The Rise of Ransom City
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In The Half-Made World, Felix Gilman took readers deep into a world on the cusp of forging an identity. The Line, a cult of Industry, and the Gun, a mission of Chaos, were engaged in a war for dominance. The Line was winning city by city, enslaving the populations it conquered. A doctor of psychology, Liv Alverhuysen, was caught in the middle, unknowingly guarding a secret that both sides would do anything to have.
Now, in the amazing sequel Rise of Ransom City, Liv is lost on the edge of the world with Creedmor, an agent of the Gun, and the powerful Line will stop at nothing to find them. But Harry Ransom, half con man, half mad inventor, is setting the edge of the world aglow. Town by town he is building up a bankroll and leaving hope in his wake because one of his inventions is actually working. But his genius is not going unnoticed, and when he crosses paths with the two most wanted outlaws in the "unmade world," his stage becomes even larger and presents an opportunity more lucrative than any of his scams or inventions combined.
text to the Linesman, who shook his head, not seeing fit to share it with Mr. Baxter. The old man himself inhaled or imbibed or what ever it was he was doing from his pipe, and then when he was done coughing he looked at me and said, “So are you ready to talk business like a man, Professor Ransom?” A Portrait of Mr. Baxter Talking business with Mr. Alfred Baxter was not the great joyful exercise I’d imagined, but it sure was an education. If all the Professors of Vansittart University could
me.” “I mean, and this comes by order of the Engines themselves, who have taken an interest in you, you poor stupid bastard, that before Mr. Baxter died of his long unfortunate illness he was so impressed by your pluck and ambition and your devotion to Jasper City that he buried your dispute and the old man personally chose you as his successor.” I had nothing to say to that. In fact I was so surprised that I do not think I could have spoken at all without choking. “Quite a promotion,
that and they did not know who I was. I told them I was teaching them the exercise secrets of long-dead Folk warriors, and mostly they liked that notion. I had a lot of strange dreams for a very long time, which maybe is because I had stopped taking the sleeping-tablets too suddenly. Who knows. Anyhow I dreamed of the edge of the world, and of Mr. Carver, and of the Folk I had met back outside East Conlan when I was a boy. I stopped hearing my name cursed as a villain. I started to hear my name
Carver,” I said. “Come here.” Mr. Carver ambled over, scratching his beard with one hand and holding the ax loose in the other. He stood beside me. “This is the end,” I said. “I know who you are. John Creedmoor. I read what you did at, at, well I don’t recall—” “You want me to list my crimes for you, Professor?” “No. No Mr. Creedmoor I do not. I want you to go your own way and I will go mine.” “Hah! Gladly and good riddance.” “I want no part of your plans. I’ll tell nobody what I know. Just
of the fortune of a princess of the Deltas in less than ten years. By the time she was nineteen years old she’d abandoned these clumsy early experiments, and was deeply engaged in the study of Mind. She fell in and out of love with one or more of the tutors. She developed a kind of analytical engine and a kind of complex abacus that played chess, though not well. She was accused of various kinds of witchcraft and of digging up the lost arts of the Folk. Somebody shot out one of her windows and