Page 74 of The Book that Broke the World

“Tactical thinking.” Clovis nodded. “You know the way to a girl’s heart.”

Arpix deepened his frown, drawing out a barking laugh from his tormentor. “Come on.” He led away in search of an alternate route. “Why would a giant mechanical ganar be chasing you anyway?”

“A g-what-now?”

“Ganar. They’re small herbivores, about this big.” Arpix held his hand about four feet off the ground. “I’ve never seen one, but they used to be quite common. The histories say they were brought down from one of the moons. Attamast, if I remember correctly. That seems unlikely but—”

“That small?” Clovis bared her teeth. “I look forward to meeting some in person. I have some questions for them about why these metal bastards keep coming after us.”

“I read that the ganar are clever. Cunning too. They won’t come at you from the front.” Arpix glanced back at the giant metal ball of the automaton’s body. “Unless, I guess, they’re big enough to punch through shelving.” Another memory niggled at him, just out of reach. Not a good memory. A record he’d read of... some kind of bad treatment meted out to the ganar? He shook his head, but the memory remained stuck somewhere back behind his conscious thoughts. Livira would know. She never forgot anything.

They found the blood trail before regaining sight of the automaton from the other side. Clovis smelled it first then Arpix caught sight of a lone crimson spot darkening on the library floor.

“Still wet.” Kerrol straightened back up and pointed to another further along the aisle.

It took only a few minutes to catch up with Evar. They found him hobbling along, lost in his own small world of hurt, gasping each time he put any weight on his injured leg.

“Little brother!” Clovis got his attention.

Kerrol caught one of Evar’s arms while Arpix pushed Clovis out of the way to take the other side. “We’ll be carrying you too by the time we get back if I let you take his weight.”

This time Clovis let him have his way.

The slowly increasing application of pressure can move mountains. Hunger is such a pressure. Most of our morals are molehills.

Eat Prey Eat, by Gilbert Sullivan

CHAPTER 33

Livira

Livira had come face to face with King Oanold on one other, very different occasion and she had never expected to see the man again, even from a distance, especially not two centuries after his city was burned down.

“You!” The king’s face convulsed with disgust. “You’re that damnable duster girl Yute gave a librarianship to.”

Livira hadn’t expected to be recognised, but she was wearing a librarian’s robe, and the day of her appointment had clearly left a deep impression on the king. Not a good one. “Where is Yute?”

“Questioning me? Me!” King Oanold looked around in outrage. “Guards! Guards! Where the hell are you?”

Two soldiers came hurrying around the aisle’s curve, both clutching arrow-sticks. They were unshaven and the larger of the two barely fitted into his blood-stained jacket, leaving Livira with the distinct impression that he’d stolen it off a corpse.

“Arrest that woman!” Oanold pointed at her unnecessarily.

Livira knew the ’sticks could throw their projectiles hundreds of yards, but the aisle’s curve offered the hope that she could take herself out of their line of sight before they could aim and fire. She turned to run.

A man behind her captured her arms as she rotated towards him. Bony fingers encircled her wrists. Livira looked up and met her captor’s one-eyed stare. An ugly smile twisted thin lips.

“Algar.” She spat the name and broke free of his grip. Why an idle, skinny lord thought he could overpower a hard-working young librarian she had no idea. She didn’t have to plant her knee in his groin to escape, but she did it anyway.

Unfortunately, the man behind Algar was bigger, stronger, and more accomplished in the arts of capture. Livira found her left wrist seized with merciless strength, then twisted so painfully that she had to drop to her knees to escape the agonising angle.

While Algar leaned against the nearest shelves, moaning, the king set a soiled grey wig on his baldness and, flanked by his two soldiers, approached her with a smirk.

“See there, gentlemen? The duster shows her true nature, a creature of violence, lashing out at her betters.”

Livira glared at him but decided to give the soldier holding her wrist no further excuse to see whether he could break it. “Where are we? How are you here?”

The king nodded at her captor. “If she speaks again without being spoken to, break her arm.” He came close, but not close enough to kick, and ran his eyes up and down the length of her before turning away. “Follow me.” He leaned towards the larger of his guards. “Jakmo, help Lord Algar. He seems to be indisposed.”

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