The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [181]
“Cap’n,” said Malvery, his voice tight with suppressed anger. “She’s a lying, backstabbing bitch, and she ain’t worth it.”
“I know, Doc,” said Frey. “No one knows it better than me. But if any one of you pulls his trigger, it’s the last thing you’ll do as a crewman on the Ketty Jay.”
It wasn’t often he had to threaten his crew nowadays. But they needed to know that he meant it. This wasn’t a moment for dissent.
Malvery glared at him hard, and for a moment Frey thought he might actually do it: just blow them both away, Trinica and Grist alike, and take the consequences after. But then he spat on the ground, swore the foulest oath in his armory, and stepped aside. Bess and the others followed his lead, clearing the way for Grist, Crattle, and Trinica to get to the stairs.
“Get out of my damn sight,” Frey told Grist and his prisoner alike.
They left without another word. Grist circled close to the sanctum wall, keeping Trinica between himself and the guns trained on him. Crattle stayed close, looking gray, shaken by his close shave. Trinica didn’t take her eyes from Frey’s the whole time. He didn’t flinch from her gaze. Damn her. Let her know that he was unbowed, even after this. It was through his mercy that she lived. She’d better know that.
Then they were gone, up the stairs and away. Weapons were lowered. Malvery kicked a chair to pieces in frustration. Frey closed his eyes and took a breath. Trinica was gone. He felt lighter already.
Crake went to Jez, who was stirring again. She seemed to have been hit harder than the rest of them by the effect of the sphere. Even now she was dazed and distant. Frey joined them and hunkered down alongside.
“You alright, Jez?”
“I’m okay, Cap’n, I’m …” she trailed off, then looked around in alarm. “They’re here,” she said. “The Manes. They’re here.”
“Then we shouldn’t be,” said Frey. He got to his feet. After all that had passed between Trinica and him, it felt good to deal with something he could understand. A crew. Orders. Action. “I’ve had just about enough of this whole bloody mess. Grist, Trinica, the sphere … damn ’em all to a cold grave. What’s done is done. We tried to stop it and failed. The people of this city can take care of themselves. We’re not paid to be anyone’s guardians.” He surveyed his crew. “Back to the Ketty Jay. We’re gone.”
“First sensible thing I’ve heard out of your mouth for a month,” Malvery grumbled.
Crake drew Frey’s cutlass from his belt and tossed it to him. “Here you go, Captain. We stopped off in the hangar to pick up our things after Bess broke us out.”
Frey caught it. His face was reflected in the blade. Grim and stony. That was the Frey he wanted to be now. Frey the Heartless. Frey the Invincible. Frey the Untouchable.
That’s right, he thought. Captain Frey. You’ve got your craft and you’ve got your crew. Anyone else can go hang.
He thrust his cutlass into his belt and stalked out of the sanctum.
HARKINS TAKES TO THE AIR—THE STREETS ARE OVERRUN—A FORTUITOUS ENCOUNTER
arkins had spent a lot of his life being afraid. He knew fear in its many forms, from the blind panic of a gunfight to the poisonous, chilly unease that he felt whenever he tried to have a conversation with anyone. But this was a different order entirely. This was a crushing, brutal, animal terror that bypassed the conscious mind altogether and sent wild sparks down every nerve. He couldn’t move and yet he was desperate to flee. He wanted to crumple into a ball but he couldn’t take his eyes off what was happening.
The Manes were coming.
The landing pad was mayhem. Men ran back and forth, yelling oaths, howling at one another to get into their craft, get airborne, get out of here. Tractors were abandoned with cargo still in the trailer. Pilots threw themselves into cockpits and took off without a care for nearby aircraft. Fighters flew overhead, dangerously low. The space above the pad was full of lumbering hulls and speeding wings. A crash was only