Read Online The Factory Trilogy 01 - Gleam by Tom Fletcher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tom Fletcher
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causing trouble, breaking rules. That was my choice. And your mother did the right thing.’ Alan hugged Billy to him. ‘I’m sorry, son. I’m so sorry. I miss you. And I should be here for you.’
‘I miss you too, Dad.’
‘I’m drunk.’
‘You smell.’
‘Stupid wild animals do smell.’
‘You’re not stupid.’
‘Billy, I shouldn’t have told you all this.’ Alan had drunk too much. His judgement had been bad. His judgement had always been bad. And who was he kidding? He spent more or less the whole time having drunk too much. ‘You can’t repeat it. You can’t repeat a word of it. Don’t tell anybody what I’ve said.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Why don’t you and your mum come out to the Discard with me?’
‘I’ve already told you, Dad, we’re not doing that. It’s dangerous out there. There are monsters. I’ve seen them in the tanks … scary men with those horrible bloody horns.’
‘I’ve never seen them out here, Billy. It’s not like that.’
Billy spoke carefully. ‘I think you must have got some details wrong. You’re very drunk, Dad. The Arbitratorsaren’t like that. It was probably Discarders who burned your town down, everybody knows they’re mad.’
‘No. Billy, no—’
‘Dad, I’ve got to go. The Arbitrator’s back, look.’
Alan realised he’d had his eyes closed. He opened them and saw a tall, masked figure standing in the shadows of the alcove. Billy had got up. Alan stood too, and embraced his son. He took a small parcel wrapped in hessian from his jacket pocket and gave it to Billy. ‘It’s not an Alchemist’s pendant,’ Alan said, ‘but it’s something. Happy birthday, Billy. And tell your mother I love her.’
Billy nodded, blinked rapidly a couple of times, then scurried away past the Arbitrator. He vanished into a shadowed hallway and was once more lost to the Pyramid.
‘You’ll be wanting your Benedictions, I suppose,’ Alan said.
The Arbitrator nodded. He was a good head taller than Alan and dressed in loose, red-brown cloth, with a highly polished bronze breastplate strapped to his chest. He wore a crested bronze helmet with a smooth, convex mask, completely devoid of features but for a horizontal slit across the eyes. Inside the Pyramid, Arbitrators did not carry weapons.
‘I don’t have them,’ Alan said. ‘I had them. I acquired them at great personal risk. I went far above and beyond this time, Tromo. But I don’t have them any more.’
The Arbitrator neither spoke nor moved.
‘But it’s the thought that counts, right?’
‘Alan. Tell me that this is a lie, or the beginning of some joke.’
‘Nope. The Mushroom Queen herself, she tracked me down and set her crazed thugs on me. They were undisciplined fighters and I defeated them, as you can see.’ Alan turned his face one way and then the other. ‘Not a mark on me. But alas, the vials slipped from my pocket during the tussle and fell into the deeper darkness. And to be frank, your wrath is less frightening than those depths and what may dwell within them. So here I am.’ Alan put a cigarette in his mouth. ‘With nothing to give you.’
‘I will need the Benedictions,’ Tromo said. ‘Monthly.’
‘Ha! Not likely, Tromo. Even Daunt doesn’t just have them all in monthly. That’s why she’s so mad about it. These were rare, difficult to come by, extremely high-value.’
‘I know. I know that. How dense are you? That’s why I want them, Alan. That’s why my associates want them.’
‘Can’t be done.’
‘You don’t have a choice.’
‘What? Don’t yank me about, Tromo. And take off that damn mask.’
The Arbitrator lifted the mask, revealing a lined, elderly face. Chinless. He sniffed. ‘It’s Troemius-Wylun,’ he said, ‘and you well know it. Given everything, you should pay me more respect.’
‘Refusing to use the stupid names you all have up here is paying you respect,’ Alan said. ‘It’s saving you the embarrassment of having to
‘I miss you too, Dad.’
‘I’m drunk.’
‘You smell.’
‘Stupid wild animals do smell.’
‘You’re not stupid.’
‘Billy, I shouldn’t have told you all this.’ Alan had drunk too much. His judgement had been bad. His judgement had always been bad. And who was he kidding? He spent more or less the whole time having drunk too much. ‘You can’t repeat it. You can’t repeat a word of it. Don’t tell anybody what I’ve said.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Why don’t you and your mum come out to the Discard with me?’
‘I’ve already told you, Dad, we’re not doing that. It’s dangerous out there. There are monsters. I’ve seen them in the tanks … scary men with those horrible bloody horns.’
‘I’ve never seen them out here, Billy. It’s not like that.’
Billy spoke carefully. ‘I think you must have got some details wrong. You’re very drunk, Dad. The Arbitratorsaren’t like that. It was probably Discarders who burned your town down, everybody knows they’re mad.’
‘No. Billy, no—’
‘Dad, I’ve got to go. The Arbitrator’s back, look.’
Alan realised he’d had his eyes closed. He opened them and saw a tall, masked figure standing in the shadows of the alcove. Billy had got up. Alan stood too, and embraced his son. He took a small parcel wrapped in hessian from his jacket pocket and gave it to Billy. ‘It’s not an Alchemist’s pendant,’ Alan said, ‘but it’s something. Happy birthday, Billy. And tell your mother I love her.’
Billy nodded, blinked rapidly a couple of times, then scurried away past the Arbitrator. He vanished into a shadowed hallway and was once more lost to the Pyramid.
‘You’ll be wanting your Benedictions, I suppose,’ Alan said.
The Arbitrator nodded. He was a good head taller than Alan and dressed in loose, red-brown cloth, with a highly polished bronze breastplate strapped to his chest. He wore a crested bronze helmet with a smooth, convex mask, completely devoid of features but for a horizontal slit across the eyes. Inside the Pyramid, Arbitrators did not carry weapons.
‘I don’t have them,’ Alan said. ‘I had them. I acquired them at great personal risk. I went far above and beyond this time, Tromo. But I don’t have them any more.’
The Arbitrator neither spoke nor moved.
‘But it’s the thought that counts, right?’
‘Alan. Tell me that this is a lie, or the beginning of some joke.’
‘Nope. The Mushroom Queen herself, she tracked me down and set her crazed thugs on me. They were undisciplined fighters and I defeated them, as you can see.’ Alan turned his face one way and then the other. ‘Not a mark on me. But alas, the vials slipped from my pocket during the tussle and fell into the deeper darkness. And to be frank, your wrath is less frightening than those depths and what may dwell within them. So here I am.’ Alan put a cigarette in his mouth. ‘With nothing to give you.’
‘I will need the Benedictions,’ Tromo said. ‘Monthly.’
‘Ha! Not likely, Tromo. Even Daunt doesn’t just have them all in monthly. That’s why she’s so mad about it. These were rare, difficult to come by, extremely high-value.’
‘I know. I know that. How dense are you? That’s why I want them, Alan. That’s why my associates want them.’
‘Can’t be done.’
‘You don’t have a choice.’
‘What? Don’t yank me about, Tromo. And take off that damn mask.’
The Arbitrator lifted the mask, revealing a lined, elderly face. Chinless. He sniffed. ‘It’s Troemius-Wylun,’ he said, ‘and you well know it. Given everything, you should pay me more respect.’
‘Refusing to use the stupid names you all have up here is paying you respect,’ Alan said. ‘It’s saving you the embarrassment of having to
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