Thursday, November 8, 2012

Dead Rite chapter 131.01

Dill/Sam, Harold was beginning to lose track of which one was which at any given moment, was opening another lock as they made their way up through the labyrinth of workshops and store room to the rift. He had the distinct feeling Sam was someone he wouldn't get on with in real life. The boy was too intelligent for his own good and the exasperation he displayed when no-one else could override the security doors just came over as arrogance. The third time he tutted behind Gillian as she worked to bypass an electronic lock made her his in annoyance.

“If they weren't sharing a body I'd take this Sam apart neuron by neuron.” She bared her teeth. “Honestly, if I hear one more sharp intake of breath when I'm working I'm going to forget all about your friend Dill and just rip the head clean off.”

“But they're a zombie. They don't take breaths, sharp or otherwise.”

“My point exactly. He does it deliberately.”

“Ah.” Harold patted her arm. He'd seen him mother do it when someone was upset and understood it was supposed to help. “This will soon be over. Then you won't have to deal with him again.”

“So you say.” She glanced across at Jasfoup, who was inscribing something into a leather bound book with a quill. “But didn't Dill say they had plans for the golem army? Didn't they want to create longevity for the super-rich?”

“He had an idea about that, yes.” Harold lowered his voice. “I can't deny them a life of their own but I'm leary of leaving them with the facility to make golems. There's a reason the art of golem creation was buried in the mists of time. I mean, look at my mother.”

“Ada?” Gillian looked confused. “What's she got to do with it?”

“Oh.” Harold drew his lips back from his teeth and began to fidget. “I accidentally left my copy of Roberts’ Treatise on Animated Figures at her house. She was making homunculi out of plasticine.”

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