The World of Poo

scummy, barely moving water. Occasionally, a warning shout of ‘Watch out below’ was to be heard as the stevedores scurried over a ship like ants. Suddenly Sir Harry leapt to his feet. ‘By Offler’s tooth, lad, we’ve got a couple,’ he cried, pointing out a pair of floaters. ‘Look, there, I’ll bet you a dollar to a penny that the one nearer the bank will hit that wall first.’

    With a practised eye they both studied the movement of their movements in the current.
    ‘Ah, well, I reckon that one’s yours, lad; I’ll settle up with you later. And thank you very much for letting an old man revisit his boyhood for a while.’
    As they rowed through the ancient portal of the River Gate, Sir Harry was hailed by a group of watchmen who were huddled smoking in the lee of one of the old battlements. ‘Any chance of an extra pick-up, Sir Harry?’ one of them shouted. ‘Trap four is full and some of the lads had a Klatchian last night.’
    ‘What? I’m the bloody boss, ain’t I,’ said Harry, angrily. ‘There’s one of my lighters along in about fifteen minutes, they’ll help you out.’
    Outside the city walls the view changed to ramshackle sheds and old farmhouses, reedy swamps and a tow-path. ‘Not far now,’ said Sir Harry. ‘You can just see the top of my biggest heap, over there.’

    Geoffrey looked afresh at what he’d taken to be a small hill in the distance. As they drew nearer he could see smoke rising, and the general miasma of smells grew much more concentrated. They came to what looked like a small city of shacks and lean-tos. ‘I let some of my workers live there free,’ said Sir Harry. ‘It means they’re always willing to make an effort and squeeze out the last drop, so to speak, and they’re never late for work.’
    The boat turned towards a landing quay where the oarsmen helped Geoffrey, who was carrying Widdler under his arm, to disembark.
    ‘Now hold my hand, lad,’ said Sir Harry. ‘There’s a lot going on; you need to keep your wits about you.’
    A maze of moving belts criss-crossed the vast yard and carts were being loaded and unloaded from various bins and heaps of rubbish. Above Geoffrey’s head pulleys with rows of buckets rattled along on heavy chains. The whole world around him seemed to be moving and, from the stink, Geoffrey guessed it was mainly poo on the move. There were two golems working on giant treadmills and more golems and trolls and humans and goblins working at the moving belts. Every now and then one of them would reach out, pick something off the belt and put it into one of several bins alongside them. Gnolls, with brushes and buckets and wearing muzzles over their mouths to stop them eating everything in sight – including the brush – were clearing anything that fell from the great creaking edifice.
    Geoffrey and Sir Harry climbed some steep stairs to Sir Harry’s office, which was like a crow’s nest with windows all around, designed so that he could see everything that was going on in every corner of his empire.
     
    ‘I’ve a couple of jobs I need to attend to,’ said Sir Harry, ‘so I’ll get my foreman to give you a guided tour and I’ll join you later.’
    Sir Harry opened one of the windows and, looking down, shouted, ‘Barker? Come on up here if you please, I’ve a job for you.’ He then held out a pair of stout waders. ‘Right, you better put these boots on, Geoffrey, and it’s probably best if you leave little Widdler in my office. I’ve got dogs down there that would have him for lunch.’
    A short man with a broad grin but unsmiling, steely eyes came up the steps to the office. He was wearing a flat cap, a much-patched tweedy jacket, a big leather apron tied up with string and long boots. He looked at Geoffrey as if calculating how much he’d be worth in his component parts.
    ‘Would you show my young friend around the works for me, Barker? He’s a keen student of the world of waste. Make sure he comes to no harm and keep him well away from the thaumic dump,’ warned Sir Harry as he picked up his overcoat and disappeared down the stairs.
    ‘What’s the thaumic dump, Mister Barker?’ asked Geoffrey, as they descended into the maelstrom of the busy yard.
    ‘That’s where we store waste from the University. We have to keep it in a lead-lined pit or it gets out and crawls all over the place. Sir Harry doesn’t mind having it here because it generates so much heat, so it’s never cold down here, even in