The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [137]
“I don’t know. I can’t promise it won’t.”
“I have a crew to think about,” he said.
“Yes!” she cried. “And I’m part of it!” She paced away from him, smoothed her hair back, retied her ponytail. Something she did when she was anxious or upset. “I’m in trouble, Cap’n,” she said. “I’m turning. Into what, I don’t know. How long it’ll take, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll beat it. Maybe it’s unstoppable. But I’m scared. I’m scared I’ll lose my mind. And the only person who might have explained any of it to me was Crake, and now he’s gone! Because of another damn secret that he couldn’t share.”
“I don’t think you’ll lose your mind,” said Frey.
Her tone made it clear what she thought of his knowledge on the subject. “You don’t? Why not?”
“Because this professor guy told me so. He said the daemon was more like … like a sin-boat.”
“Symbiote,” she corrected automatically.
“Yeah, that. And it doesn’t take you over or control you or anything. It just … well … kind of helps you out, I suppose. That, and it makes you look like shit.”
She stared at him, aghast. “You spoke to that professor a month ago!”
Frey looked as if he wished he hadn’t opened his mouth.
“And you didn’t tell me?” she yelled.
“Things were … weird between us,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t sure how to.”
“The way you just did would have been fine!” She slapped the landing strut in frustration. “Spit and pus, Cap’n! You know what it would have meant to me? To know that?”
“Sorry,” Frey said sheepishly.
She put her face in her hands. Her shoulders heaved with each breath.
“Are you crying?” Frey asked.
“I’m trying to calm down so I don’t kill you,” she replied through her fingers.
“Oh.”
She took her hands away, shook her head, blew out a breath. Under control, Jez. Keep it under control.
She put her hand on her hip and poked Frey in the chest with a finger. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll give you a choice. I quit the Ketty Jay. Right here and now.”
Frey looked stricken. “Wait, you’re quitting?”
“Ah! Ah!” she said. “I’m not done. It seems you have a vacancy for a navigator now. So I offer my services. I’m a navigator. You won’t find any better. But I’m also part Mane, with all the things that entails.” She folded her arms and stared at him defiantly. “Now I’ve told you up front. Either hire me and we start again from scratch, or don’t and I’ll leave right now. But no more of this pussyfoot bullshit.”
Frey stood there in the slowly freezing slush and regarded her thoughtfully. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Nothing showed on his face, as if this was a game of Rake and he was considering his hand.
All or nothing. What’s it to be?
Then he tutted and looked up at the sky. “Who am I kidding? We wouldn’t last two days without you. You’re the best damn navvie I’ve ever seen.”
“Because I’m part Mane,” she said. “Because I can read the wind and see in the dark. Because I just know where things are sometimes. Because I’m part Mane. Say it.”
Frey nodded. “Okay. Because you’re part Mane. And whatever goes along with that. I get it.”
“So,” she said. “Am I hired?”
Frey grinned. “You’re hired.”
“I want a bigger cut of the profits.”
“What?” Frey was appalled. Jez stared at him, arms folded, until he threw up his hands.
“Fine! When there’s profits to give you, you’ll get your cut,” he said. “If we ever make any.”
Jez felt a grin spreading across her own face. She felt lighter than air. There was a huge sense of release. This whole thing had been building up and building up. Just talking about it made it better. Ironic, really, that it had taken the most silent member of the crew to teach her that.
She held out her hand. “Thank you, Cap’n. And sorry for keeping it from you. Me being a Mane and all. I won’t let you down again.”
He clasped her hand and then, to her surprise, he pulled her into a rough hug. “Likewise,” he said.
THE HAPPY AMPUTEE WAS Raggen Crag’s classiest bar, which wasn’t saying much. It was a grubby, dingy room lit by blackened bulbs, with tarnished metal fixtures and brass countertops. A broken-down band played