The Black Lung Captain (43 page)

'Stay put,' he whispered. 'Too many of 'em.'

'No whisperin'!' snapped one of their captors.

Frey decided that they weren't in imminent danger of being kiled by someone with an itchy trigger finger, so it was time to get some answers. 'Who
are
you lot, anyway?' he asked.

'We should be askin'
you
that.'

'We're visitors. Looking for someone. Whatever little spat you've got going on here, it's no business of ours.'

'Lookin' for someone? Who?'

'Feler named Almore Roke. You know him?'

There were exclamations of surprise and horror, and a clatter of rifles being primed. Frey stared nervously at the cluster of barrels pointed at his head. 'I take it you do?' he said, his voice smal.

'I knew they was in league with Roke!' one of the men said.

'I'm not in league with anybody!' Frey babbled rapidly. 'I'm after a man caled Harvin Grist. I heard Roke used to be on his crew. He might know where Grist is.

I just want information, that's al! No need for the guns! No need for the guns!'

There was silence as they considered him. Frey was aware that his credibility in Trinica's eyes may wel have suffered folowing his less than manly display, but he decided he'd rather be alive than brave.

'They're mercs!' piped up a high voice. Frey saw the skinny boy that had lured them into the ambush. 'Kil 'em!'

Frey shot him a poisonous glance and wished him a horrible death by venereal disease.

'They
ain't
mercs,' said a grizzled voice from behind them. A middle-aged man was striding forward. He was stout as an oak, with white hair and white stubble on his unshaven cheeks. By the way the others deferred to him, Frey pegged him as their leader. 'We saw 'em fly in, didn't we? You saw their wings. Mercs wouldn't fly a piece o' shit like that.'

Frey bit his tongue. Even though it was a point in his favour, he was tempted to argue out of pride.

'See?' he said, his voice strained. 'Not mercs. Now can I ask what in rotting bastardy is going on here?'

The grizzled man waved at his companions and they stepped back, returning to a state of wary readiness.

'I'l tel you,' he said. 'Name's Oldrew Sprine. Yours?'

'Darian Frey.'

'Right. Now your friend Roke—'

'Not my friend,' Frey interjected quickly.

'—he's the big cheese in these parts. Took his il-gotten pirate gains and went into a different kind o' piracy. Robbin' the common folk.'

'Sounds like a despicable sort,' Frey commiserated.

Sprine sneered. 'This town is greased wi' the blood, sweat and tears of miners like us. Roke is the company's representative here.'

'The company?'

'Gradmuth Operations.'

'I've heard of them. Big aerium suppliers to the Navy,' Trinica said.

Sprine grunted. "Cept it's not just the Navy they're supplyin'. It's them pus-arsed Sammies!'

Frey raised an eyebrow. Yards supplying Samarlans? Their old enemies in the south, the same people they'd recently fought two wars against? It didn't sound especialy likely.

'Soon as we got word, we was up in arms,' Sprine said. He spat on the ground. 'It's not enough that they pay us barely enough to feed our families. Not enough that they work us harder every day. Now they're makin' traitors of us, too!'

Frey was pleased to note that nobody seemed to want to shoot them any more. He glanced at Trinica, to be sure she was alright. She didn't seem the least bit scared.

'I heard the Century Knights were here?' he asked.

'Aye, they turned up quick-smart, didn't they?' said Sprine. 'Always do, when they're protectin' the rich folk. Don't turn up so fast when it's the miners in trouble.

They're holed up in the refinery with Roke and the rest of the company folk.

'So these mercs . . . they work for Gradmuth Operations?'

'Aye. Paid kilers.'

'Wel,' said Frey, indicating the disheveled doctor by his side. 'I think you can see by the state of us that we haven't been paid by anyone in a long time.'

Sprine looked them over. 'Aye. You've a point there.'

Frey fixed his eyes on a point a dozen metres behind Sprine. 'In fact, if we were mercenaries, we'd probably look more like
that.'

Sprine laughed. 'You don't expect me to fal for
thaaaAARGH?!'
he belowed, and then pitched forward into Frey as he was shot in the leg.

Pandemonium. The deafening, percussive sound of rifle fire. The air was ful of snow and bulets and the stink of gunsmoke.

Malvery heaved Sprine off Frey as the miner fought to untangle his rifle and find a target. The mercenaries, dressed in blue uniforms, were shooting round the corner at the end of the aley. Frey and Malvery went the other way, towards the miners. Malvery dragged his captain towards the wal, as far out of the line of fire as they could go. Hard chips nipped at Frey's cheeks as bulets bounced off the stone.

He cast around desperately for Trinica, and saw her being bundled away by Silo. The miners were in disarray, some of them shooting and others retreating, faling over each other. One lay on the ground, staring upwards, a fanned spatter of red blood on the snow. Everyone was yeling.

Frey and Malvery slid along the wal, pressing themselves close to it. Bulets flew past them in both directions. Some of them thumped into flesh, but thankfuly none of it belonged to Frey.

Then they were behind the miners, their heads down, running. The miners were too caught up in their gunfight with the mercs to care about prisoners now. Frey threw himself round the corner after Silo and Trinica, and ran smack into something that felt like a building.

Suddenly, the chaos turned to stilness. Frey blinked. Somehow, he was on his back, gazing at the sky. Snow was floating down to settle on his face. Everything seemed vaguely dreamlike.

There were faces looking down at him. Some he recognised; one he didn't. An ugly face, belonging to a giant. Bearded, beetle-browed, cut from rock. Dimly, Frey came to the conclusion that he'd run head-first into this man's chest.

Everything swam back into focus. The sound of the gun-battle around the corner became loud again. Then another face come into sight, and an altogether more pleasant one. He recognised Samandra Bree, of the Century Knights. Which meant the man he'd run into was her partner, Colden Grudge.

She bent over him, hands on her thighs, her tricorn hat perched on her head.

'Helo, Frey,' she said. 'Fancy meeting you here.'

Twenty-Nine

A Knight's Duty — Signs Of The Underground —

Grissom And Jask — A Stranger — Frey Interrogates

They left the miners and the mercs to fight it out and headed away through the aleys. Bree and Grudge led the way, she with her twin lever-action shotguns, he with his colossal autocannon. It was big enough to be mounted on an aircraft, but in his hands it seemed about the right size.

'You're not going to break up the gunfight?' Malvery asked, as the sounds of dying men diminished behind them.

'Not our problem,' rumbled Grudge.

'Not your problem?' Malvery was faintly appaled. 'Then what is?'

'Our
problem is back in the refinery,' said Samandra.

'That's where we're going now?' Frey asked.

'Yep,' she replied. That suited Frey. If the miners were to be believed, Almore Roke was there.

He drew his cutlass as they hurried through the narrow back ways of Endurance. It made him feel a little better. They'd left al their guns on the ground when they fled, and he felt uncomfortably vulnerable without them.

'I shouldn't worry,' said Samandra. 'The miners might be riled, but they ought to stop short of firing on the Archduke's Knights.'

'Ought to?' Frey asked.

Samandra shrugged. 'Guess you never can tel.'

The snow was coming down thicker now, and settling. Frey glanced over at Trinica, who was sticking close to Silo. The Murthian had puled her out of the crossfire earlier. He'd done a better job of protecting her than Frey had. Frey suppressed a surge of jealousy.

Just be glad no one got hurt. No one important, anyway.

'I should thank you,' he said to Samandra. 'For coming to colect us. Didn't expect an escort.'

'We saw you coming in. Recognised the craft. I wouldn't soon forget the
Ketty Jay.
Not after the shit you puled at Mortengrace.'

Frey grinned. 'And you just couldn't resist.'

'Actualy, it was more 'cause I want to pick your brains about Grist.' She winked. 'And because it'd just break my heart to see that handsome face shot off.'

'Mine, too,' Frey admitted.

He checked on Trinica again. Samandra spotted him. 'She's new,' she said. 'Pretty, too. What's the story?' She nudged him in the ribs.

'Her? Passenger,' said Frey. He hoped that he was offhand enough to discourage her interest. Trinica was under sentence of death for treason, and if the Century Knights realised who she was, it'd al be over for her. Luckily, she was al but unrecognisable without her make-up.

Samandra gave him an insinuating smile, but she didn't pursue the matter.

They came out of the aleys and on to narrow streets. There was more evidence of combat here: bulet holes in the wals, falen bodies being slowly buried by the snow. Bree and Grudge slipped from corner to corner, covering the angles, each supporting the other. Frey had to admire the seamless way they worked together.

They spotted a group of blue-uniformed mercs ahead, who came salying out of a side street. They raised their weapons at the sight of the rag-tag group coming their way, but lowered them again as they identified Bree and Grudge. The Knights and their companions were left to pass unhindered.

Now that the distant gunfire had stopped, silence returned to Endurance. The only sound was their boots whispering through the snow, and the clank of Grudge's body armour. Frey found it al a bit eerie.

'Where
is
everybody?' he said.

'That's what worries me,' said Samandra. 'Most of the town disappeared when the trouble began, before we got here. There are little roaming groups fighting skirmishes with the mercs; as to the rest, we ain't got half an idea where they are. But you can be sure they're about somewhere. Probably been rounded up by the Underground, getting ready to make their move.'

'The Underground?'

Samandra indicated a sign daubed in red paint on a nearby wal. An underlined U. Frey had noticed several others on their way, but hadn't thought much of them. 'The Underground. Bunch of militants who say they fight for worker's rights, votes for al freemen, that kind of thing. They've been stirring the locals up good.

This place was a powderkeg. Only a matter of time before something set 'em off.'

'So whose side are
you
on?'

'The Archduke's,' she said. 'Like always.' She peered round a corner and waved them on. 'Look, I ain't happy about it. I know how they treat the miners in these parts. I'd rather Roke and his lot were shot. But we're Century Knights. We keep the Archduke's peace. And we can't have businessmen getting offed every time the workers get a bit shirty.'

'Gradmuth Operations must pay a lot of tax, right?'

'That, and they fuel half the Navy.'

'They scratch the Archduke's back, he scratches theirs,' said Frey scornfuly. 'And the common man gets screwed.'

'Hey, it's the way of the world,' said Samandra, a harsh edge creeping into her voice. 'You ain't so lily-white yourself, pirate.'

By now, the refinery was visible above the buildings, and the mercenary presence was heavier. They passed a long barricade that had been constructed in the centre of a square, and Frey spotted blue-uniformed men squatting on the rooftops. Eventualy they came to the refinery gates, which were set in a high wal and guarded by a dozen men. Frey was finding it hard to see how the miners could possibly be a threat. A ground assault on this place would be suicidal.

The guards let them through, and they crossed a flagged courtyard towards a smal metal door in the side of the refinery. The building loomed overhead, massive pipes scoring lines across the grey sky. Samandra held the door open and let the others past. Frey waited with her.

'Can I ask a question?'

'Other than that one?' she replied.

'Why are you looking for Grist?'

Samandra tipped back the brim of her tricorn hat. 'Rumour has it he's made off with a Mane artefact of unknown power.'

'Rumour has it, eh? Where'd you hear that?'

'From your daemonist,' she grinned. 'He's quite a chatty sort when he's drunk.'

Frey groaned. The soiree in Lapin that Amalicia had taken them to. He knew he shouldn't have left Crake alone for so long with Samandra.

'But Grist didn't have it then,' he said. 'The Awakeners did.'

'Yes, he did say the Awakeners had stolen it from you,' she said. 'But when our spies heard the Awakeners recently had a craft downed in the Flashpan, we sort of put two and two together. And when we heard you were looking for Grist al over the North, wel . . .'

'Poor old Crake,' said Frey. 'He never stood a chance. Not above using your feminine charms in service of the cause, eh?'

She gave a derisive rasp. 'Me? There ain't much I'm above, when it comes to it. Anyway, he's a sweet feler. The pleasure was al mine. Where is he, anyway?'

'He's gone.'

'Shame. I kinda liked him.'

'Me, too.'

They went inside the refinery. Grudge led them up stone stairways and along tight corridors with smooth wals painted grey-green. It seemed colder in here than outside, and the electric lights did little more than provide contrast for the shadows. Frey guessed they were taking a back way to their destination.

That destination turned out to be a colection of offices and filing rooms, several storeys up. They passed by lamplit desks and shelves of neatly ordered paperwork, emerging at last into a chamber with a long window that took up the whole of one wal. It was divided into squares, and it looked out over the refinery floor, where enormous vats and brooding machinery lay dormant.