What in al damnation have I got us into?anes, thought Frey. What in al damnation have I got us into? The narrow passageways of the dreadnought swalowed the light of their oil lanterns. Rusty iron and tarnished steel pressed in on them. Grim metal wals. Pipes streaked with mould. They'd only gone a few dozen metres from the rip in the hul where they'd entered the craft, but already it was like they were entombed. Lightless, hopeless. There was a scent in the air, beneath the tang of burning oil from the lanterns and the smel of Grist's cigar. Decay, and something else. A dry, musky, unfamiliar odour that set his senses on edge. Hodd led the way, folowed by Grist and his bosun Crattle. Frey, Silo, Crake and Jez brought up the rear. The rest stayed outside on lookout duty. Nobody spoke. The only sound was the shuffling of feet and the sniffle and snort of runny noses. Anxious eyes strained in the lantern light. Pistols twitched this way and that. The forest had been hard on their nerves, but this was worse.
