The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [144]
Suddenly the chaos turned to stillness. Frey blinked. Somehow, he was on his back, gazing at the sky. Snow was floating down to settle on his face. Everything seemed vaguely dreamlike.
There were faces looking down at him. Some he recognized; one he didn’t. An ugly face, belonging to a giant. Bearded, beetle-browed, cut from rock. Dimly, Frey came to the conclusion that he’d run headfirst into this man’s chest.
Everything swam back into focus. The sound of the gun battle around the corner became loud again. Then another face came into sight—an altogether more pleasant one. He recognized Samandra Bree, of the Century Knights. Which meant the man he’d run into was her partner, Colden Grudge.
She bent over him, hands on her thighs, her tricorn hat perched on her head.
“Hello, Frey,” she said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
A KNIGHT’S DUTY—SIGNS OF THE UNDERGROUND—GRISSOM AND JASK—A STRANGER—FREY INTERROGATES
hey left the miners and the mercs to fight it out and headed away through the alleys. Bree and Grudge led the way, she with her twin lever-action shotguns, he with his colossal autocannon. It was big enough to be mounted on an aircraft, but in his hands it seemed about the right size.
“You’re not going to break up the gunfight?” Malvery asked, as the sounds of dying men diminished behind them.
“Not our problem,” rumbled Grudge.
“Not your problem?” Malvery was faintly appalled. “Then what is?”
“Our problem is back in the refinery,” said Samandra.
“That’s where we’re going now?” Frey asked.
“Yep,” she replied. That suited Frey. If the miners were to be believed, Almore Roke was there.
He drew his cutlass as they hurried through the narrow back ways of Endurance. It made him feel a little better. They’d left all their guns on the ground when they fled, and he felt uncomfortably vulnerable without them.
“I shouldn’t worry,” said Samandra. “The miners might be riled, but they ought to stop short of firing on the Archduke’s Knights.”
“Ought to?” Frey asked.
Samandra shrugged. “Guess you never can tell.”
The snow was coming down thicker now and settling. Frey glanced over at Trinica, who was sticking close to Silo. The Murthian had pulled her out of the crossfire earlier. He’d done a better job of protecting her than Frey had. Frey suppressed a surge of jealousy.
Just be glad no one got hurt. No one important, anyway.
“I should thank you,” he said to Samandra. “For coming to collect us. Didn’t expect an escort.”
“We saw you coming in. Recognized the craft. I wouldn’t soon forget the Ketty Jay. Not after the shit you pulled at Mortengrace.”
Frey grinned. “And you just couldn’t resist.”
“Actually, it was more ’cause I want to pick your brains about Grist.” She winked. “And because it’d just break my heart to see that handsome face shot off.”
“Mine too,” Frey admitted.
He checked on Trinica again. Samandra spotted him. “She’s new,” she said. “Pretty too. What’s the story?” She nudged him in the ribs.
“Her? Passenger,” said Frey. He hoped that he was offhand enough to discourage her interest. Trinica was under sentence of death for treason, and if the Century Knights realized who she was, it’d all be over for her. Luckily, she was all but unrecognizable without her makeup.
Samandra gave him an insinuating smile, but she didn’t pursue the matter.
They came out of the alleys and onto narrow streets. There was more evidence of combat here: bullet holes in the walls, fallen bodies being slowly buried by the snow. Bree and Grudge slipped from corner to corner, covering the angles, each supporting the other. Frey had to admire the seamless way they worked together.
They spotted a group of blue-uniformed mercs ahead, who came sallying out of a side street. They raised their weapons at the sight of the ragtag group coming their way but lowered them again as they identified Bree and Grudge. The Knights and their companions were left to pass unhindered.
Now that the distant gunfire had stopped, silence returned to Endurance.