The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,178

and who'd lead him to bed afterward.

After a few days of blissful, overwhelming happiness, the fateful moment came. They'd been lying together in bed, drunk, and she'd thought he was asleep. She'd leaned over and slurred quietly in his ear.

'You know, Artis Pinn, I think I'm falling in love with you.'

That was when he knew she was the one. The only one he'd ever love. His heart thrilled at the realisation. He pretended to be asleep until he heard her begin to snore. Then he slipped out of bed, picked up a pen, and scribbled a note.

He couldn't remember the exact words he'd used. He was barely sober enough to hold the pen. But he knew his lover would understand, the way she understood everything about him. He had to go, the note said, but he promised he'd be back. When he was rich. When he was a hero. When he was worthy to be with a woman like her.

And with that, he slipped away. He fuelled up his Skylance with the money he'd made, and asked about till he found the town of Endurance. He got there just in time to see a flotilla of Navy frigates departing at speed. Going by past experience, he reckoned it'd be more than likely that the Cap'n was tangled up in this somehow, so he tagged along. When he got close enough to Sakkan, he began to pick up Harkins' fearful blubbering through his earcuff. After that, it was just a matter of tracking him down.

He'd arrived just in the nick of time, it seemed. The way heroes were supposed to.

'You ready to get back in there, you shuddery old dog?' he asked Harkins.

'I suppose, I . . . Wait a . . . No. Yes. Ready.'

'Alright. Follow me down.'

'Pinn?'

'What?'

There was a pause. 'It's . . . that is . . . I'm . . . er . . .' He stopped and collected himself. "It's good to see you,' he said at last.

Pinn felt a smile spread across his face. 'Good to see you too,' he said, and was surprised to find that he meant it. Then he shoved his flight stick forward and dived towards the enemy, whooping all the way.

Time to make himself a hero. Emanda deserved nothing less.

The Manes came in a flood. The Century Knights were waiting for them.

They stood in a line, guns raised, in front of the massive stone fountain that formed the centrepiece of the sunken square. They'd had only seconds to organise themselves, but they did so quickly and smoothly at an order from Kedmund Drave. They were a well-oiled unit, disciplined and deadly. The Archduke's elite: the best of the best.

Frey and his crew stood with them.

When they first met the Knights in the square, Frey had half a mind to keep on running and let the Knights deal with the Manes at their back. At least they might slow the pursuit a bit before they were overwhelmed. But he'd made a snap decision, and, absurdly, decided to stay. He'd begun to feel a faint cameraderie with Bree and Grudge, enough that he'd feel like a rat for bailing out on them. Their paths had crossed several times over the last year and a half, and they'd saved his life in the past.

Maybe it was because he needed to do something honourable, because Trinica had treated him so dishonourably. Maybe it was just the pull of childhood fantasy. Every boy - and many girls - grew up wanting to be a Century Knight. Fighting alongside them came a close second.

Or maybe - and more likely - it was just because Samandra Bree was damned cute and he didn't like the idea of letting her get her face eaten by a Mane.

The horde hadn't expected resistance, perhaps. Certainly not on the scale they faced now. They came through the narrow bottleneck where the cobbled street entered the high-walled square. Over a dozen guns opened up on them, and they were mown down like wheat.

Frey and his men aimed and fired into the thrashing mass of Manes, hoping to hit whatever they could. The Knights, in contrast, were astonishingly accurate. Whenever Samandra Bree fired one of her twin shotguns, or Mordric Jask his large-calibre pistols, it was a headshot. Colden Grudge's autocannon was less precise, but he made up for it with his sheer destructive power. Each bolt tore through several Manes, smashing through limbs and ribs and skulls. They howled as they were