He’d slain her once before with this blade, back in the Azryx city, when the Iron Jackal had taken on her form as a ploy to delay him. The daemon in his cutlass had destroyed the daemon then, just as it fought the daemon inside her now. But that had been a deception; this time it was real. To save her, he’d killed her.
He’d killed her.
The wind died and the screams died with them, and still he held Trinica. He held her till the shivers stopped and the trembling ceased and she hung there in the circle of his arm, her cheek against his shoulder, her eyes closed. He held her till the silence returned.
It was that silence, in the end, that broke him. The absence. He took in a breath, not caring how his broken ribs stabbed at him, and he let out a raw cry of rage and anguish that echoed from the cold walls of the hold. He pulled the blade from his lover’s body and threw it aside, and with Trinica still held against him he drew his second pistol and fired it over her shoulder at the Azryx device: once, twice, three times. The transparent casing that kept the gas inside cracked in two places, and a chunk of the bonelike exterior was blown away, revealing strange machinery which sparked with dangerous energy. He fired till his drum was empty, and kept firing after that, and would have gone on if a gloved hand hadn’t closed around the revolver and taken it from his hand. He turned his head and glared into the impassive mask of Morben Kyne.
‘It’s over,’ said Kyne.
Frey pulled Trinica hard against him, encircling her with both arms now, and sobbed helplessly, like a child. He felt her blood seeping through his shirt; or maybe it was his. He didn’t know. He didn’t know where his wounds ended and hers began any more. He just knew that she was gone, and that knowledge was everything.
The light in the hold dimmed and changed. The gas in the Azryx device had begun to change colour, moving from shades of putrescence and bile to a deep arterial red. Gangrenous black swirls appeared at its heart, and little worms of lightning crawled around the cracks in the casing, questing fingers seeking a way out. One of the cracks shot out a new branch, doubling in length under the stress from inside. A low pulsing sound was coming from the device, threatening in tone, getting louder.
‘We have to go,’ Kyne told him, his voice a flat buzz.
But Frey didn’t want to go anywhere. He didn’t care about the device, or the war, or the dull boom of artillery from beyond the Delirium Trigger’s hull. He’d been emptied out. All he wanted was to bring Trinica back, as if by force of will he could undo what had been done.
But he’d learned enough of the world to know better. There were no second chances, just illusions to grasp for. Phantoms, in the end.
He heard a strangled cry, and there was Balomon Crund, his swart face aghast. Behind him was Crake, gazing at his captain with sorrow in his eyes. Frey couldn’t stand it; he had to look away. Let them leave him here with her. Let him stay in this place, and be done with it.
There was a banging on the door they’d come through. Crake seemed grateful for the distraction, and he hurried over. ‘Crund. The code for the keypad,’ he said. When the bosun didn’t reply, Crake snapped at him. ‘Crund!’
Crund grunted a few numbers at Crake, and he punched them in. The door opened this time, and Samandra came through.
‘ ’Bout time!’ she said. ‘What’s the idea, locking me out there? I had to shoot ten of the bastards before they got the idea and buggered off. .’ She tailed away as she saw the look on Crake’s face, and then noticed Frey and Trinica, standing in the centre of the hold. It might have been the end of a slow dance, the last lovers clinging to each other, reluctant to quit the floor. But the music was over now.
The pulse from the Azryx device was getting louder. Crake ducked in fright as an arc of lightning crackled and jumped across the hold to feel its way up one of the pillars. The air stank of burnt ozone, and the hair on the backs of Frey’s hands stood up on end.
Samandra eyed the machine uncertainly. ‘Er, fellers? Remember what happened when we took out that generator back in the Azryx city? This might not be a hundredth the size, but damned if I want to be near it when it goes.’
Crake walked over to Frey. He reached down and picked up the cutlass. ‘Frey,’ he said.
‘Leave me,’ Frey whispered.
‘I can’t do that, Cap’n.’
‘I said leave me!’ he shouted.
And then Trinica coughed, and blood ran from her lips down the side of his neck.
The two men exchanged a look of pure disbelief. Crund shouted: ‘She’s alive!’
Frey felt himself ignite. ‘She’s still alive,’ he said. ‘She’s still alive!’
‘Well, it was a daemon blade you stabbed her with,’ said Crake. ‘I mean, it always did know what you wanted. Maybe it missed the vital organs on purp-’
‘Stop explainin’, honey,’ Samandra told him gently. ‘Ain’t really the time.’
‘She’s alive!’ cried Frey again. He hadn’t heard a word of what Crake had just said. He was dazed by the sheer wonderful, impossible joy of it.
‘Well, if you want her to stay that way we best get out of here and get her to a doc,’ said Samandra. ‘Give her here, Frey, you look like you can barely walk.’
‘I’ll carry her!’ said Crund fiercely. When Frey hesitated, the bosun pulled her from his arms. Frey staggered, and Crake slung his arm round his friend to stop him from falling. The pain of his bruises and his shifting ribs stole the breath from him, but he forced it down, stayed on his feet, spat out the blood that kept coming up into his mouth. Balomon picked up Trinica with ease, holding her like a baby in his brawny arms.
Another bolt of lightning snapped across the hold, and a pile of crates exploded. ‘Let’s get goin’!’ Samandra cried. Together, they hurried towards the exit as fast as they were able, while behind them the Azryx device began to tear itself apart.
She’s alive, Frey thought. She’s alive. She’s alive.
But for how much longer?
Forty-Five
The Delirium Trigger shook and groaned as they hurried through the gloomy corridors up towards the light, carrying their wounded. An explosion boomed through the hull and she keeled to port, sending them careering into a wall. Running footsteps sounded from around corners, the rough shouts of soldiers and pirates. Occasional gunshots could be heard.
They stopped to bind Trinica’s wounds once they were a safe distance from the hold. It was a delay they could hardly afford, but Crake didn’t complain. He saw the desperation in Frey, the haggard hope on his face. He didn’t think as much of Trinica as the Cap’n did, but he knew love. If Trinica bled out before they got her to a doctor, no victory would make up for it. The Cap’n had got them here; they all owed him.
It was a quick job, and they were almost done when a trio of pirates came hurrying round the corner. Samandra and Kyne had their weapons up in an instant. The pirates were about to raise their own guns when Balomon Crund barked at them.
‘Hold there!’
Their eyes fell on him, and Trinica lying next to him.
‘Cap’n’s down,’ he snarled. ‘The Trigger’s goin’ with her. Abandon ship! Get to the shuttles! Abandon ship, you jackals!’
They didn’t need another prompt. The pirates backed away warily, turned tail and ran. Crund picked Trinica up and they set off again.
Crake had his arm round Frey, and the Cap’n’s broken hand flopped over his shoulder. His breath was laboured and short. He did his best not to make a sound, but the occasional suppressed grunt and gasp told of the pain he was in. Blood kept coming up in his mouth, and however much he spat out there was always more.