Retribution Falls - Chris Wooding [6]
Beyond was a corridor. The walls were painted in dull institution-green paint, flaking with age. Several doors in chipped frames led off the corridor: rooms for guests, all of whom had wisely stayed put.
Frey led the way along the corridor, which ended in a set of tall, shuttered windows. Without breaking stride, he unloaded the remainder of the shotgun’s shells into them. Glass smashed and the shutters blew from their hinges. Frey jumped through the gap that was left, and Crake, possessed of an unstoppable, fear-driven momentum, followed him.
The drop was a short one, ending in a steeply sloping cobbled lane between tall, ramshackle houses. Overhead, a weak sun pushed through hazy layers of cloud.
Crake hit the ground awkwardly and went to his knees. Frey pulled him up.
“I feel a sudden urge to be moving on,” he said, as he dusted Crake down. “Open skies, new horizons, all of that.”
Crake looked up at the window they’d jumped from. The sounds of pursuit were growing louder. “I have the same feeling,” he said, and they took to their heels.
Chapter Two
A NEW RECRUIT—MANY INTRODUCTIONS—JEZ SPEAKS OF AIRCRAFT—THE CAPTAIN’S RETURN
here she is,” said Malvery, with a grand sweep of his arm. “The Ketty Jay.”
Jez ran a critical eye over the craft resting on the stone landing pad before them. A modified Ironclad, originally manufactured in the Wickfield workshops, unless she missed her guess. The Ketty Jay was an ugly, bulky thing, hunched like a vulture, with a blunt nose and two fat thrusters mounted high up on her flanks. There was a stubby tail assembly, the hump of a gun emplacement, and wings that swept down and back. She looked as if she couldn’t decide whether she was a light cargo hauler or a heavy fighter, and so she wouldn’t be much good as either. One wing had been recently repaired, there was cloud rime on the landing struts, and she needed scrubbing down.
Jez wasn’t impressed. Malvery read her reaction at a glance and grinned: a huge grin, which sprang into place beneath his thick white walrus mustache.
“Ain’t the loveliest thing you’ll ever see, but the bitch does fly. Anyway, it’s what’s in the guts that counts, and I speak from experience. I’m a doctor, you know!”
He gave an uproarious laugh, holding his sides and throwing his head back. Jez couldn’t help but smile. Malvery’s guffaw was infectious.
There was something immediately likable about Malvery. It was hard to withstand the force of his good humor, and despite his large size he seemed unthreatening. A great, solid belly pushed out from his coat, barely covered by a faded pullover that was stained with the evidence of a large and messy appetite. His hair had receded to a white circlet around his ears, leaving him bald on top, and he wore small round glasses with green lenses.
“What happened to your last navigator?” she asked.
“Found out he’d been selling off spare engine parts on the side. He navigated himself out the cargo door with the Cap’n’s toe up his arse.” Malvery roared again, then, noticing Jez’s expression, he added, “Don’t worry, we were still on the ground. Not that the thieving little bastard didn’t deserve dropping in a volcano.” He scratched his cheek. “Tell you the truth, we’ve had bad luck with navigators. Been through seven in the past year. They’re always ripping us off or disappearing in the night or getting themselves killed or some damn thing.”
Jez whistled. “You’re making this job sound awfully tempting.”
Malvery clapped her on the back. “Ah, it ain’t so bad. We’re a decent lot. Not like the cutthroat scum you might take on with otherwise. Pull your weight and keep up, you’ll be fine. You take a share of whatever we make, after maintenance and whatnot, and the Cap’n pays fair.” He studied the Ketty Jay fondly, balled fists resting on his hips. “That’s about as much as you can ask for in this day and age, eh?”
“Pretty much,” said Jez. “So what are you lot into?”
Malvery’s look was unreadable