The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,10

seen too many from him lately.

She went up into the hold. Bess was sitting on the floor, her legs sticking out in front of her, patting the ball this way and that. An eerie cooing noise was coming from within her. They watched her together for a moment.

'She seems happy,' Jez offered. Crake didn't reply. She looked at him. 'How are you holding up?'

Crake frowned at her. As if he couldn't understand what might prompt her to ask such a question. As if he couldn't imagine what she might mean.

'Fine,' he said, coldly. 'Just fine.'

Jez nodded and headed up the stairs from the hold to the walkway above. There she paused and looked over the railing. Crake was standing next to Bess, one arm laid over her arm, his forehead leaning against her face-grille. His mouth was moving. Though he was far out of human earshot, Jez could hear him anyway.

'Good girl,' he whispered, sadly. 'Good girl.'

Jez felt a tightening in her throat, and hurried away.

She'd almost reached the main passageway when a blood-chilling scream made her jump. She ran the last few steps and burst into the room to find Harkins lying on the floor outside the quarters he shared with Pinn, gasping, coughing and clawing at the air.

'What? Harkins, what?' she cried in alarm.

'The ca . . . it wa . . .' he panted, unable to draw breath. A moment later Slag padded out of his quarters. Harkins shrieked and backed up against the wall of the corridor. Slag stared at him with an expression of loathing, then caught sight of Jez and bolted towards the engine room.

'Oh,' said Jez, understanding now. 'Cat slept on your face again?'

'That bloody rotting moggy!' Harkins exploded, scratching at his unshaven cheeks to scrape off the moulted fur. His leather pilot's cap was askew, revealing a head of mousy hair that had thinned almost to transparency. 'It just . . . it's . . . even if I shut the door, Pinn comes in when I'm asleep and leaves it open! And even if he doesn't, the cat gets in through the vent! I have nightmares! Suffocation! You know what that's like? Do you?'

'No,' said Jez honestly, since she didn't need to breathe any more. 'Harkins, it's just a cat.'

Harkins' eyes bulged from his hangdog face. 'It's evil!' he said. 'It's . . . it's ... it waits, can't you see it? It waits till I'm asleep. It hates me! It hates me!'

'You and me both,' said Jez, with a rueful smile. 'I don't get on with animals.'

'It's scared of you. That's not the same. It's not even close to the same! It's about as far from the same as . . .' He trailed off, unable to think of a suitable comparison.

'Maybe you just need to stand up to him,' Jez suggested. 'You are about twenty times his size, after all.'

The gangly pilot picked himself up with a resentful glare. He looked twitchily around the corridor and then jammed his cap back down on his head. 'I'll never sleep now. Not for hours,' he huffed. Then he hurried off towards the hold and outside, where he'd be safe from the cat. Slag hadn't left the Ketty Jay since he was first brought aboard as a kitten, over fourteen years ago. The only thing that scared him, apart from Jez, was the sky.

She went to her quarters with a smile on her face, shaking her head.

My home. My family. What a curious lot we are.

As dusk fell, Frey, Pinn and Malvery headed into town, as they'd done every night since they landed here. Sometime Crake went with them, but not tonight. Jez wasn't one for drinking, Harkins was frightened of strangers, and Silo stayed with the craft for everyone's sake. The Second Aerium War was still a raw wound almost eight years after it had finished. Silo's people had fought for the enemy, however unwillingly they'd done so. Murthians were not popular folk in Vardia.

Frey led the way as they followed the well-used path down the hill, through the darkening trees. The light drained from the sky, turning to violet and gold, and the last of the day's birdsong died away as the insects took over. This far south, spring was starting early: it wasn't even the end of Middenmoil yet.

When they got to the tavern, they were greeted by the usual fixed grimace on the owner's face. Frey could see how a little piece of his soul died every time