The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,31
the branch, felt for another, and climbed higher.
By the time the creature arrived at the foot of the tree, he felt relatively safe. It snarled up at him through the branches, and reared up on its hind legs. But he was out of reach.
'Let's see you get me up here!' Frey taunted, drunk with the thrill of his escape.
The beast tottered back on its hind legs, balanced itself, and shoulder-charged the tree. Frey frantically grabbed on as his perch trembled violently. Some unidentified small animal plunged past him with a squeak and bounced off a lower branch.
'Er . . .' said Frey. 'Don't do that.'
The creature smashed into the tree again, with more force this time. Now there was an ominous splintering noise, and an unpleasant sensation of tipping.
'Shit,' Frey murmured.
The next few seconds were a mayhem of whipping and hissing branches, and the sickening anticipation of impact. Something smacked the back of his head. He felt himself jolted, thrown, rolling. Suddenly the leaves weren't there any more. He ended up on the ground, in the open, gazing at the nodding canopy overhead. His whole body felt like one big bruise.
He lay there for a moment, relieved to be alive, before he remembered the creature.
He staggered to his feet, drew his cutlass and looked around wildly. The fallen tree was nearby, but he saw no sign of his enemy. His head was still spinning from the tumble. He shook it, but that only made things worse. His eyes kept trying to double everything.
A thrashing of leaves behind him. He turned and saw the creature rearing, one huge paw drawn back for a swipe that would take his head off.
Then his cutlass moved, pulling his hand with it. The blade flashed in the rain and there was a shiver of impact. The paw splashed into the mud, detached from its owner.
The creature shrieked and flailed backwards in clumsy retreat, the remains of its forelimb tucked against its shaggy chest. Blood spewed from the severed stump as it turned and fled.
And then Frey was alone in the forest. Soaked, covered in mud and blood. He stood there, breathing in and out, just because he could.
'Not bad,' he said to himself. 'Not bad.'
Distantly, he heard his crew calling his name. 'I'm here!' he called. 'I'm okay!' Then his eyes fell on the monstrous paw lying next to him, and he grinned. 'Better than that,' he said to himself. 'I'm a bloody hero!'
Frey dumped the paw in front of his amazed audience and then sat down by the fire, feigning nonchalance. They gathered beneath the tarpaulin, out of the rain. Grist was working on a fresh cigar. Hodd was wide-eyed with awe.
'I wouldn't go that far,' said Malvery, eyeing the paw. 'It would have been tremendous if he killed the rest of it.'
'Ah, clam it, Malvery,' said Jez. beaming. 'The Cap'n just slaved his first monster!'
'It's probably not even dead!' Malvery protested, but nobody listened.
'How's your man?' Frey asked Grist.
'He'll live. Flesh wound. Bled a lot, but no real harm.'
'That's good news, at least,' he said. He got to his feet. 'Speaking of crew, I'd better go see to mine.'
'He's over here,' said Jez. She led him to the far side of the shelter; Malvery and Silo came trailing after. Hidden among the packs, trussed up in a sleeping bag, was Crake. Snoring. No one had seen him in the confusion.
Frey leaned close. The stink of rum was on his breath. He pulled open the neck of the bag and saw that Crake was clutching an empty bottle.
'He slept through the whole thing,' said Jez.
Frey harumphed and scratched the back of his neck. It should have been a relief to see him unhurt, but somehow it wasn't. Not like this.
'Can you talk to him, Jez?' he said.
'I'll talk to him,' she promised.
'Me, too,' said Malvery. He thumbed at Jez. 'After all, what does she know about being an alcoholic?'
'Alright,' said Frey. 'I'll leave it to you two. Fix him, or something.' He waved a hand vaguely. 'You're all better at this stuff than I am.'
'Will do, Cap'n,' said Jez. Frey saw her exchange a glance with Silo. The Murthian nodded gravely at her.
Something meaningful there? He didn't know. He didn't know what half his crew were thinking. Talking about feelings - real feelings - had never been something he was comfortable with.