Malvery roared with laughter. 'Chance would be a fine thing.' Then his laughter tailed off and he harumphed uneasily.
'What is it?' Frey asked, sensing something wrong.
'Actually, Cap'n,' he said. 'About that. I've got a confession to make. You know that letter from Lisinda that Pinn got?'
Frey groaned. 'Oh, Doc. You didn't.'
'Well, you know. I thought he was full of it, always talking about that bloody girl of his. Thought I'd call his bluff. To tell you the truth, I posted it a couple of months ago, when I was leathered. Forgot all about it till it turned up in Marlen's Hook.'
Frey pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
'Well, I never thought he'd actually go, did I?' Malvery protested. 'I'm fond of the lad, myself.'
Frey took a deep breath before replying. He thought about all the trouble he'd have faced if Pinn hadn't come back, and he'd been forced to find a new pilot. He wondered if their fight over Sakkan might have turned out differently. Harkins might have been shot down by the Blackhawks. They might never have made it through at all.
But they had come through. They were all safe and well. Given that, it was hard to be angry at Malvery, even if he thought he probably should. The doctor was too much of an affable sort. Besides, no harm was intended, and Pinn seemed more spry than ever since his return.
'I think, on balance, you did him a favour,' he said. 'But keep it to yourself, eh? And don't do it again.'
'Aye, Cap'n.' Malvery said with a grin. 'I'll be good.'
Frey sighed. His aircraft might have been fixed up like new, but his crew were just as they'd always been. Argumentative, dysfunctional and ill-disciplined. Yet for all that, he was glad of them. Individually, they were hopeless. But somehow, when they were all together, they became something greater than the sum of their parts.
He couldn't believe there had been a time when he'd almost let them slip away from him. What had he been thinking? It was a dirty world out there, and these were the only true friends he had. You didn't throw that away. Not for money, fame or anything else.
He heard quiet footsteps on the cargo ramp. Malvery turned. 'You've got a visitor,' he said.
It was her. Trinica. Without her make-up, without her contact lenses. Not the pirate queen, but the woman beneath. She'd come as herself. Just the sight of her warmed him.
'Morning, ma'am,' said Malvery, as she joined them.
'Good morning, Doctor.'
Malvery looked at Frey, then back at Trinica. 'Think I'll make myself scarce. See what they've done to the infirmary.' He slapped Frey's shoulder and strolled off, whistling.
Frey barely noticed. All his attention was on her. Her hair was still uneven and ragged, but she'd made the best of it for his sake. She was wearing a hide coat and furs against the Yortland cold. There was nothing of glamour about her, but still she mesmerised him.
Her eyes searched his with that strange curiosity he'd noticed in her gaze ever since he'd rescued her from the Storm Dog. As if she'd never seen him before. As if he was some fascinating artefact that she was trying to puzzle out.
Then she looked away, and began to examine her surroundings. 'I came to see if everything was to your liking.'
'Haven't taken her up yet,' he said. 'But they told me they did a complete overhaul. Reckon she'll fly like a dream now.'
'You're disappointed,' she said, with a tiny smile. 'You'll miss her quirks.'
'Yeah, a little.'
'You always did like to do things the difficult way.'
'Can't argue with that,' he said. 'Thanks for fixing her up. Really. I bet they did a fine job.'
'It was the least I could do,' she said. The space between their sentences felt heavy with unspoken words. Then, as if it had just occurred to her, 'I have some things I should return to you.'
She produced a handful of small objects from her coat. Crake's paraphernalia, that she'd taken from him in Grist's hangar. The earcuffs, the skeleton key, the brass whistle, the compass and pocket watch. When she'd given them to Frey, she began to take the silver ring off her finger.
'Not that,' said Frey, holding up his hand. 'That's yours.'
She hesitated. 'And the compass?'
'That's mine.'
She smiled reluctantly. 'Very well, Darian,' she said. 'As you wish.' And she slipped the ring back into place.
'So where now for you?' he asked, before he could begin to feel mawkish.
'I believe I might pay a visit to Osric Smult, a certain whisper-monger of my acquaintance. He and I have unfinished business. And you?'
'Bestwark University. We'll go see Professor Kraylock. Reckon he'll know what to do with Maurin Grist's research.'
'It'll be a powerful blow to the Awakeners. Have you thought what will happen if they discover you were behind it? Are you certain you want to stir up the big fish?'
'Crake would never forgive me if I didn't,' he said. 'Besides, I got kind of sick of all this small-time grubbing about I've been doing. You have to take a risk now and then, right? That's the point. If you don't take a risk, you'll never do anything worth half a shit.'
In fact, the idea of stirring up the big fish had begun to hold a certain appeal for him. He was a man who'd always tried to avoid the notice of everyone stronger than he was. He'd always preferred to deal with bottom- feeders, the dregs of the world, people who he reckoned he could safely outwit. He'd considered it a sensible strategy, since it had kept him alive thus far. But just staying alive wasn't enough any more. It wasn't sufficient to drift through a middling existence, making little impact on anyone, to slip quietly into an obscure death with only the fond memories of a few friends to mark him.
He wanted to be someone. He wanted to make a difference. It was a feeling he hadn't had since he was a boy.
He'd been haunted by a sense of worthlessness for some time now, but no longer. He'd done something extraordinary, and all of Vardia would know it. This time wasn't like the last, at Retribution Falls, when his involvement was secret and he'd been only interested in saving his own hide. This time he'd done something no one had ever done before, and what was more, he'd done it for someone else's sake.
What will I leave behind? he thought to himself. A damn good story. A tale they'll tell over and over. And that's enough.
She seemed to catch his thought. 'You know, they're all talking about you in the taverns. What you did.' She raised an eyebrow. 'They drew their own conclusions as to your motives. I suppose it appeals to the doomed romantics.'
'I thought you wouldn't want it getting out. Can't be good for your reputation.'
'Men will talk,' she said. 'I can't stop that. My crew have rather revised their opinion of you, it seems.'
'And what about you?'
She didn't answer that, but her gaze flickered awkwardly away from him. Frey cursed himself. He'd meant it to sound light, but the conversation had taken a sudden turn into territory that neither was comfortable with.
'Darian,' she said softly. 'I'm not what you imagine me to be.'
'I know,' he said. 'And you've done your damnedest to prove it.'
'What you feel . . . It's meant for somebody who died a long time ago.'
'She didn't die. She changed, that's all.'
'Yes. She changed. Into something you don't want.'
'Don't tell me what I want. I know what I want.'
She looked up at him, and a wry expression creased the corners of her eyes. 'That's not like you at all, Darian.'
What he wanted was to gather her in his arms. It was a physical need. The barrier between them was
