Anger, another emotion. Zenida had never made him angry, nor had she made him laugh, except during those times she directed her occasionally caustic observations at Captain Hilemore . . . An image blossomed in his mind then, Hilemore’s face, rendered in much more detail than Clay could have recalled. The captain, it transpired, had a small mole on his chin Clay had never noticed. But she did, he realised. This ain’t my memory. It’s hers. Hilemore’s our connection.
He summoned his much more plentiful supply of Hilemore-related memories, all shot through with the conflicting range of emotions the captain always birthed in him, from grudging admiration to consternation to, most of all, anger.
Zenida’s mindscape arrived with disorienting swiftness, the jewel-encrusted ship filling his vision in a flash and Clay stumbling as he felt its boards beneath his boots. He let out a delighted laugh at the sight of Zenida herself, standing near the prow and regarding him with a half-baffled, half-amused expression.
Are you alright? she asked. The captain will be dismayed to discover the Interior has driven you mad.
We wouldn’t want that, Clay replied. I know how you’d hate to disappoint him, and all.
Zenida’s expression hardened into something that reminded Clay this was a very dangerous woman if the mood took her, and this was her mind.
Just a bad joke, he said, raising his hands. I got some interesting news to share, if you’re ready.
“The Carnstadt Mountains,” Braddon said, gloved finger tapping the map. The mountains lay south-west of the Torquils, a considerable distance from their current location.
“That’s an awful long way, Uncle,” Clay pointed out.
“You want Blacks, that’s where you’ll find ’em. Largest concentration anywhere on the continent. There are pockets in the Coppersoles and the Cragmines on the far western coast, but this is the only place you’re guaranteed a Black kill.”
“’Cept we ain’t going to kill ’em,” Loriabeth put in. “We’re going to make nice and ask them to join up to fight the White, iffen you can believe it. Not sure I do, so the Seer’s ass knows what they’ll think of it.” Seeing Preacher stiffen at the blasphemy she added, “Sorry,” in a low mumble.
“They’re a rambunctious lot to be sure,” Skaggerhill said. “Blacks grow big and mean in those mountains. Cunning too. Longrifles took a pass through the foot-hills a few years back. Lost a marksman and a gunhand with only two kills to show for it.”
“Still a profitable trip by my recollection,” Braddon said, a faint note of annoyance in his voice. “Good news is,” he continued, turning back to Clay, “we don’t have no Spoiled to worry about twixt here and there. Just a whole lotta Cerath wrangling and walking in between.” He lowered his voice to add, “Skaggs is right, though. Next to the Red Sands it’s just about the worst country I ever contracted in. Had hoped never to set eyes on the place again.”
Clay looked at the map. The distance was dismaying but if they were to make this expedition count for something he couldn’t see any other option. “I tranced with Captain Okanas this morning,” he said. “The Superior’s making for Stockcombe.” He tapped the dot a hundred miles or so south of the Carnstadts. “So we have to get there and the route leads us past the mountains in any case.”
He clapped his uncle’s shoulder and moved away, eyes roaming the surrounding plain. “Looks like we got some mounts to find. Lieutenant, I believe it’s your turn to tame the bull.”
CHAPTER 24
Hilemore
Hilemore tracked his spy-glass over the bodies hanging from the Stockcombe-harbour wall, counting twenty in all. Curiously, the row of suspended corpses was confined to the right-hand side of the wall, halting at the huge copper-and-wood edifice of the harbour door. Each corpse had a noose around its neck and some kind of sign fixed to its chest, but the distance was too great to make out any words. I doubt it’s a welcome in any case, he decided, lowering the glass and nodding to Talmant. “Ahead dead slow, Lieutenant.”
“Ahead dead slow, aye sir.”
Hilemore had ordered the Superior to battle stations upon commencing their approach to the port, although the truce pennant fluttered from her mast and her signal lamp flashed a repeated request for safe harbour. So far, however, no one had appeared atop the harbour wall to issue either a welcome or a warning. Stockcombe’s wall was unusual in that it was more of a dam than a simple barrier against the tide. It curved out from the steep slopes forming the apex of the channel where the port lay. It was famed for the unique geographical feature of a waterfall that cascaded into a lake at the base of a huge crater within which the port had grown. The lake was kept at a constant depth by a series of huge outlet tunnels. Consequently, the waters around the wall were in a permanent state of frothy turmoil save for a narrow stretch of calm water directly in front of the door. This ensured a nervous approach as any evasive manoeuvres the Superior might make would see her floundering in the churn.
“All stop,” Hilemore ordered as the door loomed larger. He was close enough now to read the signs adorning the hanging bodies, finding them each bearing the same message painted in red Mandinorian letters: CORPORATE MURDERER.
Perhaps coming here wasn’t the best idea, Hilemore concluded. He was about to order Talmant to signal the engine room to reverse the propeller, drawing them away in preparation for turning about, when the harbour door let out a loud squeal of grinding metal and began to ascend.
“Pretty sight, ain’t it, Skipper?” Scrimshine commented as the port was revealed. The famous Stockcombe falls cascaded from atop a tall narrow promontory extending from the crater wall. The falls birthed a plume of misty vapour as it met the lake below, producing a small rainbow as it caught the sun. This pleasing spectacle was contrasted by the sight of the town itself. It stretched away on either side of the falls, covering the banks of the lake and ascending up the steep flanks of the crater. Denied building space, the residents of Stockcombe had built up rather than out, the place featuring some of the tallest buildings Hilemore had seen, some rising six storeys or more. The architecture varied in style, from high-angled roofed colonial mansions to Corvantine-influenced official buildings complete with classical pillars and statuary. The taller structures all conformed to modern standards, reflecting the clean, uncluttered lines favoured by the corporate world.
This would all have made for an aesthetically varied and interesting view if Hilemore’s practised eye hadn’t noticed the signature signs of cannon-shot on many walls, accompanied by the blackening and vanished roofs that told of extensive burning. The damage was worse close to the docks where many buildings had been completely burned out and others reduced to rubble. Hilemore’s initial assumption that the port had been attacked in much the same manner as Carvenport was proven mistaken as he took in the sight of the numerous flags flying over the buildings on either side of the falls. The flags on the western side were all the black square emblazoned with a silver ship pennant of the South Seas Maritime Company, whilst those on the eastern side consisted of a simpler design; white with an uneven red X within a square. Thanks to his prior engagement Hilemore was fairly familiar with this symbol and was obliged to contain a dismayed groan at the sight of it.