harumphed. ‘No harm in trying, I suppose.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
They were patted down. None of them were carrying weapons, but Crake’s heart sank a little further when a crewman pulled his skeleton key from the inside pocket of his greatcoat and held it up in front of his face.
‘What’s this for?’ the crewman demanded.
‘My house,’ Crake lied. The crewman snorted and tossed it away. It skidded across the floor of the cargo hold and into a dark corner. With it went any hope that Crake had of escaping from the Delirium Trigger’s brig and saving their hides.
Once the invaders were satisfied they’d been stripped of anything dangerous, Frey and his crew were herded down the ramp at gunpoint. Crake was sweating and his stomach roiled. The future was closing in on him rapidly, arrowing him towards the gallows. He couldn’t see a way out of this one. They were surrounded by overwhelming firepower and completely at Dracken’s mercy. There would be no miraculous rescue this time.
Pinn whistled as he walked down the ramp, totally oblivious to the seriousness of their situation. Even now, he believed in his own heroic myth enough to trust that a hair-raising escape was just around the corner. Crake hated him for that happy ignorance.
Outside, the world was as bleak as their prospects. The ash flats to the east of the Hookhollows were desolate and grim, featureless in every direction. Even the nearby mountains were invisible beneath the rim of the great plateau. From horizon to horizon was a dreary grey expanse, a dead land choked beneath the blanket of dust and flakes that drifted from the west. A chill wind stirred powdery rills from the ground and harried them into the distance. The sky overhead was the colour of slate. The disc of the sun was faint enough to stare at without discomfort.
Looming in the sky to their left was the Delirium Trigger, its massive keel imposingly close, as if it might plunge down and crush them at any moment. Closer by was the small passenger shuttle used to ferry crew from the craft to the ground and back again. The Delirium Trigger was too huge to land anywhere except in specially designed docks.
Their captors halted them at the bottom of the ramp. Standing before them, a short distance away, was a slight figure, dressed head to toe in black. Crake recognised her from Frey’s description: the shockingly white skin, the short, albino-blonde hair torn into clumps, that black, fearsome gaze. She regarded them icily as one of her men walked over to her and whispered something in her ear, then she gave him a short command and he hurried back into the bowels of the Ketty Jay. After that, she walked up to Frey. Mutual loathing simmered in their eyes.
‘The ignition code, please,’ she said.
‘You know that’s not gonna happen,’ he said. ‘You’ve got us. What do you want my aircraft for?’
‘Sentimental value. The code?’
‘She’s not worth anything compared to the reward you’ll get bringing us in. Leave her here.’
‘She’s worth everything to you. Besides, the press will want some ferrotypes of the craft that shot down the Ace of Skulls. Perhaps I’ll present it to the Archduke as a gift. It may encourage him to overlook certain rumours about my activities elsewhere in the future.’
‘This is pointless. You won’t—’
Dracken pulled a revolver in one quick move and pressed the muzzle against his chest, silencing him. ‘It wasn’t a request. Give me the code.’
Frey was shaken; Crake could see it. But he bared his teeth into something approximating a grin and said: ‘Shoot me if you like. You’ll just save the hangman a job.’
Dracken
