The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,81

next to him, hand on his shoulder. Dawn light crept in through the curtains.

His face felt swollen and greasy with night sweats. His lips were sticky and the corner of his mouth was caked with something foul. He felt like he'd been shat whole from the dirty arse of some pestilent herd animal.

'Please go away, Cap'n,' he croaked. 'If I'm not unconscious in thirty seconds I may very well die. I mean it.'

'Get dressed,' said Frey. 'We're getting out of here.'

Crake lifted himself up on his elbows and turned his head with some difficulty. The bones in his neck had apparently rusted together in the night. Frey was dressed, clad in his familiar grubby garb, pistols and cutlass stuffed through his belt.

'You're not serious?' Crake pleaded.

Frey checked his pocket watch. 'Jez is bringing the Ketty Jay to meet us at four o'clock on the edge of the estate.'

'When did you arrange that?'

'A week ago, when I came back to see you lot. Thought I might want to make a quick exit after the soiree. Turns out I do.'

Crake sat up, rubbing his aching neck. 'If you put half as much effort into planning your robberies as you do sneaking away from your lovers, we'd all be rich by now.'

Frey didn't have the patience to discuss it. 'Look, Crake, it's almost four. If you don't get moving, I'll leave you behind. You can explain my absence to Amalicia.'

'No thanks!' Crake said, suddenly finding his motivation. He hauled himself out of bed and began pulling his clothes on over his undergarments, pausing only to prevent himself from being sick.

Frey glanced around uneasily. 'Hurry up, will you? I don't think my pods could survive the kicking if she catches me running out on her.'

'I must say, Cap'n, this doesn't rank amongst the most spectacularly brave things you've done.'

'I'm just not big on histrionics,' he explained. 'Don't like to see a woman cry.'

'But you're okay with making them cry?'

'Hey, I don't make anyone do anything. They choose to cry. Can't help it if they think I'm something I'm not.'

'You really are quite a shit, aren't you?'

'Why? Because I cut out the unpleasant stuff? One day she'll thank me for not dragging this out.'

'Oh, you're doing this for her? Very noble. I should have realised.' He pulled on his boots. 'I'm ready.'

They headed out of the bedroom and into the cool, shadowy corridors of the manse. The house was silent, the servants asleep. Crake did his best to creep along behind Frey, but his hangover and lack of sleep made him feel like his head was underwater. He had the unpleasant sensation that nothing was quite real. His brain and his body had become estranged and were only cooperating by a gentleman's agreement.

They sneaked downstairs to the entrance hall, beneath the disapproving gaze of the portraits that hung above the staircase. The hall seemed cavernous in the early morning quiet. The tiny tapping of their boots created echoes.

They'd reached the front door when they heard the unmistakable click of a pistol hammer being primed.

'Stop there.'

Amalicia stepped out from a curtained alcove. She was wearing a long nightgown, and was barefoot. A revolver was in her hand, trained on Frey. Her expression was dark.

'Ah,' said Frey. 'Listen, I know how this looks, but—'

'Don't,' she snapped. She crossed the space between them, never taking the gun from him. It trembled in her hand. 'I knew you'd be coming this way when I woke up and you weren't in bed,' she said. 'Leaving without a word. Isn't that your style?'

'Put the gun down, hmm?' Frey said nervously.

'So you can run off again?' she asked. 'I don't think so.'

'If you're trying to stop him running off, shooting him probably isn't the best way to do it,' Crake pointed out, in what he hoped was a reasonable manner.

Amalicia thought about that for a moment, then shifted her aim towards Crake. 'You're right,' she said. 'I'll shoot you instead.'

Crake dearly wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

'Amalicia, come on,' said Frey, holding up his hands as if placating a wild animal. 'Let's talk about this.'

She shook her head, her lip quivering and tears in her eyes. Dangerously close to hysteria. 'No more lies, Darian.' She tossed her hair and composed herself. 'It's become clear to me that you aren't in your right mind.'

'I'm not in my right mind? Who's got the gun?'

'I know there's something in you that makes you run away. I offer you all this, all my riches, and you