Chris Wooding - The Black Lung Captain

'Vases from Thace, armour from Yortland, perfume and necklaces from Samaria,' Trinica murmured as they walked through a narrow aisle between mountains of clutter.

'Bet he doesn't have a mysterious sphere from Kurg,' said Frey, rather childishly.

'Neither do we,' Trinica said. 'That's why we're here, remember?'

'Your man's quite a collector, though,' Frey murmured, looking around in wonderment. 'This stuff must be worth a fortune.'

'No doubt,' said Trinica. 'If you can sift out the valuable bits from the junk.'

'What's the point of all this? He's not showing it off. Does he sell it?'

'Not that I know of,' said Trinica. 'He just likes to have them.'

Frey shook his head. All that wealth, just lying around. Some people weren't meant to be rich. When it was his turn, he intended to do a better job of it.

They were shown in to a dim room, draped in fabrics and stacked with artefacts. There were mannequins and chests of drawers, side tables and mirrors. Stuffed animals glared from the shadows with glassy eyes. The room was stifling and close. Despite the heat of the day, the boiler had to be running hard.

At a table in the corner was Osric Smult. He was sitting on an antique chair, his entire attention focused on the jigsaw before him. Two bored-looking bodyguards were staring vacantly into space as Frey and Trinica were led in. Spotting her, they shook themselves and woke up a little.

'Trinica Dracken,' said Smult, without raising his head. 'Ain't you a sight?'

Frey presumed that was meant as irony, because if Smult had any eyes at all, he certainly couldn't see through them.

Smult was a wiry, tall man, dressed in a faded shirt, trousers and boots, and he wore a wide-brimmed hat. Beneath his clothes, every inch of exposed skin was covered in bandages. Rusty patches of dried pus and blood seeped through here and there. His face was similarly bound, and his eyes wrapped tight. The only gaps were for his mouth, and small holes for the ears and nostrils. Glimpses of the red and blistered skin around his lips indicated some kind of disease that Frey would rather not know about. He looked up at them and smiled horribly, revealing yellowed teeth and breath that smelt of sweet rot, even from across the room.

'Osric Smult,' she said. 'How's your jigsaw?'

'Fine, fine. Man's gotta have a hobby, huh?'

Frey was unable to stop himself. 'How do you, er . . . how do you do a jigsaw when you can't see?'

Smult picked up a piece, turned it round in his hand, running his bandaged fingertips over the edge.

'Don't need to see it to make it fit,' he said. 'And who're you, sir?'

'Darian Frey, captain of the Ketty Jay," Frey said, doing his best to make it sound more impressive than it was.

Smult tilted his head, interested. 'Strange company you're keepin', Miss Dracken,' he said. 'Real strange, considerin'.'

Considering what? thought Frey. How much does he know?

'These are strange times,' Trinica said neutrally.

'They are,' Smult agreed. 'I expect you saw the Navy leave?'

'We did. Might I ask what they were after?'

'Spies,' said Smult.

'Spies?'

Smult was feeling around the ragged interior of his jigsaw, searching for a place to put the piece in his hand. 'Do you remember our beloved Earl Hengar?' he asked.

Frey went pale. He remembered Hengar rather well, since he'd accidentally killed him when he accidentally blew up the Ace of Skulls, accidentally. It was an accident, though.

'What does the Archduke's son have to do with it?' said Trinica.

'Well, we all know he was dallying with the Samarlan ambassador's daughter, don't we? Rumour has it that lovestruck young men sometimes say silly things. Unguarded things, the kind that a member of the Archduke's family really shouldn't say. Especially not to a woman who'd have been his mortal enemy only a few years before.' Smult scratched at his cheek. New bloodstains seeped through the bandages. Frey tried hard not to notice. 'Apparently, he said a lot of them.'

'He was leaking secrets to the Sammies?'

'Maybe. That's what the Navy think, anyway, though they'd never say as much. Probably Hengar reckoned it was all over and everyone was friends again. He always was a brainless boy. That's why the people loved him. He appealed on their level.' He lifted up his head and turned his face towards Frey. An ugly leer spread across his lips. 'Whoever killed him did us all a favour.'

Frey attempted to look nonchalant, then stopped when he realised it was useless against a blind man. Hengar's death had been widely reported as the result of a catastrophic engine malfunction. Only a few people knew Frey had been involved in it, and he wasn't keen on advertising the fact. Smult's grin made him distinctly uncomfortable.

'Anyways,' Smult said at length. 'Seems like the Sammies suddenly know more than they -should about certain things. Navy came by to see if I could help them with their investigations.'

'And could you?' Trinica asked.

'Oh yes,' he said. 'But I didn't. I don't work for Navy, whatever the price. A man needs principles.' He pressed the jigsaw piece into place, and it fitted with a click. Then he sat back in his chair, as if well satisfied with his achievement. 'So,' he said. 'To business. You'll be looking for Harvin Grist, then?'

If Trinica was as surprised as Frey was, she didn't show it. 'News travels fast,' she said.

'I make it my business to be the first to know,' said Smult. 'That's why I charge what I charge.'

'And you know where he is?'

'Not yet. But I have my eyes and ears out there. It won't be long. In the meantime, I can point you in the right direction.'

Trinica produced a bag of coins from some concealed pocket in her clothing. Frey hadn't even known she was carrying any. She held it up and jingled it. Smult tilted his head, listening.

'Why don't you tell me what you do know?' Trinica suggested. 'And I'll come back with more when you find him.'

Smult nodded at his bodyguard, who took the bag from Trinica and opened it up. Frey stared at it enviously. It galled him that Trinica could throw money around like that when he had barely enough to keep the Ketty Jay in the air. But he was damned if he'd ask her for any. That would be too much to take.

The bodyguard whispered in Smult's ear, then put the bag on the table next to him. Smult nodded and waved him away.

'Harvin Grist,' said Smult. 'Here's what I know. Born in White-rock, north of Marduk. Cold up there. His father was a scholar. Maurin Grist. Mother died of some kind of wasting disease; Grist watched her go. Long, drawn-out affair. Quite traumatised the boy, if I understand correct.' Smult's tongue, rough with boils, slipped out to lick at dry lips. 'Maurin moved them to Bestwark soon after. Had a position at the university. Went on to become a big name there.'

Frey opened his mouth to ask what his father had to do with anything, but Trinica silenced him with a glare. Frey rolled his eyes and settled back on his heels. He had the feeling that Smult was showing off the fact that he had all this information to hand.

Just tell us where to look for him!

'By all accounts, the boy didn't get much attention,' Smult continued. 'Maurin was wrapped up in his work. Distant sort. Young Harvin was an outstandin' student, sportsman, all of that. The pride of his school. But Daddy didn't notice. In fact, the only time Daddy noticed him was when he was misbehavin'. So he misbehaved. And he kept on misbehavin'. Went off the rails, I believe is the term.'

Trinica was listening closely. She seemed to be finding some value in this tale that Frey was obviously missing.

'So he's smart? Educated?' she inquired.

'Smart, yes. Educated, to a point.'