The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,22

Mane, for the briefest of instants, during her aborted transformation. She'd felt their connectedness, the joy of their companionship. The link they shared, the togetherness they felt. After that, it was hard not to feel lonely. They wanted her, not to harm her but to embrace her.

That was why she was afraid. To embrace the Manes would be to give up her humanity for ever. To become one of them would be to surrender herself. And she wouldn't do that.

Frey stirred in his seat, glanced up at Jez, and then back at the island before them. 'There she is,' he said.

'There she is,' Jez agreed.

'You ever wonder if half the stuff they say about this place is true?'

'It's probably not,' she said. 'But still, the Coalition would rather colonise New Vardia - on the other side of the world and the other side of the Storm Belt - than colonise a land mass that lies a pleasant half-day's flight off their coast.'

'Hmm,' said Frey. 'That's not a good sign, is it?'

'Not really.'

'If I get eaten, you can have the Ketty Jay, okay?'

'That's very sweet of you. What if you get stamped on, poisoned, or die horribly from some unknown plague?'

Frey gave her a look. 'Just get back to your charts, why don't you?'

She grinned and saluted. 'Right you are, Cap'n!'

Six

The Expedition Sets Out - Rain —

Jez Takes First Watch — Silo's Story

Crake pulled the collar of his coat up and hunched his shoulders against the cold. It always seemed to be cold nowadays. On the Ketty Jay or off it, there was a chill in his core that never quite went away.

The clouds were iron-grey overhead, and an arctic breeze came from the north, pushing through the rainforest. The Ketty Jay sat in a bald, rocky clearing, with tree-covered mountains on either side. Crake stood under her tail, the cargo ramp lying open behind him. In the distance, a waterfall plunged hundreds of feet from a ridge of cliffs. When the wind was right, Crake could hear its dull, sullen roar.

Nearby, the Storm Dog was easing itself down. The air was sharp with the smell of aerium gas as it vented its tanks.

The Storm Dog was craggy and rectangular, like a beam of black, petrified timber. Its prow was blunt and its hull pocked and uneven, stained with cloud-rime and iceburn. It sank on to its landing struts with an artless crunch and settled in the clearing. The air shimmered and rippled as it wheezed out the last of its aerium in an invisible cloud, then its engines shut off.

For a moment, there was quiet. An awesome, massive silence. Only the stir of the wind sounded over the endless industry of the waterfall. Crake tipped back his head, closed his eyes, and basked in the nothingness.

'Hey, Crake!' Pinn yelled from the cargo hold. 'Give us a hand here! Half of this is your stuff!'

Crake's eyes fluttered open. The birds and insects of the rainforest, which had been silenced by the disturbance, began to pick up their songs again. Hydraulics whirred as the Storm Dog opened its cargo ramp. The moment had passed.

Too brief. All too brief.

The others were coming down the Ketty Jay's ramp, carrying packs and equipment. Tents, weapons, food, and Crake's daemonist equipment, which they'd need when they reached their destination. Bess came clumping down with an armful of gear and laid it down among the other packs with a child's exaggerated care. Then she scampered over to Crake - as much as a half-ton armoured suit could scamper -and settled on her haunches in front of him.

'Well done,' he said, patting her flank. 'What a helpful girl you are.'

Bess leaned in, pushing her face-grille closer. Points of light twinkled in the darkness behind. Eyes like stars. She gave a quizzical coo: an ethereal, other-worldly sound.

'I'm alright, Bess. Don't you worry,' said Crake, forcing a smile.

Bess wasn't fooled. She reached out one gloved hand and stroked Crake's arm clumsily. Metal, chain mail and leather dragged down his coat, almost tearing his sleeve off. Crake felt sudden tears threatening, and swallowed. He gave the golem an awkward hug. She was too big to get his arms around.

'Don't you worry,' he said again.

'Will you stop flirting with your girlfriend and carry something?' Pinn yelled from the cargo ramp, as he went back in for another pack.

They assembled in a spot between the aircraft: six from the Ketty Jay, six from the Storm Dog, including Hodd. Frey wanted Silo to come,