The gorilla Famine hauled the door open, leaving the depiction of Charisma to stare forlornly at the wall. The coolness of the room inside was like a gentle breath washing over them and though neither were really affected by extremes of temperature there was still a relaxing of posture and general sense that they were more comfortable once they were inside. Famine left the door open so that War and Scuffles could follow them, and they walked through a small, square antechamber that had a couple of prayer-cushions lined up along one wall and a tiny wooden bookcase, barely a metre high and half-a-metre in cross-section that held hymnals. The door in the opposite wall opened into the nave. "What are these benches made of?" asked Pestilence as they continued down towards the chancel. He let his hand run over the arms of each one, his fingers tensing very slightly at the oddly furry feel of the blackish wood. "Pews," said Famine. "Not benches. The priests get funny about you using the right names for things." "Like calling their playthings altar-boys?" "It's a technical term," said Famine with a half-smile. "But the pews are made of gorillawood." "Never heard of it," said Pestilence. "It's Castilian," said Famine. "Or was, might be a better word. Grew locally here until the fifteenth century. Then Grandad was doing one of his ecological experiments and killed off a flock or sixty of birds, creating a ripple of famine mostly targeted at a couple of villages off to the north. What no-one noticed for thirty years is that they were the only things eating the beetles that attack Gorillawood trees, so now these things are a rarity." "You'd think there'd be better security," said Pestilence. They reached the end of the nave and crossed the transepts to the chancel. "From us?" "True, true," said Pestilence. "Granted we're not the Boss, but locked doors and fancy alarms haven't yet stopped the spread of disease." "And they often facilitate starvation," said Famine. "That reminds me, did you find a way round Biohazard level 4 security yet?" Pestilence grinned and put a bony white finger to his lips. "Oh yes," he whispered. Famine stopped at the altar, which was dressed with a white alter cloth with red banding at the edges, and then turned around and hoisted himself up so he was sitting on the edge of it and dangling his legs over the side. "Right," he said. "This is us then. I suppose the next thing to do is find out who's doing the summoning and where they are." Pestilence stretched, his arms reaching upwards and the vertebrae in his back making little popping and cracking noises. "Let's wait for the others," he suggested. "I'm pretty sure the Boss wouldn't have told us all to come looking if he didn't think there was a real problem here."
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The gorilla
Famine hauled the door open, leaving the depiction of Charisma to stare forlornly at the wall. The coolness of the room inside was like a gentle breath washing over them and though neither were really affected by extremes of temperature there was still a relaxing of posture and general sense that they were more comfortable once they were inside. Famine left the door open so that War and Scuffles could follow them, and they walked through a small, square antechamber that had a couple of prayer-cushions lined up along one wall and a tiny wooden bookcase, barely a metre high and half-a-metre in cross-section that held hymnals. The door in the opposite wall opened into the nave.
"What are these benches made of?" asked Pestilence as they continued down towards the chancel. He let his hand run over the arms of each one, his fingers tensing very slightly at the oddly furry feel of the blackish wood.
"Pews," said Famine. "Not benches. The priests get funny about you using the right names for things."
"Like calling their playthings altar-boys?"
"It's a technical term," said Famine with a half-smile. "But the pews are made of gorillawood."
"Never heard of it," said Pestilence.
"It's Castilian," said Famine. "Or was, might be a better word. Grew locally here until the fifteenth century. Then Grandad was doing one of his ecological experiments and killed off a flock or sixty of birds, creating a ripple of famine mostly targeted at a couple of villages off to the north. What no-one noticed for thirty years is that they were the only things eating the beetles that attack Gorillawood trees, so now these things are a rarity."
"You'd think there'd be better security," said Pestilence. They reached the end of the nave and crossed the transepts to the chancel.
"From us?"
"True, true," said Pestilence. "Granted we're not the Boss, but locked doors and fancy alarms haven't yet stopped the spread of disease."
"And they often facilitate starvation," said Famine. "That reminds me, did you find a way round Biohazard level 4 security yet?"
Pestilence grinned and put a bony white finger to his lips. "Oh yes," he whispered.
Famine stopped at the altar, which was dressed with a white alter cloth with red banding at the edges, and then turned around and hoisted himself up so he was sitting on the edge of it and dangling his legs over the side. "Right," he said. "This is us then. I suppose the next thing to do is find out who's doing the summoning and where they are."
Pestilence stretched, his arms reaching upwards and the vertebrae in his back making little popping and cracking noises.
"Let's wait for the others," he suggested. "I'm pretty sure the Boss wouldn't have told us all to come looking if he didn't think there was a real problem here."
Greg - with all this greatness, somehow 'Oh yes' is my favorite part. By a long, long ways...
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