The Ace of Skulls

by Chris Wooding

  Frey ran after her. He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t have anything. He was simply swept along in the momentum. Small arms would be no good against a Tabington Wrath, but he was damned if he’d hide inside his aircraft either. He felt stupid and reckless. He was in the mood to shoot someone.

  They found Harkins and Pelaru outside. The chill hit him through his long johns and his bare feet sank into cold, wet earth. The grass was dewed with the morning. The crew had taken cover where they could find it: behind the Ketty Jay’s landing struts, behind the Firecrow, behind black volcanic rocks. Bess was stamping the ground; she’d been idle too long. The Wrath descended from a gloomy sky, coming in to land alongside them.

  ‘How’d they know we were here?’ Ashua cried over the roar of the engines.

  ‘Who cares?’ Frey shouted, though the question hadn’t been directed at him. ‘If they give us any shit, gun the bastards down!’

  Malvery looked at him in disbelief. ‘That’s Coalition troops up there!’ he said, pointing.

  ‘I’m not going quietly to the noose, Malvery,’ he called back.

  ‘Look!’ said Ashua.

  The electroheliograph on the Wrath was flashing. Frey made a hopeless attempt to figure it out before remembering that Jez was with them too.

  ‘Jez!’ he called.

  ‘I got it, Cap’n,’ she replied. ‘They don’t want to fight, Cap’n. They’re saying there’s no need for the weapons.’

  ‘We’ll decide that,’ said Frey.

  ‘Hold your fire till they’re down!’ Silo shouted. Frey felt a momentary surprise at hearing Silo give an order. Sometimes he had to remind himself that the Murthian was his first mate. It had only been a few months since he’d accepted the job, and Frey still wasn’t used to him being assertive.

  The Wrath settled itself in the clearing alongside the Ketty Jay, and put down its passenger ramp. Frey blinked to try to clear the lingering fog in his head and sighted down his pistol at the doorway. If Kedmund Drave stuck his head out of that door . . .

  ‘Whoa! Whoa! Don’t shoot!’ came a voice from inside. And out came Crake, hands held to the sky, a wide grin on his face.

  The tension broke. The crew laughed and cried out in relief. They broke cover and went running over to him.

  ‘Wait!’ Frey called, but nobody was listening. ‘There’s still . . . I mean, Coalition craft . . . Guns . . . Oh, never mind.’ And he went running over himself.

  Bess led the charge, pounding across the turf. Crake had to prevent her from hugging him for fear of snapping his bones. But he hugged her first of everyone, and pressed his face against her faceplate, and whispered something that could only be an apology.

  When he was done with Bess, he greeted the rest. Ashua lit up at the sight of him. Malvery roared with laughter and pummelled him on the shoulder. The others were grinning, except Pelaru, who stood apart. Even Jez got in on the joy, and Crake, to his credit, didn’t flinch when he touched her. Silo clasped his arm hard. Finally Frey made his way through the press, and Crake’s eyes met his.

  Frey felt the warmth of new hope at the sight of his friend. Even though bleak despair lay on his shoulders, Crake lifted him. He’d come back. Frey’s crew was one of the few good things he’d found in this world, and Crake was a big part of that. In the back of his mind, he’d feared the worst when he lost Crake in Korrene, and he blamed himself for it. But that, at least, wouldn’t weigh on his conscience any more.

  They looked at each other, both trying to find the words. In the end, none were needed. They embraced, and that was enough.

  ‘Damned good to have you back, mate,’ Frey said, with feeling.

  ‘Seems you misplaced your daemonist, Captain Frey,’ said a voice. Samandra Bree was standing on the ramp, one hand on a cocked hip, gazing at them from beneath her tricorn hat with an amused look on her face.

  ‘Ah, he’s never gone for long,’ Malvery boomed.

  ‘Not while I’ve got this,’ said Crake, holding up his compass. As ever, it was pointing towards the silver ring on Frey’s little finger.

  ‘So you made it to the forward base after we lost you, then?’ Frey asked Crake.

  ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘Long story. But what about you? What did I miss? Did you find Trinica?’

  Her name killed the mood like a curse. The happiness slid off Frey’s face and he went ashen.

  ‘Oh,’ said Crake.

  Samandra came down the ramp. She laid a supportive hand on Crake’s back, sensing the tragedy in the air. Nobody spoke for a few moments. The wind blew between them, smelling of rain.

  ‘Miss Bree,’ said Malvery gravely. ‘We gotta talk. There’s some things the Coalition need to know.’

  She looked him up and down. ‘Well, alright,’ she said. ‘Can they wait until you’ve all changed out of your pyjamas, though?’

  They gathered in the Ketty Jay’s mess over several pots of strong coffee. By the time they’d all squeezed in, there wasn’t much room left. Colden Grudge stood against the wall near the ladder, hulking, bearded and crag-faced. Leaning in the corner was Morben Kyne, arms crossed and head lowered, his cowl hanging over his mask. Silo watched the two Century Knights carefully from where he stood on the other side of the room. He knew Grudge and trusted him well enough, but Kyne was an unknown.

  The rest were jammed round the table that was fixed in the centre of the room. Even Slag had attended, sensing an occasion. The oven had been left open and he was sitting inside. He groomed his paw and watched proceedings with half an eye.

  They told their stories, and Silo listened. Frey’s he knew. Crake’s he didn’t. The news that the Awakeners were trying to take the countryside by pushing out or converting the aristocracy was troubling, but hardly unexpected. The fact that they were using Imperators to do it made things a sight more serious.

  There were things that didn’t add up about the daemonist’s tale, however. He told them his father employed the Shacklemores to find him and bring him back to help Condred, but it sounded more like a kidnapping. The others believed him, but Murthians were adept at reading faces, and he saw a pain much deeper than the loss of his father and family home. Crake’s story was an edited version: there were things he wasn’t telling them.

  Samandra’s account was truthful, at least. When Crake hadn’t returned, she’d asked about. It seemed she had a hard time believing Crake would skip out on her when they’d made plans. Well, that woman might be a little full of herself, but she was right. She remembered Crake’s reaction when he saw the Shacklemores in the camp, so she went and asked them, and they told her where he’d been taken. They couldn’t turn down a Century Knight.

  ‘I’d heard my father had sent bounty hunters looking for me,’ said Crake. ‘I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to go back. That’s why I reacted that way. You’d know why if you met him.’

  That was a lie. Silo knew it. And he saw in Jez’s face that she knew it too. Whatever Crake thought the Shacklemores wanted him for, it wasn’t for any family reunion. But the Ketty Jay was a place where a man might keep his secrets, and Silo wasn’t about to pry.

  When all the stories were done, they sat in the silence that followed new revelations.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ Malvery asked eventually. ‘We tell the Archduke, right?’ He was looking at Bree. Authority had shifted to her, as far as he was concerned. Divided loyalties in that man, that was certain. Silo would have to keep an eye on him, like he did with Ashua and Pelaru.

  Bree sat back and spread her fingers out on the table. ‘I gotta be honest, fellers. Me, I believe you. You might be a bunch of selfish bastards without the least regard for anything but the safety of your own precious arses, but even you lot aren’t stupid enough to be on the Awakeners’ side for real.’

  ‘Er . . .’ said Ashua. ‘Thanks?’

  ‘Problem is, you gotta convince the Archduke and his generals,’ she continued. ‘And you wouldn’t believe how stubborn a bunch of dumb old men with medals ca
n be. When we told ’em about what went down in Samarla, I swear they’d’ve called it desert fever or some such bullshit if we hadn’t been Century Knights. Even then, they couldn’t see why they needed to concern ’emselves, since we blew the place up. That little box of delivery orders you gave us, Doc, that was the only thing that convinced ’em. Men like that, they need proof before they’ll do a damn thing.’

  ‘Told you,’ Ashua said to Malvery, and took a mouthful of coffee.

  Malvery ignored her. ‘But you can tell them, can’t you? They’ll believe you.’

  ‘I ain’t seen what you seen,’ she said. ‘I can vouch for you, but I can’t lie to ’em. And, no offence, but you lot ain’t much in the Archduke’s good graces since you killed his son.’

  Ashua choked and blasted a mouthful of coffee across the table into Crake’s face. Crake took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his cheeks.

  ‘That happens a lot,’ he told Samandra by way of explanation.

  ‘You killed his bloody son?’ Ashua cried. ‘Earl Hengar? Why didn’t anyone tell me that before I joined this ham-arsed outfit?’

  ‘Slipped my mind,’ Frey said. He was looking steadily at Pelaru. ‘Besides, it was an accident. You know we were set up.’

  Silo was watching Pelaru as well. That may have been new information to him, or it might not. Either way, the whispermonger knew too much. It might become necessary to ensure he didn’t leave the Ketty Jay. Ever.

  ‘Look, whatever excuses you got don’t improve the Archduke’s disposition any,’ said Samandra. ‘You got off the death warrant ’cause you led us to Retribution Falls, but there’s a long way from that to forgivin’ you, and even longer to believin’ you. Not when Kedmund Drave himself says he saw you fightin’ on the Awakeners’ side with his own eyes.’

  ‘Oh, Cap’n,’ said Crake, in the tone of a disappointed parent. ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘I was chasing you through a warzone after you minced off in a strop!’ Frey cried. ‘It was that or get shot by some git in a dress.’

  ‘I think they’re called cassocks,’ Ashua put in scathingly.

  ‘Whatever.’ Frey sat back and crossed his arms.

  ‘Put yourselves in their shoes, Frey,’ Samandra said. ‘They’re responsible for hundreds of thousands of troops. They have a war they think they can easily win. Are they really gonna go charging off after some secret weapon on the say-so of a bunch of pirates with a history of betraying them? Far as they’re concerned, this could be an Awakener trap. They won’t even listen.’

  ‘So what will convince them?’ Malvery asked.

  ‘We need proof,’ said Samandra. ‘At the very least, one of us needs to see it for ourselves.’ She indicated the Century Knights in the room.

  ‘Piss on ’em if they won’t listen to us!’ Frey cried. ‘We’ve warned you. Now what are we gonna do about Trinica?’

  There was silence around the table again. The crew exchanged awkward glances. Slag, sensing a vacuum in the collective attention of the room, left his spot inside the oven and jumped up on to the table. He sat hopefully in the middle for a few moments, then when nobody stroked him he padded over to Jez and slipped down into her lap.

  ‘Cap’n,’ said Silo. ‘She gone.’

  ‘She’s not gone!’ he snapped. ‘She’s not gone! Not while she’s still alive!’

  ‘They put a daemon inside her, Cap’n,’ said Malvery gently.

  ‘And he can take it out!’ Frey cried, thrusting a finger at Crake. ‘Can’t you?’

  Crake looked pale. He swallowed. You want to say no, Silo thought. Say it.

  ‘I’ve never heard of anyone converting an Imperator before,’ Crake began weakly.

  ‘Screw what you’ve heard of. You did it for your brother, right?’

  ‘That’s not the same. That was a different kind of daemon. Not half as strong as—’

  But Frey wouldn’t be argued with. ‘You and me, we took down the Iron Jackal! You’re saying it’s stronger than that?’ he cried in disbelief.

  Crake looked down at the table. ‘Maybe we can do it,’ he said at length. ‘But I wouldn’t rate our chances.’

  ‘Any chance is better than none.’

  ‘No, Cap’n, listen. It’s not as simple as just taking it out. I can’t reverse what happened to Jez because the daemon is the only thing keeping her alive. If I took it out of her, she’d die. Now, if the Imperators kill their hosts the way the Manes do . . .’

  ‘The Manes do not kill their hosts.’ It was the clear, accented voice of Pelaru. ‘I am a half-Mane, and I am alive.’

  Frey seemed surprised to hear the Thacian come in on his side.

  ‘I froze to death after I received the Invitation,’ Jez added, emotionlessly. She was tickling behind Slag’s ears. ‘That’s why my heart stopped. That’s why I’m dead. It’s ’cause of the Manes I got back up again.’

  Frey stared at Crake expectantly. Crake could think of no more objections.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said again. ‘But first you have to get her. You know what it’s like with Imperators. We can’t even get near them.’

  ‘I can,’ said Jez.

  ‘I don’t want her bloody head ripped off,’ Frey snapped.

  ‘Oh,’ said Jez. ‘Forget it, then.’

  ‘I have a solution.’ This was a new voice, one they hadn’t heard before. Morben Kyne. His words came sheathed in strange harmonics: no doubt some effect created by the mouthpiece of his mask. ‘Perhaps it will please all parties.’

  ‘Spill it,’ said Samandra.

  Kyne stepped forward. Green artificial eyes glowed faintly from within his cowl. ‘The Imperators are trusted implicitly within the Awakener organisation. Their loyalty is beyond question. Our spies suggest they are always present at meetings of the highest level, as bodyguards or observers. It has also been surmised that they can communicate with one another on a level that does not require physical speech.’

  ‘Which is good, ’cause the Awakeners cut out their tongues,’ said Samandra.

  Frey thought of Trinica. No, they couldn’t. She needed it to order her crew about. They couldn’t . . .

  Could they?

  ‘The ability is limited, not like the simultaneous communication of the Manes,’ said Kyne. ‘But it’s our guess that they all talk to each other, in a way.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Frey asked Kyne.

  ‘It’s likely that the Imperators are aware of the Awakeners’ plans. The date and location of the attack, and so forth. Even the ones that were not present may have learned the information from others.’

  ‘You’re suggesting we capture one and question it?’ Crake was incredulous.

  ‘Didn’t you just say we couldn’t get near them?’ This was Ashua.

  ‘We can’t,’ Kyne said. ‘But perhaps we can find a way to bring them to us.’

  Crake seemed both terrified and excited by the prospect. ‘Could we do it?’

  ‘It will be dangerous, but maybe it can be done. I understand you yourself trapped and destroyed a powerful daemon in Samarla without using a sanctum. Did Miss Bree tell me right?’

  ‘Well, yes, I . . .’ Crake was nervous. He glanced at Jez, no doubt remembered the hash he’d made of things in the shrine below Korrene. ‘Field daemonism is not really an exact science.’

  ‘Then might we work on it together?’ said Kyne. ‘I would be interested in your theories.’

  Crake was politely uncertain. ‘Er . . . I . . . Well, yes, if you like. Do you know much about daemonism?’

  Samandra snorted. ‘Honey, he’s crawling with daemons. Just about every item of clothing on that man’s back is thralled. In fact, half the kit the Century Knights use was made by this feller. Not to put you down or anything, but he’s the best daemonist in Vardia, and likely the world. Just be glad we got him on our side.’

  Crake gaped. ‘I . . . I didn’t even sense them. For them to be so . . . Well, they must be exquisitely fashioned! Why, it’d be an honour to work with you!’r />
  ‘If you’re all quite finished admiring each other’s arses,’ Frey put in impatiently, ‘how does any of this help Trinica?’

  Crake was excited; the insult passed him by. ‘When we have an Imperator, we can take readings from the daemon inside it. Once we have its frequencies, we’ll know the frequencies for all the Imperators, since they’re all possessed by the same type of daemon.’

  ‘Like the Manes,’ put in Samandra.

  ‘Well, not quite,’ said Crake gently. ‘The Manes are all possessed by one single daemon, which has a tendril in each of them, so to speak. The Imperators are possessed by separate, identical daemons. When the Awakeners tried to copy the daemonist’s experiment, they didn’t get it exactly right.’ He turned his attention back to Frey. ‘It’s like finding the key to a code. Once we’ve cracked it, we can fashion devices to negate them, so we’re not crushed with fear whenever we get close. We can fight them then. And it will be a hundred times easier to extract that daemon from Trinica.’

  Frey was staring intently at his fists, bunched on the table in front of him. Frustration was written on his face. ‘Seems like a pretty damn roundabout way of getting to her.’

  ‘You’re welcome to try on your own if you want,’ said Samandra. ‘Me, I ain’t in it for your suicide mission. Dracken’s not here nor there to me. Far as I’m concerned, she took the Awakeners’ coin and she got what she deserved. All I care about is gettin’ proof of your story back to the Archduke. What you do after that is your own business.’

  ‘It’s the way it has to be done, Cap’n,’ said Crake, with a shade more diplomacy. ‘We have to negate her Imperator powers before we can get that daemon out of her. But there is hope.’

  Frey rested his head in his hands. The others watched him, waiting for his response. Slag, in Jez’s lap, gnawed at something between the toes of his forepaw.

  He was tormented. Silo knew it. He knew this man better than anyone. Frey wanted to run after Trinica, to save her, because that was what his heart told him to do. But she was lost to him now, maybe for ever. And there was another part of him, a part that had won out many times, which wanted to throw it all up in the air and flee. To turn his back on all of this: the Coalition, Trinica, everybody.