Chris Wooding - Retribution Falls

‘Just eager to help out the Coalition,’ Frey replied. ‘Call me a patriot.’

‘Dracken?’

‘She got away.’

‘You think she might warn the others? Orkmund and his men?’

‘I’ve made sure she can’t get to them. But we should move quickly. They won’t attack while there’s no one to give them a signal, but they’ll get wind of what’s happened here sooner or later.’

‘Tell us where they are. We’ll deal with them.’

Frey laughed sardonically. ‘No. I’ll tell you what’ll happen. You assemble a strike force of Navy aircraft. I’ll lead them into Retribution Falls. Without me, you won’t know where you’re going.’

Drave stared at him, searching for signs of deceit. Frey wasn’t intimidated. Numbed by his recent torture and the shock of facing his own extinction, he’d become impenetrably calm again.

‘I’ll need my craft, and my crew,’ said Frey. ‘And I’ll need my navigator back too. How did she find you, by the way?’

Samandra Bree had wandered over by this point. She tilted back her tricorn and smiled disarmingly. ‘She told us she’d made the acquaintance of a very important fellow called Air Marshal Barnery Vexford at a party at Scorchwood Heights. Apparently, she had to do some quite appalling things to him to secure an audience with the Archduke’s representatives at such short notice. He is quite a filthy old man.’ She patted him on the shoulder. ‘You do have an admirably loyal crew, Captain.’

Frey could only imagine how loyal Jez had needed to be.

‘Once they heard where you were, they sent us,’ said Drave. He looked around himself, at the dead lying on the ground. ‘By the Duke’s reaction, I’d say her story and yours have some truth in them.’

‘I want pardons,’ said Frey. ‘In writing.’

‘You’ll get them,’ said Drave. ‘When you’ve led us to Retribution Falls. Not before.’ Frey opened his mouth to protest, but Drave held up one metal-gloved hand. ‘Pardons can be revoked. Makes no difference if you have a piece of paper or not. If you’re telling the truth, and you do what you say, then you’ll get what you want. But you double-cross me, and there’ll be no place in the world that’s safe for you.’

Frey met his gaze steadily. Threats couldn’t faze him now. ‘Then I suppose we’ll just have to trust each other, won’t we? Now get my men out of that cage.’

‘Turning up ahead, Cap’n. Hold steady till you see it.’ Frey made a murmur of acknowledgement and Jez went

Back to her charts. The Ketty Jay slid on through the mists of Rook’s Boneyard.

Behind Frey, Crake consulted Dracken’s compass and warned them where the deadly floating mines were hiding in the murk. His voice was muffled by the mask he wore. Frey wore one too.

Jez didn’t. She’d given up pretending she needed to.

The cockpit was dim and stuffy, and sounds gave back strange echoes. Dew ran down the windglass, and the soft growl of the Ketty Jay’s thrusters filled up the silence. Jez sat in her chair at the navigator’s station, plotting their course as efficiently as ever. She absently tapped out a sequence on the electroheliograph with her left hand, warning those who followed of the location of the mines, half her mind still on the calculations.

Frey took off his mask for a moment and yelled, ‘How we doing back there, Doc?’

‘They’re still on our tail!’ Malvery bellowed back from the cupola, where he had a view of what was going on behind the Ketty Jay. Only he could see the huge shapes in the darkness that drifted after them like malevolent phantoms.

‘Bet you never thought you’d see the day when you’d be leading a flotilla of Navy craft,’ Jez grinned, looking over at the captain.

‘I never did,’ he agreed with a wry twitch of the lips, then put his gas filter back on.

There was a dull explosion as a mine was detonated by one of the Navy minesweepers, clearing a path for the fleet behind them. It had been slow progress over many hours, gradually creeping closer and closer to Retribution Falls, removing all threats along the way. Since the other craft didn’t have compasses of their own, it was just too risky to try to bring the whole strike force through the mines in single file.

Jez wondered how far the sound carried through the choking mist and deep, sharp canyons. She wondered if they might find the denizens of Retribution Falls waiting for them when they arrived. But despite the danger all around them and the certain knowledge of the conflict to come, she felt content.

The sounds of the Ketty Jay soothed her. She’d come to know its tics and groans and they were reassuring. The navigator’s seat had found her shape, as if it had somehow moulded itself to her buttocks and back, and its form seemed natural now. The muggy heat of the cockpit had become cosy, a warm sanctuary from the hostile world that waited outside.

It was a strange experience. So much time had passed since the Manes had attacked that small village in Yortland that she’d forgotten what contentment felt like. Three years she’d been wandering, hiding, always afraid of discovery. She’d never put down roots or allowed herself to care for those around her.

But here, at last, she felt like she was home. She’d found her place. She was here to stay.

Her reunion with the crew had been unexpectedly touching. Malvery had almost crushed her ribs with a hug, before planting a big, whiskery kiss on her cheek. Frey was similarly effusive. Pinn slapped her on the arm; Harkins babbled, jubilant. Silo nodded respectfully, which was as close as he ever came to a joyous outburst. Even Crake seemed happy to see her, though there was a wariness in his eyes, as if he expected her to reject his handshake.

‘Thank you,’ he said, simply.

‘I brought Bess,’ she said, thumbing behind her at the open maw of the cargo hold. ‘She’s in there.’

Crake’s eyes filled with tears and his face split into an uncontrollable grin that was half a sob; then he hugged her, clutching her tightly to him. She was surprised enough to hug him back. Of all people, Crake had been the one who should have been most enthusiastic in his loathing. He was smart, and knowledgeable in the hidden ways. He’d have guessed her nature by now.

And yet he embraced her, as the others did.

She’d hoped that at best they would let her go on her way. She’d hoped that they’d be grateful enough for their rescue that they’d keep her secret from the Century Knights, no matter how dangerous they knew her to be. The idea of taking her back was ridiculous. They might tolerate an openly practising daemonist on board, but how could you get on with a woman whose heart didn’t beat, who didn’t need to breathe or sleep or eat? How could you ever trust someone like that? Robbed of the common vulnerabilities of humanity, how could you ever know what they might do next?

She’d accepted that they might turn her in. Gratitude didn’t apply to monsters. They might try to destroy her. She’d been ready for that. It was an acceptable risk.

But they greeted her like an old friend.

She hardly dared believe what was happening. Surely they were just relieved at escaping execution, and hadn’t had time to think it through? If that was the case, then their suspicions would grow as soon as their happiness faded. She couldn’t bear that. She had to know if they accepted her as she was or if they simply hadn’t taken in the truth yet.

‘I suppose . . .’ she said, once Crake had released her. ‘I suppose I owe you an explanation.’