Diamond glanced at his mother, but Haddi had no advice, just a hard coaxing stare.
Seldom’s friend had never looked so foolish. In anguish, he managed to say, “I wish I hadn’t . . . ”
“All right, we agree,” Prima said. And she turned her gaze, putting her focus on that vast beast. She was standing at the edge of the butcher floor—an engineering wonder made of bone planks with slits between to drain every fluid into sluices that would let nothing escape. She seemed to be staring at Karlan, and with what sounded like the beginnings of a laugh, she said, “And now, sorry as all of us are, we’re glad to try this game all over again.”
“All over again,” she said.
Diamond heard nothing but those words. The rest of Creation had fallen silent, and nobody seemed to notice or they didn’t care, and with that peculiar thought he put a hand to his eyes, waiting for the slippery kiss of fresh tears.
A second voice broke the stillness.
Someone shouted, “Sirens.”
King was sprinting down the corona’s back, bare feet slapping at the soft spent flesh.
“Sirens,” King called out again.
Suddenly Diamond was again listening to machinery and generators working, and too many voices, and in the midst of the turmoil, a call-line began rattling inside a steel box painted an important red.
A soldier opened the box and handed the receiver to General Meeker.
King jumped off the corona, hitting the floor in front of Diamond. Sharp little teeth rode that mouth into a smile. “And I hear jets,” the other mouth said. “Still a long ways off. But if I hear them, that means all of the wings in the world are coming.”
Meeker was listening to the voice riding the wires. Nothing he heard was surprising him.
Stepping close, King said, “This is why.”
“Why what?” Diamond asked.
“The voice was right,” said his brother. “First the corona, and now this. What a great day.”
“The papio—?”
“Are coming here to die.” And King’s other mouth made a hard wet sound that was laid over the next words. “The war is going to be won today,” he said.
Meeker handed the receiver and its voice to a second general.
An aide was delivering reports to the Archon, but he didn’t care to listen. List was first to shout at the slayers, at Karlan. “Rip into that belly now. No more delays.”
Karlan already knew where he needed to cut. He broke into a sprint, tugging at the saw’s handle, the engine sputtering and coughing before breaking into a piercing whine. He was past the dead necks when he shoved the long blade and furious chain into the torso, between two of the giant’s long umbrella-style ribs; and a sudden long gash was torn open, fats and cancers and wasted muscle pouring out behind him.
King was beside Diamond. “Do you know what I was doing, walking on top?”
“I don’t know.”
“Listening for anything alive inside that corpse.”
Diamond felt lighter. “Did you hear anything?” he asked.
“Blood pooling, guts rotting,” said King. “Dead coronas are noisier than living humans, I think.”
Karlan turned and came back again, shoving the saw deeper into the wound. Other slayers were scaling the black body, preparing to cut from above, tearing loose a mass of tissue and scars and swollen cancers.
King claimed a long pole topped with a bright steel saw,
“Let’s help,” he said to Diamond, or maybe to the saw.
Diamond followed. But the slayers noticed as they approached, and it was Karlan who stepped away from his work to face the intruder.
“We’re the damned midwives here,” he said. “Not you.”
Karlan was small next to King.
“Out of my path,” said King.
Karlan cursed.
Diamond’s brother stomped at the floor twice, defending his ground.
And then Karlan smiled, suddenly and brightly. “I can’t kill you, but I can take off those pretty legs before you get your shot at me.”
King spat with his eating mouth. But the other mouth said, “No, I just wanted to bring you this tool.”
The pole and blade struck the floor between them.
Saws quieted, and the other slayers shouted warnings. Then everybody ran away as a mass of hot rotting flesh slid free suddenly, save for two laughing men who rode the carnage all the way to the floor.
Diamond wondered if someone had blessed the corona.
Father would have by now.
The local sirens began to blow. Above them, one fletch and then its neighbors started their engines, getting ready to embark. But a lesser general started yelling at someone, telling them to signal those ships. “Nobody is leaving,” she said, waving a hand in a circle above her head. “Gas protocols are in force.”
In the course of the war, every weapon but one had been used. Just the word “Gas” made everyone move faster or stand stiller, and every soul contemplated a new set of horrors.
Karlan was wading through the gore, cutting still deeper while the other crews brought up timbers and fans.
Mother came close, needing to talk. Diamond assumed that another lecture about decency or shame was about to commence. But no, she tugged on his arm once, just to grab a bigger share of his attentions, and then she quietly told him, “You should be one of the first. Go closer. Go.”
Diamond should be in the front, yes. But it took a startling amount of bravery just to cover the next twenty steps. He stopped beside King. Saying nothing, they watched the slayers set up fans to shove cool air inside, and then they were propping up the long wound, using timbers and sheets of wood to keep the limp body from crushing them. Then just enough had been done, and the men and women vanished inside, no more than one recitation passing before they began dragging out fresh masses of muscle and flower-bright organs that neither boy recognized.
This day had been imagined. A plan was in place, much-practiced and eager.
A dozen soldiers formed one tidy line.
“They search anyone who leaves the corpse,” King said. “They don’t want anyone slipping away with a brother in his pocket.”
Diamond tried to laugh at the image.
King had a bigger laugh, and then he fell silent, suddenly standing taller, the plates on his shoulders beginning to lift.
“What’s wrong?” Diamond asked.
King said nothing.
“You hear something—”
“Meeker,” his brother said. “He’s talking. Wait.”
Karlan emerged from the hole. His white suit was black and shiny with the blood, and he was holding a rope and various hooks, a greasy tongue-shaped mass obediently following after him.
“Spotters in the little Districts,” King said. “They’re calling in. They see skulls riding long bombs and rockets. Papio nerve-killers. One whiff, and we’re the only ones left alive here. And I’m not sure we’ll be upright afterwards.”
Diamond looked back at Elata, at Seldom. He wanted to catch his mother’s gaze, but she was watching the butcher floor, arms crossed as her mouth offered silent words. She was holding an earnest conversation with her dead husband.
Beneath the floor, huge pumps began working.
The air inside the room instantly thickened, vents pumping in extra air to keep any toxic gases outside. The blowing air made the overhead fletches yank against their moorings, and the balloons spun like a flock of fat birds.
Slayers dragged more timbers inside the wound.
List came forward, standing among the soldiers. With his weak loud voice, he told everyone, “Hurry.”
All of the world’s sirens were roaring, but the attacks wouldn’t happen immediately. Even the swiftest wings needed twenty or thirty recitations to cross half of the world.
But the Archon saw no reason for patience. Pushing the officer in charge, he said, “Get your people in there. Let the slayers do their work, but you build a roof. You drag and carry. I want the next children free before the papio arrive.”
“What about security?” the man asked.
“Security we have. Time is scarce.”