Chris Wooding - The Black Lung Captain

'You alright?' he asked her quietly.

She gave him a distracted nod and a false smile. 'Fine, Cap'n. Place just makes me jumpy.'

'Keep it together, all of you,' he said. 'There's nothing here but bad memories.'

He wished he could be half as sure as he sounded.

The bow end of the craft had listed away from the stern half, making the floor slope awkwardly. Frey had to concentrate to stop his feet from sliding. He glanced down black passageways, imagining Manes at the end of them, with crooked teeth and hateful eyes.

It was cold here, among the metal and the pipes. Empty. No animals had crept in, even after decades rusting in the rainforest. No insects. Something about this place made them stay away. Frey thought he sensed it too. There was an unease about the dreadnought that troubled his instincts. A feeling of wrongness in the stale air.

It seemed they were on some sort of maintenance deck, though it was hard to tell. There were no signs or similar indicators. The dreadnought's interior was relentlessly bare. Their lanterns pressed light through shadowy doorways, illuminating the flanks of unfamiliar machines beyond.

'Through here,' Hodd announced, and Frey saw that they'd reached the end of a passageway. A heavy iron door was half-open there, wide enough for a slim man to slip through. Hodd struggled to open it further. 'Let me just . . . see if I can . . .'

'I'll do it,' said Grist. He took hold of the door and shoved it open with a squeal of hinges.

'Watch your step,' Hodd advised, as he led the way. 'It's quite a fall.'

Frey understood what he meant when he entered the room beyond. They were on a walkway overlooking a cavernous cargo hold. Due to the slant of the craft, the floor of the walkway tilted them towards that gaping abyss. Only a railing stood between them and the dark. Ahead of them, Hodd was shuffling along carefully, one hand fixed to the railing.

Frey peered over the edge, but whatever was down there was beyond the range of the lanternlight. 'I'd like to take a look at what they're carrying,' he mused aloud. His voice echoed back to him faintly.

'In time, in time, Cap'n Frey,' said Grist. 'First port o' call is this door that Mr Hodd spoke of. The one with the invisible barrier. Somethin' worth guardin' is somethin' worth stealin', I reckon.'

'Fair enough,' said Frey. He turned to Jez, who was close at his shoulder, and whispered to her, 'What can you see down there?'

'Building materials,' she replied quietly. 'Girders, slate, joists, stuff like that. Metals like I haven't seen before.'

'Building materials?' Frey was disappointed. He'd been hoping for piles of gems.

'Manes have a thing about disassembly. They can strip whole factories in a couple of days and carry them off. I mean brick by brick. They used to do that all the time in the North.

'They steal factories?'

'Hangars, refineries . . . anything, really,' she said. 'They'd come in fleets, pull everything apart, load it up and take it away. At least, they used to. Not so much nowadays. Now it's mostly people they come for.'

Frey nudged her to get her attention. Grist was watching her with interest, evidently wondering why she was gazing into the impenetrable blackness. Her uncanny vision was something Frey wasn't keen on explaining. 'Don't be too obvious, eh?' he muttered.

'Sorry, Cap'n,' she said, looking away.

'So what's in the hold is the remains of something the Manes disassembled?'

'I don't think so. Everything's all too neat and new-looking. Looks more like they're going to build something. They've got carts, pumps, piping . . . You want my guess? Down there, you've got everything you'd need to set up a small colony.'

Frey didn't like the sound of that at all. 'A colony? You've got to be kidding.'

'In case you haven't noticed, Cap'n, this isn't exactly the place for jokes.'

It really wasn't funny. The only good thing about the Manes was that they generally stayed behind the permanent wall of cloud that hid the North Pole. If they ever moved out of their frozen hideaway, things were going to get pretty grave.

They came off the walkway and joined another passage. A short distance further 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 lanternlight were not volunteer's 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 on to 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 like she was about to tip into one of her trances. But the moment hadn't come. Instead she hovered agonisingly 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.