Black & Mist
Page 29
There was no answer to that.
“What was . . .” Gravel never got any further, interrupted by the sound of booted feet crashing down the corridor. Hard and heavy, unmistakably marines, but it wasn’t them who turned the corner first. It was the prisoner, arms still manacled in the front, tattered and dishevelled, unkempt hair whipping around his face as he dropped his shoulder and charged into Gravel.
Kaspar twisted to avoid being caught up as Gravel went down, reaching out and wrapping his arm around the prisoner’s neck and shoulder. The man was scarcely slowed, jerking Kaspar off his feet and along for the mad rush. Then a sudden stop and a pivot. Kaspar felt himself flung around the man’s torso and into the hull of the ship. The whole hallway shook with the reverberation of struck metal. He couldn’t hear himself groan as the breath was knocked out of him, but he hung on, bracing himself for a second hit.
None came. Kaspar forced open his eyes, found himself staring out into the black again. Through the porthole, over the prisoner’s shoulder.
That’s what you wanted? I looked. I already looked. There’s nothing out there. Nothing!
The man just stood there, staring out into the debris that had once been another ship. Kaspar felt a shudder go through the prisoner, an almost wilting, and then an unexpected impact took them both to the floor. Gravel, tackling low. A moment later the marines piled on, Kaspar ending up on the bottom.
The prisoner was hauled off him, forced onto his knees. The marines lay into him, striking him across the back and shoulders, but if the man felt it he gave no sign. Numb from the repeated beatings, perhaps. Or in shock.
“All right?” Gravel held out his hand.
“Fine,” Kaspar winced, letting himself be pulled up. There were more footsteps, officers. Aristeia Quinn, scarred face smouldering like a thundercloud, and worse . . . Raines.
“You caught him,” Arlin Raines observed, giving the prisoner the most cursory of glances, pausing to admire the same view. He rubbed at the porthole with the cuff of his shirt.
“A waste. Not what I wanted at all. So much for . . . ah, no matter.” When he turned away from the scene, all seven of his tails splayed out behind him like a fan, framed by the stark metal of the ship and ghostly miasma outside. “Did we enjoy our little jaunt about the ship?”
The prisoner didn’t answer, still held on his knees by the marines, head bowed and face obscured by lank, unwashed hair. The marines holding him were big, hardened fighters. Both were breathing deeply, taut veins bulging out of their necks and the backs of their hands. One sported a blackened eye, already swelling shut. The other favoured a leg and had blood dribbling down their chin from split lips. Hardened, but clearly second best.
“Exceptional work, you two,” Raines addressed Kaspar and Gravel, with barely a withering look for the marines. “Better than those who let him get away in the first place. I’m not even done with him and he’s been most uncooperative so far. You have my thanks.”
“No need, sir,” Kaspar said, standing at attention. Behind Raines he could see Aristeia’s mocking smile in his peripheral. But to acknowledge that would be dangerous.
“As you like,” Raines shrugged. “Marines, take the prisoner back to his cell. Securely this time. I’ll be along soon, Castor.”
“There’s someone out there,” the prisoner, Castor Sharpe, said. His voice was coarse, rough. It was the first time Kaspar had heard him speak since he’d been handed over.
“Out where?” Raines asked, appearing interested for the first time.
“Outside. I saw a survivor. You have to help them.”
Kaspar looked through the porthole. All he could see was black.
Out there?
End
To Be Concluded in Fata Morgana
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Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges various friends and family, too numerous to mention, including but not limited to the Croquona Country Club, for various anecdotes, repeated encouragement and incessant ‘is it finished yet’ enquiries, and other footnotes that may have filtered through into this manuscript. The crew at Tyche for keeping the door open. Sarah, Chris, Kelly and Mary for the actual feedback and test reading. And all you others. You know who you are. Oh, and Krista, because I borrowed a heap from your books.
About the Author
Thomas J. Radford is a New Zealand author and frequently introduced at social gatherings as ‘our friend the author’ in exchange for social currency. His personal circumstances have no probable bearing on the likelihood of happy endings and character deaths, despite any rumours to the contrary.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Acknowledgements
About the Author