"'ere it is, Mr. Fisher," the boy's adolescent voice screeched. It was the most wonderful sound I had ever heard, followed by one of the most unpleasant sounds as I emptied my lunch into the metal pail he handed me.
"Blugh. Do Under-Locomotives always run so...violently?"
"Whatcha mean? 'Aven't you ever ridden 'fore?" he inquired, taking a surreptitious step away from my peaked form and fragrant bucket.
"Never anything that takes 90 degree turns at 90 kilometers an hour," I shuddered.
"90 k an hour?" the boy asked incredulously, "why in blazes was it running so slow?"
I decided not to respond to that. Instead, I attempted to stand. Surprisingly, I succeeded and felt a shred of dignity returning. With my queasiness passing, I took a moment to examine my surroundings. I knew that I had been sent to a loading dock of some sort, but the cavernous room had no ships or trucks to speak of. Instead, it had a sizable pool in its center and crates of various sizes stacked all around its perimeter. Men and boys loitered among the crates and against the walls.
"M'name's Toby, by the way. Toby Crimshaw," the boy announced, offering me a grimy hand, which I could not avoid shaking.
"Nice to meet you. I'm -"
"Geoffrey Fisher. I know," he interrupted, "I was told ya'd be coming. I'm ta show ya the ropes. Now, iffin ya don't mind me asking, why're ya 'ere?"
"Pardon?"
"Well, ya ain't exactly built for 'ard labour, are ya? So, I figure, either ya want ta bulk up, which doesn't look bloody likely, or something ya did went all ta pot and ya wound up 'ere where ya can't do more damage. Which is it?"
"Er, I suppose the latter. It's more that I'm no use anywhere else in the Guild. I can't build, I can't lead, and when I so much as set foot in a kitchen, it's up in flames."
"Oh, I've pulled that prank meself. Watcha use? Nitroglycerin or gunpowder?"
"That...was a figure of speech," I eyed Toby warily, "what did, uh, you use?"
"ah," he bleated, "that was just a figure o' speech too. Ya know, 'whatcha use?' ha ha, heh" I sensed discomfort
"Why don't you tell me what that pool's doing there," I suggested.
"Actually," he said, pulling a fob watch from his vest pocket, "you'll find out just about..." His voice trailed off as he gazed at his watch, not a muscle moving. After several seconds I started to wonder he had accidentally hypnotized himself when I noticed something queer. All sound in the room had dropped away. A quick look around revealed that everyone was fixating on their watches. A couple of men had two time pieces dangling centimeters from their faces. One had five watches strung along a chain.
"NOW!" The cry ricocheted around the frozen room. Its source, a worker not two meters away from me, drooped like an old man's jowls when whatever he had expected to happen didn't. No one, apart from the man who had just spoken, looked away from their timepieces.
"NOW!" This time, the shout came from across the room. Another followed after it. Then another. Shouts rebounded, seemingly at random. I saw the man with five watches sounding off, "Now, now, now, now, NOW!" He let the chain drop moodily when the world failed to react to his commands.
Toby had yet to say anything. I could see his eyes twitching with every tick of the second hand. Finally, his clock reached 9, and he shouted with a force that could tear the heavens asunder. His cry shook the very ground; it turned the placid pool into a turbulent sea; In fact, he yelled so loudly that he sounded exactly like a submarine surfacing. I'm certain it was only a coincidence that one actually did surfaced at the same time.
"Ha!" Toby exclaimed, holding his watch aloft triumphantly, "Right, everyone, pay up!"
Grudgingly, men and boys in the vicinity gathered around and dropped coin after coin into Toby's gaping pockets. They also seemed to compare their fob watches to his, but I didn't pay much attention to the process. I was slightly more interested in the giant hulk of submersible metal that had appeared in the middle of the room.
It was a sleek machine, covered from tip to tail in discreet black paint. It reminded me of swimmers I had met, lean people stripped of every gram of fat or excess that could slow them down. The submarine was one hundred percent, absolutely, now and forever, a submarine and nothing else.
"So," I said to the clinking Toby when he joined me by the edge of the pool, "I take it that doesn't belong to the Guild."
"Blugh. Do Under-Locomotives always run so...violently?"
"Whatcha mean? 'Aven't you ever ridden 'fore?" he inquired, taking a surreptitious step away from my peaked form and fragrant bucket.
"Never anything that takes 90 degree turns at 90 kilometers an hour," I shuddered.
"90 k an hour?" the boy asked incredulously, "why in blazes was it running so slow?"
I decided not to respond to that. Instead, I attempted to stand. Surprisingly, I succeeded and felt a shred of dignity returning. With my queasiness passing, I took a moment to examine my surroundings. I knew that I had been sent to a loading dock of some sort, but the cavernous room had no ships or trucks to speak of. Instead, it had a sizable pool in its center and crates of various sizes stacked all around its perimeter. Men and boys loitered among the crates and against the walls.
"M'name's Toby, by the way. Toby Crimshaw," the boy announced, offering me a grimy hand, which I could not avoid shaking.
"Nice to meet you. I'm -"
"Geoffrey Fisher. I know," he interrupted, "I was told ya'd be coming. I'm ta show ya the ropes. Now, iffin ya don't mind me asking, why're ya 'ere?"
"Pardon?"
"Well, ya ain't exactly built for 'ard labour, are ya? So, I figure, either ya want ta bulk up, which doesn't look bloody likely, or something ya did went all ta pot and ya wound up 'ere where ya can't do more damage. Which is it?"
"Er, I suppose the latter. It's more that I'm no use anywhere else in the Guild. I can't build, I can't lead, and when I so much as set foot in a kitchen, it's up in flames."
"Oh, I've pulled that prank meself. Watcha use? Nitroglycerin or gunpowder?"
"That...was a figure of speech," I eyed Toby warily, "what did, uh, you use?"
"ah," he bleated, "that was just a figure o' speech too. Ya know, 'whatcha use?' ha ha, heh" I sensed discomfort
"Why don't you tell me what that pool's doing there," I suggested.
"Actually," he said, pulling a fob watch from his vest pocket, "you'll find out just about..." His voice trailed off as he gazed at his watch, not a muscle moving. After several seconds I started to wonder he had accidentally hypnotized himself when I noticed something queer. All sound in the room had dropped away. A quick look around revealed that everyone was fixating on their watches. A couple of men had two time pieces dangling centimeters from their faces. One had five watches strung along a chain.
"NOW!" The cry ricocheted around the frozen room. Its source, a worker not two meters away from me, drooped like an old man's jowls when whatever he had expected to happen didn't. No one, apart from the man who had just spoken, looked away from their timepieces.
"NOW!" This time, the shout came from across the room. Another followed after it. Then another. Shouts rebounded, seemingly at random. I saw the man with five watches sounding off, "Now, now, now, now, NOW!" He let the chain drop moodily when the world failed to react to his commands.
Toby had yet to say anything. I could see his eyes twitching with every tick of the second hand. Finally, his clock reached 9, and he shouted with a force that could tear the heavens asunder. His cry shook the very ground; it turned the placid pool into a turbulent sea; In fact, he yelled so loudly that he sounded exactly like a submarine surfacing. I'm certain it was only a coincidence that one actually did surfaced at the same time.
"Ha!" Toby exclaimed, holding his watch aloft triumphantly, "Right, everyone, pay up!"
Grudgingly, men and boys in the vicinity gathered around and dropped coin after coin into Toby's gaping pockets. They also seemed to compare their fob watches to his, but I didn't pay much attention to the process. I was slightly more interested in the giant hulk of submersible metal that had appeared in the middle of the room.
It was a sleek machine, covered from tip to tail in discreet black paint. It reminded me of swimmers I had met, lean people stripped of every gram of fat or excess that could slow them down. The submarine was one hundred percent, absolutely, now and forever, a submarine and nothing else.
"So," I said to the clinking Toby when he joined me by the edge of the pool, "I take it that doesn't belong to the Guild."
