Sea of Ghosts - Alan Campbell [56]
Granger’s right hand was pinned against his opponent’s chest. He reached around until he felt the handle of one of the Hook-man’s knives. He grabbed the weapon and yanked at it, but it wouldn’t budge. Instead he forced the handle down, trying to turn the blade upwards into the other man’s guts.
Out of nowhere, something cracked against his skull.
The room reeled. He tasted blood.
He wrenched the knife handle down, heard a grunt.
Another blow struck his ear.
Specks of white light flashed at the edges of his vision.
A third blow sent him staggering back against the wall.
‘Fucker cut me.’
The lead Hookman stood ankle deep in brine, clutching a wound in his side. From the small amount of blood evident, Granger could tell that the knife hadn’t gone in very deep. Beside the wounded man, another, taller, fellow gripped a long pole with a curved iron tip. This, then, had to be the weapon that had struck Granger. The pole-wielder stepped aside to let a third, bearded, man into the cell.
‘He’s going to take a swim, Bartle,’ said the beard.
‘Not now,’ said the leader. ‘I want him to see what’s coming.’
Granger’s head still smarted from the blow, and his chest had now begun to ache. He doubted he could get past all three of them without a weapon. He managed a grim smile. It occurred to him that he’d now blown his chance for diplomacy.
The Hookmen’s leader – Bartle, he’d been called – used his boot to slide the pallet away from the hole the in floor. He peered down into the brine, and grinned. ‘Sleeping like a lamb,’ he said to the beard. ‘Go get the nets.’ Then he looked up at Granger. ‘Harbouring the Drowned’s worth twenty years, if you’ve got the cash to pay Maskelyne’s fees. How you stacked for cash, Tom?’
CHAPTER 7
ANOTHER MAN’S PRISON
Two Hookmen remained in Granger’s place while the others took him back to the same jail he’d just come from on Averley Plaza. They frisked him thoroughly for weapons, then marched him up the stairs to the room where he’d met Creedy’s supposed buyer.
Ethan Maskelyne was standing beside one of the windows, his face inclined toward the late-afternoon sun. He didn’t turn around when Granger arrived, but he said, ‘You weren’t supposed to leave here quite so soon.’
Movement caught Granger’s eye. He glanced over at the olea tanks. The body of the man who had chased him outside was floating in the third chamber. Hundreds of tiny blue jellyfish clung to his skin, pulsing softly.
Maskelyne turned round. ‘You should have brought her straight to me, Mr Granger,’ he said. ‘I would have given you a fair price, and we could have avoided all this hostility.’
‘She wasn’t for sale.’ Granger judged the distance between himself and the other man. If he bolted, he could probably reach Maskelyne before his Hookmen took him down, but that wouldn’t be doing Ianthe any favours.
‘Actually, that wasn’t for you to decide.’ Maskelyne studied Granger for a moment. ‘You’re a military man, you understand hierarchy. Whether you like it or not, Mr Granger, our society is structured in a way that the rights of its wealthiest and most powerful citizens take precedence over the rights of others. Considering everything I have given back to the empire over many years, I think this is only fair. I had infinitely more right to decide the girl’s fate than you ever did.’
‘What about Ianthe? Does she have a say?’
Maskelyne smiled. ‘I understand your disappointment. But you needn’t worry about her. If her talents are half of what Mr Creedy tells me they are, she’ll be well rewarded – she’ll certainly have a better life in my care than you could ever have given her.’
How much had Creedy told him? The sergeant was a fool if he thought Maskelyne was going to cut him in on his operation. His body would end up in a tank of seawater before the week was through. ‘Where is Creedy now?’