Chris Wooding - Retribution Falls

Olric ambled away again. Frey asked Silo to fetch Crake from inside, and the daemonist came down the cargo ramp shortly after.

‘You needed me?’

‘You and Jez sort things out last night?’ he asked.

Crake didn’t meet his eye. ‘As best we could.’

Frey wasn’t encouraged. ‘Can you come with me to the dock master’s office? I need to sign out before we fly.’

Crake gave him a puzzled look. ‘Two-man job, is it?’

‘Actually, yes. I need you to distract the dock master. I mean really distract him. You think you can do the thing with the tooth?’

‘I can try,’ said Crake. ‘Did he strike you as particularly smart or quick-witted?’

‘Not really.’

‘Good. The less intelligent they are, the better the tooth works. It’s the smart ones that cause all the problems.’

‘Don’t they always?’ Frey commiserated, as he led the daemonist across the landing pad.

‘What are you up to, anyway?’ Crake asked.

‘Taking out a little insurance,’ replied Frey, with a wicked little smile.

The journey out was less traumatic than the journey there. Now they had filters to protect against the strange fumes from the lava river, and they knew the trick of the compass and the mines, things were not so daunting. The only drama came from Pinn, who had a miserable time trying to subdue the cat, until Malvery hit on the idea of getting him drunk first. A quarter-bottle of rum later, and Slag was placid enough to take the mouth filter, after which they headed to Malvery’s surgery to apply antiseptic to Pinn’s scratched-up arms and hands.

There had been talk of ignoring the charts and flying straight up and out of there, instead of the laborious backtracking through the canyons, but they soon discovered that there was a reason why nobody did that. The area above Retribution Falls was heavily mined, and Jez theorised that these ones could be more magnetic than the ones they’d encountered, meaning that they’d home in on the Ketty Jay from a greater distance. Frey decided not to push their luck. They’d follow the charts.

Frey had Jez and Crake up in the cockpit again, one to navigate and one to read from the compass while he flew. The atmosphere between them had changed. Instead of sniping, Jez tried not to talk to Crake at all, beyond what was necessary to co-ordinate their efforts. Crake also seemed very quiet. Something was different between them, for sure, but Frey had the sense that it wasn’t entirely resolved yet.

Well, at least there had been progress. They weren’t fighting any more. It was a start.

Frey was light-hearted as he piloted them through the fog. He was beginning to feel that things were really pulling together for them now. The changes had been slow and subtle, but ever since they’d left Yortland he’d felt more and more like the captain of a crew, rather than a man lumbered with a chaotic rabble. Instead of letting them do whatever they felt like, he’d begun to give them orders, and he’d been surprised how well they responded once he showed a bit of authority. They might gripe and complain, but they got on with it.

The raid on Quail’s place had been a complete success. Jez and Crake’s infiltration of the Winter Ball had yielded important information. And the theft of the compass and charts from the Delirium Trigger was their crowning glory so far. A month ago, he couldn’t have imagined pulling off anything so audacious. In fact, a month ago he couldn’t have imagined himself giving anybody orders. He’d have said: What right do I have to tell someone else what to do? He didn’t think enough of himself to take command of his own life, let alone someone else’s.

But it wasn’t about rights, it was about responsibilities. Whether as passengers or crew, the people on board the Ketty Jay endured the same dangers as he did. If he couldn’t make them work together, they all suffered. His craft was the most important thing in the world to him, yet he’d never given a damn about its contents until now. It had always been just him and the Ketty Jay, the iron mistress to whom he was forever faithful. She gave him his freedom, and he loved her for it.

But a craft was nothing without a crew to run it and pilots to defend it. A craft was made up of people. The Ketty Jay was staffed with drunkards and drifters, all of them running from something, whether it be memories or enemies or the drudgery of a land-bound life; but since Yortland, they’d all been running in the same direction. United by that common purpose, they’d begun to turn into something resembling a crew. And Frey had begun to turn into someone resembling a captain.

Damn it, he was getting to like these people. And the thought of that frightened him a little. Because if his crew got hanged, it would be on his account. His fault. He’d got them all into this, by taking Quail’s too-good-to-be-true offer of fifty thousand ducats. He’d made that desperate gamble, closed his eyes and hoped for a winning card; but he’d drawn the Ace of Skulls instead.

Jez, Crake, Malvery, Silo . . . even Harkins and Pinn. They weren’t just badly paid employees any more. Their lives had come to rest on his decisions. He didn’t know if he could bear the weight of that. But he did know that he had no choice about it.

‘No mines nearby,’ Crake reported.

‘I think we’re through, Cap’n,’ Jez said, slumping back in her seat. ‘You can start your ascent any time now.’

‘Well,’ Frey said. ‘That was Rook’s Boneyard. I hope you all enjoyed your tour.’

They managed weak smiles at that. He cut the thrusters and fed aerium gas into the ballast tanks, allowing the Ketty Jay to rise steadily. The fog thinned, and the mountainsides faded from view.

‘Never thought I’d miss daylight quite so badly,’ Frey said. ‘It better be sunny up there.’

There was no danger of sun, this deep in the Hookhollows, with the clouds and drifting ash high in the sky overhead. But the mist oppressed him. He wanted to be able to see again.

The Ketty Jay rose out of the white haze, and the sky exploded all around them. The concussion threw the Ketty Jay sideways and sent the crew flying from their seats onto the floor. Frey scrambled back into his seat, half-blinded by the flash of light, thinking only of escape.

Get out of here, get out of here, get—

But the blast had spun the Ketty Jay around, and now he could see their assailant through the windglass of the cockpit. Her black prow loomed before them, a massive battery of guns trained on his small craft.

The Delirium Trigger.

Frey slumped forward onto the dashboard. The first shot had been a warning. Her outflyers had surrounded them, waiting for the slightest hint that they were going to run. But Frey wasn’t going to run. It was hopeless. They’d be blown to pieces before he had time to fire up the thrusters.

Not like this. I was so damn close.

The Delirium Trigger’s electroheliograph mast was blinking. Jez, who had staggered to her feet and was standing behind the pilot’s chair, narrowed her eyes as she watched it.

‘What’s it say?’ Frey asked.

‘ “Gotcha!” ’ Jez replied.

Frey groaned. ‘Bollocks.’

I knew I should have got out when I had the chance, Crake thought, as the men of the Delirium Trigger flooded up the Ketty Jay’s cargo ramp. Six of them covered the prisoners while the others dispersed through the hold, checking corners, moving with military precision. Wary eyes flickered over Bess, who was standing quietly to one side.

‘You tell that thing, if it moves, you all get shot,’ snarled one of the gunmen.