The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [40]
They came off the walkway and joined another passage. A short distance farther on there was a room off to one side. Hodd led them into it. It was a small antechamber, empty of decoration or seating. In one wall was a riveted metal door, much like the others they’d seen.
“That’s it,” said Hodd.
Grist’s brow furrowed as he stared at it. “That?”
“The impassable door.”
It looked rather innocuous. Crake shrugged. “Well, let’s get to it, then,” he said. He motioned to Silo and Crattle, who were the only ones still wearing backpacks. The rest of them had left their burdens outside. “Put down the equipment—carefully—and I’ll get started.”
“Shouldn’t we try the door first?” Frey suggested. “I mean, to see if it’s actually the right one, before we waste all this time?”
Crake was busy unpacking a box of wood and metal covered with gauges and dials. “Be my guest,” he said.
“Any volunteers?” Frey asked.
The faces he saw in the lantern light were not volunteers’ faces.
“I’ll do it, then,” he said impatiently. He strode up to the door, reaching for the handle. It was just a door, after all. What could possibly—
The next thing he knew, he was upside down in a contorted heap on the other side of the antechamber. His head was whirling and he wanted to be sick. His buttocks slid down the wall and he twisted to fall onto his side. Silo helped him upright. He swallowed as his gorge rose and managed to keep his lunch down with a heroic effort.
“That’s the door, alright,” he wheezed. “Have at it, Crake.”
He sat down again and concentrated on making the room stay still. Nothing else they’d come across had so much as a lock on it, but this door had been barricaded with some unearthly force.
What are they guarding?
THERE WAS LITTLE TO be done while Crake set up his instruments. Jez found the lack of distraction unbearable.
This place was both horrifying and fascinating. She felt drawn and repelled at the same time. The evidence of the Manes was in everything, all around her. There was something familiar here, a faint, lulling scent. It soothed her, the same way the smell of an aircraft sometimes evoked fond, warm childhood memories of her father in his hangar. She was appalled that she could draw a comparison between that time and this, but she couldn’t deny it. The feeling was the same. Safety. The unquestioning faith and trust of a little girl in her father.
A trick. This was not the same. It couldn’t be.
Ever since she’d laid eyes on the dreadnought, she’d felt as if she was about to tip into one of her trances. But the moment hadn’t come. Instead, she hovered agonizingly on the edge. Wanting to fight it off but not knowing how. She didn’t dare slip, not here. The Manes were all around her. If she let them get a hold of her, who knew what might happen? Maybe she’d lose herself for good. Maybe she’d become one of them.
Maybe she’d turn on her friends.
She wished she could explain to the Cap’n what she was, what a danger she might be to them, especially here. She wished she could tell him how she was trying so hard to stay human, how she was afraid it was a battle she’d one day lose. But she couldn’t say a word. She was too afraid he’d send her away. The Ketty Jay was the only home she’d found in her years of wandering since the change. She couldn’t lose that.
She was standing at the back of the antechamber. Everyone was watching Crake as he assembled various rods and connected them to a complex brass device. Unnoticed, she sneaked away from the group.
She carried her lantern with her, for appearances’ sake, even though she had little need of the light. Manes didn’t need it, after all. There were no electric lamps in the walls or ceiling. Even in the midst of a battle, this place would be dark as a mausoleum.
This craft was empty, but it still resounded with the feel of them. She was searching for something, but she didn’t know what.
I’m part of them. They’re part of me. But I don’t understand them at all. I don’t know what