they heard where you were, they sent us,’ said Drave. He looked around himself, at the dead lying on the ground. ‘By the Duke’s reaction, I’d say her story and yours have some truth in them.’
‘I want pardons,’ said Frey. ‘In writing.’
‘You’ll get them,’ said Drave. ‘When you’ve led us to Retribution Falls. Not before.’ Frey opened his mouth to protest, but Drave held up one metal-gloved hand. ‘Pardons can be revoked. Makes no difference if you have a piece of paper or not. If you’re telling the truth, and you do what you say, then you’ll get what you want. But you double-cross me, and there’ll be no place in the world that’s safe for you.’
Frey met his gaze steadily. Threats couldn’t faze him now. ‘Then I suppose we’ll just have to trust each other, won’t we? Now get my men out of that cage.’
Thirty-Six
‘Turning up ahead, Cap’n. Hold steady till you see it.’ Frey made a murmur of acknowledgement and Jez went
Back to her charts. The Ketty Jay slid on through the mists of Rook’s Boneyard.
Behind Frey, Crake consulted Dracken’s compass and warned them where the deadly floating mines were hiding in the murk. His voice was muffled by the mask he wore. Frey wore one too.
Jez didn’t. She’d given up pretending she needed to.
The cockpit was dim and stuffy, and sounds gave back strange echoes. Dew ran down the windglass, and the soft growl of the Ketty Jay’s thrusters filled up the silence. Jez sat in her chair at the navigator’s station, plotting their course as efficiently as ever. She absently tapped out a sequence on the electroheliograph with her left hand, warning those who followed of the location of the mines, half her mind still on the calculations.
Frey took off his mask for a moment and yelled, ‘How we doing back there, Doc?’
‘They’re still on our tail!’ Malvery bellowed back from the cupola, where he had a view of what was going on behind the Ketty Jay. Only he could see the huge shapes in the darkness that drifted after them like malevolent phantoms.
‘Bet you never thought you’d see the day when you’d be leading a flotilla of Navy craft,’ Jez grinned, looking over at the captain.
‘I never did,’ he agreed with a wry twitch of the lips, then put his gas filter back on.
There was a dull explosion as a mine was detonated by one of the Navy minesweepers, clearing a path for the fleet behind them. It had been slow progress over many hours, gradually creeping closer and closer to Retribution Falls, removing all threats along the way. Since the other craft didn’t have compasses of their own, it was just too risky to try to bring the whole strike force through the mines in single file.
Jez wondered how far the sound carried through the choking mist and deep, sharp canyons. She wondered if they might find the denizens of Retribution Falls waiting for them when they arrived. But despite the danger all around them and the certain knowledge of the conflict to come, she felt content.
The sounds of the Ketty Jay soothed her. She’d come to know its tics and groans and they were reassuring. The navigator’s seat had found her shape, as if it had somehow moulded itself to her buttocks and back, and its form seemed natural now. The muggy heat of the cockpit had become cosy, a warm sanctuary from the hostile world that waited outside.
It was a strange experience. So much time had passed since the Manes had attacked that small village in Yortland that she’d forgotten what contentment felt like. Three years she’d been wandering, hiding, always afraid of discovery. She’d never put down roots or allowed herself to care for those around her.
