Crake felt his stomach sink. First the Shacklemores, and now Trinica Dracken was here? One step ahead of them already? This was getting altogether too dangerous. It was only through Amalicia’s invitations—and because nobody knew Crake and Jez were part of the crew of the Ketty Jay—that they’d remained undetected thus far. Crake was beginning to wish he’d never got involved in the first place.
The lavatory door rattled, making him jump. He looked up. There was a pause, then the door rattled again. A moment later, there was a sharp knock on the door.
‘Is someone in there?’
It was the butler. Crake was frozen to the spot. He said nothing, in the futile hope that the man outside would go away.
‘Hello? Is someone in there?’ He sounded angry. There was a knocking again, firmer this time.
The door was locked from the inside. Crake decided that he’d do better to own up, before the butler got really furious.
‘I’m in here,’ he said. ‘Be out in a minute.’
‘You’ll be out right now, sir!’ said the butler. ‘I don’t know how you got up here, but these are the private rooms of Master Thade.’
‘Do you trust her?’ said Grephen, from downstairs. His voice was suddenly faint. They’d moved away, walking into another room. Crake strained to hear over the voice of the butler.
‘Dracken? As much as I trust any pirate,’ Thade replied. ‘Besides, we need her. She’s our only link to—’
‘Sir! I must insist you come out here right now!’ the butler cried, knocking hard on the door.
‘Give a man a moment to finish his business!’ Crake protested, delaying his exit as long as he could. He had the sense that something important was being discussed here, but the words were becoming harder and harder to hear as the speakers moved away.
‘. . . we . . . no one else?’ Grephen asked. ‘I . . . uneasy about . . .’
‘. . . Dracken knows the . . . has charts and . . . device of some kind. Only way . . . can find that place. She . . . our . . . has to be escorted in . . . out . . . secret hideout . . .’
‘Sir!’ bellowed the butler.
‘I’m coming!’ cried Crake. He flushed the toilet, and was dismayed when the sound drowned out the last of the conversation from below him. Unable to hold out any longer, he unlocked the door and was immediately seized by the arm. The butler was a short, balding, red-faced fellow, and he was in no mood for Crake’s weak excuses. The daemonist was escorted roughly along the corridor and down the stairs, past the startled manservant who was supposed to be guarding them.
‘Sir will please stay downstairs from now on, or he shall be thrown from the premises!’ the butler snapped, loud enough to draw titters from the guests nearby. Crake blushed, despite himself. He hurried back towards the ballroom as the butler began to vent his anger on the hapless manservant who had let Crake pass minutes before.
Once in the ballroom, he looked for Jez, and found her with Vexford. The older man was towering over her, drunk on sherry and success, bawling about his outrageous exploits during the Second Aerium War. Crake strode up to them and took Jez by the arm.
‘Cra—’ Jez began, then corrected herself. ‘Sweetheart!’
‘We’re going,’ he said, pulling her away.
‘Here, now, you boor!’ protested Vexford, who was still in mid-story; but Crake ignored him, and Jez was propelled away. Vexford grabbed her wrist to stop her.
‘Sir!’ she exclaimed, breathlessly.
Vexford leaned closer and murmured huskily in her ear. ‘I have a large estate, just outside Banbarr. Anyone in the city will know where it is. If you ever tire of this ruffian, you will be most welcome.’ Then she was pulled away again by her impatient companion.
‘It’s been a great pleasure, sir!’ Jez called over her shoulder. ‘I hope to meet again!’ Then the crowd closed around them, and she turned to Crake with a narrow glare. ‘You left me alone with him,’ she accused. ‘He smells of sour milk and carrots.’
‘We’ll talk about it later, dear,’ said Crake.
‘I don’t think I want to marry you any more,’ she sulked.
Twenty
The crowd on the lawns had thinned out considerably—most of them were in the ballroom now—and the chorus of night insects was in full voice. Crake pulled off his earcuff and threw it into a flower bed as they passed. It was useless without its partner, and he wasn’t about to retrieve it from Thade’s pocket. He’d make more, and better.
‘So I take it you found out what you wanted?’
‘I found out more than I wanted,’ he muttered. ‘But right now I’d like to get off this island as quickly as possible.’
Crake looked up into the moonless sky as they walked, fancying he might see a patch of deeper black in the blackness: the Delirium Trigger, lurking in wait. Jez, having picked up on his obvious agitation, stayed silent.
They crossed the lawns and came to the old path that led to the manor’s landing pad. Here, passenger craft ran a shuttle service to the port of Black Seal Bluff on the mainland. The Ketty Jay was hidden in a glade a few kloms out from the port. Shaken by his near-miss with the Delirium Trigger, Frey hadn’t dared set down in Black Seal Bluff itself. A sensible precaution, as it turned out. Dracken’s undercover spies would have spotted the craft immediately.
They’d been fortunate so far. They’d received more than their share of luck. But the circle was drawing tighter now, and the closer they got to the truth behind the destruction of the Ace of Skulls, the more it constricted.
The path down to the landing pad was wide and deserted, with a knee-high drystone wall on either side. It wound down the hill, occasionally bulging out into small rest areas with carved wooden benches. Weeping bottlebrush and jacarandas overhung the wall, obscuring sections of the path. Electric lamps, set in recesses, lit their faces from below. Bats feasted on insects in the blood-warm darkness overhead.
Crake was so intent on getting down to the pad and away that he was surprised when Jez suddenly tugged him to a halt.
‘Someone’s there,’ she said. She was staring intently into the foliage, a distant look in her eyes, as if she was seeing right through the leaves and bark to whoever hid beyond.
‘What? Where?’ He tried to follow her gaze, but he could see no sign of anyone.
‘He’s right there,’ she murmured, still staring. ‘On the bench. Waiting for us.’
They stood there a moment, not knowing what to do. Crake couldn’t fathom how she could sense this mysterious man, nor how she knew his intention. But he didn’t doubt the conviction in her voice. They couldn’t go forward without passing him, and they couldn’t go back. Crake suddenly wished they’d tried to smuggle in weapons, but it was forbidden for guests to carry arms.
Yet he couldn’t just stand here, trapped, a child afraid to move in case he disturbed the spider. That wasn’t the way a man ought to act. So he steeled himself, and walked on, Jez following behind.
A dozen paces later the path twisted and widened into a circular rest area, hidden by the trees. There was an ornamental stone pool, with a weak jet of water bubbling from a spike in its centre. Sitting on a bench, contemplating the pool, was Fredger Cordwain. He looked up as Crake and Jez arrived.
‘Good night,’ said Crake, without breaking stride.
‘Good night, Grayther Crake,’ Cordwain replied.
Crake froze at the sound of his name. He tensed to run, but Cordwain surged up from the bench, a revolver appearing in his meaty hand. He must have assumed the rule against carrying arms didn’t apply to him.
‘Let’s not make this difficult,’ Cordwain said. ‘You’re worth just the same to me dead or alive.’