Chris Wooding - The Ace of Skulls

Harkins tried to ignore the explosions and concentrated on following the Cap’n. He wasn’t too sure where they were going — he didn’t concern himself with stuff like that — but he wasn’t too happy that the whispermonger was calling the shots. He didn’t like newcomers at the best of times, and especially foreigners, who were not to be trusted. Even Silo, whom he’d known for years, made him uneasy on account of being Murthian.

Then again, most people unsettled him for one reason or another. And none more than Jez, nowadays. He couldn’t believe he’d actually fancied her once upon a time.

Another explosion lit up the Ketty Jay ’s lumpy, ugly form in silhouette. She slewed away to port and Harkins followed, his teeth gritted with the effort of keeping quiet. He’d flown through much heavier fire than this before, but it distressed him nonetheless. At least you could see your enemy in a dogfight. With anti-aircraft guns, you were just waiting for a shell to come from nowhere and blow you to pieces. The tension was awful.

He tried to reassure himself. It’s not so bad. Looks worse than it is.

And it was true. Muzzle flashes lit up small patches in the broken sea of buildings beneath them, but there were not many guns, and their shots were speculative. Already he saw Coalition craft sinking down towards the streets, their belly lights coming on as they dropped below the flak, easing themselves into their designated landing spots.

‘How’d he get to be such a good pilot when he’s such a chickenshit?’ Ashua’s words from last night. He thought she was probably trying to be kind, but she had a rough way of showing it which he didn’t like.

You’d be scared too, if you’d seen what I have , he told her in his head. Two wars. Friends shot down, and then more friends. So many brushes with death that he’d lost count. It was enough to crack a man, and it had.

He heard engines growing to starboard, and looked over as a troop carrier slid through the sky twenty metres off his wing. A distant flash threw light on its flank, illuminating the insignia of the Coalition Navy. Just for a moment Harkins was back there, back in the war, back in formation. Flying into battle against the Sammies with that familiar cold fear in his gut, but also the strength that came from cameraderie, the knowledge that he was part of a unit, the pride of fighting with his companions for a cause. In that world there had been no ambiguity, no uncertainty, no questions. He had a purpose and a place.

Something warm swelled in his chest at the memory. He wasn’t always a coward. He’d been brave once. He could be brave again.

The Ketty Jay banked off to port, heading away from the Coalition craft. Harkins followed, and the troop carrier faded into the dark.

The sight of that Coalition insignia had lasted only an instant, but the feeling took a long time to fade.

The Cap’n put the Ketty Jay down in the courtyard of a half-demolished mansion. The walls of the yard were mostly broken and had slumped into heaps of rubble and brick, but they were still high enough to provide concealment on three sides. Belly lights came on as they neared the ground, flooding the cracked square in harsh whiteness. They descended fast and landed with a jarring thump.

‘Everybody out!’ Silo yelled, as he opened the cargo ramp. They moved at his command, hurrying down into the yard, where they took up defensive positions, their breath steaming the air. He went out with them, surveying the area for signs of the enemy. As soon as Pinn and Harkins had landed, the Cap’n killed the lights. His outflyers’ engines faded to silence. Silo listened, and heard distant gunfire over the sound of autocannons and anti-aircraft guns. Nothing moved in the shadows. They were well hidden; it was a good spot.

Frey, Jez and Pelaru made their way down the ramp. Some of the crew were carrying backpacks, all but empty except for ammo. They’d be used to carry loot. Crake’s pack was heavier, full of daemonist equipment. Bess stamped and clanked along behind him. She seemed agitated; the sounds of combat in the air had excited her.

Pelaru gave her a glance, but no more than that. Silo watched him narrowly. Most people were more than a little fazed by their first sight of an eight-foot metal golem. That meant he either knew about her already, or he was used to stranger things.

Ain’t sure about that one , he thought. Ain’t sure at all. There’s somethin’ between him and the Cap’n. Him and Jez, too .

Harkins and Pinn had clambered out of their cockpits and joined them on the ground by now. ‘Harkins,’ said the Cap’n, ‘you stay here with Bess, make sure no one gets near the craft. They’re our only way out of here, and I don’t plan on getting stuck in this dump.’

‘Yessir!’ said Harkins, saluting. Frey gave him an odd look. If it had come from anyone but Harkins, he might have suspected he was being mocked. Nobody saluted on the Ketty Jay .

‘We’re not taking Bess?’ Pinn complained.

‘You reckon she can climb over these?’ Frey replied, indicating the piles of rubble that surrounded them. ‘She’s too clumsy for this terrain. She’ll hold us up. Besides, the idea is to stay out of any fights.’

‘You picked an awfully strange location for it, then,’ said Crake, who was watching the explosions overhead.

‘No sense standin’ about. You heard the Cap’n. Get movin’!’ Silo barked, ushering them towards the ruined walls.

‘Think I liked him better when he didn’t speak,’ Pinn muttered to Crake as he trotted off.

They clambered over the precarious rubble pile with a certain amount of knocks and bruises. On the other side was a narrow street, narrowed further by the slopes of bricks and debris that had fallen into it. There was nobody about, but Silo could hear pistols and rifles not too far away. The ground troops had engaged.

‘Which way?’ Frey asked Pelaru.

The whispermonger consulted a small cloth map and compass. After a moment of deliberation, he pointed.

‘That map accurate?’ Frey asked doubtfully as they headed off. It looked hand-drawn.

‘It’s a copy of the one Osger was using,’ Pelaru said. ‘He believed it was. So do I.’

The whispermonger glanced at Jez then, and quickly away. He didn’t show much beneath his unflappable veneer, but Murthians were the same way, and Silo was adept at picking up small signs. He saw the slight flush of Pelaru’s cheek, a hint of anger, the way his pupils dilated fractionally.

Reckon he likes her , he thought, and was faintly amazed. Reckon he likes her and he don’t like that he does. What’s that all mean?

They headed up the street, shotguns and revolvers at the ready. The night was crisp and brittle. Black and broken buildings rose up on either side, silhouetted by flashes in the sky. The sound of gunfire and autocannons had them all on edge. They ran with shoulders hunched, expecting to be shot at.

Silo wasn’t sure what the Cap’n was up to, bringing them to a place like this, but he had his suspicions. The Cap’n hadn’t mentioned Trinica once since she left him back in Samarla. That was evidence enough that he was hurting about it. He’d chased that woman to the North Pole before. He’d taken on the Manes to save her. Only a fool would think he’d given up now.

Silo understood. He knew what love might make a man do. And better this than following some patriotic dream of joining the war on the Coalition’s side, as Malvery would have it. The civil war wasn’t their fight: Silo and Frey agreed on that. They might have helped start it, but that didn’t mean they had to die in it.

Yet here they were. The Cap’n had assured the crew that the heavy fighting was elsewhere in the city, and even though this was supposed to be a rescue mission, it was really all about the loot they’d find in that temple. But that was only a sweetener to justify the risk they were taking. There were easier pickings than this to be found, and they all knew it. It was a measure of their loyalty to the Cap’n that they went along with it anyway.