Evil Sun Rising Read online

  The gretchin conducted their conversation in furious whispers. This was life and death business they were about, but it wouldn’t have done to wake the ork, or they’d both get it.

  ‘They’ll have to catch me first,’ said Urdgrub.

  Urdgrub was shifty. When he was standing still he wasn’t ever really standing still, stepping from foot to foot like the floor was hot, opening and closing his hands like they were paining him. It made Frikk nervous. But then, everything made Frikk nervous. ‘No one’s caught me yet. And I got friends.’ He jabbed his thumb at his chest again. ‘Me? I’m too useful. I got connections. What you got? That old fart, Uggrim? Nobody listens to him.’

  This insult against his boss outraged Frikk, and he said loudly, ‘He built Fat Mork!’

  Urdgrub gave him a look of alarm, and Frikk clapped his own hands over his mouth this time. Both of them glanced up at Bozgat.

  ‘Get us some pie... Mmm, pie,’ said the ork, and belched in his sleep.

  ‘Five teeth you owe me, Frikk,’ whispered Urdgrub harshly. ‘You got two nasty habits. One is gambling with a lot of teeth that ain’t yours. I mean, that racing squig you were getting all soppy over. Per-fettic. Make a better snack than a racer.’ He smacked his lips.

  Frikk cast about for the squig. If Urdgrub caught it he would eat it, and Frikk couldn’t afford another.

  ‘That’s one bad habit, ya zoggin’ zogwit,’ said Frikk.

  Urdgrub smiled: a slow, evil leer that showed off all his teeth and had Frikk shrinking back. ‘I was gettin’ to two,’ he said. ‘And two’s this. You is always losing. Worst habit of all that, bad luck. You can lose at worse things than squig-racing, Frikk.’ Urdgrub patted the sharpened sliver of metal thrust into his waistband meaningfully.

  Frikk swallowed, torn between anger and fear. ‘All right, all right! I gets the message. What do ya want?’ he hissed.

  ‘Well, five teeth’s five teeth. I’d like it back. It’s mine after all, innit?’

  Frikk’s shoulders slumped. ‘Don’t have it.’

  ‘There is something else you could give us. Gone and got meself a new boss, I have. There’s something he’s interested in. You help me help him, and I’ll forget your little debt.’

  ‘Rubbish! How you get off the ship?’

  Urdgrub smirked. ‘Ways and means, runt, ways and means.’

  ‘What is it you want?’ said Frikk, afraid to ask. He hunched in on himself protectively, peeking up over his knees. Urdgrub bent over and stared him full in the face.

  ‘That,’ he said, pointing a filthy finger at the little sun. ‘My boss wants to know how that works.’

  ‘Tell him to come see himself.’

  ‘Who says he ain’t? Your boss ain’t sharing his secrets, apparently. So you’re going to tell.’

  ‘I don’t know how it works!’ squeaked Frikk.

  ‘You got a better idea than most, I reckon. Find out. Say, I is feeling generous. Even if it’s just a pointer in the right direction, I might knock a couple of teeth off. Either that or,’ he smiled nastily, ‘I could just knock a couple of teeth out.’ He pushed his face so close to Frikk’s that their noses pressed together. Frikk pushed back, his ears standing erect. A while back he was bossing this grubby thief about. Now here Urdgrub was pushing him around in his boss’s own place.

  ‘I’m not having this, Urdgrub.’

  ‘Oh yeah you are.’ Urdgrub stood up, and paced stealthily backwards. He spared a glance for the snoring ork. His face went from violence to fear to violence again as he looked from grot to ork then back to grot. ‘You got till before the drop to squeal or pay up, or you’ll be squealin’ for real.’ He retreated into the shadows until only his pointing finger and the top of his dirty blue head were visible. ‘You pay me off soon, Frikk, or I don’t care who ya boss is, me and my grots’ll come in ’ere and skin you alive.’

  Urdgrub’s eyes flashed in the dark. Frikk held his breath until he was sure the shadows were empty. He ran round the Stompa’s engine deck, checking every nook. He opened the side door. There was nobody outside in the hangar, not even any of the ship runts. He blew out his cheeks hard, and brought his head back inside. He pushed the door to with exaggerated care, and leaned against it.

  ‘This is not good, not good at all,’ he said to himself.

  ‘What ain’t?’ said Bozgat sleepily.

  Frikk looked up with an obsequious expression plastered across his sneaky little face. ‘Nothin’, boss. Thinking about the squig race, boss, that’s all, boss.’ His false smile spread until he thought his cheeks would split. ‘Nice cuppa, boss? Reactor’s good and hot. Brew ya one up right quick, yes siree. Squig stock special? Mushroom surprise? What’s yer fancy?’

  ‘Course the reactor’s hot, it’s a self-contained, self-sustaining fusion reaction,’ said Bozgat, in that strange, oddboy way meks had when they spoke a load of old jabber they didn’t understand. He farted loudly. When he spoke again, the dreaminess had left his voice. ‘Yeah, cuppa’d be nice. Mushroom. Got the squig farts something chronic.’

  ‘Right you are, boss.’

  ‘And Frikk?’

  ‘Yes, boss?’

  ‘Ye’re an idiot,’ said Bozgat.

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  Up above on the main deck, Talker started up, howling and shouting. If oddboyz talked odd, madboyz talked, well, mad.

  ‘Oh don’t you start!’ said Bozgat. He swung his legs out of his hammock. His booted feet landed with a clang on the floor. ‘Mork and Gork’s drops. Oi! Shut it – shut it now!’

  Talker didn’t shut up. If anything, his mad talk rang madder and louder through the Stompa.

  Frikk sighed resignedly. It was shaping up to be one of those days… just like every other.

  CHAPTER 2

  GRUKK FACE-EATER

  Uggrim took an uncomfortable ride over from the Toof o’ Mork in a shuttle boat crammed with all manner of meks. The compartment reeked of ork sweat and dirty clothes mixed with oil, flatulence and ill-humour. The meks were jammed in tight as snotlings in a pen, and angry about it, for these were orks more used to good treatment.

  The shuttle boat shuddered as it flew, strange spanging and roaring noises coming from under Uggrim’s feet. The pilot managed to restrain himself for most of the trip, performing only half a dozen unnecessary and somewhat hazardous manoeuvres as he made his way across the fleet. Uggrim could see the endless ships through the gaps in the hull. There was the gaudy yellow of the Toof o’ Mork. Behind it, he caught sight of his own small ship, the Evil Sun Rising, and looked at it longingly. That’s where his boys were and Fat Mork waited. His vessel slid out of sight, and his longing passed.

  Windows, he supposed a more generously inclined mek might call the viewing gaps. They had no glass, and not all of them were a regular shape, but they had that essential window-y quality of letting an ork look through that which would otherwise be entirely opaque. Honestly, he’d have been happier without them. He was thankful of the bubble field encasing the ship, keeping the air in and whatever was in space out, but they failed as often as they worked no matter what Big Mek Mogrok had to say about it. Bubble expert my green arse, thought Uggrim.

  Uggrim gritted his teeth. Normally he would have talked long and loudly about how poorly put together the shuttle was, and how much better he could have done – and he could have, all right? – but he was surrounded on all sides by mean-eyed boss meks, some of whom were getting on for being as big as him. One of them might well have nailed the sorry mess together. His money was on the Snakebite in the stinky furs. Rubbish at proper machines, Snakebites were. He let it lie and tried not to think too hard about dying as the pilot looped the loop into the main hangar of Warlord Grukk’s flagship, the Wrath of Gork.

  The shuttle bounced twice before its mismatched wheels touched down, scattering grot deck crew. There was a bump as it mowed one down.

  ‘Please stay seated until da shuttle has come to a complete stop!’ cackled the pilot. A wheel came off and th
e shuttle clanged hard to one side, sending cursing meks stumbling everywhere. Sparks flew behind it as it slewed across the deck at an alarming speed. The pilot laughed louder.

  The shuttle banged into a wall and came to a halt. The pilot whooped and banged his fists on the ramshackle dashboard. Deck crew came running up and the cockpit door was wrenched open with quite a lot of help from a crowbar.

  ‘It’s always like this,’ Uggrim muttered to the mek next to him, a solid fellow with a huge jaw.

  ‘Yeah,’ the fellow said, in a voice as deep as space itself. Dozens of tiny spanners dangling from piercings in his lips jangled as he spoke. ‘Comes of giving zoggin’ speed freeks jobs flying transport runs.’ They watched through a window as a dozen gretchin prised the pilot, who was by now insensible with laughter, out of his cockpit and carried him away. ‘Trouble is, it’d turn anyone into a freek doing this day in, day out. Not right, I says.’ The mek spat on the floor mightily. ‘Should let the grots do it, if you ask me.’

  ‘Anyone asking?’ joked Uggrim, immediately feeling foolish for having done so.

  The ork gave him a long, hard stare.

  The big meks were grumbling and swearing and shuffling about. The landing ramp creaked open and hit the deck with a bang.

  Revealed outside was the flashiest flash git Uggrim had ever seen. Of course he was a Bad Moon, all yellow silk and gold and extra knives, and a massive hat stitched into the shape of a leering moon. Half a dozen grots stood to attention behind him, each wearing an exact copy of their boss’s foolish outfit and aping his smug expression.

  ‘Git,’ muttered Uggrim.

  The Bad Moon beamed a smile at them so laden with gold caps and plates it vied with the stars for brightness.

  ‘Welcome!’ he said with outrageous cheer. ‘Welcome, big meks of the Red Waaagh!, to the Wrath of Gork, home of our master, the mighty Warlord Grukk!’ He held up a finger. ‘I warn you, gentle-orks, before you step out, that his name is as his temper – short, and to the point. Say nothing, do nothing, and we’ll all get out of this alive. Most of us might even be able to go back to work with all our limbs attached! Get yerselves ready to meet the boss! You can have a few minutes. Make yerselves look presentable, because we’re off to see the boss!’

  ‘Ya said dat already, boss,’ squeaked one of his aides.

  ‘Shut it, you,’ said the Bad Moon and knocked the yellow-clad grot flying. No one paid any notice. Such was life for gretchin.

  The ork, who smelt suspiciously clean to Uggrim, stood waiting as the meks filed out onto the deck. Being so crammed together, they’d been forced to leave all their gear in the hold. Uggrim reckoned some ork was making a point about pecking order – as in, these big meks weren’t as important as they thought they were. Seeing as Mogrok and his cronies hadn’t come over in the same shuttle, even though they were coming from his own vessel, that ork was certainly Mogrok.

  Swarms of grots appeared shivering and miserable from the runt-hold aft of the passenger ramp. A couple were noisily sick as they tumbled out. A few cuffs round the head from the meks cheered them up, and they went to work, fastening on back banners, shining tools dangling from utility belts, and passing large and improbable weapons into the hands of their masters. ‘Spit and polish, sir! Yes, nice and shiny, nice and bright!’ said Uggrim’s runt.

  Uggrim had a lot of runts and had no idea what the two attending him were called. Counting runts was what Frikk was for. He wished now he’d brought his head runt, but what he’d told Snikgob was no exaggeration; Frikk was literally the only creature he trusted and Uggrim needed him to keep watch on Fat Mork.

  ‘Zoggin’ Bad Moons, zoggin’ gits. What’s Grukk want with all these silky ponces? They jibber on as much as madboyz,’ growled the ork with the spanner piercings. ‘There’s a load of ’em about. Followers of Mogrok. Something’s not right here. Not right at all.’

  ‘Boss Mek Uggrim,’ Uggrim introduced himself. ‘Red Sunz Mob.’

  The other ork stared at him again – not hostile, at least not openly. Uggrim stared back. They might fight, or they might not. You can never tell with orks.

  Without warning, the other ork butted his beetling brow hard against Uggrim’s. Their skulls made a noise like logs clacking together.

  ‘Chief Boy Skarbutkin, Koghead’s Krew,’ he said. ‘Evil Sun, yeah?’ He took in the scarlet trimmings of Uggrim’s clothes, the ork-face belly-plate glowering red from his gut. ‘Used to be one of them, long time ago. Gave all that speeding stuff up. Too old for it, ’sides,’ he sniffed. ‘Evil Sunz? All they want is faster. Got no ’ppreciation for a good steam engine, and always, always meddling! Can’t leave ya alone to work. Steam’s where it’s at – brilliant stuff, if you ask me.’

  Uggrim refrained from repeating his earlier comment.

  ‘Fire and water, that’s all it is. Dead simple, but still dead killy, you see? Remarkable.’ Skarbutkin belched. ‘But apparently, not fast enough for the boys. Too slow, they said, too boring. So zog ’em, said I. I stopped wearing the red and went solo. Still, I’m an Evil Sun at heart and always will be. Can’t take the clan out yerself, can ya? Might as well pretend I’m no mek. You halfway to a speed freek yourself, I s’pose?’ he said disparagingly.

  Uggrim grinned back. ‘Oh no. Me, I build Stompas. Dead killy Stompas.’

  Skarbutkin nodded appreciatively. ‘Ooh, nice.’ He shoved one of his gretchin oilers aside as soon as it finished buckling on a complicated looking gauntlet festooned with pointless cogs. He flexed his hand and poked at a few brass toggle switches.

  ‘Hey!’ an individual with a tall black squig crest on his scalp called out. ‘Is you Uggrim?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Uggrim, his chest puffed up at the recognition.

  ‘I heard about you. Me mate Daffbag came over to see your Stompa. Little sun engine, ain’t it? Brilliant. How’d ya do it?’

  ‘Can’t say,’ said Uggrim, tapping his finger against his nose. He was correct – he couldn’t say, because he didn’t know.

  ‘Ah, I see,’ said the other mek, nodding and winking. ‘Trade secrets, eh? Ah well, I’d love to see it meself.’

  ‘Stompas, ya say?’ shouted a tall Bad Moon with a mouth full of fine teeth. ‘I heard about you too. What was it? Rebel Sun, Uffgrit?’ he said, getting Uggrim’s name wrong on purpose. ‘I heard that you got that little sun in the guts of your machine. Can’t say I’m impressed as this lot. Don’t see what’s wrong with squig oil meself, Uffgrit.’

  ‘Red Sun. Uggrim,’ growled Uggrim.

  ‘Whatever. Now when you want to see a proper Stompa, come and see Big Mouth sometime. I built him for Gashrakk the Flash – heard of him? Well important, just like me.’ He put a ringed hand on the belts crossing his chest, wherefrom hung numerous spanner icons and golden half-moons.

  ‘Can’t say I’ve heard of you,’ said Uggrim, which was true, although he did know who Gashrakk was. ‘I’m the top boss of fifteen work mobs on Mogrok’s gargant, Gungutz. If you’re so important, how comes you is not working there too?’

  ‘He’s dead good that Uggrim!’ called someone else. ‘I seen ’is Stompa meself!’

  The Bad Moon opened his mouth as wide as it would go, showing off a dental fortune. He slapped his fat gut and stared round at the others. ‘Oh, I’m well impressed now. Fifteen work mobs, you say? Gungutz, you say? At least I would be, if I weren’t top boss on sixteen work mobs on Gork’s Fist.’ He inspected his talons insouciantly. ‘That’d be Grukk’s personal gargant. Grimgutz is my name and beating pipsqueak Evil Sunz meks like you is my game. Leave the big killers to the experts. Go off and tinker up a few pretty little bikes for the speed heads to wreck. That’s what you lot’s good at, ain’t it? Rubbish little speedies? Vroom vroom?’ he said in a piping grot-voice, delicately miming opening a throttle with his hands. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you tell me how your little sun works, and I’ll put it to work in a proper Stompa. Deal?’

  A couple of the others laughed, although none who did wer
e Evil Sunz.

  Uggrim bristled. He shoved his way through the crowd to where Grimgutz stood. Grumbles at being so manhandled turned to eager chuckles when the meks scented a fight in the offing.

  ‘You take that back, moon ponce. I ain’t sharing nothing with the likes of you,’ said Uggrim. ‘Fat Mork’s the finest Stompa you’ll ever see, and the last, if you don’t watch that stupid gob of yours. What happen? You fall face first into a freebooter’s treasure chest or something?’

  ‘Ooh, spicy one, ain’t we?’ said Grimgutz. He had to draw himself full up to look Uggrim in the eye, but although he was shorter than the Evil Sun, he was heavier. They’d be a good match in a pit fight. ‘You want to take this to the pits, you be my guest.’

  ‘Nah. Stompa to Stompa. Then we’ll see who’s best.’

  ‘Oh, can’t handle a little ork to ork, can we?’

  ‘I’ll kill you either way, git.’

  ‘You’re on,’ said Grimgutz. ‘Stompas. Big Mouth can shout louder than you. He’s gonna shout yer head right off yer stupid red shoulders.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Skarbutkin, putting himself in between the two meks and forcing them apart, hands on their chests. ‘We’d love to see you two biff each other, wouldn’t we, lads?’

  A subdued cheer went up.

  ‘But word is the boss wants Stompas for the big drop.’ He said this more to Uggrim than Grimgutz. ‘You want yer faces bit off? No shortage of spanners round ’ere would take yer beasts off you lickety split, and if you was lacking a face, I reckon it’d be a bit hard for you to object.’

  Grimgutz’s smile stayed just as toothy, but he backed off. He slumped back down into his usual slouch and jabbed a ringed finger at Uggrim. ‘We’ll see. We’ll see about that. Next time, speedy.’ He winked and sauntered off.