The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year - Volume Eight by Jonathan Strahan [Editor]
Authors: Jonathan Strahan [Editor]
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
toward Seran, then halted. Holes were forming on her face and hands. The scissors closed in on her.
I did this, Seran thought, I should have refused the warden. She must have learned how to call forth effigies on her own, ripping them out of Imulai Mokarengen's histories and sagas and legends, animating the scissors to make her work easier. But when the scissors ran out of paper, they turned on the warden. Having denuded the city of its past, of its weight of stories, they began cutting effigies from the living stories of its people.
Seran left Jaian to her fate and began up the stairs. But some of the scissors had already escaped, and they had left the doors to the library open. They were undoubtedly in the streets right now. Soon the city would be full of holes, and people made of paper slowly burning up, and the hungry sound of scissors.
ROSARY AND GOLDENSTAR
Geoff Ryman
Geoff Ryman is the author of The Warrior Who Carried Life , "The Unconquered Country", The Child Garden, Was, Lust, and Air . His work 253 , or Tube Theatre was published as hypertext fiction and won the Philip K. Dick Memorial Award. He has also won the World Fantasy, Campbell Memorial, Arthur C Clarke, British Science Fiction Association, Sunburst, James Tiptree, and Gaylactic Spectrum awards. His most recent novel, The King's Last Song, is set in Cambodia. Ryman currently lectures in Creative Writing at the University of Manchester in the United Kingdom.
T he room was wood – floor, walls, ceiling.
The doorbell clanged a second time. The servant girl Bessie finally answered it; she had been lost in the kitchen amid all the pans. She slid across the floor on slippers, not lifting her feet; she had a notion that she polished as she walked. The front door opened directly onto the night: snow. The only light was from the embers in the fireplace.
Three huge men jammed her doorway. "This be the house of Squire Digges?" the smallest of them asked; and Bessie, melting in shyness, said something like, "Cmn gud zurs."
They crowded in, stomping snow off their boots, and Bessie knelt immediately to try to mop it up with her apron. "Shoo! Shoo!" said the smaller guest, waving her away.
The Master roared; the other door creaked like boots and in streamed Squire Digges, both arms held high. "Welcome! Good Count Vesuvius! Guests! Hah!" Unintroduced, he began to pump their hands.
Vesuvius, the smaller man, announced in Danish that this was Squire Digges, son of Leonard and author of the lenses, then turned back and said in English that these two fine fellows were Frederik Rosenkrantz and Knud Gyldenstierne.
"We have corresponded!" said Squire Digges, still smiling and pumping. To him, the two Danes looked huge and golden-red with bronze beards and bobbed noses, and he'd already lost control of who was who. He looked sideways in pain at the Count. "You must pardon me, sirs?"
"For what?"
The Squire looked harassed and turned on the servant. "Bessie! Bessie, their coats! The door. Leave off the floor, girl!"
Vesuvius said in Danish, " The gentleman has asked you to remove your coats at long last. For this he is sorry."
One of the Danes smiled, his face crinkling up like a piecrust, and he unburdened himself of what must have been a whole seal hide. He dumped it on Bessie, who could not have been more than sixteen and was small for her years. Shaking his head, Digges slammed shut the front door. Bessie, buried under furs, began to slip across the gleaming floor as if on ice.
"Bessie," said Digges in despair then looked over his shoulder. "Be careful of the floors, Messires, she polishes them so. Good girl, not very bright." He touched Bessie's elbow and guided her toward the right door.
" He warns us that floors are dangerous."
Rosenkrantz and Gyldenstierne eyed each other. " Perhaps we fall through ?" They began to tiptoe.
Digges guided Bessie through the door, and closed it behind her. He smiled and then unsmiled when there was a loud whoop and a
I did this, Seran thought, I should have refused the warden. She must have learned how to call forth effigies on her own, ripping them out of Imulai Mokarengen's histories and sagas and legends, animating the scissors to make her work easier. But when the scissors ran out of paper, they turned on the warden. Having denuded the city of its past, of its weight of stories, they began cutting effigies from the living stories of its people.
Seran left Jaian to her fate and began up the stairs. But some of the scissors had already escaped, and they had left the doors to the library open. They were undoubtedly in the streets right now. Soon the city would be full of holes, and people made of paper slowly burning up, and the hungry sound of scissors.
ROSARY AND GOLDENSTAR
Geoff Ryman
Geoff Ryman is the author of The Warrior Who Carried Life , "The Unconquered Country", The Child Garden, Was, Lust, and Air . His work 253 , or Tube Theatre was published as hypertext fiction and won the Philip K. Dick Memorial Award. He has also won the World Fantasy, Campbell Memorial, Arthur C Clarke, British Science Fiction Association, Sunburst, James Tiptree, and Gaylactic Spectrum awards. His most recent novel, The King's Last Song, is set in Cambodia. Ryman currently lectures in Creative Writing at the University of Manchester in the United Kingdom.
T he room was wood – floor, walls, ceiling.
The doorbell clanged a second time. The servant girl Bessie finally answered it; she had been lost in the kitchen amid all the pans. She slid across the floor on slippers, not lifting her feet; she had a notion that she polished as she walked. The front door opened directly onto the night: snow. The only light was from the embers in the fireplace.
Three huge men jammed her doorway. "This be the house of Squire Digges?" the smallest of them asked; and Bessie, melting in shyness, said something like, "Cmn gud zurs."
They crowded in, stomping snow off their boots, and Bessie knelt immediately to try to mop it up with her apron. "Shoo! Shoo!" said the smaller guest, waving her away.
The Master roared; the other door creaked like boots and in streamed Squire Digges, both arms held high. "Welcome! Good Count Vesuvius! Guests! Hah!" Unintroduced, he began to pump their hands.
Vesuvius, the smaller man, announced in Danish that this was Squire Digges, son of Leonard and author of the lenses, then turned back and said in English that these two fine fellows were Frederik Rosenkrantz and Knud Gyldenstierne.
"We have corresponded!" said Squire Digges, still smiling and pumping. To him, the two Danes looked huge and golden-red with bronze beards and bobbed noses, and he'd already lost control of who was who. He looked sideways in pain at the Count. "You must pardon me, sirs?"
"For what?"
The Squire looked harassed and turned on the servant. "Bessie! Bessie, their coats! The door. Leave off the floor, girl!"
Vesuvius said in Danish, " The gentleman has asked you to remove your coats at long last. For this he is sorry."
One of the Danes smiled, his face crinkling up like a piecrust, and he unburdened himself of what must have been a whole seal hide. He dumped it on Bessie, who could not have been more than sixteen and was small for her years. Shaking his head, Digges slammed shut the front door. Bessie, buried under furs, began to slip across the gleaming floor as if on ice.
"Bessie," said Digges in despair then looked over his shoulder. "Be careful of the floors, Messires, she polishes them so. Good girl, not very bright." He touched Bessie's elbow and guided her toward the right door.
" He warns us that floors are dangerous."
Rosenkrantz and Gyldenstierne eyed each other. " Perhaps we fall through ?" They began to tiptoe.
Digges guided Bessie through the door, and closed it behind her. He smiled and then unsmiled when there was a loud whoop and a
Similar Books
