Carcosan Design Excerpt
- by Matthew Funk
Blood. Purity. Theyre all you people care about. Lives dont matter at all, do they? Etta could not look away from the barrel of the gun. She knew the two men were standing by Gessie and she, knew them as Erik and Leon. She knew they were loaded with weaponry, sunk low where it sprouted from belts, bandoliers and shoulder holsters, deadly models she couldnt identify in more numbers she could count. She knew both men looked mad; she knew the calm of the room, hot and strained to a whine. But all she could see was the barrel of the gun. It matched Eriks eyes. It was devoid of sense, huge with purpose. It looked like it swallowed the whole world.
What are you talking about, Erik? Gessies words came from far away, but soon drew close. They pushed Ettas attention gently out of the circumference of the barrel as Gessie leaned in towards the gun. A glance away showed her that the Book Collector seemed unafraid, eased even, tilting her chest up to the gun and reaching her body for it like it was a squalling child out of Eriks control.
His plan their plan what it all means. Ive seen I know now. She showed me. Erik said. Etta felt the numbness in her body turn to a cold, black resentment. It was as she feared madness could spread so easily, from germs into a storm, if left unattended. She resolved to attend to the man immediately.
Sylvie? Erik, are you talking about something Sylvie told you? Etta was saddened to hear her own voice the words sounded impatient and retiring, more cranky than commanding. There was nothing she could do though; numbness clung to everything, making thought and speech into sleeping limbs.
Looking at Erik, she saw he looked just as shocked, even more so. He had not recovered from when she saw him in the South Wing; if anything, hed crumbled. Now, with the direction of his rage fading, his response sounded as lame as her own had felt.
Yes, but, no; she didnt tell me. Didnt show me. She just made me know. He spoke unsteadily. Etta looked into his eyes and saw they were like dying gas lamps, full of hungry effluvium and cool. He needed steadiness they both did and so she persisted.
Sylvies not well, Erik. Shes sick. She Then the gas lamps flared, and the circle of the rifle swung to swallow her.
No. No, whats sick is what he wants to do Himmler, and all the rest of them. Rescripting the Carcosan Design, she called it she just mentioned its name, and I knew what it meant, whats hes going to do. Eriks ranting came low and fast. Etta wished he would take a breath; that she could breathe or that he would scream, that someone would let loose the scream straining the room. But he spoke just fast and low, the language of the rifle barrel. His features twisted, as if trying to follow the mad lights that turned in his eyes To try and make death his pet, make it his hunting dog. He You have to know; hes going to kill millions to try and draw this thing here; going to inflict misery and pain and every kind of death he can imagine, all to get so much of it he can chain the whole thing down, lock it up in his spells and symbols and all the faith, the fanatical faith of a
gave up on trying to casually interpose herself between Etta and the rifle, and gave up on
making eye contact with
halted as if slapped, and Etta hoped for a moment theyd gained the upper hand
the superior servants in control, as it should be. But
before the moment could end,
All contents copyright © Matthew Funk 2007, all rights reserved.