Read Online The Empire of Gut and Bone by M. T. Anderson - Free Book Online
Authors: M. T. Anderson
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“Forgive me: I am a most gloomy wight. We are in this state, living in these decayed corridors, because we have been abandoned by our automatons.”
“So we heard,” Gregory said.
The old man shook his head. He said, “Came our sad and bedraggled horde through the portal, fleeing from the Thusser, and we assayed to build a new City of Gargoyles right in that place, in Three-Gut, and to live there in splendor and merry might. The automatons began to quarry walls and courtyards from the flesh, and had gone some way toward building another city of broad boulevards and fair turrets — when the Great Body swallowed. Alas.” He shook his head. “Alas. ‘Twas a fearsome epoch: the Season of Meals. The whole of what the machines had built was washed away. Many of our number were washed away, too, and we suspect that buried deep in the gut, there are still colonies of our people who have not, for untold ages, struggled up to find us.
“When the flood was passed, we demanded our automatons begin once more. Again they built, and again the Great Body swallowed, and our city was washed away. We now spake sharply to our servants and bade them shape up. They suggested we build in another place. Wewould have none of it, and ordered them to follow the plans we had originally set forth.
“They went back to the tissue quarries and carved out more bricks and paving stones. But we could not help noticing that their numbers seemed to have dwindled. Many of them left us. They did not wish to be washed away. And yet, the brunch came again, roaring down the gullet like a spring freshet, and many mannequins were destroyed. Most of the others fled, too frightened of our wrath to speak out against us.
“One led us to this place. We carried everything with us. We demanded he and the remaining automatons build us a palace here. They had barely begun when they were gone. They, too, left us. Fled in the night.” He took a sip of his wine and looked sharply left and right. “Ingrates. Varlets,” he muttered. “We built them. We made them. We taught them.” He noticed the two humans staring at him in wonder and dismay. He held out his hand. “I am the Earl of Munderplast, Munderplast being a verdant land out in the Throttling Pipes. I am the head of the Party of Melancholy.”
Gregory asked, “Is that a good thing?” Brian shook the man’s hand.
“Is anything a good thing?” asked the Earl of Munderplast in dreary tones. “Will anything come to anything? I think not. It is all dying.”
The three of them — two boys flanking the old man — looked out over the glittering tin roofs of the shanty city, on the walls of which were painted advertisementsfor Norumbegan products: D OCTOR S TYMSON’S M AGICAL P ITUITARY P ILLS …H ALOGEN R ECEIVERS BY G ALVO- B RITE …A UTO- D RONES BY B EDWYR & C O. …M ADAME M ABINANT’S F RIPPERY AND F ROCKERY — W E F EATURE D RESSES FOR THE D ARLINGEST D EBS . Shadows rolled over the city, cast by bubbles in the veins above.
“You can go back to Old Norumbega,” said Brian. “That’s what we’re here to tell the Emperor. All you have to do is stop the Thusser. They’ve cheated.”
“They’re moving in,” Gregory added. “It’s awful. You have to go back. Have a big smack-down. Wham! They’ve messed up the Game. Completely. You’ve got to go back.”
Brian urged, “Then it would be yours again. The old city under the mountain. All the caverns. You wouldn’t have to live here anymore.”
The Earl of Munderplast looked at them both through tired eyes. “Warms the heart, to hear young, energetic bairns such as yourself drivel on about how after night comes morning … believing something can happen … other than the ruin that shall eventually devour us whole … taking you and your little smiling faces with us. Indeed. ‘Twill be sad, to see your bright, shining cheer turn to horror as you’re washed away in brunch or drowned in flux or cut apart by rogue mannequins.” He
“So we heard,” Gregory said.
The old man shook his head. He said, “Came our sad and bedraggled horde through the portal, fleeing from the Thusser, and we assayed to build a new City of Gargoyles right in that place, in Three-Gut, and to live there in splendor and merry might. The automatons began to quarry walls and courtyards from the flesh, and had gone some way toward building another city of broad boulevards and fair turrets — when the Great Body swallowed. Alas.” He shook his head. “Alas. ‘Twas a fearsome epoch: the Season of Meals. The whole of what the machines had built was washed away. Many of our number were washed away, too, and we suspect that buried deep in the gut, there are still colonies of our people who have not, for untold ages, struggled up to find us.
“When the flood was passed, we demanded our automatons begin once more. Again they built, and again the Great Body swallowed, and our city was washed away. We now spake sharply to our servants and bade them shape up. They suggested we build in another place. Wewould have none of it, and ordered them to follow the plans we had originally set forth.
“They went back to the tissue quarries and carved out more bricks and paving stones. But we could not help noticing that their numbers seemed to have dwindled. Many of them left us. They did not wish to be washed away. And yet, the brunch came again, roaring down the gullet like a spring freshet, and many mannequins were destroyed. Most of the others fled, too frightened of our wrath to speak out against us.
“One led us to this place. We carried everything with us. We demanded he and the remaining automatons build us a palace here. They had barely begun when they were gone. They, too, left us. Fled in the night.” He took a sip of his wine and looked sharply left and right. “Ingrates. Varlets,” he muttered. “We built them. We made them. We taught them.” He noticed the two humans staring at him in wonder and dismay. He held out his hand. “I am the Earl of Munderplast, Munderplast being a verdant land out in the Throttling Pipes. I am the head of the Party of Melancholy.”
Gregory asked, “Is that a good thing?” Brian shook the man’s hand.
“Is anything a good thing?” asked the Earl of Munderplast in dreary tones. “Will anything come to anything? I think not. It is all dying.”
The three of them — two boys flanking the old man — looked out over the glittering tin roofs of the shanty city, on the walls of which were painted advertisementsfor Norumbegan products: D OCTOR S TYMSON’S M AGICAL P ITUITARY P ILLS …H ALOGEN R ECEIVERS BY G ALVO- B RITE …A UTO- D RONES BY B EDWYR & C O. …M ADAME M ABINANT’S F RIPPERY AND F ROCKERY — W E F EATURE D RESSES FOR THE D ARLINGEST D EBS . Shadows rolled over the city, cast by bubbles in the veins above.
“You can go back to Old Norumbega,” said Brian. “That’s what we’re here to tell the Emperor. All you have to do is stop the Thusser. They’ve cheated.”
“They’re moving in,” Gregory added. “It’s awful. You have to go back. Have a big smack-down. Wham! They’ve messed up the Game. Completely. You’ve got to go back.”
Brian urged, “Then it would be yours again. The old city under the mountain. All the caverns. You wouldn’t have to live here anymore.”
The Earl of Munderplast looked at them both through tired eyes. “Warms the heart, to hear young, energetic bairns such as yourself drivel on about how after night comes morning … believing something can happen … other than the ruin that shall eventually devour us whole … taking you and your little smiling faces with us. Indeed. ‘Twill be sad, to see your bright, shining cheer turn to horror as you’re washed away in brunch or drowned in flux or cut apart by rogue mannequins.” He
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