Iron Jackal (18 page)

Frey had a superstition about bullets: thinking about them attracted them. As long as he never stopped to consider the danger, as long as he never really thought about all the luck and chance that made the difference between surviving a gunfight and getting killed, then everything would be alright.

It helped to get him through.

Frey reached the bridge in the middle of the pack. He wasn’t so honourable as to go last; it was every man for himself right now. The ropes were thick and it was surprisingly sturdy, even under Malvery’s weight. They raced along the bridge, heads down, horribly exposed. Their only cover was their distance from the enemy’s guns.

The soldiers, seeing what they were up to, were scrambling to adapt. The first group reversed direction and began heading back. Instead of trying to cross the bridge, as their companions intended, they were going to skirt the edge of the cavern and come round to the far side of the bridge. But Frey and his crew, who were taking a more direct route, would get there long before them.

The soldiers took pot-shots at the crew as they crossed over. Frey flinched as a bullet puffed off the rope handrail just next to his head, tearing a small chunk from the fibres. The bridge rocked this way and that as they hurried across it. Frey looked down at the dirty roofs of the shacks, the lethal, bone-breaking drop to the hard stone ground fifteen metres below.

Pinn slipped drunkenly and almost fell to his knees, but he was borne up by Malvery, who shoved him onwards. More gunshots. More bullets.

Just a little more luck. Just a little more.

And then he was at the end, running on to solid ground, a rush of relief flooding through him. ‘Get into cover!’ he called, waving at the shabby collection of huts around them. ‘Jez, watch for those bastards coming round the back.’

‘On it, Cap’n,’ said Jez, hurrying past him.

The cliffside huts were encircled by crude fences made of slabs of metal and wood. A few chickens and scrawny goats scattered as Frey’s crew took positions overlooking a rocky slope, pocked with shacks and lean-tos. The first group of soldiers were making their way up it. If they got to the top, they would be able to get around the back of the cluster of huts, and the crew would be trapped between them and the cliff.

They opened fire, shooting down on the soldiers. The Dakkadians ran for the shacks, and shelter. Even their Samarlan captain got a bit of a spring in his step when Malvery nearly took his head off with a shotgun.

Frey turned his attention back to the rope bridge. Dakkadian soldiers had reached it now, and were stepping on with some reluctance, urged by their masters. Frey shoved one of his pistols into his belt and drew his cutlass. He held it up high to show them. They turned and scrambled back towards land. He gave them a few seconds to get clear and then hacked away the ropes. His daemonically thralled cutlass was sharp enough to chop through them in a single blow. The rope bridge slumped and then fell onto the roofs of the huts below.

Frey hurried back and hunkered down next to Jez, who was hiding behind a metal piece of fence, aiming down the length of her rifle at the soldiers below.

‘That was surprisingly human of you, Cap’n,’ she said. ‘Letting them get off the bridge before you cut it.’

‘What can I say? Every life is a precious twinkling butterfly.’

‘Isn’t it just?’ said Jez, as she squeezed the trigger and blasted a Dakkadian’s brains out of the back his head. ‘We need to make a move, Cap’n. If that lot flank us, we’re dead.’ She looked down at herself, then gave him a rueful smile. ‘
More
dead, in my case.’

Well
,
at least she’s got a sense of humour about being a terrifying half-daemon monstrosity
, he thought. He patted her on the shoulder and ran in a crouch over to Ashua.

Ashua was in frantic conversation with Slinkhound as Frey arrived. ‘Is there another way out of here?’ he demanded.

‘That way,’ said Ashua, pointing.

Frey couldn’t see an exit in that direction, but he had to trust Ashua and her guide. He raised his voice. ‘Everyone, we’re moving out! On the count of three, hoof it!’ Then he made a shooing motion at Slinkhound. ‘You lead.’

Slinkhound just looked at him, eyes dark in the sockets of his skull face. He took it as agreement.

‘Ready?’ he called to his crew. ‘One! T—’

Pinn fled past him, yelling.

‘Alright, just go!’ Frey cried in exasperation. He pulled Slinkhound up, and pushed him off ahead. The Samarlan broke into a sprint, easily outpacing Pinn, who’d just realised that he wasn’t at all sure where he was going. The rest of the crew broke cover and followed.

The soldiers saw them fleeing and gave chase, but the crew had a head start, and they ran for their lives. Somehow Pinn and Malvery kept their feet under them, and Ashua appeared almost completely sober by now. Slinkhound led them along a rough trail, with untouchables scattering out of their way, and then suddenly veered off towards the cavern wall. There was a narrow fissure hidden by a fold in the rock. Slinkhound squeezed inside and disappeared. The others followed. Malvery required a hefty boot in the arse to help him through, but Pinn was on hand and he delivered with gusto.

Beyond was a rough stone tunnel, sloping upwards. As they followed it, it split into more tunnels, with oil lamps burning at the junctions. Wooden joists and support frames propped up the ceiling. Frey guessed that these had once been mine tunnels.

He’d never thought he’d be so glad to be surrounded by dark, confining, lamplit passageways of rock. After being out in the open, with all those bullets flying about, this place felt positively safe. But he knew that the Dakkadians weren’t far behind, and Slinkhound was already racing off ahead.

‘What do you reckon they’re after?’ Jez asked as they hurried after Slinkhound. ‘Us, or the relic?’

‘Who cares?’ Frey replied. ‘How’d they find us, anyway?’

‘Descriptions,’ said Jez. ‘We don’t blend in too well, ’specially since you got all famous. I bet they had scouts out looking for us. One of them picked up the trail.’

‘Never should’ve left any bloody survivors on that train,’ Frey muttered to himself.

They pressed on at speed, hurrying as fast as the tunnels would allow. Slinkhound led them through the gloom. They came across more and more untouchables as they ascended, but no one tried to stop them. The heat grew as they climbed, and they knew they must be nearing the surface.

They heard shouted voices from behind them, and protests from the untouchables as they were flung out of the way. Frey’s group were slowed by Pinn and Malvery, and despite their best efforts, the soldiers were catching them up.

Finally, they reached a narrow set of stairs carved into the rock, which led to a ladder, which led to a trapdoor, which led to a short stone corridor, which led to a heavy door, which opened without warning to the outside.

Frey was taken aback by the sudden sense of space, the electric light that soaked the air, the background clamour of the city and the warm push of night heat. He’d only been underground for an hour or so, but it still felt like he’d stepped into a different world. They emerged onto a quiet, dirty and run-down street. Close by, a rushu was watching them with docile disinterest, tethered to a holding-post.

The door that they’d come from was unmarked and anonymous, hidden beneath a shabby, pillared gallery that overhung it. The whole building looked frankly precarious, with the front portion of the upper floor resting on two wooden pillars. The gallery roof sagged alarmingly.

‘They’re right behind us, Cap’n!’ Malvery panted, as he pulled himself through the trapdoor. He was red-faced and wheezing, and really wasn’t going to be able to run much further. Frey’s own legs were getting weak, and his chest hurt. Not for the first time, he wished they all got a bit more exercise. But that would cut into their drinking time, so he supposed it was never likely to happen.

Jez saw what he was thinking. ‘We could take ’em here, Cap’n,’ she said. ‘They’d be sitting ducks coming through that trapdoor.’

Frey looked around, and then a sly smile crossed his face. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

He ran over to the rushu that stood nearby. A tiny eye studied him from a thicket of horns and tusks. Frey moved warily along its leathery flank, careful not to startle it. Its handler was nowhere to be seen. He untied the thick tethers that bound the beast to the holding-post, then hurried over to the doorway where his crew were gathered.

Jez was hunkered down by the doorway, covering the stragglers with her rifle. Malvery was the last to stagger through. He stumbled woozily to one side and threw up. Frey ignored him. He was busy tying the tethers around one of the wooden pillars that barely held up the gallery overhead.

There was a high shout of alarm from nearby. The handler emerged from a nearby alley, still hitching up his trousers.

‘Here they come!’ Pinn said.

‘Get out from under there!’ Frey barked at them. ‘Now!’

They scattered at the urgency in his voice. The driver was running over towards them, shouting curses in Samarlan. Frey stood as close to the rushu’s side as he dared, raised his revolver, and fired into the air.

The rushu reared in fright with an enormous bellow, and lunged against its tethers. It only took one pull. The pillar splintered and pulled away with a crunch of wood. Frey scampered back as the gallery above groaned horribly, and then the whole front wall of the upper storey collapsed, crashing down onto the porch in front of the doorway.

The rushu, panicked, lurched off down the street. The handler chased after it, swearing at the top of his voice, although he still took the time to spit at Frey as he passed by.

The doorway to the Underneath was entirely buried now. The floor above was exposed, revealing shabby, barely-furnished rooms. A middle-aged Dakkadian was peering down at them over the edge of his bathtub, with the kind of expression you might expect to see on a man in his situation.

Jez walked up next to Frey, admiring the destruction. ‘Nice,’ she said.

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Frey agreed. He surveyed his crew. All present and correct, and nobody hurt, unless you counted Pinn’s arm being in a sling. ‘Anyone else think we’ve outstayed our welcome in Samarla?’

Malvery, Pinn and Crake all raised their hands at the same time. After a moment, Jez did as well.

‘Yeah. Me, too,’ said Frey.

‘Think I’ll make myself scarce,’ said Ashua. ‘You lot are dangerous company right now.’

‘Thanks,’ said Frey. ‘For . . . y’know.’ He held up his corrupted hand.

Her gaze flicked from Crake to Malvery, then back to him. ‘Right.’ She hesitated a moment, then said: ‘You need to find me, get a message to the Black Drake Inn. It’s a Vard joint. They’ll know how to get in touch.’

She ran off without further ado. The doctor watched her go with a melancholy and booze-soaked wistfulness in his eyes, but Frey was glad to see the back of her. Useful as she’d been, she was troublesome, and he didn’t need any more trouble right now. He still blamed her in some small way for his predicament. If she hadn’t goaded him, he wouldn’t have been forced to show off and pick up the relic.

‘Alright, everyone,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I’ve had enough of Shasiith. Let’s go home before someone kills us.’

Thirteen

Frey Oversteps His Mark – The Axelby Club – Hawkby’s Offer – Back in the Snow

‘W
hat do you mean, you don’t have it any more?’

Trinica regarded Frey flatly from the seat behind her desk. ‘I can’t imagine where you found confusion in my meaning,’ she said. ‘I don’t have the relic. I sold it on.’

‘Already?’ Frey was aghast.

‘Hours after I arrived in Thesk. I told you, the buyer was very keen.’

‘Who was it?’

‘That’s not your business.’

‘This is serious, Trinica!’ he snapped. ‘I need to know!’

Her expression didn’t change at all, but somehow the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees anyway.

‘You would do well to remember where you are and who you’re talking to,’ she said, in a voice like a rusty blade.

Frey knew exactly where he was. In the captain’s cabin of the
Delirium Trigger
, talking to the ghost of the woman he’d loved. Where was the Trinica he’d dined with two nights ago? Where was the softness of the hand across the table, touching his?

He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, cursing the delay that had cost him the relic. Even following the compass linked to the ring on her finger, it had taken a day to fly to Thesk and another to track her down. The capital was a big place.

Trinica was gazing out of the sloping window next to her, having lost interest in him all of a sudden. She was evidently in one of those moods. The cabin’s atmosphere was oppressive, with its heavy brass fittings and dark wood bookcases full of unfamiliar titles. He spotted the book he’d given her over dinner, and felt resentful that her gratitude had been so brief.

Balomon Crund, Trinica’s bosun, stood watchfully by the door. After escorting Frey through the passageways of the aircraft, he’d remained in the room instead of leaving.