thegoodfellas/blogset-br huggingface dataset:
spinning about him like aflock of shining swallows, picking infinitesimal bits of data from the memories to link together andcompile.His name,Scared demanded.The image of Mama Engine flew apart in a ball of fire, pursued to the ends of the universe by therelentless churning of mathematics.His heart wavered, fluctuated, collapsed. He felt an omnipresent sting haul him back towards his lonely,burned room. He fought it, letting that painful gravity rake through him as he awaited the answer.His name!Scared bellowed.Mama Engines flayed desires came back to him, piling one on the other in his vision, each stark andplain. He waited for the answer to come, burning more for each moment he remained. Seconds passed,and his mind began to shy from the vastness of the spaces about him. Fear and uncertainty crept on hisskin like living things, and his nightmares frayed the edges of his consciousness, sniffing for an entrance.There were thousands of themthe twisted wretches of long-suppressed thoughts and memories. Theyscraped with yellowed nails against his soft mind.Unable to bear it any longer, Scared fled upwards, pursued in his ascent by screaming legions of his ownmental horrors. He swam up as fast as his wit would carry him, sinking his fingers into his own solid flesheven as the teeth of a forgotten memory clamped on to his ankle.He crashed back into the burned room in a spray of imagined monsters, sparkling equations, andall-too-real vomit.Lying on the floor, the spent remnants of the drug searing in his veins and organs, Scared began tosnicker, then to chuckle, and after a few seconds he burst into wild, cackling laughter. The calculationshad come together at the last second, and delivered him an answer even as he escaped to theuncomfortable refuge of his body. As waves of vertigo and nausea took him, he spat the name throughcrooked teeth.Oliver Sumner.Aaron was happy for a time, sleeping in his new body in the pocket of this mechanical man who calledhim by another name. He dreamed of a dog, a little spotted terrier mutt of his youth that had chewed histoes to wake him every morning, then of a sunset witnessed from atop the chimney of his childhood homein Manchestera moment of relaxation confounded by the dousing of the fire below.Other dreams came to him as well, dreams of scurrying amongst garbage and dodging enormous feet, ofthe odd pleasantries of scratching and gnawing, and of the luscious feeling discovered once by licking upa sticky liquid spilled from a glass bottle.He awoke wondering whether he had been a man or a rat, in the days before the void.He uncurled himself and clambered out of the pocket. The world suddenly lit up with ambient vibration.Aaron hooked his tail and his back legs into the fabric and leaned far out of the pocket to look down,seeing only the fuzzy reflection of the streets, now not so far below, and the ghosts that haunted them.So very many ghosts.He looked into them, using not his bodys senses but those strange knowings hed had as a man. Thesesouls had a seeming of his companion from the void, as
if they were part of him, or he of them. Victims ofthe disease? Wanderers lost to Purgatory?He is the rot eating at the roots of the flower.He clicked away the thought. What a very strange notion. A human one, perhaps.The mechanical man dug his iron fingers into a beam and swung to the platform below with the grace ofan orang-utan.The impact sent a vibration up the mans legs and through his torso. The noise flashed like fireworks inthe strange eyes of Aarons new body. He spun his rounded snout to face his bearers chest and drank inthe vibrations there. Each manifested as a pulse of white across the screen of his mind, outlining skin,bones, pumps, gears, pistons, and the other features of the mans anatomy. There, too, Aaron perceivedthe taint of the void dweller.The void dweller had showed him this infection, had showed him how it ended.Or perhaps showed me its purpose.A human thought again. Stuffy. Complicated. The rat wanted to run and climb.He scuttled out of the pocket, hooking on to the long coat, and looked about.Up and about are we, Jeremy?The mechanical man stroked him on the snout with his fleshy hand. The skidding of the hands roughcalluses played a music of lights across Aarons vision. When the mechanical man spoke, his voiceappeared as a boxed and rough image not unlike the mans face.Hes got quite the lead on us. Probably your comment about the vagrant, eh?Pride is the folly of all men, said the old man, with an audible grinding of teeth. Particularly the young.With a grunt, he swung himself over the same beam and dropped gingerly to the platform. Aaron scuttledall around the rough wool of the coat, snapping at the lapels and nibbling the buttons.Right-oh, Mr. Philosopher, the mechanical man said. Still, he shouldnt beso far ahead of us.You...well, you dont suppose he took a plunge, do you?Unlikely, though he might have fell.Now youre playing with me, you codger.No, Im proving my superior wit. Move that two-ton cauldron you call an arse out of my way.The mechanical man chuckled, though it was a forced sound, betraying worry. His face creasedperceptibly and he cast a halfhearted search around him.Suddenly eager to help, Aaron opened his jaws and emitted a click. The sound bounced back and thearea jumped to life as if lit with an electric torch. In a nest of twisting pipes some six or seven leapsdistant crouched the third of their party, struggling to right himself and moving with obvious pain. Ghostshad gathered all around him, and floated in a rough sphere. The man pointed his rifle at one.He should not be afraid of them,Aaron thought. He leapt from the coat to a nearby beam, clipping on toone edge with his six limbs.Follow me,Aaron cried, surprised to find nothing more than a click and a whirr escape his throat.Your pets escaping again, the old man called.His Majesty is merely flexing his legs. Exercise serves even the greatest of men, said the mechanicalman, and rats.Aaron found himself clinging upside down as he approached the nest and the ring
of ghosts. He hadnever realised before that they were solidafter a fashion. Air currents shaped through them, definingtheir features in layers of continually shifting ash and smoke.He clicked at them. Two turned to look.The sudden movement startled the besieged man, who swung his rifle about and let fly. Aarons sensesexploded for an instant, as if the atmosphere had turned solid. For a moment he stumbled, swaying abovethe drop.You unsporting bastards, the mechanical man bellowed, hiding out there like foxes on the moor!Have the decency to shoot me to my face.Another blast rang out, followed by three more. Each obliterated Aarons senses, until he teetered onthree limbs, tail flailing and jaws gnashing for purchase.The beam glittered into being.ChristTommy, its me!Another shot. Another blinding field of white.The body shuddered and gave out. Aaron dropped from his perch.The air splayed rivers of light across his vision, rippling and gorgeous, flowing from nose to tail.Will I die when I land?he wondered.Will the rat live? Will the man?The rat screamed with rat terror and went limp at the behest of its instincts. The man turned his eyesdownward and despaired.I do not want to die. There is still so much left undone.Memories came to him, then: images of other men like himself who were his friends; of a vast city ofwasted human life; and overshadowing all, two towering creaturesone of brass, one of iron; one ahammer to crush the soul, the other a mouth to devour it.He remembered his own name. He remembered his mission.Joseph! Help is coming!His buzzing rang from the beams as he fell.Bullets sparked off the beams all around.Oliver squashed himself farther into the tangle of piping and clamped his hand down over his hat.The last ricochet bounced into oblivion and the pipes hummed with dissipating vibration. It would be aminute before Tommys clumsy hands could reload.Are you quite finished? Oliver yelled.The answer came back meek and wavering. Ollie?Yes, its me, you sot. Didnt you hear me the first two times?Well...there was a good deal of noise.What, were you itching to mount me on the parlour wall?You shot me first.I didnt know you were there. I was shooting at...Ghosts? He slumped back against an irregular bendin the pipes, wondering if he really was losing his sanity. Maybe it was the height, and the thought of allthose seconds of empty air before impact with a beam or a quick end on the streets below.Something Tommy had said tingled his mental bell.Did you say that I shot you?Clean through the chest, Tommy called back. I will, of course, be charging you for the clothing.Are you all right?Aside from the hole? The picture of health. I might mention, as well, that these express rifles were a finechoicehit like rhinoceroses.Oliver shook his head in disbelief. Can you see any way across, Tom?Cant say I see much at all. Only ways a thin couple of pipes that a monkey would balk at.Oliver squinted, but could make out little against the grey air. The dull glow of Tom and Phins lanterns bobbed in the distance like a two-headed will-o-the-wisp. He retrieved
the matchbox from his sack andlit his own lantern, which had blown out during the fall. The light revealed only the immediate nest of pipesand the two Tommy had mentioned, which zigged and twisted and looked thin and frail besides.Looks as if theres no way across, gents, Oliver called. Ill descend from here and try to meet up.Aye, Captain. Last one to the ground buys the round!Oliver felt certain Tom was saluting.The will-o-the-wisp moved on downward. Oliver leaned the express rifle against two close pipes andbegan to reload. He might have told them about his twisted ankle, he supposed, but that would have onlyworried them enough to attempt a foolhardy rescue. What sort of leader required a rescue? And hedbeen embarrassed quite enough today, thank you very much.In fact, it seemed all he could manage lately was to make a mess of things.Well, I have two uninjured limbs, at least. Thats enough to affect a climb.He made to rise, then retreated back to his uncomfortable nook as the pain flared in his ankle. Heclipped the lantern to his belt and began to massage his throbbing muscles.After a few minutes rest, he tried the ankle again, finding it sturdy enough to bear weight. He rose,buckled his sack and rifle to his back once more, and fished around for a possible route of descent.Eventually he settled for an angular assortment of pipes and wires that resembled a ladder as one mayhave looked in an opium dream. The descent proved no more or less troublesome than previous oneshad, and before long he had set foot on wide, solid beams.He stopped to rest, sipped at his canteen, and polished his goggles to clear his vision. Thehuman-seeming wisps of smoke had gone, but the burning in his mind remained, dulled, as if fallen into alight slumber.Dark and heat and height had begun to take their toll: he felt exhausted. He downed another sip of grainywater and thought of MissyMichelle. She never let anyone else call her that. Why hadnt he noticedbefore?Because it was just another of the womans damnable mysteries, thats why. She liked her secrets, thatone. She had a look, he reflected, a queer expression that crept onto her face in certain instances ofOlivers kindness, which she hid behind a quickly crafted smile. Perhaps it was to keep him guessing,perhaps for other reasonshe might never know.His train of thought breached the point at which it became more uncomfortable than continuing thedescent, so Oliver stowed his water, checked his straps, and shuffled to the platforms edge.No more yellow paint.Nothing below but a mass of near-vertical pipes slick with condensation; nothingto the sides but silent ashfall; the only way onward, a treacherous slide down the pipes with no peripheralmeans to reduce speed. His injured hand stung just looking at it; his guts clenched and squeezed likekneaded bread. He spoke just to get away from his own thoughts.For our great and noble queen, he said to himself, then shook his head. Well do the strangest things for a lady.He flung his feet off the edge and dropped himself over.Peculiar,
that, Mulls whispered.Bergen did not bother to look. Mulls had been repeating those same words over and over for the pasthour. It was a jungle fearthe fear of silence. Those few rich men and journalists hed taken throughAfrica in earlier days had shown similar reactions, talking gaily and commenting on every damn thing as ifnoise alone would keep the snakes at bay. When he told them to keep quiet, they curled up likechastised little boys.But he needed Mulls sharp, and so tolerated the outbursts.By now they were well below Aldgate Tower, and it was past two in the morning. Another hound attackhad left Bergens shoulder burned by the heat and chafed by the steam rifles straps. Penny had comethrough, doing much better with his flasher than with a rifle. He now held the flashers copper-tippedstriking rod in front of him like a knife at all times, and his other hand effected a constant slow rotation ofthe charging wheel at his belt.The boy didnt seem to tire. He stood watch during their rest stops, took lead on climbs through rubbleand old buildings, and even ranged a bit when Bergen stopped to get their bearings. His stance neverwavered from its catlike grace, and he did not relax for even an instant.He is an animal, that boy,Bergen thought.A predator born by accident in a human womb.Aldgate had an underbelly, though its residents preferred to call it a subconcourse. In an effort,perhaps, to raise their status, they had installed a dazzling array of electric lights all across their ceiling andin their streets, and it leaked through the haze into the downstreets with enough power to illuminate theirroute as by moonlight.That light allowed Bergen to keep better tabs on Pennyedge. Bergens senses had been alert for sometime to the boys attempts to circle and approach him from behind.Bergen led them beneath Aldgate to the side closest to Commercial Street Tower, where their quarrywas reputed to have fallen. The two towers were so close as to be nearly leaning on each other, with theoutward-sloping base of the Stack mingling into their support beams.The stench was vile. Aldgate residents, with their rich variety of imported foods, produced some of themost pungent shit Bergen had ever had to endure. Its odour cut through even the omnipresent stench ofash and smoke. They had passed earlier one of many vast septic pools, centred seven storeys below theprimary sewer drains, and they had all nearly choked on the air.Peculiar, Mulls muttered.Bergen forgot himself and snapped: Can you make anyother comment?But thats someone moving, that is.Mulls nudged his rifle to the left. Bergens eyes shot to the location indicated.Someone moving. Not a hound, or a clickrat, but a man, crawling.Penny, flank.The boy vanished to the right without a second glance.Mulls, cover him.Mulls nodded, then ran off to a suitably high outcropping of rubble, where he nestled his bulk betweentwo rotten beams and set his rifles barrel atop the remains of a plaster wall.Bergen carefully set the steam rifle down, then reached for his Gasser. His right hand shook under itsweight as he lifted it,
so he decided to leave it holstered. He was a fast enough draw with his left.He approached from an oblique angle, through ruined buildings rather than along the old street. If hisquarry noticed any of them, he gave no sign.Bergen examined the man through the rotted holes of his hiding place: definitely human, crippled,struggling to pull himself along on his forearms, dragging unmoving legs behind like a grotesque train.Bergen spotted a flat, circular case wedged in the crook of his left arm.And theres our prise.He stood. The quarry noticed him immediately, staring dumbstruck for a long moment as Bergenapproached. Then the man erupted with laughter.You find something funny? Bergen growled.The man gagged, coughed up brown oil, then resumed laughing.Bergen squatted down. The mans fit choked itself out, and between ragged breaths he tilted his faceupwards. Only one red eye blinked up at Bergen, the other having been destroyed by the fall along withthe entire right side of the mans face.Yer not one of Baileys men, are yeh?Bergen shook his head.I should have known better than to hope. For a moment I thought the lad might have devised someflying machine after all. Yeh here for the tape?Bergen nodded, and held out his hand.Bugger all. The man hung his head for a moment. Not much to be done about it, looks like: wont beno running, nor fighting. Just answer one question of a dying man and answer true.Fine.Are ye gonna use it?Yes.Well, theres a due turn o luck. The man grabbed at the case with his left hand. The broken fingersscraped over its surface, unable to close together. Mind?Bergen retrieved it for him. He wiped some of the slime and blood from it on his trouser leg. The brokenman, relieved of his burden, collapsed to the concrete.Now, he said, his voice muffled by the wet ground, will it be a mite of conversation, or should we geton with the shooting?Bergen slipped the sidearm out of its holster with his left hand. I am curious how you managed tosurvive the fall, he said. I expected to find a corpse.Oddest thing, the man said. Ive no heart, apparently. Rest o me broke like twigs, but this thing in mechest kept pumping away. The lad knew, somehow. He pushed me over, murdering, brilliant, young man.He knew Id survive. He chuckled. Oil burbled up from his mouth.Aaron Bolden. He was an extraordinary man, my friend.Bergen felt a powerful yearning to comfort the dying man, to tell him that his sacrifice would make thedifference in the rebellion. Bergen made a quick check of the surrounding street: empty, with twenty feetto the nearest obstacle. If he was there, Penny would hear, and so Bergen said nothing.I have a daughter, the man said. Beautiful girl, big-boned like her mother. She was going to move toEdinburrough with a tramp of an Englishmana coal-backer, of all people! Loves the chap, though.Bergen nodded, already agreeing to the next request.Ellie McWhyte, he said, though she might be Ellie Pearson by now. Just give her me love.I will.Yer awfully polite for a German fellow. You have
a name, sos I can put in a good word with St.Peter?He should shoot the man nowend this conversation, this dying attempt at camaraderie, beforesentiment put him in danger, but Bergen had been living amongst thieves and villains so long that a fewwords of an honest man glittered like honey in his ears. It was stupid, but the man deserved to know hewas dying beside a friend.Bergen leaned close to the mans ear, so that his lips almost touched it as he spoke. He dropped theGerman accent and let his native Dartmoor shine through.Nicholas Ellingsly, he whispered. Rest in peace, friend.Bergen stood and shot the man through the forehead.The sight of the twitching body sewed shut any hint of sentiment. When Penny appeared out of the darkat his side, Bergens expression had become as cold as before.And now you know I shoot left-handed. Well, who are you going to tell?Five minutes for food and rest. Then we head back.He walked back to the steam rifle. Pennys eyes narrowed to razor slits and followed him step for step.Bergen stripped aside his mask and took a pull of water from his canteen, trying to quell the nagging fearcreeping up through his stomach.For the first time, Penny had come right up behind him, and Bergen hadnt noticed.
I have not asked Them whether I am fated to die when Their work is done. I am too frightened thatThey may answer me.II. xxixWindows shattered and cables broke in the world of dreams.Ten thousand arms grasped at yellow-brown ichor. Towers swayed; brass and copper and glasspuddled in the air before raining into the rising sea of bile. The searing heat of the fire and the sticky coolof the swamp clashed and annihilated each other. Steam burst upwards and tore the red sky, openingrents into horrid other spaces, which screamed above the incessant booming of the clock.Aaron fled for his life.The diseased child-god had used him. Whatever the Lord and Lady had done to keep their malformedspawn from invading the city, Aaron had undone.At first he had seen her clearly, as Mama Engine emerged into mans realm at the beckoning of herpriest. The layers of her essence unfolded in sequence, revealing progressively deeper levels of her mind,from the simplest surface thoughts, to capricious desires and whims, to deep convictions of love and pain,to an exacting point of fire, hungry to consume and smelt and mould.At one instant he had been safe, buoyed inside his silver body and anchored firmly on Adams earth.The next, he felt a tug at his mind, then dull claws slashed into it and a howl of pain ripped through him. Inthat instant he became a thousand individuals writhing in pain on a thousand beds, cots, and streetcorners, every sliver of his body ground apart from within by teeth and gears, black oil spilling from everyorifice. Hed looked up and seen the faces of friends and family, tormentors and cloaks, sometimes no face at all.The diseased child-god burst from Aarons soul like water through a breached dike. In moments, thethings pus-body had attached itself to the towers and walkways of the dream world, and then began tooxidise them.As the tower of hands bent and closed in, Aaron had torn himself free. Something of him was leftbehind, to singe and curl and turn to ash.The void. Where is the void?He ran through the copper-plated streets, through glass arches and acrosschain bridges. Every turn brought him to a new corridor, identical to the last, or to a new chain bridgeover choppy, black seas.It must be somewhere. He reached into it to get me, so there must be an entrance.He reached a ledge and halted. From there, he scanned the sky ahead. A chain ran from the ledge sometwo hundred yards to the prismatic saw creation that stood in for the Docks Tower. Beyond, black skiesand Londons army of ghosts waited and watched.Words came to him from that echo of his mind that knew the unknowable:They guard the ancientdreams of London from all invaders, even yourself.He spun and looked back. Cracks spiderwebbed across the sky. Long trails of smoke flew in alldirections as the tower of arms lurched and bent and smashed against its foe. The air filled with thewailing of souls on both sides as the gods threw those captured wretches into the fray.Grandfather Clock ticked in steady rhythm, and did