The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [165]
The tractor’s engine sounded eerily loud in the quiet of the dawn. The man driving it was Balomon Crund, Trinica’s bosun. He was a squat, ugly man with dirty, matted hair and a burn scar on his neck. Not too easy on the eye, but Trinica thought highly of him. He’d been her most loyal supporter in the mutiny that deposed the Delirium Trigger’s previous captain.
Frey could see why she trusted him. Though he was a taciturn sort, the signs were clear to a man of Frey’s experience. Crund adored her. He’d seen it on the faces of several of her men: a certain sort of veneration, somewhere between affection, respect, and awe. She’d made herself untouchable, put herself on a pedestal, and made them love and fear her. She couldn’t rule by raw strength, so she’d fashioned them a cruel goddess and let them come to her altar.
But the woman they knew wasn’t the one Frey knew. That one had disappeared, it seemed, just as he feared she would.
The sight of Trinica in her makeup and black attire was jarring after a month of seeing her without it. But worse was the change in her behavior. She was distant now, closed off from him. Her black eyes were empty and showed nothing. He told himself she had to be that way in front of her men, but he wasn’t sure that was the whole truth. Perhaps she wore her personalities like a coat, to take off and put on as necessary. Perhaps the feelings he’d thought were growing between them had been the same: another woman’s feelings, not those of a pirate queen.
He caught himself. Damn, what was happening to him? Since when had he spent this much time fretting about a woman? Don’t be such a sap! he told himself.
The streets began to thin out as they came to the eastern edge of the city. Trinica’s men led the way. She’d sent scouts ahead while Frey was off picking up Crake, and their reports had been encouraging. They’d found the warehouses Roke had spoken of, and apparently they’d seen Grist as well and spotted the Storm Dog in its hangar.
The news made Frey restless with excitement. He’d wanted to fly in there and blast the place to pieces. Trinica had persuaded him otherwise. The Coalition Navy might not take kindly to an aerial assault on one of their major cities, she pointed out. Better to make it a ground assault. Take them by surprise. Catch Grist before he could even get his craft into the sky.
There were five in the assault team from the Ketty Jay, the rest from the Delirium Trigger. Harkins had been left with the aircraft and instructed to stay in contact via the earcuffs. Frey would need the pilot’s eyes in case things went airborne. The Delirium Trigger stood ready to take off at a moment’s notice, at a signal from a flare gun Trinica carried. Just in case the Storm Dog got out of its hangar. Grist wasn’t going to slip away again.
They passed early risers and late revelers drifting through the streets. Many had heard of Trinica Dracken and recognized her. They kept their distance, sensing trouble.
There’ll be trouble for someone, alright, Frey thought.
The farther from the landing pad they went, the more the city flattened and spread out. Eventually they reached an industrial district of factories and warehouses. The roads became narrow, bleak, and dirty. Walls crumbled, cracked by frost. The air smelled of chemicals, and the buildings were sooty with residue.
Crund brought the tractor to a halt just before the crest of a rise. Beyond, the road dipped down toward a group of blank brick warehouses huddled round a large aircraft hangar. The warehouses were surrounded by a formidable metal fence, ten feet high and tipped with spikes. A pair of guard towers stood overlooking the compound.
Frey got a better view with his spyglass. They were Yorts, their beards and hair knotted