The Black Lung Captain

by Chris Wooding

  But by then, the damage had been done. She wasn't fully a Mane, but she was Mane enough. Though her heart had stopped beating, she lived. Or perhaps existed was a better word. She'd wandered for years, moving from place to place, until she found somewhere that would accept her. On the Ketty Jay, they didn't ask questions. They didn't know what had happened to her, they didn't want to, and she'd never told them.

  Probably best that way. Manes struck fear into even the most reckless of men. The crew could deal with the fact that she was different, but she wondered how well they'd take the news that they had someone who was part Mane on board.

  'How we doing, Jez?' asked Frey from the pilot seat.

  Jez checked her charts. 'Coming up on Kurg now, Cap'n. Be at the landing site in six hours at this speed.'

  Frey groaned and shifted his butt around to get comfortable. 'Six hours. Right.'

  Jez smiled to herself. The truth was it was more like four, but it would give her captain a pleasant surprise when they got in early. Frey wouldn't mind the deception. He knew she could be pinpoint accurate if she wanted, which was more than he could say for any of her predecessors.

  'Land, ho,' Frey said, without much interest.

  Jez got up and went to stand by the pilot's seat to watch the coast approaching. A wall of black rock rose up out of the sea, as far as the eye could see. Waves smashed at its base. Thick forest crawled away from the clifftops towards barren mountain peaks. Smoke billowed from the mouth of a volcano in the distance, joining the misty clouds that hung over the vast island.

  Even from high above, Jez thought there was something forbidding and dreadful about it. What would they find in there? What was waiting for them?

  A prickling sensation swept over her skin. Here we go, she thought, and then the world flexed and everything became different.

  A twilight had fallen, yet to her eyes everything seemed sharper than before. An unearthly clarity had come upon the world. She could see the hairs on the back of Frey's hand and sense their movement as they trembled. She could hear the Ketty Jay's engines, and pick out the sound of each individual part. Rats scurried in the hold. Crake snored drunkenly in his quarters. Slag dozed in an air vent, his heart thumping slowly.

  Beyond the windglass of the cockpit, she could read the wind. The stirrings of the cloud and the ripples in the treetops told a tale that Jez, in her altered state, could decipher. Pressure changes, crosswinds and updrafts laid themselves out in her mind like a chart. She sensed the life beneath the canopy, millions of creatures, great and small, the growling heart of the island.

  And in the distance, a terrible sound. The howling of the Manes. Calling for her. Calling her to be with them. To join them, beyond the Wrack.

  Don't listen to them, she told herself. You're not one of them. You're human.

  But the dread of their voices was too much. She had to retreat. In moments, the trance had passed.

  She slipped in and out of that strange state easily and frequendy now. She'd learned to cope with the flood of sensation, to enjoy the thrill of it. But the Manes were always there, waiting for her, beckoning. She was afraid of their summons. She didn't know if she could resist it forever.

  She'd experienced what it was to be a Mane, for the briefest of instants, during her aborted transformation. She'd felt their connectedness, the joy of their companionship. The link they shared, the togetherness they felt. After that, it was hard not to feel lonely. They wanted her, not to harm her but to embrace her.

  That was why she was afraid. To embrace the Manes would be to give up her humanity for ever. To become one of them would be to surrender herself. And she wouldn't do that.

  Frey stirred in his seat, glanced up at Jez, and then back at the island before them. 'There she is,' he said.

  'There she is,' Jez agreed.

  'You ever wonder if half the stuff they say about this place is true?'

  'It's probably not,' she said. 'But still, the Coalition would rather colonise New Vardia - on the other side of the world and the other side of the Storm Belt - than colonise a land mass that lies a pleasant half-day's flight off their coast.'

  'Hmm,' said Frey. 'That's not a good sign, is it?'

  'Not really.'

  'If I get eaten, you can have the Ketty Jay, okay?'

  'That's very sweet of you. What if you get stamped on, poisoned, or die horribly from some unknown plague?'

  Frey gave her a look. 'Just get back to your charts, why don't you?'

  She grinned and saluted. 'Right you are, Cap'n!'

  Six

  The Expedition Sets Out - Rain —

  Jez Takes First Watch — Silo's Story

  Crake pulled the collar of his coat up and hunched his shoulders against the cold. It always seemed to be cold nowadays. On the Ketty Jay or off it, there was a chill in his core that never quite went away.

  The clouds were iron-grey overhead, and an arctic breeze came from the north, pushing through the rainforest. The Ketty Jay sat in a bald, rocky clearing, with tree-covered mountains on either side. Crake stood under her tail, the cargo ramp lying open behind him. In the distance, a waterfall plunged hundreds of feet from a ridge of cliffs. When the wind was right, Crake could hear its dull, sullen roar.

  Nearby, the Storm Dog was easing itself down. The air was sharp with the smell of aerium gas as it vented its tanks.

  The Storm Dog was craggy and rectangular, like a beam of black, petrified timber. Its prow was blunt and its hull pocked and uneven, stained with cloud-rime and iceburn. It sank on to its landing struts with an artless crunch and settled in the clearing. The air shimmered and rippled as it wheezed out the last of its aerium in an invisible cloud, then its engines shut off.

  For a moment, there was quiet. An awesome, massive silence. Only the stir of the wind sounded over the endless industry of the waterfall. Crake tipped back his head, closed his eyes, and basked in the nothingness.

  'Hey, Crake!' Pinn yelled from the cargo hold. 'Give us a hand here! Half of this is your stuff!'

  Crake's eyes fluttered open. The birds and insects of the rainforest, which had been silenced by the disturbance, began to pick up their songs again. Hydraulics whirred as the Storm Dog opened its cargo ramp. The moment had passed.

  Too brief. All too brief.

  The others were coming down the Ketty Jay's ramp, carrying packs and equipment. Tents, weapons, food, and Crake's daemonist equipment, which they'd need when they reached their destination. Bess came clumping down with an armful of gear and laid it down among the other packs with a child's exaggerated care. Then she scampered over to Crake - as much as a half-ton armoured suit could scamper -and settled on her haunches in front of him.

  'Well done,' he said, patting her flank. 'What a helpful girl you are.'

  Bess leaned in, pushing her face-grille closer. Points of light twinkled in the darkness behind. Eyes like stars. She gave a quizzical coo: an ethereal, other-worldly sound.

  'I'm alright, Bess. Don't you worry,' said Crake, forcing a smile.

  Bess wasn't fooled. She reached out one gloved hand and stroked Crake's arm clumsily. Metal, chain mail and leather dragged down his coat, almost tearing his sleeve off. Crake felt sudden tears threatening, and swallowed. He gave the golem an awkward hug. She was too big to get his arms around.

  'Don't you worry,' he said again.

  'Will you stop flirting with your girlfriend and carry something?' Pinn yelled from the cargo ramp, as he went back in for another pack.

  They assembled in a spot between the aircraft: six from the Ketty Jay, six from the Storm Dog, including Hodd. Frey wanted Silo to come, and Harkins had volunteered with great enthusiasm to stay with Bess on the Ketty Jay. Bess was the Ketty Jay's watchdog, ensuring that nobody but the crew came aboard with all their limbs still attached. But the Cap'n needed somebody human to keep an eye on things while they were away, and he was happy to leave Harkins behind. The pilot was a liability in a firefight and he had a jumpy trigger finger at the best
of times. In the rainforest, he'd be a disaster. More likely to shoot himself in the foot than kill one of the enemy.

  Along with Hodd and Captain Grist came the Storm Dog's emaciated, bug-eyed bosun, Edwidge Crattle, and three crewmen called Gimble, Tarworth and Ucke. They were a seedy-looking trio, but then Crake had hardly expected anything else.

  Gimble was a thin, scowling fellow who said little. Tarworth was short, baby-faced and eager. Ucke had a more eccentric appearance.

  He was bulky, with hair sticking out everywhere, and he had offensively bad teeth in all shapes, sizes and angles. When Pinn rudely commented on them, Ucke informed the group that they were actually a false set. Dentures. He'd made them himself from teeth he'd collected from a multitude of bar brawls.

  Once the introductions were done, they shouldered their packs, checked their guns and made ready to set off.

  'Now I don't want none of you believin' all that talk you might have heard about Kurg,' Grist told them. 'There'll be beasts, for sure, but probably not half as horrible as the tales tell.' He slapped Hodd on the shoulder. 'This man's been in there and come out without a scratch. If he can do it, then us rum sons of bitches ought to be able to. What's in there should be afraid of us, not the other way about!'

  Yes, he came out without a scratch, thought Crake. It was the rest of his expedition that died.

  Crake loathed Hodd on sight. Frey had told him about his first meeting with the explorer, which was enough to convince Crake that they were dealing with a shiftless rich boy who'd spent his life living on Daddy's money, utterly detached from the realities of the world. Crake had grown up amongst the aristocracy, and he was never afraid to apply stereotypes. In his experience, they turned out to be true more often than not.

  Besides, Hodd reminded Crake of himself, and Crake hated that.

  Crake had been that way, once. A life of privilege, sheltered from trouble by his father's money. Mixing only with his own kind. He treated lowlier folk with politeness because that was what people with good breeding did, but they weren't the same as him. He couldn't have said why, and he'd never have admitted it aloud, but they just weren't.

  It had been the discovery of daemonism at university which had prompted his awakening. Before long, he'd grown bored with the vacant twitterings of the social classes. While they were talking about mergers and marriages, inheritances and infidelities, he'd been communicating with entities from another dimension. In the face of that, their preoccupations seemed rather juvenile.

  But he'd still possessed the arrogance of the aristocracy. The knowledge that no matter what he did, he'd never not be rich. Whatever trouble he got into, someone would look after him.

  Maybe that was why he did what he did. He'd not known what sorrow or torment or hardship meant until then. But he learned those lessons well in the time that followed.

  'Right,' said Hodd, clapping his hands. 'Are we all ready?'

  Belts were tightened, coats buttoned, bootlaces tied and retied. Pinn took a few test steps to check the weight of his pack.

  'Off we go, then!' Hodd cried.

  'Where are we headed?' Jez asked.

  That stumped Hodd for a moment. 'Er ... to the crashed Azryx aircra—'

  'No, I mean . . . Don't you have a map? Directions?' Jez asked. 'You said it would be over a day's walk. I just wondered how you were intending to find it again.' She looked around the group and shrugged. 'Sorry. Navigator. I just want to know.'

  Hodd smiled broadly and tapped his head. 'It's all in here, Miss.'

  'You remember the way,' Jez said, doubtfully. She eyed the forested flanks of the mountains that surrounded them. 'Are you sure? Once we're in there, we'll get pretty badly lost if you're wrong.'

  'Be assured, I never forget a route,' he said. 'I've possessed a rather remarkable talent for pathfinding ever since I was a child. It was what inspired me to be an explorer, actually.'

  'And what did Daddy think about that?' Crake asked, and immediately regretted it. He didn't want to have a conversation with this buffoon, but he'd been unable to resist a bitter jibe. It had just come out.

  Hodd missed Crake's tone and the implied insult entirely. 'He was rather disappointed, actually,' he said, looking downcast. 'My father sits in the House of Chancellors for the Duchy of Rabban, and my six brothers all work in the field of law. But I had a different calling.'

  'An explorer,' said Crake. 'So I see. Ever found anything?' Frey gave him a look, but he ignored it.

  'Well, not anything that you'd see on the front page of the broadsheets, but I have led many expeditions to far-flung places, and contributed valuable knowledge in the fields of—'

  'And how many people have you lost on your expeditions? Aside from your entire team the last time you were here?'

  Hodd looked wounded, unable to understand the source of this sudden hostility. 'Sir, I don't know what I might have done to offend you, but—'

  'Do you even know? Crake asked. The fury exploded from nowhere. Suddenly he was red-faced and shouting. 'Do you even know how many porters and pilots and natives died while you were playing explorer with your daddy's money? How many people?'

  The group stared at Crake, shocked. Hodd had gone pale. He looked to Grist, as if the burly captain might defend him.

  'Crake,' murmured Jez. 'Leave it alone.'

  'People like him!' Crake snorted. 'Other people die for their dreams of glory. It won't be him that gets killed in there.'

  'Now, now,' said Grist, raising his hands. 'Let's all play nice, hmm? We all trust Mr Hodd when he says he's goin' to lead us to great treasure.' He put his arm round Hodd and gave him a menacing squeeze. "Cause he knows what'll happen if he don't.'

  The explorer grinned nervously. 'It's that way,' he said, pointing. With a few odd looks at Crake, they began to shuffle off towards the forest. Jez gave him a sympathetic glance and then turned away. Crake shouldered his pack and followed her.

  I wonder if I'll make it back alive, Crake thought.

  He honestly couldn't bring himself to care.

  The rain began in the afternoon. It came with considerable force.

  Frey had been rained on before, but this was up there with the best of them. Leaves and branches bowed and rocked under the onslaught. A wet mist gathered in the air until it was hard to see anything more than a half-dozen metres away. The forest filled with the hiss of falling water and the hoots and screeches of excited animals in the treetops.

  What little good cheer had attended their departure rapidly disappeared. They trudged along in single file, wishing they were anywhere but here. Pinn, walking ahead of Frey, kept up a constant stream of grumbling. The ground had turned to a quagmire, and was attempting to suck their boots off their feet with every step. Their coats had soaked through. Previously warm underlayers were now damp and freezing. Frey could only hope that Crake's equipment was wrapped up better than they were.

  The only person who seemed to be having a good time was Hodd.

  'Spit and blood, I've missed this place!' he cried, then laughed and shook his fist towards the leafy heavens. 'Cruel nature, do your worst!'

  Frey saw Pinn's hand twitch towards his pistol, and grabbed his wrist before he could do anything rash.

  'Can't I kill him just a little bit?' Pinn whined.

  'He's the only one who knows the way back, Pinn. We need him to get us out of here when we're done.'

  Pinn thought about that for a moment. 'Alright, Cap'n.' He poked one stubby finger at Frey. 'But I'm doing this for you, okay?'

  'Appreciate it,' said Frey. Up ahead, Hodd began to sing a marching tune, loud and off-key. Pinn gritted his teeth.

  'I can't take much more, Cap'n,' he said.

  Frey sighed, then pushed his way up the line to Hodd.

  Hodd was punching the air lustily. ' Oh, brave and strident sol-diers, whose cou-rage none can— Oh! Hello, Captain Frey.'

  Frey nodded in greeting, and leaned close as they walked. 'You've heard of the monsters that are rumoured to
infest this island, Hodd?'

  'Oh, yes!' said Hodd. 'I've seen several, in fact. One of them damn near had me for breakfast.'

  'You've seen several,' Frey repeated. 'That's good. Did you see if they had ears?'

  Hodd looked bewildered. 'Ears?'

  'The singing, Hodd. Will you bloody can it? They can hear you five kloms away.'

  'Ah!' said Hodd. 'Yes, I see. Quite right, Captain. Just trying to keep up morale.'

  'And you're doing a fine job,' said Frey. 'Just do it quietly, eh?'

  Hodd put a theatrical finger to his lips. Frey turned away, eyes rolling skyward, and moved back down the line. Grist gave him a smoky grin around the butt of his cigar and Frey fell into step next to him.

  'Bit of a character, ain't he?' Grist said.

  'You know, the animals will smell that cigar all over the mountain, too.'

  'Risk I'm willing to take, Frey. A life without cigars ain't one much worth livin', if you ask me.' He started to laugh but ended up in a coughing fit that had him bent double. When he was done, he stood up and wiped spittle from his beard. He regarded his cigar with a teary eye. 'Tobacco. She's a harsh mistress.'

  'We've all got our vices,' said Frey.

  'Aye? What's yours?'

  'I've plenty. But I reckon Rake tops the list.'

  'A card player, eh? My men are partial to a game, but me? I'm no gambler. Don't have the luck.'

  'It's not luck.'

  'Well, whatever it is, I ain't got it.'

  'Some days I don't, either,' Frey admitted.

  'But you keep goin' back, don't you?' Grist laughed. 'The things a man does to make himself feel alive.'

  Frey looked at the man next to him. He liked Grist. There was something solid and impressive about him, a grizzled heartiness in his manner. He had a way of including people that made them feel almost grateful for it. He reminded Frey of Malvery, except he apparently didn't spend his whole life arseholed on grog.

  'I've been thinking about that lately,' he said. 'Don't you sometimes wish you didn't need to? Like, you felt alright without all the smoke and the booze and the cards and everything else? Seems like some people manage okay.'