Chris Wooding - The Black Lung Captain

Pleased, he settled down to guard the entrance. Let that scrawny one try and come back tonight. Slag would show him what a real predator could do.

'Get up.'

Crake surfaced into awareness, found it unbearably terrible, and sank back towards sleep again.

'Crake! Get up!'

Someone shook him. His eyes fluttered open. A dark bedroom, plush and unfamiliar. Frey stood next to him, hand on his shoulder. Dawn light crept in through the curtains.

His face felt swollen and greasy with night sweats. His lips were sticky and the corner of his mouth was caked with something foul. He felt like he'd been shat whole from the dirty arse of some pestilent herd animal.

'Please go away, Cap'n,' he croaked. 'If I'm not unconscious in thirty seconds I may very well die. I mean it.'

'Get dressed,' said Frey. 'We're getting out of here.'

Crake lifted himself up on his elbows and turned his head with some difficulty. The bones in his neck had apparently rusted together in the night. Frey was dressed, clad in his familiar grubby garb, pistols and cutlass stuffed through his belt.

'You're not serious?' Crake pleaded.

Frey checked his pocket watch. 'Jez is bringing the Ketty Jay to meet us at four o'clock on the edge of the estate.'

'When did you arrange that?'

'A week ago, when I came back to see you lot. Thought I might want to make a quick exit after the soiree. Turns out I do.'

Crake sat up, rubbing his aching neck. 'If you put half as much effort into planning your robberies as you do sneaking away from your lovers, we'd all be rich by now.'

Frey didn't have the patience to discuss it. 'Look, Crake, it's almost four. If you don't get moving, I'll leave you behind. You can explain my absence to Amalicia.'

'No thanks!' Crake said, suddenly finding his motivation. He hauled himself out of bed and began pulling his clothes on over his undergarments, pausing only to prevent himself from being sick.

Frey glanced around uneasily. 'Hurry up, will you? I don't think my pods could survive the kicking if she catches me running out on her.'

'I must say, Cap'n, this doesn't rank amongst the most spectacularly brave things you've done.'

'I'm just not big on histrionics,' he explained. 'Don't like to see a woman cry.'

'But you're okay with making them cry?'

'Hey, I don't make anyone do anything. They choose to cry. Can't help it if they think I'm something I'm not.'

'You really are quite a shit, aren't you?'

'Why? Because I cut out the unpleasant stuff? One day she'll thank me for not dragging this out.'

'Oh, you're doing this for her? Very noble. I should have realised.' He pulled on his boots. 'I'm ready.'

They headed out of the bedroom and into the cool, shadowy corridors of the manse. The house was silent, the servants asleep. Crake did his best to creep along behind Frey, but his hangover and lack of sleep made him feel like his head was underwater. He had the unpleasant sensation that nothing was quite real. His brain and his body had become estranged and were only cooperating by a gentleman's agreement.

They sneaked downstairs to the entrance hall, beneath the disapproving gaze of the portraits that hung above the staircase. The hall seemed cavernous in the early morning quiet. The tiny tapping of their boots created echoes.

They'd reached the front door when they heard the unmistakable click of a pistol hammer being primed.

'Stop there.'

Amalicia stepped out from a curtained alcove. She was wearing a long nightgown, and was barefoot. A revolver was in her hand, trained on Frey. Her expression was dark.

'Ah,' said Frey. 'Listen, I know how this looks, but—'

'Don't,' she snapped. She crossed the space between them, never taking the gun from him. It trembled in her hand. 'I knew you'd be coming this way when I woke up and you weren't in bed,' she said. 'Leaving without a word. Isn't that your style?'

'Put the gun down, hmm?' Frey said nervously.

'So you can run off again?' she asked. 'I don't think so.'

'If you're trying to stop him running off, shooting him probably isn't the best way to do it,' Crake pointed out, in what he hoped was a reasonable manner.

Amalicia thought about that for a moment, then shifted her aim towards Crake. 'You're right,' she said. 'I'll shoot you instead.'

Crake dearly wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

'Amalicia, come on,' said Frey, holding up his hands as if placating a wild animal. 'Let's talk about this.'

She shook her head, her lip quivering and tears in her eyes. Dangerously close to hysteria. 'No more lies, Darian.' She tossed her hair and composed herself. 'It's become clear to me that you aren't in your right mind.'

'I'm not in my right mind? Who's got the gun?'

'I know there's something in you that makes you run away. I offer you all this, all my riches, and you still want to go back to your flea-bitten, raggedy life. But I understand, Darian. You can't help it. You're scared. Scared of love.'

'Scared,' said Frey flatly. 'Of love.'

'Cap'n . . .' Crake warned. He rather hoped Frey wasn't thinking of getting confrontational while there was a pistol pointed at his chest.

'I know it's frightening,' Amalicia said, suddenly sympathetic. 'It's scary to open your heart to another. To leave yourself vulnerable, to let others in. It's alright to admit it, Darian.'

Frey just looked embarrassed. 'Really, you've got this all wrong.'

'Of course you deny it! You don't even see it yourself. My poor orphan, I won't desert you.'

'What does my being an orphan have to do with any of this?' Frey cried.

She gave him a pitying gaze, moist with compassion. 'You don't know what's best for you, my love. So you're going to stay here. I'll show you there's nothing to be scared of.'

'You're kidnapping me?' Frey said, aghast.

'For your own good.'

Frey took a steadying breath and tried a new tack. 'Listen,' he said. 'Let me tell you what I learned at the party last night. This sphere -the sphere that will make me rich, remember - they're moving it by air to another location. This evening, at dusk. It'll be under heavy guard, but with the Storm Dog on our side, we can take it. We know the route and we'll set an ambush. It's our best and only chance.' He checked his pocket watch again. ' That's why we're sneaking off. I didn't want to worry you. As soon as we're done, I'll be straight back. I promise.'

'Is that true?' Amalicia asked Crake. He nodded frantically. All except the last part, anyway.

She evidently didn't believe him. 'Oh, Darian,' she said, with an indulgent tut. 'You will use every trick in the book, won't you? But you don't fool me. You're staying here.'

Frey gave a little scream of frustration. 'I can't stay here,' he said 'This is too important!'

'More important than love?'

'Yes!' he replied, without an instant's pause.

'You see?' said Amalicia. 'You're not thinking clearly. You're scared. Who in their right mind would take money over love?'

'Oh, for shit's sake,' Frey said, exasperated. He pulled a pistol from his belt and pointed it at her head. 'Just drop the damn gun.'

Amalicia went white and stared at him in surprise. Then an uncertain smile spread across her lips. 'You wouldn't shoot me,' she said.

'I'm a pirate, Amalicia. You think I haven't shot women in cold blood before?'

Crake hadn't thought so until now, but suddenly he wasn't sure. Amalicia was even more worried by the suggestion. She hadn't seen this side of Frey. The hard, uncaring, brutal side. She didn't move, perhaps expecting him to drop the act at any moment. But Frey's expression was like stone.

He cocked his pistol. 'Gun down, Amalicia. This isn't a game. That's a member of my crew you're threatening. I'm not asking a third time.'