Retribution Falls - Chris Wooding [17]
“So why are you here?” Crake asked. “Guild-approved doctor, big job in the city, earning a fortune. Why the Ketty Jay?”
Malvery’s mood faltered visibly, a flicker of pain crossing his face. He looked down into his mug.
“Let’s just say I’m exactly where I deserve to be,” he said. Then he rallied with a flourish, lifting his mug for a toast.
“To friends!” he declared. “In whatever form they come, and howsoever we choose to define them.”
“Friends,” said Crake, and they drank.
Chapter Five
FLYING IN THE DARK—PINN AND THE WHORES—A PROPOSITION IS MADE
ight had fallen by the time they arrived at Marklin’s Reach. The decrepit port crouched in the sharp folds of the Hookhollows, a speckle of electric lights in the darkness. Rain pounded down from a slow-rolling ceiling of cloud, its underside illuminated by the pale glow of the town. A gnawing wind swept across the mountaintops.
The Ketty Jay sank out of the clouds, four powerful lights shining from her belly. Her outfliers hung close to her wings as she descended toward a crowded landing pad. Beam lamps swiveled to track her from below; others picked out an empty spot on the pad.
Frey sat in the pilot seat of the Ketty Jay’s cockpit, his eyes moving rapidly among the brass-and-chrome dials and gauges. Jez was standing with one hand resting on his chair back, looking out at the clutter of barques, freighters, fighters, and privateer craft occupying the wide square of flat ground on the edge of the town.
“Busy night,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” said Frey, distracted. Landing in foul weather at night was one of his least favorite things.
He watched the aerium levels carefully, venting a little and adding a little, letting the Ketty Jay drift earthward while he concentrated on fighting the crosswinds that bullied him from either side. The bulky craft jerked and plunged as she was shoved this way and that. He swore under his breath and let a bit more gas from the trim tanks. The Ketty Jay was getting overheavy now, dropping faster than he was comfortable with, but he needed the extra weight to stabilize.
“Hang on to something,” he murmured. “Gonna be kind of rough.”
The Ketty Jay had picked up speed now and was coming in far too fast. Frey counted in his head with one eye on the altimeter, then, with a flurry of pedals and levers, he wrenched the thrusters into full reverse, opened the air brakes, and boosted the aerium engines to maximum. The craft groaned as its forward momentum was canceled and its descent arrested by the flood of ultralight gas into its ballast tanks. It slowed hard above the space that had been marked out for her, next to the huge metal flank of a four-story freighter. Frey dumped the gas from the tanks and she dropped neatly into the vacant spot, landing with a heavy thump on her skids.
He sank back in the chair and let a slow breath of relief escape him. Jez patted him on the shoulder.
“Anyone would think you were worried for a moment there, Cap’n,” she said.
WATER SPLATTERED IN PUDDLES on the landing pad as the crew, wrapped in slickers and stamping their feet, assembled at the foot of the Ketty Jay’s cargo ramp.
“Where are Malvery and Crake?” Frey asked.
Silo thumbed at the ramp, where a slurred duet could be faintly heard from the depths of the craft.
“Hey, I know that one!” Pinn said, and began to sing along, off-key, until he was silenced by a glare from Silo.
“What are we doing here, Cap’n?” Jez asked. The others were hugging themselves or stuffing their hands in their pockets, but she seemed unperturbed by the bitter wind.
“There’s a man I have to see. A whispermonger, name of Xandian Quail. There shouldn’t be any trouble, but that’s usually when there’s the most trouble. Harkins, Pinn, Jez, grab your guns and come with me. Silo, you take care of the docking permits, watch the aircraft, and all that.” The tall Murthian nodded solemnly.
“Think I might need to do some diagnostics,” blurted Harkins suddenly. “Check out the Firecrow, you know? She was all tick-tick-tick on the port side, don’t know what it