Chris Wooding - The Black Lung Captain

She'd miscalculated. She'd got so used to being the dread pirate queen that she'd started to believe her own legend. She thought she was untouchable, even without the Delirium Trigger and her crew to back her up. She'd fashioned an image for herself, one that struck fear into the hearts of men, but she'd worn it for so long that she'd come to believe it was a shield.

Today, she'd been rudely reminded that it wasn't. That white make-up, her butchered blond hair, her black eyes and black attire: it was no protection without her men and her aircraft. Worse, it made her a target. Underneath the ghoulish exterior she was still a woman, flesh and blood. She'd die from a bullet or a knife like any other. Perhaps she'd forgotten that, until now.

She'd been made vulnerable. And what was more, it had happened in front of Frey. She hated that.

'That bastard,' she was muttering through gritted teeth, as they dodged between shacks of discarded metal and peeling wood. 'That rotting whore-son bastard.'

'Ah, look on the bright side,' said Frey. 'At least he gave us a way out.'

'This is your fault!' she snapped, turning on him. 'Do you have any idea what you've done? He'd never have dared to do this before.'

'Before I showed you up and the Delirium Trigger got beaten?' Frey suggested maliciously.

Her eyes blazed, and for a moment, Frey thought she would hit him. She was trembling with rage. He belatedly realised that this wasn't the time to be needling her. It had gone beyond a joke.

'Hey,' he said, turning serious. 'It's not so bad. We'll get out of Hawk Point, find Grist, make him pay. You get your revenge, your reputation is restored. Hang his head off the prow of the Delirium Trigger if you like.'

Trinica nodded at that, making a hissing noise through her teeth.

'But until that time,' he said, 'you're going to have to watch out. Every drunk with a knife, every dealer looking for an angle, everyone with a grudge against you, they're all going to be lining up to take their chance. They're going to see that Trinica Dracken's been brought down and they're going to take their shot at you while they can.'

'I can look after myself, Darian,' she snapped.

'Can you?' he asked. 'Can you shoot? Can you fight?'

'I can shoot,' she said, showing him the revolvers in her belt.

'Can you shoot well?'

She glared at him, and he had his answer. Trinica wasn't a fighter. She'd got to where she was by guile, manipulation and sheer ruthlessness. She wasn't physical enough to compete in the brutal world of pirates. She'd used others to protect her and fight in her place. Smart people stayed out of gunfights.

There was no crew to hide behind now, no one to issue orders to. Here, she was out of her element, and it scared her. She hid it behind a wall of frost and rage - perhaps she even hid it from herself that way - but none of that fooled Frey.

He'd not seen her scared for a long time. Not since before their aborted marriage, before he ran out on her. More than a decade had passed and they were both different people now, but the feelings that came to him were the same as if it had been yesterday. He felt protective. He actually wanted to hold her in his arms. But that would be the grossest insult to her, the final humiliation, and she'd never allow it.

'Come on,' he said gently. 'Once you get the Trigger fixed, you can come back here and bomb the shit out of this whole town. How's that?'

'I just might do that,' Trinica said darkly. 'I just might.'

But until then, Frey thought, I'll look out for you.

Their route took them the long way round the settlement, and navigation wasn't easy. A few times Frey had to stop and ask for directions. Usually they wanted money in return, but Frey had a gun, which cut through the tiresome process of haggling. Once they were established as dangerous, the shanty dwellers left them alone. They weren't interested in trouble.

The shanty petered out into a mess of run-down alleys that smelled of old fish and tanneries. Frey got his bearings by shinning up a drainpipe until he could see over the rooftops to where aircraft were taking off from the landing pad. Not far, by the looks of it.

Trinica stuck close to him as he led the way through the alleys. She probably didn't notice she was doing it, but Frey did. It warmed his ego to think of himself as her guardian. For some reason it made him feel a bit better about things.

They came out of the alleys on to something that resembled a street. It was narrow and grubby, but it bore signs of being a thoroughfare, and the buildings on either side didn't look in immediate danger of collapse. That was an improvement on much of the town.

'Spindle Street,' said Trinica, pointing at a faded sign high up on one of the walls.

Spindle Street. Smult had mentioned it. When you come out of the shanties, look for Spindle Street. Follow it to the landing pad.

The landing pad, and the Ketty Jay, and then out of this dump for ever. Frey had a long list of places he never wanted to return to, for one reason or another. Hawk Point had qualified before he'd even landed.

There were a few people about, bartering at stalls or chatting in doorways. 'Just act normal,' he said to Trinica, and they walked out of the alley and down the street.

Frey could feel the glances of the townsfolk as they headed towards the landing pad, but they were left alone. If Smult was right, the men who lay in wait were behind them by now. Only the gunmen at the landing pad were left, as insurance in case they should slip past the others. Jez and Silo should have taken care of them.

Better check , he thought, reaching into his pocket for his earcuff. He was just clipping it to his ear when there was a flurry of movement to his left. An elderly woman was pushed aside as a pair of gunmen came running out of an alleyway, shotguns held at waist height, trained on Frey and Trinica. He heard footfalls behind him and yelps of surprise from the scattering townsfolk. He turned and saw a third man, moving up from behind with a pistol aimed.

'Weapons on the ground! Real slow!' barked the first of the gunmen, a heavyset man with a bushy beard that hung down over his chest.

Trinica looked at Frey, as if expecting him to do something about it. But Frey just shrugged at her. Some guardian I am. That didn't last long.

'Do it,' he said. He threw his revolvers on the ground before him. His cutlass followed. Then he raised his hands.

Trinica was still staring at him, an expression of frustrated disappointment on her face. As if she couldn't understand why he'd given up so easily. As if she'd expected him to fight three men that had the drop on them.

Who does she think I am? he thought angrily. I'm not one of the Century bloody Knights.

But he couldn't hold her gaze, so he turned his head away. After a few moments, he heard her guns clatter down on top of his.

'Bounty's ours, boys!' crowed the second gunman, a long-faced fellow in a dirty shirt, with braces holding up his trousers. 'Trinica bleedin' Dracken!'

'I told you!' said the third one, who'd moved nearer now. He was the youngest of the three, barely old enough to grow a decent stubble on his cheeks. 'Cost us every shillie we had, but she'll be worth it.'

The heavyset man was looking Trinica over. 'Aye. The Navy'll pay us back five times over. You was right; Smult was good as his word.'

Frey felt Trinica tense at the sound of his name. Smult. He'd sold them out twice over. Bleeding all sides for as much money as he could get.

'Your friend Smult,' said Frey under his breath, 'is quite a piece of shit.'

'If we ever get out of this,' said Trinica, 'I'm going to teach him the meaning of suffering.'