Chris Wooding - Retribution Falls

And now this: a broadsheet from Vardia, given to Silo by a trader who bought their cargo of smoked fish at a rock-bottom price. Frey had hidden angrily in his quarters during the transaction, in case he was recognised.

DRACKEN JOINS THE HUNT

On this day the Vardic Herald has learned of an Announcement by Trinica Dracken, Feared Captain of the Delirium Trigger, to the effect that she will devote all her Will and Effort to the task of bringing to Justice, be it Dead or Alive, the Fugitive Darian Frey and his crew, wanted for Piracy and Murder, and for whom a large Reward is offered for information that might lead to their Capture. The Herald could not reach Captain Dracken for comment, but it is this reporter’s humble Opinion that with such a Famous and Deadly Lady upon their trail, it cannot be long before these Scoundrels are brought to face Justice for their crimes.

‘The bloody Delirium Trigger,’ Pinn groaned. He’d been almost constantly drunk for a fortnight now, having nothing else to occupy himself with. His eyes were bloodshot and he reeked of alcohol. ‘Queen bitch of the skies.’ He paused for a moment, then added, ‘I’d do her.’

The bar was a small, round room, with a domed roof criss-crossed by stout rafters and a south-facing skylight. A fire-pit burned red in the centre, beneath a large stone chimney. The wooden floor was strewn with pelts, the walls hung with the skulls of horned animals. Tables and seats were made from tree stumps. There was a counter against one wall. Behind it, a surly Yort guarded a barrel of beer and a few shelves stocked with unlabelled liquor in jars.

The bartender was in his mid-fifties, with thick arms and a face weathered like bark. His head was shaved and his long red beard was gathered into a queue by iron rings. He only spoke in grunts, yet somehow he made it clear that Frey and his men were not welcome here. He’d rather have an empty bar. They ignored him and came anyway.

‘Why don’t you go home, Pinn?’ Crake asked. He was looking up at the rafters, where several arctic pigeons cooed softly to each other. He’d noted the lumpy white streaks among the dried-in bloodstains on the floor, and was covering his flagon of dark beer with his hand.

‘What?’ Pinn asked blearily.

‘I mean, what’s stopping you? You’ve got your own craft. You haven’t been named or identified. Why not go back to your sweetheart? ’

Frey didn’t even raise his head at the mutinous tone of the suggestion. Crake was just baiting Pinn. Those who even believed Pinn had a sweetheart—Malvery was of the opinion that he might have made her up—knew full well he’d never go back to her. In his mind, she waited to welcome him with open arms on the day he returned home swathed in glory; but he seemed to be the only one who didn’t realise that day would never come. Pinn was waiting for glory to happen to him, rather than seeking it out.

Lisinda was the heroic conclusion to his quest, the promise of home comforts after his great adventure. But what if she wasn’t there when he returned? What if she was holding another man’s child? Even in the dim clouds of Pinn’s mind, the possibility must have made itself known, and made him uneasy. He’d never risk the dream by threatening it with reality.

‘Not going back till I made my fortune,’ Pinn said, a note of resentment in his voice. ‘She deserves the best. Gonna go back . . .’ He raised his flagon and his voice at the same time, challenging anyone to defy him. ‘Gonna go back a rich man!’ He slumped again and sucked at his drink. ‘Till then, I’m stuck with you losers.’

An idea struck him. He stabbed a thick finger at Crake and said: ‘What about you, eh? Mister La-di-da, I-talk-so-cultured? Don’t you have a . . . a banquet to attend or something?’ He folded his arms and smirked, pleased at this cunning reversal.

‘Well unfortunately, in the process of saving all your lives at Old One-Eye’s, I let two of the Century Knights get a rather good look at me,’ Crake replied. ‘But it is something I’ve been meaning to bring up.’ He leaned forward on his elbows. ‘They know Jez’s name but they haven’t seen her. Kedmund Drave saw us all but he doesn’t have our names. As a group, we’re rather easy to identify. Apart, they’ll probably never catch us. They’ll only get Frey.’

Harkins looked uneasily around the table. Malvery shifted and cleared his throat. Frey didn’t react.

‘Now, I don’t know about all of you,’ Crake continued, ‘but I am not spending the rest of my life hiding in an icy wasteland. So what I want to know,’ he said, looking directly at Frey, ‘is what you intend to do next. Captain.’

There was a loud plop as something fell from the rafters and into Crake’s beer. Without taking his eyes from Frey, he pushed it away from him with his fingertips.

Frey was still staring at the article, but he wasn’t really seeing it. His mind was working furiously, struggling to puzzle out this crisis, getting nowhere. He’d spent a fortnight raking over the coals of recent events, searching for some buried truth, but there were simply no answers to be had.

It didn’t make any sense. Why him? If this was a set-up, why choose him? An obscure freebooter, his name all but unknown in pirate circles. Yet Quail had asked for him specifically. Quail, to whom he’d done no wrong.

Of course, maybe someone had used Quail to set him up, that was always a possibility. But who had he offended? To whom had he done such a grievous slight? It must be someone powerful, if they could orchestrate something serious enough to involve the Archduke’s personal elite. The Century Knights didn’t usually concern themselves with affairs unconnected to the Archduke.

Was it an accident? A million-to-one shot that destroyed that craft? No. Frey didn’t believe in million-to-one chances. He’d been set up. Someone rigged that freighter to blow, and they put him in position to take the blame.

At least one of the pilots in the escort craft was superb. Whoever arranged all this must have banked on someone living to tell the tale. Even if no one had escaped, they’d have pinned it on him somehow, he had no doubt. But this way they had a witness, presumably unconnected to the real brains behind the operation.

What was on board that freighter?

‘Frey?’ Crake prompted, snapping him out of his reverie. Frey’s head came up. ‘I asked what you intend to do now?’

Frey shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I see,’ said Crake, his voice dripping with scorn. ‘Well, let me know when you do. I’d be interested in finding out. If I’m still here.’ With that, he got up and left.

There was a long silence. The crew were not used to seeing Frey so beaten. It unsettled them.

‘What about New Vardia?’ Malvery suggested. ‘Fresh start. Unknown lands. Just the sort of thing for a bunch of lads in our position.’

‘No!’ Harkins cried, and they all looked at him. He went red. ‘I mean to say, umm, the Ketty Jay might make it—I say might—but the fighters, nuh-uh. The Storm Belt’s still too bad to the west, and they can’t carry enough fuel to go the other route. We’d have to leave the fighters behind and me, no way, I ain’t leaving that Firecrow, even if she does belong to the Cap’n. He leaves the Firecrow behind, I stay behind with her. Final.’

Frey was surprised at Harkins’ unusual assertiveness on the matter.

‘Retribution Falls,’ said Pinn. ‘That’s what my money’s on. Nobody’d find us in Retribution Falls.’

‘Nobody would find us because it’s impossible to find,’ explained Frey patiently. ‘Any ideas how we would find it?’

Pinn thought for a moment and came up blank. ‘Well, there’s got to be a way,’ he muttered. ‘You hear about all those pirates who’ve been there. You hear about Orkmund, don’t you?’