The Builders - Softcover

Polansky, Daniel

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0765385309 ISBN 13: 9780765385307

Verlag: tor.com, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

A missing eye. A broken wing. A stolen country. The last job didn't end well

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

DANIEL POLANSKY was born in 1984 in Baltimore, Maryland. He is the author of the Low Town series, the Hugo nominated The Builders, and A City Dreaming. He currently resides on a hill in eastern Los Angeles.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

The Builders

By Daniel Polansky, Justin Landon

Tom Doherty Associates

Copyright © 2015 Daniel Polansky
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-7653-8530-7

Contents

Title Page, 
Dedication, 
Part the First, 
Chapter 1: A Mouse Walks into a Bar ..., 
Chapter 2: A Stoat and a Frenchman, 
Chapter 3: Bonsoir's Arrival, 
Chapter 4: The Virtues of Silence, 
Chapter 5: Boudica's Arrival, 
Chapter 6: The Dragon's Lair, 
Chapter 7: Cinnabar's Arrival, 
Chapter 8: A Well-Earned Retirement, 
Chapter 9: Barley's Arrival, 
Chapter 10: Our Old Friend, the Devil, 
Chapter 11: Gertrude's Arrival, 
Chapter 12: Elf, 
Chapter 13: The Plan, 
Chapter 14: Later ..., 
Chapter 15: And Later ..., 
Chapter 16: And Yet Later ..., 
Chapter 17: And Later Still ..., 
Chapter 18: So Late as to Be Early ..., 
Chapter 19: The Power Behind the Throne, 
Part the Second, 
Chapter 20: South of the Border, 
Chapter 21: A Killer's Pride, 
Chapter 22: The Price of Certainty, 
Chapter 23: A Loud Death Rattle, 
Chapter 24: Best Laid Plans, 
Chapter 25: That Evening ..., 
Chapter 26: With Less Liquor Than Earlier ..., 
Chapter 27: With the Jugs Half-Empty ..., 
Chapter 28: As the Stocks Grew Low ..., 
Chapter 29: At the Bottom of the Kegs ..., 
Chapter 30: A Smoke Before Sleep, 
Chapter 31: An Expected Reversal, 
Part the Third, 
Chapter 32: The Soul of a Shrew, 
Chapter 33: Just Past Ciudad del Gato ..., 
Chapter 34: The Loot, 
Chapter 35: A Question of Numbers, 
Part the Fourth, 
Chapter 36: An Awful End, 
Chapter 37: A New Cellmate, 
Chapter 38: Anticipation (1), 
Chapter 39: A Friendly Smile, 
Chapter 40: The Specialist, 
Chapter 41: Anticipation (2), 
Chapter 42: For All Things Are Mortal, 
Chapter 43: Raison d'Être, 
Chapter 44: Besting the Reaper, 
Chapter 45: Question Asked, 
Chapter 46: Anticipation (3), 
Chapter 47: Not a Frenchman, 
Chapter 48: Question Answered, 
Chapter 49: Reunion, 
Chapter 50: Good Night, 
Chapter 51: One Final Ace, 
Chapter 52: Resolution, 
Chapter 53: The Builders, 
Acknowledgments, 
About the Author, 
Also by Daniel Polansky, 
Newsletter Sign-up, 
Copyright Page, 

CHAPTER 1

A Mouse Walks into a Bar ...

* * *

Reconquista was cleaning the counter with his good hand when the double doors swung open. He squinted his eye at the light, the stub of his tail curling around his peg leg. "We're closed."

Its shadow loomed impossibly large from the threshold, tumbling over the loose warped wood of the floorboards, swallowing battered tables and splintered chairs within its inky bulk.

"You hear me? I said we're closed," Reconquista repeated, this time with a quiver that couldn't be mistaken for anything else.

The outline pulled its hat off and blew a fine layer of grime off the felt. Then it set it back on its head and stepped inside.

Reconquista's expression shifted, fear of the unknown replaced with fear of the known-quite-well. "Captain ... I ... I didn't recognize you."

Penumbra shrunk to the genuine article, it seemed absurd to think the newcomer had inspired such terror. The Captain was big for a mouse, but then being big for a mouse is more or less a contradiction in terms, so there's not much to take there. The bottom of his trench coat trailed against the laces of his boots, and the broad brim of his hat swallowed the narrow angles of his face. Absurd indeed. Almost laughable.

Almost — but not quite. Maybe it was the ragged scar that ran from his forehead through the blinded pulp of his right eye. Maybe it was the grim scowl on his lips, a scowl that didn't shift a hair as the Captain moved deeper into the tavern. The Captain was a mouse, sure as stone; from his silvery-white fur to his bright pink nose, from the fan-ears folded back against his head to the tiny paws held tight against his sides. But rodent or raptor, mouse or wolf, the Captain was not a creature to laugh at.

He paused in front of Reconquista. For a moment he had the impression that the ice that held the Captain's features in place was about to melt, or at least unsettle. But it was a false impression. The faintest suggestion of greeting offered, the mouse walked to a table in the back and dropped himself lightly into one of the seats.

Reconquista had been a rat, once. The left side of his body still was, a firm if aging specimen of Rattus norvegicus. But the right half was an ungainly assortment of leather, wood, and cast iron, a jury-rigged contraption mimicking his lost flesh. In general it did a poor job, but then he wasn't full up with competing options.

"I'm the first?" the Captain asked in a high soprano, though none would have called it that to his face.

"Si, si," said Reconquista, stutter-stepping on his peg leg out from behind the bar. On the hook attached to the stump of his right arm was slung an earthenware jug, labeled with an ominous trio of x's. He set it down in front of the Captain with a thud. "You're the first."

The Captain popped the cork and tilted the liquor down his throat.

"Will the rest come?" Reconquista asked.

A half-second passed while the Captain filled his stomach with liquid fire. Then he set the growler back on the table and wiped his snout. "They'll be here."

Reconquista nodded and headed back to the bar to make ready. The Captain was never wrong. More would be coming.

CHAPTER 2

A Stoat and a Frenchman

* * *

Bonsoir was a stoat, that's the first thing that needs to be said. There are many animals that are like stoats, similar enough in purpose and design as to confuse the amateur naturalist — weasels, for instance, and ferrets. But Bonsoir was a stoat, and as far as he was concerned a stoat was as distinct from its cousins as the sun is from the moon. To mistake him for a weasel or, heaven forbid, a polecat — well, let's just say creatures who voiced that misimpression tended not to do so ever again. Creatures who voiced that misimpression tended, generally speaking, not to do anything ever again.

Now a stoat is a cruel animal, perhaps the cruelest in the Gardens. They are brought up to be cruel, they must be cruel — for nature, which is crueler, has dictated that their prey be children and the unborn, the beloved and the weak. And to that end nature has given them paws stealthy and swift, wide eyes to see clearly on a moonless night, and a soul utterly remorseless, without conscience or scruple. But that is nature's fault, and not the stoat's; the stoat is what it has been made to be, as are we all.

So Bonsoir was a stoat, but Bonsoir was not only a stoat. He was not even, perhaps, primarily a stoat. Bonsoir was also a Frenchman.

A Frenchman, as any Frenchman will tell you, is a difficult condition to abide, as much a privilege as a responsibility. To maintain the appropriate standards of excellence, this superlative of grace, was a burden not so light even in the homeland, and immeasurably more difficult in the colonies. Being both French and a stoat had resulted in a more or less constant crisis of self-identity — one which Bonsoir often worked to resolve, in classic Gallic fashion, via monologue.

And indeed, when the Captain had seen him some six weeks previous, Bonsoir was in the midst of expounding on his favorite subject to a captive audience. He had one hand draped...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: tor.com
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2015
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0765385309
• ISBN 13: 9780765385307
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 224
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: preigu GmbH & Co. KG; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; Niedersachsen; 49078; Deutschland