‘Don’t think so?’ He swept out a hand to indicate the room. ‘Time was I wouldn’t set foot in a place like this. I used to be Guild approved. Worked in Thesk. Earned more in a month than this little operation makes in a year.’
Crake eyed him uncertainly, trying to imagine this enormous, battered old drunkard visiting the elegant dwellings of the aristocracy. He couldn’t.
‘This ain’t no family, Crake,’ Malvery went on. ‘Every man is firmly and decidedly for himself. You’re a smart feller; you knew the risks when you threw your lot in with us. What makes you think he’d give up his craft in exchange for you?’
‘Because . . .’ Crake began, and then realised he’d nothing to say. Because it would have been the right thing to do. He’d spare himself Malvery’s laughter.
‘Look,’ Malvery said, more gently. ‘Don’t let the Cap’n fool you. He’s got a way with people, when he has a mind to try. But it’s not here nor there to him if you live or die. Or me, for that matter, or anyone else on board. I wonder if he even bothers about himself. The only thing he cares about is the Ketty Jay. Now if you think that’s heartless, then you ain’t seen the half of what’s out there. The Cap’n’s a good ’un. Better than most. You just got to know how he is.’
Crake didn’t have an answer to that. He didn’t want to say something childishly bitter. Already he felt faintly embarrassed at bringing it up.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be here.’
‘Hey now, I didn’t say that !’ Malvery grinned. ‘Just saying, you got to realise not everyone thinks like you. Hard lesson, but worth it.’
Crake said nothing and sipped his rum. His sad mood was turning black. Perhaps he should just give it up. Get off at the next port, turn his back on all this. It had been six months. Six months of moving from place to place, living under an assumed name, muddying his traces so nobody could find him. At first he’d lived like a rich hobo, haunting shabby hotels all over Vardia, his days and nights spent in terror or drunken grief. It was three months before the money began to run short and he collected himself a little. That was when he found Frey, and the Ketty Jay.
Surely the trail had gone cold by now?
‘You’re not really thinking of packing it in, are you?’ Malvery prompted, turning serious again.
Crake sighed. ‘I don’t know if I can stay. Not after that.’
‘Bit daft if you leave now. The way I understand it, you paid passage for the whole year with that cutlass.’
Crake shrugged, morose. Malvery shoved him companionably with his boot, almost making him tip off his chair.
‘Where you gonna go, eh?’ he said. ‘You belong here.’
‘I belong here?’
‘Of course you do!’ Malvery bellowed. ‘Look at us! We’re not smugglers or pirates. We’re not a crew! The Cap’n’s only the cap’n ’cause he owns the aircraft; I wouldn’t trust him to lead a bear to honey. None of us here signed on for adventure or riches, ’cause sure as spit there’s little enough of either.’ He gave Crake a conspiritorial wink. ‘But mark me, ain’t one of us that’s not running from something, you included. I’ll bet my last swig of rum on that.’ He swigged the last of his rum, just to be safe, then added, ‘That’s why you belong here. ’Cause you’re one of us.’
Crake couldn’t help a smile at the cheap feeling of camaraderie he got from that. Still, Malvery was right. Where would he go? What would he do? He was treading water because he didn’t know which direction to swim in. And until he did, the Ketty Jay was as good a
