The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [54]
“Sure sign of you being a bloody fruitcake,” Pinn muttered. “The day I take advice from your bollocks is the day I—”
“Go back to your fairy-tale sweetheart?” Crake finished for him, rather maliciously.
“Hey!” Pinn cried, but Malvery’s guffaw drowned him out.
Frey was getting a bad feeling about this whole situation. It got worse when he heard the crunch of a shotgun being primed behind him. Malvery’s laughter died away to a quizzical and rather worried chuckle.
“Everyone stay right where you are,” said a voice. “Keep your hands away from them pistols!” He heard footsteps on the stony ground. Men coming from the trees behind them.
His heart sank. He should have seen it coming. Should have known Grist would try to pull something.
“Throw your weapons on the ground, all of you!” ordered the voice.
“You just told us to keep our hands away from them!” Frey said. “Make up your mind.”
It wasn’t a smart thing to do, but Frey was frustrated and he couldn’t curb his mouth in time. He was rewarded with a shotgun butt to the back of his head, which sent him to his knees, skull pulsing with white agony.
“Anyone else want to be clever?”
Frey spat bitterly and blinked to try to clear his vision. He pulled out his pistol and tossed it away.
I should have seen it coming. Should never have trusted that bastard. Not even for a moment.
But when he looked up, he saw Grist throwing his own weapon on the ground, his face dark as a thundercloud.
Not him? Then who?
Frey got back to his feet, his hands in the air, and faced the newcomers. There were six he could see and several more stepping into the clearing from the other side. They must have encircled the aircraft and lain in wait. Hard-faced men who looked like they knew their business. The foremost—the one who’d almost brained him with a shotgun butt—was a hulking bruiser with a face like a bag of spanners. A man behind him was fumbling with a flare gun, which he raised and fired into the sky.
“Where’s my crew?” Grist snarled.
“Trussed up safe, Cap’n Grist. Don’t you worry,” said Spanners.
“And mine?” Frey asked.
Spanners gave him a look. “Still in the Ketty Jay, far as I know. She ain’t goin’ anywhere, and nobody’s stupid enough to try gettin’ inside with that golem waitin’. Don’t intend on tanglin’ with that beast twice.”
Twice? Frey thought. Who are these people?
Then he heard the rumbling of engines overhead. He looked up to see the prow of a frigate gliding into sight from behind the peak of a nearby mountain. His heart had already sunk into his stomach; now it felt as if it were trying to make its way down his leg with the intention of tunneling through his foot and heading underground.
He knew that frigate. That black, scarred monster, built like an ocean liner, her deck laden with weaponry.
Trinica Dracken’s craft: the Delirium Trigger.
HE WATCHED THE SHUTTLE descend from the frigate with a deep sense of trepidation. She would be on it, of course. The woman he’d loved once, back when they were both young and didn’t know any better. The woman he’d deserted on their wedding day. The woman who’d tried to kill herself in her grief and only succeeded in killing the baby in her womb. His baby.
But that was a long time ago. Before she became one of the most feared pirates in Vardia. Before she robbed him of a fortune outside Retribution Falls.
Before she changed into something else.
They waited at gunpoint, surrounded by armed men. Their own guns had been unloaded and left in a heap a short distance away, along with their blades and other weaponry. Frey’s cutlass rested on top of the heap; assorted knives, machetes, clubs, and a set of knuckle-dusters were scattered around it.
A cold wind blew across the landing site. Frey tried not to shiver in his wet clothes. He clamped his jaw, which was threatening to tremble. He wouldn’t show any weakness. Not to her.
The shuttle touched down, and a ramp opened to let the passengers out. His stomach was a painful knot of anticipation. Damn it, how did that woman do this to him? Half of him hated her,