Revenger 9780575090569 (41 page)

‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why do you
do
this?’

‘For the quoins,’ she said.

‘They’re useless to you,’ I replied. ‘You can’t go anywhere to trade or deposit them, so what’s the point? Centuries of plunder and butchery to sit on a fat pile of money you can’t ever spend?’

‘It was never about making myself rich. It’s about keeping the quoins under my eye, where they can’t come to harm. Where
they
can’t get their claws or feelers on ’em.’

‘It’s just money,’ I said, hoping that the doubt didn’t cut through my voice and show itself.

Bosa smiled at me, and it was like Pol Rackamore was standing before us, looking fondly on the remnants of the crew he’d loved. ‘That’s what they want you to think. Shall I let you in on another secret?’ Slowly she lifted one of her hands, revealing the thing she’d cupped in the palm.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘This one you’ll like.’ She was grinning, all pleased with her own cleverness. ‘It’s one of Bosa’s favourites. It’s not Ghostie, but they weren’t the only ones who knew how to put the shivers in us.’

She was holding a small, jewelled device that could have been a badge or a gaming token, and her thumb was caressing part of it.

‘It’s a weapon, but you guessed that. Fifth or Sixth Occupation – ask your Assessor, if you’re that interested.’

‘Our Assessor had an accident,’ I said.

‘That’s a shame. You’ll just have to take it on trust, won’t you? It’s a delayed designation device – a Firefist. While I was in here I designated its attack points. Didn’t I, Trusko? You saw the light as it marked its targets.’

I looked at Trusko, and he looked at Illyria Rackamore, but if there was any acknowledgement in that glance it was too furtive or fleeting for me.

‘No one uses an energy weapon on a ship,’ I said.

‘Unless they’re suited,’ she corrected me. ‘And while my visor’s raised at the moment, it would only take a micro change in the pressure to drop it again.’

‘You’ve lost, Bosa,’ Strambli said. ‘We took your crew apart. We cut through them like they were lungstuff.’

‘I’ve still got the
Dame Scarlet
.’

‘You think you have.’

The voice had come from behind Illyria, not from one of us. Her face tensed, the smile tightening, curling up at the edges in a way that wasn’t entirely natural, as if there were little hooks digging into her skin. Those steely eyes rolled back as far as they would go.

‘Ah,’ she said.

It was Surt, wrapping a hand around Illyria’s throat and touching the edge of the Ghostie blade to the front of her helmet, level with the eyes. We could hardly see her, and even the idea that this shattered, sketchy form belonged to Surt was difficult to keep in the head from one thought to the next. But it had to be her. The rest of us were accounted for. She had been in the bridge all along, even when Bosa was in there trying to operate the squawk.

‘Let go of the Firefist,’ I said.

Illyria’s face slackened. The smile relaxed, settled into a look of weary resignation. She murmured a sound of surrender, and seemed about to cast aside the jewelled device. Then her thumb twitched and prongs of ruby light flared out from her fist, branching between her fingers, a dozen of them shooting away at all angles, stabbing out through the lungstuff and into the surrounding material of the
Queenie
’s hull.

Illyria was fast, but Surt was quicker. She was pulling the Ghostie blade back through the open faceplate even as the ship began to vent pressure. She touched the bridge of Bosa’s nose, drew a bubbling line of blood.

‘No,’ I said, before the howl of escaping lungstuff drowned out any possibility of speaking. ‘Not yet.’

Surt hesitated, then pulled the blade away. The silver visor came down again, masking Bosa’s face.

‘Cut me free!’ Trusko shouted, and I realised that the captain was still bound to his chair. The lungstuff was screaming out, as if the hull was fraying open like an old pair of stockings. It tasted cold and thin in my throat, more like metal than gas.

I got the Ghostie knife and slipped through his restraints.

‘Sorry it’s come to this,’ I said, not really knowing if he could hear me.

Surt had slipped around Illyria while she was preoccupied with her helmet. Trusko stretched a hand out to me. His lips moved. He was saying something, but the cove barely had the strength to get it out.

‘Gun,’ he said. ‘Ghostie gun.’

I passed him one of the pistols, closing my hand around the phantom thing, feeling the shape of it better than my eyes could make out its shifty outline.

Trusko took the gun. He looked down at the sly thing with a sort of deadened wonder, blinking at it the way a drunkard will blink at something that won’t come into focus, and then he turned in his seat to aim the pistol at Bosa Sennen.

‘No,’ I said, guessing what he meant to do next. We were holed in a dozen places and the lungstuff was bleeding out fast, but that wasn’t the same as blasting half the ship away.

Bosa started backing away, retreating into the bridge, the mirror of her face still turned to us.

Trusko looked back at me. It was impossible to hear anything now, and I was starting to feel a blackness clogging the edge of my thoughts. But Trusko mouthed words anyway and the wonder of it was that I got his meaning.

Quarters, he was saying.

His personal quarters.

I didn’t have the strength to scream, and barely enough to move myself. I grabbed Prozor by the scruff and mimed for her to follow me into the quarters, and Strambli, Surt and Tindouf got the message smartly enough. By then we were swimming against the rush of lungstuff fighting its way out in a dozen directions, but none of that flow going in the way we needed, and by the time we got over the threshold into the room my lungs felt like they were sucking on vacuum. I didn’t have much more to give, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking back.

Bosa had backed all the way into the bridge. She was turning from us.

Trusko couldn’t have had much more breath in him than the rest of us. But he still hung onto enough consciousness to level that Ghostie gun and fire, and if that was his last living act as captain of the
Queenie
, it wasn’t a bad one.

A thousand times I’ve sifted through my recollection of what happened in the instants that followed, trying to find some sense or order to it that I can live with. There was the pull of the trigger, the discharge of the weapon, and what it did to every single thing that was caught up in the widening cone of that shot, and there was the violent slam as Trusko’s quarters sealed itself up, pressure doors closing on both the galley and the bridge, and us seeing him for the last time, that gun in his hand even as the life raced out of him.

That’s how it should have been, anyway.

But it wasn’t.

All I can say is that the Ghostie gun’s action wasn’t concentrated at that one point in time when Trusko pulled the trigger. It was splintered, cut up into shards and reassembled
around
that moment, like a deck of cards getting shuffled, so that – in some way that I can’t get at with words – the doors were
already
sealed before he fired, and Illyria was
still
looking back at us even after the gun had done its work, and sometimes her visor was up, sometimes it was down, sometimes it was jammed halfway between the two.

I’ve told myself that it couldn’t have been like that, and that it must be my recollection of the sequence of things that got addled, but – much as that helps me to sleep – I ain’t sure it’s exactly true.

No. The Ghostie gun did something shivery to time as well as space and matter, and we were there when it happened, and if that makes a knotty confusion between what’s sane and what isn’t, you can take your complaints to the Ghosties.

25

Trusko’s room kept us alive. Even as the rest of the
Queenie
lost her lungstuff, save for the small part that was contained by bulkhead doors and a few
lungstuff-
tight spaces – we survived. The cove might not have been the greatest or most courageous captain, but he had taken excellent care of his own amenities. My intution had been right, the first time he called me into his quarters. That sense of solidity wasn’t merely my imagination. The walls and doors enclosing the quarters really were built to a higher standard than the rest of the ship, because Trusko wouldn’t have had it any other way. You could call him a coward for that, and many will. But when he took that Ghostie gun and aimed it at Illyria he knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe one brave, selfless act can’t outweigh a life spent acting otherwise, but I ain’t one to judge. I think Trusko got the crew he wanted, in those last minutes, and I think he did right by them.

Anyway, you’ll hear criticism of Trusko and the sunjammer
Queen Crimson,
and plenty of it. But you won’t hear it from me and you won’t hear it from Prozor.

We got out of that room in the end, but I won’t pretend any part of it was easy. Trusko had a suit tucked away in a partition behind one of his charts, but we’d never have found it if Surt hadn’t been there. ‘Half the things people thought were secrets on this ship,’ the Integrator confided in us, ‘I’ve known ’em for years.’ I thought of Jusquerel on the
Monetta
, Lusquer on the
Iron Courtesan
, and reckoned it was probably just as true of them. Never mind what they say of Bone Readers, it’s Integrators that a captain needs to keep cosy.

The connecting way between Trusko’s quarters and the bridge was
double-
doored, so we could get in and out of the room without losing all our lungstuff in one gasp. But there wasn’t a proper pump on it, and we lost a little lungstuff each time anyone had to go in or out through the door, into what was left of the rest of the
Queenie
. By the time Surt had put on Trusko’s suit and gone scouting for more suits and lungstuff, we were at the thin edge of what was remaining. In the space of an hour, as the lungstuff grew chokey, I went from thinking kind thoughts of Trusko all the way back to despising him again, for putting us through slow asphyxiation.

‘It’s a mess out there,’ Surt told us. ‘We ain’t got ourselves a ship any more, that’s plain.’

‘Good job there’s another one not too far off,’ I said.

Surt’s eyes met mine through her visor. ‘I knew you meant to take the
Nightjammer
. But I didn’t think you were counting on taking it
over
as well.’

I forced a smile. ‘Not exactly spoilt for choice, are we?’

‘There’s something else. That Ghostie gun mangled things up pretty good. Knotty to say what was what. I found Trusko, and I don’t think he suffered too much. Only thing that’s nagging me is there’s no clear sign of Bosa, or any part of her.’

‘We decompressed pretty hard,’ Strambli said. ‘If the gun didn’t get her, she might have been swept out.’

‘Could she have made it back to the
Nightjammer
?’ I asked.

‘We’re close enough,’ Surt said. ‘And that hole in us is lined up pretty good with Bosa’s ship. But jumping between ships ain’t like skipping puddles. Odds are she still sailed off into the Empty, if that gun didn’t take care of her.’

‘There’s more Empty than not,’ Strambli said. ‘My guess is she’s falling a bit further into it by the second. You want to find her and taunt her, Fura?’

I couldn’t say that the idea didn’t have some appeal. But we had a few hurdles to cross before we got into the luxury of
score-
settling. ‘No. The launch is our priority, and taking the
Nightjammer
. I want to get over there, and hard onto them, before they start having second thoughts.’

We’d had to get out of the Ghostie armour to put the suits on, and taking that armour off wasn’t any more pleasant than wearing it. The only thing that was more unpleasant was seeing it lying in bundles again, all wrong and tainted, like it had taken a bit of our souls with it when we peeled it off. Knowing we’d need it again, we bundled it up and took it with us, but there wasn’t one of us that felt cosy doing it.

We were hasty and nervous, but we still made sure we didn’t slip up while putting our suits on. A bad seal, a lungstuff line plugged into the wrong valve, a damaged visor – any of these things could end us just as easily as a crossbow bolt. I suppose it was a measure of how long I’d been crewing that I didn’t mind taking the time to ensure the suit wasn’t going to turn traitor on me.

But the launch was still there when we reached it. The locks were peachy to crack, and Strambli got us aboard without too much trouble. We kept an eye out for booby traps, tripwires and so on, but I don’t think Bosa ever counted on someone else trampling around inside her own launch. Inside, the layout of things wasn’t so unfamiliar that Surt couldn’t work out the gist. There was lungstuff in the tanks and fuel enough in her belly to get us over to the other ship. Prozor and Tindouf went forward to familiarise themselves with the controls and navigation. I took out the lookstone again – I’d kept it with me all along – and swept out through the launch’s hull until I made out the
Nightjammer
again. She was much closer than a league now and it wouldn’t have taken much for us to jump across, if we’d trusted our legs. I studied her cruel dark lines, settling my gaze on the harpoon jutting from her front and thinking of the awful cruelty Bosa had inflicted on Garval.

If Bosa had died by the Ghostie gun then there was justice in that death, but not nearly enough for my liking. Too quick, too painless, too clean. I preferred the idea of her falling away from the wreck, watching her lungstuff reserves dwindle away, the cold and the terror chewing into her marrow. I didn’t see why Bosa Sennen deserved either forgiveness or mercy.

‘We’re ready to cut loose,’ Prozor said. ‘Brace for rockets.’

‘Wait,’ I said, realising we were about to make fools of ourselves.

‘What?’

‘We still need surprise,’ I said. ‘The rest of ’em have to believe this is Bosa, coming back with her prize. But we can’t squawk, they’ll know it’s us.’ I reached for a spare lungstuff tank, knowing I’d need it. ‘Wait for me.’

‘Where are you going?’ Prozor asked.

‘The bones,’ I said.

I left the launch and crossed back into the ruined bowels of the
Queenie
, and then found my way to the skull. I spun the wheel on the door without thinking about it, and that wasn’t very bright on my part, because there was still lungstuff in the bone room. It all came out in one go, and if I hadn’t been suited the force of that door hitting me would have left me for dead. The effect of the decompression was still making the skull jiggle around on its wires even when all that was left was vacuum.

I sealed the door behind me. Still with my suit and helmet on, I took that spare lungstuff tank and opened its valve all the way it would go, flooding the room. I didn’t need the lungstuff with my suit on, but I couldn’t take my helmet off without it, and with the helmet on I couldn’t slip on the neural bridge.

I was worried that the decompression had damaged the skull, and perhaps it had. The twinkly seemed more subdued, just a few lights glowing out of those bony cavities.

It didn’t matter. I didn’t need much out of it now.

‘Adrana,’ I said, putting every hope I’d ever had into her name. ‘It’s Fura. I’m still alive. We got Bosa’s boarding party. Killed them all, and Bosa too; most likely.’

When she didn’t answer, I started to think the worst. Anything could have happened on the
Nightjammer
while we were engaged with our own slice of the action. Perhaps her crew had taken a sudden dislike to their new Bone Reader, for the trouble that had come their way since Adrana’s recruitment.

Then she came through.

‘Fura!’

‘We’re coming over. We’ve taken her launch, and we’re riding it over to the
Nightjammer
. But you’ve got to act as if she’s still alive. Tell the rest of ’em there’s a problem with the squawk, but that Bosa’s on the launch. Make it seem like she’s beaten us, like she’s jubilant; crowing with her victory. Can you do it, Adrana? It won’t take us long to complete the crossing, and we’ve got some work to do before we dock—’

‘I’ll . . . I’ll do what I can.’ The doubt in her came through the skull as if we were sitting holding hands in the parlour. ‘You’re so close now, Fura. I can’t believe we’re nearly together again. Please be careful.’

‘I’ve come this far,’ I said. ‘You only have to do a little bit more, and then everything’s going to be all right.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘You’ll succeed. I know. I’ve got faith in us both.’

And I did too, though I couldn’t say where that faith had come from, or how deep it went. Just that it was the only thing that was going to get both of us through that day, so we might as well make the best of it.

I signed off from the bones and set off back through the
Queenie
to the launch. I was halfway there when I remembered what I’d left in my quarters, and although time wasn’t exactly on my side there wasn’t a power in all the worlds that would have stopped me making that detour.

I found the broken head, the glass dome of it, and I cradled it to me like it was my own newborn, because I wouldn’t have been here otherwise and I owed Paladin more than abandonment on this wreck.

‘You’ll speak again,’ I said, making a promise between the two of us. ‘I know it. We ain’t done with each other yet.’

The other thing I took was Rackamore’s
Book of Worlds
.

The launch was still there, Prozor’s thumb twitching on the thruster control. As soon as I was through the lock she poured on the rockets and we made smart work of crossing over to the
Nightjammer
, doing it with the kind of swagger her crew would be expecting. That made it tricky for us, too, because we had to get out of our suits and back into the Ghostie armour. But the armour obliged in that, seeming to want to get back on us almost without our bidding.

My heart was in my throat the whole way over, though. I’d no way of contacting Adrana, no way of knowing how cleverly she’d been able to dupe them.

All I can say is, they weren’t expecting us.

Not at all.

When the launch returned, its silence made perfect sense to them. There might be no operable squawk on either the launch or the wreck of the
Queenie
, but Bosa had their prize, and was coming back with it. Open the locks and prepare to cut out on ions and main sail, boys and girls.

That was what they had been told, anyway. What they got, when we docked, was a quick and bloody tuition in all the forms of mutilation possible with the armour and weapons of the Ghosties, and they had nothing that made a difference to us.

I’ll say this for us: we exercised restraint. It wasn’t that we were feeling charitable, or in any sort of forgiving mood. None of that, not after all she’d dished out to us. But the
Queenie
was gone and we still needed a ship if we were ever to get home, wherever that might turn out to be. The
Nightjammer
wasn’t top of the list of ships I might have chosen, but it was all we had.

So we took her, without too much damage, and it was glorious, and at the end of it all there wasn’t one of us that wasn’t proud to have sailed on the
Queenie
, under Captain Trusko.

‘She’s ours now,’ I said. ‘This ship. Whatever wrongs she’s done, they were never the ship’s fault. And we can start putting her right.’

‘There’s one wrong I ought to settle first of all,’ Prozor said. ‘For you as well, Fura. We didn’t do right by Garval, when she was one of us. But we can treat her properly now. I know it’s too late for her, but I ain’t spending a minute more on this ship with her stuck on the front like that.’

‘I’d help you,’ I said, sorry that I hadn’t given more thought to Garval myself. ‘You know that, don’t you? But I’ve got to find my sister.’

Find Adrana, and tell her the hardest news of all.

She was in the
Nightjammer
’s bone room when we took the ship, and she’d had the good sense to stay there while the bloodletting was in progress. None of us knew where the room was, of course, but – as I’d learned by then – it was in the general rule of things to find the bone room about as far from the noisy parts of the ship as you could manage, and as far enough inside as possible. Looking somewhere near the middle was always a good bet, and if you worked methodically out from the centre it wouldn’t be long before you found your bones, no matter how cleverly your crew had tried to conceal their most precious asset.

Bosa did her best, I’ll give her credit for that. The door and locking wheel were hidden behind a false partition that sprang back into place after you’d gone through. But I’d have ripped that ship apart with my fingernails if I’d needed to.

I knocked on the door, using the pattern we’d agreed, and I was turning the wheel with my own hands when I felt Adrana put her own muscles into the effort. The wheel spun until it was a blur, and then the door swung open, and we were together again.

I’ve put words down on paper, tens of thousands of them, more words than there are worlds with names, and if you’ve followed my red scribblings this far – and made allowance for what happened to my hand – then you’ll have some notion of all the things that had happened to me since I last saw my sister. I’d watched her being taken on the
Monetta
, dragged away from me on the other side of a door, and I’d suffered all the weeks after that not knowing if she was still alive. I’d seen the decimation of Rack’s crew, the unkind business Bosa had wrought on them, and I’d seen the extents I’d go to to keep my own heart beating. I’d seen Trevenza Reach and the insides of baubles – which is more than a fraction of coves will ever be able to say. I’d seen all the worlds from the outside of the Congregation and got some sense of this little glimmery puddle of life we called the Thirteenth Occupation. I’d seen what the Ghosties left us and held catchcloth and lookstone for myself. I’d nattered to aliens and robots, and found a hardness in myself that made me a little jumpy at the thought of what I’d become. I’d turned from my own home and left my own father to die, and although it made me choke to think of those things – and what I’d done in Neural Alley, in the Limb Broker’s – I couldn’t say I regretted the steps that had brought me to this moment. Not the place they’d carried me to, either, and not the person they’d made me into.