Inverted World by Christopher Priest Read Free Book Online

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    The next day Malchuskin kept his promise. While the hired labourers took one of their customary rests in the deep shadow of the city, Malchuskin walked with me to a low rise of land some distance to the east of the city. Standing there we could see almost the whole of the immediate environment of the city.
    It was at present standing in the centre of a broad valley, bounded north and south by two relatively high ridges of ground. To the south I could see clearly the traces of the track which had been taken up, marked by four parallel rows of scars where the sleepers and their foundations had been laid.
    To the north of the city, the tracks ran smoothly up the slope of the ridge. There was not much activity here, though I could see one of the battery-driven bogies rolling slowly up the slope with its load of rail and sleepers and its attendant crew. On the crest of the ridge itself there was a considerable degree of activity, although from this distance it was not possible to determine exactly what was going on.
    “Good country this,” Malchuskin said, but then immediately qualified it.
    “For a trackman, that is.”
    “Why?”
    “It’s smooth. We can take ridges and valleys in our stride. What gets me bothered is broken ground: rocks, rivers, or even forests. That’s one of the advantages of being high at the moment. This is all very old rock around here, and it’s been smoothed out by the elements. But don’t talk to me about rivers.
    Then I get agitated.”
    “What’s wrong with rivers?”
    “I said don’t talk about them!” He slapped me goodhumouredly on the shoulders, and we started our walk back towards the city. “Rivers have to be crossed. That means a bridge has to be built unless there’s one already there, which there never is. We have to wait around while the bridge is made ready, and that causes a delay. Usually, it’s the Track guild that gets the blame for delays. But that’s life. The trouble with rivers is that everyone’s got mixed feelings about them. The one thing the city’s permanently short of is water, and if we come across a river that solves one problem for the time being. But we still have to build a bridge, and that gets everyone nervous.”
    The hired labourers did not look exactly pleased to see us when we returned, but Rafael moved them and work soon recommenced. The last of the tracks had now been taken up, and all we had left to do was build the last buffer. This was a steel erection, mounted above and across the last section of track, and utilizing three of the concrete sleeper foundations. Each of the four tracks had a buffer, and these were placed in such a way that if the city were to roll backwards it would be supported. The buffers were not in a line, owing to the irregular shape of the southern side of the city, but Malchuskin assured me that they were an adequate safeguard.
    “I shouldn’t like them to have to be used,” he said, “but if the city did roll these should stop it. I think.”
    With the completion of the buffer our work was finished.
    “What now?” I said.
    Malchuskin glanced up at the sun. “We ought to move house. I’d like to get my hut up across the ridge, and there are the dormitories for the workers.
    It’s getting late, though. I’m not sure that we could get it done before nightfall.”
    “We could do it tomorrow.”
    “That’s what I’m thinking. It’ll give the lazy bastards a few hours off.
    They’d like that.”
    He spoke to Rafael, who consulted the other men. There was little doubt about the decision. Almost before Rafael had finished speaking to them, some of the men had started back towards their huts.
    “Where are they going?”
    “Back to their village, I expect,” said Malchuskin. “It’s just over there.” He pointed towards the south-east, over beyond the southern ridge of high ground. “They’ll be back, though. They don’t like the work but there’ll be pressure in the village, because we