The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [154]
“I’m full of surprises these days,” Frey said, giving her a wave.
They were safe up here. The Century Knights would have their hands full defending the staff of Gradmuth Operations from their irate employees. And, better still, he had Roke, a man who claimed to know where Grist was. In fact, when you thought about it, he’d done pretty bloody well. Trinica had better be impressed with that.
Frey walked to the edge of the roof as the others climbed out of the elevator and the Ketty Jay eased in to land between the chimneys. There was gunfire from below. Workers and mercs battling in the courtyard, taking cover behind anything they could find. From up here, the conflict seemed a lot less urgent than it had when he was down among it. Let them fight it out; it wasn’t his affair. He had more important things to deal with.
He heard a commotion behind him and turned around to see that the Samarlan had started up on Silo again. Damn it, this was getting out of hand. He strode over there. Silo was walking away, his head down and his fists clenched, but the Samarlan was following him, yelling at him in his own strange language.
“What happened now?” Frey asked Trinica as he came closer.
“The Samarlan’s annoyed because Silo got out of the elevator before he did,” said Trinica. “It’s not done, apparently.” Trinica looked up at him. “Darian, I don’t know how much more your man’s going to take of this. That Samarlan seems to think he’s still a—”
She never finished, because at that moment the Samarlan, angered that Silo was ignoring him, slapped him round the back of the head. Frey groaned and put his hand over his face.
“That’s done it,” he said.
Silo rounded on the Samarlan, stared at him a moment, then smashed the butt of his shotgun into his mouth. The Samarlan staggered back, clutching his bleeding face, his eyes wide. He was making incoherent gasping noises, as if he couldn’t catch his breath. Silo descended on him, his expression furious. He grabbed the Samarlan by his shoulders and began dragging him toward the edge of the roof.
“Stop him!” Roke cried in alarm. “Unharmed! That was the deal!”
Malvery looked to Frey expectantly, waiting for the signal to intervene. But Frey had had enough of asking Silo to take the Samarlan’s abuse just so he could get some information. He’d been putting Harvin Grist before the needs of his crew for too long now.
“Sorry, Roke,” he said. “Your mate’s got it coming.”
“Bloody right,” muttered Malvery, with an approving nod.
The Samarlan didn’t even resist as Silo pulled him along. No doubt he was still too shocked at being struck. He probably never even entertained the thought that Silo would throw him off the roof, until he was airborne.
They listened to his shrill scream all the way down. It was cut short with a faint thump. Silo walked back toward Frey and stood before him.
“Feel better?” Frey inquired.
“Sorry I did that, Cap’n,” he said, but his head was held high and he looked prouder than Frey had ever seen him.
“No, it’s me who should be sorry,” said Frey. “You’re a free man on my crew. You shouldn’t have had to suffer that.”
He held out his hand. Silo took it and shook.
Roke was gaping in disbelief. “You killed … you just …!” He took a step back from Silo, as if from a madman. “The deal’s off! You hear?”
He got another step before he heard the click of a pistol hammer being cocked and felt the muzzle of a gun in the back of his head. Trinica was on the other end of it.
“You gave it a good try,” said Trinica to Frey. “But that’s enough of being nice. Let’s do this quick and easy.” And she shot Roke in the back of the knee.
Roke dropped to the ground, trying to scream but unable to make a noise. Blood steamed on the snow-covered roof. Trinica walked round to stand over him. Frey and the others had instinctively stepped back. Suddenly all his romantic thoughts of his old sweetheart had disappeared. This was the Trinica who’d robbed and killed and plundered her way across Vardia. Even without her makeup and attire, he could see it in her manner.