a while, sure, but—'
'Can I have some?'
'Crake, what is wrong with you? Used to be you felt like one of us. but you've been acting stranger and stranger for months. Now this? Drunk by midday?
You?'
Crake just stared at him with an expression that said: are you finished? It made Frey angry al of a sudden. This wasn't the Crake he knew. Not at al.
'You're part of a crew now,' he said sternly. 'You stopped being a passenger long ago. I need my crewmen capable, got it? You're no use to me drunk.'
Crake gave him a surly salute. 'So can I have some Shine now. Cap'n?'
'No!' He grabbed the bottle out of Crake's hands. 'Sleep it off. Get your head straight, you bloody idiot. I want us al coming out of that rainforest alive. All of us. So you'd better sharpen up.'
He slid the door shut behind him with as much of a slam as he could manage, and stalked off up the corridor. The whole incident had enraged him unreasonably.
It wasn't as if Malvery and Pinn didn't drink themselves sily at inconvenient times.
But it wasn't that. It was the sulen defiance, the mocking wink. That leering man begging for drugs had been a stranger. Damn, he knew Crake had been getting withdrawn recently, but he'd rather hoped it would sort itself out. Every man had their private daemons. Crake's were getting a hold on him, though.
Malvery stepped into the corridor ahead of Frey and eyed the bottle in his hand.
'Starting early, aren't we, Cap'n?'
'We're al coming out of that rainforest alive!' Frey snapped at him. Then he stamped off towards his quarters, leaving the bewildered doctor in his wake.
Harkins sat in the cockpit of the Firecrow, watching the coast slide away beneath him. He had a fine view through the windglass bubble on the Firecrow's nose as the dry, barren duchy of Anduss was overtaken by the sparkling blue water of the East Divide. The sun glittered fiercely on the waves, making him squint. He scratched his head under his pilot's cap and shifted in his seat.
Vardia was behind them. Kurg lay ahead. Harkins didn't feel good about any of it.
The Ketty Jay flew below him and to his left. Pinn's Skylance hung close by, its sleek body and wide, smoothly curved wings cutting steadily through the air. On his right was the Storm Dog. He wrinkled his nose and stared at it mistrustfuly.
It was a Ludstrome Cloudhammer: a heavy frigate, manufactured in Yortland. Long, vaguely rectangular, with tiny wings for steerage set far back on its hul. Ten times the size of the Ketty Jay, it was built above al for toughness. A Cloudhammer could run any storm, suffer any weather. Slow and cumbersome it might have been, but it bristled with cannons, and its armour was thick enough to take the best that most aircraft could dish out.
Harkins didn't like it. He didn't like the ugly craft or its ugly crew. But more, he didn't like what they were doing. They were threatening to make everyone rich.
And Harkins didn't like that idea at al.
There was only one thing in Harkins' life that he realy enjoyed, and that was flying. The only time he felt anywhere close to normal was inside the cockpit of a Firecrow. If he couldn't fly, he didn't have much of anything.
Outside the Firecrow, the world was a frightening and hostile place. Harkins didn't deal wel with people. Even before the Aerium Wars shot his nerves to pieces, he'd been a jumpy sort. People sensed his weakness and mocked or ignored him. But he'd always let his flying do the talking, at least until his aircraft was taken away.
It was Frey who rescued him from the misery of a land-bound life after he'd been discharged from the Coalition Navy. Frey who'd given him a Firecrow and, with it, another chance. The crew of the Ketty Jay were the closest thing to friends he'd ever managed. And now along came Captain Grist, promising them al riches and fame. Promising change.
What happened if they al did get rich? Did anyone think of that? Did anyone think what would happen to their little band then? Would
'Can I have some?'
'Crake, what is wrong with you? Used to be you felt like one of us. but you've been acting stranger and stranger for months. Now this? Drunk by midday?
You?'
Crake just stared at him with an expression that said: are you finished? It made Frey angry al of a sudden. This wasn't the Crake he knew. Not at al.
'You're part of a crew now,' he said sternly. 'You stopped being a passenger long ago. I need my crewmen capable, got it? You're no use to me drunk.'
Crake gave him a surly salute. 'So can I have some Shine now. Cap'n?'
'No!' He grabbed the bottle out of Crake's hands. 'Sleep it off. Get your head straight, you bloody idiot. I want us al coming out of that rainforest alive. All of us. So you'd better sharpen up.'
He slid the door shut behind him with as much of a slam as he could manage, and stalked off up the corridor. The whole incident had enraged him unreasonably.
It wasn't as if Malvery and Pinn didn't drink themselves sily at inconvenient times.
But it wasn't that. It was the sulen defiance, the mocking wink. That leering man begging for drugs had been a stranger. Damn, he knew Crake had been getting withdrawn recently, but he'd rather hoped it would sort itself out. Every man had their private daemons. Crake's were getting a hold on him, though.
Malvery stepped into the corridor ahead of Frey and eyed the bottle in his hand.
'Starting early, aren't we, Cap'n?'
'We're al coming out of that rainforest alive!' Frey snapped at him. Then he stamped off towards his quarters, leaving the bewildered doctor in his wake.
Harkins sat in the cockpit of the Firecrow, watching the coast slide away beneath him. He had a fine view through the windglass bubble on the Firecrow's nose as the dry, barren duchy of Anduss was overtaken by the sparkling blue water of the East Divide. The sun glittered fiercely on the waves, making him squint. He scratched his head under his pilot's cap and shifted in his seat.
Vardia was behind them. Kurg lay ahead. Harkins didn't feel good about any of it.
The Ketty Jay flew below him and to his left. Pinn's Skylance hung close by, its sleek body and wide, smoothly curved wings cutting steadily through the air. On his right was the Storm Dog. He wrinkled his nose and stared at it mistrustfuly.
It was a Ludstrome Cloudhammer: a heavy frigate, manufactured in Yortland. Long, vaguely rectangular, with tiny wings for steerage set far back on its hul. Ten times the size of the Ketty Jay, it was built above al for toughness. A Cloudhammer could run any storm, suffer any weather. Slow and cumbersome it might have been, but it bristled with cannons, and its armour was thick enough to take the best that most aircraft could dish out.
Harkins didn't like it. He didn't like the ugly craft or its ugly crew. But more, he didn't like what they were doing. They were threatening to make everyone rich.
And Harkins didn't like that idea at al.
There was only one thing in Harkins' life that he realy enjoyed, and that was flying. The only time he felt anywhere close to normal was inside the cockpit of a Firecrow. If he couldn't fly, he didn't have much of anything.
Outside the Firecrow, the world was a frightening and hostile place. Harkins didn't deal wel with people. Even before the Aerium Wars shot his nerves to pieces, he'd been a jumpy sort. People sensed his weakness and mocked or ignored him. But he'd always let his flying do the talking, at least until his aircraft was taken away.
It was Frey who rescued him from the misery of a land-bound life after he'd been discharged from the Coalition Navy. Frey who'd given him a Firecrow and, with it, another chance. The crew of the Ketty Jay were the closest thing to friends he'd ever managed. And now along came Captain Grist, promising them al riches and fame. Promising change.
What happened if they al did get rich? Did anyone think of that? Did anyone think what would happen to their little band then? Would
Similar Books
