Chris Wooding - Retribution Falls

‘I don’t know,’ said Crake. ‘I think so. In a way.’

The Murthian stared at him, waiting for more.

‘She was . . . upset,’ he said awkwardly. ‘When they were shooting her. So I think she feels it.’

Silo nodded to himself and returned his attention to his work. Bess was sitting quietly, not moving. She was asleep, he guessed. Or at least, he called it sleep. In these periods of catatonia, she was simply absent. There were no glittering lights inside. She was an empty suit. Where the presence had gone, or if it had really gone anywhere at all, he couldn’t have said.

The silence between them returned, but Crake felt a pressure to say something now that Silo had. It seemed momentous that the Murthian should be out here alongside him, asking him an un-prompted question. He began to feel more and more uncomfortable. The rising chorus of birds from the trees all around seemed unnaturally loud.

‘The captain seems in good cheer,’ he said at length.

Silo only grunted.

‘How do you and he know each other?’

Silo stopped and looked up at him. For a few seconds, Silo regarded him in the pale dawn light, his eyes unreadable. Then he went back to his task.

Crake gave up. Perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps Silo really didn’t want to talk.

‘I escaped from a factory,’ Silo told him suddenly. Arr scorrpt fram a fack-truh. He kept working as he talked. ‘Seven year back. Built aircraft there for the Samarlans. My people are slaves down there. Bet you know that, yuh?’

‘Yes,’ said Crake. He was shocked to hear such a torrential monologue from Silo.

‘The Dakkadians gave up. Stopped fighting long ago, joined their masters. But those of us from Murthia, we never give up. Five hundred year and we never give up.’ There was a fierce pride in his voice. ‘So when the time comes, some of us, we kill our overseer and we run. They come after us, yuh? So we scatter. Into the hills and the forest. And pretty soon, there’s just me. Starved and lost, but I ain’t dead and I ain’t no slave.

‘Then I see a craft coming down. Ain’t damaged, but flies like it is. Pilot look like he don’t know a thing. Makes a rough landing, and off I go. That’s my way out. And when I get there, I find the Cap’n inside. Stabbed in the guts. In a bad way.’

It took Crake a moment to catch on. ‘Wait, you mean our captain? Frey?’

‘Frey and the Ketty Jay,’ said Silo.

‘How did it happen?’

‘Didn’t ask, and he didn’t say,’ Silo replied. ‘Now, there’s plenty food and supplies there on that craft, but I can’t fly. I know craft on the inside, but I never flew one. So I take care of the Cap’n. I get him his drugs and bandages and I get him well. And in the meantime, I eat, get strong.’ He shrugged. ‘When he got better, he said he wasn’t never goin’ back to the people who sent him there. Said he was goin’ to live the life of a freebooter. That was fine by me. He flew us both out, and I been on the Ketty Jay ever since.’

‘So you saved his life?’

‘S’pose. S’pose he saved mine too. Either way, here I am, yuh? We ain’t never spoken of it since. I fix his craft, he keeps me in shelter. That’s the way it is, and I’m grateful every day I have on board the Ketty Jay. Every day, that’s one more day I ain’t a slave. Lone Murthian wouldn’t last long out here in Vardia. Your people ain’t exactly fond of us since the Aerium Wars.’

Crake looked over at the fire, where Malvery was holding Frey down and pouring grog into his mouth while the other two cheered. Every time he thought he had Frey figured out, he was bewildered anew.

‘You never said.’

‘You never asked,’ said Silo. ‘It’s a fool that speaks when there ain’t no cause to. Too many loudmouths already on this craft.’

‘On that we agree,’ said Crake.

Silo got to his feet and stretched. ‘Well, I done what I can with your lady Bess,’ he said. ‘Gonna catch some sleep.’

‘Thank you for your help,’ said Crake. Silo grunted and began to walk off.

‘Hey,’ called Crake suddenly, as a new question occurred to him. ‘Why do they call you Silo?’

‘The name mama gave me is Silopethkai Auramaktama Faillinana,’ came the reply. For the first time that Crake could remember, he saw the Murthian smile. ‘Think you can remember it?’

‘Cap’n.’

Frey was faintly conscious of someone shaking him. He wished with all his heart that they’d go away.

‘Cap’n!’

There it was again, dragging him upwards from the treacly, grog-soaked depths of sleep. Leave me alone!

‘Cap’n!’

Frey groaned as it became clear they weren’t going to give up. He was aware of a cool breeze and warm sun on his skin, the smell of grass, and the forbidding portents of a dreadful hangover. He opened his eyes, and flinched as the eager sun speared shafts of light directly into his brain. He blocked the light with his hand and turned his head to look at Jez, who was kneeling next to him.

‘What?’ he said slowly, making it a threat.

‘I’ve figured out the charts,’ she said.

He levered himself upright and groaned again, mashing his face with his palm. His mouth tasted like something had shat in it and subsequently died there. The embers of the fire were still alive, but the sun was high in a blue sky on an unseasonably warm winter’s day. Malvery snored like a tractor nearby. Pinn was sucking his thumb, his other hand twitching towards his crotch, around which all his dreams revolved.

‘Don’t you sleep?’ he said.

‘Not much,’ she admitted. ‘Sorry if it’s a bad time. You said you wanted to know straight away. You said time is—’

‘—of the essence, yes, I remember.’ He deeply regretted those words now. ‘So you know where Trinica’s hideout is?’

‘I believe so, Cap’n. The charts weren’t easy to work out. It’s not just an X-marks-the-spot kind of thing.’

‘Uh? A chart’s a chart, isn’t it?’

‘Not really. These are very close detail, marking a route through the mountains. Either we’re missing a chart or Trinica already knows the general area where the hideout is. If you don’t know where to start, you’re just looking at a bunch of mountains.’ She gave a quirky smile. ‘Lot of mountains in Vardia.’

‘But you figured it out?’

‘Matched the position of the bigger mountains with my other charts.’

‘Good work, Jez.’

‘Thank you, Cap’n.’

‘Now tell me where we’re going.’

‘You’re not gonna like it.’

‘I rarely do.’

‘I assume you’ve heard of Rook’s Boneyard?’

‘Oh, for shit’s sake,’ he sighed, and then slumped down onto his back again, his eyes closed. He’d expected bad news, just not quite that bad.

Jez patted him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll be in my quarters when you’re ready,’ she said. Then he heard her get up and walk back to the Ketty Jay.

Everybody who flew over the south end of the Hookhollows knew Rook’s Boneyard. They all knew to avoid it if they possibly could. Aircraft that went into that small, restlessly volcanic area were rarely seen again. Those that ventured into the mists spoke of seeing their companions mysteriously explode. Pilots went mad and flew into mountainsides. Survivors talked of ghosts, terrible spirits that clawed at their craft. It was a cursed place, named after the first man to brave it and survive.

Why don’t I just lie down and die here? thought Frey. It’ll save time.

Time. Time was something they didn’t have. There was no telling how long it would take Trinica to replenish her crew and familiarise the newcomers with the complexities of the Delirium Trigger. A day? A week? Frey had no idea. It really depended on whether there was anyone really vital among the men Jez had machine-gunned on the gantry.