His crew stared at him. A long, awkward string of seconds followed, such as men often experience when something of emotional importance occurs. Then Silo gave a small nod.
‘I will, Cap’n.’
Frey breathed out, relieved to be released from the moment. Suddenly, he was all business. ‘Ugrik, Crake, let’s go.’
‘We’ll need to bring my gear,’ Crake said.
So the three of them picked up a pack. They weighed a lot more than their size would suggest, but Frey didn’t care at this point. Crake’s tricks were the last line of defence, if things went wrong. And Frey was planning on scrapping every inch of the way. He was damned if he was dying tonight.
That done, they distributed the earcuffs to stay in contact, and Crake gave the compass to Silo so he could find the Cap’n again if necessary.
Ugrik, Crake and Frey headed off into the undergrowth. As they were leaving, Frey stopped and looked over his shoulder.
‘Keep ’em safe for me, Silo,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back.’
Forty-One
The power station towered over the surrounding buildings, flashing with miniature storms in the gathering dark.
Silo watched it distrustfully from the foliage. The enormous hourglass structures to either side were lit up by flurries of lightning. The gas within glowed with pale colours, stirred by the rotating arms that orbited each half of the hourglasses.
It seemed somehow malevolent to his eyes.
The power station stood on the topmost of three great platforms, each offset from the other to form irregular steps. The platforms were linked by wide ramps, and stood on perilously slender pillars. Several of the pillars rose from an ornamental pool at the base of the platforms. Once it might have been picturesque, but the water was turgid now, muddied with soil washed down from the slopes.
They were gathered at the fringe of the excavated part of the city, where the undergrowth suddenly stopped and the streets and buildings of the Azryx were revealed in all their strangeness. Beyond, there would be few places to hide.?
Electric lights had been set up in the streets, running off petrol generators that rattled and fumed. Presumably the Sammies hadn’t worked out how to tap the energy from the city yet. Clumsy cables and scuffed metal seemed out of place here: the smudged fingerprint of industry on a place of serenity, clean lines and silence.
The approaching night had put an end to the excavation work, and there were diggers and tractors and earth-moving machines parked up in the avenues. Sammies walked in groups, talking and laughing. Labourers, technicians and scholars, heading to and from the camp on the edge of the excavated zone. The occasional patrol passed by, barely alert.
Silo noted that there wasn’t a single Dak or Murthian to be seen. This place was so secret that not even slaves could know about it. Anywhere else, Murthians would have been doing all the labour while the Daks did the overseeing, administration and everything else. The Sammies would only be there to call the shots. But here, they had sha’awei to do all the work – brown-eyed Samarlans from the common caste – and they were being bossed around by the goldeneyed yansi nobles. He felt a certain bitter satisfaction at the thought of them getting their hands dirty for once.
Bitter, but not angry. The sight of Fal bleeding out in the arms of his wife had been the end of his youthful rage. Oh, he still hated the Sammies, alright; but after so long away, the lust to kill had faded. There was no satisfaction in it. Coming back to Samarla had briefly reignited the passion, but it hadn’t lasted.
He’d kill them if there was a need, just like he’d kill anyone else. But he didn’t crave it like he used to.
Besides, he had responsibilities now. Keep ’em safe for me, the Cap’n had said.
If I can, Cap’n. If I can.
There was a rustle in the leaves as Malvery shifted his bulk. ‘That power station is very pretty and all,’ he said. ‘But how are we gonna get to it? And what do we do when we’re there?’
‘Regardin’ the second question,’ said Samandra Bree, ‘I think my partner’s got a plan.’
Silo looked over his shoulder at Grudge. The huge Century Knight was hunkered in the shadows, eyes glittering amid a shaggy mass of black hair and beard. He brought out a small satchel from beneath a mass of ammo belts and pulled the flap open. ‘Dynamite,’ he rumbled.
‘Colden here don’t go anywhere without his dynamite,’ said Samandra.
‘It’s good stuff,’ said Grudge. ‘Stable. You could shoot it ’n’ it probably wouldn’t blow.’
Silo looked in the bag.? in the There were about eight sticks in there. Enough to make a big hole in pretty much anything.
‘So here’s what I reckon,’ said Samandra. ‘We get in there. We find somethin’ that looks like it shouldn’t be blown up. And we blow it up.’
‘That’s the best the Century Knights have got?’ Ashua asked. ‘I gotta confess, I’m a little disappointed. After all I heard about you lot in the broadsheets, I expected some kind of fiendishly clever strategy. Blow it up? That sounds like something the Cap’n would come up with.’
‘Sometimes the old plans are the best plans,’ said Samandra, with a charmingly venomous smile. ‘Listen, there’s Knights that could sneak in and out of there and blow up that power station so quiet the Sammies wouldn’t notice for a week. But you got us instead. And no one’s gettin’ out of here with that thing still runnin’.’ She peered through the foliage. ‘Right now, we got the advantage of surprise, and the fact that Grudge has a damn great autocannon. We got your golem, and I ain’t a bad shot myself.’
‘Ain’t no way we runnin’ up three o’ them great big ramps with Sammies firin’ down on us,’ said Silo. ‘Cap’n wants me to bring some crew back alive.’
‘Aye,’ said Malvery. ‘Pinn’s been shot enough lately, I reckon.’
‘So what’s the plan, Mr First Mate?’ said Pinn, with a challenge in his voice that said he was faintly jealous of Silo’s appointment.
Silo looked out of the undergrowth at the alien streets and avenues, bone-white in the lamplit twilight. His gaze fell on the colossal earth-moving machines, abandoned after the day’s excavation.
‘Ashua,’ he said. ‘You ever steal a vehicle?’
‘I grew up in the Rabban slums,’ she said. ‘I can steal anything.’
‘In that case,’ said Silo, sitting back and looking at the men and women under his command. ‘I got an idea.’
The lake was a sullen red, a mirror to the last light of the day. The rising moon swam in it, a perfect orb.
Crake stared across the water. The birds had stilled now, and the insects were subdued. The foliage that choked the shore rustled softly in a warm breeze carried from the desert. It was quiet enough to hear the faint voices of the Samarlans, further along the lakeshore and upslope.
He felt the hand of history on his shoulder. Spit and blood, that he should be here and see this! An Azryx city! And there was no doubt that it was Azryx, or whatever the true name of the race was that Professor Malstrom?sor Malshad been blindly groping for. He and Jez had talked of Malstrom’s theories from time to time. He’d scoffed at them; Jez had pitied the Professor for being so obsessed and so wrong.
But Malstrom hadn’t been wrong. He’d just been looking in the wrong place.
The architecture and materials put this far beyond the reach of ancient Samarlans. These people had been here long before any currently known civilisation had ever existed. These people had practised daemonism to a higher art than the best practitioners of today. The craft that he’d devoted his life to was not new, it was a rediscovery of the work of their betters. That thought made him feel dwindlingly small.