Talen dropped down beside her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she snarled through clenched teeth.

  He looked up to see One-Eye thudding towards them.

  ‘I’ve changed me mind,’ he growled. ‘Yer coming with us, just in case we forget what we’re supposed to ask Nettle-Nekk.’ His crossbow swung up to aim at Talen. Another bolt had already clicked into place and was ready to fire. ‘Unless you’ve got somewhere to go?’

  Talen raised his hands and shook his head.

  There was nowhere to run.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Badtoof

  ‘Talen. Come in please. Talen.’

  ‘What you doing back dere?’

  Zelia let her sleeve drop, hiding the vox from String-Guts.

  ‘Nothing. Just talking to myself.’

  ‘Stupid humies,’ the gretchin concluded, scampering back to walk with the Orks, who were dragging Mekki and Zelia along in a net.

  Zelia wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and shout and kick at the thick ropes that enveloped them. Since being captured by the Orks they’d been dragged through thorn-weeds and thudded over logs. They were smothered in mud, the disgusting muck stinging the countless scratches and grazes they’d suffered as the Orks tramped through the undergrowth.

  Worst of all were the rivers. Zelia and Mekki had tried to keep their mouths shut as the Orks had swum from bank to bank, afraid of what diseases might lurk in the putrid water, not to mention the tentacled eels that writhed beneath the surface. It was no good, though. The shock of being plunged into icy water had proved too much. Zelia and Mekki had flailed around the net, unable to see, the water little more than a brown sludge. They gasped and spluttered as they were dragged up the other side, coughing up syrupy water from burning lungs.

  And that was before they spotted the swollen horn-leeches crawling over their clothes to get to their skin.

  How the Orks had laughed as Zelia and Mekki squirmed, swiping the slimy creatures from their bruised arms and legs.

  ‘Dunk ’em again,’ String-Guts had squealed happily. ‘Dunk ’em again.’

  Zelia had forced herself not to complain, trying to remain strong. Beside her, Mekki clung onto the net, muttering calculations beneath his breath to keep calm.

  If only she could do the same… or could stop reminding herself that this was all her fault. She had been the one who insisted they came to this Ork-infested planet in the first place. But she could only hang on, as the Orks dropped beneath giant logs to hide from a lumbering ape with long pointed quills for fur. She didn’t know what it was; all Zelia knew was that if Orks didn’t want to mess with the thing, two frightened children wouldn’t stand a chance.

  When they finally arrived at their destination, the Orks’ camp was as bad as she’d imagined. The greenskins had chopped down a swathe of trees, using the stumps as worktables for ramshackle machines that belched nauseating smoke into the air. Even if Zelia had got through to Talen, she wouldn’t have been able to hear what he was saying above the roar of the mismatched technology. Then there were the brutish shouts of the Orks themselves, hundreds of them clanging tools and openly brawling between metal shacks that looked like they had been constructed by a child with a welding gun and very little understanding of architecture.

  No one took any notice of them as they were dragged through the mud. The greenskins were too busy working, or fighting, sometimes both at the same time.

  There were Orks rounding up little blob-shaped critters, Orks hammering weapons in and out of shape and Orks extracting their own tusks with rusty pliers. Zelia stared as a greenskin plucked out one of its teeth, only to exchange the fang for a bowl of slop. Is that what Orks used as money? Their own teeth?

  Their captors lugged them towards a large crowd who were watching two enormous Orks knocking lumps out of each other. Each punch shook the ground and was accompanied by whoops and cheers from the crowd. It was difficult to make out the two combatants. The larger of the two wore riveted armour, the bottom of his face covered in an iron jaw complete with jagged teeth. He wore a chunky metal gauntlet over his right hand, while a hairy creature was perched on his bald head like a wriggling wig.

  His opponent wore leather armour studded with large spikes. He was a head smaller than his bewigged rival, but had the upper hand, steel knuckledusters clanging off the larger Ork’s jaw-guard.

  Zelia winced every time the leather-clad combatant landed a punch, and the mob went wild as the larger of the two staggered back. The blows were coming thick and fast now, the smaller Ork finding his rhythm. For all his armour, the larger fighter couldn’t respond, his head snapping back and forth with every strike.

  And then, out of nowhere, the larger combatant swung up his gauntleted fist. A punishing uppercut connected with the smaller Ork’s jaw. He staggered back, his red eyes rolling in their deep sockets. He swung a punch, but missed, only to receive another blow to the head. He tottered for a moment, punch-drunk, and then toppled over, hitting the ground hard. Even then, the larger Ork didn’t break off his attack. He grabbed the smaller greenskin’s feet and swung the Ork back and forth, slamming him into the dirt, left and right and left and right. The leather-clad Ork could only flail helplessly as he was pummelled repeatedly into the ground.

  The crowd cheered as the larger Ork whirled his defeated challenger around and around by the ankles, letting go to send him soaring through the air. The leather-clad Ork slammed into a tree, ricocheting off the tough bark to crash down onto a nearby gunship, its thick metal roof buckling beneath the sudden weight.

  The crowd roared, driven wild with bloodlust, and fired their oversized shootas into the air. Empty shells rained down as the victor stood, breathing heavily, never taking his eyes from his fallen foe.

  As they watched, a gaggle of greenskins clambered on top of the gunship and dragged the dazed Ork away.

  The victor turned and threw his muscled arms into the air.

  ‘Oo’z da biggest and da baddest?’ he roared, the crowd responding as one.

  ‘You are, boss!’

  ‘Oo can’t be beat?’

  ‘You can’t, boss!’

  ‘Oo will rip off yer arms and use them to smack you around da head if ya even look at ’im funny?’

  ‘You will, boss!’

  The armour-clad Ork punched the air as his tribe chanted his name over and over.

  ‘Badtoof! Badtoof! Badtoof! Badtoof!’

  The warboss grinned, his eyes falling on Zelia and Mekki still trussed up in their sack.

  ‘Quiet!’ he bellowed, and the mob fell silent. Badtoof stomped towards them, and Zelia scuttled back, worried for a second that he was going to grind them into the mud with a booted foot. ‘Oi, oi. Wot’s all dis?’

  ‘I found ’em,’ String-Guts piped up, cringing in front of his warboss. ‘In the jungle.’

  ‘And wot was dey doing in the jungle?’ Badtoof the Rotten asked, his lips drawing back to reveal stained tusks that more than lived up to his name.

  ‘Just walkin’, boss,’ the gretchin replied.

  ‘Just walkin’? Just walkin’? No one walks in da jungle unless I allows it. No one does nuffink without me say-so.’

  ‘We’re sorry,’ Zelia stammered, throwing up a hand to block the spit that sprayed from Badtoof’s wide lips. ‘We were just trying to get to our ship.’

  Badtoof’s eyes lit up at the mention of the Profiteer. ‘A good ship, izz it?’

  Zelia nodded. ‘Yeah. The best.’

  The warboss raised his hands to the sky. ‘Then it’s my ship!’

  ‘What?’ she stammered. ‘No!’

  ‘Where izz it?’

  String-Guts poked at Zelia through the net. ‘Tell ’im. Tell ’im where ’ee can find ’is ship.’

  ‘But it is not his ship,’ Mekki insisted. ‘It belongs to Captain Amity. You must let us go.’

  Badtoof threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh I must, must I? Ha ha ha! I like dese runts. Dey’re funny.’ He turned to the gretchin. ‘You did well, Worm-Guts.’

  ‘String-Guts, boss.’

  ‘Wot?’

  ‘Me name… it’s String-Guts.’

  ‘If I says yer name is Worm-Guts, it’s Worm-Guts, understand?’ the warboss bellowed, making his point by booting the gretchin over the heads of the crowd. The Orks cheered in unison as he landed in a heap on the other side of the camp.

  ‘Yes, boss,’ String-Guts shouted from the ground, unwilling or maybe unable to get back up. ‘Worm-Guts it is.’

  ‘Better,’ Badtoof said, turning his attention back to Zelia and Mekki. ‘Now, ya gonna tell me where to find dis ship, or not?’

  The thunder of approaching engines distracted the warboss before he could punctuate his question with his fists. The crowd parted as three Orks roared into the camp on the back of low-slung warbikes. The riders wore helmets and goggles, and held vicious-looking weapons in their hands: chains, maces and, in the case of the leader, a length of pipe studded with long rusty nails.

  The bikes screeched to a halt in front of Badtoof, smothering the crowd in choking fumes.

  ‘’Ere dey are,’ Badtoof bellowed in greeting, seemingly forgetting about Zelia and Mekki. ‘Me bike-boyz, back where dey belong.’

  The leader of the mob leapt from his bike, and immediately swung his fist at the warboss. Badtoof blocked the blow and thumped the biker in the face, knocking out a large tooth. The tusk landed by Zelia and Mekki’s sack as the two Orks headbutted each other in greeting.

  The crowd cheered as the two Orks began to wrestle, but Zelia didn’t mind as long as it kept Badtoof busy.

  Reaching through the net, she grabbed the biker’s dislodged tooth. She tested the edge of the fang against her thumb. It was sharp, but would it be sharp enough?

  While Badtoof and the biker tussled, Zelia went to work, sawing through the thick rope with the jagged fang.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nettle-Nekk

  On the other side of the jungle, Talen and Amity were dragged in front of another, equally terrifying warboss.

  Talen tried to keep his head up as they were pushed forwards. He was scared – boy, was he scared – but he didn’t want to show it, not with so many greenskins watching their every move.

  ‘I suppose you’re Nettle-Nekk,’ he said, trying to disguise the fear in his voice.

  ‘Oo else would I be, eh?’ the warboss sneered from his throne of skulls. ‘Yer in da lair of the Snake-Skull Clan, ain’t ya? Course I’m Nettle-Nekk.’

  Like the rest of his tribe, the warboss was smothered in tattoos, although he didn’t cover his inked skin with armour. He wore only leather breeches and heavy boots, and most of his scarred chest was hidden behind a bushy and obviously fake beard. The beard wasn’t made of hair, or even fur, but what looked like fang-nettles woven into a thick mat.

  The warboss scratched at the beard as he ordered for Talen and Amity to be shoved forwards, wincing slightly as the barbed stalks stung his already blistered fingers.

  But Talen didn’t care about Nettle-Nekk’s throbbing fingertips. All that mattered to him was Amity, who still had One-Eye’s arrow sticking out of her shoulder. The rogue trader swayed on her feet, her skin waxy and eyes red-rimmed. Every move must have been agony, and yet she was trying her hardest to stand straight.

  ‘Remember,’ she had hissed as they had been led into the clan’s lair. ‘Show no weakness.’

  That was easier said than done.

  ‘Da question is…’ Nettle-Nekk said, pointing a slab-like finger at Talen and Amity, ‘wot are you?’

  ‘Dey are humies, boss,’ One-Eye replied, proudly standing beside the sniffler-squig still straining at its chains.

  ‘I can see dey is humies. I just wanna know why I’s lookin’ at their scrawny faces when I should be lookin’ at da Biggun.’

  One-Eye opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. ‘I-I can’t remember, boss. There was sumfink about a question I had to ask you.’

  Nettle-Nekk roared in frustration, pulling a skull from his throne and chucking it at One-Eye.

  ‘I knew it woz a mistake to send ya, ya worthless guffbag. What did I say?’

  ‘You said it woz a mistake, boss.’

  ‘But I don’t make mistakes, do I?’

  One-Eye shook his head. ‘No, boss. You don’t, boss.’

  ‘So what izz I ’spose to do with humies?’

  ‘Dey are clever, boss,’ One-Eye stammered. ‘Dey got brains in their bonces. Dey could ’elp.’

  ‘’Elp wiv wot?’

  One-Eye swallowed. ‘Wiv whatever it was I’ve forgotten.’

  Nettle-Nekk snarled, rubbing his fake beard into his own face.

  ‘Doesn’t that hurt?’ Talen heard someone ask. It took him a moment to realise that the voice was his own.

  ‘Wot?’ Nettle-Nekk rumbled.

  Talen tried not to tremble as he repeated the question he hadn’t meant to ask out loud. ‘Your beard… doesn’t it hurt you?’

  ‘Of course it ’urts,’ the warboss snapped. ‘Wot’s the point of nettles if dey don’t ’urt. Keep me on me toes, don’t it?’ He tapped his flat head. ‘Keeps me brain-box buzzing. We needz to be ready.’

  ‘Ready for what?’ Amity croaked.

  ‘For the Tek-Hedz to strike, wot else?’

  ‘And they’re your enemy?’ Talen asked. ‘A rival clan?’ If there was one thing he understood, it was gang warfare.

  ‘Dey are scumbags, dat’s what they is,’ Nettle-Nekk bellowed. ‘Dey carve up the jungle with their filthy, stinkin’ engines. Dey don’t give a fig about the green stuff.’

  ‘The green stuff? You mean… nature.’

  ‘Told ya dey had brains, boss,’ One-Eye said.

  ‘Shut yer gob or I’ll turn ya inside out,’ Nettle-Nekk barked. ‘Got it?’

  ‘Got it,’ One-Eye confirmed.

  The warboss glared at Talen. ‘Course I meanz nature. Look around ya. We loves nature. We protect nature, to the deff!’

  ‘To the deff!’ his Orks echoed as one.

  ‘And that’s why you don’t use machines?’ Talen asked.

  He’d noticed the lack of engines the moment they’d been hauled into the camp. He’d been brought up on horror stories about Orks, his father desperate to frighten him into fighting the Emperor’s wars. According to Tyrian Stormweaver, Orks loved machines, the bigger and noisier the better. They rode into battle on crudely constructed war machines that were little more than deathtraps. That suited the Orks. They didn’t mind getting blown up, as long as they took out the enemy in the process.

  It explained the wrecks back at the ship graveyard, but here there were hardly any machines, and those the greenskins toiled over were made of wood or stone. These Ork carpenters banged nails into planks with their fists, or carved battering rams out of twisted tree trunks. Others stirred cauldrons of foul-smelling gunk. Surely that wasn’t what they ate? No, Talen saw gretchin pouring the gloop into wooden grenades. They were some kind of bombs.

  There were no signs of guns or cannons either. Nettle-Nekk’s Orks were armed with bows and spears, all of which looked as if they could cause serious damage.

  ‘The Tek-Hedz use machines. Dey use metal and oil and all that gubbinz. Not us. We use wood and stone and wood.’

  ‘Err… you already said wood, boss,’ One-Eye pointed out.

  Another skull flew at the Ork. At this rate, Nettle-Nekk wouldn’t have much of his throne left.

  ‘But none of dat explains why you izz ’ere!’ the warlord said, turning his attention back to the prisoners.

  ‘Answer da boss!’ One-Eye said, grabbing Amity, who tried to stifle a cry of pain.

  ‘Wot’s wrong wiv ’im?’ Nettle-Nekk asked, peering at the rogue trader.

  ‘She’s hurt,’ Talen told the boss.

  ‘I stuck ’im,’ One-Eye said proudly.

  ‘Her!’ Talen corrected.

  The ork shrugged. ‘Wotever.’

  ‘Talen, don’t…’ Amity hissed. ‘If they think I’m weak…’

  ‘You need her,’ Talen said quickly.

  Nettle-Nekk looked baffled by the comment. ‘I does?’

  ‘She’s the best captain in the galaxy. She knows loads about… about battles and stuff.’

  ‘I know about battles,’ the warboss barked jumping up from his throne, saliva dripping from his fangs. ‘I’ve been fightin’ battles all me life!’

  He took a step forwards, looming over Talen, so big he blotted out the sun.

  ‘Dere ain’t nuffink a stoopid humie could teach me about Waaagh! Nuffink!’

  ‘Okay,’ Talen squeaked, trying to think on his feet. ‘But maybe she can help me.’

  ‘’Elp you? Do wot? Escape?’ His hands had curled into fists the size of boulders. ‘Do you fink you can escape da Snake-Skulls?’

  ‘No,’ Talen stammered, ‘I find things. I’m a tracker.’

  ‘I already ’as a tracker,’ Nettle-Nekk said, pointing at the sniffler.

  ‘Yeah, but not like me. I can find anything you want… like the Biggun.’

  Nettle-Nekk snorted. ‘You don’t even know what da Biggun izz, stupid little runt!’

  ‘Then tell me, and I’ll find it for you.’

  ‘Wot do you fink it is? It’s a squig, ain’t it? A coloss… a calloss… a ded big squig.’

  ‘Like that thing?’ Talen said, glancing at the sniffler.

  ‘Bigger dan dat,’ Nettle-Nekk said. ‘Biggest there’s ever been.’

  ‘And why do you want it?’

  ‘To beat da Tek-Hedz, wot else?’

  At the mention of their enemy’s defeat the Snake-Skulls roared, One-Eye chanting ‘Waaagh! Waaagh!’ over and over again.

  Nettle-Nekk added to the racket by slamming a giant fist against his equally humongous chest.