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Authors: Ian Whates
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not actually opening as it spoke. Rather, the voice seemed to emerge from the peculiar neckwear.
Even as Tom stared at the Jeradine, the creature turned its head and stared at him. Not through him, as Tom was used to when reciting his mantra, but directly at him. This was the second time in recent hours that his litany had let him down. Had it stopped working? He refused to entertain that possibility and concentrated on reciting all the harder.
You can’t see me…
The pair moved on. Perhaps he’d imagined it; perhaps the flathead hadn’t seen him at all and it was only tiredness and nerves that made him think otherwise. He was just beginning to convince himself of this when a shadow fell across the mouth of the alley.
He looked up, to see the Jeradine with the neck-box staring down at him.
“Don’t worry, the guardsman has left. I didn’t alert him to your presence,” that cold, flat voice said. “Assuming it was the watchman from whom you were hiding.” There was something unnatural about a voice speaking without a mouth opening to utter it.
Tom looked around frantically, but there was a solid wall behind him. The creature stood blocking his only escape route.
“Nor should you fear that your fascinating ability to hide has deserted you. It still works, just not on Jeradine. We see differently from you humans.”
Despite his fear, that piece of information reassured Tom and was certainly worth remembering.
“I won’t harm you, boy. Haven’t I proved that by not handing you in to the guardsman when I had the chance?”
Despite his lingering fear, Tom’s curiosity came to the fore again. “You can speak…that box?”
“A translator, yes. A useful gadget, although it requires considerable skill to operate. They work by interpreting movement of the throat rather than by responding to actual sound. Most of my people don’t bother mastering them, but then most have no need to communicate with humans.”
“But you do.”
“Obviously. My name is Ty-gen. You humans fascinate me, so I interact with your species often. You look tired, and hungry.”
Tom was both.
“I can help. Come.”
The flathead extended a surprisingly human-looking hand – once you saw past the pale green pallor and the subtle hint of scales.
Tom stared at the hand, uncertain. Some instinct was telling him to trust this strange, talking flathead, yet he couldn’t think of a logical reason why he should. After the briefest hesitation, he gripped the proffered hand, which was cool but not as rough as he’d feared, and allowed the Jeradine to help him to his feet.
A series of elevators – the clockwork lifts – took Tylus most of the way down to the City Below but after the third such device he’d had enough. He was deeply suspicious of the elevators, ever since a cousin who was fascinated by all things mechanical had insisted on showing him the inner workings of one. All Tylus had seen was a vast array of chains and huge inter-connecting cogs. He had no idea how it all came together to actually do something constructive, nor any desire to find out. His lasting impression of the experience was that anything that complicated was bound to break down now and again. Knowing his luck, it would do so when he was on-board.
He wouldn’t have minded if the wretched things were even comfortable. The elevator system was convenient, yes, but certainly not ideal. His greatest misgivings lay in the cramped nature of the compartments, which seemed to grow subtly smaller and more confining as the journey progressed. Then there were the changeovers. Due to the city’s vast scale, no single elevator was capable of taking you from top to bottom in one unbroken journey. At least, no public one; it was rumoured that the Masters had such a conveyance, but that was only a rumour.
Mind you, perhaps the changeovers were Tylus’s own private little irritation, since so few people ever had cause to travel the entire length of the city. Any who
Even as Tom stared at the Jeradine, the creature turned its head and stared at him. Not through him, as Tom was used to when reciting his mantra, but directly at him. This was the second time in recent hours that his litany had let him down. Had it stopped working? He refused to entertain that possibility and concentrated on reciting all the harder.
You can’t see me…
The pair moved on. Perhaps he’d imagined it; perhaps the flathead hadn’t seen him at all and it was only tiredness and nerves that made him think otherwise. He was just beginning to convince himself of this when a shadow fell across the mouth of the alley.
He looked up, to see the Jeradine with the neck-box staring down at him.
“Don’t worry, the guardsman has left. I didn’t alert him to your presence,” that cold, flat voice said. “Assuming it was the watchman from whom you were hiding.” There was something unnatural about a voice speaking without a mouth opening to utter it.
Tom looked around frantically, but there was a solid wall behind him. The creature stood blocking his only escape route.
“Nor should you fear that your fascinating ability to hide has deserted you. It still works, just not on Jeradine. We see differently from you humans.”
Despite his fear, that piece of information reassured Tom and was certainly worth remembering.
“I won’t harm you, boy. Haven’t I proved that by not handing you in to the guardsman when I had the chance?”
Despite his lingering fear, Tom’s curiosity came to the fore again. “You can speak…that box?”
“A translator, yes. A useful gadget, although it requires considerable skill to operate. They work by interpreting movement of the throat rather than by responding to actual sound. Most of my people don’t bother mastering them, but then most have no need to communicate with humans.”
“But you do.”
“Obviously. My name is Ty-gen. You humans fascinate me, so I interact with your species often. You look tired, and hungry.”
Tom was both.
“I can help. Come.”
The flathead extended a surprisingly human-looking hand – once you saw past the pale green pallor and the subtle hint of scales.
Tom stared at the hand, uncertain. Some instinct was telling him to trust this strange, talking flathead, yet he couldn’t think of a logical reason why he should. After the briefest hesitation, he gripped the proffered hand, which was cool but not as rough as he’d feared, and allowed the Jeradine to help him to his feet.
A series of elevators – the clockwork lifts – took Tylus most of the way down to the City Below but after the third such device he’d had enough. He was deeply suspicious of the elevators, ever since a cousin who was fascinated by all things mechanical had insisted on showing him the inner workings of one. All Tylus had seen was a vast array of chains and huge inter-connecting cogs. He had no idea how it all came together to actually do something constructive, nor any desire to find out. His lasting impression of the experience was that anything that complicated was bound to break down now and again. Knowing his luck, it would do so when he was on-board.
He wouldn’t have minded if the wretched things were even comfortable. The elevator system was convenient, yes, but certainly not ideal. His greatest misgivings lay in the cramped nature of the compartments, which seemed to grow subtly smaller and more confining as the journey progressed. Then there were the changeovers. Due to the city’s vast scale, no single elevator was capable of taking you from top to bottom in one unbroken journey. At least, no public one; it was rumoured that the Masters had such a conveyance, but that was only a rumour.
Mind you, perhaps the changeovers were Tylus’s own private little irritation, since so few people ever had cause to travel the entire length of the city. Any who
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