Read Online Kultus by Richard Ford - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Richard Ford
Tags: Fantasy
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taking.
It was not a comfortable journey, and the noise was hellish, but it was by far the fastest way down. A cage of reinforced steel and wire mesh rattled as though in the grip of a gigantic, angry baby. It plunged ever downwards, screaming as it went and the three occupants were forced to hold on tight to the single railing that ran around the perimeter.
Amelia found the journey quite exhilarating. Though it was not a hundred percent safe, the chances of something going wrong were minimal, and even then very rarely fatal.
Her fantassins, Bounder and Hodge, obviously had contrasting opinions of the journey. Bounder was smiling from ear to ear, his enormous mouth displaying the biggest teeth Amelia had ever seen. Hodge, however, was almost crouched double, obviously fighting the desire to retch, his knees shaking and sweat pouring from his face.
When the cage finally came to rest with a violent hiss and a jetted release of steam, Hodge could not open the mesh gate quick enough. The journey had taken only seconds, but it looked as though Hodge had been at the mercy of a master inquisitor for hours. Bounder on the other hand seemed almost reluctant to leave the cage.
After Hodge had recovered and resumed his usual impassive visage, Amelia led them through the tunnels.
At first it was as though they had arrived in a huge sewer, the tunnel was a wide construction of crumbling brick with water of dubious origin dripping from above and plopping loudly on the moist floor. The stench was tremendous, and Amelia could barely comprehend why anyone, no matter how desperate, would want to live down here. But as they passed through the dingy tunnel, only intermittently illuminated by quivering gaslight, the stagnant atmosphere began to change. Noise began to filter down the passage, growing louder with every squelching step they took. The atmosphere grew less damp and the steam of their breath lessened as warm air began to pervade all around.
At the end of the passage was a huge steel door, open as though they were expected. Within, Amelia could see the real Cistern, and it filled her with disgust.
The three of them entered a scene of debauchery. Thick smoke hung in the air, a mixture of noxious and narcotic fumes blown from a dozen hookah. In the periphery of her vision, Amelia could see bare arses oscillating in frantic copulation, as heavy breaths and cries of ecstasy mixed with vile laughter and hushed conversation. And then there was the music, at once discordant and melodious… or perhaps just odious, banging like a klaxon call: hypnotic and monotonous and deafening.
As soon as she entered she was aware of a score of eyes upon her. Shadowed figures halted their conversations and slipped further into the confines of their booths. Dark faces turned away and slipped into the blackness, or summoned their tipstaffs closer that they might stand in the shadow of their protectors.
Amelia clenched her fists. Did this scum think they could be protected from her? She was the righteous wave that would one day sweep this spume away. There would be a time when the Manufactory would be free of such infection.
But that would have to wait.
For now she had other business.
She walked on, past the addicts and the dealers, the sheep and the wolves, deeper into the labyrinth of the Cistern. Every chamber she passed through was full of the depraved and debauched. The passages seemed endless, leading off into a veritable labyrinth, but Amelia knew her way, she made it her business to know. That was how you stayed ahead of the scum. Knowledge was power in the Cistern, not the strong arm of a hired thug. Knowing the enemy’s weakness, finding his lair, where he lurked in repose, unwary, unwitting. And if there was anyone Amelia knew who was unwitting, it was Trol Snapper.
They eventually reached their goal. The lock was a heavy, metal affair, set in a huge, reinforced door. A single shot from Hodge’s heavy carbine took care of it better
It was not a comfortable journey, and the noise was hellish, but it was by far the fastest way down. A cage of reinforced steel and wire mesh rattled as though in the grip of a gigantic, angry baby. It plunged ever downwards, screaming as it went and the three occupants were forced to hold on tight to the single railing that ran around the perimeter.
Amelia found the journey quite exhilarating. Though it was not a hundred percent safe, the chances of something going wrong were minimal, and even then very rarely fatal.
Her fantassins, Bounder and Hodge, obviously had contrasting opinions of the journey. Bounder was smiling from ear to ear, his enormous mouth displaying the biggest teeth Amelia had ever seen. Hodge, however, was almost crouched double, obviously fighting the desire to retch, his knees shaking and sweat pouring from his face.
When the cage finally came to rest with a violent hiss and a jetted release of steam, Hodge could not open the mesh gate quick enough. The journey had taken only seconds, but it looked as though Hodge had been at the mercy of a master inquisitor for hours. Bounder on the other hand seemed almost reluctant to leave the cage.
After Hodge had recovered and resumed his usual impassive visage, Amelia led them through the tunnels.
At first it was as though they had arrived in a huge sewer, the tunnel was a wide construction of crumbling brick with water of dubious origin dripping from above and plopping loudly on the moist floor. The stench was tremendous, and Amelia could barely comprehend why anyone, no matter how desperate, would want to live down here. But as they passed through the dingy tunnel, only intermittently illuminated by quivering gaslight, the stagnant atmosphere began to change. Noise began to filter down the passage, growing louder with every squelching step they took. The atmosphere grew less damp and the steam of their breath lessened as warm air began to pervade all around.
At the end of the passage was a huge steel door, open as though they were expected. Within, Amelia could see the real Cistern, and it filled her with disgust.
The three of them entered a scene of debauchery. Thick smoke hung in the air, a mixture of noxious and narcotic fumes blown from a dozen hookah. In the periphery of her vision, Amelia could see bare arses oscillating in frantic copulation, as heavy breaths and cries of ecstasy mixed with vile laughter and hushed conversation. And then there was the music, at once discordant and melodious… or perhaps just odious, banging like a klaxon call: hypnotic and monotonous and deafening.
As soon as she entered she was aware of a score of eyes upon her. Shadowed figures halted their conversations and slipped further into the confines of their booths. Dark faces turned away and slipped into the blackness, or summoned their tipstaffs closer that they might stand in the shadow of their protectors.
Amelia clenched her fists. Did this scum think they could be protected from her? She was the righteous wave that would one day sweep this spume away. There would be a time when the Manufactory would be free of such infection.
But that would have to wait.
For now she had other business.
She walked on, past the addicts and the dealers, the sheep and the wolves, deeper into the labyrinth of the Cistern. Every chamber she passed through was full of the depraved and debauched. The passages seemed endless, leading off into a veritable labyrinth, but Amelia knew her way, she made it her business to know. That was how you stayed ahead of the scum. Knowledge was power in the Cistern, not the strong arm of a hired thug. Knowing the enemy’s weakness, finding his lair, where he lurked in repose, unwary, unwitting. And if there was anyone Amelia knew who was unwitting, it was Trol Snapper.
They eventually reached their goal. The lock was a heavy, metal affair, set in a huge, reinforced door. A single shot from Hodge’s heavy carbine took care of it better
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