The problem was the second hurdle. There was no damned way off a skyship that did not involve plummeting to one’s death. Even if he launched an escape skiff, sailing it required people who knew things about knots and sails. He’d just bob around in open air until Travers turned around and picked him up.

That left Jean-Claude precious few options. He could not stow away. Once his absence was noticed, the ship would be searched down to the caulking. His only hope, ghostly as it was, was to seize the snake by its head. Le Comte Travers was the only man on this ship that actually mattered. Take him and Jean-Claude could take control.

Jean-Claude removed the loop of cord that had been used to hold his pen shut. The pig in the next pen made a strange low grunt. The creature, which had hitherto been facing away from him had woken up and turned to watch him.

It had a human face.

Jean-Claude recoiled in surprise.

The human-faced swine had close-set eyes as dark as drops of oil. Its face was deepest blue and fringed with fleshy lumps and spikes. Its expression was doleful and resigned.

The Seelenjäger was chained to the wall as Jean-Claude had been, but instead of a shackle around his neck he had a ring through his nose. The metal piercing his flesh stopped him from being able to shape-shift and escape.

On closer inspection, the scars on his flanks were butchers’ marks, old butchers’ marks, marking the frontiers of regenerated flesh.

Normally Jean-Claude was not given to horror, but a sickness grew inside him as the truth of the Seelenjäger’s plight dawned on him. This poor fellow had been harvested for meat while still alive. Then, thanks to the restorative powers of some animal he had absorbed, the missing portions had regrown, only to be harvested again and again, like the livestock of the gods in some of the oldest legends from the Bleaktimes.

Approaching footsteps drew Jean-Claude’s attention. A gang of aeronauts entered the manger. Fear ran cold in Jean-Claude’s veins. Had they come to fetch him back to Travers? He snapped his collar back on, but left it unlocked. Surprise was his best weapon, if his cold, aching body could make any use of it.

The aeronauts began manger chores, feeding all the livestock. Jean-Claude cowered as they looked into his pen. He prayed they followed the same routine they had last time. Feeding, watering, and cleaning.

One by one the aeronauts finished their tasks and drifted away, until the only man left was the one mucking the stalls. Jean-Claude huddled to hide his hands and twisted his cord into a loop with a slipknot. He clenched and relaxed his stiffened muscles, trying to work some warmth and flexibility into them without leaving his submissive crouch.