‘You what?’ Malvery said. He was feeling her pulse. ‘Second thought, I don’t even wanna know.’ He put the dressing back. ‘Frey, this is too bad. I can’t—’
‘I don’t wanna hear it, Doc. Make it happen.’
‘She needs blood. Now.’
‘Give her mine!’
‘You ain’t got enough to give.’
‘Do what I say, damn it!’ Frey cried, then was seized by a coughing fit and spat blood on the ground.
‘Cap’n!’ Malvery barked, and the volume of his voice shocked Frey into silence. ‘If you ain’t compatible, you’ll kill her. Likely you’ll kill yourself tryin’ anyway. And even if you are compatible, I don’t rate my chances. Let me save you! Or if not you, there’s plenty people round here I can save. I’m a doctor, alright? I know what I’m doing!’
‘Take my blood!’ said Crund.
‘No!’ said Frey. ‘What if you’re not compatible?’
‘What if you’re not?’ Malvery said.
‘I am!’ Frey snarled. ‘We were tested . . . After we knew about the baby . . . Doctor took my blood for . . .’
‘What baby?’ Malvery said, but Frey ignored him. There wasn’t time to argue! Didn’t he see that?
‘We’re compatible,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘We’ve always been . . . compatible.’
‘Frey, I can’t. It’ll kill you. I can’t do that!’
Frey found a burst of strength, fuelled by frustration, and he seized Malvery by the front of his jumper and pulled him close. ‘Doc,’ he said. ‘If you ever . . . If you were ever a friend to me . . . You gotta do this now. This is everything, you hear? This is everything.’
Malvery’s face was a picture of doubt. This went against everything he believed, as a doctor and as a person. Frey knew what Malvery thought of his obsession. Shit, Malvery didn’t even like Trinica very much. But Frey had to do this, and he couldn’t do it without Malvery’s help.
He owed Trinica a life. And he aimed to give her one.
‘It won’t save her,’ Malvery said, but there was defeat in his voice and Frey knew he’d won.
‘Gotta try,’ said Frey. ‘Gotta try.’
Malvery wrestled with his conscience a moment more, but in the end he lowered his head, and his brow clouded. ‘Get her inside,’ he said. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
The others knew better than to try to stop him, and for that Frey was deeply grateful. He couldn’t fight any more battles. He let them take him into a room off the courtyard, where they put him on a table, and they laid Trinica out next to him. She was still, and looked so small; the rise and fall of her breast was hardly perceptible. But he felt no terror of her now. The daemon inside her had been destroyed, beaten by the daemon in his blade. Even if she died now, she died herself, unconquered.
He was dimly aware of Malvery returning with supplies he’d taken from the Ketty Jay. He saw the doctor laying out jars and tubes, heard him snapping instructions at Crake, who was assisting him. They assembled the apparatus for the transfusion, blurred ghosts fussing in the background.
He stared up at the ceiling. Wetness trickled down his cheek. A tear, leaking from the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to leave this life. He loved it too much. It had treated him appallingly at times, and he’d abused it in return, but at that moment it seemed the most wonderful and precious of things. He couldn’t stand the loss of it.
But he’d lived. He’d made a difference. And now he could say with honesty that he’d done his damnedest.
There was that. At least there was that.
He felt the bite of a needle at his inner elbow. He turned his head, and saw a transparent rubber tube stretching from him to a glass jar that lay between him and Trinica on the table. The jar was connected to a rubber bulb which Malvery was squeezing rapidly. At the other end of the apparatus was a needle in Trinica’s arm.
‘Make a fist,’ said Malvery to Frey. ‘Crake, give him something to squeeze. It’ll help the blood through.’
Frey had little enough strength in his body, but he crawled his hand across the the table, and took up Trinica’s. And he squeezed her cold fingers as hard as he could manage.
‘Reckon that’ll do,’ said Malvery, through a thick throat.
Frey felt very far away from everything now. It was as if he were watching the scene from the end of a long tunnel. His body no longer seemed his own. He observed with detached fascination as the rich, dark blood began to fill the jar, his blood. He saw it slip along the tubes, and finally into Trinica, a glistening red thread between him and her.
A great calm washed over him, a sense of rightness. He felt complete. Then his eyes fluttered closed, and he was gone.
Forty-Six
Eulogy – A Better Ending – The Lowdown – Stars and Crosses – The End of an Era
The funeral was held on a high hillside on a bright chill morning. A nipping wind blew about the mourners, stirring their coats against them. Long thin clouds raced across the sky. In the distance lay the city of Thesk, slumped and shattered but still undefeated, and the Archduke’s palace stood proud at its heart.
It was a lonely spot, and there were only eight at the graveside including Bess. She held a bunch of mountain flowers in one huge hand, with a great sod of earth hanging off them where she’d torn them from the ground. The rest were all crew, except for Samandra Bree, who’d come with Crake. Harkins sniffed quietly and Pinn had his collar up and his shoulders hunched, his grim face barely visible. Silo was impassive as ever. Ashua stood silently with her arms crossed.
Before them all stood Malvery. He’d volunteered for the eulogy. It seemed the least he could do.
‘What can you say when a part of your life ain’t there any more?’ he said, his voice low and heavy. ‘Words don’t change much. Best you can do is remind yourself why it is you miss ’em.’
He paused for a long time. Bess stirred uncertainly.
‘He was a fighter,’ Malvery said at last. ‘You gotta give him that. Can’t ever say he was lucky in love, but he found it in the end, and that’s more than most of us can expect. He could be an arsy bastard at times, but mostly he made us laugh, and he always seemed to be there when you needed him.’ He gave a deep sigh and lowered his head. ‘He was the heart and soul of us. There wouldn’t have been a Ketty Jay without him.’
He went down on one knee and placed one hand on the grave marker. It was an old plate from the engine room, scratched with a name and some dates.
‘We’ll never forget him,’ said Malvery. ‘He was a damn fine cat.’
Afterwards, as they made their way back to the shuttle, Crake said ‘Shame the Cap’n couldn’t be here. He’d have liked to see Slag off with the rest of us.’
‘Would’ve been nice,’ Malvery agreed. ‘But he ain’t gonna be out of hospital for another month at least and, to be fair, that cat was starting to reek.’
Frey crept warily through the corridors of the hospital, eyes and ears alert. His bare feet were cold on the polished floor, but he moved in silence, and that was what was important. He couldn’t go fast, but he could go smart. Nurse Crowsnitch had become predictable, her patrols too regular. This time there’d be no stopping him. Nobody was making him take it easy for his own good.
If he was honest, Nurse Crowsnitch sort of had a point. It wasn’t exactly easy to breathe with his ribs bandaged tight beneath his gown, and his short excursions tired him out. He blamed it on having to lug around the heavy cast they’d put over his hand, but he was also ready to admit the small possibility that he might need some time to recover from the grievous wounds he’d sustained in the Delirium Trigger’s hold.
But Frey was not a man who could easily amuse himself, and recuperation was purgatory to him. There was only so long he could stare at brown and cream walls. Brown and cream: the colours of boredom. It was too much to take. And besides, making trouble was in his nature.
A click of heels, echoing down the corridor. He froze, listening. Crowsnitch! Had she
outwitted him?
But the footsteps receded, heading away from him, and he relaxed. Not this time, lady, he thought, but he picked up his pace and hurried the rest of the way to his destination.
It was a tiny ward with four beds, all of them occupied. Mailey, the pretty young librarian with the broken leg, was the only one awake. She wiggled her fingers at him as he slipped in and closed the door carefully. He gave her a sheepish smile, tiptoed over to another bed and gingerly lowered himself into a nearby chair.
Trinica was in the bed, lying on her side, her head pillowed and facing him, her eyes closed. He checked that she was still breathing; he could never settle until he was sure. But yes, there was the slight rise of the blankets around her body, and there was the faint sigh of air over her lips. Her existence was still a miracle to him. He had to reassure himself with each visit that she was really there.
Her face was drawn and wan in sleep, and there were lines where there hadn’t been in his memory. She’d lost weight, and she’d never carried much to begin with. There was no make-up on her now. Her hair had been cut short to make the best of the hacked-up mess she’d arrived with. But she was here, and she was beautiful, and she was his.
She stirred, and her left hand moved and found the cast they’d put over his own shattered hand. On her finger was a ring, a simple silver ring he’d given her once, and which she’d once given back to him. Now she wore it again.
Her eyes opened and found his. Even after weeks, the sight of them was still a faint surprise. Gone was the green he knew. Her irises were now yellow as corn. At least one of the changes the daemon had wreaked in her had been permanent.
She smiled at him. ‘You again.’
‘What do you mean?’ he protested. ‘I’ve been here all night.’
‘Liar.’
‘Ask Mailey!’
‘It’s true,’ Mailey piped up. ‘Never left your side.’
Trinica chuckled weakly. ‘Quite a conspiracy you two have going.’
Frey reached into a drawer by the bed and brought out a book, its leather cover delicately embossed. ‘Ready for the next chapter?’
‘Yes, please!’ said Mailey, clapping her hands.
Frey and Trinica exchanged a glance, the kind of knowing, indulgent look shared by new lovers, for whom the whole world has become a delightful joke. He opened the book in his lap at the marked page. A mass of Samarlan characters stared back at him. He didn’t recognise a single one of them.
‘The Silent Tide,’ he announced. ‘Being the adventures of the brave and attractive Captain Frey and the slightly less brave and not quite so attractive Captain Trinica Dracken.’
‘Narcissism is such an endearing trait, Darian.’
‘Chapter Four,’ he said. He tilted his head as he studied the page. ‘You know, I think I like romances better when I don’t understand them.’
‘You’re actually holding it upside down.’
‘You want to hear this story or not?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. She settled down deeper into her pillow, and her eyes shone as she watched him. ‘I think I’m going to like the ending better this time around.’
They held the ceremony in the great hall of the Archduke’s palace, in the presence of all the dukes of Vardia. Beneath the vaulted ceilings and the great brass candelabras, under the stony gaze of leaders and thinkers and artists of ages past, the heroes of the civil war were honoured. Generals and aristocrats lined the pews, and the entire House of Chancellors was in attendance. The men were straight-backed in crisp jackets and starched collars; the ladies were resplendent in their finery. Trumpets sounded, bright flags lined the walls, and the Archduke himself handed out medals amid all the pomp a triumphant country could muster.
Really, it was all a bit much for Frey.
He stood at the back, in the gallery, overlooking the main floor. With him were dozens of other people who weren’t important or official enough to merit a seat. That included Trinica and, surprisingly, Samandra Bree. ‘Century Knights don’t get medals,’ was all she’d said when he asked.
Another group of soldiers were led on to the dais. The Archduke passed along the line, announcing each man’s name and pinning a medal on his chest. The ceremony had been going on for an hour now, and Frey was bored stupid. His clothes were too tight on him, and everything itched. He hated formal wear; he always felt he deserved to be laughed at when he was dressed up. Trinica told him it suited him, but he still wasn’t sure if she was making fun or not.
For her part, Trinica wore aristocratic guise as one who’d been born to it. In her long red dress, she was transformed. A silver necklace hung against her pale collarbones and she wore a small jewelled wristlet. Hard to imagine a woman so elegant had ever reaved the skies.
He leaned over to her. ‘You reckon this is gonna go on much longer?’
‘Days, I expect.’
Frey groaned. He scanned the crowd idly. He spotted Plome down among the Chancellors, clapping away enthusiastically, but it was telling that there was no sign of Amalicia Thade. Those aristocrats who’d sided with the Awakeners would be finding life considerably less easy from here on in.
Well, let her thrive or fail as she would. He didn’t bear her any ill will. He probably deserved what she did to him, so he counted them even.
He turned to Samandra. She cleaned up amazingly well for a foul-mouthed tomboy killing machine. In a black dress and long gloves, with her hair clipped back and falling down her back in waves, she was as unrecognisable as Trinica.
‘So give me the lowdown,’ he said. ‘What did I miss in hospital?’
Samandra, who was equally bored, leaned closer and kept her voice low. ‘Things have been pretty interesting round here lately,’ she said. ‘The Awakeners . . . well. The Archduke can’t stop people believin’ what they like, but he can stop the Awakeners sellin’ it to ’em. All their assets, we got. No more shrines allowed, no more hermitages, no more Speakers, even out in the country. Kyne’s been headin’ up a task force to hunt down any Imperators left. Most of ’em suicided before he could get hold of ’em, but he grabbed one an’ neutralised it, then put it out on public show. Let the people know the truth of it, sort of thing. That convinced a lot o’ folk.’
‘You think they’re gone for good?’
She shrugged. ‘Can’t say. There’s always gonna be some underground stuff, but the Awakeners have always been aggressive self-promoters. Now they can’t do that. Reckon we’ll see how much their ideas are worth when they can’t shove ’em down anyone’s throat any more.’ She picked something off the back of her neck and flicked it away, which didn’t seem very ladylike considering her outfit. ‘They say the diehards are headin’ for the colonies, shippin’ out for New Vardia before the Storm Belt gets impassable. Good luck to ’em, I say. Long as they ain’t here.’
Frey gave a grunt of agreement. ‘What about the Sammies?’
‘That’s a whole other can o’ worms. They invaded us, even if they fudged it. People were sayin’ we should invade ’em right back, now their navy’s gone. Seemed to forget we don’t have much more than a scrap of a navy left ourselves. Politicians came up with some plans: we were gonna use mercs to embargo the Free Trade Zone properly, crack down hard on aerium smuggling, make damn sure those Sammie bastards never got a drop from us again. But then guess who waded in?’
Frey had already heard the rumour. ‘Thace.’
‘Uh-huh. Reckon they got tired of waitin’ for Samarla to get round to invading them and decided to do it first. They got the only fleet in town now, and they know them Sammies are just gonna tool up and do it again if they ain’t stamped on hard. Lucky they’re on our side.’
‘Samarla and Thace are really at war, then?’
‘Oh, yeah. Don’t know that anyone can take a land as big as Samarla, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they took a damn good chunk of it. Still, good news for your mate Silo.’
‘How so?’
‘You know Thacians. Life, liber
ty, equality, all o’ that. Think they’ll stand for slavery in their territories? Might be we get to see the first free Murthian population in five hundred years. Not to mention the Daks, though they way they act I wonder if they like bein’ slaves.’
‘Damn,’ said Frey in amazement. ‘That’s quite a thing.’
‘See what you set off?’ she said, nudging him. ‘Not bad for a bunch of reprobates with a galaxy of personality disorders.’
‘Aren’t you dating one of those reprobates?’
She snorted. ‘Someone has to keep you classy.’
Frey barked a laugh, and somebody shushed him. Then Trinica touched his arm and pointed down at the dais. ‘There they are!’ she said.
And there they were, taking their places before the Archduke. Malvery, Crake, Harkins and Pinn, and finally Silo. They stood there stiffly, all shiny buttons and dazzling shoes, hair and beards combed and cut – those who had them. Even Frey had to admit, they didn’t look half bad.
Archduke Monterick approached Malvery first. ‘For extraordinary bravery in the service of your fellow soldiers,’ he said. ‘For your vital part in bringing Vardia information about the enemy, and thereby saving uncountable lives; Althazar Malvery, I present you with the Legion of Vardia medal, to go with your Duke’s Cross. Your country counts you as one of its most treasured sons.’
And I owe you my life, thought Frey. And more importantly, I owe you hers. Damn if you’re not the best surgeon in Vardia, old mate.
Applause filled the hall as the Archduke pinned the medal next to the one Malvery already had. The doctor kept his face as composed as he could, but even at this distance Frey could see Malvery glowing so fiercely with pride that you could have roasted a chicken on him.
‘Grayther Crake!’ said the Archduke, moving along the line. ‘Few men have pushed the boundaries of our knowledge with such dedication and at such terrible risk to themselves. Your research and sacrifice were crucial in bringing the Imperators to heel, and for that, I award you the Ducal Star, for your magnificent contribution to science.’
The Ace of Skulls Page 55