The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [216]
“Not that,” said Frey, holding up his hand. “That’s yours.”
She hesitated. “And the compass?”
“That’s mine.”
She smiled reluctantly. “Very well, Darian,” she said. “As you wish.” And she slipped the ring back into place.
“So where now for you?” he asked, before he could begin to feel mawkish.
“I believe I might pay a visit to Osric Smult, a certain whispermonger of my acquaintance. He and I have unfinished business. And you?”
“Bestwark University. We’ll go see Professor Kraylock. Reckon he’ll know what to do with Maurin Grist’s research.”
“It’ll be a powerful blow to the Awakeners. Have you thought what will happen if they discover you were behind it? Are you certain you want to stir up the big fish?”
“Crake would never forgive me if I didn’t,” he said. “Besides, I got kind of sick of all this small-time grubbing about I’ve been doing. You have to take a risk now and then, right? That’s the point. If you don’t take a risk, you’ll never do anything worth half a shit.”
In fact, the idea of stirring up the big fish had begun to hold a certain appeal for him. He was a man who’d always tried to avoid the notice of everyone stronger than he was. He’d always preferred to deal with bottom-feeders, the dregs of the world, people who he reckoned he could safely outwit. He’d considered it a sensible strategy, since it had kept him alive thus far. But just staying alive wasn’t enough anymore. It wasn’t sufficient to drift through a middling existence, making little impact on anyone, to slip quietly into an obscure death with only the fond memories of a few friends to mark him.
He wanted to be someone. He wanted to make a difference. It was a feeling he hadn’t had since he was a boy.
He’d been haunted by a sense of worthlessness for some time now, but no longer. He’d done something extraordinary, and all of Vardia would know it. This time wasn’t like the last, at Retribution Falls, when his involvement was secret and he’d been only interested in saving his own hide. This time he’d done something no one had ever done before, and, what was more, he’d done it for someone else’s sake.
What will I leave behind? he thought to himself. A damn good story. A tale they’ll tell over and over. And that’s enough.
She seemed to catch his thought. “You know, they’re all talking about you in the taverns. What you did.” She raised an eyebrow. “They drew their own conclusions as to your motives. I suppose it appeals to the doomed romantics.”
“I thought you wouldn’t want it getting out. Can’t be good for your reputation.”
“Men will talk,” she said. “I can’t stop that. My crew has rather revised its opinion of you, it seems.”
“And what about you?”
She didn’t answer that, but her gaze flickered awkwardly away from him. Frey cursed himself. He’d meant it to sound light, but the conversation had taken a sudden turn into territory that neither was comfortable with.
“Darian,” she said softly. “I’m not what you imagine me to be.”
“I know,” he said. “And you’ve done your damnedest to prove it.”
“What you feel … It’s meant for somebody who died a long time ago.”
“She didn’t die. She changed, that’s all.”
“Yes. She changed. Into something you don’t want.”
“Don’t tell me what I want. I know what I want.”
She looked up at him, and a wry expression creased the corners of her eyes. “That’s not like you at all, Darian.”
What he wanted was to gather her in his arms. It was a physical need. The barrier between them was almost unendurable. But he felt that to do so would be to shatter something that had been built between them, some delicate and fragile understanding. He knew what she’d been through in those years they’d been apart. The touch of a man, any man, would most likely not be welcome. And he had no right to her, anyway, after what he’d done. As hard as it was to stop himself, it would be worse if she rejected him or coldly suffered his embrace.
So he didn’t reach