Chris Wooding - The Black Lung Captain

'How do you talk to these people?' Frey asked in exasperation. 'It's like the moment I open my mouth, they're looking down on me.'

'Yes, they'll do that,' said Crake. 'The trick is not to try and engage them on their level. They'll spot a fake. Just be yourself.'

'It's not that easy.'

'Sure it is,' said Samandra. 'Tell me, what do you really think of 'em? Honestly, now.'

Frey gave her a suspicious look. 'You're not an aristocrat, are you?'

'Me? No. Daddy was a Militiaman. Wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but they plucked me out of training school when I eight and sent me to the Knight's Academy.'

'You don't seem out of place here, though.'

'Well, after they got done teaching me to put a bullet between someone's eyes at a hundred yards, they taught me a little etiquette. The Archduke likes some of his Knights to be the public face, you know? That's why my partner ain't here.' She put her hand to her mouth. ' Isn't here, I mean.'

'Colden Grudge?'

'Yeah. Poor Colden. Put him in a place like this and he'd auto-cannon half the room.'

'Now he sounds like the kind of feller I could get on with,' said Frey. 'Speaking of which, we're not still under sentence of death or anything, are we? Never did get to collect those pardons for that whole misunderstanding about the Archduke's son.'

Samandra waved it away. 'Drave took care of it. You're in the clear.'

'Oh, good. I was just thinking how nice it was to meet you again. I'd hate to have to flee for my life.'

'And I'd hate to have to kill you. You seem a decent sort.'

Crake laughed nervously. 'Might I ask what a representative of the Archduke is doing here, at a soiree thrown in support of the Awakeners?'

Samandra looked skyward. 'Good question. I have to be the least popular girl in the room right now. The Archduke wants someone here to remind them we're watching. So here I am.' She nudged Frey. 'You never answered my question. What do you think of the company here?'

'I think they're a bunch of pompous, stuffed-arse idiots and their conversation is boring as watching shit crust over.'

'And how long do you think they'd last in our world? Out there, where the rest of us live?'

Frey grinned. 'Most of 'em would get killed in the first bar they walked into.'

'There you go. Now stop thinking they're better than you, 'cause they ain't. I mean, aren't.'' She rolled her eyes. 'All them etiquette lessons. Waste of good shooting time.'

'I like the way you talk,' Crake murmured into his glass, but nobody heard him.

'Y'know, Samandra, you're right,' said Frey. He was feeling considerably better. 'Who do these rich folk think they are? They're not better than me!' He looked at Crake, then down at the drink in his hand. 'Stay sharp, remember?'

'Stop fretting, Cap'n,' Crake said. 'It's under control.'

Samandra slapped Frey on the shoulder. 'Go out there and get em.

Frey headed back to Amalicia, and met her coming the other way, a look of urgency on her face.

'Where've you been?' she asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, she slipped her arm through his and motioned towards a pudgy man on the other side of the room, who looked rather lost. 'That's the Grand Oracle. Now's our chance.' She propelled him towards their target. 'Just smile a lot, and I'll do the rest.'

The Grand Oracle didn't look particularly grand to Frey. He was a balding, worried-looking man with weak eyes hidden behind a thick pair of spectacles. Frey had imagined him dressed in expensive robes, but instead he wore a long jacket of deep blue velvet, parted down the middle by the thrust of his belly. The emblem of the Cipher was tattooed on his forehead, declaring his faith to everyone.

'Grand Oracle Pomfrey,' said Amalicia. 'Please allow me to introduce my fiance, Darian Frey.'

Frey winced inwardly. He'd heard that word many times over the last hour, but it still came as an unpleasant surprise, like being cudgelled by a mugger.

'Amalicia Thade!' exclaimed the Grand Oracle. 'My, how you've grown!' He shook Frey's hand. 'You're a fortunate man, sir. Congratulations to you both.' Then he turned to Amalicia and became grave. 'Terrible, about your father, my dear. He was a great friend to the Allsoul.'

'As I will be, Grand Oracle,' said Amalicia. ' You know, of course, that I was in training to be a Speaker before tragedy called me away to fulfil my duty to my family.'

Frey raised an eyebrow. As he recalled, she'd been dragged kicking and screaming to that hermitage.

'Quite so, quite so,' said Pomfrey. 'I do hope you can lend your influence against the Archduke and that poisonous wife of his. Do you know, they're attempting to force us to shut down our operations in the cities? Planning regulations or some such rubbish. As if they didn't know they'd be severely cutting our income by doing so.'

'Those of faith will simply travel to the countryside to seek the wisdom of the Allsoul,' Amalicia said, with the blithe confidence of someone who didn't give a toss either way.

'I hope you're right, child,' he said glumly. He looked at Frey. 'And you, young man. What is it that you do?'

'I'm in merchandise,' he said. 'Cargo.'

'Ah, you own a shipping line?'

'Indeed I do,' said Frey, accidentally putting on a posh accent as he did so. Amalicia kicked him in the ankle.

'And how are you finding the party?'

Frey leaned in, shielding his mouth with his hand in a parody of conspiracy. 'To tell you the truth, Grand Oracle, I feel like the Ace of Skulls in a hand of Quad Ladies.'

The Grand Oracle's eyes creased in amusement. 'I had that very hand only last week. Four Ladies and I turned over the Ace of Skulls. Lost everything. I was sick as a dog. You play Rake?'

'Oh, I'm just an eager amateur.'

'Perhaps you'd care for a hand or two in the parlour? If the lady wouldn't mind, of course?'

'Darling?' Frey inquired sweetly.

'Please, go ahead. You menfolk must have your games,' said Amalicia. She gave Frey a kiss on the cheek and whispered, 'Nicely done,' in his ear. Then she drifted off across the room in search of other conversation.

Frey walked into the parlour with the Grand Oracle. It was a small, cosy room with high windows looking out over the square. The air was rich with the scent of cigars. Several tables had been laid out, some for cards and some for other traditional parlour games like Peepers and Whizzbang. All of them were occupied, but Frey spied a game of Rake in the corner with a few seats free.

'I imagine having the Allsoul on your side must be a bit of an advantage in cards,' Frey commented, as they made their way to the table.

The Grand Oracle smiled. 'If only I were allowed to abuse my talent so. Are you of our faith?'

'My parents brought me up to worship only cold, hard currency,' Frey lied. 'I've always felt there had to be more to life than that, but . . .' He shrugged. 'Maybe I never found the right teacher.'

'Hmm,' said the Oracle. 'Or perhaps you are not aware of what the Awakeners can do for you. Through us, the Allsoul's favour may be begged to know the future, and even to change it. A great asset in business.'

'I'd heard it was possible, but I never understood how.'

They took seats at the table, returning the nods of the other players as they settled themselves.

'The patterns of the air, the turning of water in a bucket, the arrangement of a shuffled deck - all these are part of the Allsoul's pattern. Nothing is random. There is nothing it does not touch. But through the Cryptonomicon, we have the wisdom to interpret these signs as the voice of the Allsoul. And those with especial skill can arrange signs to speak to the Allsoul itself, and be understood.'

'Amazing,' said Frey, as he emptied out a purse of money that he'd borrowed from Amalicia. 'The arrangement of a shuffled deck is part of the Allsoul's language?'