The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [45]
“I have no idea what it is,” he said. “But that little ball is putting out a lot of power. Makes the barrier I just broke through look like a card trick.”
Grist’s eyes glittered hungrily. His cigar moved from left to right in his mouth. “Curious,” he said. “Real curious.” He reached out to pick it up. “Perhaps we should—”
He was arrested by the tip of a cutlass, which flicked through the air to press against his throat.
“Perhaps we should pause a moment, Captain Grist,” said Frey, “so you can tell us exactly why we’re here and what we really came for.”
GRIST’S GAZE SLID DOWN the length of the blade to Frey. Frey met him with a defiant stare.
“Now, what you’re doin’ might be thought by some to be an unfriendly action,” Grist said, his voice a gravelly snarl. “One deservin’ of recriminations, if you take my meaning. You’d best not be plannin’ to rip me off, Frey.”
“Odd,” said Frey. “That’s just what I thought you intended to do.”
“Gentlemen!” Hodd said. “Can’t we be reasonable?”
“Me and my crew were brought here under false pretenses,” said Frey, never taking his eyes off the other captain. “This man owes me some answers.”
The suspicions had been there from the start, of course. They always were. Frey never trusted anyone outside his own crew, least of all strangers who came bearing promises of great wealth. He’d been burned that way before. Ever since he’d met Grist, things had been adding up and adding up until there was no doubt left in Frey’s mind. He knew the ways of liars and cheats. He’d done enough of both in his time. He didn’t always figure them out straightaway but, given time, he’d spot them. And as much as he liked Grist, he knew when he was being taken for a ride.
It was that look in Grist’s eyes that did it. That unguarded moment when he reached for the sphere. Greed. Naked lust. It was like the poor saps he’d seen entranced by Crake’s gold tooth. Spellbound.
Grist knew what that sphere was. Frey would have bet his life on it. In fact, he thought, that was probably what he was doing right now.
“What makes you think I ain’t honest, Frey?” Grist said. A barely suppressed rage had darkened his face. Frey was used to seeing him full of bullish bonhomie, but now he caught a glimpse of the other side. Grist was capable of terrible, towering anger. Frey would have to be very careful from now on.
“I’ll tell you,” said Frey. “But, first, tell your bosun that if his hand gets any closer to that pistol, you’ll be smoking your next cigar through a hole in your throat.”
From the corner of his eye, Frey saw Crattle’s hand drift away from his revolver.
“Now,” said Frey. “Let’s begin at the beginning. Fifty-five–forty-five. You remember that?”
“ ’Course I do,” Grist said. “That’s the split we agreed.”
“Right. You agreed to cut me in on forty-five percent of a fortune. Almost half your money. It was your operation; you were just bringing me in. Nobody offers terms like that. I’d have been happy with seventy–thirty.”
“So you’ve a blade to my throat ’cause I was generous?”
“I’m not done. You could have come here with your own crew and kept it all. The only reason you needed me was because of Crake. A daemonist. Because you thought a daemonist might be able to get through this mysterious door Hodd found. In fact, you offered me forty-five percent of the profits on the off chance that my daemonist could help you out. People only offer that kind of money if they aren’t intending to pay it. Easy to make promises you don’t have to keep.”
“If you say so, Cap’n.”
“You made out you had no idea of the nature of that barrier, or even if there was something worth finding behind it,” said Frey. He leaned closer to Grist, smelling the sweat and smoke of him. “But you took a pretty big risk and went to a lot of trouble to get my daemonist here. And it just happened to be right up his alley, isn’t that right, Crake?”
Crake nodded uncomfortably. “Straight daemonism. Nothing to it.”
“You said yourself, you’re not a gambling man,” Frey said to Grist. “So I reckon