Chris Wooding - The Black Lung Captain

The patterns made no sense to her, but she stared at them anyway.

'Awakeners,' said Crake. 'I hate Awakeners.'

Frey wasn't too fond of them himself. It was the Awakeners that had been behind the attempt to frame him and his crew for the murder of the Archduke's eldest son. And now, if Crake's daemon was to be believed, they were behind the theft of Grist's mysterious power source.

He shifted uncomfortably on the ridge and angled the spyglass down at the Awakener's compound. It was a collection of grand buildings, the size of a small town, with the look of a sprawling university or an ancient library complex. A high wall surrounded it, studded with guard posts, overlooked by a clock tower that rose from the central quad. It sat on a bare island in the midst of a deep blue lake that ran the length of the valley. Next to it was a landing pad, upon which several aircraft sat dormant. Hovering at anchor over the lake was the dirty black bulk of the Delirium Trigger , spoiling the sense of idyll entirely.

Frey felt a surge of irritation and anger. What was Trinica doing, working for the Awakeners again? Hadn't she learned her lesson last time, after the whole debacle with Duke Grephen? She was probably already under sentence of treason because of that little affair. But she just had to get involved, didn't she? She had to get in his way. Just to spite him.

There was a bigger question here than Trinica's involvement, however. What interest did the Awakeners have in a crashed Mane aircraft? Why had they sent anyone at all?

He scanned the outer wall. Sentinels walked there, armed with rifles. They wore grey, high-collared cassocks and carried twinned daggers in their belts. On their breasts was the Cipher, the emblem of their faith, a tangled design of small, linked circles.

Huge lamps like lighthouses had been built on every corner, no doubt powered by generators inside the compound. Approaching unseen across the lake and the barren island would be impossible, whether by day or night.

Grist lay next to him, smoking angrily. 'You see a way in?'

'There isn't a way in,' Frey said.

'There's always a way in,' Grist replied.

Frey put down the spyglass. 'Well, I don't much fancy assaulting a heavily fortified compound with a handful of men, if that's what you're thinking. Might as well shoot each other now, save everyone a bit of time.'

'Can't we sneak inside?' suggested Crattle, raising his head to look over his captain at Frey.

'Even if we could, which we probably can't, what happens then?' Frey asked. 'Follow the arrows to the treasure? Look how big that place is. We'd need days to search it.'

'In disguise, then?' Crattle persisted.

'You'd be caught,' said Crake, who lay on Frey's other side. 'Without even a basic knowledge of the Cryptonomicon, they'd identify you as a fraud before the end of your first conversation.'

Frey looked over at the daemonist. He certainly seemed brighter and sharper today than he had been of late. Frey had found him awake early, polishing Bess while Silo patched up rust spots on her armour and fixed broken rings in her chain mail. And Frey had to admit, Crake had stepped up when it came to do his part. He had no idea what the daemonist had gone through to find the whereabouts of the sphere, but he was sure it hadn't been easy.

Grist took a puff on his cigar and scowled. His good cheer had been almost entirely absent since Trinica had robbed them. Without it, he was an unpleasant man to be around.

'So if we can't get in, what do we do now?'

Frey rolled his shoulders, which were getting stiff from lying there. 'Now, we find out what the Awakeners are up to, why they're interested in the sphere at all, and why they went to the trouble of hiring a pirate to get it instead of doing it themselves. Once we know that, we'll have a better idea of how to get our hands on it.'

'And how d'you propose to do that?' Grist asked.

'I'm gonna do my best not to propose at all,' Frey said grimly.

Crake caught on. 'Amalicia Thade,' he said with a grin.

Frey had the look of a man facing a firing squad. 'Amalicia Thade.'

There was a long, grave and meaningful pause before Grist said:

'Who?'

The Thade estate sprawled across the forested hills, an island of carefully maintained paradise. Raked paths meandered round well-tended lawns and willow-fringed lakes, past fountains and gazebos built in pre-Revolution style. Statues of monarchs and dukes stood on plinths. A glassy arboretum was perched on a hilltop. Next to it was a hunting lodge and an observatory with the lens of a huge brass telescope poking through a slit in the dome. At the centre of the grounds, a vast manse sat foursquare and impressive, with walls of robin's-egg blue, tall windows and alabaster eaves.

Frey lounged in the back of the open-top motorised carriage, and let the sun warm his skin. This far south, springtime felt like summer. A manservant sat on the driver's bench up front, gripping the steering wheel as if it was something unfamiliar. He was dressed in a stiff uniform of white and cream, and doing his best not to sweat and ruin it.

Frey ran his knuckles over the leather of the seat and looked out at the estate as they puttered up the drive. All of this was Amalicia's. And this place was only a fraction of her holdings. He knew the Thade family was rich, but he hadn't quite imagined the scale of it.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

What would their reunion be like, he wondered? He had to admit to a certain amount of trepidation. After all, he'd been indirectly responsible for the death of her father. But then Amalicia had been rather keen on getting him hanged anyway. She hated him for cloistering her in an Awakener hermitage. That was also Frey's fault, since he'd been the one who deflowered her, but Frey wasn't about to take the blame for her father's prudishness.

Gallian Thade's death made Amalicia the head of the Thade dynasty and the inheritor of all that he saw before him and more. But still, girls were apt to get cranky when you got their dads shot by the Century Knights. He just hoped she was in the mood to look on the bright side.

The carriage pulled up in front of the house where half a dozen manservants were lined up outside the grand double doors. As he was dismounting, the doors were thrown open and Amalicia walked through.

He caught his breath as he saw her. She was more dazzling than he remembered. She must have been twenty-three by now, or thereabouts, but she seemed unaccountably mature for her age. More the elegant young lady and less the frisky, fiery girl. Her long black hair had been cut short to show off her neck. She wore riding boots, hip-hugging trousers and a silk blouse. There were hints of silver at her throat and wrist.

'Darian,' she said with a smile, as she descended the steps. Frey managed to get down from the carriage without falling. He gawked at her, dazzled. This was the woman he'd forgotten about, the woman he'd left behind in an Awakener hermitage without a second thought? This was the one whose letters he'd been ignoring? What was wrong with him?

She presented her hand. He stared at it for a few moments before realising what he was supposed to do, then raised it to his lips and kissed it.

'Come inside, please,' she said.

He followed, dazed, wrongfooted by the change in her. She was confident where before she'd been arrogant. Assured where she'd been spoiled. She'd grown to suit her new role quickly and well.

The entrance hall was colossal, with a curving staircase of polished stone. Thin pillars drew the eye to the arched moulding on the ceiling. Valuable urns rested on pedestals with the casual precariousness only found in houses that didn't have dogs or children in them.