Then Ehri hissed at him to get moving, and he followed her out into the square, where his people were waiting.
Thirty-Two
Frey cast one last look at the Ketty Jay as his crew hurried past him, down a passageway between the buildings. It pained him to leave her there sitting in the middle of the square, even sealed tight as she was. But then, he supposed, unless they pulled this off he wouldn’t be alive to come back to her anyway.
That was a heartening thought.
He’d memorised the layout of the compound as best he could from a distance, but the quarry wouldn’t be hard to find. Compared to the camp itself, it was massive. They slipped from building to building, shooting at any guard that came near, heading in the direction of their target. The drifting murk turned distant men into shadows and helped to conceal them. oThe Murthians had driven most of the resistance back towards the centre of the camp, pushing the Daks before them. The guards hadn’t been ready for a ground assault of these proportions. Still, it was only a matter of time before they regrouped and realised they had twice the numbers the Murthians did. Frey hoped the Murthians would get to the pens before that. And he hoped the slaves were up for a fight when they were freed.
Well, it would play out however it played. No time to worry. He had his own agenda.
Bess clunked along ahead of them, terrifying – and occasionally maiming – anyone who crossed their path. The rest of his crew, except Silo, were with him. That was unusual. He almost never managed a full muster, and he wished his engineer had been there to complete it. He missed Silo’s taciturn presence by his side, and belatedly realised he should have given him an earcuff to stay in touch. But he’d had to let him go. He knew well enough how a man sometimes had to do a thing, regardless of anybody else. He’d seen that need in Silo ever since they went back to his old camp.
Malvery had taken Pinn’s burned arm from its sling after confessing that he’d only bound it up to piss him off, so Pinn could manage a revolver again. Harkins had come too, although he was jumping at every loud noise. Well, if he wanted to get himself killed to impress a woman, Frey could hardly turn him down. Frey had done similarly stupid things in his time.
Then there was Ashua. She was a problem he’d have to deal with later. He’d said she could be part of his crew, but he’d have agreed to anything at that point, if it meant saving his neck. She’d find out soon enough that a man’s word wasn’t worth shit if his life was in the balance. As soon as this was all over, he fully intended to kick her off.
The crew would thank him, in the end. Especially the more longstanding members, who would recall the disastrous tenures of previous females on board. Granted, Frey had tended to favour attractiveness over competence in those days, but even the competent ones were kicked off or left behind in the end. It was only a matter of time before Frey got drunk and made a move on them, and whether it was successful or not, life would be unbearable for everyone until she was gone. The Ketty Jay was far too small for sexual tension, but Frey was simply incapable of restraining himself.
It was alright having Jez aboard, because he didn’t fancy her, and she was dead. A live, warm woman, and one that made him unaccountably frisky, was a complication he didn’t need.
Ah, spit on it. You can give her the boot when the time comes. Let’s just try and survive the next few days, eh?
The buildings came to an end near the lip of the quarry. Frey checked the coast was clear and then waved his companions down, indicating that they should stay put. Then he hurried across the open ground to the edge, where he crouched to scout the lie of the land below.
After a few moments, the crew followed him in a flock, crouching all aroundng all a him. Bess settled herself with a creak of leather and a clash of metal.
Frey sighed. ‘I told you to wait by the buildings.’
‘Was that what that was?’ Malvery asked, waving his hand in the air in a poor imitation of Frey. ‘Sorry, Cap’n.’
‘Maybe next time you could use words, instead of interpretive dance?’ Crake suggested.
Pinn spluttered a laugh. ‘Interpretive,’ he leered, as if it was something lewd. What Pinn found funny about it was a mystery.
‘Can’t see bugger all down there,’ Malvery commented, squinting.
Frey had come to the same conclusion. The toxic fog that hazed the upper atmosphere thickened near the ground, and the quarry was like an enormous collecting bowl. Tiers were cut out of the rock, with ramps and ladders between them, but he could only see the uppermost shelf, and a hint of the next. After that, they disappeared entirely. All he could see of the bottom was a yellow bleary blankness, with a few smudges of light.
Frey sighed. Another handicap. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Everyone stick together down there. We don’t want anybody shooting anybody by accident. That means you, Pinn.’
‘Hey! Is that ’cause I shot that feller in the rainforest that time? He didn’t even die!’ Pinn was indignant. ‘That’s victiming!’
Crake turned his head slowly towards Pinn. ‘That’s what?’ he said, his voice dripping scorn.
‘Uh… Victiming?’ Pinn said, as if talking to a child. ‘Like when someone’s picking on you? Ring any bells, Mr Education?’
Crake gave a weary sigh. ‘One day I’m going to buy you a dictionary,’ he said.
‘He can share it with Frey!’ Ashua beamed.
‘Why do I need a dictionary?’ Frey complained.
‘No reason,’ said Ashua. ‘Now let’s get down there and mortify some guards.’
Frey was caught in one of those moments when he didn’t know what somebody meant and couldn’t decide whether to pretend he did or not.
Pinn groaned, as if explaining things to Frey was extraordinarily tiresome. ‘Mordant means dead, don’t it? So mortify means kill, obviously. They even sound the same. Right?’ He looked at Ashua, who nodded encouragingly.
‘Oh,’ said Frey. ‘ Oh! Let’s mortify some guards. I’m with you now. Didn’t hear you right the first time, that’s all.’
Crake and Ashua exchanged a glance, though it was hard to tell its meaning behind their goggles. Malvery tutted to himself. Frey had the distinct impression that a joke was being had at his expense, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.
Something exploded just overhead, making them all duck. One of the Delirium Trigger ’s Equalisers shrieked through the air.
‘Probably shouldn’t be hanging around in the open like this,’ Jez pointed out.
‘That’s why I told you to stay in cover,’ said Frey. ‘Don’t want to see anyone get mortified.’
He suspected that was Crake stifling a laugh as they headed along the lip of the quarry, but the daemonist might have been just coughing behind his mask.
They caught sight of several guards running away from them, towards the almighty firefight in the middle of the camp, but they managed to reach the nearest ramp unnoticed. The stony slope was wide and built for vehicles. They made their way down it, and on to the first tier. The quarry wall hid them from sight from the rest of the camp, making Frey feel marginally safer. There were no guards in sight, and they followed the shelf to another ramp, which took them further down into the quarry.
The fog closed in around them, stifling the sounds of conflict. The sound of machine guns faded to a distant rapping. Explosions became dulled and lost their threat. Little noises were amplified by this new quiet: Frey could hear the rustle of clothes, the creak of Bess’s joints, Harkins trying not to hyperventilate. They could hear faint cries down in the quarry. Guards were calling to one another in Samarlan.
‘They’re down there somewhere,’ said Malvery. ‘Could be they don’t know we’re here. But I reckon some of them’ll be heading up to the camp to find out what all the commotion is.’