The Ace of Skulls [Chris Wooding] (fb2) читать постранично, страница - 117

he seized Malvery by the front of his jumper and pulled him close. ‘Doc,’ he said. ‘If you ever. . If you were ever a friend to me. . You gotta do this now. This is everything, you hear? This is everything.’

Malvery’s face was a picture of doubt. This went against everything he believed, as a doctor and as a person. Frey knew what Malvery thought of his obsession. Shit, Malvery didn’t even like Trinica very much. But Frey had to do this, and he couldn’t do it without Malvery’s help.

He owed Trinica a life. And he aimed to give her one.

‘It won’t save her,’ Malvery said, but there was defeat in his voice and Frey knew he’d won.

‘Gotta try,’ said Frey. ‘Gotta try.’

Malvery wrestled with his conscience a moment more, but in the end he lowered his head, and his brow clouded. ‘Get her inside,’ he said. ‘I’ll do what I can.’

The others knew better than to try to stop him, and for that Frey was deeply grateful. He couldn’t fight any more battles. He let them take him into a room off the courtyard, where they put him on a table, and they laid Trinica out next to him. She was still, and looked so small; the rise and fall of her breast was hardly perceptible. But he felt no terror of her now. The daemon inside her had been destroyed, beaten by the daemon in his blade. Even if she died now, she died herself, unconquered.

He was dimly aware of Malvery returning with supplies he’d taken from the Ketty Jay. He saw the doctor laying out jars and tubes, heard him snapping instructions at Crake, who was assisting him. They assembled the apparatus for the transfusion, blurred ghosts fussing in the background.

He stared up at the ceiling. Wetness trickled down his cheek. A tear, leaking from the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to leave this life. He loved it too much. It had treated him appallingly at times, and he’d abused it in return, but at that moment it seemed the most wonderful and precious of things. He couldn’t stand the loss of it.

But he’d lived. He’d made a difference. And now he could say with honesty that he’d done his damnedest.

There was that. At least there was that.

He felt the bite of a needle at his inner elbow. He turned his head, and saw a transparent rubber tube stretching from him to a glass jar that lay between him and Trinica on the table. The jar was connected to a rubber bulb which Malvery was squeezing rapidly. At the other end of the apparatus was a needle in Trinica’s arm.

‘Make a fist,’ said Malvery to Frey. ‘Crake, give him something to squeeze. It’ll help the blood through.’

Frey had little enough strength in his body, but he crawled his hand across the the table, and took up Trinica’s. And he squeezed her cold fingers as hard as he could manage.

‘Reckon that’ll do,’ said Malvery, through a thick throat.

Frey felt very far away from everything now. It was as if he were watching the scene from the end of a long tunnel. His body no longer seemed his own. He observed with detached fascination as the rich, dark blood began to fill the jar, his blood. He saw it slip along the tubes, and finally into Trinica, a glistening red thread between him and her.

A great calm washed over him, a sense of rightness. He felt complete. Then his eyes fluttered closed, and he was gone.

Forty-Six

Eulogy — A Better Ending — The Lowdown — Stars and Crosses — The End of an Era

The funeral was held on a high hillside on a bright chill morning. A nipping wind blew about the mourners, stirring their coats against them. Long thin clouds raced across the sky. In the distance lay the city of Thesk, slumped and shattered but still undefeated, and the Archduke’s palace stood proud at its heart.

It was a lonely spot, and there were only eight at the graveside including Bess. She held a bunch of mountain flowers in one huge hand, with a great sod of earth hanging off them where she’d torn them from the ground. The rest were all crew, except for Samandra Bree, who’d come with Crake. Harkins sniffed quietly and Pinn had his collar up and his shoulders hunched, his grim face barely visible. Silo was impassive as ever. Ashua stood silently with her arms crossed.

Before them all stood Malvery. He’d volunteered for the eulogy. It seemed the least he could do.

‘What can you say when a part of your life ain’t there any more?’ he said, his voice low and heavy. ‘Words don’t change much. Best you can do is remind yourself why it is you miss ’em.’

He paused for a long time. Bess stirred uncertainly.

‘He was a fighter,’ Malvery said at last. ‘You gotta give him that. Can’t ever say he was lucky in love, but he found it in the end, and that’s more than most of us can expect. He could be an arsy bastard at times, but mostly he made us laugh, and he always seemed to be there when you needed him.’ He gave a deep sigh and lowered his head. ‘He was the heart and soul of us. There wouldn’t have been a Ketty Jay without him.’

He went down on one knee and placed one hand on the grave marker. It was an old plate from the engine room, scratched with a name and some dates.

‘We’ll never forget him,’ said Malvery. ‘He was a damn fine cat.’

Afterwards, as they made their way back to the shuttle, Crake said ‘Shame the Cap’n couldn’t be here. He’d have liked to see Slag off with the rest of us.’

‘Would’ve been nice,’ Malvery agreed. ‘But he ain’t gonna be out of hospital for another month at least and, to be fair, that cat was starting to reek.’

Frey crept warily through the corridors of the hospital, eyes and ears alert. His bare feet were cold on the polished floor, but he moved in silence, and that was what was important. He couldn’t go fast, but he could go smart. Nurse Crowsnitch had become predictable, her patrols too regular. This time there’d be no stopping him. Nobody was making him take it easy for his own good.

If he was honest, Nurse Crowsnitch sort of had a point. It wasn’t exactly easy to breathe with his ribs bandaged tight beneath his gown, and his short excursions tired him out. He blamed it on having to lug around the heavy cast they’d put over his hand, but he was also ready to admit the small possibility that he might need some time to recover from the grievous wounds he’d sustained in the Delirium Trigger’s hold.

But Frey was not a man who could easily amuse himself, and recuperation was purgatory to him. There was only so long he could stare at brown and cream walls. Brown and cream: the colours of boredom. It was too much to take. And besides, making trouble was in his nature.

A click of heels, echoing down the corridor. He froze, listening. Crowsnitch! Had she outwitted him?

But the footsteps receded, heading away from him, and he relaxed. Not this time, lady, he thought, but he picked up his pace and hurried the rest of the way to his destination.

It was a tiny ward with four beds, all of them occupied. Mailey, the pretty young librarian with the broken leg, was the only one awake. She wiggled her fingers at him as he slipped in and closed the door carefully. He gave her a sheepish smile, tiptoed over to another bed and gingerly lowered himself into a nearby chair.

Trinica was in the bed, lying on her side, her head pillowed and facing him, her eyes closed. He checked that she was still breathing; he could never settle until he was sure. But yes, there was the slight rise of the blankets around her body, and there was the faint sigh of air over her lips. Her existence was still a miracle to him. He had to reassure himself with each visit that she was really there.

Her face was drawn and wan in sleep, and there were lines where there hadn’t been in his memory. She’d lost weight, and she’d never carried much to begin with. There was no make-up on her now. Her hair had been cut short to make the best of the hacked-up mess she’d arrived with. But she was here, and she was beautiful, and she was his.

She stirred, and her left hand moved and found the cast they’d put over his own shattered hand. On her finger was a ring, a simple silver ring he’d given her once, and which she’d once given back to him. Now she wore it again.

Her eyes opened and found his. Even after weeks, the sight of them was still a faint surprise. Gone was the green he knew. Her irises were now yellow as corn. At least one of the changes the daemon had wreaked in her had been permanent.

She smiled at him. ‘You again.’

‘What do you mean?’ he protested. ‘I’ve been here all night.’

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