Inverted World by Christopher Priest Read Free Book Online Page A

give them what they want.”
    “What’s that?”
    “The benefits of civilization,” he said, grinning cynically. “To wit, the synthetic food you’re always griping about.”
    “They like that stuff?”
    “No more than you do. But it’s better than an empty belly, which is what most of them had before we happened along here.”
    “I don’t think I’d do all that work for that gruel. It’s tasteless, it’s got no substance, and—”
    “How many meals a day did you eat in the city?”
    “Three.”
    “And how many were synthetic?”
    “Only two,” I said.
    “Well, it’s people like those poor sods who work their skins off just so you can eat one genuine meal a day. And from what I hear, what they do for me is the least of it.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You’ll find out.”
    Later that evening, as we sat in his hut, Malchuskin spoke more on this subject. I discovered that he wasn’t as ill-informed as he tried to make out.
    He blamed it all on the guild system, as ever. It had been a long established practice that the ways of the city were passed down from one generation to the next not by tuition, but on heuristic principles. An apprentice would value the traditions of the guilds far more by understanding at first hand the facts of existence on which they were based than by being trained in a theoretical manner. In practice, it meant that I would have to discover for myself how the men came to work on the tracks, what other tasks they performed, and in fact all other matters concerning the continued existence of the city.
    “When I was an apprentice,” Malchuskin said, “I built bridges and I dug up tracks. I worked with the Traction guild, and rode with men like your father. I know myself how the city continues to exist, and through that I know the value of my own job. I dig up tracks and re-lay them, not because I enjoy the work but because I know why it has to be done. I’ve been out with the Barter guild and seen how they get the local people to work for us, and so I understand the pressures that are on the men who work under me now. It’s all cryptic and obscure … that’s the way you see it now. But you’ll find out that it’s all to do with survival, and just how precarious that survival is.”
    “I don’t mind working with you,” I said.
    “I didn’t mean that. You’ve worked O.K. with me. All I’m saying is that all the things you’ve probably wondered about— the oath, for instance—have a purpose, and by God it’s a sensible purpose!”
    “So the men will be back in the morning.”
    “Probably. And they’ll complain, and they’ll slacken off as soon as you or I turn our backs… but even that’s in the nature of things. Sometimes, though, I wonder.
    I waited for him to finish his sentence, but he said nothing more. It was an uncharacteristic sentiment, for Malchuskin did not seem to me to be in any way a pensive man. As we sat together he fell into a long silence, broken only when I got up to go outside to use the latrine. Then he yawned and stretched, and kidded me about my weak bladder.
    Rafael returned in the morning with most of the men who had been with us before. A few were missing, though the numbers had been brought up to strength by replacements. Malchuskin greeted them without apparent surprise, and at once began supervising the demolition of the three temporary buildings.
    First, all the contents were moved out, and placed in a large pile to one side. Then the buildings themselves were dismantled; not as difficult a task as I’d imagined, as they had evidently been designed to be taken down and put up again easily. Each of the walls was joined to the next by a series of bolts. The floors broke down into a series of flat wooden slats, and the roofs were similarly bolted into place. Fittings such as doors and windows were part of the frames in which they sat. It took only an hour to demolish each cabin, and by midday everything was done. Well before then