Retribution Falls - Chris Wooding [1]
Crashing
Retribution Falls is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Spectra Trade Paperback Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Chris Wooding
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Spectra, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
SPECTRA and the portrayal of a boxed “s” are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Originally published in hardcover in the United Kingdom by Gollancz, an imprint of The Orion Publishing Group, a Hachette UK Company, in 2009.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wooding, Chris.
Retribution falls / Chris Wooding.—Spectra trade paperback ed.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-345-52258-0
1. Pirates—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6123.O535R48 2011
823′.92—dc22 2010047793
www.ballantinebooks.com
Cover design: Dreu Pennington-McNeil
Cover illustration: Stephan Martiniere
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
How to Play Rake
About the Author
Chapter One
LAWSEN MACARDE—A QUESTION OF PROBABILITIES—FREY’S CUTLASS—NEW HORIZONS
he smuggler held the bullet between thumb and forefinger, studying it in the weak light of the storeroom. He smiled sourly.
“Just imagine,” he said. “Imagine what this feels like going through your head.”
Grayther Crake didn’t want to imagine anything of the sort. He was trying not to throw up, having already disgraced himself once that morning. He glanced at the man next to him, hoping for some sign that he had a plan, some way to get them out of this. But Darian Frey’s face was hard and showed nothing.
Both of them had their wrists tied together, backs against the damp and peeling wall. Three armed thugs ensured they stayed there.
The smuggler’s name was Lawsen Macarde. He was squat and grizzled, hair and skin greasy with a sheen of sweat and grime, features squashed across a face that was broad and deeply lined. Crake watched him slide the bullet into the empty drum of his revolver. He snapped it shut, spun it, then turned toward his audience.
“Do you think it hurts?” he mused. “Even for a moment? Or is it all over—bang!—in a flash?”
“If you’re that curious, try it out on yourself,” Frey suggested.
Macarde hit him in the gut, putting all of his considerable weight behind the punch. Frey doubled over with a grunt and almost went to his knees. He straightened with some effort until he was standing again.
“Good point,” he wheezed. “Well made.”
Macarde pressed the muzzle of the revolver against Crake’s forehead and stared at Frey.
“Count of three. You want to see your man’s brains all over the wall?”
Frey didn’t reply. Crake’s face was gray beneath his close-cropped blond beard. He stank of alcohol and sweat. His eyes flicked to the captain nervously.
“One.”
Frey showed no signs of reacting.
“I’m just a passenger!” Crake said. “I’m not even part of his crew!” His accent betrayed an aristocratic upbringing that wasn’t evident from his appearance. His hair was scruffy, his boots vomit-spattered, his greatcoat half unbuttoned and hanging open. He was near soiling himself with fear.
“You have the ignition code for the Ketty Jay?” Macarde asked him. “You know how