The Black Lung Captain totkj-2 Page 46

  'They've been boarded,' said Jez.

  'Get us over there, fast,' Frey told her. 'Crake, with me. Let's get tooled up.'

  Crake held up his bandaged hand. 'I might sit this one out, Cap'n. I can't fire a gun. I'd be dead weight out there.'

  'We can't bring Bess,' Jez added. 'That kind of craft, she'd barely get through the corridors.'

  Frey cursed under his breath. 'Alright, Crake. You and Bess make sure the Ketty Jay is still here when we get back. Come get a weapon for Jez while she's landing us.' Then he left, calling for Silo and Malvery.

  Crake lingered a moment, until Frey was out of earshot. 'You think he's crazy?' he asked Jez. 'Dragging us through all of this for Trinica?'

  Jez just stared ahead. 'I wish I felt half as much for somebody as he does for her,' she replied.

  Crake nodded in understanding. 'You should be careful what you wish for,' he said, and with that he was gone.

  She brought the Ketty Jay in over the Storm Dog's deck. The blare of the sphere prevented her from sensing any Manes on either craft, and she didn't know how to tune it out. But whether they were unobserved or simply ignored, their approach drew no reaction.

  'Cap'n!' she shouted back into the aircraft. 'You got clamps on this thing?'

  'Rack on your right! Second switch!'

  She flicked it and lowered the Ketty Jay carefully, venting aerium as she went. When she was close enough to the Storm Dog's deck, the newly magnetised landing skids sucked the aircraft down with a hefty thump.

  Crake returned to the cockpit as she was getting out of her seat. He threw her a rifle. 'Cap'n says get down to the hold, double quick.'

  She began to hurry past him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  'Good luck out there,' he said earnestly.

  She snorted. 'We're due some, I reckon.'

  Frey led the way down the cargo ramp, wrapped tight in a greatcoat, breath steaming the air. Malvery, Jez and Silo followed in his wake, pointing their weapons in all directions, searching for enemies. They were met with a profound quiet.

  The deck of the Storm Dog was empty. The deck of the dreadnought, looming on the starboard side, was similarly deserted. The blurred sun shone hopelessly through the mist. A lonely wind stirred the air.

  It was freezing. Their exposed hands were already turning to icy claws, and their cheeks and foreheads burned. They waited for an ambush. None came.

  'Well, I like this,' said Malvery. 'Easiest suicide mission I ever did. Can we get inside before my bollocks turn to snowballs?'

  Silo pointed towards a doorway on the deck. It was hanging open, and the top of an iron ladder was visible beyond.

  They clambered down the ladder, which had become cold enough to rip at the skin of their hands, and came out into the narrow passageways below. Jez had been right: Bess would never have fit down here. This was no luxury craft like the All Our Yesterdays. The interior was cramped and functional. It was just about possible to walk two abreast, shoulder to shoulder, but that was all.

  Tarnished metal surrounded them, lit by electric lights powered by the frigate's internal generator. It smelt of oil and sweat, and a dry, musky scent that Frey recognised from the crashed dreadnought on Kurg. The scent of the Manes.

  One of the lights further down the corridor was cracked and flickering. Lying beneath it was a man whose jaw had been torn away from his face. Frey eyed the corpse uneasily.

  'Where are we heading, Cap'n?' Malvery asked.

  'Captain's cabin?' Frey suggested. 'Most likely place to find Grist.' And Trinica.

  'Right-o,' said Malvery. He looked up and down the corridor. 'Where's that, then?'

  'They usually put it towards the stern on this type of craft,' said Jez. She took the lead, and Frey followed with a fresh speed in his step. The sight of the dead man had sparked a new fear in him. Would he find Trinica like that? Her face ruined, eyes glazed in death? The woman he'd almost married, shredded like a carcass in a slaughterhouse, reduced to meat and sinew?

  He didn't dare think about it. She was somewhere on this aircraft. He'd find her. That was all.

  They hurried through the corridors, passing more corpses on the way. Most of them were Grist's crew in various states of dismemberment, but the occasional Mane was tangled up among them. The stink of blood made Frey's gorge rise. Malvery, who'd seen more innards than the rest of them put together, was unmoved.

  'Why do I get the impression something's gone horribly wrong with Grist's plan?' he said. 'They don't seem too interested in taking new recruits, do they?'

  'Pick it up, Doc!' Frey snapped. 'Let's get what we came for and go.' He was afraid they were already too late. They could hear dull explosions and gunfire on the lower decks, echoing up through the ventilation system. The howls of the Manes drifted faintly through the passageways as they ran.

  Jez's prediction was spot on, and she led them right to Grist's cabin. But when they got there, the door was open and it was clear that it was empty. Frey burst into the room nevertheless, and began turning it over, throwing open cabinets and rummaging along shelves. He was searching for a sign of her, some assurance that she was still alive. He needed to know that he wasn't risking his own life and the lives of his crew for nothing.

  'They've been driven down below,' said Jez. Her eyes were out of focus and she seemed to be having trouble concentrating.

  'Where?' he demanded. 'This aircraft is bloody gigantic! We'll be slaughtered if we go running about down there.'

  'That's as good an argument as I've ever heard to bail out while we can,' Malvery said.

  Frey stopped his search for a moment and fixed the doctor with a hard glare. 'We're not going anywhere without her.'

  'Worth a try,' said Malvery, and delivered a sulky kick to a severed hand that was lying nearby.

  Frey needed to keep moving, keep thinking, make a plan. He was full of restless energy that demanded an outlet, but he couldn't just rush off headlong into a horde of Manes. Something was nagging at him. Being here, in Grist's cabin, had reminded him of something. It slid around frustratingly in his mind until he pinned it down.

  'Your father's research. You still have it?' Trinica's question to Grist, while they were down in the sanctum.

  'Safe in my cabin, don't you worry.'

  Frey's eyes fell on a large chest in the corner of the cabin. One of the few places he hadn't already searched. He pulled it out, and found that it was shut tight. He shot off the lock. Malvery jumped at the sound.

  'You trying to give me a heart attack?'

  'Think!' Frey said, addressing Jez. 'You know this type of craft. Where's the most defensible place? If you were Harvin Grist, where would you go?'

  He tried to think of the answer himself as he opened the chest. Looking for Maurin Grist's research was a tactic to keep him occupied, to prevent him from doing anything stupid. His thoughts were on Trinica, and how to save her.

  Inside the chest were piles of documents and accounts, bound up in folders. On top of them lay a large manila folio of papers. He picked it up and ruffled though the papers within. It took only a few glances to establish the subject matter. He rolled them up absently and stuffed them in the inner pocket of his greatcoat.

  'Come on, Jez!' he said, because he couldn't find an answer himself.

  'Engine room,' said Silo.

  Jez's face lit up. 'He's right. On a frigate like this, it must have walls a foot thick.'

  Frey snapped his fingers at the Murthian. 'Engine room. Then that's where we're going.'

  Forty-One

  The Engine Room — Intruders — Time Runs Out

  Malvery and Silo backed up the passageway, laying down gunfire as they went. A half-dozen Manes swarmed to-. wards them, sinewy limbs stretching out, jaws gaping. But lever-action shotguns were devastating in a confined space.

  Blood sprayed the dirty walls. The men kept firing until nothing moved.

  'Not that way, I reckon,' said Malvery. He took off his glasses and wiped the
m with his thumb. Silo was calmly reloading.

  Frey gazed at the sickening clutter of bodies through the haze of gunsmoke. 'We'll never get down to the lower decks like this.' He ran his hand through his hair and swore. Every moment might be Trinica's last, but he couldn't get to her. The deeper into the Storm Dog they went, the more Manes they came across.

  He could hear them howling down below. The sound was terrifying. Even if they could fight their way in, he doubted they had enough ammo to deal with those kind of numbers.

  'What are they doing down there?' he muttered to himself.

  Jez responded as if the question was directed at her. 'Can't tell,' she said, her voice faint and dreamy. 'The sphere . . . it's too loud. They want the sphere, that's all. They're not interested in us.'

  He exchanged a glance with Malvery. They were losing her. The longer she stayed here, the more her mind drifted out of focus. Soon, she'd be no use to them at all. They had to get her away. But he wasn't leaving without Trinica.

  What if Jez turned Mane, right here? Could he bring himself to shoot her, if she became one of them?

  He didn't like that idea. He hurried to change his train of thought. 'The engine room on a craft like this, it'll be huge, right?' he said.

  'Should think so,' said Malvery.

  'There's got to be a back way in, then.'

  Silo's eyes widened suddenly. 'You're right, Cap'n.'

  'I am?' he asked, surprised.

  'Most every engine room got an escape hatch, 'n case fire cut you off from the door. All kinds o' things go wrong in an engine room. You don't wanna be stuck in there when they do.'

  'The Ketty Jay doesn't have one,' said Frey.

  'Ain't the first safety regulation you broke,' Silo pointed out.

  'S'pose not,' said Frey. 'Let's get looking for it, then. Jez!'

  She blinked out of a daze.

  'Escape hatch!' he barked at her.

  'We're on the deck above the engine room,' she said. She thought for a moment. 'Could be anywhere around here. In the floor.'

  'Split up, get looking!' said Frey.

  'Split up?' said Malvery, pointing at the pile of dead Manes cluttering the corridor. 'Bad idea, Cap'n.'

  'Just find it!' said Frey.

  They hurried up the passageway, scanning the floor, investigating likely alcoves and side corridors. The gunfire from the lower decks had ceased, but since Jez had said that the sphere was still broadcasting, he had to assume the Manes hadn't got hold of it yet. That meant Grist was still down there. Trinica too.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a screech and a flurry of limbs, as a Mane launched itself out of an open doorway just ahead of him. It crashed into Malvery, hard enough to knock the bulky doctor off his feet, and sank its teeth into his shoulder. Malvery rolled around bellowing as Silo and Frey tried to grab hold of the ragged ghoul. The very touch of it was appalling: taut muscles sliding under clammy skin. They pulled it away far enough for Malvery to get his boot into its throat. He slammed it against the wall, put his shotgun to its temple, and fired. Frey shuddered as he was pelted with brain flecks.

  'Bastard!' snarled Malvery, as he dusted himself down and got to his feet. His face had turned red with anger. He pulled back his coat to examine his shoulder, which was dark with blood.

  Frey spat in case any bits of Mane skull had got in his mouth. 'You alright, Doc?'

  'Got a good chunk of me,' he grumbled. 'Coat got the worst of it.' He rolled his shoulder and sucked in his breath through his teeth with a hiss. 'I'll live.'

  They found what they were looking for a few minutes later, tucked away in a short, dead-end corridor. It was a pressure hatch, set into the floor, with a turn-wheel in the centre. Frey spun it and pulled it open. A ladder led down.

  'Whaddya know?' said Malvery, amazed. 'It's actually here.'

  'Reckon the Manes don't have escape hatches like this,' Frey said. 'Didn't occur to them to look.'

  'Guess they skimped on the safety regs, too,' Malvery said.

  The ladder led down on to one of the gantries that surrounded the monstrous engine assembly. It was the size of a small building, a mass of oily pistons, gears and magnets, nestling inside a web of walkways. Inside that structure, prothane was processed ready to feed to the thrusters, and aerium was pulverised into gas. It was dormant now, but it still radiated heat from recent use. The room was sweltering. Metal parts ticked and grumbled as they cooled. Shadows lurked in the folds of the room, hiding under pipes and in corners.

  Frey heard voices from somewhere within the room. The echoes mangled the words, turning them ghostly and strange, but he caught the tone. Angry and fearful. Desperate men arguing.

  And then, calm and measured, a woman's voice.

  Trinica!

  A surge of excitement ran through him. It had to be her! It wasn't too late, then! He could rescue her, bring her out the way they came in, and get back to the Ketty Jay. The Manes wouldn't stop them. They didn't care as long as they got the sphere. All he had to do was deal with Grist.

  But as well as the voices, he could hear the Manes. They were howling outside, pounding and scratching at the door. The echoes made it seem as if they were everywhere, trying to claw through the very walls.

  The sound chilled him. The Manes would find a way inside somehow. He was dreadfully sure of that.

  Silo closed the hatch behind them. Frey searched ahead for Grist and Trinica. The walkways were made of grilles and bars; it was possible to see through the gaps underfoot, to the levels below. But he could find no sign of them, and he decided they must be the other side of the engine assembly.

  He turned to his crew and put his finger to his lips. Jez didn't react. She had her head cocked, listening to the wails of the Manes outside. Silo had to shake her by the shoulder to make her focus.

  'Concentrate!' Frey hissed.

  She nodded, but she was already slipping away again.

  He led them down a set of steps to a lower level and began to circle round the greasy bulk of the engine, alert for danger. It stank of aerium and prothane, strong enough to make his head feel light. The door of the engine room came into view below, visible through the intervening mesh of walkways. It was stout metal and shut tight. Frey felt slightly reassured. Not even Bess would get through that in a hurry.

  Then he saw movement. At first he thought it was a trick of his vision, a product of the fumes in the air. When he narrowed his eyes and peered closer, it became more pronounced. No mistake, then. It took him a moment to work out what he was seeing, and a while longer to believe it.

  An arm was slowly coming through the door. Reaching out of the solid metal, as if its owner was no more substantial than smoke. As Frey watched in horror, a shoulder followed, and a head. It was a Mane, this one ethereal and elegant, a slender figure with a deathly pallor, wearing tattered robes. Its face was that of a handsome young man, with thin lips and high cheekbones. But its eyes were pale and blank like a cave-fish.

  They can walk through walls! he thought, remembering his conversation with Professor Kraylock at the university. Some of them, anyway. The rumours were true.

  It came on, inch by inch, as if moving through treacle. All that metal did nothing more than delay it. It would come through, this ghostly figure, and open the door from the inside. Then its fellows would flood in, and that would be the end.

  Time was running out.

  Frey approached the corner of the engine assembly. The voices of Grist and his men became suddenly loud. Frey realised they were nearer than he thought, and stopped.

  'We hold 'em here!' Grist's gravelly voice.

  'Cap'n, this has all gone to shit!' That was Crattle, his bosun. 'They ain't interested in makin' us immortal like them. They're killin' everyone.'

  'What you say?' said a third voice. 'You wanted 'em to turn us? What kind of crazy scheme you dragged me into, you piece of—'

  A gunshot made Frey jump. There was a slithering noise, and a body hit the floor.

 
'Any more dogs wanna bark?' Grist asked. 'No? Then firm your damn jaws. They'll be comin' in eventually. We'll meet 'em here.'

  Frey looked back at his crew. Malvery and Silo were pressed up close to him, primed, waiting for the word to go. But Grist and his men were dug in, no doubt facing the engine room door. By the sounds of it, they were too busy arguing to notice the Mane stealthily slipping inside, but even so, Frey didn't like the idea of a frontal assault on their fortified position.

  He raised his hand and made a twirling motion with his upraised finger. Malvery made the same motion, frowned and shrugged. Sign language for: what's that supposed to mean?

  'Go around,' Frey mouthed to them, indicating with his hand. Not for the first time, he wished he commanded a highly trained bunch of soldiers instead of a ragtag mob of rejects in varying stages of alcoholism.

  Malvery7 understood the second time. They sneaked back the way they came, skirting the engine assembly on its other side. Frey wanted to get behind Grist, to catch him by surprise.

  As they passed the entrance, he glanced down from the walkway. The Mane was three-quarters into the room, pulling its trailing leg through the door. He marvelled that Grist's men hadn't seen it yet. He guessed they must be settling in to their positions, loading their guns, doing anything but looking where they should be.

  The Manes were coming, and soon. Their shrieks sounded ever more eager, reaching a new pitch of frenzy. He had to force himself not to run.

  Hold your nerve. Blunder in and you'll get everyone killed.

  He needn't have worried. At that moment, Grist and his men spotted the phantom slipping through the door, and the racket of gunfire drowned out all other sounds. Frey threw caution to the wind and ran, hurrying along the walkways, until finally he saw them.

  They'd taken position at one corner of the engine assembly, on the floor of the chamber. They'd piled up a barricade of parts and equipment between the protruding iron pipes, and were hiding there, facing away from Frey. There was Grist, a hulking, hateful figure in a grubby greatcoat, wreathed in smoke as ever. The sphere was wrapped up in a coat at his feet. He had a pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other, ready for hand-to-hand combat if things should come to that. Next to him was his scrawny, gaunt bosun, bald skull shining with sweat.