The Empire of Gut and Bone by M. T. Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

He wanted everyone to work together. Everyone should be a unit. Like superheroes. Each with his own power. One can turn things into ice, another can melt them with his thermal fist. As a gang, they’re unstoppable. That was how it was supposed to be.
    Instead, he thought of the detective novels he loved, in which everyone was always double-crossing each other. They were always telling each other lies out of the corner of their mouths and hiding things from each other in train lockers. They were telling women they’d love them forever and then turning them right in to the police for fraud. That wasn’t how he wanted his friends to be.
    Even worse: He knew that Gregory was really the problem. Kalgrash was incredibly nice — well, when he wasn’t smiting. It was Gregory who persisted in baiting the troll.
    Brian wondered why.
    He had a long time to wonder. The submarine whirred through miles of duct. It followed hidden routes up veins or down arteries. Once, it passed a huge domed city in the flux, lit with a thousand little brass lanterns.
    “When we get to the capital,” said Dantsig, “and you’re in the presence of the Emperor and the Regent, try to class yourselves up a little, got it?”
    “What do you mean?” said Gregory. “Brian is alreadystunningly debonair. Look at those track shoes, that bowl cut….”
    “The track shoes are kind of dirty,” said Brian, kind of miffed, “because I wore them while I was crawling through the dungeons of Norumbega, trying to free you.”
    “Hey — hey! None of that, for instance,” Dantsig demanded. “This is the Emperor you’re seeing. There are rules. You can’t turn your back to him. Even if he’s … surprising.”
    “What’s surprising about him?” asked Brian.
    Gregory said, “He’s a kid, right?”
    “Never speak until you’re spoken to,” Dantsig said. “Wait to be presented to people. You’re lower in rank, so you’ll be presented to the nobility. Not the other way around.”
    “What’re you talking about?” Gregory said. “I thought you hated the Emperor’s Court. Why are you suddenly getting all Emily Post on us?”
    Dantsig looked strained. “The Emperor,” he said, blinking rapidly, “is due some respect.”
    “Who’s Emily Post?” asked Kalgrash.
    “She wrote about manners,” said Brian. He asked Dantsig, “Can’t you say anything bad about the Emperor? Is it because you’re programmed?”
    Dantsig leaned forward. “I can say whatever I want! You got that?” he answered angrily. “I’m just telling you, the palace is a tony kind of rig, and you can’t act like you’ve just stumbled in from the snot-fields of Cheln.”
    “Kalgrash did,” said Gregory. “He’s a banjo-plucking hick from the dark side of the gallbladder.”
    “I
like
the banjo,” said Kalgrash. “In reality.”
    “Gregory,” said Brian, “we should probably … you know … stop making jokes … with …”
    “What? Does Emily Post have rules about this, too? In her chapter describing what you can talk about with a troll in a submarine in someone’s artery? ‘Bluegrass music is never a suitable topic for trolls, in or out of submarines.’ ”
    And then the troll was shouting and Gregory was laughing and Dantsig was threatening to put out his own eyes with a screwdriver if they didn’t shut up.
    Finally, they just turned to the windows and all stared out at the passing duct. Gregory had a slight smile on his lips. Brian looked anxious.
    The sub hummed on toward New Norumbega.
    The boys were asleep when the submarine docked. It was many hours later, and thousands of leagues of dull green had smeared past the portholes.
    Clamps locked down the sub. The boys could feel the sound of screws and winches through their feet. The hide of the sub rattled.
    “New Norumbega,” said Dantsig, draped casually over some oxygen tanks. He rose. “Time for the exchange, kids. Put on your best smiles and your bow ties.”
    Sailors in finned helmets pulled