Retribution Falls - Chris Wooding [118]
“Alright, Cap’n,” said Jez. “Ahead slow, keep a heading of two twenty, stay at this altitude.”
“We’ll start at ten knots,” he replied.
“Right.” Jez looked at her pocket watch. “Go.”
Frey eased the Ketty Jay forward, angling to the new heading. The sensation of flying blind, even at crawling speed, was terrifying.
He suddenly found a new respect for Harkins, who had chased a Swordwing at full throttle through the mist after the destruction of the Ace of Skulls. That nervy, hangdog old beanpole was braver than he seemed.
For long minutes, they moved forward. Nobody said anything. Frey could feel a bead of sweat making its way from his hairline, across his temple. Jez called out a change of heading and altitude. Mechanically, he obeyed.
The pace was excruciating. The waiting was killing him. Something was bound to happen. He just wanted it over with.
“I have something!” Crake announced. Frey jumped in his seat at the sudden noise.
“What is it?”
Crake was moving the compass around experimentally. “One of the needles is moving.”
Frey brought the Ketty Jay to a stop and took the compass from Crake. Jez glanced at her pocket watch again, mentally recording how far they had traveled on this new heading.
Crake was right. Though the other needles, numbered 2 to 4, were still dormant, the first needle was pointing in the direction that the Ketty Jay was heading. As Frey twisted it, the needle kept pointing in the same direction, no matter which way the compass was turned.
The number sets corresponding to the first needle had changed too. Whereas all the others were still at 0, these had sprung to life. The topmost set read 91. The bottom set, the one preceded by a blank digit, read 30. They were not moving.
“The top one started counting down from ninety-nine,” said Crake. “The bottom one just clicked to thirty and stayed there.”
“So what does it mean?” Frey asked.
“He doesn’t know what it means,” Jez said.
“Do you?” Crake snapped.
Jez turned around in her chair, removed her hairband, and smoothed her hair back into her customary ponytail again. “I’ve some idea. The topmost digits were counting down when we were moving, and now they’re not. I’d guess that they show the distance we are from whatever the arrow is pointing at.”
“So what is the arrow pointing at?” Crake asked, rather angry that he hadn’t worked it out first.
“Something ninety-one meters ahead of us,” Frey replied helpfully. “So now what? Can we go around it?”
“I’d rather not deviate from the charts if we possibly can,” said Jez. “They’re very precise.”
“Alright,” Frey replied. “Then we go very, very slowly, and let’s see what’s up ahead. Crake, read out the numbers.”
He settled back into his seat and pushed the Ketty Jay forward at minimum speed. Crake stood behind him, eyes flicking between the compass and the windglass of the cockpit, where there was still nothing but fog to be seen.
“Needle’s holding steady. The other set of numbers is still at thirty. The top one is counting down … eighty … seventy … sixty … no change anywhere else … fifty … forty …”
Frey’s mind was crowded with possibilities, tumbling over one another in a panic. What was it that waited there for them? The entrance to the hideout? Or something altogether deadlier?
“Thirty … twenty …”
He was so taut that his muscles ached, poised to throw the Ketty Jay into full reverse the instant that anything emerged from the murk.
“Ten … five … zero.”
“Zero?” Frey asked.
“Five … ten … The needle has changed direction. Now it’s pointing behind us. Twenty … twenty-five.”
“Let me have a look,” Frey said, and snatched the compass from Crake. The needle was pointing directly behind them, and the numbers were counting up toward 99 again.
“Umm,” he said. Then he handed the compass back to