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‘When does ma darlin’ get ‘ere?’

‘Darling?’ Is this rubbish heap delirious?

‘Darlin’ quixite, Tekkie; gotta hankering for it so deep I caint sleep nights. It’s singin’ to me already. Teasin’ me like a young whore.’

Before Tekton could react Manruben tore aside the archiTect’s veil and cupped his cheek with an over-familiar filthy hand. ‘Betcha you know what tha’s like. Betcha you c’n afford some pricey cunt.’

Tekton thought in that instant that he might faint, but he pulled himself together. Moud, run DNA check.

While his moud ran a DNA analysis of the sample that Manruben had left on his cheek and searched Rho Junction’s image archives, Tekton’s Health Watch hastily neutralised the dangerous bacteria.

Tekton played for time by strolling around the workshop. The space was large enough to stockpile a reasonable quantity of quixite and the equipment looked worn but functional. Lucky for you, Labile Connit! But this disgusting creature following him around was an impostor, he was sure.

Godhead?

Yes?

I am able to verify that this humanesque is Manruben the metal craftsman.

Great Sole! thought Tekton. How appalling! He cleared his throat. ‘Ahem. It would be pertinent for you to examine my preliminary sketches. I shall have them sent to your lodgings.’

‘Loj—loj—.’ Manruben made several tries at repeating the word and gave up. Instead he pointed to a pile of textiles near the far end of the kiln. ‘I be kippin’ right next to her. Like to live wi’ it. You know’

‘Very well. Do you have a personal moud?’

‘Them ones wot’s in yer head? Don’t trust them buggers.’ He wagged his finger in the air, then broke into a broad lecherous grin.

‘Manny? You got it ready?’

Tekton swivelled. A voluptuous female ‘esque dressed in fine-mesh lace and with a velvet purse hanging at her throat teetered into the workshop on preposterous high heels.

‘Lookee,’ said Manruben. He produced a tiny bracelet of delicately interwoven metals from inside his layers of rags.

‘Show me,’ the female squealed, baring a row of perfect teeth. She wobbled straight past Tekton and flung her arms around Manruben’s neck.

The scrawny old ‘esque swayed and nearly fell. ‘Careful, pretty-pretty,’ he said.

She let go of him and teetered back, prayer-clasping her hands together. ‘Can I see it work?’

Manruben reached out and slipped it on her wrist. The interwoven metals slid across each other like writhing snakes. She gave them a gentle touch and they clamped shut like a handcuff.

‘What about the other one?’

Manruben squeezed her breast. ‘Payment first, pretty-pretty.’

She frowned. ‘But Manny, I have a client soon—’

Manruben folded his arms and shook his head.

‘All right,’ she said, pouting. ‘Do you want the usual?’

He nodded and licked his lips like a child anticipating sweets.

Before Tekton could imagine what the ‘usual’ might be, the female knelt down and popped her front eight teeth out into her palm. She dropped them into the little velvet purse hanging around her neck and pressed the seal shut. Then she pulled down Manruben’s grimy pants and buried her face in his groin, making indelicate sucking noises.

Tekton was caught between utter revulsion and complete fascination. Manruben’s bloodshot eyes rolled backward beneath his eyelids in rapid ecstasy.

Tekton’s instincts told him to leave the warehouse, this grubby artisan and his whore, and never return -but he had come too far and risked too much to let Manruben’s sexploits deter him.

So he sat it out, lips pursed, arms folded, toe tapping on the filthy floor. Manruben reached his climax by way of a series of unathletic grunts. But the female was not finished. On his final groan she smeared something between the crease of his slack-skinned buttocks.

To Tekton’s dismay, Manruben gave several further violent thrusts of his pelvis and collapsed backwards, clutching his chest. The whore shrieked and pounced on him, ratting about under the craftsman’s clothes. Finding the precious second bracelet that she sought, she scrambled to