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.The air is dense with their language: a breathy, explosive mixture of glottal stops, swallowing noises and booming sounds.They hulk their way among their smaller companions, flat, spiked tails dragging behind them.I’ve always had a bit of an affinity for Craggens.There’s something alluring in their way of thinking, their lazy, gentle myths and simple yearnings.They don’t hurry anywhere, and they seem unaffected by ambition or the traumatic complications of life.As I watch them, I wonder what really goes on in the minds of these massive humanoids, with their small, tusked snouts and tiny black eyes.They’re built to be unstoppable warriors: shambling mountains of red hide armour with a shaggy mane of quills running down their backs.But instead they’re content to live their own slow lives, deep in the earth, where the pressure and heat is too great for us to follow.It’s a good system we’ve got, us and them.The males work in Veya to raise the money to build luxurious dens to attract females, who have to come nearer the surface to give birth.The young are more fragile than the adults.Eskaran craftsmen make the dens, which are far more elegant than Craggens can construct with their massive hands.The more elaborate the den, the more likely the male is to score a female.When Craggens and Eskarans first came into contact, there wasn’t a war.We just made a deal.Would that every meeting of cultures was so easy.The address on Juth’s envelope takes me down a dingy stairway, below street level, to an iron door with a viewing-slot.I hammer on it.Footsteps approach, and the shield on the slot slides back.‘What?’ demands the girl on the other side.She’s probably eighteen, twenty at most.Garish make-up, colourfully dyed hair.High cheekbones and bluish skin, giving away her Yurla bloodline.‘I’ve got a letter for you,’ I say.‘From Juth.’Surprise in her reaction.Then suspicion.‘So where is it?’I hold it up.‘Put it through.’I shove it through the slot, and she pulls the shield closed.I wait for a few moments, nonplussed, and then decide I can’t be bothered with this and go back up the stairs.Promise fulfilled.I don’t even really care what was in the letter.I’m some way down the street when the girl comes running after me, followed by a dreadlocked scruff in his late twenties.‘Hoy! Hold up!’ he shouts.I stop and stare at them expectantly as they come to a halt in front of me.The man has the letter in his hand, now open.‘You knew Juth?’ he asks, panting.It was only a short run.He might be wiry, but he’s unfit and he smokes too much.‘’Not well,’ I say.‘He asked me to deliver that for him.’‘You were in a Gurta prison?’‘Farakza.Juth is still there.’ I feel like doing something pointlessly vicious so I say: ‘He’s probably dead by now.’It doesn’t appear to bother them at all.The girl notes the Cadre sigil on my exposed shoulder for the first time, and she nudges the man with a pitiful lack of subtlety.‘You’re Cadre?’ he asks.He’s nervous.‘That’s right,’ I say.‘And you two work for the Undercity Press, distributing subversive and illegal literature throughout Veya.You also have offices in Vect and Bry Athka and Lera, who handle distribution in those cities.’ I look at the man steadily, whose jaw has dropped.‘I don’t know who she is, but I’m guessing that you’re Cherita Fal Barlan, the editor?’He freezes up, guilt all over him.The girl looks like she’s ready to run.‘Recognised the address,’ I say, motioning at the envelope.‘You knew where we were?’ Barlan gapes.‘How long?’‘Couple of years.Just never had cause to visit you.’Still stunned.Doesn’t know where to go next.I put him out of his misery.‘Listen, it’s my business to know this stuff.You’re not as secret as you’d like to believe.I’m sure you’re wondering why Clan Caracassa haven’t raided your premises and had you all arrested long ago, right?’‘Uh.it had crossed my mind,’ he says.‘We publish some.pretty unfavourable books about the Plutarchs.’‘You want the truth?’ I say, pinching the bridge of my nose, where my headache is sharpest.‘Nobody cares.The Plutarchs have bigger things to worry about.So do I.’‘Nobody cares?’ the girl repeats, aghast.‘You’re not half the thorn in the establishment’s side that you think you are,’ I tell her.I’m not in the mood to coddle anyone right now.‘Shit, that’s a comedown,’ says Barlan, deflating.‘Think I’d rather be arrested than ignored.’‘I can break your legs if you like [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.The air is dense with their language: a breathy, explosive mixture of glottal stops, swallowing noises and booming sounds.They hulk their way among their smaller companions, flat, spiked tails dragging behind them.I’ve always had a bit of an affinity for Craggens.There’s something alluring in their way of thinking, their lazy, gentle myths and simple yearnings.They don’t hurry anywhere, and they seem unaffected by ambition or the traumatic complications of life.As I watch them, I wonder what really goes on in the minds of these massive humanoids, with their small, tusked snouts and tiny black eyes.They’re built to be unstoppable warriors: shambling mountains of red hide armour with a shaggy mane of quills running down their backs.But instead they’re content to live their own slow lives, deep in the earth, where the pressure and heat is too great for us to follow.It’s a good system we’ve got, us and them.The males work in Veya to raise the money to build luxurious dens to attract females, who have to come nearer the surface to give birth.The young are more fragile than the adults.Eskaran craftsmen make the dens, which are far more elegant than Craggens can construct with their massive hands.The more elaborate the den, the more likely the male is to score a female.When Craggens and Eskarans first came into contact, there wasn’t a war.We just made a deal.Would that every meeting of cultures was so easy.The address on Juth’s envelope takes me down a dingy stairway, below street level, to an iron door with a viewing-slot.I hammer on it.Footsteps approach, and the shield on the slot slides back.‘What?’ demands the girl on the other side.She’s probably eighteen, twenty at most.Garish make-up, colourfully dyed hair.High cheekbones and bluish skin, giving away her Yurla bloodline.‘I’ve got a letter for you,’ I say.‘From Juth.’Surprise in her reaction.Then suspicion.‘So where is it?’I hold it up.‘Put it through.’I shove it through the slot, and she pulls the shield closed.I wait for a few moments, nonplussed, and then decide I can’t be bothered with this and go back up the stairs.Promise fulfilled.I don’t even really care what was in the letter.I’m some way down the street when the girl comes running after me, followed by a dreadlocked scruff in his late twenties.‘Hoy! Hold up!’ he shouts.I stop and stare at them expectantly as they come to a halt in front of me.The man has the letter in his hand, now open.‘You knew Juth?’ he asks, panting.It was only a short run.He might be wiry, but he’s unfit and he smokes too much.‘’Not well,’ I say.‘He asked me to deliver that for him.’‘You were in a Gurta prison?’‘Farakza.Juth is still there.’ I feel like doing something pointlessly vicious so I say: ‘He’s probably dead by now.’It doesn’t appear to bother them at all.The girl notes the Cadre sigil on my exposed shoulder for the first time, and she nudges the man with a pitiful lack of subtlety.‘You’re Cadre?’ he asks.He’s nervous.‘That’s right,’ I say.‘And you two work for the Undercity Press, distributing subversive and illegal literature throughout Veya.You also have offices in Vect and Bry Athka and Lera, who handle distribution in those cities.’ I look at the man steadily, whose jaw has dropped.‘I don’t know who she is, but I’m guessing that you’re Cherita Fal Barlan, the editor?’He freezes up, guilt all over him.The girl looks like she’s ready to run.‘Recognised the address,’ I say, motioning at the envelope.‘You knew where we were?’ Barlan gapes.‘How long?’‘Couple of years.Just never had cause to visit you.’Still stunned.Doesn’t know where to go next.I put him out of his misery.‘Listen, it’s my business to know this stuff.You’re not as secret as you’d like to believe.I’m sure you’re wondering why Clan Caracassa haven’t raided your premises and had you all arrested long ago, right?’‘Uh.it had crossed my mind,’ he says.‘We publish some.pretty unfavourable books about the Plutarchs.’‘You want the truth?’ I say, pinching the bridge of my nose, where my headache is sharpest.‘Nobody cares.The Plutarchs have bigger things to worry about.So do I.’‘Nobody cares?’ the girl repeats, aghast.‘You’re not half the thorn in the establishment’s side that you think you are,’ I tell her.I’m not in the mood to coddle anyone right now.‘Shit, that’s a comedown,’ says Barlan, deflating.‘Think I’d rather be arrested than ignored.’‘I can break your legs if you like [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]