Tim Lebbon - Echo city

"I told you," he said, "she abandoned me."

Malia stepped forward past Nophel, her hand stretched out.

"Malia!" Peer said, but Nophel shook his head.

"It's harmless," he said. "And it'll get us close to Dragar's Canton quicker than any other way. I need to prime it." He pointed to several thick pipes protruding from the wall on either side of the Bellower's den. "While I work, ask your questions."

"What is it, and what does it do?" Malia said. "That'll do for a start." Peer could hear the awe in the Watcher woman's voice, and she was glad. Malia projected the image of a hard, bitter woman, but it was good to know she still could wonder.

"I don't know the source of the Bellowers, other than who made them."

"More than one?" Peer asked.

"Eight, all around the base of the Marcellan Canton wall. It's a circuit. A transport system, designed for use by everyone, mothballed by the Marcellans after the Baker's death."

"They didn't trust her anymore," Peer said.

Nophel snorted. "Partly that. They knew she was allied to the Watchers, and-"

"We know all about that," Malia said quietly. "No politics here. Just this." She was touching the Bellower's face, laying her hand on softly, lifting it away, moving to another place to touch again.

"They live much slower lives than we do," Nophel said. He was connecting tubes to metal nozzles sunk into the ground, twisting connectors that squealed as they turned. "This one might have been asleep for many moons. I can tell you what they do, but that doesn't mean I understand it. I'm not sure anyone does, now that she's dead."

"Nadielle will know," Peer said, and Nophel glanced at her sharply. "The new Baker."

"Perhaps," he said, connecting another tube. "This is all done through fluids. The Bellower takes it in and expels it in a controlled motion. It's called hydraulics." He nodded back at the center of the large chamber. "We go in that pod, the pod goes in front of its mouth, and once the fluid is flowing, it pushes us along the route."

"All around the Marcellan wall," Malia said.

"From one Bellower to the next. At each junction we move to a new pod, into the mouth of a new Bellower."

"Amazing," Peer said.

"It's horrible." Malia stepped back from the face, wiping her hand against her trousers. "It's monstrous, making something like this. Where's its purpose? What are its thoughts?"

"I'm not certain it has any," Nophel said, pausing for a moment. "The Scopes seem content to do what they're made to do."

"But they were people before, and now…"

"I never said what she did was right," Nophel said. "Only that she was a genius. This new Baker does things differently?"

"Yes," Peer said, but Malia only frowned, and Peer knew what she was thinking about. The Pserans, those flying things down there, others-all given purpose and form by Nadielle but denied the one thing that any living thing must naturally desire: freedom.

"It's connected," Nophel said. "And it's awake." He backed away, and Peer saw the Bellower open its eyes.

They were as black as soot, glittering with moisture. They rolled left and right, but such was their uniform darkness that she could not tell exactly where they looked.

"It sees?" she asked.

"I've never really known." Nophel walked along the wall a little, until he reached a series of large metal wheels. As he turned the first, the sound of rushing fluid filled the chamber, and the first of the thick tubes sprang upright as it was filled. The Bellower shivered and rolled its eyes again, and its whole body shifted in its massive hole. The ground shook.

It's enjoying this, Peer thought. But as Nophel turned the other wheels and the rest of the tubes started to pump fluid, she could not decide whether the creature was shivering in pleasure or pain. Its inhuman eyes gave away nothing.

Nophel moved to the pod and began to pull at a tall lever set in the floor beside it. Metal gears cranked, chains strained and buzzed with tension, and the pod shifted backward toward the creature.

It opened its mouth. The stench was horrendous, a stink so rich it was almost visible, and Peer pressed a hand over her mouth and nose.

"Smells like some of the taverns I've been in," Malia muttered.

Peer laughed. She couldn't help it, and it felt good. It came from deep in her gut, bending her over double, and it drove away circling memories of the dead Scarlet Blades, Gorham's betrayal, the Baker and her monstrous creations. It sounded good as well, filling the chamber with something other than awed whispers. As she looked up at the Bellower, its eyes seemed to roll toward her, and its mouth opened that little bit wider.

Malia stared at her with one eyebrow raised, one corner of her mouth lifted. Perhaps that was as close to laughter as she came.

"Into the pod," Nophel said, unaffected. "We don't have long until it bellows."

Peer composed herself, wiping tears from her eyes and wondering exactly what she had been laughing at. Some madness in there, she thought, imagining how Penler would have looked at her, his old, wise eyes seeing the truth. Once more she wished he was there with her, and as she approached the pod she felt an aching loneliness.

The pod was now positioned directly in front of the Bellower, its glass lid raised. Inside were nine flattened seats, footrests, and hand hoops; a series of small holes speckled every surface.

"Hurry!" Nophel said. He was becoming impatient, glancing back and forth between pod and Bellower, and his edginess did away with the dregs of Peer's humor. She felt flat and empty once again, and the future seemed darker still.

Malia climbed into the front seat, reclining until her shoulders and head were supported by the upholstered wooden rests. Peer sat behind her and stretched back.

"Press your feet hard against the supports," Nophel said, climbing in behind them. "Hold the rings on either side, settle your head firmly against the rest. When we go, it will press you backward. It'll be… strange."

"Have you done this before?" Peer asked, but Nophel ignored her.

"I'll hit the lever soon, but usually someone outside does it. The moment I hit it, the process begins, and I'll have beats to get inside and close the lid."

"Nophel?" Peer prompted.

"No," he said, "never. Always looked too dangerous to me." She thought perhaps she heard a smile in his voice, but she was already pressed against the seat. A staggering potential vibrated the air in the chamber.

"Deep breath," Nophel said. He shoved the lever and jumped into the pod behind Peer, setting it swaying. The glass lid closed on top of them, so close to her face that she thought she could stick out her tongue and touch it. It was dusty and gritty on the outside, obscuring her vision of the chamber. When she exhaled, her breath misted the glass.

"If you did believe in any god, now would be the time to pray," Nophel's muffled voice said. And then he giggled.

What the crap has he brought us into? Peer had time to wonder, and then her world was torn apart.

Once, before the Hanharans had declared Mino Mont's traveling fairgrounds blasphemous because of their artificial stimulation of ecstatic terror and awe, her mother had taken her to one. She was a child then, maybe ten years old, and the smells, sights, and sounds of the fair had remained with her ever since. She'd never seen anything like it. Men and women walked through the crowds on stilts a dozen steps high, dropping roasted nuts into willing hands, urging people to try this ride or that, or the phantom rooms, or the crushed-mirror swamp. Huge creaking structures of wood, metal, and rope rose all around, with oil lamps burning different colored and scented oils and casting their soft light over the whole scene. And it was one of these structures that had grabbed Peer's attention from the moment she first saw it.