And it was still doing it.
Which meant that the Gegs did nothing. Worse still, it appeared as if they were going to be forced to do nothing without heat and without light. Due to the constant, ferocious storms of the Maelstrom that sweep continually across their isles, the Gegs lived underground. The Kicksey-winsey had always provided heat from the bubble-boils and light from the glimmerglamps. The bubble-boils had stopped bubbling almost at once. The glamps had continued to burn for some time following the shutdown of the machine, but now their flames were fading. Lights all over Drevlin were flickering, going out.
And all around, a terrible silence.
The Gegs lived in a world of noise. The first sound a baby heard was the comforting whump, bang, slam of the Kicksey-winsey at work. Now it was no longer working and it was silent. The Gegs were terrified of the silence.
“It’s died!” was the wail that went up simultaneously from a thousand Geg throats, across the isle of Drevlin.
“No, it hasn’t died,” stated Limbeck Bolttightner, peering grimly at one portion of the Kicksey-winsey through his new spectacles. “It’s been murdered.”
“Murdered?” Jarre repeated in an awed whisper. “Who would do such a thing?” But she knew, before she asked.
Limbeck Bolttightner took off his spectacles and wiped them carefiilly on a clean white handkerchief, a habit he’d formed recently. Then he put his spectacles back on, stared at the machine by the light of a torch (made from a rolled-up sheaf of paper containing one of his speeches). He’d lit it by holding it to the sputtering flame of the fast-fading glimmer-glamp.
“The elves.”
“Oh, Limbeck, no,” cried Jarre. “You can’t be right. Why, if the Kicksey-winsey’s stopped working, then it’s stopped producing water, and the Welves—elves—need that water for their people. They’ll die without it. They need the machine just as much as we do. Why would they shut it down?”
“Perhaps they’ve stockpiled water,” said Limbeck coldly. “They’re in control up there, you know. They have armies ringed round the Liftalofts. I see their plan. They’re going to shut the machine down, starve us, freeze us out.”
Limbeck shifted his gaze to Jarre, who immediately looked away.
“Jarre!” he snapped. “You’re doing it again.”
Jarre flushed, tried very hard to look at Limbeck, but she didn’t like looking at him when he wore his spectacles. They were new, of an original design, and—so he claimed—improved his sight immeasurably. But, due to some peculiarity in the glass, the spectacles had the effect of making his eyes appear small and hard.
Just like his heart, Jarre thought to herself sadly, trying her best to look Limbeck in the face and failing miserably. Giving up, she fixed her gaze on the handkerchief that was a glaring patch of white poking out through the dark mass of long, tangled beard.
The torch burned low. Limbeck gestured to one of his bodyguards, who immediately grabbed another speech, rolled it up, and lit it before the last one could go out.
“I always said your speeches were inflammatory.” Jarre attempted a small joke.
Limbeck frowned. “This is no time for levity. I don’t like your attitude, Jarre. I begin to think that you are weakening, my dear. Losing your nerve—”
“You’re right!” Jarre said suddenly, talking to the handkerchief, finding it easier to talk to the handkerchief than to its owner. “I am losing my nerve. I’m afraid—”
“I can’t abide cowards,” remarked Limbeck. “If you’re so scared of the elves that you can no longer function in your position of WUPP Party Sectrary—”
“It’s not the elves, Limbeck!” Jarre clasped her hands tightly together to keep them from yanking off his spectacles and stomping all over them. “It’s us! I’m afraid of us! I’m afraid of you and… and you”—she pointed at one of the Geg bodyguards, who appeared highly flattered and proud of himself—”and you and you! And me. I’m afraid of myself! What have we become, Limbeck? What have we become?”
“I don’t know what you mean, my dear.” Limbeck’s voice was hard and sharp as his new spectacles, which he took off once again and started to clean.
“We used to be peace-loving. Never in the history of the Gegs did we ever kill anyone—”