The Black Lung Captain

by Chris Wooding

  Slag went to the edge of the ramp and looked down. Harkins was getting painfully to his feet a couple of metres below, staggering away across the grass. He went a short distance, stopped, and turned back.

  The ramp bumped on to the ground. Beyond was tarmac. Slag sniffed it distrustfully, then recoiled a step. He glared at Harkins.

  'Ah!' Harkins gloated, bloody but defiant. 'Can't come out, can you? Think you're so special! Try and get me out here on the landing pad!'

  Slag didn't understand the words, but something in Harkins' manner told him he was being taunted. He didn't like that one bit.

  He peered out from the cargo ramp. Beyond it, everything was unfamiliar. The hard comfort of grimy metal and oil was replaced with strange textures and smells. Air so fresh that it felt like it was barely there at all. Frightening shapes loomed in the brighdy lit darkness, big things with wings and fat bodies, like colossal metal flies. Behind them were sinister dwellings, their windows glowing.

  Overhead, Slag could see the night sky to either side of the Ketty Jay's tail assembly. It was black and speckled with strange lights. Something told him that there wasn't any roof up there. What kept the lights from falling down?

  The world outside was too big, too overwhelming. But still, there was his enemy, his punishment incomplete. He was dancing around and pulling faces now.

  Slag focused all his concentration on Harkins. The way he did when he stalked rats. The world didn't exist. There was only him, and his prey.

  He took a step forward. And another. His paw touched the tarmac.

  Harkins yelped, turned tail and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, away into the night.

  Slag left the paw where it was until Harkins was out of sight, then drew it back. He sat on his haunches and began to groom himself, one eye on the landing pad. A satisfactory encounter, all in all. His dominance had been asserted. No need to venture out there, not when he was master of his own domain. What he had was quite enough.

  Pleased, he settled down to guard the entrance. Let that scrawny one try and come back tonight. Slag would show him what a real predator could do.

  'Get up.'

  Crake surfaced into awareness, found it unbearably terrible, and sank back towards sleep again.

  'Crake! Get up!'

  Someone shook him. His eyes fluttered open. A dark bedroom, plush and unfamiliar. Frey stood next to him, hand on his shoulder. Dawn light crept in through the curtains.

  His face felt swollen and greasy with night sweats. His lips were sticky and the corner of his mouth was caked with something foul. He felt like he'd been shat whole from the dirty arse of some pestilent herd animal.

  'Please go away, Cap'n,' he croaked. 'If I'm not unconscious in thirty seconds I may very well die. I mean it.'

  'Get dressed,' said Frey. 'We're getting out of here.'

  Crake lifted himself up on his elbows and turned his head with some difficulty. The bones in his neck had apparently rusted together in the night. Frey was dressed, clad in his familiar grubby garb, pistols and cutlass stuffed through his belt.

  'You're not serious?' Crake pleaded.

  Frey checked his pocket watch. 'Jez is bringing the Ketty Jay to meet us at four o'clock on the edge of the estate.'

  'When did you arrange that?'

  'A week ago, when I came back to see you lot. Thought I might want to make a quick exit after the soiree. Turns out I do.'

  Crake sat up, rubbing his aching neck. 'If you put half as much effort into planning your robberies as you do sneaking away from your lovers, we'd all be rich by now.'

  Frey didn't have the patience to discuss it. 'Look, Crake, it's almost four. If you don't get moving, I'll leave you behind. You can explain my absence to Amalicia.'

  'No thanks!' Crake said, suddenly finding his motivation. He hauled himself out of bed and began pulling his clothes on over his undergarments, pausing only to prevent himself from being sick.

  Frey glanced around uneasily. 'Hurry up, will you? I don't think my pods could survive the kicking if she catches me running out on her.'

  'I must say, Cap'n, this doesn't rank amongst the most spectacularly brave things you've done.'

  'I'm just not big on histrionics,' he explained. 'Don't like to see a woman cry.'

  'But you're okay with making them cry?'

  'Hey, I don't make anyone do anything. They choose to cry. Can't help it if they think I'm something I'm not.'

  'You really are quite a shit, aren't you?'

  'Why? Because I cut out the unpleasant stuff? One day she'll thank me for not dragging this out.'

  'Oh, you're doing this for her? Very noble. I should have realised.' He pulled on his boots. 'I'm ready.'

  They headed out of the bedroom and into the cool, shadowy corridors of the manse. The house was silent, the servants asleep. Crake did his best to creep along behind Frey, but his hangover and lack of sleep made him feel like his head was underwater. He had the unpleasant sensation that nothing was quite real. His brain and his body had become estranged and were only cooperating by a gentleman's agreement.

  They sneaked downstairs to the entrance hall, beneath the disapproving gaze of the portraits that hung above the staircase. The hall seemed cavernous in the early morning quiet. The tiny tapping of their boots created echoes.

  They'd reached the front door when they heard the unmistakable click of a pistol hammer being primed.

  'Stop there.'

  Amalicia stepped out from a curtained alcove. She was wearing a long nightgown, and was barefoot. A revolver was in her hand, trained on Frey. Her expression was dark.

  'Ah,' said Frey. 'Listen, I know how this looks, but—'

  'Don't,' she snapped. She crossed the space between them, never taking the gun from him. It trembled in her hand. 'I knew you'd be coming this way when I woke up and you weren't in bed,' she said. 'Leaving without a word. Isn't that your style?'

  'Put the gun down, hmm?' Frey said nervously.

  'So you can run off again?' she asked. 'I don't think so.'

  'If you're trying to stop him running off, shooting him probably isn't the best way to do it,' Crake pointed out, in what he hoped was a reasonable manner.

  Amalicia thought about that for a moment, then shifted her aim towards Crake. 'You're right,' she said. 'I'll shoot you instead.'

  Crake dearly wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

  'Amalicia, come on,' said Frey, holding up his hands as if placating a wild animal. 'Let's talk about this.'

  She shook her head, her lip quivering and tears in her eyes. Dangerously close to hysteria. 'No more lies, Darian.' She tossed her hair and composed herself. 'It's become clear to me that you aren't in your right mind.'

  'I'm not in my right mind? Who's got the gun?'

  'I know there's something in you that makes you run away. I offer you all this, all my riches, and you still want to go back to your flea-bitten, raggedy life. But I understand, Darian. You can't help it. You're scared. Scared of love.'

  'Scared,' said Frey flatly. 'Of love.'

  'Cap'n . . .' Crake warned. He rather hoped Frey wasn't thinking of getting confrontational while there was a pistol pointed at his chest.

  'I know it's frightening,' Amalicia said, suddenly sympathetic. 'It's scary to open your heart to another. To leave yourself vulnerable, to let others in. It's alright to admit it, Darian.'

  Frey just looked embarrassed. 'Really, you've got this all wrong.'

  'Of course you deny it! You don't even see it yourself. My poor orphan, I won't desert you.'

  'What does my being an orphan have to do with any of this?' Frey cried.

  She gave him a pitying gaze, moist with compassion. 'You don't know what's best for you, my love. So you're going to stay here. I'll show you there's nothing to be scared of.'

  'You're kidnapping me?' Frey said, aghast.

  'For your own good.'

  Frey took a steadying breath and tried a new tack. 'Listen,' he said. 'Let me tell you what I
learned at the party last night. This sphere -the sphere that will make me rich, remember - they're moving it by air to another location. This evening, at dusk. It'll be under heavy guard, but with the Storm Dog on our side, we can take it. We know the route and we'll set an ambush. It's our best and only chance.' He checked his pocket watch again. ' That's why we're sneaking off. I didn't want to worry you. As soon as we're done, I'll be straight back. I promise.'

  'Is that true?' Amalicia asked Crake. He nodded frantically. All except the last part, anyway.

  She evidently didn't believe him. 'Oh, Darian,' she said, with an indulgent tut. 'You will use every trick in the book, won't you? But you don't fool me. You're staying here.'

  Frey gave a little scream of frustration. 'I can't stay here,' he said 'This is too important!'

  'More important than love?'

  'Yes!' he replied, without an instant's pause.

  'You see?' said Amalicia. 'You're not thinking clearly. You're scared. Who in their right mind would take money over love?'

  'Oh, for shit's sake,' Frey said, exasperated. He pulled a pistol from his belt and pointed it at her head. 'Just drop the damn gun.'

  Amalicia went white and stared at him in surprise. Then an uncertain smile spread across her lips. 'You wouldn't shoot me,' she said.

  'I'm a pirate, Amalicia. You think I haven't shot women in cold blood before?'

  Crake hadn't thought so until now, but suddenly he wasn't sure. Amalicia was even more worried by the suggestion. She hadn't seen this side of Frey. The hard, uncaring, brutal side. She didn't move, perhaps expecting him to drop the act at any moment. But Frey's expression was like stone.

  He cocked his pistol. 'Gun down, Amalicia. This isn't a game. That's a member of my crew you're threatening. I'm not asking a third time.'

  Amalicia's eyes welled with tears at the tone of his voice. An expression of shock settled on her face as she realised he was serious. She looked like a child stunned by an undeserved reprimand.

  'Darian,' she whispered. 'You couldn't.'

  He closed one eye and sighted down the barrel towards her forehead.

  She looked from one man to the other, and then she lowered her weapon. Crake breathed a low, whistling sigh of relief and took the gun from her hand. She slumped to the floor, her legs gone weak.

  'How could you do this?' she asked, head hung. 'I love you.'

  Frey shoved his pistol back in his belt. 'I never asked you to.' He walked to the front door, pulled it open, and went out into the dawn light. Crake cast one last, apologetic look at Amalicia and followed him.

  'You don't know how to love, Darian Frey!' she shrieked after them, as they hurried down the drive towards their rendezvous. 'You don't know how to love!'

  Nineteen

  The Flashpan — A Flight Through The Storm —

  Dead Reckoning — Unexpected Resistance

  'Quite a storm,' Frey said.

  Jez's reply was drowned out by a clap of thunder loud enough to rattle the brass-and-chrome fixtures of the Ketty Jay's cockpit.

  Frey held his nose and blew through it till his ears popped. 'Say again?'

  'I said, I've seen worse,' Jez told him. 'You've never flown the Flashpan before?'

  'Can't say I've had the pleasure.' Frey was trying to peer through the lashing rain that assaulted his craft. It was almost pitch black out there. Thick clouds cloaked the glow of the moon. They were flying without lights. 'I can't see for buggery, Jez.'

  'Then they can't see us, either. I thought that was the point?'

  'Just tell me if I'm going to fly into anything.'

  'Will do, Cap'n.'

  Frey wasn't enjoying himself one bit. People avoided the Flashpan for a reason. It was an area of boggy moorland that sat at high altitude just east of the Splinters and north of the Vardenwood. Innocuous enough, except for the near-constant storms that raged here. Some unlucky trick of the geography, apparently. Something to do with warm, moist air from the south mixing with freezing air coming the other way. Jez had explained it to him, but he hadn't listened very hard. He'd been too busy shitting himself at the prospect of the battle to come.

  They were going up against the Delirium Trigger.

  By the time Frey and Crake had got back from the Thade estate, they were already cutting it fine if they hoped to intercept Dracken and the barque she was escorting. Frey held a hasty discussion with Grist, and they headed off immediately afterwards. Their plan wasn't the tactical masterpiece Frey would have preferred, but it would have to do. They didn't have anything better.

  The Storm Dog was a beast of an aircraft, but even so, Frey wasn't sure she could go toe-to-toe with the Delirium Trigger. What they needed was the element of surprise. Not easy when their targets would be flying across open grassland.

  But if it was at night, in the middle of a terrific storm? It was possible to sneak up on them that way. But first they had to find them.

  The problem was, the aircraft they were searching for would be running without lights. Nobody flew the Flashpan unless they didn't want to be found. According to the Grand Oracle, the Awakeners' lives were being made miserable by the Navy lately. Archduke's orders, no doubt. Awakener craft were boarded and searched wherever they were encountered. It wasn't that the Navy expected to find anything; it was just to piss them off. But the Awakeners couldn't risk their precious Mane sphere being found by the Navy, so they were sneaking across the Flashpan at night. In the dark and rain, they were all but invisible.

  Not to Jez, though. If anyone could spot them, Jez could.

  While she scanned the horizon, Frey concentrated on maintaining course and keeping a safe altitude. The wind jostled the Ketty Jay about, making her groan and rumble. He was flying by his instruments, since vision was almost zero except when a flash of lightning lit up the land. He kept a wary eye on the rock masses that hulked out of the moors below him, half-expecting one of them to loom up into his path.

  To calm his nerves, he ran over what he'd learned from the Grand Oracle, hoping to get one step ahead of the game. Pomfrey had been forthcoming about the details of how the Awakeners intended to transport the sphere, but Frey had been left frustrated in other areas. When he asked the Grand Oracle what the Awakeners intended to do with the power source from a Mane dreadnought, Pomfrey had only looked confused.

  Frey had prompted him. Were they planning to sell it? Perhaps they wanted to make a deal with the Archduke, a trade in return for freedom from further persecution? Or did they have designs on building an invincible fleet of their own?

  The Grand Oracle had seemed mystified. 'What power source?'

  At that moment, several people had entered the parlour, and Crake had been forced to wrap it up quickly, commanding the Grand Oracle to remember nothing of the conversation.

  But Frey remembered.

  What power source?

  Grist had lied to him. It wasn't a power source at all. So what exactly was it?

  Whatever that son of a bitch was up to, he still wasn't being straight with Frey. And Frey was damned if he'd be mucked around like that.

  Once they located their targets, it would be the Storm Dog's job to deal with the Delirium Trigger. The Ketty Jay was far too small to handle her. Instead, she'd go after the Awakener barque, to capture its cargo. The Mane sphere.

  As soon as they had that, Frey was going to run for it. Forget Grist and his secrets. Whatever that thing was, Frey was having it, and Grist could go hang. He'd work out later what to do with it.

  Some things are worth riskin' every thin' for, Grist had said. But what was it he was after? What was worth that much?

  'Doc!' he called through the cockpit door. 'Are they still with us?'

  'Wait a sec!' Malvery called back from the gunnery cupola. There was a flash of lightning and a tearing sound overhead.1 Storm Dog's right on our tail, Cap'n!'

  Frey stared out into the night. The cockpit lights had been doused, except for dim night-flying bulbs on the dash to illuminate the instr
uments. Another flash of lightning showed him the Firecrow and Skylance, flying some distance below them, as Frey had instructed. A lightning strike wouldn't affect the Ketty Jay or the Storm Dog, but smaller craft had a tendency to explode that way. The Storm Dog's outflyers were safely stashed in a hangar in her belly, but that wasn't an option on the Ketty Jay, which was less than a tenth her size. Instead, he used his craft to shelter his pilots as best he could, hoping it would soak up the lightning.

  'Harkins. Pinn. Everything alright?' he asked.

  'Darker than a miner's arsehole down here,' came Pinn's reply through his earcuff. 'Otherwise, fine.'

  Jez had suggested that they might give an earcuff to Grist, to better coordinate the attack, but Frey had flatly refused. The earcuffs were a secret that only the crew of the Ketty Jay shared. A little stroke of genius from Crake. It gave them an advantage that other crews didn't have. He wasn't sharing that with an untrustworthy bastard like Grist.

  He hunched forward in his seat, searching the darkness. 'Where are you, Trinica?' he muttered. 'Where'd you go?'

  Trinica. In among all his other problems, there was Trinica. Why did she need to get involved? Why did it have to be her who robbed him on Kurg? If it had been anybody else he might have given up, cut his losses and parted company with Grist. But he couldn't take the humiliation, not from her.

  He found himself thinking of this operation more and more in terms of Trinica. It was her he was beating. Maybe he couldn't take her on himself, but it was his plan, his effort that had set up the ambush. It would be him that ended up with the prize. Maybe the Storm Dog would shoot her down, or maybe she'd shoot down Grist. As long as they kept each other busy for long enough, he couldn't care less. But he'd like to see the look on her face when she realised who'd done her over.

  'Cap'n,' said Jez. She craned forward and narrowed her eyes. 'Contact.'

  Frey sat up. 'You see them?'

  Jez looked for a few more moments. 'Bearing two-eighty-five, heading across us to the east.'

  Frey thumped the dash in excitement. 'Alright, we're on!' he announced. 'Harkins, Pinn, hit the deck. Stay low, and listen to Jez for course corrections. We're heading up into the clouds.'