The Black Lung Captain (8 page)

But the dread of their voices was too much. She had to retreat. In moments, the trance had passed.

She slipped in and out of that strange state easily and frequendy now. She'd learned to cope with the flood of sensation, to enjoy the thril of it. But the Manes were always there, waiting for her, beckoning. She was afraid of their summons. She didn't know if she could resist it forever.

She'd experienced what it was to be a Mane, for the briefest of instants, during her aborted transformation. She'd felt their connectedness, the joy of their companionship. The link they shared, the
togetherness
they felt. After that, it was hard not to feel lonely. They wanted her, not to harm her but to embrace her.

That was why she was afraid. To embrace the Manes would be to give up her humanity for ever. To become one of them would be to surrender herself. And she wouldn't do that.

Frey stirred in his seat, glanced up at Jez, and then back at the island before them. 'There she is,' he said.

'There she is,' Jez agreed.

'You ever wonder if half the stuff they say about this place is true?'

'It's probably not,' she said. 'But stil, the Coalition would rather colonise New Vardia - on the other side of the world and the other side of the Storm Belt - than colonise a land mass that lies a pleasant half-day's flight off their coast.'

'Hmm,' said Frey. 'That's not a good sign, is it?'

'Not realy.'

'If I get eaten, you can have the
Ketty Jay,
okay?'

'That's very sweet of you. What if you get stamped on, poisoned, or die horribly from some unknown plague?'

Frey gave her a look. 'Just get back to your charts, why don't you?'

She grinned and saluted. 'Right you are, Cap'n!'

Six

The Expedition Sets Out - Rain —

Jez Takes First Watch — Silo's Story

Crake puled the colar of his coat up and hunched his shoulders against the cold. It always seemed to be cold nowadays. On the
Ketty Jay
or off it, there was a chil in his core that never quite went away.

The clouds were iron-grey overhead, and an arctic breeze came from the north, pushing through the rainforest. The
Ketty Jay
sat in a bald, rocky clearing, with tree-covered mountains on either side. Crake stood under her tail, the cargo ramp lying open behind him. In the distance, a waterfal plunged hundreds of feet from a ridge of cliffs. When the wind was right, Crake could hear its dul, sulen roar.

Nearby, the
Storm Dog
was easing itself down. The air was sharp with the smel of aerium gas as it vented its tanks.

The
Storm Dog
was craggy and rectangular, like a beam of black, petrified timber. Its prow was blunt and its hul pocked and uneven, stained with cloud-rime and iceburn. It sank on to its landing struts with an artless crunch and settled in the clearing. The air shimmered and rippled as it wheezed out the last of its aerium in an invisible cloud, then its engines shut off.

For a moment, there was quiet. An awesome, massive silence. Only the stir of the wind sounded over the endless industry of the waterfal. Crake tipped back his head, closed his eyes, and basked in the nothingness.

'Hey, Crake!' Pinn yeled from the cargo hold. 'Give us a hand here! Half of this is
your
stuff!'

Crake's eyes fluttered open. The birds and insects of the rainforest, which had been silenced by the disturbance, began to pick up their songs again. Hydraulics whirred as the
Storm Dog
opened its cargo ramp. The moment had passed.

Too brief. Al too brief.

The others were coming down the
Ketty Jay's
ramp, carrying packs and equipment. Tents, weapons, food, and Crake's daemonist equipment, which they'd need when they reached their destination. Bess came clumping down with an armful of gear and laid it down among the other packs with a child's exaggerated care.

Then she scampered over to Crake - as much as a half-ton armoured suit
could
scamper -and settled on her haunches in front of him.

'Wel done,' he said, patting her flank. 'What a helpful girl you are.'

Bess leaned in, pushing her face-grile closer. Points of light twinkled in the darkness behind. Eyes like stars. She gave a quizzical coo: an ethereal, other-worldly sound.

'I'm alright, Bess. Don't you worry,' said Crake, forcing a smile.

Bess wasn't fooled. She reached out one gloved hand and stroked Crake's arm clumsily. Metal, chain mail and leather dragged down his coat, almost tearing his sleeve off. Crake felt sudden tears threatening, and swalowed. He gave the golem an awkward hug. She was too big to get his arms around.

'Don't you worry,' he said again.

'Wil you stop flirting with your girlfriend and
carry something?'
Pinn yeled from the cargo ramp, as he went back in for another pack.

They assembled in a spot between the aircraft: six from the
Ketty Jay,
six from the
Storm Dog,
including Hodd. Frey wanted Silo to come, and Harkins had volunteered with great enthusiasm to stay with Bess on the
Ketty Jay.
Bess was the
Ketty Jay's
watchdog, ensuring that nobody but the crew came aboard with al their limbs stil attached. But the Cap'n needed somebody human to keep an eye on things while they were away, and he was happy to leave Harkins behind. The pilot was a liability in a firefight and he had a jumpy trigger finger at the best of times. In the rainforest, he'd be a disaster. More likely to shoot himself in the foot than kil one of the enemy.

Along with Hodd and Captain Grist came the
Storm Dog's
emaciated, bug-eyed bosun, Edwidge Crattle, and three crewmen caled Gimble, Tarworth and Ucke. They were a seedy-looking trio, but then Crake had hardly expected anything else.

Gimble was a thin, scowling felow who said little. Tarworth was short, baby-faced and eager. Ucke had a more eccentric appearance.

He was bulky, with hair sticking out everywhere, and he had offensively bad teeth in al shapes, sizes and angles. When Pinn rudely commented on them, Ucke informed the group that they were actualy a false set. Dentures. He'd made them himself from teeth he'd colected from a multitude of bar brawls.

Once the introductions were done, they shouldered their packs, checked their guns and made ready to set off.

'Now I don't want none of you believin' al that talk you might have heard about Kurg,' Grist told them. 'There'l be beasts, for sure, but probably not half as horrible as the tales tel.' He slapped Hodd on the shoulder. 'This man's been in there and come out without a scratch. If he can do it, then us rum sons of bitches ought to be able to. What's in there should be afraid of
us,
not the other way about!'

Yes,
he
came out without a scratch,
thought Crake.
It was the rest of his expedition that died.

Crake loathed Hodd on sight. Frey had told him about his first meeting with the explorer, which was enough to convince Crake that they were dealing with a shiftless rich boy who'd spent his life living on Daddy's money, utterly detached from the realities of the world. Crake had grown up amongst the aristocracy, and he was never afraid to apply stereotypes. In his experience, they turned out to be true more often than not.

Besides, Hodd reminded Crake of himself, and Crake hated that.

Crake had been that way, once. A life of privilege, sheltered from trouble by his father's money. Mixing only with his own kind. He treated lowlier folk with politeness because that was what people with good breeding did, but they weren't the same as him. He couldn't have said why, and he'd never have admitted it aloud, but they just
weren't.

It had been the discovery of daemonism at university which had prompted his awakening. Before long, he'd grown bored with the vacant twitterings of the social classes. While they were talking about mergers and marriages, inheritances and infidelities, he'd been communicating with entities from another dimension. In the face of that, their preoccupations seemed rather juvenile.

But he'd stil possessed the arrogance of the aristocracy. The knowledge that no matter what he did, he'd never
not
be rich. Whatever trouble he got into, someone would look after him.

Maybe that was why he did what he did. He'd not known what sorrow or torment or hardship meant until then. But he learned those lessons wel in the time that folowed.

'Right,' said Hodd, clapping his hands. 'Are we al ready?'

Belts were tightened, coats buttoned, bootlaces tied and retied. Pinn took a few test steps to check the weight of his pack.

'Off we go, then!' Hodd cried.

'Where are we headed?' Jez asked.

That stumped Hodd for a moment. 'Er ... to the crashed Azryx aircra—'

'No, I mean . . . Don't you have a map? Directions?' Jez asked. 'You said it would be over a day's walk. I just wondered how you were intending to find it again.' She looked around the group and shrugged. 'Sorry. Navigator. I just want to know.'

Hodd smiled broadly and tapped his head. 'It's al in here, Miss.'

'You remember the way,' Jez said, doubtfuly. She eyed the forested flanks of the mountains that surrounded them. 'Are you sure? Once we're in there, we'l get pretty badly lost if you're wrong.'

'Be assured, I never forget a route,' he said. 'I've possessed a rather remarkable talent for pathfinding ever since I was a child. It was what inspired me to be an explorer, actualy.'

'And what did Daddy think about that?' Crake asked, and immediately regretted it. He didn't want to have a conversation with this buffoon, but he'd been unable to resist a bitter jibe. It had just come out.

Hodd missed Crake's tone and the implied insult entirely. 'He was rather disappointed, actualy,' he said, looking downcast. 'My father sits in the House of Chancelors for the Duchy of Rabban, and my six brothers al work in the field of law. But I had a different caling.'

'An explorer,' said Crake. 'So I see. Ever found anything?' Frey gave him a look, but he ignored it.

'Wel, not anything that you'd see on the front page of the broadsheets, but I have led many expeditions to far-flung places, and contributed valuable knowledge in the fields of—'

'And how many people have you lost on your expeditions? Aside from your
entire team
the last time you were here?'

Hodd looked wounded, unable to understand the source of this sudden hostility. 'Sir, I don't know what I might have done to offend you, but—'

'Do you even
know?
Crake asked. The fury exploded from nowhere. Suddenly he was red-faced and shouting. 'Do you even know how many porters and pilots and natives died while you were playing explorer with your daddy's money? How many
people?'

The group stared at Crake, shocked. Hodd had gone pale. He looked to Grist, as if the burly captain might defend him.

'Crake,' murmured Jez. 'Leave it alone.'

'People like him!' Crake snorted. 'Other people die for their dreams of glory. It won't be
him
that gets kiled in there.'

'Now, now,' said Grist, raising his hands. 'Let's al play nice, hmm? We al trust Mr Hodd when he says he's goin' to lead us to great treasure.' He put his arm round Hodd and gave him a menacing squeeze. "Cause he knows what'l happen if he don't.'

The explorer grinned nervously. 'It's that way,' he said, pointing. With a few odd looks at Crake, they began to shuffle off towards the forest. Jez gave him a sympathetic glance and then turned away. Crake shouldered his pack and folowed her.

I wonder if I'll make it back alive
, Crake thought.

He honestly couldn't bring himself to care.

The rain began in the afternoon. It came with considerable force.

Frey had been rained on before, but this was up there with the best of them. Leaves and branches bowed and rocked under the onslaught. A wet mist gathered in the air until it was hard to see anything more than a half-dozen metres away. The forest filed with the hiss of faling water and the hoots and screeches of excited animals in the treetops.

What little good cheer had attended their departure rapidly disappeared. They trudged along in single file, wishing they were anywhere but here. Pinn, walking ahead of Frey, kept up a constant stream of grumbling. The ground had turned to a quagmire, and was attempting to suck their boots off their feet with every step.

Their coats had soaked through. Previously warm underlayers were now damp and freezing. Frey could only hope that Crake's equipment was wrapped up better than they were.

The only person who seemed to be having a good time was Hodd.

'Spit and blood, I've missed this place!' he cried, then laughed and shook his fist towards the leafy heavens. 'Cruel nature, do your worst!'

Frey saw Pinn's hand twitch towards his pistol, and grabbed his wrist before he could do anything rash.

'Can't I kil him just a little bit?' Pinn whined.

'He's the only one who knows the way back, Pinn. We need him to get us out of here when we're done.'

Pinn thought about that for a moment. 'Alright, Cap'n.' He poked one stubby finger at Frey. 'But I'm doing this for
you,
okay?'

'Appreciate it,' said Frey. Up ahead, Hodd began to sing a marching tune, loud and off-key. Pinn gritted his teeth.

'I can't take much more, Cap'n,' he said.

Frey sighed, then pushed his way up the line to Hodd.

Hodd was punching the air lustily. '
Oh, brave and strident sol-diers, whose cou-rage none can
— Oh! Helo, Captain Frey.'

Frey nodded in greeting, and leaned close as they walked. 'You've heard of the monsters that are rumoured to infest this island, Hodd?'

'Oh, yes!' said Hodd. 'I've seen several, in fact. One of them damn near had me for breakfast.'

'You've seen several,' Frey repeated. 'That's good. Did you see if they had ears?'