The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [119]
There was something deeply unpleasant in his tone, but Frey couldn’t pin it down. Was he gloating? Was there a warning there? A threat? He saw Trinica stiffen slightly.
“And now?” she asked.
“Of late, he’s picked up odd habits. His haunt’s in the north, see. But since the spring before last, he suddenly started turnin’ up wherever the Manes have been.”
“The Manes?”
“They come and go quick,” said Smult. “Take what they want and kill the rest. Nobody knows when or where they’re gonna strike, so nobody can do a thing about it. But whenever they do, you can bet that Grist’ll be there. The same day or the day after. He comes running when the Manes kill. Asking questions. ‘What happened? Where’d they come from? Which way’d they go?’ ” He scratched at his ribs. “Make of that what you want.”
“And you think that’s where he is? In the north?”
“That’s what I think. Up in Marduk and Yortland. Up in the snows.”
“That’s a lot of territory,” Trinica said. “Can you be a little more specific?”
“Can’t work miracles, Miss Dracken,” he said. “I’m fast, but I ain’t that fast. Grist’s kept his head down for a long time now. But I’ll find him. You could come back in a week or so.” He picked up another piece of jigsaw and began feeling around for a place to put it. “Wouldn’t advise it, though.”
“What does that mean?” Frey asked, a little tired of being left out of the nuances of this conversation.
“Means your lady friend took a big chance comin’ here,” Smult said. The shadow of his wide-brimmed hat fell across his face as he turned back to his jigsaw. “Walking around in the open, her craft and crew hundreds of kloms away, with just you for protection? Or perhaps she believes her reputation alone is enough to make men fear her? Foolish attitude, if you ask me. The bounty that’s on her head, someone might be tempted to take a risk.”
Frey’s eyes flickered over the bodyguards. They’d sensed the change in the air and were ready on their guns. He wished he hadn’t given his weapons up at the door now.
Trinica’s expression was hard. “You wouldn’t touch me,” she said to Smult. “You’re a whispermonger. You don’t take sides, and you don’t get involved. If word got out, you’d be ruined.”
Smult cackled. “You reckon me right, Miss Dracken. That bounty ain’t worth a chicken’s arse to me. But I can’t speak for them out there.” He thumbed over his shoulder, in the vague direction of the outside. “Might be there’s people waitin’ for you. People who heard you were comin’ to Hawk Point in the company of some shabby, no-account bunch who couldn’t be trusted to tie their own bootlaces.”
“Hey!” Frey cried. “I can tie my damn bootlaces just fine!”
Trinica ignored him. “You sold them the information,” she said coldly. “You knew I’d be looking for Grist, and you knew I’d come to you first.”
“You said it yourself.” Smult grinned. “I’m a whispermonger. I don’t take sides. Not even yours.”
“This is dogshit!” Frey said. “If they knew we were here, they’d have jumped us the moment we left the landing pad.”
Smult tapped the bag of coins on the table in front of him. “I asked ’em not to. I hate to waste a profit.”
“How much for you to tell us where they’ll be waiting?” Trinica said.
Smult smiled to himself and clicked another piece of his jigsaw into place.
DOUBLE-DEALING—SPINDLE STREET—A SURPRISE
he back streets of Hawk Point could scarcely be called streets at all. They were a shanty of lean-tos and hovels that had crowded together without pattern or purpose. The gaps between dwellings were little more than baked mud tracks strewn with old litter. The wind that blew across the mountains couldn’t find a way into the maze, leaving the air ripe and stale. The inhabitants—old dogs and half-starved cutthroats—stuck to the shadows and sweltered.
Frey kept a wary eye on the shanty dwellers, who watched him warily in return. They were desperate people, ignorant and