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And we are experimenting with ways of turning it into a tasty and nutritious snack. We feed our prisoners on nothing else. Unfortunately they keep dying. But that is just a temporary set-back, I’m sure.”
She felt giddy with shock. She remembered everything she had heard about the Sixty Minute War and how the Ancients’ terrible thunder-weapons had blasted their static cities and poisoned the earth and sky. Father would never have helped the Engineers to recreate such a terrible thing!
Next day, Anna Fang handed out balls of reddish paste to her passengers. “Powdered betel-nut,” she explained, “mixed with some dried leaves from Nuevo Maya. They help at these high altitudes. But don’t make a habit of chewing them, or your teeth will turn as red as mine.”
“London’s not a barbarian city!” shouted Tom. “It’s you who are the barbarians! Why shouldn’t London eat Batmunkh Gompa if it needs to? If you don’t like the idea, you should have put your cities on wheels long ago, like civilized people!”
Didn’t the people of the Shield-Wall long for movement and a change of scene? How did they dream, without the grumbling vibrations of a city’s engines to rock them to sleep? Did they love this place? And suddenly he felt terribly sad that the whole bustling, colourful, ancient city might soon be rubble under London’s tracks.
He groped under the collar of Anna’s coat and found the key on its thong and wrenched it free.
The old curator of ceramics lay near the door, looking indignant, as if death was a silly modern fad that he rather disapproved of.
