The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,147
we need to do any fighting on the ground. Nobody can kick your head off like Bess can.'
'Come on. It's not about Bess. You miss Crake, too. Admit it.'
Frey poked at the frozen ground with the toe of his boot. 'Yeah,' he said. 'A lot more than Pinn, anyway.' He looked over at her. 'You won't go after Grist while I'm gone?'
'I'll wait for you, Darian,' she said. But, tired as she seemed, she didn't say it with much conviction. Frey wanted more assurance than that.
'Trinica,' he said. He made her face him. He wanted her to know it was serious. 'I can trust you, can't I? Because if you turned on me again . . .' He trailed off, not knowing how to end it.
'You can trust me,' she said, more firmly this time.
Frey was satisfied with that. They stood together in silence for a time, watching the activity in the docks below. Aircraft taking off, engineers tinkering with engines, foremen directing the moving of heavy equipment.
'All this will be different, you know,' she said at length.
He knew what she meant. She meant the feeling between them. She meant herself. After this, she'd return to the Ketty Jay. She'd don her black outfit and chop at the hair that had grown during their time together. She'd put on her white make-up and her garish lipstick and those contact lenses that made her eyes monstrous. She'd become the pirate queen once more.
'It doesn't have to happen that way,' he said awkwardly.
'Yes it does. I can't be here with you and there with them. There's no weakness allowed in that world.'
He turned to her, swept his hand down to indicate her, head to foot. 'This . . .' He fought for the words. 'This isn't weakness. When you put on all that shit and turn into the queen bitch of the skies, that's weakness.'
She nodded faintly. 'Perhaps you're right,' she said. 'But I live in a world where men judge me by my appearance. If I came to them as I am now, they'd see a woman. Trinica Dracken - Captain Trinica Dracken - needs to be more than that.'
Frey felt a surge of frustration. Why did she need to be so obtuse? How could she agree with him and still refuse to see what he wanted from her?
This past month, he'd hardly given a thought to that hollow sense of worthlessness that had settled on him. In fact, it had stopped bothering him completely. Perhaps it was because, in trying to catch Grist and prevent a disaster, he'd been doing something vaguely noble and selfless for a change. Or perhaps it was because he'd been doing it with Trinica at his side.
But now change was coming, and he was afraid. He'd got used to having her around. He didn't want that to end.
Suddenly, he wanted to do something to stop her. It couldn't finish this way, with a weak and bitter goodbye. Once she was gone, once she was back with her crew, then all this would fade from her mind. He didn't want her to forget him. That would be the worst thing imaginable. Even if she came to hate him, he couldn't bear to be forgotten.
He slipped off his gloves, and pulled off the silver ring around his little finger. Then he held it out to her in his palm.
'Oh, Darian, please,' she said. 'Your ring? Isn't my word good enough for you? You want to keep track of me too?'
It wasn't quite the response he was expecting. 'I just . . .' he said, but as usual the words crowded up in his mouth and nothing much came out. 'I want you to have it.'
She looked at him oddly. 'Why?'
'Next time you're thinking of robbing me blind, I want you to look at this and remember . . . how good we were together.'
It had started out as a half-hearted attempt at levity, but that only made the finale more pathetic. Frey could feel himself turning red. Damn it, why were unfelt emotions so easy to express, when the real ones tied his tongue?
She didn't laugh. Her face was solemn, and she had a fragile look about her. 'Alright,' she said quietly. She slipped off her glove and held out her left hand.
He took it carefully. Handling her as if she was porcelain. Her skin was cold and dry. 'Maybe I can find you again, after all this is done,' he said.