Ketty Jay 04 - The Ace of Skulls (21 page)

‘All of them. The Awakeners have stirred up the countryside, Grayther. Turning the common folk against the gentry. If we don’t declare for their cause . . . Well, I wouldn’t be the first to be strung up because I won’t bend the knee to their nonsense. Many of us have gone to the cities, but I’ll not cave in to ignorance.’ He turned to Crake, and there was a feverish anger in his eyes. ‘I won’t, you hear? No matter what the cost!’

Crake had the sense that there was some meaning to Rogibald’s words that he was missing. But he had other questions, and he couldn’t take the suspense any more. His father’s feelings be damned; he had to know.

‘Where is Condred, Father?’

Rogibald flinched as if struck. He seemed to diminish, and shrank back into his chair, where he took a swallow of brandy.

‘Father, where is he?’ Crake persisted. ‘He took the contract out on me, didn’t he? Why did they bring me to you and not him?’

‘Your brother . . .’ said Rogibald, his voice heavy with a melancholy disgust. ‘He cancelled the contract two years ago.’

Crake just stared dumbly. Two years ago? All this time he’d been living under a shadow, and there was no contract on him? No wonder the Shacklemores hadn’t been on his back. He’d always thought it strange that they hadn’t been more persistent.

‘We kept the murder out of the courts, for the family’s sake,’ Rogibald said. ‘Condred wanted to deal with you himself. But after a year . . . After Amantha . . .’ The tiniest of frowns crossed his brow: a sign of what his next words cost him. ‘It would have been a hollow victory, he said. To exact vengeance on his brother. No matter what you did.’

Crake’s hands began to tremble. A torrent of muddled emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Relief and guilt came all together. Was he reprieved? Would he live after all? And if so, where was his justice, his retribution? He couldn’t believe that his brother would ever have forgiven him for what he did. And yet . . .

‘If he cancelled the contract, why did the Shacklemores bring me here?’

‘Because I told them to,’ said Rogibald. He finished the last of his brandy, grimacing as if he’d swallowed something rank. Then, venomously:

‘Because I need your help.’

Pinn hurried across the clearing, his heart beating hard in his chest. The sun was low and yellow as it pushed through the swampy tangle at the clearing’s edge. Insects swam in clouds in the early evening swelter.

There were a few hundred people here, gathered round a haphazard collection of dirty tents. A couple of light cargo freighters, ugly Ludstrome craft, loomed in the background. From the tents, he could smell food cooking. A dozen voices sang tonelessly over the strumming of a stringed instrument and some clattering percussion. A small group had gathered outside an open tent painted with the Cipher on its side. Pinn headed for that one.

The Awakener base was spread out over many clearings, and beyond the central ‘town’ at its hub there were smaller gathering-places like this one. Pinn had tramped around plenty of them since he woke up. He was hot and bothered and his buttcrack was so sweaty that it bubbled whenever he farted. But none of that mattered now, because his search was at an end at last. Stumpy legs pumping, he hurried over to the tent and looked inside.

There she was. Young and pretty, her hair in a strawberry blonde bob, wearing a white Speaker cassock with red piping. A group of people were watching her, fascinated, as she held a needle to the upraised fingertip of an old woman. Beneath the woman’s hand was a pedestal, on which sat a wooden saucer to catch the blood. Her tattooed forehead was creased in concentration, her wide blue eyes intent as she aimed.

The sight of her made him want to burst with joy. ‘Marinda!’ he cried as he rushed into the tent. Marinda jumped violently and stabbed the needle right through the old woman’s hand.

‘Oh! Oh my! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!’ Marinda gasped. The old woman stared at her hand, took a breath, and screamed. Suddenly everyone in the tent was on their feet, crowding round, yelling advice and accusations.

Pinn fought his way through to stand behind Marinda. She was bending over the old woman, who’d sunk to floor in shock. The woman’s hand was held up in the air by the men who crowded round her. People were arguing about what to do with the needle. Someone grabbed it and pulled it out. Blood squirted in thin jets everywhere, on Marinda’s face and all over her crisp white cassock.

‘Hey!’ said Pinn, trying to get her attention over the ruckus. ‘Hey! Don’t you remember me?’

‘Call for help!’ she shouted. ‘We need a doctor!’

‘Pinn, remember?’ Pinn continued. ‘From the freighter? You read my future?’

But Marinda, panicking, wasn’t even looking at him, let alone listening. ‘She needs a bandage!’ she cried. Someone ripped off a sleeve of their shirt and began wadding it together. The old woman was wailing like a cat with its tail stuck in a door.

Pinn tried a new tack. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that had been stuck to his dashboard. ‘Look!’ he said, talking a bit louder. Someone shoved past him rudely, but he wasn’t to be deterred. He brandished the piece of paper over her shoulder. ‘Look, I wrote down your prophecy!’

She snatched the piece of paper from his hand, glanced at it a moment, and threw it away. ‘That’s no good, I said a bandage!’

The man with the ripped shirt seized the old woman’s hand and wrapped his sleeve around it. ‘Get her to the doctor!’ someone cried, and the old woman was pulled to her feet.

Pinn was a little put out by what had happened to his precious piece of paper, but he forged on regardless. ‘Isn’t this crazy?’ he asked. ‘You and me, here? What are the chances? I mean, I know there’s a lot of Awakeners gathered here, but still . . . Whew! If that’s not the Allsoul’s will, I don’t know what is!’

The old woman was being bundled away by the spectators now. Marinda tried to go after her but a glare from one of the helpers stopped her. ‘I’m sorry! I’m so very sorry!’ she called. ‘Oh, my! Oh my, this is terrible!’

‘Hey!’ Pinn said, with more than a touch of annoyance now. ‘It’s me!’

She whirled on him, a flash of anger in her eyes. ‘What do you wa—?’ The words froze in her throat and her face went slack with horror as she recognised him.

He threw his arms wide. ‘That’s right! Artis Pinn, Hero of the Skies, ace pilot, at your service! And I’m pretty handy with a shotgun, too!’ To prove it he pulled out his shotgun and spun it round with his finger through the trigger guard. He thought he hadn’t primed it, but obviously he had, because it went off with an ear-shattering boom and blew a hole in the roof of the tent. There was a muffled honk from above, and the world’s most unfortunate goose thumped heavily to the turf just outside the entrance.

‘Yep. Pretty handy,’ Pinn said, to break the shocked silence that followed. His memory was already rewriting history, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d aimed for that bird or if it had been an accident. In five minutes’ time there would be no doubt: he was quite the marksman, after all. At least in his own mind.

‘You . . .’ Marinda began, gaping. She had a very pretty gape. ‘You robbed us, you monster!’

‘Never mind that!’ said Pinn, a stupid grin plastered on his chubby face. ‘I’m an Awakener now!’

‘You’re a . . . What? How?’

‘I just am! Look!’ He bent down, picked up the piece of paper, and gave it to her. It was a bit muddy.

She looked around for help, embarrassed and not a little afraid. People were staring into the tent, drawn by the gunshot, but nobody dared come near. She brushed her hair behind her ear and read the piece of paper, frowning as she struggled to cope with Pinn’s mangled scrawl and his appallingly tortured Vardic. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘It’s your prophecy!’ said Pinn. ‘Look, it came mostly true. Except the tragedy bit, but I reckon that’s coming up.’

Marinda’s frown deepened as things began to fall into place. ‘Do the Sentinels know that you crashed an Awakener freighter, killed two dozen people and stole the artefacts on board?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yeah. Some Proboscitator feller came on board, cleared it all up.’

‘A Prognosticator? And he said it was alright?’ she asked doubtfully.

‘More or less. Why else would they let us stay here, right? He let us off, ’cause we’re Awakeners now.’ Pinn wasn’t sure if this was true or not, since it had happened while he was asleep, but it seemed to make sense.

‘Oh,’ said Marinda, disarmed. ‘Well, I’m . . . I suppose I’m very glad, then. That you’ve decided to join us. Now I should go and see to that lady I hurt.’ She was already halfway to walking off, but Pinn grabbed her arm before she could escape.

‘It was you!’ he said, leaning close with the manic sheen of the determined molester on his face. ‘What you said to me, it . . . It changed my whole way of thinking! It changed my life!’

‘Well, that’s kind of you to say, but—’

‘What’s going on here?’ demanded a shrill voice. An elderly man in a black cassock was striding towards them across the tent. ‘Speaker Marinda, what’s all the commotion?’

She stepped away from Pinn, blushing. ‘I’m so very sorry, Prognosticator. I was attempting a reading, I was clumsy, and . . .’

‘She converted me, Mr Pugnostrilator!’ Pinn declared. ‘She showed me the Allsoul!’

Marinda looked awkward. ‘I explained, um, some of the nature of the Allsoul to this man. He has decided to join our cause.’

‘But I need to know more!’ Pinn said hastily. ‘There’s so much I don’t understand. All that stuff about the cat god and the saucer of milk!’

‘Our god is
not
a cat!’ Marinda snapped. She thought for a moment, then added: ‘Or a god!’

‘Temper does not serve a Speaker’s purpose well,’ the Prognosticator chided her. ‘It seems you have an enthusiastic pupil here. Is not the task of the Speaker to spread the word of the Allsoul?’

‘Yes . . . but . . .’ Marinda began. She had the expression of some adorable and harmless animal that could sense the door of its cage swinging shut.

The Prognosticator looked up at the hole in the tent roof, then raised an eyebrow at Pinn.

‘Misfire,’ said Pinn. ‘Won’t happen again.’

The Prognosticator turned his benevolent gaze back to Marinda. ‘You should atone for your mistake, Marinda,’ he intoned piously. ‘Our greatest challenges are sometimes our greatest lessons. Teach those who would be taught.’

‘Oh, yes!’ said Pinn, with a grin that oozed smugness. ‘Teach me.’

Fifteen

Preparations – A Poor Idiot Indeed – The Watchpole – What Happens to Pirates

‘C
ap’n. Cap’n!’

Frey jerked awake. The shreds of a nightmare flurried away from him into the darkness of his quarters. Silo was standing there, a lean shadow, outlined by the dull electric light from the doorway.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he murmured. He sat up, blinked, rubbed a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. ‘What’s going on?’

‘You got a visitor, Cap’n. Crund. He’s waitin’ outside with a shuttle.’

Frey’s head still wasn’t working right. He had no idea how long he’d slept, but he felt like he could have done with a lot longer. It took him a few moments to work out who Silo was talking about. When he did, he sharpened up fast.

‘Wait, Balomon Crund? Trinica’s bosun on the
Delirium Trigger
?’

‘Yuh. Says Trinica wanna see you.’

‘Now?’

‘Looks that way.’

Frey scrambled out of his bunk. ‘Shit, I gotta freshen up first. I’m not seeing her like this. Tell him I’ll be there soon as I can.’

‘Reckon he’ll figure it out,’ said Silo, and then left, sliding the door closed behind him.

For the next half hour Frey flurried about the
Ketty Jay
in a panic. He showered in the communal bathroom next to the head, faffed about with his hair for a while and pulled on some clothes that looked suitably un-thought-about. Malvery scowled at him as he hurried down towards the cargo bay. The doc was in the grip of a mind-shattering hangover, but he knew what Frey was up to. The whole crew had heard by now.

Well, damn what he thinks. Damn what any of them think. We’re here now
.

By the time he left the
Ketty Jay
, he was geared up for the confrontation to come. Trinica had heard of his arrival and sought him out, but that didn’t mean she bore him any tender feeling. Likely she was ready for a fight, so he would be too. He couldn’t imagine what he’d say to her, and he knew it wouldn’t be easy, but it needed to be done.

It was late afternoon when he emerged. The sun beat down and the air was thick and humid. Balomon Crund waited in the clearing next to a tiny shuttle that was only big enough for four people at most. He was a short, ugly man with a scarred neck and dark, thatchy hair that hadn’t seen soap in a couple of decades. He sneered at Frey as he arrived.

‘You took your time,’ he said. His expression conveyed what he thought of Frey’s rakishly unkempt attire.

‘You can’t rush perfection,’ said Frey breezily, and flicked an imaginary bit of lint off his shoulder. Crund rolled his eyes, climbed into the pilot’s seat and didn’t say another word.

They took off and flew away over the grasping tangle of trees. Below, he caught glimpses of the clearings which made up the Awakener base, but even from close by they were well concealed amid the foliage. There were no large craft in the air and he could only see one other in the sky at all, which was a shuttle like the one he was riding in.

Ahead of them a low wide island rose out of the swamp. Crund steered for it and put them down in a glade on its southern slope. Frey could see nobody about.

‘The Cap’n will meet you here,’ Crund said. ‘I’ll be back in an hour.’

Frey got out. Crund pulled the door shut behind him and took off, leaving him behind.

Frey was slightly disconcerted. He’d assumed he’d be taken to the
Delirium Trigger
to meet Trinica in her cabin. Instead he found himself in a pretty glade surrounded by lush green jungle. The grass sloped down towards the edge of a small lake which nosed out from beneath the trees, surrounded by rocks and rushes. Brightly coloured dragonflies hung in the air, and somewhere a chorus of frogs were burping away merrily to themselves.