The Black Lung Captain

by Chris Wooding

  He'd arrived just in the nick of time, it seemed. The way heroes were supposed to.

  'You ready to get back in there, you shuddery old dog?' he asked Harkins.

  'I suppose, I . . . Wait a . . . No. Yes. Ready.'

  'Alright. Follow me down.'

  'Pinn?'

  'What?'

  There was a pause. 'It's . . . that is . . . I'm . . . er . . .' He stopped and collected himself. "It's good to see you,' he said at last.

  Pinn felt a smile spread across his face. 'Good to see you too,' he said, and was surprised to find that he meant it. Then he shoved his flight stick forward and dived towards the enemy, whooping all the way.

  Time to make himself a hero. Emanda deserved nothing less.

  The Manes came in a flood. The Century Knights were waiting for them.

  They stood in a line, guns raised, in front of the massive stone fountain that formed the centrepiece of the sunken square. They'd had only seconds to organise themselves, but they did so quickly and smoothly at an order from Kedmund Drave. They were a well-oiled unit, disciplined and deadly. The Archduke's elite: the best of the best.

  Frey and his crew stood with them.

  When they first met the Knights in the square, Frey had half a mind to keep on running and let the Knights deal with the Manes at their back. At least they might slow the pursuit a bit before they were overwhelmed. But he'd made a snap decision, and, absurdly, decided to stay. He'd begun to feel a faint cameraderie with Bree and Grudge, enough that he'd feel like a rat for bailing out on them. Their paths had crossed several times over the last year and a half, and they'd saved his life in the past.

  Maybe it was because he needed to do something honourable, because Trinica had treated him so dishonourably. Maybe it was just the pull of childhood fantasy. Every boy - and many girls - grew up wanting to be a Century Knight. Fighting alongside them came a close second.

  Or maybe - and more likely - it was just because Samandra Bree was damned cute and he didn't like the idea of letting her get her face eaten by a Mane.

  The horde hadn't expected resistance, perhaps. Certainly not on the scale they faced now. They came through the narrow bottleneck where the cobbled street entered the high-walled square. Over a dozen guns opened up on them, and they were mown down like wheat.

  Frey and his men aimed and fired into the thrashing mass of Manes, hoping to hit whatever they could. The Knights, in contrast, were astonishingly accurate. Whenever Samandra Bree fired one of her twin shotguns, or Mordric Jask his large-calibre pistols, it was a headshot. Colden Grudge's autocannon was less precise, but he made up for it with his sheer destructive power. Each bolt tore through several Manes, smashing through limbs and ribs and skulls. They howled as they were shredded into bloody meat.

  But the withering hail of bullets couldn't hold them back for long. One by one the defenders stopped to reload. For the Knights, it was a well-drilled manoeuvre accomplished with impressive speed. For Frey's crew, it was more a matter of fumbling the bullets into their chambers and trying not to drop any.

  The Manes took advantage of the lull. They were relentless, leaping over their fallen, scrambling and slipping through the tumble of shattered bodies. The defenders couldn't catch them all, and the Manes began to break through the bottleneck and spread into the square.

  'Bess!' said Frey. 'Get in there!'

  Bess didn't need a second invitation. She thundered forward through the hail of bullets and crashed into the Mane horde. With her arms outstretched, she took up half of the width of the bottleneck. She scooped up the Manes and forced them back with sheer, unstoppable strength. The Manes scratched and bit at her, but it was like attacking a cliff face. With Bess narrowing the gap, the flow of Manes into the square was choked off.

  Grissom and Jask turned their attention to those Manes that had made it through. They picked off their targets before they got within five metres of the line. The ghouls twisted and rolled to the ground, bearing holes in their foreheads.

  Frey took a moment to reload, glancing around at his crew through the acrid haze of gunsmoke. Malvery and Silo were grim-faced. Crake was scared out of his wits. But it was Jez that concerned him. Did she regard the Manes with hatred, or did it pain her to kill them? Did she feel each death, or was she glad of the slaughter? He couldn't say, but he worried for her state of mind.

  It was only moments before the flood began to overwhelm Bess. Even though her body blocked them, they clambered over her, or ducked beneath her huge arms. The area around the golem was piled with Mane casualties, but they showed no signs of abandoning their assault. If anything, the deaths of their fellows had increased their frenzy.

  The dam burst a second time, and this time the weight of numbers was too great to withstand. The Manes poured into the square. The defender's gunfire became unfocused as their targets spread out, and more of them broke through as a result. The balance had tipped. They couldn't be held back.

  'Stay together!' Drave shouted, more for the benefit of Frey's crew than the Knights.

  The Knights chose their targets with icy precision and took them down. The air was a terrific percussion of rifles, shotguns and pistols, underpinned by the steady report of Grudge's autocannon and the artillery detonations from overhead. There was no use taking cover, since the Manes weren't firing back. This was a game of nerve. Crake had lost his: he was trembling visibly as he fired. Malvery was getting panicky, blasting every which way. But Frey and the others drew strength from the men and women at their side. They aimed and fired steadily, and though the breaking wave of Manes came closer and closer, they were made to pay dearly for every metre they gained.

  But nothing could stop them.

  Frey's pistol fired empty. No time to reload. He shoved it in his belt and drew his cutlass. He knew now they'd be overrun. The battle would go to close quarters.

  Bring it on, then!

  He was awash with adrenaline. His teeth were bared in a snarl. All the anger and disappointment and hate that had been inspired by Trinica's betrayal sharpened in that moment to a fine point. It didn't matter whether he lived or died. It just mattered that somebody paid.

  Some of the others drew weapons, ready for hand-to-hand fighting. Kedmund Drave pulled out a huge two-handed sword. Others stuck to their shotguns or rifles. They'd use boots and gun butts to fend off the enemy long enough to get a point-blank shot in. To his right, Eldrew Grissom threw open his greatcoat, revealing an array of knives like the inside of a butcher's cupboard. He selected two gleaming cleavers.

  'Choppin' time!' he yelled, with a crazed glint in his eye, and he went to work.

  The Manes attacked all at once, jagged nails reaching out, mad faces behind them. Frey stepped to the fore, led by his cutlass. There was little he could do but surrender to its will. He could almost hear the singing of the daemon within as it took control, slashing in broad arcs, dismembering this and severing that. For his part, he simply concentrated on not getting hurt.

  But for all the efforts of Frey and his crew, it was the Knights who held the Manes back. They moved like quicksilver, slipping fluidly between positions, always where they were needed. Whenever two Manes tried to take on Frey at the same time, there would be a Knight at his side to assist him, or one of his enemies would go down with a bullet in the brain. Even Drave and Grudge, who were more cumbersome in their heavy armour, seemed untouchable. They didn't have the speed of their companions, but they anticipated every strike and moved to counter it before it came. The Manes couldn't match them.

  For a time, Frey lost himself. All thought disappeared in a bloody chaos of limbs and blades and teeth. His hands were spattered red. His breath rasped loud in his ears, heart pumping hard. His jaw clenched as he swung again and again, chopping away the grasping hands of the enemy. Fingernails raked his cheek. He found the owner, just as its head exploded, blown apart by somebody's shotgun.

  When would it stop? When would they give up?

  Behind him, he heard a cry. C
rake. He risked a glance, and saw that one of the Manes had broken through. An awful, red-eyed, ragged thing. It had seized Crake's gun arm and was biting into the meat of his hand. Frey's blade came down on its neck. Crake staggered backwards, the thing's head still clamped tight to his flesh.

  Then suddenly Bess was back among them, drawn by her master's voice. She'd abandoned her post and was ploughing into the Manes from the rear, scooping them up and flinging them in all directions. The Manes faltered, looking over their shoulders. The Knights had no such hesitation, and took the advantage. They shot and cut at the creatures, driving them back, gaining a little space and a few precious seconds to regroup.

  A piercing shriek sounded over the square, stilling them all. Even the Knights froze at the sound. Even Bess. They sensed something. A signal, perhaps. Frey wiped blood from his face and searched for the source.

  There it was. A Mane, eight feet tall, the same height as Bess. This one was clad in belts and bands of black leather armour, criss-crossing its thin yellow body. Buckles and straps hung from every part of it. Even its face was half-hidden by overlapping straps. What little could be seen of it was glowering, hollow-eyed and fearful. It carried two long, thick chains, far heavier than a man could lift. They hung from bracelets on its wrists, and as Frey saw it, it swung one and lashed it through the air like a whip, and screeched a second time.

  A leader, a general. Come to rally them, to lead the final charge.

  But no. The Manes were stepping back now, retreating. Bess turned quizzically towards Crake, looking for direction. He was grey with pain, but he managed to hold out his good hand. Stop. Don't do anything.

  The Knights had the same idea. They stood ready, but nobody fired a shot. The Manes backed away, turned and ran out of the square the way they came. The general waited until they'd all passed and then stalked after them, without even a backward glance at the Knights, or the dozens of fallen Manes that littered the flagstones of the square.

  Frey sagged, and let out a trembling breath. They'd given up. Just like that. The cost of the fight was too high for them. He exchanged a glance of happy disbelief with Malvery. The doctor swung his shotgun up on his shoulder and whistled.

  'S'pose we showed them, eh, Cap'n?' he said.

  'I s'pose we did,' he said. 'Go see to Crake, will you?'

  'Right-o,' said Malvery. He went over to Crake, who'd flopped to the ground, holding the bloody head of the Mane in one hand. Its teeth were still buried in the other. Yellow eyes glared at him malevolently over his knuckles.

  'Ooo. Nasty,' said Malvery, as he squatted down.

  Crake wasn't in the mood for small talk. 'Get this damned horror off me,' he said.

  Malvery pulled out a length of bandage and some disinfectant salve from his inner pocket. 'This ought to hold you till we get back to the Ketty Jay.' He felt around the Mane's head with an expression of disgust until he got his fingers between its teeth. 'Now,' he said, 'this might hurt a shitload.'

  Crake's yell of pain echoed off the walls of the austere banks and imposing merchant houses that overlooked the square. Samandra Bree, who was standing with Frey, winced in sympathy.

  'Poor feller,' she said.

  'He'll be okay. It's only his gun hand. He's a bloody disaster with a pistol.'

  Crake noticed them looking at him and waved weakly to her. She waved back. 'Glad you're back, Grayther Crake,' she called.

  'Me too,' he said, though without much conviction.

  'I notice you're missing one, though,' she said to Frey. 'Where's the blonde?'

  Frey felt his mood curdle. 'She's gone,' he said.

  'Oh,' said Samandra. 'My sympathies.'

  'Yeah.' Frey checked his crew were alright, scanned the square, then looked into the sky, where the Navy and the dreadnoughts were battling. A Windblade went shrieking overhead in a death-plunge and crashed a dozen streets away. Screams and howls drifted over the city. Havoc was all around them, but this square was theirs. They were safe here for the moment. The Manes wouldn't come back.

  'How'd you find us?' he asked, while he waited for Malvery to patch up Crake.

  'Roke. We found him on the roof of the refinery. Good of you to leave him alive, by the way.'

  'Hey, I'm a decent sort. We only needed a head start.'

  'Well, you got it. When we caught up with him we weren't in the mood to be patient any more.' She winked. 'And there weren't no one around to see.'

  'So you left word for the Navy and headed here.'

  'They turned up right after you left. Drave with 'em. We went ahead with Drave, and they came fast as they could after. Not fast enough, I guess.'

  The other Knights were reloading, idling in defensive positions in case anyone else should try to surprise them. Kedmund Drave, perhaps hearing his name, came over and joined them. He was the leader of this little group, a man with brutal features and silver hair cropped tight to a scarred scalp. He wore a suit of dull crimson armour, moulded to the contours of his body, and a black cloak. He regarded Frey with an expression that suggested he hadn't forgotten that time when Frey had emptied a shotgun into his chest at point-blank range.

  'Where's Grist?' Drave demanded. 'I assume he's responsible for all this?' He waved up at the clouded wound in the sky.

  Frey pointed back in the direction they'd come, where the black rectangle of the Storm Dog was lifting up above the city.

  'There,' he said. 'And he's got the sphere.' And Trinica.

  'Let me guess,' Drave said. 'You went ahead and tried to get it back yourself, instead of letting the Knights do it. Things went horribly wrong. Am I close?'

  'No, you're pretty much dead on,' said Frey.

  'You're turning out to be a wretched pain in my arse, Captain. I should arrest you all now and save you doing anything else stupid.'

  'I think you've got bigger fish to fry right now, don't you? Protecting the citizens of Sakkan from a rabid mob of arctic ghouls, and all that?'

  Drave gave him an iron stare. Frey stared back.

  'Lucky for you that we do,' he said at length.

  'I'll take what luck I can get these days,' Frey said, turning away. 'Malvery, are you done? We're out of here!'

  Crake was on his feet now, his hand wrapped tight in bandages. He came over sheepishly and gave Samandra a little bow.

  'Enchanted to see you again,' he said. 'I can only hope for better circumstances next time.'

  She gave him a smile and touched the peak of her tricorn hat. 'Lookin' forward to it, Grayther Crake.'

  'Alright, alright, you two can snuggle up later,' said Frey impatiently. He gave the Knights a quick salute. 'Good luck, you lot.'

  'Same,' said Grissom. 'Get going.'

  'Back to the Ketty Jay!' Frey called, and they headed out of the square, with Crake looking over his shoulder every now and then until Samandra Bree was out of sight.

  Thirty-Eight

  Frey Plots A Course —

  Bait And Ambush — The Stowaway

  Frey ran into the cockpit of the Ketty Jay with Jez hot on his heels. Behind him, boots clattered in the passageway as the crew went to their stations. Silo was heading for the engine room. Malvery7 clambered noisily up the ladder to the autocannon cupola.

  Crake drifted in as Frey and Jez raced through the pre-flights. He was holding his bandaged hand, looking forlorn and slightly useless. Malvery's patch-up job was sloppy, but proper medical attention would have to wait till later.

  'Did you shut the cargo ramp behind you?' Frey asked. 'Don't want any Manes getting in.' He glanced at Jez, then added wryly, 'One's more than enough.'

  Jez gave him a quick, humourless smile of acknowledgement. Frey wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Whatever she felt about shooting down all those Manes, it wasn't a matter to be taken lightly. She was cool, efficient, grim. That was how she coped, he reckoned. Burying herself in her task. She'd think about it all later.

  Was that how people were supposed to deal with things, he wondered? Shutting them out, closing
down? It had been Frey's method of choice up till now, but damned if it had done him a scrap of good.

  'Jez. Come up here. See if you can spot Harkins.'

  Harkins and the Firecrow had disappeared from the landing pad. With the earcuffs gone, he couldn't talk to them. They'd have to rely on the old-fashioned methods they used before Crake came aboard.

  Jez left her station and joined him, peering out through the wind-glass at the jumble of fighters and frigates in the sky above. Tracer fire tracked across the black ceiling of cloud. Above it all, the great churning hole in the sky, flashing with its own private lightning.

  He hit the aerium engines, flooded the tanks, and the Ketty Jay began to lift.

  'You know, that vortex is going to stay open until the sphere is deactivated or destroyed,' said Crake. 'They're going to keep coming.'

  Frey didn't need telling. He was well aware that some of this was his fault. He'd helped Grist get his hands on that thing.

  But he'd done his best to stop it, too. It wasn't as if he'd intended this. Those lives weren't on his shoulders. It wasn't his responsibility to save them. He was going to fly away and leave them to their fate. There was no sense in sharing it. Maybe his conscience wouldn't be exactly clean, but he could live with a certain level of grubbiness.

  He spun the Ketty Jay slowly as she rose, giving Jez a panorama of the battle overhead.

  'I see them!' she cried.

  'Them?'

  'Pinn's with him!'

  Crake groaned. 'Really?'

  Pinn! Pinn was back! And that meant they were all here, the whole crew, for the the first time in what seemed for ever. Six men, one woman (kind of), a golem and a cat. With Pinn's return, the balance was restored. The crew that had been forged in the firefights and fiascos of Retribution Falls were together again. And suddenly it felt like anything was possible.

  The corner of Frey's mouth curled up. 'Pinn,' he said. 'Well, well, well.'

  Jez clutched his shoulder and pointed. 'Cap'n! There!'

  Her tone told him that she'd spotted something other than the pilots. He followed the line of her finger, but saw only dreadnoughts, one sliding behind another. An explosion rattled the cockpit, too distant to harm them. He looked again.