guns. He wished he hadn't given his weapons in at the door now.
Trinica's expression was hard. 'You wouldn't touch me,' she said to Smult. 'You're a whispermonger. You don't take sides, and you don't get involved. If word got out, you'd be ruined.'
Smult cackled. 'You reckon me right, Miss Dracken. That bounty ain't worth a chicken's arse to me. But I can't speak for them out there.' He thumbed over his shoulder, in the vague direction of the outside. 'Might be there's people waitin' for you. People who heard you were comin' to Hawk Point in the company of some shabby, no-account bunch who couldn't be trusted to tie their own bootlaces.'
'Hey!' Frey cried. 'I can tie my damn bootlaces just fine!'
Trinica ignored him. 'You sold them the information,' she said coldly. 'You knew I'd be looking for Grist, and you knew I'd come to you first.'
'You said it yourself,' Smult grinned. 'I'm a whispermonger. I don't take sides. Not even yours.'
'This is dogshit!' Frey said. 'If they knew we were here, they'd have jumped us the moment we left the landing pad.'
Smult tapped the bag of coins of the table in front of him. 'I asked 'em not to. I hate to waste a profit.'
'How much for you to tell us where they'll be waiting?' Trinica said.
Smult smiled to himself, and clicked another piece of his jigsaw into place.
Twenty-Four
The back streets of Hawk Point could scarcely be called streets at all. They were a shanty of lean-tos and hovels that had crowded together without pattern or purpose. The gaps between dwellings were little more than baked mud tracks strewn with old litter. The wind that blew across the mountains couldn't find a way into the maze, leaving the air ripe and stale. The inhabitants - old dogs and half-starved cut-throats - stuck to the shadows and sweltered.
Frey kept a wary eye on the shanty dwellers, who watched him warily in return. They were desperate people, ignorant and unskilled, mostly descended from the serfs that the Dukes freed when they deposed King Andreal of Glane. They came to the cities in an attempt to escape the poverty of the countryside, only to find they were unable to afford Guild fees and therefore couldn't work. Eventually, they ended up in the settlements and outposts, scratching a living as black-market dock-hands or petty thieves. Able-bodied men found themselves recruited as pirates. Women were taken on as cleaners, if they were lucky. Children were often sold off to the mines.
They had a bad lot, all in all. But desperate people tended to do desperate things, so Frey's hand was never far from his pistol.
Smult had been good enough to return their weapons after he'd taken Trinica for all the money she had. He'd given them detailed information about where their enemies lay in ambush for them, and told them how to avoid the traps. So now they were on their way back to the Ketty Jay, taking a route through the outskirts that circled the settlement. Scurrying like rats, hoping to stay unnoticed.
Frey had to admire the whispermonger's gall. Selling out Trinica, then selling out the people he'd sold her out to. Trinica, however, was not at all amused. She was incandescent with suppressed rage.
He took the silver earcuff from his pocket and clipped it on. 'Jez? Can you hear me?'
'Cap'n.' She sounded faintly surprised. Perhaps she hadn't expected him to speak to her.
'There's two men with rifles covering the landing pad. One in the north-east corner on the roof of the dock master's office. The other one on the roof of the warehouse to the north-west. They won't be watching out for you: they're waiting for us. Think you and Silo can take care of them?'
'Of course, Cap'n,' she said. 'Are you in trouble?'
'When aren't I?' he replied, and took off the earcuff.
Trinica was glowering at him. 'You can speak to your crew with that? That's a good trick.'
'I'm just full of 'em.' Frey said with a wink. He was unaccountably light of heart, despite their predicament. Perhaps because, for once, Trinica was getting screwed over rather than him. She didn't seem to like the taste of her own medicine very much.
She snorted in disgust, and turned away, concentrating on the route. Frey followed her, faintly amused. He knew exactly why she was so mad. You didn't get to the point of marrying someone without having a little insight into their character. And he had to admit, despite the threat to his own life, he was rather enjoying her discomfort.
She'd miscalculated. She'd got so used to being the dread pirate queen that she'd started to believe her own legend. She thought she was untouchable, even without the Delirium Trigger and her crew to back her up. She'd fashioned an image for herself, one that struck fear into the hearts of men, but she'd worn it for so long that she'd come to believe it was a shield.
Today, she'd been rudely reminded that it wasn't. That white make-up, her butchered blond hair, her black eyes and black attire: it was no protection without her men and her aircraft. Worse, it made her a target. Underneath the ghoulish exterior she was still a woman, flesh and blood. She'd die from a bullet or a knife like any other. Perhaps she'd forgotten that, until now.
She'd been made vulnerable. And what was more, it had happened in front of Frey. She hated that.
'That bastard,' she was muttering through gritted teeth, as they dodged between shacks of discarded metal and peeling wood. 'That rotting whore-son bastard.'
'Ah, look on the bright side,' said Frey. 'At least he gave us a way out.'
'This is your fault!' she snapped, turning on him. 'Do you have any idea what you've done? He'd never have dared to do this before.'
'Before I showed you up and the Delirium Trigger got beaten?' Frey suggested maliciously.
Her eyes blazed, and for a moment, Frey thought she would hit him. She was trembling with rage. He belatedly realised that this wasn't the time to be needling her. It had gone beyond a joke.
'Hey,' he said, turning serious. 'It's not so bad. We'll get out of Hawk Point, find Grist, make him pay. You get your revenge, your reputation is restored. Hang his head off the prow of the Delirium Trigger if you like.'
Trinica nodded at that, making a hissing noise through her teeth.
'But until that time,' he said, 'you're going to have to watch out. Every drunk with a knife, every dealer looking for an angle, everyone with a grudge against you, they're all going to be lining up to take their chance. They're going to see that Trinica Dracken's been brought down and they're going to take their shot at you while they can.'
'I can look after myself, Darian,' she snapped.
'Can you?' he asked. 'Can you shoot? Can you fight?'
'I can shoot,' she said, showing him the revolvers in her belt.
'Can you shoot well?'
She glared at him, and he had his answer. Trinica wasn't a fighter. She'd got to where she was by guile, manipulation and sheer ruthlessness. She wasn't physical enough to compete in the brutal world of pirates. She'd used others to protect her and fight in her place. Smart people stayed out of gunfights.
There was no crew to hide behind now, no one to issue orders to. Here, she was out of her element, and it scared her. She hid it behind a wall of frost and rage - perhaps she even hid it from herself that way - but none of that fooled Frey.
He'd not seen her scared for a long time. Not since before their aborted marriage, before he ran out on her. More than a decade had passed and they were both different people now, but the feelings that came to him were the same as if it had been yesterday. He felt protective. He actually wanted to hold her in his arms. But that would be the grossest insult to her, the final humiliation, and she'd never allow it.
'Come on,' he said gently. 'Once you get the Trigger fixed, you can come back here and bomb the shit out of this whole town. How's that?'
