'Osric Smult,' she said. 'How's your jigsaw?'
'Fine, fine. Man's gotta have a hobby, huh?'
Frey was unable to stop himself. 'How do you, er . . . how do you do a jigsaw when you can't see?'
Smult picked up a piece, turned it round in his hand, running his bandaged fingertips over the edge.
'Don't need to see it to make it fit,' he said. 'And who're you, sir?'
'Darian Frey, captain of the Ketty Jay," Frey said, doing his best to make it sound more impressive than it was.
Smult tilted his head, interested. 'Strange company you're keepin', Miss Dracken,' he said. 'Real strange, considerin'.'
Considering what? thought Frey. How much does he know?
'These are strange times,' Trinica said neutrally.
'They are,' Smult agreed. 'I expect you saw the Navy leave?'
'We did. Might I ask what they were after?'
'Spies,' said Smult.
'Spies?'
Smult was feeling around the ragged interior of his jigsaw, searching for a place to put the piece in his hand. 'Do you remember our beloved Earl Hengar?' he asked.
Frey went pale. He remembered Hengar rather well, since he'd accidentally killed him when he accidentally blew up the Ace of Skulls, accidentally. It was an accident, though.
'What does the Archduke's son have to do with it?' said Trinica.
'Well, we all know he was dallying with the Samarlan ambassador's daughter, don't we? Rumour has it that lovestruck young men sometimes say silly things. Unguarded things, the kind that a member of the Archduke's family really shouldn't say. Especially not to a woman who'd have been his mortal enemy only a few years before.' Smult scratched at his cheek. New bloodstains seeped through the bandages. Frey tried hard not to notice. 'Apparently, he said a lot of them.'
'He was leaking secrets to the Sammies?'
'Maybe. That's what the Navy think, anyway, though they'd never say as much. Probably Hengar reckoned it was all over and everyone was friends again. He always was a brainless boy. That's why the people loved him. He appealed on their level.' He lifted up his head and turned his face towards Frey. An ugly leer spread across his lips. 'Whoever killed him did us all a favour.'
Frey attempted to look nonchalant, then stopped when he realised it was useless against a blind man. Hengar's death had been widely reported as the result of a catastrophic engine malfunction. Only a few people knew Frey had been involved in it, and he wasn't keen on advertising the fact. Smult's grin made him distinctly uncomfortable.
'Anyways,' Smult said at length. 'Seems like the Sammies suddenly know more than they- should about certain things. Navy came by to see if I could help them with their investigations.'
'And could you?' Trinica asked.
'Oh yes,' he said. 'But I didn't. I don't work for Navy, whatever the price. A man needs principles.' He pressed the jigsaw piece into place, and it fitted with a click. Then he sat back in his chair, as if well satisfied with his achievement. 'So,' he said. 'To business. You'll be looking for Harvin Grist, then?'
If Trinica was as surprised as Frey was, she didn't show it. 'News travels fast,' she said.
'I make it my business to be the first to know,' said Smult. 'That's why I charge what I charge.'
'And you know where he is?'
'Not yet. But I have my eyes and ears out there. It won't be long. In the meantime, I can point you in the right direction.'
Trinica produced a bag of coins from some concealed pocket in her clothing. Frey hadn't even known she was carrying any. She held it up and jingled it. Smult tilted his head, listening.
'Why don't you tell me what you do know?' Trinica suggested. 'And I'll come back with more when you find him.'
Smult nodded at his bodyguard, who took the bag from Trinica and opened it up. Frey stared at it enviously. It galled him that Trinica could throw money around like that when he had barely enough to keep the Ketty Jay in the air. But he was damned if he'd ask her for any. That would be too much to take.
The bodyguard whispered in Smult's ear, then put the bag on the table next to him. Smult nodded and waved him away.
'Harvin Grist,' said Smult. 'Here's what I know. Born in White-rock, north of Marduk. Cold up there. His father was a scholar. Maurin Grist. Mother died of some kind of wasting disease; Grist watched her go. Long, drawn-out affair. Quite traumatised the boy, if I understand correct.' Smult's tongue, rough with boils, slipped out to lick at dry lips. 'Maurin moved them to Bestwark soon after. Had a position at the university. Went on to become a big name there.'
Frey opened his mouth to ask what his father had to do with anything, but Trinica silenced him with a glare. Frey rolled his eyes and settled back on his heels. He had the feeling that Smult was showing off the fact that he had all this information to hand.
Just tell us where to look for him!
'By all accounts, the boy didn't get much attention,' Smult continued. 'Maurin was wrapped up in his work. Distant sort. Young Harvin was an outstandin' student, sportsman, all of that. The pride of his school. But Daddy didn't notice. In fact, the only time Daddy noticed him was when he was misbehavin'. So he misbehaved. And he kept on misbehavin'. Went off the rails, I believe is the term.'
Trinica was listening closely. She seemed to be finding some value in this tale that Frey was obviously missing.
'So he's smart? Educated?' she inquired.
'Smart, yes. Educated, to a point.'
'What then?'
'He left. Dropped out of school, ran away with some friends of his. They signed on with a freight captain and never looked back. He moved from place to place, crew to crew, all the usual. He talks like a pirate, but he's cleverer than he looks. He saved what money he had, put it places where it'd grow. Made deals and investments. Picked the right crews, made big scores, took the money and moved on. Sooner or later he got the scratch together for a craft of his own. That's when he started running narcotics.'
Despite his impatience, Frey was becoming interested. It was strange to hear the details of Grist's past laid out like this. Curious to think that the grizzled, cigar-smoking bully had once been young. A boy who had watched his mother slowly decay, in painful degrees, before his eyes. A young man clamouring for a distant father's attention.
'I imagine he made a lot of money,' Trinica suggested.
Smult nodded. 'He did. Worked the north coast, up in Marduk and Yortland. He'd fly through the fogs, when other pilots wouldn't dare for fear of the Manes. With the profits, he bought bigger craft. Had quite a few to his name at one point. Then he sold 'em all off and bought that Cloudhammer he flies about in now. Didn't have much fear of the Navy after that. The Storm Dog's big enough to go one-on-one against most Navy craft.' He turned his blind gaze towards Trinica. 'Big enough to take on the Delirium Trigger, so I hear.'
There was something deeply unpleasant in his tone, but Frey couldn't pin it down. Was he gloating? Was there a warning there? A threat? He saw Trinica stiffen slightly.
'And now?' she asked.
'Of late, he's picked up odd habits. His haunt's in the north, see. But since the spring before last, he suddenly started turnin' up wherever the Manes have been.'
'The Manes?'
'They come and go quick,' said Smult. 'Take what they want and kill the rest. Nobody knows when or where they're gonna strike, so nobody can do a thing about it. But whenever they do, you can bet that Grist'll be there. The same day, or the day after. He comes running when the Manes kill. Asking questions. "What happened? Where'd they come from? Which way'd they go?"' He scratched at his ribs. 'Make of that what you want.'
'And you think that's where he is? In the north?'
'That's what I think. Up in Marduk and Yortland. Up in the snows.'
'That's a lot of territory,' Trinica said. 'Can you be a little more specific?'
'Can't work miracles, Miss Dracken,' he said. 'I'm fast, but I ain't that fast. Grist's kept his head down for a long time now. But I'll find him. You coul
d come back in a week or so.' He picked up another piece of jigsaw and began feeling around for a place to put it. 'Wouldn't advise it, though.'
'What does that mean?' Frey asked, who was a little tired of being left out of the nuances of this conversation.
'Means your ladyfriend took a big chance, comin' here,' Smult said. The shadow of his wide-brimmed hat fell across his face as he turned back to his jigsaw. 'Walking around in the open, her craft and crew hundreds of kloms away, with just you for protection? Or perhaps she believes her reputation alone is enough to make men fear her? Foolish attitude, if you ask me. The bounty that's on her head, someone might be tempted to take a risk.'
Frey's eyes flickered over the bodyguards. They'd sensed the change in the air, and were ready with their guns. He wished he hadn't given his weapons in at the door now.
Trinica's expression was hard. 'You wouldn't touch me,' she said to Smult. 'You're a whispermonger. You don't take sides, and you don't get involved. If word got out, you'd be ruined.'
Smult cackled. 'You reckon me right, Miss Dracken. That bounty ain't worth a chicken's arse to me. But I can't speak for them out there.' He thumbed over his shoulder, in the vague direction of the outside. 'Might be there's people waitin' for you. People who heard you were comin' to Hawk Point in the company of some shabby, no-account bunch who couldn't be trusted to tie their own bootlaces.'
'Hey!' Frey cried. 'I can tie my damn bootlaces just fine!'
Trinica ignored him. 'You sold them the information,' she said coldly. 'You knew I'd be looking for Grist, and you knew I'd come to you first.'
'You said it yourself,' Smult grinned. 'I'm a whispermonger. I don't take sides. Not even yours.'
'This is dogshit!' Frey said. 'If they knew we were here, they'd have jumped us the moment we left the landing pad.'
Smult tapped the bag of coins of the table in front of him. 'I asked 'em not to. I hate to waste a profit.'
'How much for you to tell us where they'll be waiting?' Trinica said.
Smult smiled to himself, and clicked another piece of his jigsaw into place.
Twenty-Four
Double-Dealing —
Spindle Street — A Surprise
The back streets of Hawk Point could scarcely be called streets at all. They were a shanty of lean-tos and hovels that had crowded together without pattern or purpose. The gaps between dwellings were little more than baked mud tracks strewn with old litter. The wind that blew across the mountains couldn't find a way into the maze, leaving the air ripe and stale. The inhabitants - old dogs and half-starved cut-throats - stuck to the shadows and sweltered.
Frey kept a wary eye on the shanty dwellers, who watched him warily in return. They were desperate people, ignorant and unskilled, mostly descended from the serfs that the Dukes freed when they deposed King Andreal of Glane. They came to the cities in an attempt to escape the poverty of the countryside, only to find they were unable to afford Guild fees and therefore couldn't work. Eventually, they ended up in the settlements and outposts, scratching a living as black-market dock-hands or petty thieves. Able-bodied men found themselves recruited as pirates. Women were taken on as cleaners, if they were lucky. Children were often sold off to the mines.
They had a bad lot, all in all. But desperate people tended to do desperate things, so Frey's hand was never far from his pistol.
Smult had been good enough to return their weapons after he'd taken Trinica for all the money she had. He'd given them detailed information about where their enemies lay in ambush for them, and told them how to avoid the traps. So now they were on their way back to the Ketty Jay, taking a route through the outskirts that circled the settlement. Scurrying like rats, hoping to stay unnoticed.
Frey had to admire the whispermonger's gall. Selling out Trinica, then selling out the people he'd sold her out to. Trinica, however, was not at all amused. She was incandescent with suppressed rage.
He took the silver earcuff from his pocket and clipped it on. 'Jez? Can you hear me?'
'Cap'n.' She sounded faintly surprised. Perhaps she hadn't expected him to speak to her.
'There's two men with rifles covering the landing pad. One in the north-east corner on the roof of the dock master's office. The other one on the roof of the warehouse to the north-west. They won't be watching out for you: they're waiting for us. Think you and Silo can take care of them?'
'Of course, Cap'n," she said. 'Are you in trouble?'
'When aren't I?" he replied, and took off the earcuff.
Trinica was glowering at him. "You can speak to your crew with that? That's a good trick.'
'I'm just full of "em." Frey said with a wink. He was unaccountably light of heart, despite their predicament. Perhaps because, for once, Trinica was getting screwed over rather than him. She didn't seem to like the taste of her own medicine very much.
She snorted in disgust, and turned away, concentrating on the route. Frey followed her, faintly amused. He knew exactly why she was so mad. You didn't get to the point of marrying someone without having a little insight into their character. And he had to admit, despite the threat to his own life, he was rather enjoying her discomfort.
She'd miscalculated. She'd got so used to being the dread pirate queen that she'd started to believe her own legend. She thought she was untouchable, even without the Delirium Trigger and her crew to back her up. She'd fashioned an image for herself, one that struck fear into the hearts of men, but she'd worn it for so long that she'd come to believe it was a shield.
Today, she'd been rudely reminded that it wasn't. That white make-up, her butchered blond hair, her black eyes and black attire: it was no protection without her men and her aircraft. Worse, it made her a target. Underneath the ghoulish exterior she was still a woman, flesh and blood. She'd die from a bullet or a knife like any other. Perhaps she'd forgotten that, until now.
She'd been made vulnerable. And what was more, it had happened in front of Frey. She hated that.
'That bastard,' she was muttering through gritted teeth, as they dodged between shacks of discarded metal and peeling wood. 'That rotting whore-son bastard.'
'Ah, look on the bright side,' said Frey. 'At least he gave us a way out.'
'This is your fault!' she snapped, turning on him. 'Do you have any idea what you've done? He'd never have dared to do this before.'
'Before I showed you up and the Delirium Trigger got beaten?' Frey suggested maliciously.
Her eyes blazed, and for a moment, Frey thought she would hit him. She was trembling with rage. He belatedly realised that this wasn't the time to be needling her. It had gone beyond a joke.
'Hey,' he said, turning serious. 'It's not so bad. We'll get out of Hawk Point, find Grist, make him pay. You get your revenge, your reputation is restored. Hang his head off the prow of the Delirium Trigger if you like.'
Trinica nodded at that, making a hissing noise through her teeth.
'But until that time,' he said, 'you're going to have to watch out. Every drunk with a knife, every dealer looking for an angle, everyone with a grudge against you, they're all going to be lining up to take their chance. They're going to see that Trinica Dracken's been brought down and they're going to take their shot at you while they can.'
'I can look after myself, Darian,' she snapped.
'Can you?' he asked. 'Can you shoot? Can you fight?'
'I can shoot,' she said, showing him the revolvers in her belt.
'Can you shoot well?'
She glared at him, and he had his answer. Trinica wasn't a fighter. She'd got to where she was by guile, manipulation and sheer ruthlessness. She wasn't physical enough to compete in the brutal world of pirates. She'd used others to protect her and fight in her place. Smart people stayed out of gunfights.
There was no crew to hide behind now, no one to issue orders to. Here, she was out of her element, and it scared her. She hid it behind a wall of frost and rage - perhaps she even hid it from herself that way - but none of that fooled Frey.
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He'd not seen her scared for a long time. Not since before their aborted marriage, before he ran out on her. More than a decade had passed and they were both different people now, but the feelings that came to him were the same as if it had been yesterday. He felt protective. He actually wanted to hold her in his arms. But that would be the grossest insult to her, the final humiliation, and she'd never allow it.
'Come on,' he said gently. 'Once you get the Trigger fixed, you can come back here and bomb the shit out of this whole town. How's that?'
'I just might do that,' Trinica said darkly. 'I just might.'
But until then, Frey thought, I'll look out for you.
Their route took them the long way round the settlement, and navigation wasn't easy. A few times Frey had to stop and ask for directions. Usually they wanted money in return, but Frey had a gun, which cut through the tiresome process of haggling. Once they were established as dangerous, the shanty dwellers left them alone. They weren't interested in trouble.
The shanty petered out into a mess of run-down alleys that smelled of old fish and tanneries. Frey got his bearings by shinning up a drainpipe until he could see over the rooftops to where aircraft were taking off from the landing pad. Not far, by the looks of it.
Trinica stuck close to him as he led the way through the alleys. She probably didn't notice she was doing it, but Frey did. It warmed his ego to think of himself as her guardian. For some reason it made him feel a bit better about things.
They came out of the alleys on to something that resembled a street. It was narrow and grubby, but it bore signs of being a thoroughfare, and the buildings on either side didn't look in immediate danger of collapse. That was an improvement on much of the town.