Superior Saturday(38)

He didn’t look up as the grease monkeys and their shadowing Sorcerous Supernumeraries filed past. Nor did the next one, nor the next, nor the one after that. By the fiftieth office, Arthur didn’t expect any of them to do anything but look at their mirror and write feverishly.

At the fifty-first office, Alyse held up her hand and everyone halted. She climbed up to one corner of the Denizen’s desk and, stretching to her full height, made some adjustment to a six-inch-wide pipe. Now that Arthur’s attention was drawn to it, he saw that there was a network of similar pipes that ran through every office and horizontally under the floor of the offices above, with junctions every now and then for vertical pipes that ran up the corners of certain offices, like the one Alyse was in.

‘What are those pipes?’ Arthur asked Whrod.

The grease monkey gave Arthur another look of disbelief.

‘They done a job on you,’ he said. ‘Practically the village idiot. Those pipes—’

He was cut off as Arthur gripped him by the collar of his coveralls and lifted him up, twisting the cloth tight upon his throat.

‘What did you call me?’ he hissed.

‘Arghh,’ Whrod choked out. His right hand felt for the wrench at his side, but before he could draw it, Arthur grabbed his wrist with his left hand and squeezed.

‘Ar – I mean, Ray – drop him!’

Suzy’s voice penetrated the total focus of rage that had gripped Arthur. He shivered and let go, and Whrod fell at his feet. Suzy ran up and slid to a halt next to him, immediately holding on to his arm. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was a gesture of friendship and solidarity or a preparation to restrain him.

The Sorcerous Supernumeraries, who were spread out through several adjoining offices, glided closer, some of them even forgetting themselves so much as to look directly at what was going on, rather than stare at the ground and take occasional furtive glances when required.

‘Sorry,’ Arthur whispered. He lifted his head and took a gulp of air and a faceful of water, most of which splashed off his goggles. ‘Sorry . . . I think . . . my head’s not quite right. I take insults badly.’

Whrod felt his throat, then got up.

‘Didn’t mean nothing by it,’ he said gruffly. ‘You’re strong – stronger than anyone I ever met.’

‘A hundred years in the Army will do that,’ said Suzy. ‘Come along, Ray.’

‘What’s the holdup?’ called out Alyse from up front.

‘Nothing! All sorted!’ answered Suzy.

‘I really am sorry,’ said Arthur. He offered his hand to Whrod, who hesitated, then shook briefly. Neither of them spat, and Arthur wondered whether this meant anything. He couldn’t tell under the peaked cap and the goggles whether Whrod was looking at him with newly kindled hatred, curiosity or some other emotion.

I’ll have to watch my back. It’s easy enough to fall if you’re pushed, and even I might not survive a twelve-thousand-foot fall.

‘The pipes,’ Whrod said carefully, ‘are pneumatic message tubes. For sending records and messages around. They’re not used much down here, not among the lowest of the low. These clerks just copy stuff, and their papers are taken and delivered by slow messenger.’

‘Thanks,’ Arthur muttered.

They started walking again, trailing through more offices, mostly in a straight line with an occasional detour, such as one made to avoid an office that was essentially in the midst of a raging waterfall. The sodden Denizen there bravely continued to work on her completely dry papers as water cascaded from her head and shoulders, her stoved-in umbrella at her side.

Around the hundredth office, Arthur noticed a noise coming from somewhere ahead – a deep, rumbling noise that sounded as if there were a very large coffee grinder working away. It got louder as they continued walking, until it was so loud that it drowned out the sound of the rain, the drips and even the swoosh of an occasional cascade from above.

The noise came from an open space up ahead, which Arthur could only glimpse through the offices, umbrellas and the grease monkeys ahead of him.

When they got closer, he saw there was a small cleared area the size of several office units, bordered by massive vertical iron beams in each corner, with similar horizontal beams above at the next level of offices, and more beyond that, a square strut of iron box-work that went up and up and up.

In the middle of this shaft, two chains hummed and groaned and rattled. One went up and one went down, through a grilled hole that every few seconds emitted a waft of steam and smoke.

The chains were not like the one Arthur and Suzy had ridden up from the oil warehouse. They were more like bicycle chains, huge bicycle chains, with each link six feet wide and six feet high. In the space in the middle of each link, there were rings welded to the inside wall. Sometimes there were frayed ropes tied to these rings, and sometimes even a welded iron chair or a bench.