Dark Space - Marianne de Pierres [45]
‘For Cruxsakes…back here. I…lose ... Principe’s son . . . useless cazzone.’
Useless cazzone. Christian’s words stopped Trin like a blow to the head, right there, in the billowing thick whirl of the smoke stream.
How many times had he thought the exact same of others? Countless.
If he died here, he would be as inconsequential as them: as pathetic and ignoble. The idea was more overpowering than the fire roaring behind him. He wanted to spill his rage into the fire. I am important! I am…
For no reason of valour—only the knowledge that the balance should be tipped—Trin returned to the fallen Carabinere and took the shears from the FR kit strapped to the man’s back. With precise strokes he cut through the hoses, releasing Malocchi’s twisted foot.
Malocchi gripped Trin’s shoulders and leaned gratefully against him.
Trin helped him to his feet. ‘Montforte!’ he shouted again. ‘Montforte!’
But there was no reply. And he could see nothing through his melted goggles now, or feel much, save a sense of rectitude.
Their intertwined walk turned quickly to a stagger — Trin had never borne the true weight of another man before—and his muscles betrayed him. Collapse would take them soon, anyway, when their breathers faltered. He began to cough uncontrollably—they both did, bent over with the heaving and gasping of it. So much so that neither of them saw the TerV looming ahead through the smoke.
* * * *
Trin rode in the Capitano’s vehicle past the line of evacuated mud casas and white villettes, back to the compound. With trembling gloved fingers he detached his hood and gulped in the cooler cabin air.
‘The wind will push the fire north onto the sand. It will burn itself out. We have evacuated the edge of town to be sure. But I think we are fortunate it will not spread there,’ said Christian.
Trin stared at him aghast. ‘I risked . . . you risked your men for mere grain?’
‘For our main food source. Si,’ he said flatly.
‘But there are stockpiles at Dockside.’
‘Our grain is allocated on a priority system that must be approved by the Principe—it is the same for all our imported commodities. It is unlikely that he would risk depletion of the familia central stores.’
‘Are you saying that my father would let you starve?’
Christian gave a grim but unreadable smile. ‘You stink, Pellegrini.’
Trin became aware of the foul stickiness of vomit on his face and neck. Somehow it did not seem as important as it should.
* * * *
Christian called Trin to his office when the new duty crew signed on. The Capitano reeked of scorched polymer and the blisters on his face seeped little rivulets of fluid onto his silk innersuit. His expression was morose and dull with fatigue as he slumped in his chair.
Trin knew his own skin had not fared much better and the throbbing of his burns gave him an odd sense of fellowship with the Carabinere.
‘Nathaniel Montforte will relieve you on shortcast for this shift. You saved one of us today. Sleep and recover,’ said Christian. ‘And salve those burns.’
The Capitano’s consideration took him by surprise. ‘Grazi.’
Yet when Christian left Trin found it impossible to relax. Energy coursed through him still like an unsteady pulse. He washed in the cramped basin and donned fresh clothes.
Young Nathaniel Montforte hung behind him as he applied burn-gel from the office medikit. It was awkward—doing these things for himself.
‘What was the fire like, Don Trinder? Did it scare the seed from your balls? I heard you saved Seb Malocchi,’ prattled Nathaniel.
But Trin had no interest in feeding the younger man’s imagination. ‘I will take transport to the market for food,’ he said.
Out in the compound Trin discovered that his AiV had been repaired and shifted to a corner. He made his way over to it, half expecting to be stopped, but unlike the Cavaliere the duty crew paid him no attention—save for the hissing-motor and muffled-laughter noises that they made.
Trin settled his AiV in the vehicle bay adjacent to the Bear and Pearl gate façade of Villa Fedor.
Istelle answered the gate-call and let him in.