Read Online Jack Glass: The Story of a Murderer by Adam Roberts - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Adam Roberts
Ads: Link
enable you to – no, never mind. I don’t need
to know how. I just need to know that you’ll take me with you.’
Jac directed a steady gaze at him.
‘Jac,’ Gordius pleaded, whisperingly. ‘Look what Marit did to me! For no reason! These are violent men. These are murderous men. We’re not – I’m here on
account of my piety, and you’re a political. We’re different. But these men are like – tigers. We can’t stay here for very much longer. Not if we want to stay
alive.’
‘Tigers,’ said Jac, meditatively. It was as if the word reminded him of something. Then, returning from some distant realm of thought, he said: ‘you should have some more
ice.’
‘This ice is all dusty,’ said Gordius, sulkily. Then he hissed: ‘ say you’ll take me with you. Please! Please! My people will make you rich. Just say you’ll
take me with you! Promise it!’
Jac held his thumb up, and pressed it lightly against Gordius’s bruised lips. ‘I promise,’ he said. ‘I will take you with me.’ There was something in his voice that
sounded like tenderness. And maybe it was.
Jac did his best to work on the lump of glass when nobody was paying him any attention, but in such close quarters it wasn’t easy. He was grinding with a more careful,
laborious motion, taking pains not to crack the piece. It took a long time.
The first chamber having been completed, there was a general agreement that the digger in question would best be used in carving out a corridor into the heart of the stroid. New chambers could
be budded off this central line. And so the interminable labour continued.
Jac finished his turn with the digger, excavating this new tunnel. He was sweating, and floated to the spigot. ‘Yours,’ he gasped to Marit.
‘My hand is still sore where Buddha-boy there hurt it,’ said Marit. ‘You take another turn.’
Jac was far too tired to do anything but sleep. He made his way over to the scrubber. He didn’t say anything; all he did was shake his head, wearily. But then as he bent to put his lips to
the spigot he felt a sharp pressure on the back of his head. His mouth slammed against the tap, and his front tooth clicked back like a switch. The circulation inside his head made a sudden loud
noise and he pulled his head back in. His vision had become ruddy with pure fury. He looked around. Pain sang its terrible song inside his mouth and at the back of his head simultaneously.
Everybody was laughing at him, although the cacophony of his own pulse sprinting round his veins and arteries dampened all other sound. Marit had thrown a large chunk of stone at the back of
Jac’s head: the impact had smashed his mouth onto the unyielding substance of the spigot. He put a hand to the place where the skull overhangs the back of the neck. His hair was stickily wet.
He looked from face to face. The lightpole was gleaming Hadean rouge; the faces looked demonic and red as sunset. He took a deep breath. Now?
He released the breath. No, no, no.
The colour drained from his vision, and the sound returned to normal. He breathed in. Breathed out.
‘Your expression !’ laughed Marit, seemingly well-pleased by what he had done. ‘You should have seen it.’
Looking left. Jac felt his front tooth; it had been knocked more than forty-five degrees from true; and the gum raged with a resentful pain. Looking right – there was the missile, still
rotating and moving slowly away from its own recoil; a chunk almost as big as Jac’s own skull.
‘It’s OK, little legless man,’ said Marit. ‘You know what? I’m feeling the chill. I’ll work after all, to spare you the labour. No, to warm myself .’ He went through to the barely-started new tunnel and, still chuckling to himself, started up the drill.
Jac looked from face to face. Lwon, E-d-C and Mo were bored now; their attention had moved on to other things. Davide was laughing, though, and – away to the right – so was Gordius,
his bruised face
to know how. I just need to know that you’ll take me with you.’
Jac directed a steady gaze at him.
‘Jac,’ Gordius pleaded, whisperingly. ‘Look what Marit did to me! For no reason! These are violent men. These are murderous men. We’re not – I’m here on
account of my piety, and you’re a political. We’re different. But these men are like – tigers. We can’t stay here for very much longer. Not if we want to stay
alive.’
‘Tigers,’ said Jac, meditatively. It was as if the word reminded him of something. Then, returning from some distant realm of thought, he said: ‘you should have some more
ice.’
‘This ice is all dusty,’ said Gordius, sulkily. Then he hissed: ‘ say you’ll take me with you. Please! Please! My people will make you rich. Just say you’ll
take me with you! Promise it!’
Jac held his thumb up, and pressed it lightly against Gordius’s bruised lips. ‘I promise,’ he said. ‘I will take you with me.’ There was something in his voice that
sounded like tenderness. And maybe it was.
Jac did his best to work on the lump of glass when nobody was paying him any attention, but in such close quarters it wasn’t easy. He was grinding with a more careful,
laborious motion, taking pains not to crack the piece. It took a long time.
The first chamber having been completed, there was a general agreement that the digger in question would best be used in carving out a corridor into the heart of the stroid. New chambers could
be budded off this central line. And so the interminable labour continued.
Jac finished his turn with the digger, excavating this new tunnel. He was sweating, and floated to the spigot. ‘Yours,’ he gasped to Marit.
‘My hand is still sore where Buddha-boy there hurt it,’ said Marit. ‘You take another turn.’
Jac was far too tired to do anything but sleep. He made his way over to the scrubber. He didn’t say anything; all he did was shake his head, wearily. But then as he bent to put his lips to
the spigot he felt a sharp pressure on the back of his head. His mouth slammed against the tap, and his front tooth clicked back like a switch. The circulation inside his head made a sudden loud
noise and he pulled his head back in. His vision had become ruddy with pure fury. He looked around. Pain sang its terrible song inside his mouth and at the back of his head simultaneously.
Everybody was laughing at him, although the cacophony of his own pulse sprinting round his veins and arteries dampened all other sound. Marit had thrown a large chunk of stone at the back of
Jac’s head: the impact had smashed his mouth onto the unyielding substance of the spigot. He put a hand to the place where the skull overhangs the back of the neck. His hair was stickily wet.
He looked from face to face. The lightpole was gleaming Hadean rouge; the faces looked demonic and red as sunset. He took a deep breath. Now?
He released the breath. No, no, no.
The colour drained from his vision, and the sound returned to normal. He breathed in. Breathed out.
‘Your expression !’ laughed Marit, seemingly well-pleased by what he had done. ‘You should have seen it.’
Looking left. Jac felt his front tooth; it had been knocked more than forty-five degrees from true; and the gum raged with a resentful pain. Looking right – there was the missile, still
rotating and moving slowly away from its own recoil; a chunk almost as big as Jac’s own skull.
‘It’s OK, little legless man,’ said Marit. ‘You know what? I’m feeling the chill. I’ll work after all, to spare you the labour. No, to warm myself .’ He went through to the barely-started new tunnel and, still chuckling to himself, started up the drill.
Jac looked from face to face. Lwon, E-d-C and Mo were bored now; their attention had moved on to other things. Davide was laughing, though, and – away to the right – so was Gordius,
his bruised face
Similar Books
