The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [174]
Malvery grinned. Crake grinned with him. Malvery took back his pocket watch and snapped the case shut.
“It’s bloody good to have you back, mate,” said the doctor.
In the distance, the gunshots and screams began.
SOMETHING WAS AMISS ON the Ketty Jay.
Slag opened his eyes slowly and licked his chops. The fur around his face still carried the taste of rat blood. But it wasn’t rats that had brought him out of his doze.
He got up and loped through the ventilation ducts, toward the cargo hold. Slag was the master of these hidden byways. It was his mission in life to keep them clear of invaders. The world outside was full of those curious beings that occasionally—unwisely—tried to touch him or pick him up. But they were too big to get into the vents. Here, it was Slag versus the rats. And while there had been some epic struggles in his time, fought against large and vicious opponents, Slag had always dominated. He’d never come across an enemy he couldn’t beat. He didn’t know the meaning of defeat.
He slipped out of the duct into the cargo hold. Cold air was blowing in from the outside, stirring his whiskers and chilling his nose. The cargo ramp was open. Sounds came to him from beyond: people shouting to one another, the clank of machinery, the roar of thrusters as an aircraft accelerated overhead. The sharp tang of aerium gas, vented from a freighter that was touching down. The busy industry of landing pads was terrifying in contrast to the safety of his enclosed world. It was an assault on the senses that confused and intimidated him.
The cargo ramp being open was not unusual. Slag padded out into the center of the room and sniffed.
That was it. That was what had woken him.
The cowardly one had dared to come aboard.
He made a sinister crooning noise from low in his throat. The thought of that pathetic specimen on his territory made him angry. He listened and heard scurrying footsteps in the corridor overhead, the main passageway that ran down the spine of the aircraft.
This wasn’t the first time either. He knew his prey had sneaked aboard several times recently. Sometimes Slag detected him and chased him away. Other times, he’d been busy in the depths of the aircraft, and all that was left when he emerged was the sour smell of fear and sweat.
Slag’s instinct was to chase him off again. But he was an old cat, a veteran of many secret wars, and he’d learned a thing or two. He knew how the rats would keep coming back, no matter how many times he killed them. There were always more. Unless he hunted them down to their lair. Kill them there, kill the mothers, and the rats didn’t come back.
He could chase off the intruder, but the intruder would return. It was time to take an altogether more crafty approach. He’d take the fight to his enemy.
Slag padded down the cargo ramp. He could see the enemy’s lair a few dozen yards away. The place where he slept and hid. The cowardly one was smugly content there, behind the transparent shell that sheltered him. Secure in the knowledge that Slag wouldn’t cross the gap between the aircraft.
The sight of the Firecrow infuriated him. The shell was open too. It was a taunt beyond endurance. His enemy thought Slag was too weak to come and get him. He thought that Slag was too afraid to brave the sky.
But Slag refused to be afraid of anything.
He went down to the end of the ramp. Beyond it, dozens of people worked around a huge metal craft. Tractors chugged past, hauling jangling trailers of metal pipes. The air stank of petrol. There were so many threats out there. Too many to keep track of.
Above him, beyond the jutting stern of the Ketty Jay, there was no ceiling. Only a rucked blanket of feathery whiteness, impossibly high. The sheer size of the outside crushed him. He crouched down unconsciously, flattening his ears, making himself small. Was the cowardly one really worth this? Wouldn’t it be enough to simply chase him away again?
No. This had gone on too long. And Slag didn’t know how to lose.
He put one paw out onto the cold surface of the landing pad, then