The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [134]
But there was little information to be had. Grist had disappeared, seemingly without a trace.
As time passed, they got used to each other again. The barbed comments came less often. Conversations were no longer loaded with implications. They were no longer walking on eggshells.
More and more, Frey found himself forgetting that they were supposed to be enemies. And it seemed Trinica was forgetting too.
It wasn’t all plain sailing. The longer he spent with Trinica, the more he was exposed to her rapid, jagged changes of mood. She was prone to black depressions that made her difficult company. But he learned to ride out her fits of anger and her sullen episodes. Because for every storm, there was a period of clear skies and sunlight, where she was suffused with childish joy or testing him with a wry and wicked wit. For those times, there was little he wouldn’t endure.
This evening she was thoughtful, and there was a kind of quiet sadness to her. He wasn’t sure where it had come from, but he’d long ago learned to stop searching for cause and effect where Trinica was concerned. She was a different woman from the one he’d left behind, but now that she was free of that ghoulish makeup, he could almost believe the last twelve years had never happened.
“I’m worried about your crew,” she said suddenly. They were the first words spoken for half an hour.
He blinked. “You are?”
“Aren’t you?”
He thought about that. Worried wasn’t exactly the word he’d use. He was aware that the atmosphere aboard the Ketty Jay wasn’t good, but he’d assumed it would sort itself out without any interference from him.
“It’s just this whole Grist thing,” he said. “Once we catch the bastard, they’ll be alright.”
“They won’t, Darian. They’re coming apart. I know it’s mostly my fault, but still—”
“Your fault? How’s that?”
She gave him a look, her pale face framed by the furred rim of her hood. “You must see that they hate me.”
Darian plucked at the back of his glove. “Hate is a bit strong,” he said. “If we held a grudge against everyone who’d ever screwed us over, we’d have to leave the country. It’s not like we’ve never been ripped off before.”
“Ah,” she said. “I’ll bet you never invited the thief on board afterward, though.”
“That’s true. Except once, and that was to kick the shit out of him.”
She sighed, blowing out a plume of steam. Their feet crunched through the thin crust of old snow that lay on the paths. Two townsmen walked past, leading a shaggy beast of burden, which was towing a piece of machinery on a cart. Frey had seen several of the creatures over the past month, but he still wasn’t exactly sure what they were. Something between a cow and a ram, he supposed, but since they came buried under a mass of knotted and tangled fur, it was difficult to tell. All he knew was that they were immensely strong and they stank like a moldy underwear drawer. He vaguely wondered if they were good to eat.
“Listen,” she said. “You were never the best at seeing what was in front of you, so I’ll explain. Your crew resents me. Not only because I stole from them, but because I’m taking up your time.”
“You think they’re jealous?” he scoffed. “Trinica, they’re not children.”
“Some of them aren’t far off,” she said.
“S’pose you’re right at that.”
“Darian, they’ve lost a friend in Crake. Even I can see that, and I never knew him. At times like that, when things are uncertain and times are bad, a crew looks to its captain for guidance and reassurance. But you’re not there. You’re with me. They can’t understand it, and they don’t like it. Darian, do any of them even know we were almost married?”
“No,” he said, uncomfortable. “I think you’re making a bit much of this, though.”
“No,