Ketty Jay 04 - The Ace of Skulls (34 page)

Come on, damn it!
she urged the vehicle, willing it onward.

Bullets pinged off the Overlander’s armour as some of the guards turned their attention to her. One hit the windglass, causing a spiderweb crack, making her flinch. The gap between the doors of the gate was narrowing by the second, closing in on her, and no matter how hard she pushed the Overlander it seemed like it couldn’t possibly be enough. She angled them towards the centre of the gap, heedless of anything else, concentrating only on that. They rushed towards it, the gates clanking in on either side, thick walls of steel like slow jaws.

Here it comes!
she thought with a sickening terror.

And the Overlander roared through the gap, its tail striking sparks from the gate as it passed. Ashua hit the brakes, half to control the skid and half because they couldn’t leave Silo here. The gates crashed shut a few metres from their tail.

‘Whoo-hoo!’ Pinn yelled from the back, and slapped his thigh.

Frey was up in an instant, pulling open the side door, calling out to his first mate. Ashua slumped back in her seat, heart thumping in her chest. Malvery blew out his moustaches in relief.

‘That was some driving,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘That was some bloody driving.’

Bullets came down on their roof from the guards up on the wall. Were they shooting at Pelaru? Was he still up there? She didn’t care; they couldn’t get to her. There was a commotion behind and Silo bundled in. Frey slammed the door behind him.

‘Reckon we might have outstayed our welcome, fellers,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘What say we get out of here?’

She put her foot down and the Overlander tore away down the road, back towards the
Ketty Jay
.

Twenty-Three

A Little Discipline – The Returners – A Man Left Behind – Point Blank – Evade, Evade, Evade

H
arkins sat on the stairs of the
Ketty Jay
’s cargo hold, and watched Bess searching for her master. She’d taken to doing this whenever she was left unoccupied. She’d peer into corners, search behind crates and pipes. She’d adventure into the dark recesses behind the sanctum and come back again empty-handed. If she could have got into the rest of the craft, she’d have gone searching there, too. Mercifully, her size prevented her.

Harkins wondered what she thought. Did she believe Crake was still on board, on the upper decks, ignoring her? Did she think anything at all? What a strange creature she was. Strange and misunderstood and treated rather badly, in his opinion. In that, they were the same.

‘You’re sad about Crake, aren’t you?’ he said. He raised one of the ear flaps of his pilot’s cap and scratched the side of his head to relieve an itch. ‘I’m sad, too, a bit. I mean, he didn’t take the piss quite as much as the others. And he was, well . . . he’s a gentle sort. That’s got to count for something, right?’

Bess briefly stopped her search, aware that he was speaking. She stared at him without any sign that she’d comprehended. Harkins sighed. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t volunteered to stay behind. They’d been gone an awfully long time, and Bess wasn’t much good as company. He doubted they missed him, though. He doubted they’d even noticed he wasn’t there.

‘You and me, Bess, we don’t get much respect, do we?’ he said. ‘I mean, who’d respect us, right? I’m a big chickenshit and you’re a walking pile of pots and pans with a mental condition.’

Bess made a quizzical bubbling sound.

‘Exactly,’ said Harkins.

Bess went back to her search. Harkins decided he couldn’t bear watching her any more. He needed to do something to get himself out of this maudlin mood. Moping around was no fun, and Bess was bringing him down.

‘Come on, Bess!’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Enough of all that. We’ve got an important job to do here, you know!’

Bess watched him curiously, her eyes distant glimmers in the dark behind her face-grille.

‘Well, the Cap’n told us to guard the
Ketty Jay
, right?’ he said. ‘We’re making a pretty poor fist of it, though. What
you
need,’ – he bonked her with his knuckles – ‘is a little discipline. Like this! March! March! March!’

He went marching off across the hold, arms straight, skinny legs jerking. It felt unfamiliar and a little ridiculous at first, but it wasn’t long before his body remembered. Hundreds of hours on the parade ground as a young man had left an imprint on his muscles, and he found himself slipping easily back into the rhythm.

‘About . . .
face!
’ he cried, and went marching back the other way.

Usually he’d have been too wary of mockery to dare anything like this, even knowing that the rest of the crew were elsewhere. Fear of being caught, detected by some secret method he hadn’t yet thought of, would have kept him from it. But now he stormed up and down, throwing his limbs about, and it felt rather exhilarating. It felt good.

Bess watched him with interest as he came back towards her. ‘What are you doing standing there, soldier?’ he cried. ‘Get in step! On the double!’ He turned and marched off in another direction. Bess trailed uncertainly along behind him.

‘Not like that!’ said Harkins. He turned and started marching on the spot in front of Bess. ‘Swing those arms!’ he said. ‘Legs straight!’ He was enjoying himself now.

Bess clapped her hands and started stomping her feet, rocking left and right.

‘Not good enough, soldier! Arms! Like me!’ He swung his arms harder for emphasis. Bess copied him. ‘Now your legs!’

This was harder for Bess, whose legs were short and stumpy in comparison to her body. Still, she did what she could. Her attempts at staying in time were hopeless, but soon she was wobbling and flailing about in a comical approximation of a military march.

‘Good!’ said Harkins. He was sweating and a big grin was plastered on his face. ‘Now follow me! Quiiiiick . . .
march!
’

He spun on his heel and went off across the hold again. Bess clattered and crashed along behind him, throwing her outsize arms all over the place, kicking the air. ‘That’s the way!’ he cried. ‘That’s the way!’

They paraded up and down the hold, and Harkins felt wonderful. He was so light he could almost laugh out loud. Damn, how long had it been since he was silly like this? How long since he’d done anything with such abandon? He was a red-faced, beaming fool leading a grotesque, clumsy golem around an empty cargo hold and for once, just for once, he didn’t care. He wished this moment could go on for ever.

But it didn’t, and when it ended, it ended in the roar of an engine and the shriek of brakes.

He knew right away that the sound meant trouble. All that good feeling drained out of him in an instant. He stopped, and Bess bumped into the back of him, sending him stumbling forward. By the time he’d regained his balance, he was awkward old Harkins again, fumbling and embarrassed.

He hurried over to the lever to open the
Ketty Jay
’s ramp. If something was going on outside, it was best to find out what. It occurred to him belatedly that this wasn’t necessarily the safest or most sensible course of action to take, but by then he’d pulled the lever and the ramp was opening. He watched it descend, wondering at himself. An impartial observer might interpret what he’d just done as something other than rank cowardice. He must be getting sick or something.

He went down the ramp, and Bess followed. It was humid, warm and dark outside; the only light came from the moon and the headlights of a six-wheeled armoured Overlander which had just pulled up next to the
Ketty Jay
. The crew came piling out. All of them were wearing Awakener cassocks, and some had Ciphers painted on their foreheads. He would have laughed, but the gravity of the situation was etched on their faces.

He saw Pelaru snatch the unconscious Jez from Malvery’s hands and come racing up the ramp. The Thacian bounded past without so much as looking at him. Harkins cringed away; there was something wrong about the way he moved, the way he looked.

‘Wait, is Pelaru coming with us?’ Malvery asked the Cap’n as they hurried towards the
Ketty Jay
. ‘You know that two half-Manes make a whole one, right?’

Frey didn’t seem to be in the mood for humour. ‘We’ll deal with him later. Harkins! Get to the Firecrow! We’re leaving! Malvery, Ashua, go drag out that bloody lad and toss him off my aircraft. We’ve got enough dead weight. Bess, get inside!’

Bess paid no attention, waiting eagerly on the ramp to see if Crake was going to appear. Malvery and Ashua hurried past her. Silo took position at the bottom of the ramp, scanning their surroundings, shotgun ready.

There were the sound of engines in the distance. Even at this hour, there were a few other people in the clearing where the
Ketty Jay
sat. They were mostly crewmen from the battered freighters nearby, smoking roll-ups or drinking away the night. The dramatic arrival of the
Ketty Jay
’s crew had stirred their interest, and some were walking over. Some of them looked like they had guns.

‘Cap’n!’ said Pinn. He grabbed Frey’s arm as Frey headed for the ramp.

‘What?’ Frey snapped irritably.

Pinn stood there a moment, thinking. No doubt trying to assemble his moronic thoughts into some kind of coherent grunts, Harkins thought uncharitably.

Frey ran out of patience. ‘There’s no time! We need to get out of here!’ he said.

‘But that’s just it,’ Pinn blurted. ‘I’m not coming!’

Frey stared at him. Harkins stared at him. Silo kept his eye on the people from the other freighters. One of them was calling out. ‘Hey! What’s the trouble over there?’

‘Better move it, Cap’n,’ he rumbled.

‘Pinn, get in the Skylance!’ Frey cried. ‘You can have whatever bloody crisis you’re having after we’re airborne.’

But Pinn shook his head, stubborn as a mule. ‘It’s not right, Cap’n. What we’re doing.’ He pulled out a piece of crumpled paper and held it up. There were several phrases scrawled on it, all but one crossed out. ‘See?’ he said. ‘The prophecy! Look!
Journey
: that’s Korrene.
Death
: that’s Pelaru’s mate or whatever.
Dark haired stranger
: Pelaru.
Find something important
: well, we just did!
Tragedy will fall on someone dear
. . .’ He looked at Frey meaningfully, and drew his finger across the last phrase, as if crossing it out.

Frey was about to explode. ‘What in the name of gibbering shit are you talking about, arse-wit?’

‘The Allsoul is
real
, Cap’n,’ said Pinn, his piggy eyes wide. ‘We’re fighting on the wrong side.’

‘What are you lot
doing
out here?’ Ashua cried as she came hustling out with Malvery, pulling Abley between them. The Awakener boy had his hands tied behind his back, gagged, limping and bewildered. Ashua put her boot in his arse and sent him sprawling on the turf. ‘Bess! Inside!’ she said sternly.

Bess trudged off up the ramp, having given up on the possibility of her master returning. Ashua and Malvery followed her inside.

‘Oi! Hey! What’s up over there?’ called one of the approaching men, in a tone that made a friendly enquiry sound like a threat. Abley tried to yell something through his gag.

‘Do what you like, Pinn,’ Frey snapped, angrily dismissive. ‘Do whatever you like.’ He rounded on Harkins. ‘What did I say, Harkins? Get to your damn aircraft!’

Harkins shuddered at the force of his voice, and fled towards the safety of the Firecrow’s cockpit. A pair of Overlanders raced into the clearing, skidded to a halt and began disgorging armed men. As if that was the signal, the suspicious freighter crew opened up, and the sweltering night was suddenly alive with the snap and whine of gunfire.

Frey and Silo loosed off a few shots and then ran up the ramp, which Ashua was closing. Pinn danced on the spot for a moment, obviously tempted to follow now that he saw his predicament. But he procrastinated too long, and the ramp raised out of his reach, and in the end he fled off towards the trees at the edge of the clearing.

Harkins sprinted for the Firecrow and threw himself up the ladder that led to the cockpit. All his previous joy had faded: he was trapped in a nightmare of fear again. Halfway up, he felt his leg seized, and he was pulled away from the ladder and crashed heavily to the muddy ground. Spluttering, he tried to get up, but a dark figure put a boot in his chest and shoved him back down.

‘You ain’t goin’ nowhere,’ snarled a rough voice. ‘Let’s see what you been up to, huh?’

He struggled wildly, but the man was standing on him and he was pinned. He could hear the sound of the
Ketty Jay
’s engines powering up; he saw more men rushing in, and Speakers with guns in the lights of the newly arrived Overlanders. Guns cracked as they shot uselessly at the
Ketty Jay
.

They’ve caught me!
he thought, his mind ablaze with panic.
They’ve caught me and they’re going to kill me and they’re going to make me pay for whatever the others did and I wasn’t even there!

The only thing in his mind was to get away. No matter what the consequences, no matter what the cost. His terror at being left behind to face the music was worse than his terror of anything else.

‘Quit strugglin’!’ said the man holding him down. Harkins couldn’t even see his face: he was an elemental enemy, an opposing force without character or identity. The man took his boot from Harkins’ chest and leaned down to secure him more thoroughly with his arms. Harkins writhed to one side, pulled his pistol from his belt and jammed it under his attacker’s ribs.

The man froze, eyes wide in horror. Harkins was no less horrified at where he found himself. He had an instant in which to act, and only that.

He pulled the trigger.

He saw the man’s face in the flash of the shot. A folded, weathered face, underlit by the blast. It was there for a fraction of a second and then gone, but it stayed in his mind, burned there like the afterimage of the sun.