might just catch that son of a bitch.'
Trinica unfolded, lounging back into her chair, spreading across it.
Her mannerisms were different to the girl Frey remembered. Odder. Her moods slipped from playful to maudlin to angry. One minute she was mumming horror, the next she was genuinely wrathful. A powerful leader, a cruel killer, then a child. Fractured states of mind, reflections in a broken mirror.
He knew that something must have cracked inside her at some point. Had it been when he jilted her on their wedding day? After her failed suicide attempt? After she lost their baby? Or in the years of horror that followed, as a brutalised concubine on board various pirate craft? No way of knowing. But he'd set her on that road. It hurt him to think of it.
'You're suggesting that I travel with you on the Ketty Jay?' asked Trinica.
'Just until the Delirium Trigger is fixed.'
'Darian, do you really think you're being wise?'
'When have I ever been wise?'
It was true that he had his doubts about whether they could stand each other for several weeks, but he was certain of one thing. He needed her. Whatever his feelings, or hers, this was too important.
Thousands will die.
'Do you know what that sphere does?' he asked.
'No,' she said. 'If anyone does, it would be a high-ranking Awakener. But thanks to your elegant work in bringing their aircraft down, all the high-ranking Awakeners on the All Our Yesterdays are dead.'
'One of them wasn't,' said Frey. 'He told me something. 'Thousands will die,' he said. I'm not certain what that sphere is, but it came from a Mane dreadnought, so I'm pretty sure it's gonna end up being bad news. I'm also sure that Grist knows exactly what it is, and he's planning to use it, or to sell it to someone who will.'
'You think it's a weapon?'
'Maybe.'
'And you intend to prevent him using it.'
'Yes!'
Trinica got out of her seat and stretched. 'There I was thinking you wanted to sell it and make a fortune. How civic-minded you've become.'
'This isn't the time for your bloody sarcasm!' Frey snapped. 'That bastard made mugs of us both, and I owe him for that. But if he unleashes whatever power is in that sphere, if it does what I think it might . . . Well, I played my part in making that happen. So I'll play my part in stopping it.'
Trinica looked surprised. Then her expression softened, and just for an instant, he recognised the face of the woman he'd known.
'You're right, Darian,' she said. She lowered her gaze. 'It seems I really don't know you half as well as I thought.'
Frey was wrong-footed by the sudden capitulation in her voice. He wasn't used to submissiveness from her. But the moment passed, and when she spoke again she was crisp and sharp.
'Alright,' she said. 'Your aerium engines still work, I noticed. Float your craft and we'll tow you to dock. I'll leave my bosun in charge of the repairs to the Delirium Trigger and come with you. We have an understanding?'
'We do,' said Frey. He got to his feet and held out his hand. She came out from behind her desk and took it. Her grip was cool.
'This is an alliance of necessity,' she said firmly. 'Nothing more. When this is over, we are enemies again.'
'Best of enemies,' Frey said with a grin.
A wry smile touched the corner of her painted lips. 'Best of enemies,' she agreed.
When Jez came back to consciousness, she found herself in the Ketty Jay's tiny infirmary, lying on the surgical table. She recognised the grubby ceiling and the smell of rum in the air. Malvery was there, standing next to her. Silo sat in the corner.
She was still wearing her jumpsuit. Malvery hadn't attempted to treat her. There was nothing he could do to help. They'd simply put her here and waited to see what happened.
The doctor peered at her over his green-lensed glasses. 'You alright?'
She gave a small nod and stayed where she was, staring at the ceiling.
'Hmm,' said Malvery. He made a show of looking about for something, then patted her awkwardly on the arm and left.
He's scared of me now. And so he should be.
Jez listened to the room, and to Silo's breathing. The Ketty Jay was airborne, but the engines were quiet. They were being towed, then.
Presumably by the Storm Dog. Apparently, the Cap'n's plan to abscond with the sphere hadn't gone entirely as hoped. She didn't really care.
She felt achingly, horribly lonely. Lonelier than she'd ever felt in her life. She'd been there, among the Manes. She'd shared them. And now they'd gone again. It was like she'd awoken from a dream of happy crowds to find herself abandoned on an endless sea.
She remembered everything that had happened. The Imperator's terrible influence, how she'd quailed and cowered with the rest of them. She'd been pressed to the floor by the weight of his presence. Then, the trance. Surging up and overwhelming her. Her enfeebled human mind had been incapable of resisting or controlling it. It took her eagerly, a mad beast finally uncaged. And everything became different.
That feeling. The power of it. She'd been more than just flesh and blood then. Her small body had become the sum of thousands. The world had gone dim and yet been stark with detail. She saw the curl of the smoke along the roof and she could track its pattern. She smelt the terror of her companions. She felt the savage joy of the Manes, her invisible brothers and sisters behind the Wrack, as they welcomed her among them. And she heard the mad voice of the Imperator, a thrashing mess of harmonics tearing into her consciousness.
She had to extinguish it.
The urge to rid herself of her opponent was primal, unquestionable. She used her gun at first - a human weapon, which proved ineffective. Then she went in with hands and teeth.
Strong. Fast. Terrible.
With the death of the Imperator, her humanity had rallied and driven the Mane part of her into retreat. But the pain of loss it brought was unbearable. The sense of inclusion, the warmth of the Manes, all of it had disappeared. Better that she'd never known it at all, than to have it and then be shut out.
She was thrown back to the world she'd always known. Except that now her crew knew what she was. They'd seen it. And she was ashamed and frightened.
'Say something,' she murmured.
Silo got up from his chair and walked over to her. She turned her head to look at him. So hard to read a Murthian's expressions. Was it just Silo, or was it a trait of their kind? Perhaps generations of slavery had taught them never to show their real selves. Jez had learned that lesson on her own, and look where it got her. She was sick of the secrecy. They all put so much effort into being alone.
'Damn your silence,' she said. 'Tell me what you're thinking, for once. You talked to me in Kurg. Why not now?'
'That was then,' said Silo. 'Words don't never do justice to a man's thoughts. What you care 'bout mine?'
'Because I counted you as my friend, Silo. I want to know if you still are.'
'That ain't changed. Whatever you be, that ain't changed.'
'Then what has?'
Silo didn't answer. Instead, he said, 'Remember what I told you, back in the rainforest?'
'You said it wasn't any good trying to ignore your bad side. You have to face it down. Master it. Make it a part of you.'
A calloused hand slipped over hers and tightened. Jez felt tears gathering.
'Now you know,' he said, sadly. 'Now you know.'
