The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,105
of Yort design. Nearby, in the workshop area, sat other craft in various states of disrepair. Two colossal hangars dominated the scene, their arched metal roofs patched with unthawed snow. The Delirium Trigger, battered and blasted, was slowly easing herself into one of them. Crake watched as she was swallowed up, then turned to Frey and said:
'I'm leaving.'
Frey stared down at the docks, his face grim. He didn't speak for a long time. 'You coming back?' he said eventually.
'I hope so. When I've done what I need to do. I'd intended to stay on long enough to help you get hold of that sphere - I thought it the honourable thing - but now, well . . .'
'You can't put it off for ever, right?' The wind blew black strands of hair around Frey's face. 'No telling when, or if, we'll find that bastard.'
Crake nodded.
'Something's been eating at you a long time,' Frey said. 'Ever since you came aboard, you've been on the run.'
Yes. From the Shacklemores. From myself.
'Some things . . .' Crake began. He knew that Frey didn't require an explanation, but he felt compelled to try. 'Some things, a man can't live with on his conscience. I thought I could keep ahead of it, you see? Keep on the move.'
'I get it, Crake. We all get it. That's why you were such a good fit for us.'
Crake was grateful for his understanding. Frey wasn't the kind who asked questions. A man's past was his own on the Ketty Jay.
Mostly, he reflected, that was a good thing. On Frey's crew, your only judge was yourself. But the conspiracy of silence had its downside. How could you be sure who was your friend and who wasn't, when they'd never seen the worst of you? When the secrets came out, who'd stand by your side?
What would happen to Jez, now? Could they forgive her for what she was?
And what if they found out about his crimes?
He couldn't face that. It was time to stop procrastinating. He'd made a promise to Bess. He'd atone for what he'd done. He'd find a way, somehow, to bring her back.
He looked out past the docks at the city beyond. Iktak was not a pretty sight. Its black stone buildings were bunkers against the cold. Most of it had been built underground, as all Yort settlements were. White ghosts of steam rose from the massive pipes that crawled across the landscape. Industrial chimneys smoked like restless volcanoes. A joyless place, more like a vast refinery than a place for people to live. A city of factories, waiting for winter's return. Without its cloak of snow to hide it, it was brown and bare and miserable.
Til be taking Bess,' he said.
'Thought you would,' said Frey. 'What'll you do with her? You can't have her walking around.'
'I'll put her to sleep, box her up, have her delivered to where I'm going.'
'Mind if I ask where that is? In case I need to find you?'
Crake took a slip of paper from his pocket, and handed it to Frey. He opened it and read the address.
'Tarlock Cove? Don't you have a friend there?'
'That's him. Plome. I'll be there some of the time. If not, I'll leave word for you. I'll be travelling a lot.'
'Travelling?'
'I have a few visits to make.'
A half-dozen, actually. Six names and addresses, given to him by Plome. Six people who, between them, could lay their hands on the best daemonic texts in the land.
I expect you've been all tied up in research, trying some new method or something, ain't you? Malvery had asked him once. Maybe working on something really special?
The doctor's voice had been sarcastic then. Pushing him, making him look at himself and what he'd become. It was an alcoholic's warning to a man he saw heading down the same route. And it had worked. Spit and blood, it had really worked. Crake was going to miss having a friend like Malvery. He was going to miss all of them, except Pinn.
But it couldn't be helped. Because now he was working on something really special. He was going to learn how to reverse what he'd done to his niece. He was going to bring her back to life. Real life, not the half-life she led inside a suit of armour. From that dim-witted thing that was more like a pet than a human, he'd extract the little girl inside, and restore her. Somehow.