‘Might as well introduce you,’ said Malvery. ‘Hey there! Silo! Say hello to the new navvie.’
The figure in the cargo hold stopped and squatted on his haunches, peering out at them. He was tall and narrow-hipped, but his upper body was hefty with muscle, a thin cotton shirt pulled tight across his shoulders and chest. Sharp eyes peered out from a narrow face with a beaked nose, and his head was shaven. His skin was a dark yellow-brown, the colour of umber.
He regarded Jez silently, then got to his feet and resumed his labour.
‘That’s Silo. Engineer. Man of few words, you could say, but he keeps us all in the sky. Don’t mind his manner, he’s like that with everyone.’
‘He’s a Murthian,’ Jez observed.
‘That’s right. You have been around.’
‘Never seen one outside of Samarla. I thought they were all slaves.’
‘So did I,’ said Malvery.
‘So he belongs to the Cap’n?’
Malvery chuckled. ‘No, no. Silo, he ain’t no slave. They’re friends of a sort, I suppose, though you wouldn’t know it sometimes. His story . . . well, that’s between him and the Cap’n. They ain’t said, and we ain’t asked.’ He steered Jez away. ‘Come on, let’s go meet our flyboys. The Cap’n and Crake ain’t about right now. I expect they’ll be back once their hangovers clear up.’
‘Crake?’
‘He’s a daemonist.’
‘You have a daemonist on board?’
Malvery shrugged. ‘That a problem?’
‘Not for me,’ Jez replied. ‘It’s just . . . well, you know how people are about daemonists.’
Malvery made a rasping noise. ‘You’ll find we ain’t a very judge-mental lot. None of us are in much of a position to throw stones.’
Jez thought about that, and then smiled.
‘You’re not in with those Awakener fellers, are you?’ Malvery asked suspiciously. ‘If so, you can toddle off right now.’
Jez imitated Malvery’s rasp. ‘Not likely.’
Malvery beamed and slapped her on the back hard enough to dislodge some vertebrae. ‘Good to hear.’
They walked out of the Ketty Jay’s shadow and across the landing pad. The Scarwater docks were half-empty, scattered with small to medium-sized craft. Delivery vessels and scavengers, mostly. The activity was concentrated at the far end, where a bulbous cargo barque was easing itself down. Crews were hustling to meet the newcomer. A stiff breeze carried the metallic tang of aerium gas across the docks as the barque vented its ballast tanks and lowered itself gingerly onto its landing struts.
The docks had been built on a wide ledge of land that projected out over the still, black lake which filled the bottom of the barren mountain valley. It was a wild and desolate place, but then Jez had seen many like it. Remote little ports, hidden away from the world, inaccessible by any means but the air. There were thousands of towns like Scarwater, existing beneath the notice of the Navy. Through them moved honest traders and smugglers alike.
It
