whole idea was a bit of a long shot, but Frey hit more long shots than most. ‘You remember when your father found out about us?’ he said.

She laughed. ‘How could I forget? He sent me to that awful hermitage.’ Her voice hardened just a little. ‘And you left me there for two years.’

‘It took me that long to track you down,’ Frey lied automatically.

She patted his hand. ‘I suspect that’s not quite the truth, Darian, but we’ll let that go, shall we?’

Frey wasn’t sure he liked her tone. The naïve, love-struck girl he’d known was gone for good by the sounds of it. That would make things harder.

‘I was a shit to you,’ he said, thinking that perhaps a little contrition was in order.

‘Spare me,’ she said. ‘I deserved it for believing you. But let’s not hash over the past any more. We’re different people now. Or at least, I am.’

Frey wasn’t done hashing, though. ‘You hated that hermitage, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘You hated that your father put you there. In fact, if I hadn’t saved you, you’d have a Cipher tattooed on your forehead right now, and instead of these gardens you’d be in some skaggy corner of a backwoods village, preaching the faith.’

‘If you’re subtly implying that I owe you something, might I remind you that you saved me by getting my father killed?’ she said, frosting over. ‘And any debt you think I owe you has certainly been cancelled out by your behaviour since.’

Frey sensed that he’d gone too far, and backed up. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Just making a point. You’re no friend of the Awakeners.’

‘On the contrary,’ she said. ‘My family have been staunch Awakeners for generations. My father lost his life in their service. I myself was ready to enter the faith until his death made me head of my family. And Harbley is very devout. There’s no one more loyal than I.’

But there was a wry look in her eye, and they both knew it wasn’t true. Amalicia was a woman whose passions went unchecked. Love and hate burned uncontrollably in her. She maintained strong ties with the Awakeners for political reasons, but in her heart she loathed them, and her piety was a sham.

‘Let’s just say — hypothetically, that is — that there was a way to give the Awakeners a black eye for what you’ve been through,’ he said. ‘Would you be interested?’

‘Darian!’ she exclaimed. ‘What reason do I possibly have to hate the Awakeners?’

‘For turning your father into an overbearing arsepipe?’ he suggested. ‘You know it was that Awakener bullshit that made him a tyrant. You had your childhood ruined by it. And if it weren’t for them, Gallian wouldn’t have died at all. He was doing their work, remember?’

‘You must think me a very vengeful person,’ she said, with a wicked glint in her eye. ‘But go on. As long as we’re speaking hypothetically.’

‘I need to get hold of an Imperator.’

Frey walked on a few more steps down the leafy avenue before he realised that she’d stopped. He looked back at her. She was staring at him, wide-eyed. ‘Get hold?’ she said, half-laughing in amazement. ‘You want to get hold of an Imperator? May I ask what for?’

‘Probably best you don’t know the details,’ he said. ‘Considering.’

‘I see,’ she said. ‘And what can I do to assist you in this frankly maniacal endeavour?’

‘I need you to sell someone out to the Awakeners.’

She folded her arms. ‘I’m waiting for an explanation.’

‘You remember Crake?’

‘Oh yes,’ she said venomously. ‘Your partner in crime.’

Ah, there was the old bitterness. Good. He was getting to her.

‘Crake’s father wouldn’t bend to the Awakeners, so they sent an Imperator to put his son into a coma. Said he’d stay that way unless Rogibald supported them.’

That gave her pause. Like most aristocrats, she regarded the nobility as a sacred institution, exempt from the kind of treatment doled out to the poor. It shocked her to think of one of her own being treated in such a way.

‘You’re not lying to me?’ she asked.

‘You’ve seen stories of some mysterious plague in the broadsheets, maybe?’

‘Perhaps,’ she said warily.

‘Look into it. It only affects aristocrats. Funny, that.’

‘Only aristocrats that oppose the Awakeners,’ she said. ‘Which I don’t.’ But it was a weak defence and he saw that she knew it.

He shrugged. ‘It’s a slippery slope. How long do you think the aristocracy’s going to remain safe under Awakener rule if they’re already ransoming firstborns? How long before they come for your money and your mansions and whatever else you’ve got?’

That was a hit. She believed him, and it rocked her.

She began to walk again, a dazed look on her face. Almost absently she linked her arm with his, and they went on up the avenue together.

They followed a path around the island, passing rows of statues. There was the smell of salt on the breeze, and the trees rustled. Distantly, Frey could hear the surging of the sea. He said nothing, and left Amalicia to think.

‘You’re asking me to put myself in danger,’ she said at last.

‘I’m asking you to hedge your bets,’ he said. ‘Think what happens if the Awakeners lose the war. You can be sure the Archduke isn’t going to look favourably on the families that supported them. But if he knew you’d helped him out. .’

‘If the Awakeners knew!’ she said, alarmed.

‘Who’ll tell them? Me? Listen, you hardly have to do a thing. I’ll even give you the name of the man you’re going to screw over.’

‘Darian,’ she said, wincing.

‘Sorry. Point is, all you have to say is that you heard something from someone. At worst, it’s just bad information taken in good faith, and you were being loyal by reporting it. They can’t fault you for that, can they?’

‘And then what?’ she asked. She was all but persuaded now; she was quibbling about the details, and she wanted to be reassured.

‘They’ll listen to you. They trust you. As long as you make it sound urgent enough, they’ll send an Imperator to pay our man a visit, like they did with Crake’s family.’

‘And you’ll be waiting.’

‘Right.’

‘And you won’t tell anyone?’

‘Only the Archduke, and only when the time’s right. I’ve got enough contacts to get the word to him. Might be you get yourself a medal, if the Archduke wins. Family prestige, and all of that.’

‘And the name of your victim?’

‘Ebenward Plome.’

‘Ha!’ she said. ‘He’s been on their list for a while, no doubt. He’s not been quiet about his opposition to the Awakeners. But he hardly ever leaves Thesk; they can’t get to him there.’

‘He isn’t in Thesk right now. He’s at the Tarlocks’ place in the Splinters. Very remote. If someone were to tell them where he was, how vulnerable he is right now. .’

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Now I begin to see.’

The path opened out into a paved area overhung by trees, a warm sanctuary in the foliage. In the centre was a small, circular building with a domed roof. Elaborate leaded windows were set into the dome. She went inside through an arched doorway, and he followed after her.

Their footsteps echoed as they entered the chamber. Soft light fell from above onto round walls painted with friezes and murals. In the middle of the tiled floor lay a gently bubbling pool with uneven sides. Crystals grew out of it, of many shapes and colours. They frosted its edge with spidery silicate webbing; they bulged from the water in amber clusters; they thrust upward in red shards. The heat and the moisture in the air gave the building an eerie, dreamlike quality, like a shrine to some forgotten god of nature.

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ said Amalicia, staring into the pool. ‘Harbley says it’s the minerals bubbling up from the deep earth that form the crystals.’ She sighed. ‘This is a very special place to me.’

Frey looked around. It was alright, he supposed. ‘Amalicia,’ he said. ‘Will you help me?’

She turned away from the pool. Her cheeks were flushed and her breastbone had reddened. ‘I’ll help you,’ she said. ‘But I need you to help me with something first.’

She lifted her eyes to his, reached behind herself, and her dress slithered from her shoulders and fell in a pile around her ankles.

‘Ah,’ said Frey. His gaze drifted down to take in the sight of her. This was unexpected. ‘Er. . I thought you were happily married?’

‘But he’s away, Darian,’ she said, stepping closer, pressing herself against him. ‘And I’m so very lonely.’

Her scent was different.

Slag sniffed at the pipe, deep in the warm guts of the Ketty Jay. The ducts were still cooling after the recent flight; they pinged and ticked as they radiated their heat away. Normally, this was Slag’s favourite time to snuggle up and sleep, cosy in the craft’s embrace. But not today. He was far too excited.

He went further into the ducts, tracking her. It was the same cat, no doubt about it, but the invisible marks she left behind were deliciously different. They energised him and fired his blood. They made him feel young again.

He had to find her. It had become the only thing on his mind. Whereas before he’d been merely intrigued, now he was desperate. He stalked her down maintenance crawl ways and through vents, sniffing at each mark she’d left. If it was stronger than the last, he hurried on. If it was weaker, he backtracked.

As the scent became more intense, so did the feelings it provoked. He was powerful, hungry, obsessed. He scampered from mark to mark, head clouded with a new and unfamiliar sensation. In all his long life, he’d never known anything like it.

When he found her, she was waiting for him. They circled in the faint glow of the duct lights, sniffing at each other. The smell of her drove him wild. Her manner was different now, her body language inviting him instead of pushing him away. It was her time, and Slag finally knew the feeling that had brought him here.

Lust.

Ashua looked up sharply, a mug of coffee halfway to her lips. ‘What was that?’

Crake, who’d been steadily inching round the mess table to get out of the potential spray zone, looked bewildered. ‘What was what?’

Malvery had his feet up on the table, eating a slab of dry cake that he’d found in the back of the pantry and resurrected through his own unique brand of culinary necromancy. ‘Didn’t hear a thing,’ he said. He reached over to pour some more rum into his coffee.

Ashua listened again. She could have sworn she’d heard a baby crying. ‘You fellers would tell me if the Ketty Jay was haunted, right?’

‘Oh, definitely,’ said Malvery through a mouthful of cake.

‘First thing we’d do,’ Crake agreed.

Ashua sat back and relaxed a little. Surely her imagination. No need to be nervy.

She sipped her coffee and let contentment find her again. Crake’s return had settled them all to some degree. She was glad to have him back. Intelligent company was rare on the Ketty Jay, and she’d missed him, even if he currently spent more time with Samandra Bree than on his own craft. Malvery was happier than she’d seen him for months. They were working for the Coalition, albeit secretly: no more moral dilemmas for him.

In fact, everyone was so pleased to have their daemonist back that they barely mentioned Pinn at all, except to occasionally take the piss. They all seemed confident that his bizarre infatuation with the Awakeners would wear off, and he’d turn up sooner or later. Or perhaps it hadn’t sunk in that he’d gone yet. For her part, she didn’t much care. All she minded was that the crew seemed to be sticking together.

That, and she’d negotiated herself a great big bonus from Bargo Ocken.

She heard the sound again and stiffened. ‘Listen!’ she said.

They listened, and they heard it too. A sound like a baby crying. This time she found the source: an air vent above the cooker. They all stared at it as the noise lengthened and dipped to a sinister croon.

‘Um,’ said Crake. He looked at Malvery. ‘We don’t actually have a ghost, do we?’

Malvery opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly the croon became a shocking yowl, making them all jump. Malvery and Crake looked at each other in bewilderment. Ashua burst out laughing.

‘You never heard a pair of cats going at it before?’ she asked.

‘It ain’t that I’m puzzled about,’ said Malvery. ‘Where’d Slag find himself a lady?’

‘Got a whole crew full of romantics, don’t you?’ Ashua said, winking at Crake, who blushed.

There was another bloodcurdling shriek from the depths of the Ketty Jay.

‘Didn’t know the old fleabag had it in ’im,’ said Malvery. He raised his mug towards the vent. ‘Go on, lad! Give her what for!’

Ashua rolled her eyes. Men.

Frey pulled his trousers on. Amalicia gathered up her dress. They kept their backs to one another.

‘That never happens,’ Frey said.

‘Apparently it does,’ Amalicia replied tightly.

Frey had thought himself numbed to all feeling, but it turned out he was wrong. Shame got through his defences just fine.

Amalicia pulled her dress over her shoulders and sighed. She could barely conceal her irritation. ‘I suppose it happens to every man once in a while,’ she said. ‘It just. . never happened with me.’

Frey buttoned up his shirt. The chamber was too hot. Even the slow bubbling of the crystal pool oppressed him. He was wretched, scorched with embarrassment. He wanted to get away from her as fast as he could.

He felt betrayed. Happy, sad, drunk, high or depressed, he’d always performed. He’d done it with women of intimidating beauty and with women who looked like the back end of a rusty tractor. Whatever the circumstances, his equipment had never let him down. One of the great certainties of his world had been torn away from him today.

‘Is it her?’ Amalicia said from behind him. ‘Is that why?’

He didn’t trouble to ask how she knew about Trinica. There had been rumours circulating ever since Sakkan. No doubt she’d had her ear out.

Is it her? he thought. Is it? Suddenly he was angry. Was it the memory of her that stopped him, that last scream that still echoed in the dark places of his consciousness? Was it loyalty to her memory? Had she shackled him, without either of them knowing it? Had he shackled himself? Chained himself to a woman he might never be able to have, excluding all others?

That wasn’t him! That wasn’t Darian Frey! This wasn’t even cheating, for rot’s sake! They weren’t even together!

And yet the sight of Amalicia naked hadn’t stirred him. Her touch had produced no response. Something inside him had shut down, and he didn’t know how to wake it up again.

Amalicia took his lack of reply as an affirmative. ‘She must be quite a woman, this pirate queen of yours.’

He heard the poison in her voice. She’d never help him now. And without her, he didn’t know how he could save Trinica. It was only in that moment that he realised how much had relied on this one woman, how slim his chances had been from the start.

‘I should go,’ he said, defeated. He needed to get out of her sight and never be seen by her again, to bury this incident in his memory and not tell another living soul.

‘Wait,’ she said, as he headed for the doorway. He stopped and looked back at her, crushed in on himself like a beaten dog. ‘Ebenward Plome, you said?’

He just stared at her dumbly.

She combed her fingers through her hair and threw it back over her shoulders. She was staring into the pool. ‘I hear he’s staying at the Tarlocks’ summer home in the Splinters right now. Such a disloyal, treacherous enemy of the Allsoul. He won’t be there for long. Only a few days, perhaps.’ She met his eyes briefly. ‘It might be our only chance to turn him over to the side of the Awakeners.’

He could hardly credit what he was hearing. After everything he’d done to her, after this new humiliation, he’d never have expected the maturity necessary to choose politics over her emotions. She’d always been a spoilt child at heart, full of pique and rage. He felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude, and didn’t know what to do with it.

‘Thank you, Amalicia,’ he said, his gaze on the floor. ‘You’re doing the right thing. If the Awakeners ever seize power, who knows what they’ll do to the aristocracy.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘No, that’s not why I’m doing this.’

‘So why?’ he asked quietly.

‘Hate,’ she said, ‘Pure and simple.’ She gave him a small, vicious smile. ‘I suppose I am a vengeful person after all.’