The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,131

the cockpit of the Firecrow again. Pinn was clambering into his Skylance nearby.

'Plot us a course for Endurance,' Frey said over his shoulder.

'Did it three hours ago, Cap'n,' she replied.

'Why aren't I surprised?' He stretched and tried to shake off the fuzz of sleep. 'Hey, Jez, you've been hanging about with Silo, right? How's the engine?'

'Holding together. He still needs those parts, you know.'

'Yeah,' said Frey. 'Maybe one day we'll have the money to buy them and the luxury of staying in one place long enough to get them ordered in.'

'We can dream, Cap'n.'

Frey smiled to himself. He'd missed their little interchanges. The cockpit had seemed cold and hollow without them. Maybe there was still the sense that they were trying a little too hard, but that would fade. They'd broken through the barrier. The tension between them was gone.

He felt positive, for the first time in quite a while. Squaring things up with Jez had given him a sense of achievement. One problem fixed. And now they had a solid lead on Grist. At last, something to chase. He was starting to think that things were turning around.

He watched as Pinn settled into his cockpit and flooded the aerium tanks. The Skylance rose gently into the air. Malvery shambled through the doorway of the cockpit and stood there, red-eyed.

'Good work getting him back in one piece,' said Frey. 'I thought you'd be out of it by now.'

'Too much coffee,' Malvery said.

'Malvery, meet our new navigator, Jez,' he said. 'She's part Mane, you know. Don't hold it against her.'

Malvery caught the change in the air and played along. 'Pleased to meet you,' he said. 'I'm Malvery. Resident alcoholic.'

Jez grinned. 'It's an honour to travel in such esteemed company.'

'It is, isn't it?' Malvery said. 'Now, you'd better excuse me. Think I need some grog to take the edge off that coffee.'

Frey was peering through the windglass at the Skylance as it rose. 'You think he might be too drunk to fly?' he asked Malvery idly, as the doctor headed out of the cockpit. 'Maybe we should've waited till—'

He was interrupted by a flash of light and a deafening boom, loud enough to cause Malvery to fall over. Frey cringed back in his seat, blinking rapidly, dazzled. When his vision had cleared, the Skylance was gone.

He snatched up his earcuff and clipped it on. 'Pinn!' he said. 'Pinn, what happened?' But the only reply was Harkins' incoherent gibber. The sudden noise had turned him to jelly.

'Calm down, Harkins!' he snapped. 'What happened? Did you see? Where's Pinn?'

'He . . . ah . . . uuhhh . . . I . . .'

Useless. Frey turned around in his seat. Malvery was just picking himself up off the floor. 'What just happened?'

'Afterburners,' said Jez. 'Pinn hit his afterburners and flew off. You know that craft is rigged for speed.'

'Hit them by accident?'

'I don't think so, Cap'n.'

'But he doesn't know how to get where we're going!'

There was silence for a moment. Realisation dawned on Frey. 'He's not coming, is he?'

'I don't ... I don't reckon he is,' said Malvery. The doctor was ashen-faced. Perhaps, like Frey, the thought that Pinn would ever leave them was beyond his comprehension. Pinn was too dim and unambitious, and besides, he had nowhere else to go.

They'd misjudged him. The young pilot could take any amount of abuse and mockery and laugh it off with good humour, but the news from his sweetheart had finally proven too much.

No, Frey thought to himself. It's not that, and you know it. It's Trinica. It's because you brought Trinica on board. You knew he hated her, and you ignored him.

Frey turned back to the controls, stony-faced. His good mood had withered and died. 'Give me a heading, Jez. I'm taking us up.'

'But what about Pinn?' Harkins wailed in his ear.

'Pinn's gone, Harkins,' said Frey. 'Forget him.'

Twenty-Eight

A Quiet Landing — Worrying Evidence —

An Urchin — Oldrew Sprine

Early morning, and the town of Endurance lurked beneath an anvil-grey sky. Powdery snow sifted down from the clouds, swirling in flurries, dusting the ground.

It was a mean, bare place, crammed into a fold in the mountains, surrounded by hard horizons of dark rock. Simple square buildings crowded in tight, huddled against the bitter north-eastern winds. A short way distant was a mineshaft: the reason for the town's existence. Gargantuan machinery - pumps and elevators and drills - surrounded the entrance. Railway tracks led in and out. Mine carts sat idle. A road led along the mountainside to