being collared by the bulky doctor - bent over and gagged. By the time he’d recovered, there was sullen defiance in his glare.
‘The treasure. Where?’ Malvery demanded again.
The pirate suggested some anatomically improbable places where Malvery could shove his mother. Malvery broke his nose with the butt of the shotgun, then looked around at his companions and shrugged. ‘That’s me out of ideas,’ he said.
Silo and Jez were covering either end of the corridor. The stronghold was mostly deserted - the pirates had evidently fled - but Frey was taking no chances. The pounding of the guns outside seemed worryingly close now, echoing through the empty spaces, bouncing off the unadorned walls. Dust shook from the ceiling, bringing new cracks.
‘We haven’t got time for this,’ he muttered. He seized the pirate, who was holding his bloodied nose, and pointed at Crake.
‘This is my friend Grayther Crake. He’s got quite a remarkable smile. Why don’t you show him, Crake?’
Crake grinned. The pirate stared at him for a moment. His gore-streaked hands came away from his face, the pain of his nose forgotten, and he craned forward in admiration.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘That’s a nice tooth.’
Half a minute later, they were on their way, newly furnished with directions. Malvery had insisted on clubbing the pirate once more for that crack about his mother, but afterwards they let him go, minus his pistols and several molars.
They hurried through the corridors, keyed up to face resistance at any moment, but they found few people to stand against them. One man ignored them completely, presumably running for the exit. Another took a pot-shot at Bess and was gunned down for his trouble.
A particularly heavy concussion shook the building and sent plate-sized flakes of plaster raining from the ceiling. Frey stumbled to his knees, and Silo caught his arm as he fell. As he was helped to his feet, he met the Murthian’s eyes. Both of them were thinking the same thing. They should get out of here now, while they still had the Ketty Jay and their lives.
Just this last thing, Frey told himself, shakily. Our luck’ll hold.
Silo saw the resolve in Frey’s gaze and gave him the tiniest of nods, then reached out one long-fingered hand and squeezed his shoulder in reassurance.
Frey found himself suddenly grateful for the constant presence of the engineer in his life. Though Frey rarely even noticed him, he was always there, a silent strength, working invisibly behind the scenes to keep the Ketty Jay running. Frey realised how important Silo had been to him all these years, a friend who asked for nothing but who would offer unquestioning support whenever it was needed. Silo had saved his life after the ambush in Sammie territory, and been with him through all the bitterness that followed. Frey had never wanted a confidante; he wanted someone who he felt would never betray him, no matter what. That was Silo.
Driven by an absurd and overwhelming urge, he hugged his engineer. Silo stiffened in surprise.
‘Rot and damnation, Cap’n, this isn’t exactly the time!’ Malvery cried.
Frey withdrew, his face colouring. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘You’re right.’
A few more turns brought them to the vault. It was exactly where the pirate had told them it would be. Unfortunately, it was where most of his friends were, too.
The vault door was standing open as they arrived, and a dozen pirates were busy carrying out chests full of treasure. Orkmund himself was there too, directing his men. He was more physically imposing in person than he’d been from a distance: muscular and tattooed, with a bald head and a boxer’s face.
