The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,98

got knocked around in the crash. Broke something inside him.'

'How did . . . ?' the old man said. 'The Imperator . . .'

Frey crouched down in front of him, arms crossed over his knees, looking him over. He tutted. 'You shouldn't play with daemons, you know.'

The Interpreter's eyes widened. Enough to tell Frey that Crake's theory was right. Frey put his hand out expectantly. 'I believe you have something of mine.'

The old man clutched the sphere closer to his body. His gaze became baleful. 'How dare you? Damn thieves!'

'You stole it first,' Frey said.

'You don't know . . .' the Interpreter began, then dissolved into violent coughing. Something rattled inside him with every breath. Blood glistened on his beard. 'You don't know what . . .'

'Alright, alright,' said Frey, holding up his hands. 'Easy, old man.'

'You're meddling with forces you don't understand!' he snarled.

'That?' asked Frey, looking at the sphere. 'I understand a lot of people want it. That makes it valuable.'

'It's more than valuable, you fool! Do you know what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands?'

'Far as I'm concerned, it's already in the wrong hands,' said Frey. He grabbed the sphere and pulled it out of the Interpreter's feeble grip. The old man spluttered in outrage, and then he began to cough again, more violently than before.

'Hey!' said Frey, backing off. 'Calm down, eh? You're not in great shape there. Think of your health, or something.'

'Thousands . . .' the old man said, clawing at Frey's trouser leg. 'Thousands will die!'

Frey didn't like the sound of that at all. "What does that mean?' he demanded.

The Interpreter had gone red in the face, his eyes bulging like they were going to pop out of his head. His coughs had become long, painful wheezes, horrible to hear.

Frey grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. 'Hey! Hey! What did you mean, thousands will die? What is the sphere?'

'Thousands . . .' the Interpreter whispered. Then he gave one last, rattling breath and slumped to the floor.

Frey let out a little scream of frustration through gritted teeth. Malvery squatted down, felt for a pulse, lifted up the Interpreter's head and looked into his eyes. Then he let the head drop unceremoniously to the floor with a dull thud.

'Dead,' Malvery said.

'Oh, really?' Frey snapped. 'Is that your professional opinion?'

'Don't get ratty with me. I'm just doing my job.'

'Couldn't the old bastard have hung on for a few more sentences before he croaked?'

Malvery slapped him on the shoulder. 'Tough luck, Cap'n. We got what we came for, at least. Let's get going. All this smoke can't be good for us.'

Frey stared at the body of the Interpreter, hearing his final words over and over again. Thousands will die.

He had the unpleasant feeling that they'd drifted far, far out of their depth.

When they got outside, the Storm Dog was waiting for them.

She'd put down on the moors, a short distance from the All Our Yesterdays. She was scarred and battered, bearing signs of heavy cannon damage. Her crew were busy rounding up the evacuating Awakeners, who were surrendering without much resistance now that the Delirium Trigger had abandoned them. The prisoners stood in a loose group under guard, miserable and sodden in the rain.

Frey cursed at the sight of Grist, who was striding towards them with a few of his men. He'd hoped Trinica would keep Grist busy long enough for him to make a break for it with the sphere. In fact, he'd rather hoped they'd blow each other out of the sky. He belatedly realised that he should have kept his earcuff in, so Harkins and Pinn could keep him informed. He'd been relying on Jez to relay information, but she was in no state to relay anything right now.

They scrambled down the earthen bank that had piled up around the All Our Yesterdays and met Grist at the bottom. He was accompanied by Crattle and two others that Frey didn't recognise.

'Cap'n Frey!' Grist grinned, showing yellow teeth around the stub of a cigar. The rain had extinguished it, but he kept it in his mouth anyway. 'Pleased to see you're well.'

'Likewise,' Frey lied. 'You took care of the Delirium Trigger?'

'She turned tail and ran,' Grist declared proudly. He gestured at Jez, who was slung over Silo's shoulder. 'One of yours down, eh?'

'She'll live,' said Frey.

'I'll wager she will,' said Grist. 'I bet she heals real quick, don't she?' He walked over to Silo and picked up one of