The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,50

early morning. There was a general exclamation of relief as they spied the gunwale of the Storm Dog rising over the treetops, and a round of congratulations for Hodd, who'd guided them expertly by night to get them back to safety. The mood became suddenly buoyant. They'd made it. Even if they weren't exactly carrying chests of booty, they still felt like they'd conquered the savage island. Frey's crew would be glad just to get back to somewhere they could get a good meal and a mug of grog.

The trees thinned out and they walked into the barren clearing where their aircraft stood. The sounds of the awakening rainforest filled the air, and they could hear the distant bellow of the waterfall that fell from the mountains, but otherwise all was quiet. The cargo ramps of their craft were closed, and there was not a sign of another living being. They came to a stop, sensing something amiss.

'Maybe it's earlier than we thought?' Crake suggested, consulting his pocket watch. 'Nobody up yet?'

'Something ain't right,' Malvery rumbled. 'Feel it in my pods.'

'In your pods?' Pinn asked.

Malvery clasped his crotch with one hand. 'My pods are shrinking,' said Malvery. 'Trying to hide, ain't they? Sure sign of trouble.'

'Sure sign of you being a bloody fruitcake,' Pinn muttered. 'The day I take advice from your bollocks is the day I—'

'Go back to your fairytale sweetheart?' Crake finished for him, rather maliciously.

'Hey!' Pinn cried, but Malvery's guffaw drowned him out.

Frey was getting a bad feeling about this whole situation. It got worse when he heard the crunch of a shotgun being primed behind him. Malvery's laughter died away to a quizzical and rather worried chuckle.

'Everyone stay right where you are,' said a voice. 'Keep your hands away from them pistols!' He heard footsteps on the stony ground. Men coming from the trees behind them.

His heart sank. He should have seen it coming. Should have known Grist would try and pull something.

'Throw your weapons on the ground, all of you!' ordered the voice.

'You just told us to keep our hands away from them!' Frey said. 'Make up your mind.'

It wasn't a smart thing to do, but Frey was frustrated and he couldn't curb his mouth in time. He was rewarded with a shotgun butt to the back of his head, which sent him to his knees, skull pulsing with white agony.

'Anyone else want to be clever?'

Frey spat bitterly and blinked to try and clear his vision. He pulled out his pistol and tossed it away.

I should have seen it coming. Should never have trusted that bastard. Not even for a moment.

But when he looked up, he saw Grist throwing his own weapon on the ground, his face dark as a thundercloud.

Not him? Then who?

Frey got back to his feet, his hands in the air, and faced the newcomers. There were six he could see, and several more stepping into the clearing from the other side. They must have encircled the aircraft and lain in wait. Hard-faced men who looked like they knew their business. The foremost - the one who'd almost brained him with a shotgun butt - was a hulking bruiser with a face like a bag of spanners. A man behind him was fumbling with a flare gun, which he raised and fired into the sky.

'Where's my crew?' Grist snarled.

'Trussed up safe, Cap'n Grist. Don't you worry,' said Spanners.

'And mine?' Frey asked.

Spanners gave him a look. 'Still in the Ketty Jay, far as I know. She ain't goin' anywhere, and nobody's stupid enough to try gettin' inside with that golem waitin'. Don't intend on tanglin' with that beast twice.'

Twice? Frey thought. Who are these people?

Then he heard the rumbling of engines overhead. He looked up to see the prow of a frigate gliding into sight from behind the peak of a nearby mountain. His heart had already sunk into his stomach; now it felt like it was trying to make its way down his leg with the intention of tunnelling through his foot and heading underground.

He knew that frigate. That black, scarred monster, built like an ocean liner, her deck laden with weaponry.

Trinica Dracken's craft: the Delirium Trigger.

He watched the shuttle descend from the frigate with a deep sense of trepidation. She would be on it, of course. The woman he'd loved, once, back when they were both young and didn't know any better. The woman he'd deserted on their wedding day. The woman who'd tried to kill herself in her grief and