storekeeper gave him an odd look, then snatched the coins off the counter and called out to a passer-by, trying to lure them over. Dismissed, Frey and the others moved away, distributing the filters between them.
‘Orkmund’s got himself a pirate fleet,’ Jez said. ‘That’s how Grephen’s going to do it. That’s how he’ll seize power. He’s made a deal with the king of the pirates.’
‘But there’s one last thing I don’t understand,’ Frey replied. ‘How’d Duke Grephen get Orkmund on his side?’
‘Paid him, probably,’ Malvery opined.
‘With what? Grephen doesn’t have the money to support an army. Or at least Crake doesn’t think so, and he should know.’
‘Crake could be wrong,’ Jez said. ‘Just because he has the accent doesn’t mean he has some great insight into the aristocracy. There’s a lot you don’t know about him.’
Frey frowned. He was getting heartily sick of this tension between Jez and Crake. They’d been barely able to work together when he needed them to navigate through the canyons of Rook’s Boneyard. Something needed to be done.
‘Back to the Ketty Jay,’ he said. ‘We’ve learned enough for now. Let’s see what Orkmund says tomorrow.’
‘We’re not going to have a drink?’ Malvery asked, horrified. ‘I mean, in the interests of gathering information?’
‘Not this time. Early start in the morning. I’m not having any trouble tonight.’
He started off back towards the landing pad. Malvery trudged behind. ‘I miss the old Cap’n,’ he grumbled.
Frey had almost all the information he needed. He was missing only one piece. Someone was backing Duke Grephen, providing the money to build an army of mercenaries big enough to fight the Coalition Navy and take the capital of Vardia. He needed know who. When that last piece fell into place, he’d understand the conspiracy he was tangled up in. Then, he could do something about it.
A serene and peaceful feeling settled on him as they made their way back towards the Ketty Jay. Tomorrow would bring an answer. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was certain of it.
Tomorrow. That’s when we start turning this around.
Twenty-Nine
Crake was shaken out of sleep by Frey’s hand on his shoulder. ‘Get up,’ Frey said. ‘What is it?’ he murmured.
‘Come on,’ insisted the captain. ‘I need you in the mess.’
Crake swung his legs off the bunk. He was still fully clothed, having gone to sleep as soon as Frey left the Ketty Jay. He’d hoped to shake off the headache he’d picked up from breathing the lava fumes. It hadn’t worked.
‘What’s so urgent, Frey? Stove making spooky noises? Daemonic activity in the stew?’
‘There’s just something we need to sort out, that’s all.’
Something in his tone told Crake that Frey wasn’t going to let this go, so he got to his feet with a sigh and shambled after his captain, out into the passageway. But instead of going down the ladder to the mess, Frey walked past it and knocked on the door of the navigator’s quarters. Jez opened up. She glanced from Frey to Crake, and was immediately suspicious.
‘Can you come to the mess?’ Frey asked, though it sounded less a request than an order.
