meant to spring on him then, but he found that he couldn't. In the end, it took him half an hour to pluck up his courage, by which point the cat had long since slunk off into the labyrinth of junk.
It was the thought of Jez that made him move in the end. Sweet, sweet Jez. He imagined her whispering encouragement in his ear, and it made him brave enough to act.
'It's . . . wel, it's nice outside,' he said soothingly. 'You don't want to spend the rest of your miserable life on an aircraft, do you? No. I mean, I'm going to set you free! Al those tasty birds and mice! That'l be nice, hmm?' He lowered his voice to a mutter. 'And maybe something horrible wil eat you, you vicious little slab of mange.'
He took off his cap and rubbed sweat from his scalp. There were too many dark corners here. Forgotten things loomed over him. Frey had been promising to clear them out for years but, like so many things aboard the Ketty Jay, it somehow never happened.
He swalowed his fear and moved steadily forward. A rustling, thumping, clanking noise attended his footsteps. He looked over his shoulder. Bess froze, caught in the act of creeping along behind him.
'You're not helping, Bess,' he whispered.
Bess sing-songed happily. She showed no sign of leaving, so Harkins decided she could come. He'd sacrifice stealth for some reassuring company.
He moved further into the aisles of junk. Bess tiptoed as best she could. His eyes moved restlessly among the shadows. Could the cat be among the pipes overhead? Was he watching them from some secret corner, ready to pounce? Harkins was seized with terror. He wanted to turn and run. Jez didn't ever need to know. He could come back and try again later.
You can do this, he told himself. You've lived through two wars. You can handle a small domestic animal.
Then he heard a rapid scratching, coming from a smal gap between some crates and the bulkhead. He stopped stil, and put his finger to his lips. Bess imitated him, clinking her finger against her face-grile. The scratching came again.
Slowly, Harkins lowered the box to the floor and took the blanket in both hands. It was Pinn's winter blanket, made of hide, thick enough to resist Slag's claws.
With it, he'd smother that damned moggy, and stuff him in the box.
He took a deep breath. Scratch scratch scratch.
A huge black rat darted out of the gap. Harkins yelped in fright. It stared at him and scurried away.
Harkins let his breath out. He was trembling. False alarm. He turned to Bess and managed a nervous smile.
'That was close, eh?'
The cat dropped from the pipes above, landing on his head in a frantic scurry of claws. Harkins shrieked in panic, wheeling away down the aisle, beating at his head as if his cap were on fire. He spun past Bess, stil trying to get a grip on his yowling adversary, then tripped over his feet and smashed his head against the corner of a crate.
The next few moments were a blur. He was lying on his back, unable to move, too stunned to work out what had happened. The cat padded over and leaned into his field of vision, peering into his eyes. Satisfied its foe was vanquished, it wandered away.
Jez ... he thought. Jez, I failed you . . .
The last thing he remembered was Bess squatting next to him and poking him, evidently wondering why he wasn't getting up. After that, everything went dark. It was better that way.
It was on a damp, cold morning that they buried Gimble.
The rain had stopped at dawn but the cloud cover was stil unbroken, a low grey roof over the land. They put the dead man into the earth in the spot where they'd made last night's camp. An anonymous place among the trees and creepers, where the air was chil and fresh, rich with the scent of soil and leaf.
Grist said a few words in Gimble's memory while the others stood around sniffling and coughing. Most of them had caught colds in the night, and several were sipping a hot remedy that Malvery had whipped up. When Grist was done, they laid on Gimble's chest
It was the thought of Jez that made him move in the end. Sweet, sweet Jez. He imagined her whispering encouragement in his ear, and it made him brave enough to act.
'It's . . . wel, it's nice outside,' he said soothingly. 'You don't want to spend the rest of your miserable life on an aircraft, do you? No. I mean, I'm going to set you free! Al those tasty birds and mice! That'l be nice, hmm?' He lowered his voice to a mutter. 'And maybe something horrible wil eat you, you vicious little slab of mange.'
He took off his cap and rubbed sweat from his scalp. There were too many dark corners here. Forgotten things loomed over him. Frey had been promising to clear them out for years but, like so many things aboard the Ketty Jay, it somehow never happened.
He swalowed his fear and moved steadily forward. A rustling, thumping, clanking noise attended his footsteps. He looked over his shoulder. Bess froze, caught in the act of creeping along behind him.
'You're not helping, Bess,' he whispered.
Bess sing-songed happily. She showed no sign of leaving, so Harkins decided she could come. He'd sacrifice stealth for some reassuring company.
He moved further into the aisles of junk. Bess tiptoed as best she could. His eyes moved restlessly among the shadows. Could the cat be among the pipes overhead? Was he watching them from some secret corner, ready to pounce? Harkins was seized with terror. He wanted to turn and run. Jez didn't ever need to know. He could come back and try again later.
You can do this, he told himself. You've lived through two wars. You can handle a small domestic animal.
Then he heard a rapid scratching, coming from a smal gap between some crates and the bulkhead. He stopped stil, and put his finger to his lips. Bess imitated him, clinking her finger against her face-grile. The scratching came again.
Slowly, Harkins lowered the box to the floor and took the blanket in both hands. It was Pinn's winter blanket, made of hide, thick enough to resist Slag's claws.
With it, he'd smother that damned moggy, and stuff him in the box.
He took a deep breath. Scratch scratch scratch.
A huge black rat darted out of the gap. Harkins yelped in fright. It stared at him and scurried away.
Harkins let his breath out. He was trembling. False alarm. He turned to Bess and managed a nervous smile.
'That was close, eh?'
The cat dropped from the pipes above, landing on his head in a frantic scurry of claws. Harkins shrieked in panic, wheeling away down the aisle, beating at his head as if his cap were on fire. He spun past Bess, stil trying to get a grip on his yowling adversary, then tripped over his feet and smashed his head against the corner of a crate.
The next few moments were a blur. He was lying on his back, unable to move, too stunned to work out what had happened. The cat padded over and leaned into his field of vision, peering into his eyes. Satisfied its foe was vanquished, it wandered away.
Jez ... he thought. Jez, I failed you . . .
The last thing he remembered was Bess squatting next to him and poking him, evidently wondering why he wasn't getting up. After that, everything went dark. It was better that way.
It was on a damp, cold morning that they buried Gimble.
The rain had stopped at dawn but the cloud cover was stil unbroken, a low grey roof over the land. They put the dead man into the earth in the spot where they'd made last night's camp. An anonymous place among the trees and creepers, where the air was chil and fresh, rich with the scent of soil and leaf.
Grist said a few words in Gimble's memory while the others stood around sniffling and coughing. Most of them had caught colds in the night, and several were sipping a hot remedy that Malvery had whipped up. When Grist was done, they laid on Gimble's chest
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