Read Online A Succession of Bad Days by Graydon Saunders - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Graydon Saunders
Ads: Link
saysunseemly you’d think it was ‘gratuitous cannibalism’ or ‘become an aristocrat’ — “messy, crazy THING — ”CLANG — “I will — ”CLANG — “NOT be delicate — ”CLANG — “and get the job DONE.” CLANG.
Kynefrid obviously, visibly, decides against arguing the point, and keeps on holding the drill.
There’s a break in the middle of the morning and a quick lesson in sharpening rock drills. We all get to try Zora’soven mitt trick. Mine come out segmented, like armour gauntlets. “Not very much like armour gauntlets,” Dove says, and leaves it at that. They work, everybody’s work, we re-temper the whole set of drills; we’ve got three holes done.
“The rest should go faster,” says Blossom, still smiling.
Let’s just say we get the job done.
Even with the Power, with a good lunch — bread and pickles and amazingpumpkin chutney and half a kilo of dry sharp cheese, and there were bottles, a litre of cider and a couple litres of the frothy joy-beets drink each — and lots of water, swinging a hammer half the hours of daylight, even in the fall, is something you notice.
Something that leaves me feeling like my arms can’t decide if they’re going to catch fire or fall off.
Getting the second empty water-caskback on the waggon is harder work than getting it off full was, but we get that done, too. It and its stand are the last thing. Twenty two-metre holes in — weak — rock, all neatly plugged with wooden pegs and ready for whatever comes next.
Blossom’s still grinning. Dusty, did as much drilling as any of us, but not looking anything like tired. I don’t know if this is an inspiration to learn ora source of despair.
Blossom gets the waggon turned around without doing anything visible, or, so far as I can tell, invisible, to communicate with the bronze bulls.
“Get dinner, get breakfast, sleep in between, wash at least once. Leave the gravity alone unless I’m there or Wake’s there to supervise. Back here after breakfast tomorrow,” Blossom says, from up on the waggon seat, and rolls off.
We pick up the lunch cans, and start walking.
Well, shambling.
I can about manage shambling.
Chapter 9
It’s bucketing down rain the next morning.
We did see Steam at dinner. There was advice, and some instruction, on how to do breathing exercises to encourage muscle recovery. It worked, I could feel it working. From the way I feel now, I’d be dead if the exercises didn’t work.
Kynefrid had asked about the wisdom of using breath as a metaphor for life; all of us had been taught that youweren’t dead until your brain was dead, that the first really reliable test for death that anybody could use involved listening for a heartbeat.
“Brain, heart, sure, but stop breathing and neither of those will keep working long,” Steam had said. “If you’re trying to put yourself back together, it has to work, and you’d rather it worked without having to think too hard.”
Have to think pretty hardabout leaving the tent. It’s chilly, the rain will be cold, I think we all hurt, I know I want to whine but no one does. Maybe nobody wants to be first.
We all get moving. Part of that might be the knowledge of which direction breakfast is in.
The rain is cold all right, it doesn’t help the ache.
Steam, I don’t know if it’s showing or explaining, how to dry off and stay dry helps. Bad enough beingin a refectory where you’re not on the work rotation without dripping on the floor.
Breakfast helps. I’m not quite miserable enough before to consider drinking some of the wood-lettuce-root tea the Creeks all drink. It’d be a closer thing if it didn’t smell like the way cold cooked onion feels.
The walk up to the Tall Woods — no one wants to use ‘new’, it’s easier to think of it as having beenthere all along — may not help, exactly, but practise making lunch lighter and keeping the rain off at the same time is at least a distraction.
Kynefrid obviously, visibly, decides against arguing the point, and keeps on holding the drill.
There’s a break in the middle of the morning and a quick lesson in sharpening rock drills. We all get to try Zora’soven mitt trick. Mine come out segmented, like armour gauntlets. “Not very much like armour gauntlets,” Dove says, and leaves it at that. They work, everybody’s work, we re-temper the whole set of drills; we’ve got three holes done.
“The rest should go faster,” says Blossom, still smiling.
Let’s just say we get the job done.
Even with the Power, with a good lunch — bread and pickles and amazingpumpkin chutney and half a kilo of dry sharp cheese, and there were bottles, a litre of cider and a couple litres of the frothy joy-beets drink each — and lots of water, swinging a hammer half the hours of daylight, even in the fall, is something you notice.
Something that leaves me feeling like my arms can’t decide if they’re going to catch fire or fall off.
Getting the second empty water-caskback on the waggon is harder work than getting it off full was, but we get that done, too. It and its stand are the last thing. Twenty two-metre holes in — weak — rock, all neatly plugged with wooden pegs and ready for whatever comes next.
Blossom’s still grinning. Dusty, did as much drilling as any of us, but not looking anything like tired. I don’t know if this is an inspiration to learn ora source of despair.
Blossom gets the waggon turned around without doing anything visible, or, so far as I can tell, invisible, to communicate with the bronze bulls.
“Get dinner, get breakfast, sleep in between, wash at least once. Leave the gravity alone unless I’m there or Wake’s there to supervise. Back here after breakfast tomorrow,” Blossom says, from up on the waggon seat, and rolls off.
We pick up the lunch cans, and start walking.
Well, shambling.
I can about manage shambling.
Chapter 9
It’s bucketing down rain the next morning.
We did see Steam at dinner. There was advice, and some instruction, on how to do breathing exercises to encourage muscle recovery. It worked, I could feel it working. From the way I feel now, I’d be dead if the exercises didn’t work.
Kynefrid had asked about the wisdom of using breath as a metaphor for life; all of us had been taught that youweren’t dead until your brain was dead, that the first really reliable test for death that anybody could use involved listening for a heartbeat.
“Brain, heart, sure, but stop breathing and neither of those will keep working long,” Steam had said. “If you’re trying to put yourself back together, it has to work, and you’d rather it worked without having to think too hard.”
Have to think pretty hardabout leaving the tent. It’s chilly, the rain will be cold, I think we all hurt, I know I want to whine but no one does. Maybe nobody wants to be first.
We all get moving. Part of that might be the knowledge of which direction breakfast is in.
The rain is cold all right, it doesn’t help the ache.
Steam, I don’t know if it’s showing or explaining, how to dry off and stay dry helps. Bad enough beingin a refectory where you’re not on the work rotation without dripping on the floor.
Breakfast helps. I’m not quite miserable enough before to consider drinking some of the wood-lettuce-root tea the Creeks all drink. It’d be a closer thing if it didn’t smell like the way cold cooked onion feels.
The walk up to the Tall Woods — no one wants to use ‘new’, it’s easier to think of it as having beenthere all along — may not help, exactly, but practise making lunch lighter and keeping the rain off at the same time is at least a distraction.
Similar Books
