The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [49]
“Where do you think we’re bloody running to?” Malvery howled back.
They bundled in through the breach and flung themselves into cover, just as Jez, Grist, and the others caught up with Frey.
“Where’s Ucke?” Grist demanded of his crewman.
“He was out there,” Tarworth said. “I don’t—”
“He’s done for,” Malvery panted. “They got us by surprise. He was the first one. Didn’t stand a chance.”
They clustered on either side of the breach, looking out, seeking targets. It wasn’t easy. They never stayed visible for long.
“There!” Jez cried.
Frey caught a brief sight of one of their attackers as it loped through the undergrowth. It looked almost like a man, but it must have been seven feet tall, thickly built and covered in brown shaggy hair. It wore beads and some kind of crude armor, made of hide or leather. In one hand it carried a carved wooden club, decorated with painted symbols and bands of color; in the other was a spear.
“The beast-men of Kurg,” Hodd breathed, rather unnecessarily.
“Thanks, Hodd,” Frey replied sarcastically, reloading his revolvers. “I wasn’t sure for a minute there.”
“We saw some smaller ones,” said Malvery. “Ugly little things. Red fur instead of brown.”
“Those,” sniffed Hodd, with a disdainful look at Frey, “are the females.”
“Those are the native women?” Pinn cried, with the unique anguish of someone whose dreams have just been violently shattered. “What happened to the sex-crazed tribes of warrior women?”
“Oh, they’re rumored to live in the northern tundra,” said Hodd. “Actually, there’s quite an interesting story I once heard—”
“Will you two shut it?” Frey cried. “I’m trying to think of a way out of this!”
“Think hard, Cap’n. They’ve cut us off,” Jez muttered. She took a potshot at something moving in the undergrowth. “We’re trapped in the defile. More of ’em moving up all the time.”
“Where?”
“Over there.” She pointed out into the forest. There was a meaty impact, and she pulled her hand back with an arrow sticking through the palm. Frey stared at her.
“Ow,” she murmured. She went faint, staggered back, and sat down heavily. Malvery went to attend to her as Silo and Crake came running up the passageway, their packs loaded with Crake’s gear.
“What’s going on?” Crake demanded of the group in general.
“Beast-men!” said Hodd. “They appear to have the advantage over us.”
“Can’t you do something, Crake?” Pinn asked. “You’re a daemonist, aren’t you? Make them die or something. Shoot fireballs!”
“Daemonism, you bloody dullard, is a science and an art!” Crake declared indignantly. “I’m not some two-bit stage magician.
If you want to make them dead, use your gun. It’s what it’s there for.”
“Fat lot of good you are, then,” Pinn muttered.
Frey shook his head in exasperation. Pinn never failed to get a rise out of Crake, even when he was in his blackest humors. He was pleased that his crew was just about capable of working together as a unit nowadays; he only wished they could do it without all the bitching and bickering. But then, he supposed, they wouldn’t be his crew.
“Malvery?” he called. “How’s Jez?”
“She’s okay, Cap’n. Won’t be playing the piano for a while, though. Now grit your teeth, Jez; that arrow’s gotta come out.”
“Why does it have to come ouaaaaaAAARRGH!!”
“There, now. That wasn’t so bad.”
Jez was still whimpering as Malvery applied the bandages. Grist hunkered up next to Frey. “We can’t let ’em shut us in,” he said. “If we don’t move now, there’ll be too many of ’em.”
“There’s probably already too many of them.”
“Well, then there’ll be even more,” said Grist. “We can’t stay here. Might be this breach is the only way in and out of this dreadnought, but might be there are others. We don’t know ’em, but maybe the beast-men do. They could get in behind us.”
Frey chewed his lip. “You’re talking about a death-or-glory break for freedom, aren’t you?”
“Might be I am.”
“I hate those.”
“Done many?”
“Not lately.”
“Don’t worry.” Grist laid a heavy hand on Frey’s shoulder. “I’ve done a few. They always work out.