The boy was gone. In his place were six men crouched behind an overturned cart, their rifles levelled at him.
Ambush. Frey stared at them in shock.
'Bugger,' he said.
He felt his arm wrenched hard. Silo pulled him sideways just as the rifles opened up. Bullets chipped at the walls and whined through the air. He was yanked back around the corner, out of the line of fire, where he tripped and fell to the ground.
'I seen less obvious traps in my time,' the Murthian said.
Frey ignored him. 'Oi!' he yelled at the gunmen, scrambling to his feet. 'What did I do to deserve that?
'Darian!' Trinica called. He looked to where she was pointing. Another six men had appeared at the other end of the alley, blocking them in. They had rifles too, aimed and ready to fire.
'Whoa! Whoa!' he shouted in alarm, holding up his hands. 'Don't shoot!' He looked around at his companions. 'Guns down, everyone. Let's not make the nice people nervous, eh?'
They laid their weapons on the ground, making no sudden moves. The men approached suspiciously. They were grubby, their faces seamed and lined, and they wore heavy, tatty clothes.
'They ain't mercs,' said one.
'Just 'cos they ain't wearin' the uniform, don't mean they ain't workin' for the company,' argued another.
The first man waved the barrel of his gun towards Trinica. 'Mercs don't use women, far as I know.' He raised his voice, calling to the men around the corner. 'It's alright! We got 'em!'
Frey saw the six men who'd fired on him come swaggering round the corner. 'Anything I can do?' Jez said in his ear. She'd been listening on the Ketty Jay.
'Stay put,' he whispered. 'Too many of 'em.'
'No whisperin'!' snapped one of their captors.
Frey decided that they weren't in imminent danger of being killed by someone with an itchy trigger finger, so it was time to get some answers. 'Who are you lot, anyway?' he asked.
'We should be askin' you that.'
'We're visitors. Looking for someone. Whatever little spat you've got going on here, it's no business of ours.'
'Lookin' for someone? Who?'
'Feller named Almore Roke. You know him?'
There were exclamations of surprise and horror, and a clatter of rifles being primed. Frey stared nervously at the cluster of barrels pointed at his head. 'I take it you do?' he said, his voice small.
'I knew they was in league with Roke!' one of the men said.
'I'm not in league with anybody!' Frey babbled rapidly. 'I'm after a man called Harvin Grist. I heard Roke used to be on his crew. He might know where Grist is. I just want information, that's all! No need for the guns! No need for the guns!'
There was silence as they considered him. Frey was aware that his credibility in Trinica's eyes may well have suffered following his less than manly display, but he decided he'd rather be alive than brave.
'They're mercs!' piped up a high voice. Frey saw the skinny boy that had lured them into the ambush. 'Kill 'em!'
Frey shot him a poisonous glance and wished him a horrible death by venereal disease.
'They ain't mercs,' said a grizzled voice from behind them. A middle-aged man was striding forward. He was stout as an oak, with white hair and white stubble on his unshaven cheeks. By the way the others deferred to him, Frey pegged him as their leader. 'We saw 'em fly in, didn't we? You saw their wings. Mercs wouldn't fly a piece o' shit like that.'
Frey bit his tongue. Even though it was a point in his favour, he was tempted to argue out of pride.
'See?' he said, his voice strained. 'Not mercs. Now can I ask what in rotting bastardy is going on here?'
The grizzled man waved at his companions and they stepped back, returning to a state of wary readiness.
'I'll tell you,' he said. 'Name's Oldrew Sprine. Yours?'
'Darian Frey.'
'Right. Now your friend Roke—'
'Not my friend,' Frey interjected quickly.
'—he's the big cheese in these parts. Took his ill-gotten pirate gains and went into a different kind o' piracy. Robbin' the common folk.'
'Sounds like a despicable sort,' Frey commiserated.
Sprine sneered. 'This town is greased wi' the blood, sweat and tears of miners like us. Roke is the company's representative here.'
'The company?'
'Gradmuth Operations.'
'I've heard of them. Big aerium suppliers to the Navy,' Trinica said.
Sprine grunted. 'Cept it's not just the Navy they're supplyin'. It's them pus-arsed Sammies!'
Frey raised an eyebrow. Yards supplying Samarlans? Their old enemies in the south, the same people they'd recently fought two wars against? It didn't sound especially likely.
'Soon as we got word, we was up in arms,' Sprine said. He spat on the ground. 'It's not enough that they pay us barely enough to feed our families. Not enough that they work us harder every day. Now they're makin' traitors of us, too!'
Frey was pleased to note that nobody seemed to want to shoot them any more. He glanced at Trinica, to be sure she was alright. She didn't seem the least bit scared.
'I heard the Century Knights were here?' he asked.
'Aye, they turned up quick-smart, didn't they?' said Sprine. 'Always do, when they're protectin' the rich folk. Don't turn up so fast when it's the miners in trouble. They're holed up in the refinery with Roke and the rest of the company folk.
'So these mercs . . . they work for Gradmuth Operations?'
'Aye. Paid killers.'
'Well,' said Frey, indicating the dishevelled doctor by his side. 'I think you can see by the state of us that we haven't been paid by anyone in a long time.'
Sprine looked them over. 'Aye. You've a point there.'
Frey fixed his eyes on a point a dozen metres behind Sprine. 'In fact, if we were mercenaries, we'd probably look more like that.'
Sprine laughed. 'You don't expect me to fall for thaaaAARGH?!' he bellowed, and then pitched forward into Frey as he was shot in the leg.
Pandemonium. The deafening, percussive sound of rifle fire. The air was full of snow and bullets and the stink of gunsmoke.
Malvery heaved Sprine off Frey as the miner fought to untangle his rifle and find a target. The mercenaries, dressed in blue uniforms, were shooting round the corner at the end of the alley. Frey and Malvery went the other way, towards the miners. Malvery dragged his captain towards the wall, as far out of the line of fire as they could go. Hard chips nipped at Frey's cheeks as bullets bounced off the stone.
He cast around desperately for Trinica, and saw her being bundled away by Silo. The miners were in disarray, some of them shooting and others retreating, falling over each other. One lay on the ground, staring upwards, a fanned spatter of red blood on the snow. Everyone was yelling.
Frey and Malvery slid along the wall, pressing themselves close to it. Bullets flew past them in both directions. Some of them thumped into flesh, but thankfully none of it belonged to Frey.
Then they were behind the miners, their heads down, running. The miners were too caught up in their gunfight with the mercs to care about prisoners now. Frey threw himself round the corner after Silo and Trinica, and ran smack into something that felt like a building.
Suddenly, the chaos turned to stillness. Frey blinked. Somehow, he was on his back, gazing at the sky. Snow was floating down to settle on his face. Everything seemed vaguely dreamlike.
There were faces looking down at him. Some he recognised; one he didn't. An ugly face, belonging to a giant. Bearded, beetle-browed, cut from rock. Dimly, Frey came to the conclusion that he'd run head-first into this man's
