The Chamber in the Sky by M. T. Anderson Page B

we’d all have been wallpaper by now. The blond personage there making fists slept through the whole event.”
    She laughed, and Gregory frowned, and Brian looked at his feet.
    A few minutes later, when she got up to stand by the railing and watch the fields go past, Gregory followed her.
    â€œCould you not do that?” he said. “Cut me down? I mean, since we’re going out?”
    â€œAre we ‘going out’?”
    â€œYeah. Of course.”
    She cocked her head. “I didn’t think so.”
    Gregory stumbled back a step. He thought quickly about how beautiful she was, how he wanted to show her off at school, how they liked to call each other G.
    He said, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we are.”
    She shook her head. “Gregory, we’re different species . You don’t understand what it’s like with us. Your species cares too very much. We …” She shrugged.
    Gregory was stunned. He said, “What? You what?”
    She thought for a second. Then she said lightly, “Forgot!” She laughed and scampered off sideways.
    Gregory stood by the rail of the boat, stinging.
    He glanced over at her. She was inspecting him carefully, as if even the forgetting and the running away had just been to teach him a lesson.
    Brian didn’t know what had happened. He only knew that Gregory and Gwynyfer were suddenly not being as cute with each other. Gwynyfer kept chattering away happily, but Gregory sat miserably, surrounded by crates of restless branf. He hardly spoke either to Gwynyfer or to Brian. In the evening, he ate alone.
    The boat passed the market town of Bury Pete with its green fields of vinch, and later, the cathedral town of Buttercross with its towering meat church rising on huge, powerful arches above the canal. As the barge drifted through the passages beneath the cathedral dome and steeple, Brian and Gregory saw the intricate carvings that had been engraved on the walls there: little monsters embracing and saints floating through the clouds.
    A little downriver, they passed a long boat rowed by two farm boys. It looked like it had a whole family’s belongings on it: chairs, tables, and a stack of dresses and coats. One of the boys waved his paddle at the ferry and grinned at the passengers.
    Gwynyfer murmured, “Look at those arms. Those are true arms.”
    Gregory demanded, “What do you mean by that?”
    She said, “Just, the boy has nice arms.”
    Brian looked at Gregory’s arms. They were pretty thin. He wondered whether Gwynyfer was trying to make Gregory jealous. She didn’t seem to be, though. She didn’t seem to be paying Gregory any attention at all. She gazed out at the farm boy and muttered, “He fills a shirt nicely.”
    Gregory crossed his arms and sat back. “So what? You can fill a shirt with pig dung.” He got up and walked away.
    Brian followed him and found him near the prow of the boat. Brian told him, “You shouldn’t worry about Gwynyfer and what she thinks.”
    â€œIt’s only a matter of time. The world-famous Gregory Stoffle charm never fails. I just need to keep trying.”
    â€œThey’re not like us. They just aren’t.”
    Gregory snorted. “What do you know about girls?”
    â€œI meant Norumbegans,” said Brian angrily. He looked down at the canal for a minute. “You know, you’ve been kind of mean to me since we got here.”
    â€œSo what? You’ve been different, too,” Gregory said sharply, and they both stopped talking while the boat puttered on.
    The last stop on the line was Bloxham, where the canal broadened out into a huge swamp. The veins of lux effluvium no longer traveled through the roof of the gut here; instead, they wobbled down the walls and across the floor. They flowed beneath the swamp so it glowed a brilliant blue. The town was built on bridges over the electrified veins, illuminated from below. Several