Survive, said Frey. That’s all you have to do. Don’t take any risks. Look out for each other.
The Cap’n had persuaded Kedmund Drave to let them bring the Ketty Jay’s outflyers. They were invaluable pilots, he’d said, and they’d need every craft in the fight. Harkins and Pinn were useless sitting on board the Ketty Jay. Since their fighters didn’t have Navy markings, they could sow havoc among the pirates, who would be unable to tell them apart from their allies.
Harkins had pointed out that this worked both ways, but Frey had assured him the Navy would know who they were and what they looked like. Harkins wasn’t quite so certain. He could just see a Navy frigate firing a shell up his exhaust in the heat of the moment.
The flotilla was packed in tight, a tentative train behind the Ketty Jay. Harkins was tucked inside it, with Pinn somewhere nearby. The mist was beginning to thin out noticeably. He could make out the detail on the nearest frigates, their gun turrets and armoured keels.
He fingered his silver earcuff. Having a daemon clipped to his ear only added to his unease, but Crake had offered them and Frey had insisted.
‘Anybody out there?’ he said. ‘This is . . . um . . . this is Harkins. Just wondering if anybody’s out there. Say something if you are.’
‘Clam it, Harkins,’ said Pinn’s voice in his ear, making him jump. ‘Crake said to use these things only when we had to. They’ll drain you if you start gibbering.’
‘Oh. I was just testing it, that’s all. You think the Cap’n can hear?’
‘He’s too far ahead. They’ve got a short range. Now shut up.’
Harkins snapped his mouth closed. His ear was tingling where the cuff touched his skin. He didn’t really understand all this daemonism business, but it made him feel a little better to hear a familiar voice.
Ahead, the fleet was beginning to break up and spread out as visibility improved and they dipped below the mist into clear air. Harkins’ heart thumped against his thin ribs as craft started to accelerate around him. Beneath them was a river, running along the canyon floor. The last stage of the journey. The moment was imminent. He wanted to curl up and hide.
Then at last the canyon gave out and the river plunged away down the sheer wall of the sinkhole. They’d arrived at Retribution Falls.
It lay as the Ketty Jay had left it, a shabby assemblage of scaffolded platforms and ramshackle buildings, steeped in the rancid marsh air. The great sinkhole, many kloms across, was ribboned in slicks of metallic ooze. Where the earth broke through the water, rotting dwellings grew like scabs.
But Harkins wasn’t looking at the town. He was looking at the aircraft. Hundreds of aircraft.
The fleet had grown in their absence. The landing pads were choked with fighters and heavy attack craft. Battered frigates floated at anchor; clusters of caravels and corvettes hung pensively over the town; shuttles and small personal craft hummed through the air.
There must have been three hundred, at least. Harkins felt his stomach clench and his gorge rise. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t eaten anything that morning.
A swarm of fighters was already scrambling to meet them as Harkins came out of the canyon. They’d been alerted by the sight of the first Navy craft at the head of the convoy. Retribution Falls kept a standing defence force, it seemed, ready to go at a moment’s notice. But those few craft aside, the pirate army had been caught completely by surprise.
The guns of the Navy frigates bellowed in a deafening cascade, making Harkins shriek inside his cockpit. Their opening salvo ripped a flaming scar across the sprawling town.
The primary target was the main landing pad, where the greatest number of smaller craft were clustered. It was obliterated in a cataclysm of fire. The other, more temporary landing pads that floated on the marsh were also struck. Those that weren’t destroyed outright began to list as their aerium tanks were holed, sending dozens of craft sliding into the sucking bog beneath.
Two of the nearest pirate frigates, anchored close to one another, were smashed with explosive shells. One of them split along its keel in a smoky red bloom, and sank to the ground in two halves. There were enough unpunctured aerium tanks to make the descent slow and terrible, like a ship being pulled to the bottom of the sea.
After the initial assault there was a pause to reload, and the Navy fighters came racing out of the cover of the fleet. Harkins saw the sleek Windblades shoot past him like darts, heading to meet the fighters rising from Retribution Falls. He gritted his teeth. He wanted, more than anything, to stay concealed behind the flanks of the enormous frigates. This wasn’t his fight, after all: the pirates weren’t his enemies.
But the heavy guns of the pirate craft would start up soon, blasting at the fleet, and a tiny craft like his would be dashed to pieces in the shellfire.
The safest thing to do was attack.
He heard Pinn whoop in his ear, and cursed him for his absurd courage. He could already picture that moron racing ahead of the pack, desperate for the first kill, heedless of the danger. He was the kind that would evade death for ever, simply because he didn’t realise it was there. The fearless always survived. It was one of the great unfairnesses of life, in Harkins’ opinion.
Well, he was damned if he’d let Pinn mock him for being the last one into the battle. The thought of that chubby-cheeked face screwed up in laughter made his blood boil. He hit the throttle and plunged out of the flotilla, pursuing the Navy Windblades into the fray.
The pirate fighters were a motley of different models from different workshops, representing the last thirty years of aviation technology. They came on like a cloud of flies, without discipline or any hint of a formation. The Navy fighters were tighter, punching towards them like an arrow. Harkins slipped in near the back.
The Firecrow’s engines roared, encompassing him in sound. The craft shook and trembled. Through the windglass bubble on its nose, Harkins could see the vile colours of the marsh blurring beneath him. Two Windblades hung on his wings, their pilots wearing identical Navy-grey helmets, their attention focused on the attack. Harkins swallowed and hunched forward, his finger hovering over the trigger.
The two sides met as the Navy frigates released another salvo, pounding the town of Retribution Falls, pulverising those pirate craft which were too slow to react to the surprise attack. Suddenly the world was full of explosions and machine guns, and Harkins yelled in fear as he opened up on the enemy.
The Windblades spread out, spiralling and rolling as they approached. Harkins jinked left to avoid a lashing of tracer fire, picked his target and sent a long burst back towards them. He aimed where he thought the craft was going, rather than where it was, and his guess was accurate. The pilot flew right through the deadly hail of gunfire. The windglass of the cockpit shattered and the pilot jerked as he was shot through with bullets. The craft tipped into a long, lazy dive towards destruction.
The pirates and Navy fighters broke upon each other like waves onto rocks, spuming in all directions as they scattered. The battle became a mass of individual dogfights.
Harkins threw the Firecrow into a steep climb, raking his guns across the underside of an old Westingley Scout. It corkscrewed out of control and slammed into the tail of another pirate craft as he soared upward. Something thundered past his wing, missing a collision by less than a metre. Dizzy with fear-driven adrenaline, he paid it no mind. He levelled out, letting the G-force off a bit before coming around and on to the tail of a rickety Cloudskimmer.
Pinn screamed with joy in his ear. Harkins gave a scream of a different kind, and pressed down on his guns.
‘Time to go,’ said Frey, as the first scattered volleys of return fire from the pirate frigates came smashing into the Navy fleet. He vented aerium and dropped the Ketty Jay down beneath the keels of the larger aircraft, then hit the thrusters and sped towards the town.
The pirate frigates had begun to wake up now, shedding their anchor-chains and gliding into action, their gun-crews finally in position. Frey had hun
g back to hide as best he could among the heavy craft, but like Harkins, he knew it would be suicide to stay once the big guns got going. Besides, he’d done his job. He’d led them here. That was enough to earn his pardon, assuming they intended to give it to him.
Now he had a purpose of his own, and it didn’t involve getting tangled up in a squabble between the Navy and Orkmund’s pirate gang.
Retribution Falls was a mess. Whole areas were flattened as the dwellings, never built for strength, fell apart from the concussion of a single shell. As he watched, one of the platforms at the far end of the town tipped and fell, its gridwork of scaffolding blasted away on one side. Buildings crumbled into landslides of brick, sweeping people with them as they went. Bodies were mangled and ground to bits as an entire district collapsed into the marsh.
Frey heard Malvery start up on the autocannon, blasting away at a pirate fighter as it screamed overhead. He ignored it, steered away from the main conflict and angled the Ketty Jay towards the platform he wanted. The quality of architecture there was the highest in the town, and Frey was pleased to see it had suffered only superficial damage.
That was good, since he planned to land there.
‘You sure you want to do this, Cap’n?’ Jez asked doubtfully, peering through the windglass. Large sections of Retribution Falls had been wrecked. Plumes of smoke billowed from their ruins. ‘There’s no telling how long it’ll be before someone shells the shit out of that platform, too.’
Frey was anything but sure. ‘They’re concentrating fire on the pirate frigates now,’ he said, mostly to convince himself. ‘The town itself isn’t a threat.’ Malvery cheered in triumph from the cupola. Frey assumed he’d made a hit.
‘Your call, Cap’n,’ she said. ‘But we can get out of this now if we want to.’
‘I hear you, Jez,’ he said. But he was committed in his heart now. He couldn’t turn back.
At least this time he’d consulted his crew. He’d outlined his plan and asked them if they wanted to be part of it. Nobody was being forced; nobody was being duped. He wasn’t going to order anyone into this.
Some were reluctant. Some thought it would be better to cut their losses. They weren’t keen on the risk. But in the end, all of them agreed. Because they trusted him. Because he was their captain.
Frey took the Ketty Jay closer to the platform. Jez leaned over his shoulder and pointed. ‘There’s the square.’
‘Malvery!’ he yelled. ‘Get out of the cupola and get ready!’
Jez picked up her rifle from beneath the navigator’s station as Frey brought the Ketty Jay down in the square. Those few people who were nearby went running as she came in to land, hard and heavy because Frey was too nervous to be careful. She bumped down with a jolt that made Jez stagger.
Frey sat there for a moment. Overhead, shells exploded and pirate fighters weaved through the sky. He should just take off again. He didn’t have to do this. Maybe this was just history repeating, another all-or-nothing hand of Rake that might win him everything or lose it all, when he should have just laid down his cards and walked away with what he had.
You’ve got a craft, a crew, and the whole world to explore. Nobody’s your master. Now that’s not so bad, is it? If you’re lucky, the Coalition will pardon you when all this is done. Drave may be a mean bastard but he doesn’t seem like a liar. You’ll be free.
Whether Drave would honour his word or not was a moot point. He wasn’t sticking around to see. As soon as he’d done what he came here to do, he planned to run. The Navy would be tied up here for a while. Let them pardon him in his absence.
But first, there was the small matter of fifty thousand ducats. Fifty thousand ducats that had been promised him by the brass-eyed whispermonger Quail. Fifty thousand ducats that he felt he’d damn well earned by now.
This was their chance to be rich. To leave the rogue’s life behind and allow themselves a bit of comfort. Equal shares for them all, because everyone had done their part.
He looked out of the cockpit at the barricade surrounding Orkmund’s stronghold. The square they’d landed in lay right in front of it. A few days ago, they’d stood here to hear the great pirate speak. Somewhere inside that building was a red chest with a silver wolf clasp that he’d first seen being loaded onto the Moment of Silence when he visited Amalicia Thade at the Awakener hermitage.
The thought of Amalicia surprised him. From the moment he left the hermitage, he’d completely forgotten about her. To suddenly encounter her in his memory was a jolt, like rediscovering a discarded trinket that he thought was lost for ever.
‘Are we going?’ Jez asked.
‘We’re going,’ said Frey. He got out of his chair and ran down the corridor to the steps that led to the cargo hold, where the rest of the crew were assembled, armed to the teeth.
In the few moments before the cargo ramp opened, he belatedly remembered that Gallian Thade had been killed at Mortengrace. That meant Amalicia was free from the hermitage where she’d been imprisoned. Free, and unbearably rich.
Damn it, I should have just married her when I had the chance, he thought.
Then he remembered that Trinica Dracken had also been the daughter of an enormously rich businessman, and he’d been only moments from making himself a part of that inheritance. He swore under his breath.
Damn it, I should have married her, too!
By the time they went rushing down the cargo ramp and out into Retribution Falls, Frey was quite eager to shoot someone.
Thirty-Seven
Treasure Hunt - Harkins Gets Into Trouble - Orkmund Again
Pirates and whores ran in panic across the square, heads covered against the thundering concussions and the threat of falling rubble. Their aircraft had been destroyed on the landing pad, cutting off any hope of escape. Now they were helpless witnesses as the Navy pummelled the pirate frigates overhead and fighters wheeled and spat bullets. They fled for what shelter they could and hoped that fate would be merciful.
Frey led his crew down the cargo ramp, cutlass swinging against his leg, pistols raised. The stink of the marsh hit them as they came out into the open air and took up positions around the Ketty Jay. He’d been expecting some resistance from the locals, but he found himself pleasantly disappointed. The freebooters who were passing through the square couldn’t have cared less why they were landing their craft here. As long as they weren’t wearing Navy colours, they could do what they liked. The sight of Bess coming down the ramp deterred any thought of further enquiry.
Frey glanced at the Navy fleet, visible in the distance, a few kloms away. They were spreading out defensively as the pirate craft increased their assault. Half the pirate army’s larger craft were destroyed, but the others were giving as good as they got. Frey saw a Navy frigate slip into a groaning descent, its flanks aflame.
As far as he was concerned, both sides could blow themselves to pieces. He had little love for either. As long as some Navy craft survived to tell the tale and exonerate him, that was fine.
‘Alright, let’s go!’ he cried. Silo closed up the cargo ramp and they hurried towards their target with the Murthian covering their backs.
There was a barricade surrounding Orkmund’s squat, grey stronghold. The watchtowers surmounting the mass of crossed girders and spikes were empty, but the gate was still closed. It was an enormous slab of metal on rollers, heavy enough to need three men to move it and presumably secured on the other side.
‘Bess! Open that gate!’ Frey called.
The golem stamped past him. She dug her massive fingers into the metal and wrenched. The gate shrieked in protest as a bolt on the inside resisted, but Bess’s strength was inexorable, and it slowly gave way.
Frey could see one or two men who had stopped at the edge of the square and were staring. Clearly, they were puzzled to see several men who looked like pirates breaking in to the pirate captain’s stronghold. Malvery raised his shotgun and sighted at one of them; Silo took aim at the other.
 
; ‘Keep moving, lads. This doesn’t concern you.’
They decided that it didn’t concern them after all. There was a loud snap of metal and the gate rolled out of the way with a screech.
‘Nice work, Bess,’ said Frey. Crake patted her on the arm as they sallied inside.
Orkmund’s stronghold wasn’t large - certainly not the size of somewhere like Mortengrace - but it was secure. The grey, mould-streaked walls were thick, and the windows were small and deeply set. Too small to climb through.
Once inside the barricade they were faced with a squat, three-storey building with two projecting wings on either side, making a three-sided square. The entrance was set between the wings, at the far end of the square.
Frey led them to the nearest wall, at the tip of one of the wings. He pressed himself against it and looked around the corner. He was sweating with the tension. At any moment he expected to be shot at by an unseen foe or obliterated by a shell from above. But the stronghold was quiet, and the sounds of destruction had retreated temporarily into the distance.