The Iron jackal

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‘On reflection,’ Crake said to Frey, as they huddled behind an upturned table, ‘this wasn’t one of your better plans.’

‘It’s hardly the bloody time, Crake!’ Frey snapped back. He ducked as a shotgun blast chewed away the edge of the stone-topped table, peppering hdletis face with grit. Blinking and wiping his eyes, he checked on his crew. Malvery and Jez were pressed up against some pillars, which were decorated with an increasingly bullet-ridden snakes-and-lizards motif. Pinn crouched near a small ornamental fountain that trickled with water.

‘I’m just saying,’ Crake continued, as he reloaded his pistol, ‘that maybe walking into a den of drug addicts while brandishing weapons and shouting wasn’t the best way to go about things.’

‘Tell you what, Crake. If I’m still alive in ten minutes, you can head up the inquiry. How’s that?’

‘My point is…’ Crake replied, then cringed as another volley of bullets chipped along the tiles and turned a nearby cushion into a cloud of feathers. ‘My point is, I’ve noticed a certain lack of healthy cowardice in you recently, Cap’n. And I’m concerned it’s going to get someone killed before long. Specifically, me.’

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