only grinned. ‘Time to get out of here,’ he said. He hauled back on the control stick and the Ketty Jay began to climb.
The ascent through the clouds was rough, but the turbulence was nothing the Ketty Jay couldn’t handle. She’d seen worse than this in her time. Though she was jostled and battered and harassed every klom of the way, Frey fought with her against the storm, and the two of them knew each other well. Frey didn’t realise it, but a fierce smile was plastered across his face as he flew. This was what being a freebooter was all about. This was how it felt to be a lord of the skies. Outwitting your enemies, snatching victory from defeat. Braving the storm.
Then the clouds ended, and the Ketty Jay soared free. The dark carpet of thunderheads was spread out below them as far as they could see, obscuring everything beneath. Above them was only an endless crystalline blue and the dazzle of the sun.
‘Malvery?’ Frey called.
‘All clear, Cap’n!’ came the reply.
Frey looked over his shoulder at Jez and Crake, who were glowing with excitement and relief.
‘Good job, everyone,’ he said. Then he slumped back in his seat with a sigh. ‘Good job.’
Eighteen
The night was warm, and the air shrilled with the song of insects. Lush plants hissed and rustled in the tropical breeze. Electric lamps, hidden in the foliage, lit up an ancient stone path that wound up the hill, towards the lights and the distant music. Northern Vardia might have been frozen solid, but here in the Feldspar Islands winter never came.
Crake and Jez disembarked arm in arm from the luxurious passenger craft that had shuttled them from the mainland. Crake paused to adjust the cuffs of his rented jacket, then smiled at his companion to indicate his readiness. Jez tried not to look ill at ease in her clinging black dress as they made their way down from the aircraft. They were greeted at the bottom of the stairs by a manservant, who politely asked for their invitations. Crake handed them over and introduced himself as Damen Morcutt, of the Marduk Morcutts, whom he’d recently made up.
‘And this is Miss Bethinda Flay,’ he said, raising Jez’s hand so the manservant might bob and kiss it. The manservant looked at Crake expectantly for elaboration, but Crake gave him a conspiratorial wink and said, ‘She’s rather new to this game. Be gentle with her, eh?’
‘I quite understand, sir,’ said the manservant. ‘Madam, you are most welcome here.’
Jez curtsied uncertainly, and then the two of them went walking up the path towards the stately manor at the top of the hill.
‘Small steps,’ murmured Crake out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Don’t stride. Remember you’re a lady.’
‘I thought we agreed that I was a craftbuilder’s daughter,’ she replied.
‘You’re supposed to be a craftbuilder’s daughter trying to be a lady.’
‘I am a craftbuilder’s daughter trying to be a lady!’
‘That’s why the disguise is flawless.’
Crake had spent the last week coaching Jez in the basics of etiquette. She was a fast learner, but a crash course in manners would never convince anyone that she was part of the aristocracy. In the end, Crake had decided that the best lies were those closest to the truth. She’d pose as a craftbuilder’s daughter - a life she knew very well. He’d play the indolent son of a wealthy family who had fallen in love with a low-born woman and was determined to make her his bride.
‘That
