The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [127]
Trinica was, though. She chatted pleasantly with Kraylock, asking him about his studies and the affairs of the university, commenting on some rare sculpture he had in an alcove. This was the Trinica he remembered. The Trinica who would charm the socks off her father’s guests at some swanky dinner function. The Trinica who you could talk to for hours, because she made you feel that everything you said was fascinating and important.
Frey’s eyes roamed the study, idly wondering if there was anything worth stealing. There was a lot of potentially valuable junk here. A brass orrery, an ornamental spyglass. Furniture that looked older than the planet. And books. Lots of books.
Frey distrusted books. He had a sneaking suspicion that most people only bought them to make themselves seem impressive. He couldn’t possibly imagine anyone reading so many massive, boring tomes. Had Kraylock really plowed through every one of the forty volumes of the Encyclopedia Vardia? Or the whole of Abric’s Discourses on the Nature of Mankind? He doubted it.
“I do appreciate you taking the time to speak with us,” Trinica was saying. “But could I ask why Professor Grist wasn’t able to meet us himself?”
“Because he’s dead,” Kraylock replied. “In fact, I was rather surprised you didn’t know that yourself. It’s been almost two years now.”
Great, thought Frey. Just great.
Trinica looked appropriately bewildered. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”
“You didn’t, hmm? Your letter said you were interested in discussing his research. What research, exactly, were you interested in discussing?”
It was obvious by his tone that the game was up before it had begun. Kraylock didn’t believe their cover story for a moment. Trinica was still searching for a response when Frey leaned forward. “Look,” he said. “We’re not students. We’re searching for Professor Grist’s son, Harvin. He’s stolen something from us and we want it back. Well, actually the Awakeners stole it first, but that’s by the by. We were hoping to talk to his dad and get an idea where he was. But his dad’s dead, so …” He spread his hands. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”
He was getting out of his chair when Kraylock spoke. “The Awakeners, you said. They stole something from you?”
“Right.”
“May I hazard a guess as to what it was?”
“If you like.”
“Something to do with the Manes?”
Frey became suddenly interested again. “That’s quite a guess.”
Kraylock motioned at him with one thin hand. “Sit down.”
Frey did so. Kraylock regarded them both from behind his glasses. “Do you intend to kill him? Harvin, I mean?”
Trinica leaned forward, her face solemn. “He has a Mane artifact that could be extremely dangerous. We believe he intends to use it to cause harm to a lot of people. We’re trying to stop him. But first we need to find him.”
Kraylock studied them, searching for a lie, finding none. Eventually he sighed. “That boy,” he said. “He was nothing but heartache for Maurin. I always knew he’d come to a bad end.”
“Can you tell us about Maurin Grist?” Trinica said. “What was his field of research?”
Kraylock blinked. “Isn’t it obvious? Manes. He was the foremost authority on Manes in Vardia. Perhaps the world.”
Frey and Trinica exchanged a glance.
“We were friends for thirty years,” he said. “We spoke often about his research. He believed the Manes’ condition was a result of daemonic possession. That is nothing new, of course. It is a theory that has been widely discussed in the scientific community. But his unique idea concerned the nature of the daemon itself. Do you know what a symbiote is?”
Trinica gave the answer. Frey suspected it was more for his sake than anything else. “It’s an entity that bonds with another entity for the mutual benefit of both.”
“Exactly. The daemon doesn’t consume or destroy its host. Maurin had assembled witness testimonies from survivors of Mane raids. He—”
“Hang on,” said Frey. “I thought Manes didn’t leave survivors. I heard they hunt down everyone. They say