Ketty Jay 04 - The Ace of Skulls (61 page)

Malvery came up next to him and gave him a hefty nudge with his elbow. ‘You alright, mate?’

‘Yes,’ said Crake. ‘It’s just . . .’ He waved out at the courtyard. ‘All this.’

‘I know,’ said Malvery. ‘Stick it out, eh? We’ll drive ’em off with those golems on our side.’

‘And then what?’ Crake asked. ‘What do we do then?’

Malvery’s face was serious. ‘That don’t matter,’ he said. ‘Just do what you can.’

The crump and rumble of distant explosions could still be heard over the thunder and hissing rain. The ground trembled whenever a particularly big bomb hit. Even up on this crag, high above the city, they could feel Thesk’s death throes through their soles.

Yes,
he thought.
Just do what you can
.

He was frightened, and not only for himself. They could beat back the invaders from the palace, but they couldn’t do it forever. Not with those frigates overhead. The Awakeners could land troops on top of them all day, and if the resistance proved too much, they’d simply forget about preserving Thesk’s seat of power and start bombing. They’d annihilate the golems and bring down the walls.

Don’t think about that. Think about now.

But he couldn’t. He didn’t have his crewmates’ ability to ignore consequences and live in the moment. He’d often envied them that. They were so blithe in the face of danger.

Was that the root of courage? The art of forgetting what you’d lose if you failed?

Bess caught up with them, shambling to a halt nearby. She was dragging a dead Sentinel by his leg like a little girl with a doll. The Sentinel’s head was dented on one side, the face aghast and purple.

‘Put that down, Bess,’ Crake said, faintly nauseated. Bess ignored him, her attention on the golems in the courtyard. She seemed bashful and subdued in their presence. They intimidated her.

Ashua hurried up, scrawny and soaked. She’d been off dealing with Awakeners in the streets behind them. The battle there was done, but only temporarily. No matter how hard they tried to drive the Awakeners out, more of them landed. Many of the Coalition troops had been held back to protect the palace, where the Archduke sheltered. The rest were out to make sure the Awakeners couldn’t bring their ground forces through the streets and up to the palace doors.

‘If they get a steady route up the road from the city, they can bring in armoured vehicles and rot knows what else,’ Malvery growled. He slapped Crake on the shoulder. ‘Come on. Still fightin’ to be done yet.’

They hastened across the courtyard, following the others towards the gate which guarded the streets on the crag top. The Century Knights led the way. Samandra found Crake with her gaze before she disappeared through the arch. He would have liked her by his side, but he understood. She had a job to do. Matters here were too important to let herself be distracted by babysitting.

The fighting around the gate was fierce. A narrow road ran through the arch, lined with stables and shops on either side. Watchtowers stood there, and the battle was thickest near their base. A mob of Awakeners were trying to force their way up the road, driving ahead by sheer weight of numbers. Gun muzzles flashed; the air was punched with pistol reports; men screamed.

An Awakener gunship hovered overhead, seeking a clear shot at the Coalition forces. More Century Knights were here: Eldrew Grissom, his duster whirling about him and his knives flashing; Graniel Thrate, the Sledgehammer. Golems weighed in, dashing men against the walls. Bess went with them, disregarding Crake’s command to stay. The lure of the fight was too much for her.

Crake stayed close to the buildings and hurried up the street in short bursts. His palm was sweaty on his pistol grip. Ashua was close behind him. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he felt about that. His head told him that she wasn’t to be trusted, that she might well be on the side of the enemy. But it was hard for him to hate someone who’d so recently been a friend. There was too much empathy in him, too much capacity for self-doubt.

Besides, he had bigger things to worry about right now.

A pair of Sentinels appeared at the mouth of an alley behind them, a little way up the street. It was only because Crake was looking back at Ashua that he spotted them. He cried out a warning, thrust out his gun and fired three shots. Two window panes exploded and a nearby door jamb suffered a grievous wound. Other Coalition soldiers took care of the flesh-and-blood opponents.

‘When this is done, I’m gonna teach you how to shoot that thing,’ Ashua muttered, slipping past him to take the lead.

Crake felt himself flushing angrily. He’d take that from Malvery, but it didn’t seem right to be disparaged by someone so recently accused of treachery. He’d expected a little more humility from someone who wanted to get back in his good books; but then, humility wasn’t exactly Ashua’s style.

There was a whine of engines as the gunship overhead adjusted itself, and then a rapid tattoo of cannon fire. Glass smashed, stone puffed, wood splintered as the street was strafed. A few Coalition soldiers, unlucky enough to be out of cover, danced and jerked as they were hit. One of the Coalition golems, undoubtedly the intended target, came apart in a screech of metal, and was left in a ruined, twisted pile on the cobbles.

Crake pressed himself back against the wall and covered his ears. He’d been in gunfights before, but even Sakkan hadn’t been like this. The noise and movement and terror were overwhelming.

Then: a loud
thump-thump-thump
. An autocannon. The gunship’s prow exploded, and the mutilated remainder slewed away to crash into a nearby rooftop. Men scattered as the building slumped into the street in a landslide of bricks and slate. Dust billowed up, a great cloud obscuring the gate.

Malvery roared with laughter. ‘Seems they didn’t get the memo about Grudge!’ he cried. Passing soldiers smiled at that as they went racing down towards the gate, taking advantage of the cover provided by the dust cloud. Crake looked for Bess and couldn’t find her. He applied himself to reloading his revolver while he had a moment’s grace.

He was still bent over, slotting in the last of the bullets, when the horror came upon him.

Oh, no
, he thought.
They’re here.

The gunfire stuttered into silence. Faces turned from grim determination to abject fear. Malvery, normally so stout-hearted, began to back away, whimpering. Ashua hunkered down into a ball and clung on to herself.

Crake’s hand went to his chest. Against his skin he felt the chill touch of the metal amulet. One of the devices that he and Kyne had crafted to negate the power of the Imperators.

It doesn’t work
, he thought, as panic clutched at him.
It doesn’t work!

His legs went weak and he staggered. He put out a hand to steady himself, but his knees gave way. The weight of his failure took him down to the ground. All that they’d risked at the Tarlock mansion, the death of Jez and Pelaru, the Cap’n’s dreams of saving his lover – all of it was worthless. The knowledge they’d gained of the Imperators meant nothing. Because the amulets didn’t work.

In the dust cloud, something moved. A booted foot splashed into a puddle. Out of the rain and the swirling murk, a figure emerged, masked and cloaked, clad head to toe in black.

A golem thundered up the street towards the Imperator. He raised a gloved hand and the golem seized up and went crashing down in a heap.

We can’t fight them. Not the Imperators. We can’t win against them!

Crake spotted Samandra, on the other side of the street, pressed up against the wall where she’d scrambled. She was just visible on the edge of the settling dust, her face distorted in fright. The sight of that struck at him deeply. Those features should never be twisted that way, those eyes never so wide and so afraid. She was so strong and capable, stronger than him; to see her made helpless was an injustice against decency.

The amulet against Crake’s chest was cold. Cold as ice. In fact, his whole body was going cold.

Just like it did when he used his tooth. Because the daemon was leaching his vitality.

Because the amulet was
working
.

From somewhere, he found strength. This fear was not supernatural. It was just that it was so potent he’d mistaken it for the Imperator’s influence. No, this fear was honest and human, and it could be overcome.

His eyes fixed on Samandra, he gritted his teeth and willed himself to move. The effort was enormous, the distance insurmountable. But somehow, he got up from his knees, and he stood.

The Imperator turned its head slowly towards him, fixing him with its dreadful gaze. He put one foot in front of him, and then another. His throat was dry; his muscles trembled. It was like fighting against a current. But he came on, walking out into the street. Walking towards the Imperator.

The dust cloud was dispersing now, washed down by the rain. Behind the first Imperator, he saw a second one emerging. And behind that one were the Awakeners, a hundred troops with their guns, waiting for the cloud to clear so they could be sure their enemies had been subdued. So they could begin executing their helpless opponents.

The Imperator reached down to his belt and drew out a long black knife. He strode towards Crake with murderously efficient purpose, his sodden cloak flapping around him. The sight of that dark figure bearing down on him, the knowledge that he had seconds to live, almost rendered Crake immobile with fear.

Almost.

His arm leaden, his senses muffled, he raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening in the silence.

The Imperator jerked and stopped mid-stride. For a moment, he just stood there. Then he staggered back a step, and looked down at the small hole in his chest. It wasn’t bleeding.

When the Imperator looked up again, Crake had the gun aimed point-blank at his forehead. He pulled the trigger again. The Imperator’s head whiplashed back and he crumpled to the ground.

Crake breathed in, breathed out, and felt his fear turn to bitter and triumphant hatred. Then he turned hard eyes on the second Imperator, and went stalking across the street towards him.

Crake had never seen an Imperator display uncertainty before. His enemy looked around for help, drew his knife, held it without conviction. They relied so heavily on their fear-inducing powers that they had no other way to fight, and here was someone the Imperator had no power to affect. Crake felt his confidence rising with every step. He’d killed two Imperators now, three if he counted the one that died in the summoning circle. Usually he was a man with a surplus of conscience, but not where these creatures were concerned. They were less than animals to him. He found great satisfaction in exterminating them.

The Imperator lunged, but not at Crake. He darted to the side of the road, seized Samandra by the wrist, pulled her roughly to her feet. In a moment, he had his arm round her neck, her body held before him as a shield, the point of his knife against her nape.

Crake stopped dead. The Imperator glared at him, only his head and arm visible behind Samandra. He had no tongue to speak, but his intention was clear.
Come closer, and I’ll kill her
. Five metres separated them: too far to reach her before he drove the knife home. Samandra whimpered, limp and unresisting, her courage destroyed by the Imperator’s influence.

Crake’s world had seemed close and confined during the fight; now it narrowed to a single moment. He was aware of many things: the pulse at Samandra’s throat; the beating of his own heart; the falling rain and the Imperator’s birdlike, yellow-irised eyes. And he knew that the dust cloud had become little more than a haze, and that Sentinels were already squinting through, wondering who the figure in the middle of the street was. They’d aim their guns and shoot, and he’d fall, and it would all be over.

Unless
.

Crake was a meticulous man, a thoughtful man, a man who considered consequences and disdained recklessness. But in that instant, he knew what it was to be like the Cap’n, or Pinn, or even Malvery. To know nothing of the future, to spurn it entirely, to be as careless and instinctive as an animal. To simply
do
, and nothing more.

In one quick movement, he raised his pistol and fired. The Imperator’s head snapped back and smacked against the stone wall behind him. Then he slid to the ground, dead.

Crake saw Samandra’s face clear as the Imperator’s influence was broken. Her expression changed from fear to amazement. She looked down at the dead thing at her feet, then up at Crake, who was still aiming the revolver, his expression as amazed as hers.

‘Good
shot
!’ she said.

Suddenly there were thrusters overhead, and a hot downdraft blew around them and whipped about the streets, blasting the last of the dust away. Samandra’s tricorn hat flapped and she had to grab it to keep it from flying off. She reached out and pulled Crake up against the wall, just before the air filled with bullets. But the bullets were not aimed at them; they were aimed at the gate, where the Awakeners had gathered. Crake heard the screams of the Sentinels as a hail of bullets cut through them.

‘It’s the
Ketty Jay
!’ Malvery bellowed over the noise, and then laughed heartily and pointed to the sky. ‘The Cap’n’s back!’

The Sentinels quailed under the assault from the
Ketty Jay
’s machine guns. They saw the dead Imperators, saw the Coalition forces stirring back to life, and their dismay turned into a rout. They crowded back through the gate and began to run along the road that led off the crag. Frey let up on his guns, and the Coalition forces pushed the gates closed with a loud boom. A great cheer went up as the mechanical locks crashed back into place.

Crake staggered out into the street, dazed and weakened by his ordeal and the daemon in the amulet. He shielded his eyes from the rain and looked up, but the
Ketty Jay
was already turning, heading for the palace. Frey didn’t seem to have noticed them down there among the ruin and the carnage.