Echo City by Tim Lebbon Read Free Book Online Page B

behind them and the Pserans slipped away. As Gorham glanced around to see where they had gone, he heard a low chuckle, and when he turned forward again the Baker was there.
    “Gorham,” she said. She seemed amused. “You look hungry. You like my Pserans?”
    Nadielle was the only woman who knew how to make him blush.
    “And Malia. It’s nice to see you again.” She sounded so sincere.
    “And you, Baker,” Malia said. “Your Pserans said you have a feast for us.”
    “They don’t lie,” Nadielle said. “Not unless I tell them to.” She was staring at Gorham, enjoying his embarrassment, and she was more beautiful than ever. Last time down here, as they were rolling on Nadielle’s bed, her legs wrapped around his back to hold him deep within her, she’d whispered into his ear:
They watch
. He’d known who she meant, because she was so proud of her chopped. They were like her children. It had given him a strange thrill then, and now that sensation returned. He glanced around again, feeling their eyes on him still, realizing that was what they were made to do.
    Nadielle laughed out loud and turned, leading them deep into her laboratory.
    Her seven womb vats were all full, condensation bejeweling their surfaces and dripping in a steady stream to the stone floor. The vats were made from metal or heavy gray stone—Gorham had never been entirely sure which, and he dared not touch one—and they stood propped with thick wooden buttresses wedged against the floor, giving the impression of a temporary placement. There were drainage holes around the vats to take any spillages, and bubbles of strange gas popped thickly from several of them.
I wonder what she’s chopping now
, Gorham thought. The awe he felt each time he visited her down here was rightly placed, because she could do something that no one else in Echo City was able to do. Many
attempted
to copy, and the results were the twin-twatted whore, soldiers with clubs instead of fists, men with cocks like a third leg … and, sometimes, monsters. But no one could match Nadielle’s talent or finesse, passed down to her from Bakers long past. No one ever had.
    They left the vat room and entered a place of chaos. There were tables and chairs, cupboards and shelving units, baskets slung in chains that could be raised and lowered from the ceiling when required, boxes strewn around the room’s perimeter, books piled high or pressed open on the surfaces, and many fine glass containers bearing all kinds of matter—some fluid,some more solid, and some that looked like heavy gas. Other containers held material not so easily identifiable.
    Nadielle weaved across the room and through a curtained doorway. Gorham followed, and the smells of Nadielle’s living quarters inspired a rush of memories. He glanced at her bed—blankets awry, pillows propped up, books strewn across its surface—and wished that Malia had not come.
    But their purpose here was serious, and Nadielle was aware of that. She guided them to her table and sat down.
    “I know you’ve come for something important,” she said. “It’s not just another visit to read my mother’s books or to pore over the maps and charts I have down here. Not even …” She nodded toward the stacked bookshelf where the three Old Texts were hidden away. Gorham had read them, and the power and intelligence evident in books purported to be more than four thousand years old still staggered him.
    “No,” he said, “not them. Although what we came to discuss might concern them more than ever before.”
    “You Watchers,” Nadielle said, a smile pricking up the corners of her mouth.
    “What do you mean by that?” Malia asked defensively.
    “Always so serious. Always waiting for the end—”
    “Not waiting for it,” Gorham said.
“Expecting
it. The city might have been here for five thousand years, or fifty thousand, but nothing lasts forever. We watch for Echo City’s inevitable end so we can be ready for