‘Well, then,’ she said. ‘That’s that.’
Harkins flexed his fingers on his flight stick and tried not to throw up in his own lap. His stomach had knotted into a ball and his breath came in shallow pants that offered little relief from the crushing anxiety that pressed in on him. He hunkered down in the cockpit of the Firecrow, eyes darting nervously here and there. He wished the mist would clear. He was also afraid of what he’d see when it did.
Only the metal cocoon of the Firecrow kept him together. The sense of safety it afforded stopped him panicking completely.
It seemed so long ago that they’d left the Firecrow hidden in a remote cave next to Pinn’s Skylance. The Cap’n had deemed it too dangerous to travel into Rook’s Boneyard in convoy. He’d been right: without masks, the deadly fumes from the lava river would have caused both Harkins and Pinn to crash.
Their fortunes hadn’t gone too well since then, though. The Firecrow was Harkins’ only security, and without it he was lost. He’d spent most of the subsequent days in blubbering fear; first hiding in the Ketty Jay so as not to venture into Retribution Falls, then trembling in Dracken’s brig on the Delirium Trigger, and later waiting to die in his cell at Mortengrace. Superstitiously, he blamed his bad luck on his separation from the Firecrow. He should never have deserted her. He wouldn’t do so again if he could help it.
Vast, angular shapes glided past to port and starboard like undersea leviathans. Smaller fighters hove between them, their lights bright bruises against the serene fog. Harkins made minute course corrections and fretted about a frigate clipping his wing and sending him spiralling to a fiery death.
The mines petered out after the lava river. Presumably the pirates reasoned that anyone without a compass to detect them would be dead by that point. He’d hoped that leaving the mines behind would ease the tension a little, but he found that it increased it instead. They were on the final leg of the journey. Soon they’d reach the enormous, marshy sinkhole where Retribution Falls lay. Soon the fight would begin.
Survive, said Frey. That’s all you have to do. Don’t take any risks. Look out for each other.
The Cap’n had persuaded Kedmund Drave to let them bring the Ketty Jay’s outflyers. They were invaluable pilots, he’d said, and they’d need every craft in the fight. Harkins and Pinn were useless sitting on board the Ketty Jay. Since their fighters didn’t have Navy markings, they could sow havoc among the pirates, who would be unable to tell them apart from their allies.
Harkins had pointed out that this worked both ways, but Frey had assured him the Navy would know who they were and what they looked like. Harkins wasn’t quite so certain. He could just see a Navy frigate firing a shell up his exhaust in the heat of the moment.
The flotilla was packed in tight, a tentative train behind the Ketty Jay. Harkins was tucked inside it, with Pinn somewhere nearby. The mist was beginning to thin out noticeably. He could make out the detail on the nearest frigates, their gun turrets and armoured keels.
He fingered his silver earcuff. Having a daemon clipped to his ear only added to his unease, but Crake had offered them and Frey had insisted.
‘Anybody out there?’ he said. ‘This is . . . um . . . this is Harkins. Just wondering if anybody’s out there. Say something if you are.’
‘Clam it, Harkins,’ said Pinn’s voice in his ear, making him jump. ‘Crake said to use these things only when we had to. They’ll drain you if you start gibbering.’
‘Oh. I was just testing it, that’s all. You think the Cap’n can hear?’
‘He’s too far ahead. They’ve got a short range. Now shut up.’
Harkins snapped his mouth closed. His ear was tingling where the cuff touched his skin. He didn’t really understand all this daemonism
