Chronicles of Isambard Smith 05 - End of Empires by Toby Frost Read Free Book Online

to tell which of the main courses he had eaten first. Occasionally, a junkbot would creep in through the back door and try to either beg for pennies or just steal the cutlery, which it would use to make extra legs.
    Out in the city, everyone seemed to be preparing for war. A small ravnaphant lumbered around the park, carrying a platoon of soldiers. Supply shuttles shot up from launch pads as if the city was popping them out like seeds. About half a mile away, a M’Lak workshop exploded, throwing an engineer in the traditional white coat of Clan Oreod into the air. He struck the ground, dusted himself down, paused to cackle at the sky and ran back inside to grapple with Science.
    Carveth watched two Ravnavari Lancers battering each other with polo mallets in the Imperial Gardens. One fell off and was immediately scooped up by his shadar, which ran around with him in its mouth. 
    ‘They should use polo ponies, like normal people,’ she said. ‘And by normal people , I really mean the royal family.’
    ‘You know what I don’t get?’ said Smith, leafing through the newspaper.
    ‘The Angling Times ?’ Suruk replied.
    ‘No, that’s not what –’
    ‘Perhaps you should, Mazuran.’ Suruk pushed his fork into a rubbery lump of shambled egg. It squeaked audibly. ‘It is a good read. Especially if you like angling. Less good on current affairs, if I remember correctly.’
    Something exploded in the city, and a few of the diners tutted over their Sunday papers. Minor detonations were not uncommon: Ravnavar boasted a lot of rocket pads, as well as some enthusiastic inventors and questionable whisky stills – but blowing oneself up showed a distinct lack of class, especially at this time of the day.
    A cloud of smoke rose from the centre of town. ‘Odd,’ Smith said, ‘that’s awfully close to the senate house.’
    ‘Good Lord!’ said a voice behind him. ‘That looks like the bank.’
    Smith turned in his seat: a round-faced man had set his monocle to maximum zoom, making it look like a rocket sticking out of the moon of his head. Smith looked back at the city and saw a thin column of rising smoke. Yes, it did look like the front of the Automated Bank, a blue cathedral of a building. And what was that on the steps, tiny from this distance? A yellow figure scurried up to the front door and, instead of opening it, started to climb up the side of the bank. It looked remarkably familiar, even from here…
    Smith sprang to his feet. ‘Men,’ he cried, ‘we must cease our dining and take to the field again. No longer is it breakfast time – now is the hour of action. The bank is being robbed – let’s get stuck in!’
    ‘Cecil,’ said the manager, ‘call the police!’
    Smith looked around and added, ‘We’re going to rescue the bank. Not rob it.’
    ‘Actually,’ Suruk said, ‘I am somewhat neutral on the issue.’
    * * *
    They pulled up at the bank to see a robbery in full progress. The front of the bank had been smashed in: where there had been a frieze depicting a robot distributing money to the needy, there was a large, ragged hole. Half a dozen masked figures were at work inside, bent over terminals, stuffing notes into bags. Alarms howled distantly. 
    Smith stopped the car and a bullet cracked the windscreen. Carveth ducked; she seemed to be trying to climb under the seat. Rhianna made the humming noise that indicated that she was activating her psychic abilities. ‘Cover us, old girl,’ Smith said, and he kicked the door open, stepping out and drawing his Civiliser in the same movement. A man in a brown coat and gas mask ducked out of the doorway. He raised a long rifle. 
    Smith fired. The man fell out of view as if the floor had been pulled from under him. Smith ran towards the entrance. He stopped beside the main door, next to a sign reading The Bank Whose Computer Says ‘Yes!’ . Suruk stepped in beside him, spear in hand. 
    ‘Up there,’ said the M’Lak, pointing. 
    The construction