‘Some things aren’t especially funny.’
The crowd cheered and surged to their feet at something playing out in the court below, but Maddeus stayed where he was. He huffed. ‘You are a sad sort today,’ he sho amp;rs
‘You’ve heard of Ugrik vak Munn kes Oortuk, right?’
‘Of course. Famous explorer. Fourth son of the High Clan Chief of Yortland.’
She produced a letter from one of the many pockets of her mechanic’s trousers. ‘I got this from the feller I was working with to get that relic. He sent it from Vardia. Turns out it was Ugrik that found the relic, before the Samarlans caught him somewhere down south. Which is how it ended up on the train we robbed.’
‘And you need…?’
‘I need to know where Ugrik is. If he’s alive, we need to find him. Ugrik can tell us where the relic came from, and we have to put it back.’
‘We? What’s your interest in this?’
‘Money. He’ll pay for the information. I’ll split it with you, of course.’
‘Oh, don’t bother. I won’t have time to spend it.’ He studied her, and there was a knowing look on his face that she didn’t like. ‘It’s the crew of the Ketty Jay, isn’t it?’
There wasn’t much that got past Maddeus Brink. ‘So?’ she said, sounding like a sulky teen again. She hated how she got that way around him.
‘How have they been, so far?’
She scowled. ‘The doc’s nice, I suppose. They’re a decent bunch. They look out for each other, which is more that I can say for most.’
‘And the captain?’
‘Apart from the fact that he clearly wants to jump me, he’s a good sort. What of it?’
The crowd roared again, but she’d tuned them out by now. They were in their own small world, locked together in the muggy heat, surrounded by a wall of foreigners who surged and bellowed like a storm tide. Shasiith was a place where everyone lived on top of each other. It was hard to find space here. You got used to being hemmed in, or you left.
‘I’ll help you, naturally,’ he said, She could see he was calculating something. ‘But I want a promise in return.’
She waited, knowing what would come, willing him not to say it.
‘I want you to leave Shasiith for a while.’
She felt her jaw tighten. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair!
‘You want me to leave you to die.’
‘I want you to live,’ he said, taking her hands in his. ‘That’s my price, and I won’t change my mind. Promise me.’
She sat there for a moment on the bench, and it seemed that she was terribly, awfully alone. Then she pulled her hands out of his, suddenly infuriated by his weak, papery grip, and stood up.
‘Just get it done,’ she snapped, and then she pushed past him and away down the row, towards the steps that would lead her out. She wanted to be away from the crowds, from the heat, from this dirty, seething place that had killed the only person she ever felt love for. She wanted to smash everything she’d ever known to pieces, and start from scratch. She wanted to die, and be reborn; or maybe just die.
She was glad she couldn’t remember how to cry.
Twenty
‘Hurry up, hurry up!’ Frey muttered.
Crake ignored him and concentrated on the skeleton key in the lock. The thralled daemon was singing faintly in his hand at a pitch that he could sense rather than hear. Using the tooth last night, followed by an insidious day-long hangover, had worn him down. It was harder than usual to make the key do its job.
The Cap’n glanced around uncomfortably. ‘Someone’s gonna come.’
‘Will you please shut up?’ Crake asked. No one needed to tell him to worry about getting caught. Crake had an ingrained terror of authority born from a lifetime of strict social rules and regulations.
Frey cursed to himself and flapped around, beating off the autumn chill. The slashes along the back of his greatcoat were letting in the cold air. Silo watched him without obvious emotion.
Towering above them in the darkness were the imposing walls of the Mentenforth Institute building. Its pillared front entrance looked out onto one of the most expensive streets in Thesk, but they weren’t at the front entrance. They were round the back, in a small yard that was uncomfortably well lit. Not suitable for criminal activity at all. They were out of sight of the road, but well in sight of the buildings that overlooked the yard.
The key slipped and slid around the inside of the lock, seeking the right configuration. Crake frowned andeered buildings tried again, harder. His hand was going cold. He couldn’t stop thinking about last night. About Samandra.
Come on, come on. Get on with it.
‘Jez? Are you up there?’ Frey whispered, his hand to his ear where the earcuff sat. They were all wearing them. When someone spoke, the earcuffs repeated it a fraction of a second later. It was slightly disorientating, and the Cap’n had complained about it, but Crake had insisted in case they got separated.
‘I’m here, Cap’n,’ came Jez’s voice in Crake’s ear.
‘Can you see us?’
‘I can see the Mentenforth building but I… oh, wait, there you are. Hi!’
Frey waved up in the air. Crake glanced up briefly. The Ketty Jay was hanging up there in the dark somewhere, a klom above them, but all that was visible over the city lights were a few stars.
‘Be ready. We might need a quick evacuation.’
‘You told me that half a dozen times, Cap’n. What do you think I’m doing up here?’
Frey didn’t reply, but turned his attention to Crake instead. ‘What’s taking so long?’ he demanded irritably.
Crake didn’t take offence. He understood the Cap’n’s impatience. Everyone knew that time was ticking down for him, and every new delay was harder on his nerves.
They hadn’t been able to move immediately, even after they found out where the relic was. They needed to scout the location, they needed to talk to their shady underworld contacts about what was inside and, more importantly, Crake needed to sober up. They would require the use of his daemonist talents if they hoped to penetrate the Mentenforth.
They barely had a plan at all by nightfall, and Crake was still far short of his best. But the Iron Jackal wouldn’t wait.
Six nights left until the full moon. Where had the time gone?
Crake felt the key turn in his hand with a thump. ‘We’re in,’ he said, with no small amount of relief.
Frey pushed the door open carefully. It whined on its hinges, making Crake’s shoulders tense up. Frey looked inside, then darted through and beckoned them.
Silo went after him. Crake took a deep breath and followed. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done enough criminal things during his tenure as a crewman on the Ketty Jay, but he was usually doing them to other criminals, or foreigalso; t asners, or Awakeners, so that was alright in his book. But breaking in to a highly respected institute of learning, stealing from it, went against pretty much everything he stood for. He didn’t think he could take the disgrace if he was found out. The only thing keeping him going was the fact that they’d stolen the relic in the first place, so technically it belonged to them. Sort of.
Give it up, Grayther, he told himself. Admit it. You’re not quite the noble fellow you pretend to be. In fact, you probably never were.
The Mentenforth Institute. A private museum and place of study and learning, founded by members of various guilds, including the Archaeologists and the Explorers. If Samandra’s information was accurate, the relic was inside.
In retrospect, this was the most obvious place for Isley Grothsen, the head of the Archaeologists’ Guild, to bring it after Crickslint sold it to him. A Samarlan relic so ancient and valuable would presumably require some time to study and authenticate, and this place had all the necessary equipment, as well as being highly secure.