The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,137

storeys up. They passed by lamplit desks and shelves of neatly ordered paperwork, emerging at last into a chamber with a long window that took up the whole of one wall. It was divided into squares, and it looked out over the refinery floor, where enormous vats and brooding machinery lay dormant.

Frey guessed this was a common area for the foremen and their staff. Several doors led off from it. A large table took up much of the room. A few mercs were here, idling about or sitting at the table, guns hanging loose in their hands. With them were two men who Frey recognised, even though he'd never met them before.

The first was gaunt and sour-faced, with straggly, grey-white hair. He sat with his boots up on the table. His duster had fallen back to reveal a waistcoat laden with a variety of knives. There were half a dozen sheaths on either side of his ribs, and more inside the duster.

He was rolling a throwing knife through his fingers, flipping it end over end around his knuckles.

The other was more enigmatic. He leaned against one of the doors with his arms folded loosely across his stomach. He was wearing a black coat and a wide-brimmed hat, and he wore a black necktie around his face. All that could be seen of him was a slice of his eyes and forehead, and a fringe of shaggy black hair.

Frey knew them from the broadsheets. Eldrew Grissom and Mordric Jask. Century Knights. Deadly men, both. Grissom had the fastest hands in the game, with knives or pistols alike. Jask was a stone-cold warrior, famously unflappable, a man without fear.

'Everyone, this is Darian Frey and his crew,' said Samandra, as they entered the room. Grissom looked up and grunted. Jask tipped his hat.

'What are you all doing here?' asked Frey.

'Guarding the company men. What else?' Samandra replied.

'Why not just take them out of here?'

'The miners are getting shot down on account of those folks. Marching them through the town might be a provocation hard to take, don't you reckon? We're trying to avoid more bloodshed.'

'So you're gonna sit tight?'

'We sent word to the Navy. They'll be here sooner or later.'

'And you reckon the miners are going to to wait around for that?'

'No,' she said. 'I don't. But I can't see that we got too much choice.'

Jez spoke in his ear. 'The Ketty Jay's small enough to fly over the refinery. Could airlift them out. Or you. Just say the word.'

Frey didn't reply. To do so would be to give away the secret of the earcuffs, and besides, he had a feeling the Century Knights would have thought of that already, and decided against it. There had to be a reason for that.

'Why do I get the impression there's something you aren't telling me?'

Samandra raised an eyebrow. 'Smart feller,' she said. 'Come on.'

She walked over to Jask, who moved out of the way of the door he was guarding. Frey looked inside. Beyond was a room with a desk and some shelves, and little else. Its occupant was sitting on a seat. He raised his head as the door was opened.

He was tall, slim and elegant. His features were narrow and perfectly proportioned, even beautiful. He wore a coat of exotic silk and tailored clothes of the most exquisite cut.

But none of that was what marked him out. The truly remarkable thing was that his irises were bright yellow, and his skin was black as onyx, a colour so deep that it seemed tinted with dark blue in the dim light.

The truly remarkable thing was that he was a Samarlan.

Jask closed the door. Frey stared at Samandra.

'What in the name of the Allsoul's pendulous bollocks is a Sammie doing here?' he demanded.

'We did wonder the same thing,' she replied. 'Best we can figure—'

'Roke's selling aerium to the Sammies,' finished Grissom. He flipped a knife into the tabletop, where it stuck with a thump. 'Plain as day, not that you can get the bastard to admit it. And we don't have no proof, neither. Yet.'

'We'll hold 'em both till the Navy arrives, then ship 'em off for questioning,' Samandra explained. 'I'm sure our Samarlan friend will have a thing or two worth knowing.'

'There's a Sammie in there?' asked Malvery, who'd drifted over. He'd overheard the conversation, as had everyone else in the room. 'How'd he get here?'

'Just flew in, I imagine.'

'That easy?'

'We're not at war with them any more,' said Samandra. 'It's not illegal for