‘I won,’ he said quietly to himself. Then, louder, a broad grin breaking out. ‘I won! I won!’
There was a crowd running towards him. He undid his seat belt and clambered unsteadily out of the Firecrow, where he found himself surrounded by people, all of them congratulating him, patting him on the back, asking him if he was alright. He cringed and flinched, frightened by all these enthusiastic strangers. Finally a familiar face broke through. It washroaway Crake, who swept him up in a warm and surprising embrace.
‘Spit and blood, you idiot, we thought you were dead out there!’ he cried. ‘That was damned amazing!’
‘Well, you know… Can’t keep a good pilot down, I suppose.’
He saw Jez and Pinn, pushing through the cheering spectators. A wry sort of smile on Jez’s face, and relief in her eyes. Seized by an impulse, he threw his arms around her, and hugged her to him. She laughed and hugged him back. ‘That was really something, Harkins.’
He was actually touching her. Her small body was wrapped up in his. It was a moment he’d dreamed of for a long time, but now that it had arrived, all the bravery and recklessness he’d banked with his victory drained out of him. He blushed beetroot red and let her go, tongue thickening in his mouth. He turned away to cover his embarrassment, scratching the back of his neck, and began to examine the Firecrow. Jez, oblivious to his torment, stood next to him and did the same.
‘Well, you pretty much thrashed the shit out of it,’ she observed with a grin. ‘Cap’n’s gonna pop a lung.’
The thought of that filled him with dread. Where was the Cap’n, anyway? For that matter, where was Pinn? He could have sworn he saw him a moment ago, and he wanted to rub his success in Pinn’s fat, stupid face.
‘That was the most brilliant piece of flying I ever saw!’ cried a loud voice. Pinn’s voice. He’d climbed up on the broken wing of the Firecrow and was addressing the crowd through the rain. ‘This feller might be the best pilot in the world!’
The crowd cheered. Harkins could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Pinn’s purpose in life was to mock Harkins at every opportunity. To be publicly praised by him… Well, he wondered if the crash hadn’t jerked something loose in his head, and he was hallucinating.
‘Everyone, I want you to go out and tell all your friends what you witnessed today!’ Pinn yelled. ‘He didn’t just win the race, he landed his craft with no engines, and lived to talk about it!’
The crowd cheered again, and Harkins was thumped on the back. He couldn’t help a smile. He felt himself swelling with pride. He really had done that, hadn’t he?
‘Remember his name!’ Pinn cried. ‘Three cheers for Artis Pinn!’
The blood drained from Harkins’ face. The crowd hurrahed.
‘Artis Pinn!’ Another hurrah.
‘No!’ Harkins squeaked. ‘Wait! That’s not my name! I amp;rs my face="Timquo; m Jandrew Har-’
‘ Artis Pinn, hero of the skies! ’ Pinn roared, arms raised and fists shaking. Thunder boomed in the background, with uncanny timing.
Then Harkins felt himself lifted and borne on the shoulders of the crowd, and his feeble protests were lost in the cheers as he was carried away.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ said Frey.
Crickslint’s bodyguards spun around, saw the weapons hanging loosely in the hands of Frey, Malvery and Silo, and pulled theirs. In an instant, everyone had their guns levelled, three men on either side, fingers hovering over triggers. Rain dripped from pistols and shotgun barrels. Lightning flickered in the distance, and the sky grumbled.
‘Let’s not get nasty, now,’ said Frey. ‘It was your boss I was talking to.’
Crickslint peered out from behind his bodyguards. They were standing on the makeshift landing pad, a short distance from Crickslint’s single-seater aircraft. He’d been heading for it in quite some hurry before Frey caught him up.
‘Captain Frey,’ he said. ‘My most hearty congratulations on your victory.’
‘Yeah, my pilot won, just like I said he would. Aren’t you gonna collect your winnings? After all, you put a pretty hefty bet on him, right?’ Frey’s eyes went cold. ‘Unless you didn’t.’
The rain had plastered Crickslint’s thin blond hair to his skull. He showed his chrome teeth in a grimace. ‘No hard feelings, eh? I really didn’t think he’d win.’
‘Well, he did. And we had a deal, I reckon. Something about loaning me a certain relic.’
‘Ah,’ said Crickslint. ‘The thing about that is, I don’t have it.’
‘You don’t have it,’ Frey said, his voice flat.
‘Yes, I’d sold it by the time you turned up. Already had a buyer lined up, you see. Bad luck. Did you think I’d forget how you ran off with my shipment when I was at my lowest ebb? Maybe next time you’ll think twice about robbing Jid Crickslint.’
Frey took a long, calming breath. If there was one thing worse than being cheated, it was being cheated by someone who referred to themselves in the third person.
He sized up the situation. Too many guns pointed at people for his liking. Three on three: there was no way they’d all survive. ‘How about we all lower our weapons?’ he suggested. He put out his arm, and gently pushed Mantlew Roman"›lvery’s shotgun barrel down towards the ground. Silo followed suit. ‘Crickslint?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘Lower your weapons, men. No one’s getting shot.’ He looked at Frey. ‘Captain Frey realises that violence is pointless in this situation, I think.’
Frey very much wanted to do violence to Crickslint right then, even the pointless kind. Harkins’ frankly extraordinary display of flying had all been for nothing. He’d put one of his crew in mortal danger for no reason at all.
The bodyguards warily lowered their guns, although nobody was putting them away. Still, the tension had been defused a little, and Frey was content with that.
‘Tell me who you sold it to,’ Frey said. ‘You owe me that much.’
‘Do I?’ Crickslint pondered theatrically. ‘Well, it’s no skin off my nose, I suppose. I sold it to a man called Grothsen.’
‘ Isley Grothsen?’ Malvery asked.
Crickslint pointed at the doctor. ‘Your man knows of him, it seems.’
‘He’s the head of the Archaeologists’ Guild in Thesk,’ said Malvery. ‘The Archduke’s personal collector.’
‘You sold it to the Archduke?’ Frey cried.
‘I hope you didn’t need it too badly,’ said Crickslint. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think our business is done.’
Frey’s mind raced. The Archduke. It was in the hands of the damned Archduke. What in spit was he going to do now?
Protected by the barrier of bodyguards, Crickslint walked to his aircraft, climbed in and settled himself into the cockpit. Malvery held out his pocket watch to Frey, who glanced at the time and nodded.
‘Crickslint!’ he called.
‘What is it now?’ Crickslint called back.
‘We found the bomb you put on the Firecrow.’
‘Yes, I wondered why that hadn’t gone off. Insurance, in case your pilot was as good as you said. You disarmed it, then, I assume.’
‘No,’ said Frey. ‘Just turned the timer back five minutes and put it on your craft.’
Crickslint’s face fell. Frey winked. amp;lsqy wsaid Frey. uo; No hard feelings, eh?’
Frey had to admit, he hadn’t expected quite such a big explosion. But Crickslint’s bodyguards hadn’t expected an explosion at all, so the first thing they did was whirl around to see what had happened. Frey and his men gunned them down while their backs were turned, just in case they were entertaining any thoughts of retaliation. He didn’t really hold with the idea that you should wait for a man to face you before you shot them.
Frey considered the flaming wreckage of Crickslint’s aircraft. He wiped rain-wet hair away from his forehead. ‘Shit,’ he said.