The Black Lung Captain (51 page)

Trinica tilted her head. 'I didn't feel quite so vengeful after I heard his offer,' she said. 'Everyone has a price. He exceeded mine.' When Frey kept on looking at her, she waved him away. 'Don't act hurt, Darian. You'd have done the same. You know as wel as I do that your intentions weren't half as noble as you pretended.

As soon as you got your hands on that sphere, you were going to sel it to the highest bidder. Your
thousands will die
wouldn't be quite so important, weighed against a fortune.'

He laughed bitterly. Laughed because she was so, so wrong. Al this time, she'd never even believed him. She thought he was chasing the sphere for his own profit. But for once, on this matter, he knew his own mind absolutely. No amount of money was that important. That was a line he wouldn't cross. Whatever she thought, he had enough honour for that.

Besides, he could have had ridiculous wealth twice over, first with her and then with Amalicia. The easy path. But both times he'd turned it down. Whatever the hole in his life was, filing it with money wasn't enough.

'I don't know how many times I've got to tel you, Trinica,' he said. 'You don't know me half as wel as you think. You might have a price. I don't.'

At that, he saw the first flicker of uncertainty on her face. The smalest fracture in her surety.

Good,
he thought bitterly.
I hope it hurts, damn you. I hope you take it to your grave, and I hope you end up there real soon. I trusted you. But I reckon
you don't know what trust is any more.

Grist pointed to Jez. 'Take her,' he told his men. 'The Captain too. Everyone else, lock 'em up down below.'

Jez and Frey were puled out of the group. 'Hey! She's just a navvie! What do you want with her?' he demanded.

The end of Grist's cigar glowed. 'She's the reason you're here, Captain Frey. See, I need a Mane. And it just so happens you've got one on your crew. Now ain't that a twist?'

Thirty-Four

A Genuine Piece Of History — All Is Revealed —

Crake And The Pocket Watch — Feline Suspicions — Jez Has To Choose

Jez stared at Frey's back as they were marched into the depths of the hangar at gunpoint. Grist and Crattle accompanied them, along with several of the
Storm
Dog's
crew. Trinica came, too. Perhaps she wanted to enjoy the fruits of her treachery.

The Cap'n walked with slumped shoulders, crushed by Trinica's betrayal. He tried to conceal his pain, but it showed anyway. He'd put every ounce of his faith in that woman, and she'd let him down. Even before the Cap'n had confessed to them that he had a history with Trinica, she'd seen the connection between them.

She'd sensed the depth of feeling he carried.

And Trinica? What did
she
feel? Nothing at al, it seemed. Nothing at al.

Damn it, Cap'n. You're a good man, but you make the worst choices.

It occurred to her that she should be worrying about herself, rather than the Cap'n. It was her that Grist was interested in, not Frey. Because she was a Mane.

She wasn't sure why that was important to their enemy, and she wasn't keen on finding out.

But she'd never known the Cap'n so
defeated.
It hurt her to see him diminished that way.

They were led away from the
Storm Dog,
down several sets of steps, along blank stone corridors lit by electric lights. Frey didn't speak, and neither did anyone else. Presently, they entered a smal, chily celar, with wals that didn't match the modern construction of the rest of the hangar. It was as if they'd traveled a century back in time. There were two huge oak doors in the celar floor, with heavy iron pul-rings and a complicated sequence of symbols carved into their surface.

Jez had been conscious of a growing unease as she drew closer to the celar, but she hadn't known the source until she saw it. It was coming from those doors.

The symbols were a daemonist's work, and though they had no force now, the memory of their power made Jez's skin prickle.

There was a sense of barely suppressed energy in the air. Something lurked behind those doors. She dreaded it, and didn't want to go further.

She must have slowed unconsciously, because one of the crewmen jabbed her in the back with the muzzle of his pistol. Ahead of them, two men were puling the doors open. Beyond were worn stone steps. Crattle puled a breaker on the wal. A row of lights, strung together with cables, began to glow in the stairway and the room just visible at the bottom.

'Ladies,' said Grist, bowing to Trinica and Jez. 'Cap'n,' he added, nodding at Frey. 'You're about to see a genuine piece of history.'

Grist led the way down. Jez folowed with the rest of them. It sounded as if there was a crowd at the bottom of the stairs, a howling, shrieking horde whose cries bypassed the ears and went directly into the mind. They were getting louder with every step. She looked around at the others, distressed, but nobody else seemed to hear it. Was there agony in those voices? Terror? Or a fierce exultation? Every fibre in her body thrummed with the noise. A cacophony of ghosts, screeching out of the past.

What happened here?

The chamber at the bottom was another celar, larger than the first. It was damp, freezing and gloomy. The edges of the bricks had been nibbled away by time.

Mould grew in black patches. Electric lights had been placed on the floor, against the wals, but they did little more than push back the shadows.

This place was a sanctum.

Evidence of daemonism was everywhere. The centre of the room was dominated by a huge cage, a dodecahedron of rusted bars that stood on an octagonal pedestal. Symbols, similar to those on the doors, had been carved into the pedestal. Metal rods stood at the points of the octagon, one of them bent at an angle.

Cables led from the cage to antique machines, as big as cabinets. Sections of paneling had come away from the machines to reveal broken cogs, springs, tiny gears and switches. There were lecterns with rotted books lying open on them. Seats were placed in rows, some tipped over and missing legs. There was a table, a chest, and a shattered chalkboard smudged with the suggestion of words and symbols.

The damage hadn't al been caused by the hand of time. The chalkboard had been broken by force. So had several chairs, and the paneling on one of the machines. There had been conflict here.

It was a reconstruction, Jez realised. Grist had found this place in disarray, and put everything back as best he could. She knew now what he'd brought them to see. The cries surrounded her, battering at her mind. The wails of the daemonists and the savage triumph of the daemons.

'This was where it started,' she said.

Grist put a fresh cigar in his mouth. The flare of the match lit up his face, turning it craggy and sinister. He puffed, drew in the smoke, and blew it out, surveying the room as if it were some grand vista.

'Right you are, ma'am. This is where they came, that day, to perform their secret ritual. Didn't know what they were messin' with, I reckon. Ful of 'emselves.

Explorers of the unknown. I ain't sure what they thought they were lookin' for—'

'But what they got were the Manes,' said Frey.

Grist regarded him from beneath his bushy eyebrows. 'Wel. Seems my little surprise ain't so much of a surprise after al.'

'We dropped in on Professor Kraylock at Bestwark,' said Frey. His tone was dead, void of emotion. 'He filed us in on what your father was up to. He sent you his research, didn't he? Before he was kiled.'

Grist took out his cigar and waggled the nub in Frey's direction. 'You're a smart one, Cap'n,' he said, impressed.

Frey looked at Trinica. 'Not that smart.'

Grist stuck the cigar back into place between his teeth. 'Women,' he commisserated. 'Can't live with 'em, can't feed 'em into a meat grinder and feast on their remains.'

Trinica showed no reaction, just gazed at him with eyes black as a shark's. Grist grinned and turned back to Frey. 'Ah, she ain't got anything to say. She's been wel paid.'

Jez was finding it hard to folow the conversation. Just being here was like standing in the torrent of a river, trying not to be swept away. The memory of the Manes was everywhere here. She felt herself sliding into a trance, and fought it.

'You found this place through your father's notes?' Trinica asked.

Her head was tipped back and she was studying the ceiling, most of which was lost to darkness.

'Aye,' said Grist. 'Used to be there was a manse here. Belonged to a businessman, name o' Slinth. He was a big name in daemonist circles, back in the old days.

This was his sanctum. Used to be some way outside o' town, but Sakkan's grown since then, turned into a city. They knocked the old place down, built a cannin'

factory over it. Never knew the celar was here. My Dad figured it out, though. I bought up the factory, so I could get to what was underneath.'

'Wel,' said Frey, looking around at the dank room. 'It was certainly worth it.'

Grist didn't rise to the sarcasm. 'Thought there'd be answers here, but there ain't answers. The books were past savin'. Couldn't read what was on the chalkboards. This place is just a museum.' He coughed his hacking cough. 'Stil, I put the land to good use. The warehouses, the hangar. You come in at night when no one's around to spot you. No records, no docking fees. Nice little place to hole up. And I can move my product through here without anyone takin' an interest.'

'Your father's reseach,' said Trinica. 'You stil have it?'

'Safe in my cabin, don't you worry.'

'You're aware of the repercussions if it was made public? If it could be proved that the Awakeners have been using the daemonic techniques pioneered here?'

'Aye, I've got a notion. Would that offend you, Cap'n Dracken? You've a soft spot for the Awakeners?'

'I don't have a soft spot for anyone,' Dracken replied. 'I wondered if you were intending to take revenge on them. Your father was most likely murdered by an Imperator. I assume you knew that?'

'I figured as much,' said Grist. 'The thought had crossed my mind, I'l admit. But I've more urgent business to deal with first.' He broke out into a tremendous coughing fit that left him wheezing and watery-eyed. His crewmen shifted uneasily, glancing at one another.

'You alright?' asked Frey. 'Wouldn't want you to keel over and die. Much.'

Grist wiped spittle from his beard and went over to the smal chest that was sitting on a nearby table. He opened it up. 'I'm touched by your concern, Cap'n, but I ain't keeling over anytime soon.' He took out the metal sphere that Frey had first seen on the Mane dreadnought. 'Not now I got this.'

Jez's attention fixed on the sphere. Smooth black metal with silver lines curving al over its surface. There was no symmetry to it - at least, no symmetry that a human would recognise - but as Jez stared at it, the pattern seemed to almost make sense, straining on the edge of recognition. There was a chanting in her head, louder even than the voices of the ghosts here. A wordless summons, from far away. Far to the north, behind the Wrack. The Manes. Wanting her.

'What is it?' she heard herself say. 'What have we been chasing al this time?'

'This?' he held it up. 'It's an alarm.'

Frey blinked. 'A what?'

'An alarm.'

'Not a doomsday device, then?'

Grist peered at it. 'Not realy.'

'Oh.'

'It's a distress beacon,' Grist said. 'Al dreadnoughts carry them. You remember I told you about that Navy report, when they found a downed dreadnought? I neglected to mention a couple o' things. Like how there were stil Manes alive on it, and the Navy fought 'em back. And how one of 'em locked itself behind one of those daemonicaly guarded doors that your man Crake had so much fun gettin' through. And how, right after, a half-dozen dreadnoughts appeared.
Appeared,
Frey. A hole got punched in the sky, and they came sailin' through.' He puffed on his cigar. 'That takes power of a kind you and I can't imagine. Dad reckoned that whatever provided it, it was behind that door. And he was right.'

'What about the dreadnought we found?' asked Frey. 'Why didn't they use the sphere?'

'Maybe they didn't want to go back,' said Jez. 'They'd rejected the Manes. It kiled them in the end.'

She shivered with the memory of the terrible, endless loneliness.
But that's how we all live, every day. Sealed up in our own little worlds. We only know of
each other what we choose to show.

Frey frowned. 'Listen, Grist. I had a chat with an Awakener, back on the
All Our Yesterdays.
He told me that thousands of people would die if that fel into the wrong hands. Now you're teling me it's just an alarm?'

'Oh, right,' said Grist. 'See, he was probably thinkin' of what'l happen when the alarm goes off. What'l happen to al the people in this city when them Manes turn up, after I activate this thing.' He turned and stared at Jez, his face hardening. 'Or rather, when
you
do.'

Crake sat with his back against the wal of the store room, and whistled a tune to himself.

'Dunno how you can be so damn calm, while we're cooped up in this place and the Cap'n and Jez are in who knows what kind of trouble,' said Malvery, who was pacing the floor. He walked up to the metal door that sealed them in, and hammered on it with his fist. 'Hey! We're freezing in here! Give us some rum, for pity's sake!' When he got no response, he puled his coat tighter around him and continued to stomp up and down. Silo, sitting in the corner, watched him blandly.

'May I have your pocket watch, Malvery?' he asked. 'Trinica's men took mine. Presumably they thought it was possessed.'

Malvery took out his watch and tossed it over. Crake pressed the catch and the case sprang open.

'You late for something?' Malvery asked irritably.

'Oh, no,' said Crake. 'Right on time.'

He smiled wryly. It seemed like a long time since he'd smiled. As if a tombstone had been laying on his chest, heavy and cold, which was now gradualy lifting away.