The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [138]
Pinn sat at a table in a corner, sweeping a bleary and baleful glare across the room. He was drunk. Mean, stinking drunk. In one meaty hand was the ferrotype of his sweetheart that usually hung from the dash of his Skylance. Malvery sat next to him, hovering on the edge of coma, his eyelids drooping. His round green glasses sat askew on his nose. Every so often, his head would dip toward the table, and then he’d startle awake briefly before sliding into unconsciousness once again. Several bottles of grog were clustered on the table in front of them.
“Look at ’em,” Pinn snarled.
“Mmf?” Malvery inquired.
“Them!” he said, motioning with his chin. “The Cap’n and his whore.”
Malvery blinked and tried to focus. Near the bar, Frey and Trinica were deep in conversation with two local men. Tough-looking, ugly sorts.
“Leave ’em alone,” Malvery mumbled. “Cap’n knows what he’s doin’.”
Pinn scowled and took another swig of grog. The Cap’n definitely didn’t know what he was doing. Palling around with that slut. Oh, she might have cleaned off that ghoul mask that she wore, but Pinn wasn’t fooled. She was still a woman. Treacherous as quicksand. Not that Pinn had ever been near quicksand, but he’d definitely heard it was treacherous.
Bewitched, that was what the Cap’n was. What else could it be? What else could explain it? This past month, you hardly ever saw them apart. The Cap’n was all spry as a lark, while everyone else sloped around feeling rotten. What was it between them, anyway? Pinn had thought the Cap’n hated her. Pinn had thought they were enemies. Why ask her along?
All Pinn knew was that Trinica had robbed them blind. Twice! Having that bitch on board was rubbing it in everyone’s faces. He’d have been rich if not for her. Maybe then he’d have gone back to Lisinda. Maybe then she wouldn’t have sent him a letter telling him she was marrying some other man.
He stared at the ferrotype in his hand. Those eyes, which had once gazed at him so adoringly. Even now they might be gazing that way at someone else. He ground his back teeth together at the thought.
Every day since he’d received that letter had been a torment of indecision. Should he go back to her, to try to pry her from his rival? Or was that exactly what his rival wanted? He needed to do something to prevent the marriage, but he couldn’t return yet, poorer than when he’d left. And what if he was already too late? A cold and manly indifference was surely better than coming home to see the gleam of triumph in his rival’s eyes.
For a month now he’d been paralyzed. But with each day that passed, matters became a little more urgent. He had to do something. He just didn’t know what.
Malvery turned his head with a slow movement, as if he were underwater. He saw Pinn staring at the ferrotype and snorted.
“Forget her, mate,” he slurred. “She ain’t worth it.”
“Shut your face, Doc. You don’t know her.”
“Come on,” said Malvery. “Be honest. You weren’t ever gonna go back to her anyway. Even if she didn’t get married.”
“I was!” Pinn snapped. “When I got—”
“When you got rich, yeah, yeah.” The idiot grin of the truly hammered spread across his face. “But you ain’t never gonna be rich, Pinn. Nor ’m I. Nor are any of us.” He aimed a finger at Pinn, squinting down its length as if it were a gun. “You know that, don’tcha?”
“I,” Pinn declared indignantly, “love her.”
“You,” Malvery replied, “left her.”
Pinn didn’t really understand what the doctor was driving at. He finished his mug of grog and poured some more.
“Look, mate,” said Malvery, slapping him heavily on the shoulder. “You can’t mope about forever. She’s gone. Plenny more fishies in the sea.”
Pinn stared into Lisinda’s eyes. “I don’t want fishies,” he said, suddenly forlorn.
The loud scrape of a chair pulled across the floor startled him. He looked up and saw Frey and Trinica sitting down at their table. He spared her a disgusted grimace before turning his attention to the Cap’n.
“We’re moving out,” Frey announced. He seemed excited.
“Now?