In Dark Service

by Stephen Hunt

  Jacob looked out of the canopy at the massive rock emerging from the burning soot, blue power lamps glowing on antigravity stones studding its sides. It wasn’t a single rock outside, but three of them tethered together by a web of steel cables. Willow joined him by the window. ‘We’re in luck. No ships moored up. Sometimes the Vandians take shelter if there’s an eruption on the way.’

  Hesia pulled back on her flight stick. ‘We’re too big to land in their hangars and too small to dock alongside. I’ll set us down on the station roof. I can see some slaves waiting for us topside.’

  ‘We’re not on the resupply schedule,’ said Willow.

  ‘Let them wonder,’ said Jacob.

  ‘Most of our people will be busy preparing,’ said Willow. ‘We chase an eruption’s tail into the clouds to try to stake the best rocks. There’s a lot of competition between rival houses for the best strikes. It’s a bloodbath.’

  Jacob had the feeling matters would be getting a lot bloodier today. Their reception committee retreated on the station’s surface, the ship’s engines rotating into landing position and blasting rock before it settled down.

  ‘The man at the front is Thomas Gale,’ said Willow, gazing at the ground from the cockpit. ‘He administers the station for Helrena Skar.’

  ‘Then he can administer my son to me,’ growled Jacob.

  Jacob left the cockpit and climbed down to the cargo hold. He and the others crowded around the back of the chamber, surrounded by metal crates lashed to the steel deck with black straps. Hesia dropped the loading ramp. A wave of heat flooded in from outside, choking dust and ash drifting in. Jacob stepped outside, covering his mouth and nose with his hand. It was worse outside, dust obscuring the air vents and stairs down into the station. The man that Willow had identified as the chief slave raised a hand in greeting and came forward with his entourage following slowly, figures obscured by the squall. They probably thought that Hesia’s vessel had landed to ride out the worst of the storm. Would they be happy to hear that he’d come for Northhaven’s abducted slaves? Easier for them if they learn to collaborate with a new master. A few trustees with wooden clubs weren’t going to stop him now.

  ‘Halt there!’ shouted Thomas Gale, pausing a few feet in front of Jacob.

  As the slave raised his hand, a company of men sprang up from under rock-coloured camouflage cloaks. They wore Vandian armour, large black rifles pulled tight against their shoulders, a ring of soldiers surrounding the expedition members. Jacob glanced carefully to either side, counting at least a dozen gun barrels pointing at them, without factoring in the men behind him. Jacob heard Khow groan, the gask realising at the same time as the pastor why the radio room had been silent on their approach. Clever, hiding the patrol ship so they wouldn’t be expecting trouble. All this way; all the countless leagues and dangers passed. Almost close enough to shout to Carter and hear the response, and they had blundered straight into the middle of an ambush. His fingers twitched for the comforting weight of his pistols, wavering near his gun belt. Even in his young days, even then, the man known as Jake Quicksilver couldn’t have taken so many down at once. And he wasn’t a young man anymore. He was tired and had just lost everything. Again.

  One of the Vandian guardsmen walked up to Jacob, an officer’s pistol in his gloved hand, pushing the barrel hard into the side of the pastor’s temple. ‘You can reach for your guns if you want to. I’d like to see what happens.’

  ‘One of us would die,’ growled Jacob. Wasn’t that the way it always ended?

  Duncan sat with his back against the wall and an arm in front of him to stop him falling out of the seat. There were hundreds of troops inside the chamber, Paetro next to him. Apolleon’s warship was a monster, twice the size of the vessel that Princess Helrena had used to transport the slaves from the skels’ raids back to the empire.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s Hesia we’re going after,’ said Duncan.

  ‘Nobody knows the escaped prisoners are Weylanders,’ said Paetro. ‘Or that your sister’s been taken by them yet. Except for you and I… and I won’t tell.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You don’t control what your family do, lad,’ said Paetro. ‘I understand that better than anyone.’

  He had that right. ‘I can’t believe we’re shipping out after a few fugitives with so many soldiers.’

  ‘The mistress didn’t want to do it,’ said Paetro. ‘Stripping the castle’s garrison to the bare bones like this. She still thinks Circae is behind this; a few murdisto on the loose we never accounted for. Maybe a feint to draw us away from the capital and silence Hesia before she’s broken on the torturer’s table. But the mistress has no choice in the matter. Not with Apolleon acting as crazily as he is.’

  At least Lady Cassandra was on board too, strapped next to the princess on the command deck. The girl would be far safer with the house’s fighting men than alone inside an empty fortress. ‘You saw who we’re after. This Sariel is just a raggedy toothless vagrant. If he ever was a dangerous outlaw, those days are long behind him.’

  ‘Be glad that Apolleon’s so obsessed with catching him,’ said Paetro. ‘He doesn’t give a fig about your countrymen. Maybe we can yet extract your sister out of the fire, no questions asked, if the chance presents itself.’

  ‘I wish we could do the same for Hesia.’

  ‘Wishes won’t bend fate,’ said Paetro. ‘If my girl’s any sense, she’ll find a fast high trade wind and ride it until her fuel runs out. But she’ll never be safe. Even if Hesia gets away, she’ll have to live every day not knowing if this is the morning when someone comes calling for the bounty on her head.’

  There was a kick of acceleration, the bench shaking as the warship picked up speed. ‘Aye, they’ve got a direction now. The chase is on.’ He didn’t sound happy about it. Paetro grunted. ‘If we look like we’re about to capture Hesia, I’d ask one favour of you.’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘Make sure she isn’t taken alive.’

  Duncan looked at the ageing soldier with shock.

  ‘I received orders from the secret police before all of this blew up. They told me to assist the imperial torturers when they arrived for Hesia. It’s how the bastards work. Someone who knows the victim well enough to confirm she’s telling the truth or merely saying what the torturer wants to hear when the pain gets too much for her.’

  ‘They’d make you do that?’

  ‘I’ll do my duty for the house and the young Highness,’ said Paetro. ‘But the hoodsmen can kiss my arse. Hesia knows enough not to let herself be taken alive, but if she fails…’

  If she fails. Duncan nodded. ‘My word on it.’

  ‘It’s a hard day’s duty,’ muttered Paetro. ‘Chasing our own.’

  Duncan sympathised. He thought he had escaped the shadow of the sky mines. But here he was, heading back towards the monstrously large stratovolcano. How many people dead, all because they had followed that fool Carter? Now Carter’s father had trailed his son to the empire and placed Willow in peril because the self-righteous churchman didn’t know when he was beaten. The world would be better off without the Carnehans. And it looked as though the world was about to oblige.

  Jacob could see precisely how he would do it in his mind’s eye. Pushing the officer’s pistol aside and using the guardsman’s body as a shield as he swivelled, one pistol and then another, rotating and shooting, allowing the Vandian to absorb the return volley. Sheplar, Sariel, Khow, Willow and Hesia… they would all be caught in the crossfire. How many of his companions would be dead on the ground before his pistols were empty? One shot, one kill, and would he have enough ammunition to account for every Vandian, even if he didn’t miss once? Time to find out. Jacob was a heartbeat away from reaching for his pistols when Willow called out in shock. ‘Owen?’

  ‘Willow?’ spluttered the officer.

  ‘You know this Vandian?’ asked Jacob.

  ‘He’s not a Vandian,’ said Willow. ‘He’s a slave here, a Wey
lander, like us! What in the world are you doing?’

  Owen’s pistol wavered uncertainly in his hand. ‘I could ask you the same question. You miss the sky mines so much that you got yourself dismissed as a house slave?’

  ‘We’ve come for Carter and Kerge,’ said Willow, thrusting her hand towards their supply ship. ‘And anyone else who wants to escape.’

  Jacob used the second of hesitation to grab the man’s arm, spinning him around and turning the pistol against his own head. The circle of soldiers surrounding them stepped forward, bayonet-topped rifle barrels jabbing forward like spears. ‘Any of you want to shoot, your friend here takes the first bullet through his brain. Now, answer the lady’s question. If you’re really slaves, what the hell are you doing dressed as imperial guardsmen?’

  ‘We’re escaping,’ said Owen, struggling under Jacob’s grip. ‘The whole station! We’ve already seized a patrol vessel that arrived to wait out the eruption. These uniforms and guns came from its crew. We thought you’d landed to investigate what happened to the first ship.’ He stared across at Willow Landor. ‘We’re using Carter’s escape plan. It’s a fine one, Willow. Good enough to get us all out of here at once.’

  Jacob glanced across to where the supposed head man stood. He noticed how the slaves behind the head man had rifles too, pointing at the collaborator’s spine. Jacob made his decision and released the miner masquerading as an officer. Things hadn’t changed so much, then. Even out here, Carter was still making trouble for everyone concerned. ‘Where’s my son? Where’s Carter Carnehan?’

  Owen gawped at Jacob in shock. ‘You’re his—?’

  ‘I’m a Weylander, just like you. Now, where’s my boy?’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Willow. ‘This is Jacob Carnehan… Carter’s father. His group have travelled all the way from Weyland searching for the people taken from Northhaven. Where’s Carter? If this is his plan, why isn’t he up here with you?’

  That was the question on Jacob’s mind, too. His son wasn’t the sort to avoid a fight. Owen could hardly meet the girl’s gaze. ‘He’s dying, Willow. I’m sorry. He’s in the fever room, in his final few hours. The soldiers beat him real bad for trying to stop you being taken from the station. Carter only told me his scheme for getting out of here when he realised he wasn’t going to live to try it himself. He’s got broken ribs and a fever, but that’s not the worst of it. The doctor reckons his brain’s bruised and swelling inside his skull. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.’

  Willow looked like someone had pierced her through the heart. For Jacob, someone had.

  ‘No,’ gasped Willow. ‘He can’t be. He’s too strong! He’s—’

  ‘Take me to him!’ ordered Jacob.

  ‘He might not recognise you now,’ said Owen. ‘The doc said we couldn’t even load him into a transporter without finishing him off. But I’ll show you down to where he is.’

  Jacob felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Sheplar Lesh. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Just keep the supply ship ready to fly,’ muttered Jacob, saying a silent prayer to a God he didn’t even work for anymore. ‘Keep your eye on the scope with Hesia. Whatever happens, we’re likely to need to pull out of here fast.’

  Owen led the way deep into the station. Jacob barely even heard the man as he described how the slaves were going to use all the station’s mining transporters to land on volcanic debris, ride the rocks into the trade winds and scatter to every corner of the empire and beyond. The greatest escape the sky mines had ever seen. That Carter had come up with the plan only made his wretched fate all the crueller. This man was full of praise for Jacob’s son. How Carter bounced back every time the Vandians beat him down. How Carter had given the rest of them hope for the first time in the station’s history. It sounded a lot like an obituary… or words carved on a gravestone. Sariel and Khow helped Willow as they stumbled towards the fever room. She could barely see, the tears streaming from her eyes. Inside the fever room there were two reunions: Khow’s son tending Carter, the young gask seeing his father enter the chamber, the two of them running into each other’s arms. By contrast, Carter was rushing nowhere. The only patient in the chamber, he was laid out on a mattress, naked apart from the sheets surrounding him like a toga; his bedroll circled by jugs of water, homemade poultices and flannels to wipe the sweat off him. Dear God. How thin and wiry he looks. There were scars on his back, hardly healed red weals criss-crossing. Carter’s face purple with bruises and swollen where he had taken the beating, a less recent scar cut across the side of his cheek as though he had been duelling. What had they done to him? His son. All that was left of his family, broken and laid out here to die. There was another slave inside the room who Owen introduced as Doctor Tooky.

  ‘How long does he have?’ asked Jacob.

  ‘He should have passed already,’ said the doctor, simply. ‘If I had a surgeon’s table, anaesthetic, sterile instruments and trained nurses too, I could open his skull too and try to ease the swelling that way. As it is…’

  As it is. Jacob had seen enough dying men before to recognise when it was nearly over. On the battlefields of the Burn. On the beds of his parishioners. Willow fell in front of the mattress, on her knees, moaning as though the sick bed was an altar and she could resurrect his son. She might have been repeating please over and over again, but it was hard to tell.

  ‘I’m using painkillers from the patrol ship we captured,’ said the doctor. ‘He’s not feeling much, now. That’s all I can do for him.’

  Jacob knelt by the bed. ‘Do you have anything that can wake him up?’

  ‘I do,’ said the doctor. ‘But it won’t help his body last any longer.’

  ‘Use it,’ said Jacob. He could feel his face growing as pale as a corpse himself. ‘I want him to know I came for him.’ He glanced over to Willow. ‘We came for him. Before he passes. He deserves that much.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said the slave. He went out and returned with a glass hypodermic filled with a thin green substance. After he injected Carter, they waited for a minute, and then his eyes began to flutter before opening.

  ‘Willow, I’m hallucinating again? You’re not here?’ He reached over to her to feel her fingers and then looked over at Jacob. His voice sounded faint and dry. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m your father,’ said Jacob, gently.

  ‘No, you look something like him, is all. But he’s not here. He’s dead.’

  ‘It’s me, Carter. I’ve come for you. It takes more to kill me than a few skels and their imperial friends.’

  ‘It’s me that must be dead,’ coughed Carter. ‘You should be far away. You look so thin. So different.’

  ‘You might say I’ve been far-called as well,’ said Jacob. He clutched Carter’s other hand. ‘And you’re a fine one to talk.’

  ‘It is him, Carter,’ said Willow. She indicated the others standing in the room behind the doctor. ‘Northhaven mounted a rescue mission. They’ve arrived to take us home.’

  ‘You have to go, then,’ said Carter. ‘And live for both of us.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ cried Willow.

  ‘My mind’s burning up,’ said Carter. ‘The things I’ve seen. Too many people and places and times. Too much. I can’t separate any of my thoughts. It’s as if my memories have been poisoned. Did I watch Mother die, or was that something else I imagined?’

  ‘She’s dead,’ said Jacob. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘She’ll be here soon,’ said Carter, trying to look around. ‘Owen, when’s my mother arriving?’

  The young gask was by the boy’s side, kneeling next to Willow and mopping his brow again. ‘I told you I felt my father’s presence close by.’

  ‘Thought you were joshing me,’ said Carter, trembling. ‘A spoonful of hope to keep me going.’

  ‘Your son’s presence in the world is not as it should be,’ Khow told Jacob. ‘He feels wrong.’

  ‘He’s dying,’ said Jacob.

  ‘His numbers are part of th
e sickness, I think,’ said Kerge, tugging at his father’s arm. ‘I do not know how that is possible, but it is.’

  ‘It is not an illness,’ said Sariel, stepping forward. ‘He has been touched. He is a messenger, ridden by spirits.’

  ‘Sariel?’ said Carter. ‘Now I know I’m trapped in a fever dream.’

  ‘You know him?’ said Jacob, shocked. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Carter, the old bard or both of them at once.

  ‘Sariel visited the librarian’s hold in Northhaven,’ Carter coughed.

  Jacob looked suspiciously at the old man. ‘You did?’

  Sariel limped forward, clutching his walking staff. ‘I have been to so many places. They all blur together. But I remember you, young Lord Carnehan. I remember all those I have knighted, it is a sacred duty for me.’

  ‘I don’t understand?’ said Jacob.

  Sariel touched his leather coat, brushing his hand over the hundreds of drawings illustrated there. ‘Lord Carnehan’s mind is like my story coat. Overflowing.’

  ‘I do not understand, either,’ said Kerge, waving his abacus machine at the elder gask. ‘Father, this manling’s presence is not coherent.’

  ‘That’s because I’m not quite a manling,’ said Sariel, ‘although I’m afraid I am quite broken.’

  Kerge shook his head and started tapping at his abacus box again.

  Sariel removed Jacob’s hand from Carter’s and reached out to feel the boy’s forehead. As their skin touched there was a brilliant flash followed by a detonation, the shockwave of a shell-burst. There wasn’t any heat: an ice-cold gale exploded through the chamber, overturning everyone and everything except Sariel and Carter, who remained anchored in place as though they had been carved from stone. Jacob was flung back into one of the fever room’s empty bunks, Willow thrown in the opposite direction, both gasks and the doctor and Owen tossed to the far end of the bare windowless chamber in a storm of pottery and bedding. Sariel and Carter glowed like twin suns, too bright to look at without black spots rippling across Jacob’s vision. It was as though the ward had been filled with a flight of arrows, each of the darts a thought, strange and alien and pure. He saw the stone circles and the world, so large, league after league and nation after nation without end. Too intense for his mortal mind. Jacob’s head pulsed behind his ears, as though someone was cutting into his skull. The others’ thoughts leaked across his, water from a rack of jugs, all broken and pooling into the same puddle. Digging tunnels in the sky mines and light falling through trees in the gasks’ forest and cutting off mangled legs with a hot saw and the corridors of the Landor estate and the weight of an avalanche striking and burying everyone and Sariel and… Jacob screamed. Then as quickly as the pain had struck, it receded. Jacob gasped hard, attempting to breathe; his chest spasming as the light filling his head fled, Carter still wrapped in sheets and the bard kneeling before the bed. Everyone except those two pulled themselves back on their feet, badly shaken.