“Yeah, that’s just how an Archbuilder would do it. Open a crate in the middle of the valley and walk each item back separately. Only they’d get so fascinated with the first one that they’d forget the rest and leave it out there.”
Clement and Ben Barth got the pallet onto the porch. Clement stepped back and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. Ben Barth examined the crushed edge of the porch.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “This wood is shit.”
“Mangled surfaces,” said Hiding Kneel.
“Yeah, mangled goddamn surfaces,” said Ben Barth. “If you have to give every goddamn thing a name.”
“Mangled surfaces is not a name, Ben,” said the Archbuilder innocently.
“Neither is Hiding Kneel,” said Ben Barth. He scratched at the sides of his grizzled beard. “But seems to me I know a somebody, or something, that calls itself that. So why not Mangled Surfaces?”
Pella was able to tear her gaze from the Archbuilder now. She sat staring past the house, to where the distant shapes met the sky, and thought: The whole
planet
should be named Mangled Surfaces.
“Come inside for a drink?” said Clement. “Ben? Hiding Kneel?”
Ben Barth nodded, and looked at the Archbuilder. “Sure,” said Ben Barth.
“Why is your name Hiding Kneel?” said Raymond, following them into the house. Pella went too, feeling protective. It was one thing to meet Archbuilders outside, another to have them in the house. The four rough rooms had been divided now: the boys’ bedroom, Pella’s, one for Clement that was also an office, though it wasn’t clear why it should be one, and the kitchen, where they ate. And hosted Archbuilders, apparently. Clement went to the refrigerator and began pouring drinks.
Ben Barth answered. “They’re so in love with English, they had to go rename themselves that way. Truth Renowned, Rock Friend, Lonely Candybar, HidingKneel. You’ll meet the whole bunch, one name stupider than the other.”
“Stupider and more carnivalesque,” said Hiding Kneel, seemingly taking it as a compliment.
“Yeah, life’s a carnival on the Planet of the Archbuilders,” said Ben Barth. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Marsh.” He took the glass of reconstituted juice.
“Call me Clement. This is Pella, and Raymond.”
“Your name evokes,” said Hiding Kneel, turning to Pella. “Pella Marsh.”
“Evokes what?” said Pella. “I didn’t pick it myself, anyway.” She was distracted, noticing household deer scurrying around the edges of the room, finding vantage points. Little giraffe spies, everywhere.
The day before, the household deer had seemed new and strange. Now, compared to the Archbuilder, they were familiar and ambient, like weather.
“Kneel just likes the sound of your name,” said Ben Barth. “That’s all it means to say.”
Clement handed Hiding Kneel a glass of juice. The Archbuilder lifted it to its dark maw and took a sip.
“Where’s David?” said Clement.
“He fell asleep,” said Pella.
“Yeah, with his head on the table,” said Ray. “We made him go to his room. But I’ll wake him up—he’ll want to see
this.
” He jerked his head at the Archbuilder.
“Ray, Hiding Kneel is not a
this
.”
“He’ll want to meet Mr. Kneel, is what I mean.”
“Nor a
mister
,” chortled Ben Barth.
Raymond stood openmouthed, struck dumb by this second correction.
“Go ahead,” said Clement, nodding. “Wake him up.”
While Raymond and Clement talked, Pella watched the Archbuilder step over to the table, dip two furry fingers into the jar, pluck out one of the swimming fish, and dump it into its glass of juice. Pella looked over at Clement and Ben Barth, but they hadn’t seen. In a little panic, she looked back at Hiding Kneel. The Archbuilder blithely lifted the glass and gulped down the fish.
Bruce had said they didn’t eat the fish. But this one did, apparently.
So Bruce couldn’t be trusted to know the whole truth about Archbuilders. No one could, probably. If the
Clement and Ben Barth got the pallet onto the porch. Clement stepped back and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. Ben Barth examined the crushed edge of the porch.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “This wood is shit.”
“Mangled surfaces,” said Hiding Kneel.
“Yeah, mangled goddamn surfaces,” said Ben Barth. “If you have to give every goddamn thing a name.”
“Mangled surfaces is not a name, Ben,” said the Archbuilder innocently.
“Neither is Hiding Kneel,” said Ben Barth. He scratched at the sides of his grizzled beard. “But seems to me I know a somebody, or something, that calls itself that. So why not Mangled Surfaces?”
Pella was able to tear her gaze from the Archbuilder now. She sat staring past the house, to where the distant shapes met the sky, and thought: The whole
planet
should be named Mangled Surfaces.
“Come inside for a drink?” said Clement. “Ben? Hiding Kneel?”
Ben Barth nodded, and looked at the Archbuilder. “Sure,” said Ben Barth.
“Why is your name Hiding Kneel?” said Raymond, following them into the house. Pella went too, feeling protective. It was one thing to meet Archbuilders outside, another to have them in the house. The four rough rooms had been divided now: the boys’ bedroom, Pella’s, one for Clement that was also an office, though it wasn’t clear why it should be one, and the kitchen, where they ate. And hosted Archbuilders, apparently. Clement went to the refrigerator and began pouring drinks.
Ben Barth answered. “They’re so in love with English, they had to go rename themselves that way. Truth Renowned, Rock Friend, Lonely Candybar, HidingKneel. You’ll meet the whole bunch, one name stupider than the other.”
“Stupider and more carnivalesque,” said Hiding Kneel, seemingly taking it as a compliment.
“Yeah, life’s a carnival on the Planet of the Archbuilders,” said Ben Barth. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Marsh.” He took the glass of reconstituted juice.
“Call me Clement. This is Pella, and Raymond.”
“Your name evokes,” said Hiding Kneel, turning to Pella. “Pella Marsh.”
“Evokes what?” said Pella. “I didn’t pick it myself, anyway.” She was distracted, noticing household deer scurrying around the edges of the room, finding vantage points. Little giraffe spies, everywhere.
The day before, the household deer had seemed new and strange. Now, compared to the Archbuilder, they were familiar and ambient, like weather.
“Kneel just likes the sound of your name,” said Ben Barth. “That’s all it means to say.”
Clement handed Hiding Kneel a glass of juice. The Archbuilder lifted it to its dark maw and took a sip.
“Where’s David?” said Clement.
“He fell asleep,” said Pella.
“Yeah, with his head on the table,” said Ray. “We made him go to his room. But I’ll wake him up—he’ll want to see
this.
” He jerked his head at the Archbuilder.
“Ray, Hiding Kneel is not a
this
.”
“He’ll want to meet Mr. Kneel, is what I mean.”
“Nor a
mister
,” chortled Ben Barth.
Raymond stood openmouthed, struck dumb by this second correction.
“Go ahead,” said Clement, nodding. “Wake him up.”
While Raymond and Clement talked, Pella watched the Archbuilder step over to the table, dip two furry fingers into the jar, pluck out one of the swimming fish, and dump it into its glass of juice. Pella looked over at Clement and Ben Barth, but they hadn’t seen. In a little panic, she looked back at Hiding Kneel. The Archbuilder blithely lifted the glass and gulped down the fish.
Bruce had said they didn’t eat the fish. But this one did, apparently.
So Bruce couldn’t be trusted to know the whole truth about Archbuilders. No one could, probably. If the
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