Free The Black Lung Captain by Chris Wooding Page B

'Ears?'
    'The singing, Hodd. Wil you bloody can it? They can hear you five kloms away.'
    'Ah!' said Hodd. 'Yes, I see. Quite right, Captain. Just trying to keep up morale.'
    'And you're doing a fine job,' said Frey. 'Just do it quietly, eh?'
    Hodd put a theatrical finger to his lips. Frey turned away, eyes roling skyward, and moved back down the line. Grist gave him a smoky grin around the butt of his cigar and Frey fel into step next to him.
    'Bit of a character, ain't he?' Grist said.
    'You know, the animals wil smel that cigar al over the mountain, too.'
    'Risk I'm wiling to take, Frey. A life without cigars ain't one much worth livin', if you ask me.' He started to laugh but ended up in a coughing fit that had him bent double. When he was done, he stood up and wiped spittle from his beard. He regarded his cigar with a teary eye. 'Tobacco. She's a harsh mistress.'
    'We've al got our vices,' said Frey.
    'Aye? What's yours?'
    'I've plenty. But I reckon Rake tops the list.'
    'A card player, eh? My men are partial to a game, but me? I'm no gambler. Don't have the luck.'
    'It's not luck.'
    'Wel, whatever it is, I ain't got it.'
    'Some days I don't, either,' Frey admitted.
    'But you keep goin' back, don't you?' Grist laughed. 'The things a man does to make himself feel alive.'
    Frey looked at the man next to him. He liked Grist. There was something solid and impressive about him, a grizzled heartiness in his manner. He had a way of including people that made them feel almost grateful for it. He reminded Frey of Malvery, except he apparently didn't spend his whole life arseholed on grog.
    'I've been thinking about that lately,' he said. 'Don't you sometimes wish you didn't need to? Like, you felt alright without al the smoke and the booze and the cards and everything else? Seems like some people manage okay.'
    Grist's brow furrowed. 'Men like you an' me, Frey, it don't do us no good to be thinkin' that way,' he said. 'We live for today. The past don't mean nothin', and the future ain't worth a damn. We could al be dead by sunrise.' His dark eyes found Frey's. 'Ain't that how it is?'
    Frey stared at the ground. 'Yeah. That's how it is.'
    'Anyway, what's wrong with a little fun? You want to live for ever or somethin'?'
    'Actualy,' said Frey, 'I kinda do.'
    Grist belowed with laughter, which set off another coughing fit. 'Me, too!' he wheezed, slapping his leg, coughing and laughing fit to burst. 'Me, too!'
    The rain lessened slightly as night fel, but the clouds stayed in the sky, and there was no light from the moon. Under Hodd's direction, they pitched camp on a patch of high ground, and stretched a tarpaulin between several trees to act as a roof. Hodd arranged stones to make a raised platform and somehow managed to get a fire going on it.
    Jez had to admit, the man knew his survival skils. And he stil appeared confident of the route. His manner and his history inspired mistrust, perhaps, but a man didn't spend a lifetime as an explorer without picking up a few things.
    The rainforest came alive at night. The treetops were busy with shrieks and wails. Insects clattered and hummed al around them. Bats flitted through the air.
    Repulsive things slunk and crept.
    Jez was among the volunteers for first watch, but she intended to take second and third as wel. Her eyesight was better than anyone else's in the dark, and she had no need of rest. Usualy she took pains to disguise her condition from strangers. She went through the motions of eating and sleeping so as not to arouse suspicion. But, just this once, she'd plead insomnia. The afternoon and evening had passed without incident, but she didn't trust their luck to hold. She didn't want anything sneaking up on them tonight.
    She stood with her back to the camp, her head bare to the elements, black hair plastered to her forehead. The hood of her coat was down, so as not to block her peripheral vision. Behind her, the men were cooking up the last of the soup. Some were huddled close