Retribution Falls by Chris Wooding Page B

drink, and you got a deal.’
    ‘Certainly,’ said Quail. ‘Which lady would you like?’
    ‘All of them,’ he said. ‘And if you have one who’s particularly tolerant - or just blind - she might see to Pinn, too. I’m gonna need his head straight for flying, and the poor kid’s gonna split his pods if he doesn’t empty them soon.’

Six
    The Ghostmoth - Frey’s Idea Of Division - The Ace Of Skulls - Harkins Tests His Courage
    In the steep heights of the Hookhollows, where the lowlands of Vardia smashed up against the vast Eastern Plateau, silence reigned. Snow and ice froze tight to the black flanks of the mountains, and not a breath of wind blew. A damp mist hazed the deep places, gathering in crevasses and bleak valleys, and a glowering ceiling of cloud pressed down hard from above, obscuring the peaks and blocking out any sight of open sky. Between sat a layer of clear air, a sandwich of navigable space within which an aircraft might pick its way through the stony maze.
    It was isolated and dangerous, but this claustrophobic zone was the best way to cross the Hookhollows unobserved.
    A distant drone came floating through the quiet. It steadily rose in volume, swelling and thickening. Around the side of a mountain came a lone, four-winged corvette. A heavily armed Besterfield Ghostmoth.
    Lurking in the mist layer, barely a shadow, the Ketty Jay stayed hidden as it passed.
    Frey watched the Ghostmoth from the cockpit, its dark outline passing overhead. Crake watched it with him.
    ‘That’s not the one we’re after, is it?’ he asked, rather hoping it wasn’t.
    ‘No,’ said Frey. He wouldn’t have taken on a Ghostmoth for any money. He was only concerned that its pilot might spot them and decide to take an interest. You could never be sure. There were a lot of pirates out here. Real pirates, not fairweather criminals like they were.
    Nothing sat right with Frey about this whole plan. Nothing except the colossal payoff, anyway.
    He’d never liked piracy, and historically he’d displayed a lack of talent in the field. Of the four times he’d tried it, three had been failures. Only once had he successfully downed and robbed a craft, and even then the loot had been meagre and his navigator got stabbed and killed in the process. Twice they’d been forced to flee in the face of superior firepower. On the most recent attempt they’d actually managed to board the craft only to find it had already delivered its cargo. That was the closest his crew had ever come to mutiny, until he hit on the idea of placating them with a night out at the nearest port. The following morning, the incident was forgotten, along with most of their motor skills and their ability to speak.
    In general, Frey didn’t like being shot at. Piracy was a risky business, and best left to the professionals. Even Quail’s assurances of an easy take did little to quell his fears.
    The Ghostmoth slid out of view, and Frey relaxed. He checked on Harkins and Pinn, hovering a little way above them and to starboard, dim in the mist. The Ketty Jay drifted silently, but for the occasional hiss of stabilising gas-jets as Frey’s hands twitched across the brass-and-chrome dashboard. The cockpit lights had been turned off, leaving the interior gloomy. Jez was sitting at the navigator’s station, studying a map. Crake, who had dropped in uninvited, stood behind the pilot’s seat, wringing his hands. Frey thought about ordering him back to his quarters but couldn’t be bothered with the argument that might ensue.
    ‘Quail said they’d be coming through here?’ Crake murmured.
    ‘That’s what he said,’ Frey replied.
    ‘Makes sense,’ Jez told Crake. ‘You want to get through the Hookhollows without being spotted, you follow the mountains that rise closest to the cloud ceiling. That way you can’t be seen from above and you minimise possible sight-lines from below. Two of the most obvious routes converge on this point.’
    Frey turned around