Rip and Sin
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her breath. “But
her breath. “But her breath. “But I’ll see what I can do.” Nodding toward Kaylen, she added. “This is Kaylen Thyr, captain of the late, great ship Wayfarer. He saved my life once.” “Glad to meet you, sir!” Fennric said enthusiastically, grabbing and pumping Kaylen’s hand. “Welcome to the madness!” Then he scampered back the way he’d come. “I know how to field-dress a sliced leg,” Kaylen said. “I won’t be much help with babies.” Jahsha led him toward some improvised tents. Several people were examining a pile of crates and boxes, looking through the contents, sorting. To one side, in a hammock, lay a young woman, maroon dress clinging wetly to her very round belly. Her eyes were closed, her face contorted with pain, covered in sweat. “Seedra,” Jahsha said, taking the young woman’s hand. “What’s wrong?” The hand. “What’s wrong?” The woman
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opened her eyes,
opened her eyes, and forced a smile. “I’m sorry to be a bother,” she said. “I don’t know if anything is wrong, but the baby doesn’t feel right.” Jahsha turned to Kaylen. “Can you find those priests and see if they’re useful for anything? You’ll find them just beyond the wreck, unless they’ve wandered off. There must be something they can do besides pray.” “On my way,” Kaylen said as he turned and started trotting down the beach. Just past the bow of the ferry, he found four people in colorful hooded robes, three sitting, facing each other, the other standing in their midst. They were all droning softly, the words indecipherable. Kaylen waited a few moments, and then said loudly, “We need a doctor. Do any of you have experience dealing have experience dealing with pregnancies?” The chanting stopped, and the standing figure turned to
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face Kaylen. In
face Kaylen. In the shade of the hood, a thin face with bright eyes peered at Kaylen, in a manner that was reminiscent of an angry grey-and-purple dragon. “I am Bishop Jennur Ott, Rector of Rhysthyn Academy,” a gravelly voice said from beneath the eyes. The man pulled back the hood, revealing a wrinkled, bearded face, a 27 colorful triangle tattooed on his forehead. “We’re busy praying for guidance. Do not disturb us.” “We have a very pregnant woman who needs aid,” Kaylen stated. He addressed the seated monk in blue. “You’re part of the Kiran Order, right? Have you studied medicine?” The figure turned The figure turned its face up, toward Kaylen, and the hood slipped back, revealing a young woman, her bright blue eyes framed in a freckled face and wavy brown hair. “Yes, I have,” she said, slowly standing. “Zarah, stay!” Jennur snapped.
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“I am not
“I am not your pet,” the woman replied, with surprising force. Jennur grabbed Zarah’s arm, pulling her violently toward him. “I’ve forgiven your insolence too many times, child. Defy me again, and I’ll drag you before a tribunal – ” He stopped with a guttural noise. Kaylen’s sword pressed against his throat. “Let her go,” Kaylen said in measured tones. “Your tribunal is dead. And I don’t have time for puhtahks who hurt women.” Slowly, the bishop released Zarah’s arm. She walked quietly and deliberately away, not looking at either man. Kaylen pulled his sword pulled his sword away from the bishop, but held it ready. “You will regret this,” Jennur spit, rubbing his neck. “How dare you threaten me! May Simer the Just have mercy on you.” His sharp eyes tried to burn a hole into the sailor. “He already has,” Kaylen smirked. Without waiting
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for a reply,
for a reply, he followed the retreating blue monk. “You shouldn’t have done that,” the woman said as Kaylen caught up with her. “The bishop is a vindictive man. I do appreciate your gallantry, though.” She extended a hand toward Kaylen. He was surprised at the strength of her grip. “And your name is?” “Kaylen. Thanks for helping, Zarah.” “Show me the woman in distress, and I’ll do what I can.” “One problem solved,” Jahsha said, as she and Kaylen left Seedra’s resting left Seedra’s resting place, leaving Zarah to work quickly and soothingly. The pair neared the ferry; Kaylen saw that it was in worse shape than he’d expected. One side of the hull had collapsed inward, flattened against the sand; the keel was obviously broken in several places, the decks canted and twisted at troublesome angles. Many people were working to remove the cargo,
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which had all
which had all tumbled into a chaotic jumble. In one compartment, a pudgy man defiantly stood by two tangled wagons, arms crossed, chasing away anyone who approached. “Leave!” the man ordered as Kaylen and Jahsha approached him. “These are my goods, and you’ll keep your hands off of them, thank you very much.” 28 Jahsha ignored him, Jahsha ignored him, and walked to one of the damaged wagons, looking under its canvas covering. When the man moved to intercept her, Kaylen stepped between them. “I’ll report this to the highest authorities, you’ll see!” the man cried. “You can’t just poke about in a man’s possessions, you know. Not without consequences.” Jahsha whistled. “Jackpot,” she said. Reaching under the canvas, she pulled forth the stock of a crossbow. “Do you have all the parts for these? And quarrels?” “Put that back!” the man screeched. “Answer the question,”
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said Kaylen. “Mister…?”
said Kaylen. “Mister…?” “Yohan Andus, if you must know,” was the reply. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Your friend has no authority here. None.” “Actually, I do have authority,” Jahsha said. “Under the Maritime Acts, a duly registered ship’s captain has the right to declare right to declare martial law for the protection of people and goods.” “That applies to pirates,” Yohan said indignantly. “I obviously am not a pirate.” Jahsha pulled a black metal cross arm from the wagon and fitted it to the stock. Sighting the weapon, she said. “No, you’re probably not a pirate, but I wonder who was going to buy these. I don’t see any tax stamps.” She lowered the weapon, and her smile was not friendly. “How dare you! I am a legitimate business man.” “With a load of weapons in boxes marked ‘kitchen utensils’.” Yohan stammered, “Those
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are… uh… they…
are… uh… they… uh… were second hand crates. I was just saving a bit of cash, you know, maximizing my profits. I saw no need to change the labels.” “Uh-huh,” said Kaylen. “And now you’re going to profit by donating these to donating these to the local defense.” “How will I profit from that?” Yohan asked sourly. “I won’t throw you to the incoming army of carnivorous bugs.” “Ah,” Yohan said. “I see your point.” The journey was not a long one, particularly for a dragon. He’d made this flight many times, more often than anyone other than a dragon could count. For more than a hundred thousand days, he’d come to this place, and he was determined to return every day for eternity. He would never be able to go home, but he would always remember it. On this day, the ravaged mountain side lay
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blanketed in late
blanketed in late spring snow. Trees had grown in the talus, tall pines that looked black against the white and pale white and pale grey. Large black birds fluttered up 29 and away as the dragon slowly circled. He finally perched on a flat piece of granite that angled up from one side of the ruin. “Hello, my love,” Symurall said. He knew there was no life beneath the rocks – his people had searched and dug and pawed through the rubble, in a vain hope of finding his beloved Kahshiki. Even though they could not feel her presence, they had tried, until Symurall himself had finally ended the search. Now only he and Kyazura came here; other dragons avoided the area, unwilling to face a reminder of their potential mortality. “Humans have come again,” Symurall said, in a soft voice a
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soft voice he
soft voice he only used in this one place. “Cast on our shores by a disaster. Helpless.” He paused, and watched the clouds for a moment. “I am going to Sanctagora, to a gathering, to decide the fate of these newcomers. I wish you were here to guide me. The hatred still runs deep, dear one. Very deep.” He stretched out his feelings, his senses, and sought Kahshiki, knowing that he would not find her, just as he hadn’t found her uncounted times before. But he had to try. Giving up was not in his nature. “I know you would tell me to let go of the hate,” he said. “I do not know if I can.” After a while, he curled up, and went to sleep in the graveyard of his hopes and dreams. “Even with the “Even with the weapons that louse was hiding,
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we’re in trouble,”
we’re in trouble,” Jahsha said. “I doubt most of these people have ever held a sword, let alone a crossbow.” “At least crossbows are simple,” Kaylen replied. “We can start training people tomorrow.” “We’ll have a panic as soon as we tell them about the kehklik.” “We can’t build a fort in secret.” They walked to a nearby fire. With the arrival of dusk, people were gathering to cook fish. For a time, Kaylen stopped worrying about pending battles, and enjoyed casual conversation with strangers. As the evening darkened, his disquiet grew with each friendly person he met. These weren’t soldiers or adventurers – they were shopkeepers, farmers, merchants, and even members of a traveling orchestra. a traveling orchestra. So many questions; he wondered where the answers would come from. He felt a pair of eyes regarding him. He’s noticed the eyes before, several times during
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the day, almond-shaped
the day, almond-shaped grey ones, belonging to a tall, slender, dark woman with wild black hair. Normally, he’d have taken her attention as a compliment, but something about her was unsettling. 30 “If you’re going to stare at me, at least say hello,” he finally said to her. The woman continued watching him, a slight movement of her eyes the only sign she’d heard him. “She can’t answer you,” Jahsha said. “She’s mute.” The woman held a hand over her throat, and nodded. “We found her just west of here, late of here, late last night, walking along the beach,” Jahsha continued. “She’s been a godsend, voice or no voice. The water collector over there was her idea; we’d have run out of fresh water without it.” “Thank you,” Kaylen said to the dark woman. She gave Kaylen a hard look before jumping up and disappearing
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into the darkness.
into the darkness. Jahsha left moments later, called away by Fennric to deal with issues aboard her ship. Kaylen leaned back, wishing he could see the stars. Momentarily, he thought he saw a dragon-like form move across the near-black clouds. He wondered which dragon it was. Sunrise warmed Symurall, and he awoke to the squawking of black birds. He’d dreamt of Kahshiki, as he always did. After a stretch, he a stretch, he said good-bye to her, and flew southwest until he reached the wetlands of Dybwood. There he found a herd of large herbivores, several of which became his breakfast. After that, he slowly drifted south, coasting on strong thermals blowing down the great valley. Even at that leisurely pace, he would be early for the gathering, as intended. As the one who had called the meeting, it was his duty to thank the others
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for coming, and
for coming, and set the tone for their discussions. As he flew, blue-green swamp became lake country, which evolved into dry hills around a high, vast plateau. At the northern end of the heights lay the ruin of a city, still called Sanctagora by the dragons who now used it for their own purposes. Symurall had seen humans build the humans build the city; he had watched it grow, becoming a great center of learning, including the arts of magic. Then he’d burned it to the ground, utterly blasting the place into rubble, in an act of self-preservation and revenge. Soon after, the kehklik had come, wiping away the survivors… now the city was an empty memorial to rash actions, the nexus of protocol. In the great town square, surrounded by the rubble of their mistake, the dragons would meet and talk and decide. Symurall landed
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next to a
next to a magnificent – but dry – fountain. Nearby, an old yellow-white dragon rested atop the remains of a broken building. “It is good to see you, Symurall,” said Voranytchi, an honored elder who was twice Symurall’s age. “I hear we have momentous events to discuss.” He chuckled deeply. He chuckled deeply. “Later, 31 maybe I can share my latest poem with you. I believe it rivals your father’s best work. Oh – someone is waiting for you.” “Indeed,” Symurall replied. He’d already sensed the other dragon. “I was on my way home,” Sytherek said as he emerged from behind a building. “One of Kyazura’s brood intercepted me, and told me of the meeting here. I should have anticipated the need for such a gathering. You and I have an opportunity to talk, before the others arrive.” Symurall shook his head. “No. We do not
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make such decisions
make such decisions alone, or even in pairs. We wait for the gathering.” “I disagree, brother,” Sytherek replied. “You and I suffered immeasurable losses suffered immeasurable losses at the hands of those fiends. The others do not understand.” Symurall’s eyes smoldered, his tail slowly swishing behind him like a giant, angry snake. “No, they cannot,” he said. “We will still wait for the others.” “As you wish,” Sytherek replied. The grey-and-purple dragon curled up, appearing to sleep. Symurall and Voranytchi watched, silent. Kaylen walked among dunes, accompanied by laughing birds. The morning had not gone well. After an early breakfast, the survivors had gathered to discuss what needed to be done. At Jahsha’s insistence, he’d told his story to the crowd, leaving out distracting details and focusing on the imminent kehklik threat. It was painfully obvious that many people did not believe the tale;
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others the tale;
others the tale; others were frightened, and a few seemed indifferent, almost bored. In frustration, he’d simply walked away, until he could no longer hear raised voices. Unable to be aimless, he chose to explore the perimeter of the camp, studying the lay of the land. The line of sand hills was backed by open scrubland. Standing atop a fallen tree trunk, he scanned the area with satisfaction. The kehklik wouldn’t be able to move on the camp without being seen. At least he would know the enemy was coming. The world was quiet. Suddenly quiet. The birds were gone. He spun, sword drawn, scanning for trouble. The log beneath him shifted slightly. 32 Sand erupted with a shriek. with a shriek. Kaylen shielded his face while slashing wildly; his blade glanced off a hard object, then connected and dug into something substantial. Pulling
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his blade free,
his blade free, one eye clear, he aimed for what seemed to be its head. The kehklik collapsed and twitched in a pool of smelly orange blood. Catching his breath, Kaylen shook the rest of the sand from his face and examined his attacker. It was certainly a kehklik, with the same insane head as the one that haunted his nightmares – but this creature was different. It was smaller, with more legs, arrayed along the side its body. The overall shape was long and narrow, almost worm-like. Two huge pincers graced its face. Burrowers, he said to himself. Tohkay had mentioned them. He started back toward the encampment, focusing on the focusing on the ground, looking for any movement. An odd noise, like the buzz of a bee, suggested that looking up might be a good idea. He did. Three shapes rapidly flew toward him.
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Pale shapes, difficult
Pale shapes, difficult to see against the sky. They were not birds. Kaylen quickly sought any shelter, and saw none. “Damn you!” he called out, readying his blade. He hoped they would dive to attack him. If they could hit him from the air… he cursed himself for leaving camp without a crossbows. A flier bleated and spun into the ground, a long arrow protruding from its side. A second suffered a similar fate to the first. The remaining one dove at Kaylen, spitting. He jerked his head aside, and his cheek burned. A sweep of his blade severed one of severed one of the creature’s legs, but didn’t slow it down. Climbing, the kehklik turned to make another pass at Kaylen; again it spat, and a black, tarry glob splashed against his leg. The cloth smoldered. Before he could swing, the attacker flew up and
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circled away. “Get
circled away. “Get down!” a female voice called out. Kaylen dropped flat on his stomach as the kehklik came at him again. He heard the twang of a bow, and barely had time to cover his face as the sand in front of him erupted. After a second, he opened his eyes, and saw a kehklik’s head only inches away, an arrow through one of the mirrored eyes. “You can get up now,” the woman said. “They’re dead.” He slowly rose to his feet and saw the “mute” woman kneeling “mute” woman kneeling nearby, examining the body of a kehklik. She’d changed clothes since he’d last seen her, into brown leather and dark cloth, a large quiver on her back, a long, thin black bow in her hand, a short sword and knife hanging from her waist. “You don’t have two or three days,” she said.
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Her pronunciation of
Her pronunciation of Erashi was odd, the vowels too aspirated, the constants clipped sharply. “Tonight. They’ll be here tonight.” She looked at him. “The correct response to having your life saved is ‘thank you’, by the way.” 33 The sand around her feet exploded. The jaws of a burrower clamped around her calf; Kaylen lodged his sword in its skull, pinning it to the ground. Its jaws sprang Its jaws sprang open. The woman pulled away, cursing loudly. “Now we’re even,” Kaylen said, twisting his blade, just to be certain it was dead. “So who are you, and why didn’t Norgrim tell me about you?” “My name is Alanora,” she said. She pulled an arrow from a dead kehklik and returned it to her quiver. “Norgrim is just keeping my secrets.” “Like your ability to speak?” “If I’d have spoken, people would have known I wasn’t
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one of you.”
one of you.” “You’re the one who was watching me at the dragon’s lair.” “Yes.” She searched the horizon. “We’ve just bumped into a probing party.” “Symurall said we had several more days before the kehklik attacked.” “Dragons are arrogant,” she said bitterly. “They just think they know everything.” “Symurall doesn’t know about you, does he?” She gave Kaylen She gave Kaylen a pointed look. “No, he doesn’t. I intend to keep it that way.” Her grim smile returned. “I was thinking about going home, to let my people know you’re here.” “So why help me?” She shrugged. “Habit, I guess. I hate seeing people die to these things.” “What now?” “I could go on my way,” Alanora said. “I know that’s what my father would want me to do.” A dark smile crossed her face. “Be thankful I’m not my father.” Tohkay scampered down the
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tower stairs and
tower stairs and into the library. “A dragon is coming,” he said. “One of Kyazura’s brood.” Norgrim put down his book and pulled on his boots. “Can’t a dwarf get some peace for reading?” He sighed and stood up. “Well, let’s go “Well, let’s go see who it is.” A young blue dragon alighted in the courtyard, and took a long drink from the fountain. It looked at Norgrim with apparent amusement. “I stopped for refreshment,” the dragon said, in deep but lovely female tones. “My name is Arrokka, daughter of Kyazura and Karfegren. Unless I am mistaken, you are Norgrim and Tohkay. I have seen you in our caverns from time to time.” “In the flesh,” Norgrim said. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” “I take news to my mother.” She stretched her wings. 34 “What news?” The dragon pondered
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for a moment.
for a moment. “It likely does not affect you. The kehklik army is kehklik army is many miles from here, and appears interested only in the humans at the seashore.” “Kehklik army?” Norgrim and Tohkay asked in unison. “Yes. My mother tasked several of us with watching for unusual activity near the humans. The army…” Norgrim interrupted. “How many? Where?” “You are quite impertinent. Several hundred kehklik, in four columns, ten leagues from the humans. I did not take time for an exact count.” “That makes no sense,” Tohkay stated. “The kehklik shouldn’t be ready to attack yet.” Norgrim started swearing loudly in Dwarven. “The volcanic eruptions! Earthquakes! The kehklik started hatching warriors the moment they felt the first tremors. They’ve got a three day head-start. Kaylen won’t be ready for this.” “I wish you good fortune,” Arrokka said. “I must hurry to my
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mother.” Norgrim growled
mother.” Norgrim growled something mother.” Norgrim growled something long, low, and definitely draconian. Arrokka stood still for a moment, then said, “Your pronunciation is somewhat lacking, but the message is clear. My mother taught you that?” “Yes she did. I’m collecting on a very old personal debt.” “Norgrim, what can you do?” Tohkay exclaimed. “One dwarf isn’t going to make any difference. The kehklik will overwhelm the humans. Perhaps Kaylen will escape…” Norgrim walked over to Arrokka. “I will do what one dwarf can do,” he said, stroking the dragon’s neck. “I don’t need a damned committee to tell me my morals. Tohkay! Bring me my staff. Then, my girl, I need a ride.” Moments later, Tohkay watched the young dragon lift up and away with her dwarven cargo. Kaylen wiped the Kaylen wiped the sweat from his forehead, and looked across the deck
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humans build the
humans build the city; he had watched it grow, becoming a great center of learning, including the arts of magic. Then he’d burned it to the ground, utterly blasting the place into rubble, in an act of self-preservation and revenge. Soon after, the kehklik had come, wiping away the survivors… now the city was an empty memorial to rash actions, the nexus of protocol. In the great town square, surrounded by the rubble of their mistake, the dragons would meet and talk and decide. Symurall landed next to a magnificent – but dry – fountain. Nearby, an old yellow-white dragon rested atop the remains of a broken building. “It is good to see you, Symurall,” said Voranytchi, an honored elder who was twice Symurall’s age. “I hear we have momentous events to discuss.”
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He chuckled deeply.
He chuckled deeply. “Later, 31 maybe I can share my latest poem with you. I believe it rivals your father’s best work. Oh – someone is waiting for you.” “Indeed,” Symurall replied. He’d already sensed the other dragon. “I was on my way home,” Sytherek said as he emerged from behind a building. “One of Kyazura’s brood intercepted me, and told me of the meeting here. I should have anticipated the need for such a gathering. You and I have an opportunity to talk, before the others arrive.” Symurall shook his head. “No. We do not make such decisions alone, or even in pairs. We wait for the gathering.” “I disagree, brother,” Sytherek replied. “You and I
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suffered immeasurable losses
suffered immeasurable losses at the hands of those fiends. The others do not understand.” Symurall’s eyes smoldered, his tail slowly swishing behind him like a giant, angry snake. “No, they cannot,” he said. “We will still wait for the others.” “As you wish,” Sytherek replied. The grey-and-purple dragon curled up, appearing to sleep. Symurall and Voranytchi watched, silent. Kaylen walked among dunes, accompanied by laughing birds. The morning had not gone well. After an early breakfast, the survivors had gathered to discuss what needed to be done. At Jahsha’s insistence, he’d told his story to the crowd, leaving out distracting details and focusing on the imminent kehklik threat. It was painfully obvious that many people did not believe
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you?N MWho, Mister Estaphan?N MAll
you?N MWho, Mister Estaphan?N MAll of them, Senator. Every one of them.N He removed his glasses. The small, beady black eyes locked onto him. MEveryone but you. YouPre going to be our man in government, arenPt you?N It wasnPt a question to be answered, and the senator knew it. He felt a distinct relief just to hear he was still going to be in the plans. MHertzel?N MEveryone. All in due time.N He replaced the glasses. MMy eyes just canPt tolerate the sun any more.N Adjusted them. MI understand that ship is already destined to die in a storm. The senator thought he heard a chuckle, MMore money to be made in an insurance sinking that as
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a cut up
a cut up tan- gle of steel.N A small smile played the corners of his mouth, MAnd that takes care of two of them as well, doesnPt it.N The senator nodded, didnPt have any words. HePd just been told plans to eliminate a few peo- ple, told as casually as if hePd been offered a chair. Whatever ran through his mind, he knew better than to plea-bargain. He was pretty certain his name wasnPt on the list. When the judge handed down the sentence and you got off, it was every man for himself. — 129 — Luis seemed to enjoy watching the senator compute it all, seemed to like watching people
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sweat. MDonPt
sweat. MDonPt worry about details, Senator. En- rico is due back from Detroit today. HePs very ex- perienced at this sort of thing.N A disarming smile played across the table to the senator. MIPll have him come down and help you sort the matter out. Tell whatPs his name L Markovitz L hePs there to help out, keep an eye on things. Nothing else.N The senator sat across the table, listening, nodding appropriately, his mind racing panic with the unnerving realization of being owned. He wasnPt really certain how it happened, but better owned than dead. MI appreciate your coming to me with the
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state of affairs down
state of affairs down there. When things settle down, wePll dump the company. I wonPt forget your loy- alty, Senator.N Luis managed to move his entire body forward ever so slightly, pulling himself close to the senator. He seemed to wait for HenryPs attention level to get right there L right on the lip of GodPs word. MWhen the time comes, Enrico will take care of this business. As I said, hePs very good at it. I want you to be as distant as possible from all this. It wouldnPt look good on a state legislator, would it?N MNo.N The senator couldnPt agree fast enough. MIt wouldnPt.N MAll right then. ItPs settled.N Luis had his way of bringing meetings to an end. MDonPt
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worry. En- —
worry. En- — 130 — rico will be in touch with you.N The senator took his cue and stood up, feeling it was a minute to midnight and hePd just been pardoned. MWould you send Lorraine back on your way out?N He extended his hand. The senator shook it, weakly. MHave them take you to the airport. In a few months, when this is over, wePll sit down again and outline some political strategy.N The senator backed away as if he was leaving a deity, turning away only when the old man did. He watched Lorraine return to his side almost im- mediately, slipping the mask over his head and turning on the valve.
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He drew
He drew several deep breaths as he stared out across the enormous gar- den. The senator was glad to go. And at about the same time, out on the Pacific coast, Rachel Forster waited at the San Diego ar- rivals gate until long after the crowd started form- ing to greet the next flight. Rachel knew it wasnPt RobertPs style to stand her up. He used to be like that all the time, but in the years since she first tracked her brother down, hePd become nothing but dependable. ShePd called Monday night to confirm his flight with him, to tell him about the place on the beach. He wasnPt home then, either. Now his flight from New Orleans had come and
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on the opposite
on the opposite bank, whence runs a fine piece of the old city wall up the hill to another and larger tower, in better preservation, on the summit. Then we next passed the very extensive works of Messrs. J. and J. Colman, and below them innumerable stacks of choice wood, out of which the boxes to contain the mustard, etc., are made. [Picture: Bishop s Bridge] [Picture: Boom Tower] \ You speak of this as the Wensum,\ said Wynne; \ I thought it was the Yare.\ \ This river is the Wensum, but this smaller stream coming in on the right is the true Yare, and from this point the united river takes the name of the Yare. This spot is called Trowse Hythe, and half a mile up it, where
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there is a
there is a mill, was once a famous spot for smelts, where they were caught by large casting nets, used at night by torch-light, but the town sewage has effectually spoiled the smelting. The pool below the New Mills was also a place where the smelts were caught in large numbers, but it is not so good now.\ [Picture: Thorpe Gardens] Presently we came to Thorpe, where a bend of the river has been cut off by two railway bridges, and a straight new cut made for the navigation. We took the old river, and Wynne was charmed with the view which then unfolded itself. The long curve of the river was lined on the outer bank by picturesque houses, with gardens leading to the water s edge, while behind them rose a well-wooded bank. In the autumn
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of 1879 this
of 1879 this reach was found to be swarming with pike, and it speedily swarmed with anglers, who had generally good sport until, apparently, all the pike were caught. At intervals since, there have been similar immigrations of pike to this reach when tides unusually high or salt drive the fish up from the lower reaches. At the lower end of the reach is a favourite resort on summer evenings, a waterside inn, known as Thorpe Gardens, where we pulled up. Here there are also boat-letting stations, where cruising yachts can be hired. CHAPTER II. Just through the bridge, {29} we joined the main river again, and noticed several yachts moored against the bank, amongst which was ours. Wynne stepped on board, curious to inspect a Norfolk yacht, and he freely
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of captured officers
of captured officers of the Ile-Rien army as after-dinner entertainment, and the bounty he had offered for Queen s Guardsmen was enough to support a well-to-do merchant family for a year. \ Yes, I particularly enjoyed that one.\ The older lieutenant spread the letter out on the table to examine the signature. \ It s a good forgery. I d think there were some truth to it if I didn t know you were too proper a gentleman to stand in line with the good countess s grooms and lackeys. I expect it s a lucky thing the Dowager thinks so too.\ \ It s hardly luck. If Ravenna had asked me if I d actually slept with the countess, I would ve had to tell her I honestly couldn t remember. Most of the court
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ladies are starting
ladies are starting to look alike to me.\ Thomas and Ravenna had not been lovers for more than a year, since her health had first begun to fail, and she knew that he had had other women since then. It hadn t changed anything between them; their relationship had passed that point long ago. The only woman she would have objected to was Falaise. Not too many years ago palace coups had ignited as quickly as fires in a dry summer; Ravenna could not afford to have the man who commanded her guard become attached to a daughter-queen who in many ways was still an unknown quantity, and who one day might like to rid herself of a dominating mother-in-law. But even though the letters had failed in their purpose, they were an annoyance at a time when Ravenna
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needed him free
needed him free to help her, and not constantly guarding his own back. Thomas tapped the packet. \ This was done by someone who doesn t know Ravenna.\ Lucas nodded. \ Someone who doesn t realize how little she appreciates people who trouble with her personal…\ He paused and his mouth quirked. \ Matters.\ Thomas strongly suspected his friend had been about to say \ affairs.\ He let it pass and said, \ It s more the sort of thing that would work with Roland. I wonder if our anonymous schemer plans to try it.\ If some disgruntled courtier also tried to drive a wedge between Roland and his cousin Denzil in this manner, Thomas wished him luck, but it was far more likely this asinine trick was the brainchild of one of the
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Duke of Alsene
Duke of Alsene s cronies. Inspired by a few casually dropped hints by Denzil himself, of course. Lucas looked thoughtful. \ I wonder if it s been tried already.\ \ I d think the screams would have been audible even over on this end of the court. But there s no way to be certain.\ \ Surely Renier, the ideal of perfect knighthood, would know.\ Thomas snorted. As the ideal of perfect knighthood, Renier was not without flaws. He was a skilled swordsman but tended to depend too much on his weight and size, using his greater strength to bowl over smaller opponents. This technique had some merit: there were many men who unwisely dueled with the Preceptor of the Albon Knights only to end with his footprints down their
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said her hostess. \
said her hostess. \ Yes, yes, you naughty woman. Well, they say this handsome fellow is there whenever the husband is out, and a pock-marked red-headed boy (some say their son) is there to watch the pretty wife, and their name is St. Clair.\ Sensation! At this moment a pin is ran into the arm of the breathless narrator. \ Oh, mercy!\ she cried, looking around discovering the boy Noah St. Clair, whom every one had forgotten seated on a footstool behind her, who said vengefully, indicating by a gesture Mrs. St. Clair and himself, \ That s our name; it s us.\ CHAPTER VI. 54 \ Gracious, Mrs. Gower, what have I done? Pardon me, I
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was under the
was under the impression that this lady s name was Cobbe. I don t know how I got things muddled; I thought she was some relative of our Mr. Cobbe.\ \ Never mind, dear; I should have introduced you; don t apologize; there are other St. Clairs in Toronto than my friends.\ \ I don t mind it in the least,\ purred the pretty doll; \ some one is always talking about me. Women are jealous of my complexion and all my admirers; but I think my name is prettier than Cobbe.\ \ Yet tell my name again to me, am always here at beauty s call,\ said Mr. Cobbe, hearing his name on entering with the other gentlemen. \ You, as a Bona Dea, have been
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our toast, Mrs.
our toast, Mrs. Gower,\ said Buckingham, quietly, as he sank into a chair near her own. \ And my inclinations, I hope,\ she said, laughingly, \ with no saving clause as to their being virtuous.\ \ I appeal to your memory of the Antiquary, Mrs. Gower; could any man living toast you as the Rev. Mr. Battergowl did Miss Grisel Monkbarns?\ \ I don t know; perhaps some would desire to make a proviso.\ \ Then they would err; I should give a woman of your stamp any length of line.\ \ Thank you; your confidence would not be misplaced, when in honor bound I have ever felt as though I did not belong to myself.\ \ I should judge
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so; underlying your
so; underlying your gaiety conscientiousness holds you to an extent few would dream of; you have frequently sacrificed yourself to a mistaken sense of duty. Am I not right?\ \ Yes; I have been a slave to what I used to think the voice of conscience, but which I am now sure was extreme sensitiveness, and a sort of moral cowardice; but how strange you should read me so truly.\ \ Not at all, I am a phrenologist; if you will allow me the very great privilege, I shall read your character to you in some quiet hour.\ \ With very great pleasure. And now will you do me another favor? Make my piano sing and speak to us.\ \ Thank you; I should like to try your instrument. It is
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from Mason &
from Mason & Risch, I see.\ Having arranged a table at whist and euchre, Mrs. Gower seated herself to enjoy the entrancing music, while looking over some photographs to amuse the boy Noah St. Clair, but it was not to be, for the voice of Mr. Cobbe said in her ear: \ This won t do; you must come to the library with me; I have not had a single word with you all evening, and am, as you are aware, an uninvited guest.\ \ Why invite you, Philip? Alas! there is invariably discord with your presence,\ she says sadly, in the lowest of tones, moving away from the curious gaze of the boy. \ Sit here, Elaine, if you positively refuse to leave the room with me,\ he said
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excitedly, indicating a
excitedly, indicating a tete-a-tete sofa not within ear-shot of her guests, managing to detain her until, the hours creeping on apace, freighted CHAPTER VI. 55 with the music of soft laughter, and ravishing songs without words by the skilled performer, Mr. Buckingham, when pretty Mrs. Dale s sweet voice is heard, as she rises from the table, saying triumphantly: \ Win! of course we won. Why, Mr. Dale will tell you, Mr. Smyth, that in our card circle at New York, mine is dubbed the winning hand. \ \ Indeed! no wonder at our good fortune. Congratulate us, Mrs. Gower; we won three straight games, all by reason of the admirable forethought of my partner,\ cried Smyth, exultantly.
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the very usefulness
the very usefulness of it bores me. And besides, many people take me for a sweep.\ \ I dare say they do, for unfortunately many people are fools. But I am bent upon adventure. It has dawned upon me that every day has its possibilities, that the right turn at any corner may bring me face to face with the most stirring encounters. My age protects me where youth must timidly turn back. My physician pronounces me good for ten years more of active life, and I intend to keep amused. If I were a young man like you, I should crawl through chimneys no more, but take to the open road. I resent the harsh clang of these meaningless years. As I walked among the hills that lie behind the Manor this morning I heard the bugles calling. Out
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there in the
there in the Avenue at this hour there are miles of fat dowagers in padded broughams who think of nothing but clothes and food. And speaking of food,\ she continued, with a droll turn, \ I am convinced that the caviare in that sandwich was never nearer Russia than Casco Bay.\ She drew out her watch, and noting the hour, concluded:– \ Clearly we have much in common. I should like to ask you further as to your unusual profession, but errands summon me elsewhere. However, something tells me we shall meet again.\ She rose in her swift bird-like fashion and passed lightly down the room and through the door. She had left a dollar beside her plate to pay her check, which I noted called for only forty cents. I glanced at the
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cashier s desk. The
cashier s desk. The aureoled head had not reappeared; but immediately I heard a voice murmuring beside me. I had believed myself alone, and in my surprise I thought some wizardry had made audible one of the verses on the wall. \ What of Rafael s sonnets, Dante s picture\ — It was she whose aureoled head I had marked earlier in the receipt of custom, the girl who had vanished as Miss Hollister appeared. She wore the snowy vestments of the other attending vestals, with the difference that the cap that crowned the waitresses was omitted in her case. This I took to be the Asolando s tribute to her adorable head, which clearly did not need the electric light or other adventitious aid to invoke its lovely glow. The line she had spoken hung goldenly
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upon the air.
upon the air. She was not tall, and her eyes, I saw, were brown. She had clearly not climbed far the stairway of her years, but her serenity was the least bit disconcerting. \ Pardon me,\ I began, \ but I am an ignorant Philistine, and cannot cap the verse you have quoted.\ \ There is no reason why you should do so. It is the rule of the Asolando that we shall attract the attention of customers when necessary by speaking a line of verse. We are not allowed to open a conversation, no matter how imperative, with Listen, or the even more vulgar Say. \ \ A capital idea, of which I heartily approve, but now that I am a waiting auditor, eager\ — \ It s
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merely the check,
merely the check, if you please,\ she interrupted coldly. \ My desk is closed, and the Room will refuse further patrons for the next hour, as the executive committee of the Shelley Society meets here at four o clock and the Asolando is denied to outsiders.\ \ This, then, is my dismissal? The lady who joined me here for a time left a dollar, which, you will see, is 13 somewhat in excess of her check. My own charge of fifty cents is so moderate that I cannot do less than leave a dollar also.\ \ Thank you,\ she replied, unshaken by my generosity. \ The tips at the Asolando all go to the Sweetness and Light Club, which is
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of our being.
of our being. This aspect of creation brings about the eventual completeness of everything established by the “All.” To understand creation in terms of elemental structures, and the developmental/evolutionary processes which govern them, it is important to realize that: 1) There are 144,000 stages of existence; 2) There are nine divisions of each stage; and 3) For each of these nine divisions, there are eight phases of transitional harmonic frequency which produce the impetus for evolution within each and every dimension of the universe. Actually there is one phase per division for the first eight. The ninth division is one of transformation, wherein elemental structures undergo all eight phases again. The aspects of the impetus produced, may be described thusly: Phase-1: Frequency signature acquisition. We each possess our own unique signature, which changes throughout our evolutionary transitions. Phase-2: Pitch adjustment of the morphogenetic
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seed crystals.
seed crystals. This is a slight alteration resulting from the activity in Phase-1. The seed crystals provide attunement between the morphogenetic/auric field, and the Sound Current. Phase-3: Speed-up in the vibratory frequency of the Morphogenetic chakras/hvels. This provides the frequency requirements for ascension from one elemental state of existence, to another. Phase-4: Speed-up in the vibratory frequency of the soul essence/Hamingja. Phase-5: Speed-up in the vibratory frequency of the mental body. Phase-6: Speed-up in the frequency of the causal body. Phase-7: speed-up in the frequency of the astral body. Phase-8: Structural development of the DNA Template/Lower Etheric Energy Matrix (Hamr). As I noted earlier, Runic Cosmology follows the Code as the actualization of creation, structure, and evolution; then the process (as intended) establishes the elements of existence. Unknown to modern-day scientists, is the fact that
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there exists 540
there exists 540 elements, which in various combinations, as we know, produce molecular structures of gases, liquids and solids. Ultimately, we experience the elements in terms of earth, air, fire and water. Obviously, these four divisions do not depend on specific elements for their existence. In other words, we are not going to find certain elements, such as hydrogen or chromium in one of the divisions, and never find it in one of the others. Earth, air, fire and water simply describe the form that elements may take. Those in the form of large molecular structures are said to constitute the earth element. Those in the form of smaller molecular structures (also known as colloids), are said to constitute the water element when dispersed in water. Hydrogen and oxygen combined, however, form the water element themselves-but only when a catalyst, such as a
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high voltage spark,
high voltage spark, or palladium is introduced. Those elements that form gases, are of the air element; but what about fire? Fire is a rapid chemical chain reaction. Essentially, we are talking about oxidation, where an element’s atoms lose electrons in reaction to being combined with oxygen. Therefore, while earth, air, and water constitute relatively stable forms that elements may take, fire is not stable in the least bit. It constitutes an elemental form that is in constant flux; it is a transitional form by which action, the earth forms are converted into the air forms. It is common to find systems where in each of the four elemental designations is embodied by a particular Rune. As I have discussed elsewhere, however, the Runes cannot be compartmentalized in such a strict manner. Each one, in fact, embodies all the elements, and will express one
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handbook or guide
handbook or guide to the Broads and Rivers, I thought it a good idea, in that enquirers might, by buying such a book, save themselves the trouble of writing to me, and getting necessarily short and inadequate replies. I am afraid, however, the guide-book style is rather beyond me, and I shall be most at home if I try to convey the requisite information by describing one of the numerous cruises in which I have sailed as guide to those friends who have trusted their holidays to my care, and I will select one lasting but a fortnight, during which time we covered most of the available ground. Before doing so, a few words, descriptive of the situation of these rivers and lakes, will not be amiss. From Yarmouth, looking inland, three main water-highways radiate. The chief is
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the Yare, flowing
the Yare, flowing from the westward; then comes the Bure, flowing from the north-westward, and having her large tributaries, the Ant and the Thurne, flowing from the northward. From the south-west come the clear waters of the Waveney. All these rivers are navigable for considerable distances, and on the Bure and its tributaries the greater number of the Broads are situate. These Broads are large shallow lakes, connected with the rivers, and are many of them navigable. Flat marshes follow the lines of the rivers, and while higher and well-wooded ground rises near the upper portions of the rivers, near the sea the country is perfectly flat, and vessels sailing on all three rivers are visible at the same time. The level of the marsh is frequently below that of the rivers, and at the outlet of each main drain
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is a drainage pump,
is a drainage pump, or turbine wheel, sometimes worked by a windmill, and sometimes by steam, which pumps the water out of the drains into the rivers. The fall of the river is about four inches to the mile. The ebb and flow of the tide are felt for thirty miles inland, but its rise and fall are very little indeed. There are no impediments to navigation of any consequence, so it may be imagined what a \ happy hunting ground\ this is to the boat-sailor, the naturalist, and the angler. [Picture: Decorative end divider] [Picture: Decorative header divider] II. II. DOWN THE YARE. NORWICH TO REEDHAM. 8 [Picture:
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your home, where
your home, where your father and mother spoke so pleasantly, and where you and all your sweet children made such a delightful noise. Nay, how lonely the old man is!–do you think that he gets kisses? do you think he gets mild eyes, or a Christmas tree?–He will get nothing but a grave.–I can bear it no longer!\ 7 \ You must not let it grieve you so much,\ said the little boy; \ I find it so very delightful here, and then all the old thoughts, with what they may bring with them, they come and visit here.\ \ Yes, it s all very well, but I see nothing of them, and I don t know them!\ said
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the pewter soldier,
the pewter soldier, \ I cannot bear it!\ \ But you must!\ said the little boy. Then in came the old man with the most pleased and happy face, the most delicious preserves, apples, and nuts, and so the little boy thought no more about the pewter soldier. The little boy returned home happy and pleased, and weeks and days passed away, and nods were made to the old house, and from the old house, and then the little boy went over there again. The carved trumpeters blew, \ trateratra! there is the little boy! trateratra!\ and the swords and armor on the knights portraits rattled, and the silk gowns rustled; the hog s-leather spoke, and the old chairs had the gout in their legs and rheumatism in their
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backs: Ugh!–it was
backs: Ugh!–it was exactly like the first time, for over there one day and hour was just like another. \ I cannot bear it!\ said the pewter soldier, \ I have shed pewter tears! it is too melancholy! rather let me go to the wars and lose arms and legs! it would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer!–Now, I know what it is to have a visit from one s old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the drawers. \ I saw you all over there at home so distinctly, as if you really were here; it was again that Sunday morning; all
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you children stood
you children stood before the table and sung your Psalms, as you do every morning. You stood devoutly with folded hands; and father and mother were just as pious; and then the door was opened, and little sister Mary, who is not two years old yet, and who always dances when she hears music or singing, of whatever kind it may be, was put into the room–though she ought not to have been there–and then she began to dance, but could not keep time, because the tones were so long; and then she stood, first on the one leg, and bent her head forwards, and then on the other leg, and bent her head forwards–but all would not do. You stood very seriously all together, although it was difficult enough; but I laughed to myself, and then I fell off the table, and
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there will be
there will be no way in which our bankers can get gold from America. No–at that time, Germany will be no place for strangers.\ Stewart listened incredulously, for all this sounded like the wildest extravagance. He could not believe that business and industry would fall to pieces like that–it was too firmly founded, too strongly built. \ What I have said is true, sir, believe me,\ said the little man, earnestly, seeing his skeptical countenance. CHAPTER II \ One thing more–have you a passport?\ \ Yes,\ said Stewart, and tapped his pocket. \ That is good. That will save you trouble at the frontier. Ah, here is your baggage. Good-by, sir, and a safe voyage to your most fortunate country.\
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13 A
13 A brawny porter shouldered the two suit-cases which held Stewart s belongings, and the latter followed him along the hall to the door. As he stepped out upon the terrace, he saw drawn up there about twenty men–some with the black coats of waiters, some with the white caps of cooks, some with the green aprons of porters–while a bearded man in a spiked helmet was checking off their names in a little book. At the sound of Stewart s footsteps, he turned and cast upon him the cold, impersonal glance of German officialdom. Then he looked at the porter. \ You will return as quickly as possible,\ he said gruffly in German to the latter, and returned to his checking. As they crossed the Domhof
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and skirted the
and skirted the rear of the cathedral, Stewart noticed that many of the shops were locked and shuttered, and that the street seemed strangely deserted. Only as they neared the station did the crowd increase. It was evident that many tourists, warned, perhaps, as Stewart had been, had made up their minds to get out of Germany; but the train drawn up beside the platform was a long one, and there was room for everybody. It was a good-humored crowd, rather inclined to laugh at its own fears and to protest that this journey was entirely in accordance with a pre-arranged schedule; but it grew quieter and quieter as moment after moment passed and the train did not start. That a German train should not start precisely on time was certainly unusual; that it should wait for twenty minutes beyond tv lcd 19

of Kingo to be a revival of an ancestral gift, brought about by the return of his family to its original home and a new infusion of pure Northern blood. The conception, like so much that Grundtvig wrote is at least ingenious, and it is recommended by the fact that Kingo s poetry does convey a spirit of robust realism that is far more characteristic of the age of the Vikings than of his own. Thomas Kingo, the grandfather of the poet, immigrated from Crail, Scotland, to Denmark about 1590, and settled at Helsingør, Sjælland, where he worked as a tapestry weaver. He seems to have attained a position of some prominence, and it is related that King James IV of Scotland, during a visit to Helsingør, lodged at his home. His son, Hans Thomeson Kingo, who was about two

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years old when

years old when the family arrived in Denmark, does not appear to have prospered as well as his father. He learned the trade of linen and damask weaving, and established a modest business of his own at Slangerup, a town in the northern part of Sjælland and close to the famous royal castle of Frederiksborg. At the age of thirty-eight he married a young peasant girl, Karen Sørendatter, and built a modest but eminently respectable home. In this home, Thomas Kingo, the future hymnwriter, was born December 15, 1634. It was an unusually cold and unfriendly world that greeted the advent of the coming poet. The winter of his birth was long remembered as one of the hardest ever experienced in Denmark. The country s unsuccessful participation in the Thirty Year s War had brought on a depression that threatened

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its very existence

its very existence as a nation; and a terrible pestilence followed by new wars increased and prolonged the general misery, making the years of Kingo s childhood and youth one of the darkest periods in Danish history. But although these conditions brought sorrow and ruin to thousands, even among the wealthy, the humble home of the Kingos somehow managed to survive. Beneath its roof industry and frugality worked hand in hand with piety and mutual love to brave the storms that wrecked so many and apparently far stronger 11 establishments. Kingo always speaks with the greatest respect and gratitude of his \\ poor but honest parents\\ . In a poetic description of his childhood years he vividly recalls their indulgent kindness to him.

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hands in the
hands in the opened plastic. The knife again, sawing at the opening. Success. The film came off. She took the paper to the deck in back, where her coffee had gone tepid in the morning air. She fumbled the paper off the table and trudged back inside to microwave the coffee. Already it was eight-fifteen. When Alex said he would sleep in, What did that self-righteous twit mean? Noon? The microwave beeped. Kyla took the coffee and returned to mound the newspaper spillings on the deck table. She turned automatically to the home listings, then fished out the Living section for her horoscope, but read nothing about what she was going through. She did not look forward to telling Paul about Alex. He would warm up to the
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idea of Alex
idea of Alex leaving school to travel with Chase no quicker than an iceberg. Just when they thought they had brought Alex along through eighteen long years, readied him to be a successful adult, this had to happen. The rocket blows up on the launchpad. Kyla flipped through the paper, section by section, reading nothing. Her head ached. She was thinking about Paul, Friday back from Albuquerque, he would submarine into a prolonged sulk about Alex. Not talking, not helping her. Between Alex and Paul, Kyla saw weeks looming of insufferable family tension. She sighed and stood up to return to the kitchen for more coffee. Upstairs, noises came from Alex’s room. Alex could be a light sleeper, but those heavy thumps? She left the coffee cup on
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the counter to
the counter to check. On the second floor, at the end of the hall, Alex’s door was slightly ajar. Odd because Alex always kept the door closed when he was sleeping, did so ever since he was a child. Kyla took that portal gap as an invitation. “Alex, you’re not awake, are you?” Kyla asked not out of courtesy, but as a gambit to see what was going on. Obviously, all that motion was not sleeping. “I’m busy,” Alex said in a huff. That two-inch gap of room view disappeared with a door slam. It was Kyla’s house, after all, and her son’s privacy be damned, she was not about to back down from a door shut in her face. She
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stepped closer, had
stepped closer, had her hand on the door knob, but did not turn it. “Alex, I don’t want to start where we left off last night.” No response from the other side, just more tossing things around. Kyla had not the faintest what Alex might be doing. “But you are going to have to sit down with Paul and me and discuss with us calmly and rationally what you’re going to do about college.” Silence. Then slapping sounds and steps and whoosh, the door opened, revealing Alex, holding soft luggage that bulged like beach balls. “This isn’t working, I’m leaving.” Kyla was paralyzed. Her son staring her down like she was a stranger, like he was nothing more than an overnight guest ready to resume travel. “Just like that,”
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a lady beaten
a lady beaten by a beast. Bobby knew she held many stories. Ships were like people to Bobby, some good, some bad, some indifferent. This one had soul. He knew this because she told him as he stood belly deep in the water before her. Told him not to see her as she stood now. He had enough water to pull his feet free and swim the last thirty feet to her. The water was dirty but wet and cool, like a bath. He swam eas- ily to the rope ladder hanging from the gangway and swung his leg through an underwater rung. The gangway rattled welcome as it shuddered above him in answer to his
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presence, while the —
presence, while the — 46 — rope ladder moved with the shift of the gangway. He pulled himself out of the water and came up fast against her hull. He pushed himself onto the gangway and started checking for missing skin and scraped shoulders. The gangway slowly steadied against the hull, solid but for missing hand lines and loose plating L no real problem. Life gets easier, he thought, as he topped the gangway and stepped over her low-rising bulwark onto the deck. Like everything from the top, it looked a long way down. It re- minded him of a lot hePd like to forget. He squatted on th
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She was
She was easily four-fifty, maybe five hundred in length, with a sixty-foot beam and a high-sitting forecastle. There were two holds for- ward of an island bridge amidships, two more holds astern. A single stack just forward of the quarterdeck rose off her stern, a deep sea ship with strong lines torn through by chaos. Carnage everywhere. ShePd burned, a cruel death for a ship. It was better to sink, end it, and be final. Go down fight- ing, pride intact. Everything had been stripped from her decks that werenPt actual structure. Now the plan was to cut her up, bit by bit. To eat her, maggots on rot. Bobby didnPt like it,
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to the cleaning
to the cleaning supplies in the bucket under the sink – the bucket that would be our trash can in the room and our wash bucket for cleaning the gallery. He pointed out the slips of paper with our names on them that had appeared sometime during the day on our desks. “Each of you put your name in the slot on your bunk, press, desk, and bookcase, and in the slot behind your rifle. You see that slot on top of the mirror over the sink? Each week after Saturday Morning Inspection – SMI – you‟ll change the name. Each of you serves a week at a time as room orderly, responsible for everything in the room that doesn‟t have a name on it – like this filthy floor. Now get
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to work and
to work and assemble with your squad in front of the shower room at 1700 hours in bathrobes, field caps, name tags, and flip-flops. Don‟t forget your soap, shampoo, and towel. You‟re gonna learn how to take a shower!” At precisely 5:00pm, all of us from the third division were lined up on the edge of the gallery, facing the latrine and shower room just this side of E Company. Mr Woodward was there, along with Mr Sardis, Mr Gunn, and one or two other sergeants. With our eyes looking straight ahead, it was always hard for us to tell just how many there were.
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26 “Take one step forward,” commanded the first sergeant. This took us off the outer row of tiles to which we were generally restricted, but it gave the sergeants room to walk behind us. It was always more intimidating if we could be surrounded. Mr Woodward strode back and forth in front of the squad like Napoleon addressing his troops. He told us how to lather with soap and
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shampoo and rinse
shampoo and rinse all in the time allotted to a thete to shower – twelve seconds. In mid stride and mid sentence, he wheeled around toward me, almost touching nose to nose and bellowed, “This time, Cadet, I‟ll overlook the fact that your name tag‟s on upside down.” He quickly looked away, but not before I spied a slight wry smile on his lips. Could it be that he had done the same thing his thete year? Looking back on it, I had to admit that I smiled the same way whenever I caught a thete repeating one of my numerous blunders from freshman year. At that moment, though, such thoughts were the furthest thing from my mind.
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jumper and jeans
jumper and jeans and boots, splayed out on the carpet like a corpse. And suddenly the full memory of last night was on him, lunging into his head like a masked youth vaulting the counter of a con- venience store. He groaned with unqualified regret. Oh yes, it was bad all right. It really was exquisitely bad. He was a terrorist. That was what had happened to him in the night. He had partaken in the composition of a death list. He had sat there and said nothing while body counts were spoken of, and liquidations, and claims of responsibility, and target selection. And then he had put forward the name of Ivan Lego, and that name had been unanimously approved! He squeezed his eyes shut, as if by doing so he could
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force the memory
force the memory out the back of his skull. But it stayed there, it stayed there. He was a fucking terrorist! Or was he? The question called for some serious thought. Maybe he was over-reacting. Maybe things weren’t yet as bad as he imagined. Maybe there was still some grey area, some ambiguity, some room for hope. He rolled back onto his other side. He clamped a pillow to his exposed ear. He shut his eyes. Now he was ready to think. Now he was ready for a sober contem- plation of the facts. Fact one: no terrorist act had yet occurred. Nor had any specific course of action been proposed. So really, this hysterical notion that he was a terrorist could be
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dispensed with straight
dispensed with straight away. He wasn’t one yet, and he had no intention of letting himself become one. All that they’d done in the night was talk, in very general terms, about the possibility of moving into terrorism. Was that a crime? Surely not. And even if it was, Fenton himself hadn’t committed it very thoroughly. For the most part he had just sat there and listened while the others had conspired. He had said maybe five or six words all night. Apart from that, everything that had happened would have happened anyway, whether he was there or not. Another vicious slam of metal on metal. Fenton pressed his pillow down harder, as if applying it to his neighbour’s face. On the minus side, he had
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placed Ivan Lego
placed Ivan Lego at the top of the death list. That much could not be denied. And this was an action, wasn’t it, that a jury might well be inclined to frown on. To take a dim view of. Or was it? Consider, again, the grey area. Look at the context, the extenuating cir- cumstances. Look at the purity of his motives. He hadn’t done it out of malice towards Ivan Lego, had he? He had done it to get Robert Browning’s name off the table. And not just Browning’s, either. In effect, his intervention had saved the skin of every other alternative candidate too. Of Barbra Streisand, of Smithy’s cousin, of a theoretically endless multitude of as-yet- unnamed persons who might otherwise have been chosen to fill the void …
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Which
Which wasn’t a bad effort, considering the hand he’d been dealt. Because Fenton hadn’t created the death list, had he? It wasn’t Fenton’s fault that there was a death list in the first place. It was Gus, and Gus alone, who was responsible for that. And surely that was the fundamental crime, the root 101 illegality. To Fenton the existence of the death list had come as a given, a fait accompli. All he had done was make one tiny adjustment to its contents. A principled adjustment. A sound adjustment. An adjustment aimed at making the best of a very bad situation. What more could any decent citizen have done, in his unenviable place? It would have been easy, all too easy, just to bury his head in
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remotest parts &
remotest parts & like diuers [&] other northern birds if the winter bee mild they co[=m]only come no further southward then scotland if very hard they go lower & seeke more southern places. wch is the cause that sometimes wee see them not before christmas or the hardest time of winter. [8] The \ Elke\ is an obsolete name for the Wild Swan (Cygnus musicus), which occurs in the present day in the same numbers and under precisely similar circumstances as Browne describes; but of course this was the only species of wild swan known to him. The remarkable recurvation of the trachea within the keel of the sternum, which also prevails to a greater or less degree in four out of the five or six species of Cygnus found in the Northern Hemisphere, did not escape Browne s notice,
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although he was
although he was not the first to describe it, and he rightly observes that this peculiarity is absent in the Mute Swan (C. olor), but exists in a different and even more exaggerated form in the Crane. He, however, was mistaken as to the extreme northerly range which he assigns to this species. So marked a feature as the absence of the \ berry\ on the beak of this species did not escape Browne s observation, and he refers to it in the eighth letter to Merrett, who in his second letter to Browne remarks \ the difference in the elk s bill by you signified is remarkable to distinguish it from others of Notes and Letters on the Natural History of by Thomas Browne its kind,\ indicating that this distinction was previously
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unknown to him.
unknown to him. 15 A white large & strong billd fowle called a Ganet[9] which seemes to bee the greater sort of Larus. whereof I met with one kild by a greyhound neere swaffam another in marshland while it fought & would not bee forced to take wing another intangled in an herring net wch taken aliue was fed with herrings for a while it may be named Larus maior Leucophaeopterus as being white & the top of the wings browne. [9] As a rule the Gannet does not approach the shore, except to breed, but follows the shoals of fish far out at sea. The circumstance mentioned by Browne is by no means singular, and several such instances of storm-driven Gannets being captured far inland are recorded. The \ Scotch Goose,
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Anser scoticus,\
Anser scoticus,\ mentioned further on (p. 13 infra), is also in all probability intended for the Gannet; it is the Anser Bassanus sive Scoticus of Jonston. The \ Marshland\ here mentioned is a tract of country reclaimed in ancient times from the sea, lying to the west of the town of Lynn, of some 57,000 acres in extent, and bordering upon the estuary of the Wash. [Fol. 7.] In hard winters I have also met with that large & strong billd fowle wch clusius describeth by the name of Skua Hoyeri[10] [fr struck out] sent him from the faro Island by Hoierus a physitian. one whereof was shot at Hickling while 2 thereof were feeding upon a dead horse. [10] Willughby (\ Ornithology,\ English Ed., p. 348) gives a good description of the Great Skua
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and see what
and see what grows. Antonio, like his uncle, enjoyed power at other peoplesP expense. And he had definitely gotten the senator waiting, and unready. Finally, the doors opened, causing both men to stand abruptly, together, as if rehearsed L An- tonio out of respect for his uncle and the senator out of anxious trepidation. The same two giants now led the way for Luis EstaphanPs wheelchair. He was small and frail, almost lost in the chair, and the woman pushing it made an equally noticeable impression. Lorraine Walton was tall and well proportioned, with a very distinctively striking facial structure. She wheeled him around the desk, lifted him out of the chair without effort, and set him gently onto the carved
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oak chair.
oak chair. The ancient creature looked at no one, fiddled absently with a letter opener and waited for the nurse to return with water. The bodyguards retreated slightly, their eyes never blinking. — 36 — The senator had met Luis Estaphan only briefly once before. HePd had the same problem then L believing this seemingly helpless creature was so powerful. Luis Estaphan looked more like a cadaver than a Mexican American mobster. Henry was used to the typical bulk and bluster that replicated his own style. But this L Luis EstaphanPs almost absent presence L reinforced HenryPs confusion. EstaphanPs style belonged in a
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movie, one that
movie, one that would scare anyone. Everyone lingered. When an absent nod sig- nalled them to sit down, the senator followed An- tonioPs lead. The chairs stopped shuffling, the silence returned; everyone watched the old man replace the letter opener and stare blankly at his desk as though senility was unexpectedly claim- ing him. Finally L still without eye contact L he lifted his head slightly. It seemed to float atop his neck, as if it wasnPt firmly affixed. MI appreciate your coming on such short notice, Senator. IPm certain you are a busy man. I will try to be brief.N The voice had a squeaky quality, high-pitched and childlike. MIt seems there
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strong, both in
strong, both in flavor and alcohol – but it was beer! “A place with beer can’t be all bad,” he pronounced to no one in particular. Hoping for more miracles, he wiped a plate clean with a corner of his tattered shirt, and did the same to a fork and knife. Some of the bread was still edible; dry, but palatable when eaten with warm beer. The waxed packages protected a variety of dried meat. He took a bite: tough, dry, salty, but edible. Dragon’s don’t need locks and kitchens, he thought while finishing off the flagon. Symurall had pointedly referred to humans in the past tense, and Kaylen idly speculated as to who the non-draconic visitors might be. Someone was maintaining this building, with whatever secrets were behind the locked doors. Something made
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him look up
him look up and around the room. The silence was thick. “Who’s there?” he asked. He was certain someone had been watching him, perhaps from a narrow stairway that led up. Yet when he looked, he was greeted only by cobwebs and dust. Climbing to the second floor, he found another hallway lined with doors. Some of the rooms were empty, but three were clearly used by someone at sometime. In one, a short canopy bed had neatly made sheets and a patchwork quilt of furry hides; in another room, 8 a large mound of soft cloth lay in the middle of the room, where sunlight could enter through a conspicuously-clean window. A third room contained a larger bed with simple
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linen; the smell
linen; the smell of the room suggested female. No spies to be seen, but the feeling of being watched persisted. Suddenly, he felt very confined, enclosed by walls. Disturbed by a sense of urgency, he did nothing to keep his feet from carrying him back downstairs and out of the keep. Kaylen relocked the door and returned the key to its hiding place. He had no distinct plan, beyond seeing the surrounding territory and working his way back to the coast, where other people might be found. While walking to the castle gates, he noticed something moving within the barbican. Hiding quickly behind a low stone wall, he watched three burros enter the courtyard. The donkeys bore several small crates, and one had objects draped over its hind-quarters. The lead mount carried a
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of the pen
of the pen was a golden arrow. A diamond-shaped blue jewel was set between the arrow feathering, right above the P in PARKER spelled vertically down the shaft. She hadn’t used the pen for years. Then one day, Cath found it, asked where it came from. Laura guessed, with three kids, one might have played with it, broken it. But she couldn’t ask: She, after all, had abandoned the pen. Between her fingers, she rolled the fountain pen by its barrel, a fancy plastic of gold swirls interlaced with horizontal black stripes. She unscrewed the end cap, exposing the Parker Vacumatic spring- loaded plunger. When the pen worked, the plunger drew ink. What could be simpler? She pressed the stuck plunger—neglect alone
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had not fixed
had not fixed the pen. She stood up from the desk, went for the window light to study the pen detailing. A step, two steps, and her thoughts turned sluggish. The pen slipped between her fingers, her legs buckled. Her arms swung out and her shoulder hit first, her head striking both shoulder and outstretched arm. She lay there for minutes, eyes glazed, not conscious of the fountain pen, the room, or the window light. Her heart beat furiously and through her dilated vessels pushed blood headward more easily than when she stood. * * * It might have been two minutes or less, but Laura came to, saw she was on the hard oak floor, yet her head didn’t hurt. What was she doing? Musing on
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an old pen
an old pen and memories. An old pen, like her, probably not fixable anymore. But the pen reminded her about those signature cards stashed in the rolltop. Cath would sign one for the credit union. Cath, Rob, and Petey —all of them—had to sign joint custody signature cards. That way, they’d each get immediate access to their own CD with her, if, as her lawyer said, she predeceased them. No probate, no estate taxes, just clean transfers of her savings to the children. Now where were those signature cards? * * * Sunday afternoons, Laura anticipated Rob driving up in his red Eclipse. For the last few minutes, Laura had been checking her front window. One thing about Rob, if he was to be by at four- thirty, you could
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set your watch
set your watch at his driving up. This Sunday, Liam sat beside him too. “So how have you been?” Rob said, hugging a sack of groceries, kneeing aside the screen door. Towheaded Liam scooted by. “Remember, I’m cooking tonight, Mom. My secret recipe for pasta primavera. Say, Liam, get back here.” The nine-year-old had collapsed on the sofa as if he were home. “Liam, get up, get these groceries in the kitchen, okay?” Liam shot Rob a glance of incredulity, but sprang up and took the groceries, evidently understanding his choices to survive the next few hours. In the kitchen, Liam unpacked the sack, arranging everything on the counter, and before long, water hissing, was washing the vegetables. “So,
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17 CHAPTER FOUR 8 SEPTEMBER Whatever desire I may have had to excel, whatever ambitions I may have had for Regimental Commander, height or no height, ran headlong into Thete Week. This was the week before the beginning of the academic year reserved for
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the intense training
the intense training of the new fourthclassmen, or freshmen – better known as “thetes.” The name thete, which rhymed with feet, came from the lowest class of Athenians, those fit only for menial tasks. Marked by physical, emotional, and psychological exhaustion, Thete Week was the first step in becoming an Acropolis cadet. And it was by far the most harrowing. From his reporting for duty to the return of the upperclassmen and the beginning of classes, every thete felt the constant presence of one burning, overriding question: “What madness have I gotten myself into?” After Thete Week, whatever answer may have come made this perhaps more clear, but that hardly provided much comfort. My parents
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drove me up
drove me up to the great entrance arch, or sally port, of the Second Battalion. I kissed my mother‟s cheek, shook my father‟s hand, lifted up my one suitcase, and strode into the barracks with all the false confidence I could muster. Once inside the sally port, I faced a large quadrangle with a red and white checkerboard design. To my left front, I saw an enclosed stairwell in the corner with a large H painted on the front of it in the light Acropolis blue. Going sun-wise from there, the next corner had G, the one after that F, and then finally E to my left. The two thick columns on either side of the rear sally
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port facing
port facing me held the vertical letters REGT and BAND. The Regimental Band occupied the first level to avoid accidents with the instruments. Each infantry company occupied the next three levels – the three divisions, each corresponding roughly to a platoon. Determined to make a good first impression, and ignorant of the fact that this was a completely impossible task, I marched up to the desk in front of the H. Seated behind the desk was the company supply sergeant named Stanley Jarmon – MISTER Jarmon to me for
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\ And I,\
\ And I,\ echoed Densham. \ At half-past eleven, then,\ Harcutt concluded. CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VII WHO IS MR. SABIN? Mrs. Thorpe-Satchell was not at home to ordinary callers. Nevertheless when a discreet servant brought her Mr. Francis Densham\’s card she gave orders for his admittance without hesitation. That he was a privileged person it was easy to see. Mrs. Satchell received him with the most charming of smiles. \ My dear Francis,\ she exclaimed, \ I do hope that you have lost that wretched headache! You looked perfectly miserable
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last night. I
last night. I was so sorry for you.\ Densham drew an easy chair to her side and accepted a cup of tea. 29 \ I am quite well again,\ he said. \ It was very bad indeed for a little time, but it did not last long. Still I felt that it made me so utterly stupid that I was half afraid you would have written me off your visitors\’ list altogether as a dull person. I was immensely relieved to be told that you were at home.\ Mrs. Thorpe-Satchell laughed gaily. She was a bright, blonde little woman
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with an exquisite
with an exquisite figure and piquante face. She had a husband whom no one knew, and gave excellent parties to which every one went. In her way she was something of a celebrity. She and Densham had known each other for many years. \ I am not sure,\ she said, \ that you did not deserve it; but then, you see, you are too old a friend to be so summarily dealt with.\ She raised her blue eyes to his and dropped them, smiling softly. Densham looked steadily away into the fire, wondering how to broach the subject which had so suddenly taken the foremost
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Chapter One “Mummy, there’s
Chapter One “Mummy, there’s a dragon sitting on our veranda,” called Emma from the front steps. Sitting in a sunny alcove near the kitchen, twelve year old Kate Dawson rolled her eyes and looked up at her mother. Jacqui Dawson continued to spread chocolate icing over the top of a freshly baked cake. Kate returned her gaze to the book in her lap, ignoring her half-sister’s outburst. She only managed to read a couple of words when her mother’s voice interrupted. “Emma’s only five, Kate.” Kate remained silent. The warmth of the sun through the window making her feel sleepy, she watched her mother sprinkle finely chopped almonds across the top of the cake. Their eyes met. She knew what was coming before her mother spoke. “Please
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go and see
go and see what she’s talking about.” Kate sighed and snapped the book shut. “Mum, do I have to? It will only be something stupid.” Her mum raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you do.” Kate wanted to slam the book onto the low table beside her and storm out, but she knew that reaction would only get her into trouble. Instead, she let the book slip into the crease of the soft cushions and walked out calmly. Outside, Emma sat on the top step with one hand pressed over her mouth. The other hand clasped one of their two kittens, Jasper, tightly in her lap. Kate looked around and saw nothing to indicate a dragon was anywhere near. The shrubs were tall and green, not squashed into the dirt as would be expected if a
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dragon came to
dragon came to visit. The flowers smelt sweet, the opposite of what she suspected the odour of a dragon would be like. Kate wasn’t surprised by either of these things. She didn’t expect to find a dragon, just like she didn’t expect to see half the things her little sister claimed to see. Kate stood with her hands on her hips. “Where’s the dragon, Emma?” Emma bobbed up and down, obviously trying to be quiet. Jasper meowed as he tried to free himself from the little girl’s clutches. “Shh, you’ll scare it away.” Kate wasn’t sure if Emma was talking to her or the cat. Emma pointed at the rocks in the garden, a huge smile lighting up her face. “It’s right there, sunbaking.” Taking a step closer, Kate squatted down in time to see
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the long, scaly
the long, scaly tail of a tiny lizard disappear behind a rock. “Oh, you scared it,” Emma said, a pout taking the place of the smile. Jasper leapt out of Emma’s arms and ran into the ferns to hide with his sister, Sophie. Kate shook her head. “It’s only a lizard, Emma. Not a dragon.” Anger bubbled up inside her. When would Emma stop telling these stupid stories? “You shouldn’t make things up all the time. It’s annoying. I was trying to read.” “What’s all the shouting about? What’s going on with my girls?” a deep voice called from the driveway. “Daddy!” Emma jumped onto the grass and ran into her father’s arms, while Kate sighed once again. “Where’s my hug?” Joe Dawson picked Emma up and swung her around, making Emma
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