The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [120]
They had a bad lot, all in all. But desperate people tended to do desperate things, so Frey’s hand was never far from his pistol.
Smult had been good enough to return their weapons after he’d taken Trinica for all the money she had. He’d given them detailed information about where their enemies lay in ambush for them and told them how to avoid the traps. Now they were on their way back to the Ketty Jay, taking a route through the outskirts that circled the settlement. Scurrying like rats, hoping to stay unnoticed.
Frey had to admire the whispermonger’s gall. Selling out Trinica, then selling out the people he’d sold her out to. Trinica, however, was not at all amused. She was incandescent with suppressed rage.
He took the silver earcuff from his pocket and clipped it on. “Jez? Can you hear me?”
“Cap’n.” She sounded faintly surprised. Perhaps she hadn’t expected him to speak to her.
“There are two men with rifles covering the landing pad. One in the northeast corner on the roof of the dockmaster’s office. The other one’s on the roof of the warehouse to the northwest. They won’t be watching out for you; they’re waiting for us. Think you and Silo can take care of them?”
“Of course, Cap’n,” she said. “Are you in trouble?”
“When aren’t I?” he replied, and took off the earcuff.
Trinica was glowering at him. “You can speak to your crew with that? That’s a good trick.”
“I’m just full of ’em,” Frey said with a wink. He was unaccountably light of heart, despite their predicament. Perhaps because, for once, Trinica was getting screwed over rather than him. She didn’t seem to like the taste of her own medicine very much.
She snorted in disgust and turned away, concentrating on the route. Frey followed her, mildly amused. He knew exactly why she was so mad. You didn’t get to the point of almost marrying someone without having a little insight into their character. And he had to admit, despite the threat to his own life, he was rather enjoying her discomfort.
She’d miscalculated. She’d got so used to being the dread pirate queen that she started to believe her own legend. She thought she was untouchable, even without the Delirium Trigger and her crew to back her up. She’d fashioned an image for herself, one that struck fear into the hearts of men, but she’d worn it for so long that she’d come to believe it was a shield.
Today she’d been rudely reminded that it wasn’t. That white makeup, her butchered blond hair, her black eyes and black attire: it was no protection without her men and her aircraft. Worse, it made her a target. Underneath the ghoulish exterior, she was still a woman, flesh and blood. She’d die from a bullet or a knife like any other. Perhaps she’d forgotten that, until now.
She’d been made vulnerable. And what was more, it had happened in front of Frey. She hated that.
“That bastard,” she was muttering through gritted teeth, as they dodged between shacks of discarded metal and peeling wood. “That rotting whoreson bastard.”
“Ah, look on the bright side,” said Frey. “At least he gave us a way out.”
“This is your fault!” she snapped, turning on him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? He’d never have dared to do this before.”
“Before I showed you up and the Delirium Trigger got beaten?” Frey suggested maliciously.
Her eyes blazed, and for a moment Frey thought she would hit him. She was trembling with rage. He belatedly realized that this wasn’t the time to be needling her. It had gone beyond a joke.
“Hey,” he said, turning serious. “It’s not so bad. We’ll get out of Hawk