could think of were the Lieutenant Keeper’s words: Take appropriate risks.
But what risks were appropriate?
Arthur was still wondering about that when he reached the bottom of the steps. It looked no different from the area above—dark and smoggy, save for a diffused light ahead that could be ten or fifty yards away. Arthur set out for it, his clogs clacking on the stone floor, occasionally waving his arms to dissipate a thick band of nasty-smelling smog. Fortunately, the spell the Lieutenant Keeper had taught him was working andArthur was very relieved he’d done it, even though he’d felt stupid sticking his fingers in his nose.
The light came from two lanterns on either end of another wide mahogany desk. This desk was also bare, save for an identical gold-lettered sign that also said SUPPLY CLERK . The particular clerk behind the desk was even shorter and squatter than the one before. He was so shrunken he only came up to Arthur’s waist and was barely visible behind the desk.
As Arthur stopped in front of him, he pulled a smoke-grimed lantern with a badly mended handle out of the desktop, his fingers appearing to actually dip into the wood.
“Strom lantern, self-oiling, one.”
“ Storm lantern, you mean,” said Arthur.
“Says strom lantern in my book,” replied the clerk. “Hurry along and join your gang. Just follow the railway tracks behind me. Unless you hear a whistle, in which case, get off the tracks for a while.”
“This storm—sorry, strom —lantern is broken,” Arthur pointed out.
“They’re all broken,” sighed the clerk, indicating the lanterns at each end of his desk, which were identical. “That’s the pattern. I suppose our lord and master hasbetter things to do than fix up the pattern. No use complaining. I complained once and look what happened.”
Arthur stared at the clerk in puzzlement.
“Got downsized, didn’t I? I was a foot taller and a Maker Fourth Class before I was stupid enough to complain about badly made strom lanterns. At least I didn’t get sent down the Pit. Now off you go before I get into more trouble.”
“What’s your name?” asked Arthur. This clerk might be a useful contact. At least he talked about Grim Tuesday and the Pit.
“Name! Supply Clerk Twelve Fifty-Two. Now get going before an Overseer shows up! Around the desk and follow the rails.”
Arthur turned to go, holding his smoking lantern high. But before he disappeared into the smog, the supply clerk coughed. Arthur turned back.
“Mathias. That was my name,” muttered the clerk. “I don’t know who you are, but something makes me want to tell you. Good luck in the Pit. You’ll need it.”
Chapter Six
T here were railway tracks behind the desk, only ten yards away but unseen until Arthur tripped over the first rail. Inspecting them with the lantern, Arthur saw they were made of some dull metal that looked like bronze, and they were set very wide apart, at least eight feet, which he thought was a wider gauge than any railway back in his world. The rails ran on stone sleepers rather than wood or concrete, and the rubble under and between the sleepers was of some strange material that was the shape and color of wood chips but was very heavy and hard—perhaps another kind of light stone.
The rubble was called ballast, Arthur remembered. Bob’s ninety-four-year-old uncle Jarrett—Arthur’s great-uncle—had worked on the railways all his life and liked his great-nephews and great-nieces to know the proper terminology for everything from the tracks to the trains. He even had recordings of different types of steam engines they’d had to listen to.
But Great-uncle Jarrett wasn’t there to tell Arthur anything about this particular railway, and the boydidn’t know which way to go. The tracks ran to the left and right, disappearing into thick smog in both directions. To try to get a better idea of where he was, Arthur crossed the tracks and walked away at a right angle. Having
But what risks were appropriate?
Arthur was still wondering about that when he reached the bottom of the steps. It looked no different from the area above—dark and smoggy, save for a diffused light ahead that could be ten or fifty yards away. Arthur set out for it, his clogs clacking on the stone floor, occasionally waving his arms to dissipate a thick band of nasty-smelling smog. Fortunately, the spell the Lieutenant Keeper had taught him was working andArthur was very relieved he’d done it, even though he’d felt stupid sticking his fingers in his nose.
The light came from two lanterns on either end of another wide mahogany desk. This desk was also bare, save for an identical gold-lettered sign that also said SUPPLY CLERK . The particular clerk behind the desk was even shorter and squatter than the one before. He was so shrunken he only came up to Arthur’s waist and was barely visible behind the desk.
As Arthur stopped in front of him, he pulled a smoke-grimed lantern with a badly mended handle out of the desktop, his fingers appearing to actually dip into the wood.
“Strom lantern, self-oiling, one.”
“ Storm lantern, you mean,” said Arthur.
“Says strom lantern in my book,” replied the clerk. “Hurry along and join your gang. Just follow the railway tracks behind me. Unless you hear a whistle, in which case, get off the tracks for a while.”
“This storm—sorry, strom —lantern is broken,” Arthur pointed out.
“They’re all broken,” sighed the clerk, indicating the lanterns at each end of his desk, which were identical. “That’s the pattern. I suppose our lord and master hasbetter things to do than fix up the pattern. No use complaining. I complained once and look what happened.”
Arthur stared at the clerk in puzzlement.
“Got downsized, didn’t I? I was a foot taller and a Maker Fourth Class before I was stupid enough to complain about badly made strom lanterns. At least I didn’t get sent down the Pit. Now off you go before I get into more trouble.”
“What’s your name?” asked Arthur. This clerk might be a useful contact. At least he talked about Grim Tuesday and the Pit.
“Name! Supply Clerk Twelve Fifty-Two. Now get going before an Overseer shows up! Around the desk and follow the rails.”
Arthur turned to go, holding his smoking lantern high. But before he disappeared into the smog, the supply clerk coughed. Arthur turned back.
“Mathias. That was my name,” muttered the clerk. “I don’t know who you are, but something makes me want to tell you. Good luck in the Pit. You’ll need it.”
Chapter Six
T here were railway tracks behind the desk, only ten yards away but unseen until Arthur tripped over the first rail. Inspecting them with the lantern, Arthur saw they were made of some dull metal that looked like bronze, and they were set very wide apart, at least eight feet, which he thought was a wider gauge than any railway back in his world. The rails ran on stone sleepers rather than wood or concrete, and the rubble under and between the sleepers was of some strange material that was the shape and color of wood chips but was very heavy and hard—perhaps another kind of light stone.
The rubble was called ballast, Arthur remembered. Bob’s ninety-four-year-old uncle Jarrett—Arthur’s great-uncle—had worked on the railways all his life and liked his great-nephews and great-nieces to know the proper terminology for everything from the tracks to the trains. He even had recordings of different types of steam engines they’d had to listen to.
But Great-uncle Jarrett wasn’t there to tell Arthur anything about this particular railway, and the boydidn’t know which way to go. The tracks ran to the left and right, disappearing into thick smog in both directions. To try to get a better idea of where he was, Arthur crossed the tracks and walked away at a right angle. Having
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