The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [46]
“I knew,” said Grist. “Now take that damned sword out of my face. No one’s gonna hurt no one, are they, Crattle?”
“No, Cap’n,” said the bosun. He relaxed a little, but his bulbous eyes were still wary in the lantern light.
Frey let the point of his sword drop away from Grist’s neck, but he kept it hovering nearby. Just in case.
Grist sucked resentfully on his cigar and glared at Frey. “I knew she were a Mane craft. Knew it from Hodd’s description, first time I met him. I come from the North; we all know about the Manes, more than you southern boys. They’re just a spooky story to you. Us, we got to live with the threat of ’em. I even seen a dreadnought once, though it were gone in the fogs before I could decide to chase it or run.”
“You knew that door was protected by daemonism. That’s why you needed Crake.”
“Aye,” said Grist. He was calming a little now. His tone had lost some of its darkness. “Ain’t the first time a Mane craft got downed. Back in the early days, when the Navy used to give a shit, they’d run patrols all over the North. They shot one down, got a good look at it. Then its mates all turned up. The Navy got out of there sharpish, but they took some gear with ’em, and they tested what they found.” Smoke seeped out between his teeth. “Daemonism. Everyone thought the Manes might be daemons, but the Navy pretty much proved it decades ago. Never got round to telling nobody, though. Reckon they didn’t want the panic.”
“You know a lot about it, though,” Crake put in. “Navy reports on a crashed dreadnought? How does a man like you get access to information like that?”
“A man like me?” Grist said, with a dangerous stare. “You don’t know nothin’ about me. I got my ways.”
“So you knew it was a Mane craft and you knew you needed a daemonist,” said Frey. “I suppose you also knew your promise of treasure was worth dogshit, then.”
“Not true,” said Grist. “Ship like this, it’ll be full of stuff. Genuine Mane artifacts? They’ll fetch ducats like you won’t believe.”
“Not without the seal of the Explorer’s Guild,” Frey replied. He looked at Hodd, who cowered a little. “That’s what you said, isn’t it, Hodd? Back at the village? You didn’t go through channels, did you? You haven’t been paying your Guild membership. Nobody actually knows what Mane artifacts look like, so no one’s going to believe we didn’t just make the stuff ourselves if it doesn’t come Guild-approved. We won’t get a tenth of the value, selling it through fences.”
“You’ll still make your money and get your split,” said Grist. “Fifty-five–forty-five. I been dealing with you fair.”
“It’s hardly vast bloody wealth, Grist!” Frey cried. He was getting angrier as Grist’s fury diminished. He was annoyed that he’d allowed himself to be played for a fool. He turned his wrath on Hodd, who was an easier target than the burly captain. “What were you thinking?”
Hodd quailed. “Erm … well, I was rather hoping … I mean, once we came back with all those artifacts, they’d have to listen to reason. They’d have to let me back in!”
Frey, who knew next to nothing about the Explorer’s Guild, looked at Crake for confirmation. Crake shook his head. “They wouldn’t,” he said. “Probably wouldn’t even let him in the building. If you’re not a paid-up explorer, you’re not allowed to make discoveries. Best you can hope for is that someone else who is Guild-registered re-creates your expedition and steals the credit.”
“Aye,” Grist agreed. “What a system. Makes me glad to be a smuggler. At least it’s honest work.”
“But surely … I mean … it’s a crashed Mane dreadnought!” Hodd blustered. “It’s only been a few years I haven’t been paying the fees! They’d make an exception!”
Silence. Skeptical stares. A raised eyebrow from Crake, as if to say: Really? Would they?
Hodd turned on Grist, flailing his arms about in a huff. “Well, if you thought that, why did you come at all?”
“That was my next question,” said Frey.
Grist indicated the metal sphere with the