12.16.2009
You have to walk where the wind is. It comes round that corner there and is squeezed between these two pillars of glass and steel. When it comes round that bend and slices through you it's cold, it stings, and it moves through you to somewhere else. I don't know where the wind goes but I know it takes a bit of me with it. Day to day commuting is harsh when your shoes are worn and getting more worn by the step. It can get pretty bad is your scarf isn't wrapped just right and that wind gets inside your coat like it's try to cuddle up and get warm next your skin. Wind burned cheeks are sore even before I open the door in the morning to go out. But it's not as bad as the chapped skin on the front of my thighs. I get that from not having enough layers to my longjohns. Pants are too snug to layer more than twice. The wind steals all the heat and moisture from whatever it touches as it whips around the builds. I try to forget about the cold and the ice when I get to work finally. The building is heated but not enough and drafty so even though I shed my coat I need a pretty thick sweater. Running back and forth on the cat walks is really what tears through my shoes so fast the textured metal seems to wear everything down. I run checking pressure gages from the top and shouting orders for adjusts for the girls below. This is light machine work adjust knobs and watching for breaks on the precision needles. The men working the furnaces I envy this time of year most walk around shirtless and many with cigarettes in their mouths. I'd kill for a fag but there's no smoking here it's too close to the final product. The tapestries we can't even see as the tiny needles fly up and down and back and forth pulling thousands of threads following the patterns they are fed from the cycling metal plates filled with holes. I'm told we're embroidering a landscapes with medieval castles and rolling hills this week. I don't know, I never see the finish product. They're marked for export to somewhere across the sea where they fetch a pretty penny as authenticate Old City productions. But I don't know anything about that I'm just a guage reader with bad shoes.
10.12.2009
Samson and Margery
Samson was eighteen when he got the call to serve. The physical training went quickly and so did the first year of professional training. He went to school to be an officer, but even on his graduation day decked to the nines in medals he could not look his mother in the face. She would not look at him as long as his uniform was black and red. She refused to speak with him. He'd been away to long, he didn't understand what it meant to her. She was so heart broken and so sorry she had not found a replacement father finger when he was a child. She was beating herself up over this again and again. It killed her inside to hear of the gracious news of her son. News she could never be proud of.
He was to be shipped out, sent for the coast. Samson lied to his commanding officer, something he had never done. A two day pass with the promise to be at his post Monday morning, were all he took with him as he snuck into the old city. He had to see his mother, he had to understand why her letters stopped.
He walked the old familiar streets. Their smells were comforting and yet so very foreign to him now. In civilian clothes, he walked not understanding. This place was supposed to be the crown jewel of the river cities. It was dark now, it wasn't deserted; it was inhabited by the achy silence of fear. Men in black patrolled the main thoroughfares. Ration cards and work papers were more common than currency in the hands and pockets and minds of the city's denizens. This was not the home he had left, nor was it the home he had been told about the boot camps. He had been told the city prospered; he had been told he was fighting for a brighter tomorrow. That was not what he saw.
Margery his mother stirred a pot too large for what little portions it contained. Cabbage, cabbage was all she could afford tonight. Her son looked crestfallen; his hands were cupping his forehead, his elbows all that were keeping him from crashing down to the table. Monday came and he was in uniform.
He was wearing tan and blue of the lily men. He would be at the coast but he would fight for his city.
Margery was never the same after that week. She stood taller than she had in years. She stirred her pots and smiled with the pride of a mother even though there was no one else in her kitchen.
The brass lilies, that were brought back in place of her only son, she now wore close to her heart, regardless of who saw.
Margery doesn't eat alone now; no now she cooks in even bigger pots for the lines of men, women, and children who come to her hungry. Her kitchen is rarely empty as she houses all passers who see her her brass lily pin and know what it means. She is a widow and she is strong.
He was to be shipped out, sent for the coast. Samson lied to his commanding officer, something he had never done. A two day pass with the promise to be at his post Monday morning, were all he took with him as he snuck into the old city. He had to see his mother, he had to understand why her letters stopped.
He walked the old familiar streets. Their smells were comforting and yet so very foreign to him now. In civilian clothes, he walked not understanding. This place was supposed to be the crown jewel of the river cities. It was dark now, it wasn't deserted; it was inhabited by the achy silence of fear. Men in black patrolled the main thoroughfares. Ration cards and work papers were more common than currency in the hands and pockets and minds of the city's denizens. This was not the home he had left, nor was it the home he had been told about the boot camps. He had been told the city prospered; he had been told he was fighting for a brighter tomorrow. That was not what he saw.
Margery his mother stirred a pot too large for what little portions it contained. Cabbage, cabbage was all she could afford tonight. Her son looked crestfallen; his hands were cupping his forehead, his elbows all that were keeping him from crashing down to the table. Monday came and he was in uniform.
He was wearing tan and blue of the lily men. He would be at the coast but he would fight for his city.
Margery was never the same after that week. She stood taller than she had in years. She stirred her pots and smiled with the pride of a mother even though there was no one else in her kitchen.
The brass lilies, that were brought back in place of her only son, she now wore close to her heart, regardless of who saw.
Margery doesn't eat alone now; no now she cooks in even bigger pots for the lines of men, women, and children who come to her hungry. Her kitchen is rarely empty as she houses all passers who see her her brass lily pin and know what it means. She is a widow and she is strong.
8.02.2009
The Deal
The cigarette was dark and smelt of cloves; it was expensive and difficult to come by even in this port town. The one called the widow held it's long ivory holder to the side of her mouth. Her business suit was black with pale cream pinstriping.
Max had never felt so uncouth in all his life. She exuded an unusual presence from her green chair by the fire. This was his neighborhood. The broken bottoms were his and yet he had no strings to pull when it came to her. Her eyes flashed from the light of the fire. The snow outside was swallowing the city. Max waited while she considered his offer. He had never been a Patriot but she was no fan of his ruffian outfit. He was an old school gangster who made a lot of money even in these desperate times. Despite her dislike of him, he had a purpose and a place, in the world she was building.
"You will aid the resistance." She said it as a declarative sentence not as a question.
Max nodded humbly.
"You can keep your docks, and your army of thugs but in Broken Bottoms you answer to me. Thirty percent of all protection money from local businesses and forty percent of your income from abroad goes to me. Making your life a living hell, would be easy. Know that, killing you is low on my list, but piss me off and you'll never walk through the old neighborhood again." The small man beside her showed an evil grin and raised an Aspen bat into view.
The cigar shifted from the side to the front of his mouth. He pretended to contemplate the options laid before him.He agreed and reached out to shake hands a sign of a completed deal. She did not reciprocate; instead she merely she rose and disappeared her man in a blue hat pushed a pile of documents his way. He couldn't look at the photos. He simply nodded. He was outnumbered, outgunned, and half his men had converted to her outfit now.
As he climbed back into his stretched Citroen he tried to regain the calm he had known. He tried to fix his mind to that place that had allowed him to stare down so many gun barrels. He even tried to chuckle thinking back to how he had cornered the other Administrators into giving him Broken Bottoms and the surrounding areas. He tried to return his thoughts to back when he was blackmailing Patriots not being blackmailed.
Max was in his late fifties but you won't have thought it though. He was built wide across the shoulder, narrow at the hip. He had dark hair and amber eyes that glistened at the thought of money and extortion. Broken Bottoms had been his childhood home and he had worked hard to become it's keeper. He had broken many knees, threatened many dealers, and shot a great many people to get to where he was today. He was in no way thrilled to know that she in a few short months had taken the reigns of his empire out from under him.
Half his men worked for her now. Nearly every thug knew working for the widow meant better pay, and greater benefits. Her acts of terrorism had united people faster than unions and personal threats ever could. She did have a style all her own though.
There was no guarantee the woman he had just met with was her, no one saw the widow and lived.
The problem was now he was in a tough place. Twice since the dock bombings the other administrators had tried to weasel him out of the Broken Bottoms, but he had outwitted them at every turn. They might have succeeded if they hadn't hey needed him, revolt if it was to come, would come from that sector, and they needed someone with a firm hand. If the crime is organized then the general people are not was the notion. Oh, if only they knew. If he was to keep his lifestyle and his hold in Broken Bottoms he was going to have play by her rules at least for now.
The photos in the envelope were not of him, but to be used by him. Several, Patriots on her payroll seemed to have forgotten their place. They had led the round ups on Charleston St, the western edge of the Bottoms. They needed to be put in their place. The photos were of certain Administrators with a man named Jessie. The kind of photos that could end any career in this tight laced political powder keg. One thing he did like about the widow was her ability to twist people, it was a trait to be admired and feared from his angle.
The driver was taking it slow with the threat of black ice on these back streets. This was a night for dark things, dark plans, dark schemes. A perfect night to find the idiot who had thought about sending coppers into Max's territory.
Max had never felt so uncouth in all his life. She exuded an unusual presence from her green chair by the fire. This was his neighborhood. The broken bottoms were his and yet he had no strings to pull when it came to her. Her eyes flashed from the light of the fire. The snow outside was swallowing the city. Max waited while she considered his offer. He had never been a Patriot but she was no fan of his ruffian outfit. He was an old school gangster who made a lot of money even in these desperate times. Despite her dislike of him, he had a purpose and a place, in the world she was building.
"You will aid the resistance." She said it as a declarative sentence not as a question.
Max nodded humbly.
"You can keep your docks, and your army of thugs but in Broken Bottoms you answer to me. Thirty percent of all protection money from local businesses and forty percent of your income from abroad goes to me. Making your life a living hell, would be easy. Know that, killing you is low on my list, but piss me off and you'll never walk through the old neighborhood again." The small man beside her showed an evil grin and raised an Aspen bat into view.
The cigar shifted from the side to the front of his mouth. He pretended to contemplate the options laid before him.He agreed and reached out to shake hands a sign of a completed deal. She did not reciprocate; instead she merely she rose and disappeared her man in a blue hat pushed a pile of documents his way. He couldn't look at the photos. He simply nodded. He was outnumbered, outgunned, and half his men had converted to her outfit now.
As he climbed back into his stretched Citroen he tried to regain the calm he had known. He tried to fix his mind to that place that had allowed him to stare down so many gun barrels. He even tried to chuckle thinking back to how he had cornered the other Administrators into giving him Broken Bottoms and the surrounding areas. He tried to return his thoughts to back when he was blackmailing Patriots not being blackmailed.
Max was in his late fifties but you won't have thought it though. He was built wide across the shoulder, narrow at the hip. He had dark hair and amber eyes that glistened at the thought of money and extortion. Broken Bottoms had been his childhood home and he had worked hard to become it's keeper. He had broken many knees, threatened many dealers, and shot a great many people to get to where he was today. He was in no way thrilled to know that she in a few short months had taken the reigns of his empire out from under him.
Half his men worked for her now. Nearly every thug knew working for the widow meant better pay, and greater benefits. Her acts of terrorism had united people faster than unions and personal threats ever could. She did have a style all her own though.
There was no guarantee the woman he had just met with was her, no one saw the widow and lived.
The problem was now he was in a tough place. Twice since the dock bombings the other administrators had tried to weasel him out of the Broken Bottoms, but he had outwitted them at every turn. They might have succeeded if they hadn't hey needed him, revolt if it was to come, would come from that sector, and they needed someone with a firm hand. If the crime is organized then the general people are not was the notion. Oh, if only they knew. If he was to keep his lifestyle and his hold in Broken Bottoms he was going to have play by her rules at least for now.
The photos in the envelope were not of him, but to be used by him. Several, Patriots on her payroll seemed to have forgotten their place. They had led the round ups on Charleston St, the western edge of the Bottoms. They needed to be put in their place. The photos were of certain Administrators with a man named Jessie. The kind of photos that could end any career in this tight laced political powder keg. One thing he did like about the widow was her ability to twist people, it was a trait to be admired and feared from his angle.
The driver was taking it slow with the threat of black ice on these back streets. This was a night for dark things, dark plans, dark schemes. A perfect night to find the idiot who had thought about sending coppers into Max's territory.
7.07.2009
Dr. J, Released
His name was Jensen, or Jenkins, or something like that, back when he had a name. Now he was just a number printed in black on his jumper.
The precious cargo, a mad man, is carefully sedated before being placed in the white sleeper cell that would ensure his safe transport to the docks and then to administrators.
0224569-1A.
Patient.
Prisoner.
Patient.
Prisoner.
Some days he wasn't even that. Most days in fact he was a room number, a check on a log, and just another door in another hall. Those to whom he had once mattered had moved on; they were somewhere else in another world. A world he was beginning to think had just been another drug induced fantasy.
He sensed before he saw. He heard before he was sure. It was a sound he had not heard in nearly ten years. The steady confident click clack of a woman's high heels on the tile floor. It wasn't on his hall but it was a definite change. Someone was here. Someone who had not been here before.
There are other noises now. A wave of change is moving through the building, it is careening down his hall. It is coming towards him. It waits impatiently on the other side of the door. There is the metal click of keys in the locks and the pulling back of the barricades. What greets the eyes of the man that no one remembers, is the vision of an angle.
The men in their white lab coats and the orderlies in their pale blue uniforms frame her aura. Her business suit is black and constrained. The jacket with it's long sleeves is tailored to follow every curve. It's perfectly tailored. Just like the black woolen pencil skirt that goes just past her knees. Her dark hair is pulled back and up. The fluorescent light behind the crowd flickers giving her 5'11" stature a dramatic spark not unlike a halo. Her age is indeterminable.
As the humble patient of room 1242 of the east wing stares up at her from the floor he sees only his salvation. She smiles cooly and approaches. She gestures for the orderlies to lift him up. As the patient is carried out of the hospital her heels clack with clarity. Her eyes shine with authority. The red stripes of her lapel pin sparkle at the very notion of her presence here.
In a long black car she rides back to the offices. Her cellphone rings and she pulls it out to answer.
"Yes."
"It is done."
"In due time."
"Of course."
She clicks it closed and puts it back in her small black hand bag. From a brown leather satchel satchel she draws out several folders. His name is Jarrins. His work was halted by a loss of funding at the end of the coast wars. His experiments were gathered up including himself. The extent of his work is not known as the cypher to his work has yet to be discovered. She scans through the photos of the hidden labs and the remains of his subjects. She smiles to herself with a few secrets filling her with mirth. In the satchel is also some the man's notebooks as of yet not deciphered. She flicks one open and scans the page reviling in knowledge her predecessors could not discover.
Jeffery, The Jar
Some say life began with the primordial ooze, for Jeffery it began with a sticky vitamin rich pink fluid and bubbles. He had been very small then. Too small to understand the significance of the fluid and only that he enjoyed the bubbles; they tickled. By his twelfth week of gestation he was moved into a long glass cylinder and the pink fluid became much more gelatinous and gray. Now his environment was changing as he was exposed to a display of lights in varied but warm soothing colors and patterns all around him. These colors were soon accompanied by sounds.
His deliverance into this world wasn't nearly as tranquil. For the first time he was solely responsible for breathing on his own, maintaining his own body temperature, and well everything. He was awake, he was cold, and everything was too bright.
A metal bracelet was slapped on his wrist and then he was wrapped in warm blankets and whisked away. He liked being held. It was like being back in his jar, warm and safe. His nurse had a kind face and she rocked him gently as she did all the babies in the nursery. In the weeks that followed he grew by leaps and bounds. His nurse was a mechanical wonder built only to provide comfort to the 'little ones' as she called them. They were her only concern as her clockwork ticked soothingly. Her mechanical voice sweet, sincere, perfect in Jeffery's world. She was all the love he needed and all he ever knew.
He was back in the laboratory supervising the rows upon rows of his siblings through their gestation when the ground had started to shake, when the great roar came and broke his world. Under the ruin that now composed his entire world he waited. He didn't know what else to do. He was pinned. He watched as the dark figures took away his brothers and sisters. He watched as they deactivated the nurse and seized the remaining jars. He waited for a long time. He waited after the time of quiet. After the green things had begun to grow in his crumble down world. He waited. The Doctor would he home soon. He would set things right. He would be home soon. He needed only to be patient and wait.
His deliverance into this world wasn't nearly as tranquil. For the first time he was solely responsible for breathing on his own, maintaining his own body temperature, and well everything. He was awake, he was cold, and everything was too bright.
A metal bracelet was slapped on his wrist and then he was wrapped in warm blankets and whisked away. He liked being held. It was like being back in his jar, warm and safe. His nurse had a kind face and she rocked him gently as she did all the babies in the nursery. In the weeks that followed he grew by leaps and bounds. His nurse was a mechanical wonder built only to provide comfort to the 'little ones' as she called them. They were her only concern as her clockwork ticked soothingly. Her mechanical voice sweet, sincere, perfect in Jeffery's world. She was all the love he needed and all he ever knew.
He was back in the laboratory supervising the rows upon rows of his siblings through their gestation when the ground had started to shake, when the great roar came and broke his world. Under the ruin that now composed his entire world he waited. He didn't know what else to do. He was pinned. He watched as the dark figures took away his brothers and sisters. He watched as they deactivated the nurse and seized the remaining jars. He waited for a long time. He waited after the time of quiet. After the green things had begun to grow in his crumble down world. He waited. The Doctor would he home soon. He would set things right. He would be home soon. He needed only to be patient and wait.
6.23.2009
Cauldrons
There was something about cauldrons. They added an air of mystery and suspense perhaps even a slight bit of mysticism to the whole affair. The problem was they were big, they were heavy, and they were mostly definitely expensive.
So Addie did what she always did, she compromised. She boiled water on the stove, put in the noodles and read the future in the starch bubbles. When she needed to scry for something she just peered into the standing water in the dishes in the sink.
"Gotta have dirty dishes." Her aunt had told her. "A Place ain't lived in without dirty dishes."
She ought to have a cat, a bird, or at least a toad. The landlord had said no pets.
It was tough being a proper witch. She had wanted a patch of land for growing things; she didn't even have a window box. But what she lacked she made up for in other ways.
She kept at least one deck of cards in her purse. She read books about energy and meditating. Then she came to her senses and got on with the laundry, or the dishes, or trying to chase small gremlins away from her computer. Threats of soap were amazingly effective against the little buggers and when verbal threats in the name of cleanliness failed there was always the compressed air cans she used for removing the dust bunnies from the machine.
Mostly though her life was a string of strange but relatively normal occurrences. One of note was Damon. There she was sipping her coffee and make good use of the Coffee Hut's wireless when he plopped down across from her. She looked over the edge of the screen her skeptical stare causing him to jump a little.
"Can I help you?" She asked her tone flat and equally skeptical to her stare.
"I saw your cards. Care for a game?"
She looked him over and closed the laptop lid. Then she lifted the Bicycle Playing card box from the table.
"Whadya wanna play?" She asked handing him the box.
He took them out and started shuffling. "How about something easy like high card?" He split the deck between them. He put down the top card. An Ace. He glowed.
She laid down an ace. They each drew three cards and laid down the fourth. He laid down a four, she a five.
She took the cards and piled them beside her. They each drew another card. His a two, hers a three. Again. His a queen, hers a king. He grumbled under hid breath. Every card he drew was always one lower than hers and most often the same suit. When she had all the cards she looked over at her latte the froth just starting to dissipate from the normal atmospheric conditions.
"Seems my cards don't like you."
"Apparently not."
The foam had told her he had planned to con her. When he had shuffled he had stacked the deck and he had planned to flirt and leave his number on her napkin. Both the foam and the cards had quite loudly stated they didn't like him.
"Which is strange considering you're a card counter."
"What?"
"You tried to stack the deck those two ace's were supposed to be for you. Funny isn't it how all those kings ended up over here."
"Perhaps I miss counted."
"Perhaps, or perhaps these cards can't be stacked by such an amateur as yourself."
"And why is that?"
"Easy, they aren't particularly fond of you."
"Is that so? What about you are you particularly fond of me?"
"Nope."
He got up to leave but turned as if to say one more thing but not before she reached out and pulled her cards from his denim jacket.
"By the way, Damon."
The color drained from his face as she spoke. He hadn't given his name.
"When you leave the shop in oh about ten minutes don't try to out run the crosswalk wait for it to come around again."
He had no color as he went back to join his friends. She lifted the laptop screen and went back to her blogs and coffee. 13 minutes later there was the screech of brakes and a scream. Damon stood in the middle of the crosswalk his best friend inches from the grill of an SUV.
He was back in the Coffee Hut across from her in under a second. She used one finger to pull down the lid.
"I told you to wait."
"Uh, huh."
"I have very little patience for people who don't heed my warnings."
"How'd- Why? How's? What happens now?"
"You go get me another latte, and I tell you what you've been dieing to ask me, kay?"
"Uh, huh."
He was shaking slightly less but still noticeably by the time he returned. He watched her as she blew on the latte and then sipped it.
"You've got to change professions, stop trying to stack the deck, and get your friend cleaned up. You got that?"
"Uh, okay."
"You do all that and your luck just might change."
Quick as a will-o-wisp's dance she had packed up her computer and finished her coffee. In fact, she was out the door before he had chance to rise.
So Addie did what she always did, she compromised. She boiled water on the stove, put in the noodles and read the future in the starch bubbles. When she needed to scry for something she just peered into the standing water in the dishes in the sink.
"Gotta have dirty dishes." Her aunt had told her. "A Place ain't lived in without dirty dishes."
She ought to have a cat, a bird, or at least a toad. The landlord had said no pets.
It was tough being a proper witch. She had wanted a patch of land for growing things; she didn't even have a window box. But what she lacked she made up for in other ways.
She kept at least one deck of cards in her purse. She read books about energy and meditating. Then she came to her senses and got on with the laundry, or the dishes, or trying to chase small gremlins away from her computer. Threats of soap were amazingly effective against the little buggers and when verbal threats in the name of cleanliness failed there was always the compressed air cans she used for removing the dust bunnies from the machine.
Mostly though her life was a string of strange but relatively normal occurrences. One of note was Damon. There she was sipping her coffee and make good use of the Coffee Hut's wireless when he plopped down across from her. She looked over the edge of the screen her skeptical stare causing him to jump a little.
"Can I help you?" She asked her tone flat and equally skeptical to her stare.
"I saw your cards. Care for a game?"
She looked him over and closed the laptop lid. Then she lifted the Bicycle Playing card box from the table.
"Whadya wanna play?" She asked handing him the box.
He took them out and started shuffling. "How about something easy like high card?" He split the deck between them. He put down the top card. An Ace. He glowed.
She laid down an ace. They each drew three cards and laid down the fourth. He laid down a four, she a five.
She took the cards and piled them beside her. They each drew another card. His a two, hers a three. Again. His a queen, hers a king. He grumbled under hid breath. Every card he drew was always one lower than hers and most often the same suit. When she had all the cards she looked over at her latte the froth just starting to dissipate from the normal atmospheric conditions.
"Seems my cards don't like you."
"Apparently not."
The foam had told her he had planned to con her. When he had shuffled he had stacked the deck and he had planned to flirt and leave his number on her napkin. Both the foam and the cards had quite loudly stated they didn't like him.
"Which is strange considering you're a card counter."
"What?"
"You tried to stack the deck those two ace's were supposed to be for you. Funny isn't it how all those kings ended up over here."
"Perhaps I miss counted."
"Perhaps, or perhaps these cards can't be stacked by such an amateur as yourself."
"And why is that?"
"Easy, they aren't particularly fond of you."
"Is that so? What about you are you particularly fond of me?"
"Nope."
He got up to leave but turned as if to say one more thing but not before she reached out and pulled her cards from his denim jacket.
"By the way, Damon."
The color drained from his face as she spoke. He hadn't given his name.
"When you leave the shop in oh about ten minutes don't try to out run the crosswalk wait for it to come around again."
He had no color as he went back to join his friends. She lifted the laptop screen and went back to her blogs and coffee. 13 minutes later there was the screech of brakes and a scream. Damon stood in the middle of the crosswalk his best friend inches from the grill of an SUV.
He was back in the Coffee Hut across from her in under a second. She used one finger to pull down the lid.
"I told you to wait."
"Uh, huh."
"I have very little patience for people who don't heed my warnings."
"How'd- Why? How's? What happens now?"
"You go get me another latte, and I tell you what you've been dieing to ask me, kay?"
"Uh, huh."
He was shaking slightly less but still noticeably by the time he returned. He watched her as she blew on the latte and then sipped it.
"You've got to change professions, stop trying to stack the deck, and get your friend cleaned up. You got that?"
"Uh, okay."
"You do all that and your luck just might change."
Quick as a will-o-wisp's dance she had packed up her computer and finished her coffee. In fact, she was out the door before he had chance to rise.
6.12.2009
Stephen
Stephen had been walking for over an hour. The rain had stopped and city was heavy with the humidity. The pavement seemed to move itself under his shoes. At this point it was beyond him to slow down. His mind was elsewhere. It was with her.
It was with the smell of early blooming wild honeysuckle that grew on her fence. It was with the talcum powder that he had knocked over in her bathroom. It was with the leftover lasagna in her fridge from a candle lit night in. His mind wandered through the empty house as his body led by his feet navigated the empty streets.
Inspector Runane walked through the garden smelling the honeysuckle as his eyes took in so many small details. He’d seen the bathroom with the spilt talcum powder and the foot prints in them. He’d seen the dinner tapers burned down into dripped piles because of the breeze from the window. Now he looked at the body, there on the grass. Her head was turned away from the garden gate.
Stephen hated goodbyes. He hadn’t wanted her to see him go. He knew her tears and her broken heart would call to him and he would be unable to go.
Cyanosis suggested strangulation. The coroner would declare drowning early in the morning.
Her hair had been brown; it had fallen in ringlets that framed her face. Stephen remembered. He longed for her eyes so soft, so trusting, but in his mind’s eye he could not call them up. Every time he looked all he saw was the pleading frightened visions as she had struggled. It took him quite a while to clean up the water on the floor around the claw foot tub. He had dried her hair. Not that it had mattered it had begun to rain as he kissed her goodbye. That was past though. Now he had to move forward. It was time to leave. That’s why he had done it. He wanted her to be just the way she had always been. He couldn’t take her with him, he rationalized. This way there was only one goodbye. She would have him forever.
Stephen climbed the stairs to the flat he rented. He packed his bags and took a shower. Now he lay to sleep dreaming of candlelight dinners.
The Inspector spread the photos out in front of him. On the wall was a layout of the victim’s home. He took each photo and thumbed tacked into place beside its correct room. The dryer had still been warm when they arrived. Inside was a bundle of towels. It was strange the wine bottle and one of the glasses had been wiped down. The handles on the faucet had been, too. What he had forgotten was the knobs on the dryer. Unfortunately, the fingerprints were mostly partials and were not matches to anyone in any of their databases.
Runane had a hard time reading the coroner’s report. There had been bruising across her chest and collar bone they even extended out onto her shoulders. They suggested that she struggled quite a bit because her assailant had to keep adjusting his hold and changing his amount of pressure. Her name had been Marie. She had died around nine in the evening. None of the neighbors were aware of her dating anyone. No one knew anything about this man that she had dinner with and then had promptly killed her.
The sun came up glistening in the damp that hung on the city By the time sun had reached it's zenith Stephen was thousands of feet up heading towards the Old City.
It was with the smell of early blooming wild honeysuckle that grew on her fence. It was with the talcum powder that he had knocked over in her bathroom. It was with the leftover lasagna in her fridge from a candle lit night in. His mind wandered through the empty house as his body led by his feet navigated the empty streets.
Inspector Runane walked through the garden smelling the honeysuckle as his eyes took in so many small details. He’d seen the bathroom with the spilt talcum powder and the foot prints in them. He’d seen the dinner tapers burned down into dripped piles because of the breeze from the window. Now he looked at the body, there on the grass. Her head was turned away from the garden gate.
Stephen hated goodbyes. He hadn’t wanted her to see him go. He knew her tears and her broken heart would call to him and he would be unable to go.
Cyanosis suggested strangulation. The coroner would declare drowning early in the morning.
Her hair had been brown; it had fallen in ringlets that framed her face. Stephen remembered. He longed for her eyes so soft, so trusting, but in his mind’s eye he could not call them up. Every time he looked all he saw was the pleading frightened visions as she had struggled. It took him quite a while to clean up the water on the floor around the claw foot tub. He had dried her hair. Not that it had mattered it had begun to rain as he kissed her goodbye. That was past though. Now he had to move forward. It was time to leave. That’s why he had done it. He wanted her to be just the way she had always been. He couldn’t take her with him, he rationalized. This way there was only one goodbye. She would have him forever.
Stephen climbed the stairs to the flat he rented. He packed his bags and took a shower. Now he lay to sleep dreaming of candlelight dinners.
The Inspector spread the photos out in front of him. On the wall was a layout of the victim’s home. He took each photo and thumbed tacked into place beside its correct room. The dryer had still been warm when they arrived. Inside was a bundle of towels. It was strange the wine bottle and one of the glasses had been wiped down. The handles on the faucet had been, too. What he had forgotten was the knobs on the dryer. Unfortunately, the fingerprints were mostly partials and were not matches to anyone in any of their databases.
Runane had a hard time reading the coroner’s report. There had been bruising across her chest and collar bone they even extended out onto her shoulders. They suggested that she struggled quite a bit because her assailant had to keep adjusting his hold and changing his amount of pressure. Her name had been Marie. She had died around nine in the evening. None of the neighbors were aware of her dating anyone. No one knew anything about this man that she had dinner with and then had promptly killed her.
The sun came up glistening in the damp that hung on the city By the time sun had reached it's zenith Stephen was thousands of feet up heading towards the Old City.
6.09.2009
Sar and the Lady
The breeze dances ‘tween the mountains and cliffs. We call her Nar of the sailor’s fair-wind, Su-sara of the table-turning fate, Orara of the gambler’s lucky streak, Masann of the time-passing change but mostly she is called our Lady. She moves to her own music in the vales. Just now she dances in twisting turns in the valleys between the steel and stone that make up the city of Varhar. In the alleys, her alleys in the poorer districts her children, the city’s children, the children unclaimed by any other, move about, not gypsies necessarily, but more likely tramps and thieves. I’ve heard such children suckle at the breast of hunger, and learn to pick a proper pocket before they can walk. Who’s to say it’s true, and who’s to argue. It’s a half truth anyway.
Today one child of our Lady gambles not just with coin but with life and soul. Let me tell you there’s nothing our Lady doesn’t love quite like a wager. He’s eight but his generally malnourished state and street speech make him seem well closer to six. He’s got dark hair and smells heavily of the streets. But his reputation as a card player has allowed this particular rapscallion into the Gray Lion tavern without so much as a second look from the staff or customers.
Across the card table sits a man of more than 20 stone. He’s dressed in rich fabrics. His mustache is greasy and fingernails are tainted by years of smoking the dark plant appear a grisly black in the tavern light. In his hand, three cards lend their illustrations to the light of the gas lamp behind him. Before him on the table are two cards and the stack to pull from.
The boy draws his third card. He doesn’t look at it. He fears if he does too soon, he’ll jinx it, and he hopes to bluff his opponent. On the table the yellow tinged cards seems to sparkle before him. The first is a red flower its stem wrapped around a gray tower. The second is a rider at full gallop with a sword through his chest. The boy called Sar looks at his two earlier cards once more and pushes his last three weeks earnings, from both cards and streets, to the pile just left of the face up cards. It’s all the money he’s ever had and the largest sum he’s ever held.
The merchant twists the right side of his mustache between his fingers and leans across the table. As if whispering a great secret he begins. “Ya sure? That kind of money could buy a soft bed and hot food for a month.”
“Why ya got second thoughts?” Counters the dark haired lad as he takes a swig of his ale.
“Nah. Just want to be sure ya know what yar in for,” says the merchant, as he leans back with a soft chuckle and another twist of his brown mustache. He puts a larger sum on the table. Silver pieces rattle in their purse as it is plopped onto the table. “Tell ya what, kid. Since yar ‘bout to lose everything I’ll call it so ya needn’t scrounge for more coin.” Then with a flourish of his wrist he lays down his three cards.
They’re numbered cards depicting stacked stones with the red flower in their corners. There’s a three, a five, and a seven.
“That’s fifteen stones plus the ten on the table.” The merchant chuckles and takes a long drag on his wide-bowl pipe.
The boy smiles and turns over his third card. His smile turns into a grin. He leans in close in mimic of the merchant. “Well, then I suppose you lose.”
He lays his cards on the table. The first is a three of swords being juggled by a man, the second is a nine of swords stuck in the ground of a battle field. The last card is a woman standing in that battleground a blade in her hand, the princess of blades.
“So that what 1 blade on the table, three and nine is twelve, so thirteen, plus the princess is twenty-six. Sorry to tell you this sir, but I’ve won by two because blade cuts stone.”
The merchant’s once jolly demeanor has faded. He pushes the money at the kid and turns away in disgust. Sar doesn’t think twice he scoops up the money and is gone in a flash.
Today one child of our Lady gambles not just with coin but with life and soul. Let me tell you there’s nothing our Lady doesn’t love quite like a wager. He’s eight but his generally malnourished state and street speech make him seem well closer to six. He’s got dark hair and smells heavily of the streets. But his reputation as a card player has allowed this particular rapscallion into the Gray Lion tavern without so much as a second look from the staff or customers.
Across the card table sits a man of more than 20 stone. He’s dressed in rich fabrics. His mustache is greasy and fingernails are tainted by years of smoking the dark plant appear a grisly black in the tavern light. In his hand, three cards lend their illustrations to the light of the gas lamp behind him. Before him on the table are two cards and the stack to pull from.
The boy draws his third card. He doesn’t look at it. He fears if he does too soon, he’ll jinx it, and he hopes to bluff his opponent. On the table the yellow tinged cards seems to sparkle before him. The first is a red flower its stem wrapped around a gray tower. The second is a rider at full gallop with a sword through his chest. The boy called Sar looks at his two earlier cards once more and pushes his last three weeks earnings, from both cards and streets, to the pile just left of the face up cards. It’s all the money he’s ever had and the largest sum he’s ever held.
The merchant twists the right side of his mustache between his fingers and leans across the table. As if whispering a great secret he begins. “Ya sure? That kind of money could buy a soft bed and hot food for a month.”
“Why ya got second thoughts?” Counters the dark haired lad as he takes a swig of his ale.
“Nah. Just want to be sure ya know what yar in for,” says the merchant, as he leans back with a soft chuckle and another twist of his brown mustache. He puts a larger sum on the table. Silver pieces rattle in their purse as it is plopped onto the table. “Tell ya what, kid. Since yar ‘bout to lose everything I’ll call it so ya needn’t scrounge for more coin.” Then with a flourish of his wrist he lays down his three cards.
They’re numbered cards depicting stacked stones with the red flower in their corners. There’s a three, a five, and a seven.
“That’s fifteen stones plus the ten on the table.” The merchant chuckles and takes a long drag on his wide-bowl pipe.
The boy smiles and turns over his third card. His smile turns into a grin. He leans in close in mimic of the merchant. “Well, then I suppose you lose.”
He lays his cards on the table. The first is a three of swords being juggled by a man, the second is a nine of swords stuck in the ground of a battle field. The last card is a woman standing in that battleground a blade in her hand, the princess of blades.
“So that what 1 blade on the table, three and nine is twelve, so thirteen, plus the princess is twenty-six. Sorry to tell you this sir, but I’ve won by two because blade cuts stone.”
The merchant’s once jolly demeanor has faded. He pushes the money at the kid and turns away in disgust. Sar doesn’t think twice he scoops up the money and is gone in a flash.
5.21.2009
Susan missed Adrien
Susan missed Adrien now that he was away at school. She couldn't imagine he was having any fun at the boarding school.
It had happened on Thren's Street near the bakery. Susan had rounded up the gang and they had decided they didn't mind Adrien hanging about with them. There had been a few problems at first. Roger and Damien had been most vocal about their skepticism, but Adrien's quick thinking had saved them a scrape with Zephyr's gang. Now he was welcomed as a member of the family. On Thren's Street the gang had met up for after a scouting operation. Everyone was emptying their pockets in the alley when a gang of older boys had come up. The gang had fled but Adrien hadn't lived with them long enough to gain the fast feet of fleeing. He'd try to talk to them. All he got for it was being turned in for cutting school.
Now he was miles away in a Patriots school. She spat to think of him in that black uniform. If only Aunt Lauren hadn't been so far away. If only Susan had fought them harder. She climbed up the fire escape to her favorite viewing post.
She looked out over the Broken Bottoms. They lacked the glamor of many parts of the old city. Yet Susan felt as the sun set over the tenet buildings and warehouses that the glory of the old city might still be here. As she walked back to Granny's for dinner she contemplated what she would write to Adrien. It had been months and she had no way to know if he got a single one, or worse if he got them before others read them. She had tried writing in riddles. Adrien was younger than she was but he had read a lot. So she would take pieces of the stories he used to tell her and change them just a bit in her letters, hoping he would connect the fragments to leanr important things like the gang missed him(Christopher Robin went away to school), they had lost rights to the baker's alley to Zephyr's boys(the British hired German Mercenaries and took baker's hill), and most important Alice (she) was lost in the checkerboard (the world) till he finished the story.
Over dinner Susan listened inattentively as possible as Don expressed his joy over Granny's meatloaf. If she had been listening more closely she was sure her stomach would have curdled from the excess of complements. After dinner Susan left the crooning love birds on the couch and returned to the streets. It was a late twilight now as the green and yellow streetlights slowly came to life. She made her way down Lakken to the abandoned lot with the shed the gang used as a fort.
Mikey and Chris greeted her with cheesy smiles. They tried to get her to laugh but it wasn't working. She noticed they were sleeping more and more often here at the fort. That and the bruise on Chris' thigh were testaments to the return of their father. A man who only claimed to be truly happy when he was off fighting as a proper patriot. Every evening he'd pull his kids close and point to a letter of promotion framed on the wall commemorating a day he remembered so well. A day he claimed that was his happiest. Even though his wife still looked at him with hungry eyes and his sons would have thrived at the sound of a kind word. They were not part of his perfect soldier's life.
Out of genuine concern, Susan had brought 'borrowed' blankets and pillows for the boys to use. It was warmer now but the nights could still be chilly. When she had told Granny about them, Granny had offered to give them shelter. The boys were too tough for that. Roger and Damien at least could be counted on to make sure the stove worked in the winter and made sure the two never wanted for food.
As Susan fluffed a pillow, she wondered if Adrien would end up like their father. Could he be driven to put country and glory before family? No. He couldn't. He was too strong. He had to be. It would break her heart if he wasn't. On an old bit of propaganda poster she wrote him. She tore the paper to make it more square and scrounged for a bit of brown paper which she folded into an envelope. She addressed it and tucked it under her shirt for the long walk home in the wind.
It had happened on Thren's Street near the bakery. Susan had rounded up the gang and they had decided they didn't mind Adrien hanging about with them. There had been a few problems at first. Roger and Damien had been most vocal about their skepticism, but Adrien's quick thinking had saved them a scrape with Zephyr's gang. Now he was welcomed as a member of the family. On Thren's Street the gang had met up for after a scouting operation. Everyone was emptying their pockets in the alley when a gang of older boys had come up. The gang had fled but Adrien hadn't lived with them long enough to gain the fast feet of fleeing. He'd try to talk to them. All he got for it was being turned in for cutting school.
Now he was miles away in a Patriots school. She spat to think of him in that black uniform. If only Aunt Lauren hadn't been so far away. If only Susan had fought them harder. She climbed up the fire escape to her favorite viewing post.
She looked out over the Broken Bottoms. They lacked the glamor of many parts of the old city. Yet Susan felt as the sun set over the tenet buildings and warehouses that the glory of the old city might still be here. As she walked back to Granny's for dinner she contemplated what she would write to Adrien. It had been months and she had no way to know if he got a single one, or worse if he got them before others read them. She had tried writing in riddles. Adrien was younger than she was but he had read a lot. So she would take pieces of the stories he used to tell her and change them just a bit in her letters, hoping he would connect the fragments to leanr important things like the gang missed him(Christopher Robin went away to school), they had lost rights to the baker's alley to Zephyr's boys(the British hired German Mercenaries and took baker's hill), and most important Alice (she) was lost in the checkerboard (the world) till he finished the story.
Over dinner Susan listened inattentively as possible as Don expressed his joy over Granny's meatloaf. If she had been listening more closely she was sure her stomach would have curdled from the excess of complements. After dinner Susan left the crooning love birds on the couch and returned to the streets. It was a late twilight now as the green and yellow streetlights slowly came to life. She made her way down Lakken to the abandoned lot with the shed the gang used as a fort.
Mikey and Chris greeted her with cheesy smiles. They tried to get her to laugh but it wasn't working. She noticed they were sleeping more and more often here at the fort. That and the bruise on Chris' thigh were testaments to the return of their father. A man who only claimed to be truly happy when he was off fighting as a proper patriot. Every evening he'd pull his kids close and point to a letter of promotion framed on the wall commemorating a day he remembered so well. A day he claimed that was his happiest. Even though his wife still looked at him with hungry eyes and his sons would have thrived at the sound of a kind word. They were not part of his perfect soldier's life.
Out of genuine concern, Susan had brought 'borrowed' blankets and pillows for the boys to use. It was warmer now but the nights could still be chilly. When she had told Granny about them, Granny had offered to give them shelter. The boys were too tough for that. Roger and Damien at least could be counted on to make sure the stove worked in the winter and made sure the two never wanted for food.
As Susan fluffed a pillow, she wondered if Adrien would end up like their father. Could he be driven to put country and glory before family? No. He couldn't. He was too strong. He had to be. It would break her heart if he wasn't. On an old bit of propaganda poster she wrote him. She tore the paper to make it more square and scrounged for a bit of brown paper which she folded into an envelope. She addressed it and tucked it under her shirt for the long walk home in the wind.
5.17.2009
A whish and several pings.
Whish, the release of steam from the valve overhead filled the tight space with warm moist air. It was Hammond's third week on the docks. In that time he had learned his way through the maze of alleys in this part of town normally a daunting task but what time he didn't spend with Don working on the docking mechanisms he spent standing on the highest rungs of those docks. His view of the city only skewed and darkened by the large black steamers that floated above carrying heavy ammunition.
With them above no matter how gloriously the sun shone the city took on a dark demeanor. He stood today on the eastern edge of the commercial docks his eyes trying so hard to see to the edge of the world. Kevin clambered up the nearest ladder.
"Been up here long?"
"Nah."
"I've got a message for you."
"Who from?"
"Her." He said it flatly as he lit his cigarette.
Hammond didn't want to believe it but the woman he had traveled half way 'round the world to work for was beginning to wear on him. It wasn't that what she asked was beyond him merely that for the past five months he had worked for the cause but felt no closer to his goal. If anything he felt lost and more alone than ever.
Kevin handed him a small envelope which Hammond haphazardly opened. Inside a plastic hotel key card looked up at him and a piece of yellow legal paper torn from a corner with a date and time written in Don's chicken scratch. He stuffed the contents into his coat pocket. He pulled his coat tighter around him. It was nearly April but the winter wind still hung close to the city.
"Let's get some food."
At Rita's, a tiny diner wedged under a dilapidated docking post and the hull of deceased steamer, the two men sat down a meal so greasy Kevin joked it could run the hydraulics for the entire fleet. Already on his second cup of coffee, Hammond pulled the card out of his pocket. It was blue and white with a silver data strip down one side. He knew the symbol on the card it belonged to a resort on the north side of the shopping district. He didn't see a room number and so pulled out the yellow piece of paper. What he had previously assumed was a date and time turned out to be a string of numbers.
"Kevin, what do you make of this?"
"Dunno. I took a peek before I brought it to you but I figured you'd know."
"You know you're not supposed to look at these things."
"You were going to show me anyway."
"Still."
"I know, I know. A cog in the bigger machine and the left hand can't know what the right hand is up to. I know."
Hammond tucked it back into his coat as the waitress brought another round of coffee and the check. As they left, Hammond slid his hand in Kevin's just for a moment, despite increasing security and propaganda against it. He knew every time they showed even the smallest affection for one another it put the whole job at risk. Even in this part of town you never knew if the girl across the way was a patriot or even the little boy kicking the can in the alley. Kevin seemed unaware of Hammond's pessimistic thoughts and smiling followed him back to Smokey's.
Big Charlie was upstairs when they got there. She eyed them up and down then put a finger to her lips. They went back downstairs to see Smokey. Smokey was 5'10" and pushing 360. He was a big man by all accounts but there was a softness in his eyes when he asked if they wanted a drink.
"I see you called the exterminator about the bugs."
"Yeah, so far not turned up much but the 'terminator' did find this hidden just above the dancing pole." He put a lump of melted metal and plastic on the bar.
Just under a wrinkle in the melted plastic Kevin could make out what was once a lens.
"Funny thing that. Jesse's the one that noticed it. Couldn't be caught taking it down so we staged a power flux on the whole block. Nearly blew out my sign, in front.
Big Charlie was coming down the stairs as the boys turned down another offer of brew. "Cleared 'em best I could. Doesn't look like they suspect anyone in particular just trying to find out who our regulars are. Probably got a big surprise over the Statesmen who come to see Jesse."
Smokey chuckled a good barrel of a laugh. Jesse was almost as heavy as old Smokey, had lips like they were once stuck in a vacuum, and to top it off his performance finished with him in a bad beehive wig with pastel tassels stuck to his nipples. Only Big Charlie had thought he had a right to show business. The funnier thing was Jesse had at least two Statesmen who came to his show every week. They paid to have the upstairs all to themselves those nights. They didn't acknowledge one another and tipped really well. They were part of the reason Hammond was rooming here at Smokey's. A secret like that could cost a guy his career which was a piece of information the widow had no problem turning to the Old City Movement's advantage.
The widow accepted their payments to prevent revealing their identity. Hammond met with the men prior to every performance acting as though he was simply clearing the room for the VIPs when in fact he was learning about the chain of command in this pass the buck world. During these stately visits Kevin was sweeping the gentleman off their feet with compliments, pouring beverages, and taking their envelopes full of cash and secrets. Hammond had always wondered what sort of things arrived in those envelopes and how much money actually exchanged hands.
Hammond and Kevin retired to the apartment. Hammond lit his cigarrette as they watched the sky out the tiny kitchen window. Kevin turned on the radio. The station played old dance music. Something that not only fit Kevin's sense of romance but was also unlikely to be thought controversial if anyone in the alley should here it. They danced a little. They talked a little. They avoided anything that sounded long term or concerned the work they might be asked to partake in the coming months. Hammond hated how ephemeral this all seemed. He knew that a raid at any moment could take Kevin away. He tried not to think about the widow or his work when he was with Kevin. But it was hard, Kevin had become his motivation now for fighting.
The sun was just crossing over the horizon in the east, when an exasperated Don appeared downstairs. "Timetable's changed," was all he would say.
Big Charlie went down to the cellar and returned with a locked box with a jointed handle. Don compared the silver box to the one in his memory. The notches he had scratched in the side were unchanged a good sign it hadn't been tampered with or replaced. He nodded and Big Charlie spun the numbers to a twelve digit code that released the top panel. She took the pieces of paper and handed them to Old Smokey, who in turn reached for the bar phone and made some cryptic calls, as Charlie headed towards the apartment. The box swung a bit as she took the stairs two at a time. She didn't knock but just put her key in the lock and opened the door. It startled Kevin slightly from his slumped position on the bed but Hammond had heard her on the stairs was almost to his feet by the time the door swung inward. He had known. Somehow he hand known. He had been unable to set his mind at rest. For the last several hours he had been awake watching Kevin sleep and pacing about the floor.
"Kevin, get lost."
Kevin looked first from the tense face of Big Charlie who had spoken so out of character and now turned to the pale face of Hammond.
"Go. The less you know the better."
Kevin had heard and part of him had understood. Something in him refused to move. His more animalistic hind brain perhaps, had taken in the scene and decided now was not a moment for leaving.
Hammond turned to face him. "Please, you're already up to your eyeballs in trouble, alright. Go. Please, Kevin."
It was the second please, the desperation in it, that got his higher self to pay attention and take control. Even though it was the right decision by all his inner accounting, part of him still wanted to be in that room with Hammond. He made his way slowly down the stairs and to Smokey. His brain filled with horrible scenarios as he watched the door to the back. Minutes later when Hammond came through thatdoor, Kevin was forced to turn away as he passed by towards the alley door. The look on Hammond's face was cold, hard, icy even. Kevin didn't have the strength to look and so despite the early hour he ordered a drink.
The wind had picked up outside as Hammond made a bee line through the maze of alleys. He pulled his coat tighter around him as he moved closer to the car that awaited him. A man with a blue hat and a blue suit opened the back passenger door for him on a long black car. It had dark windows and tiny flags of a nearby province on it. This was a Statesman's car. Nobody was going to pull them over not even as the car rushed towards its destination at nearly twice the in city speed limit. In the backseat, Hammond opened the lock box with the code on the yellow scrap of paper. Inside, he found a change of clothes. As he buckled his shoe and moved to readjust the dark wool coat he donned a new expression.
The clothes were richly made and the shirt was brightly dyed. He was a Statesman's playboy son now, and he needed to look the part. He ran his fingers through his hair and found tiny travel bottle of gel to make it stick. He looked rich, he looked loose. There was just one more thing he needed to complete the facade. In the case, there were several bundles of counted cash in all denominations. He stuffed his pockets and knocked on the glass that divided his space from the driver's.
"I need to make a stop." He pushed some money into the driver's lap.
They pulled off a main thorough fair towards a seedy looking part of town. The driver flashed his lights at a group of scantily dressed girls on a corner. Two approached the car. Hammond rolled down his window flashed some cash.
"Grab your friends. I'm having a big party with big spenders." The eldest and probably the wisest girl looked him and his car over before hailing the rest of the girls over.
Hammond's arrival at the hotel caused quite a stir. It was still early and most of the day staff had not arrived yet. On the ride to the resort he had encouraged the girls to drink as much of the car's stash of liqueur as they could. When they reached the resort he fained drunkenness with them. One glance at the flags on the car hand been enough for the doorman to be extra polite. Hammond shoved a wad of cash at him.
The hotel conceirge took the room key and led him up to the penthouse floor. All three of the largest rooms had been rented out. As Hammond called for more alcohol, more food, more women, the penthouse's other guests began to arrive. Including a thirteen year old girl with a 50+ entourage. She wore a purple fur coat that spilled out in a long train behind her. Her hair was a mass of perfectly groomed curls. Under her coat she flashed the concierge a glance ay an expense sequined dress low cut across the top and short in the hem. She moved with the air of self impoertance. Her body guards kept the hotel staff at arm's reach as the entire group moved towards the elevator. The entourage was a strange assortment of body guards, richly dressed peers, personal assistants, male and female strippers, and several men in business suits. As she stepped off the elevator and allowed member of her staff to light her cigarette, a man claiming to be her publicist and manager pulled the concierge aside.
"Her father, as I'm sure you're well aware, the Statesman wants to make sure she has everything for this little bash. We need you to make sure everyone has food and drink and most importantly a good time." The conceriege was busy all day as guests of the playboy and birthday girl came and went all day. He was denied access to the hotel's upper floor while the all day party was ensueing.
Big Charlie encouraged the drunken circus by well, inviting a circus. A dozen acrobats made quite a scene in his lobby before being shooed upstairs. The concerciege was most apologetic in telling the young miss, he could not think of a way to get an elephant into the elevator. She staged a tantrum to end all tantrums, until it was discovered that some one had snuck in a pair of leopard cubs for her birthday. Between the coming and going of animals, fire eaters, lion tamers, and hookers the hotel staff had no time to notice that Hammond had snuck off to the third Penthouse. From his wool coat he took out the long barrel and all the smaller pieces that made up the rifle. Methodically, he put the pieces together cleaning each piece as he did so.
Out on the balcony of the thirty storey building him leaned aginst the rail counting glass windows of the office building across the street. He looked at his watch, then down at the street far below. through the removed scope of his rifle he watched high end patriots get out of their cars and file into the building. It had taken months to get the information about this meeting.
The zoom on the scope allowed him to make out the definite faces of men in a boardroom across the way. None of them were his intended target. A heliocopter landed on the roof of the office building. No doubt carrying precious personages. He couldn't get a clear shot he'd have to wait till they were all in the office building.
A woman in a red skirt and suit was coralling the rest of the patriots into the office. Her hair was almost knee length and very dark. The business men wore black suits and red power ties. They all had matching lapel pins with red horizontal bars on them. She was directing their attention to a drop down screen when the first ping was heard.
The bullets Hammond was using were tipped to penetrate the glass without breaking it. The first target must have been asleep already because no one noticed as he slouched a bit more after impact. Five others, ping ping, ping, and then the presenter in the red skirt and heels before she could retreat into the hall. Hammond then took the gun back inside and disassembled it. Storing each piece where it had come from in the clothes he wore he went back to the party. In his absence a DJ had been hired and the lights lowered for dancing. It made his exit easier. He took the emergency stairs and then emerged in the alley. As he walked he tossed each piece of the gun away. He doubled back on himself several times to make sure he wasn't followed. Then as he moved further from the resort he began to discard each piece of borrowed clothing. It was easy to just take something from a clothesline and hang something in its place. He didn't go back to Smokey's.
As he stood in the shower of a cheap motel room, his mind drifted back to Kevin. It pissed him off more and more. He had lost so many already to this city and the damn patriots. He was mad at himself. What am I doing? He kept asking himself. If he had any sense he told himself he would take the rest of the money and Kevin and leave. But he couldn't he knew he couldn't. The damn black coats deserved more bullets for what they had done and were continueing to do. Regardless of what Hammond might want, Kevin had already joined the Old City. He had become a lily a man of the widow. Kevin in that way was stronger than he was. He wanted to go on living, to go on fighting, and he wasn't going to back down. Kevin hadn't lost his family to the patriots like Hammond had but who was he to tell Kevin he couldn't fight. Even as it broke part of Hammond's heart he knew that Kevin wasn't a man to back down. Maybe that was why it hurt so much. Hammond didn't think he was enough to love a man like that.
"You know you're not supposed to look at these things."
"You were going to show me anyway."
"Still."
"I know, I know. A cog in the bigger machine and the left hand can't know what the right hand is up to. I know."
Hammond tucked it back into his coat as the waitress brought another round of coffee and the check. As they left, Hammond slid his hand in Kevin's just for a moment, despite increasing security and propaganda against it. He knew every time they showed even the smallest affection for one another it put the whole job at risk. Even in this part of town you never knew if the girl across the way was a patriot or even the little boy kicking the can in the alley. Kevin seemed unaware of Hammond's pessimistic thoughts and smiling followed him back to Smokey's.
Big Charlie was upstairs when they got there. She eyed them up and down then put a finger to her lips. They went back downstairs to see Smokey. Smokey was 5'10" and pushing 360. He was a big man by all accounts but there was a softness in his eyes when he asked if they wanted a drink.
"I see you called the exterminator about the bugs."
"Yeah, so far not turned up much but the 'terminator' did find this hidden just above the dancing pole." He put a lump of melted metal and plastic on the bar.
Just under a wrinkle in the melted plastic Kevin could make out what was once a lens.
"Funny thing that. Jesse's the one that noticed it. Couldn't be caught taking it down so we staged a power flux on the whole block. Nearly blew out my sign, in front.
Big Charlie was coming down the stairs as the boys turned down another offer of brew. "Cleared 'em best I could. Doesn't look like they suspect anyone in particular just trying to find out who our regulars are. Probably got a big surprise over the Statesmen who come to see Jesse."
Smokey chuckled a good barrel of a laugh. Jesse was almost as heavy as old Smokey, had lips like they were once stuck in a vacuum, and to top it off his performance finished with him in a bad beehive wig with pastel tassels stuck to his nipples. Only Big Charlie had thought he had a right to show business. The funnier thing was Jesse had at least two Statesmen who came to his show every week. They paid to have the upstairs all to themselves those nights. They didn't acknowledge one another and tipped really well. They were part of the reason Hammond was rooming here at Smokey's. A secret like that could cost a guy his career which was a piece of information the widow had no problem turning to the Old City Movement's advantage.
The widow accepted their payments to prevent revealing their identity. Hammond met with the men prior to every performance acting as though he was simply clearing the room for the VIPs when in fact he was learning about the chain of command in this pass the buck world. During these stately visits Kevin was sweeping the gentleman off their feet with compliments, pouring beverages, and taking their envelopes full of cash and secrets. Hammond had always wondered what sort of things arrived in those envelopes and how much money actually exchanged hands.
Hammond and Kevin retired to the apartment. Hammond lit his cigarrette as they watched the sky out the tiny kitchen window. Kevin turned on the radio. The station played old dance music. Something that not only fit Kevin's sense of romance but was also unlikely to be thought controversial if anyone in the alley should here it. They danced a little. They talked a little. They avoided anything that sounded long term or concerned the work they might be asked to partake in the coming months. Hammond hated how ephemeral this all seemed. He knew that a raid at any moment could take Kevin away. He tried not to think about the widow or his work when he was with Kevin. But it was hard, Kevin had become his motivation now for fighting.
The sun was just crossing over the horizon in the east, when an exasperated Don appeared downstairs. "Timetable's changed," was all he would say.
Big Charlie went down to the cellar and returned with a locked box with a jointed handle. Don compared the silver box to the one in his memory. The notches he had scratched in the side were unchanged a good sign it hadn't been tampered with or replaced. He nodded and Big Charlie spun the numbers to a twelve digit code that released the top panel. She took the pieces of paper and handed them to Old Smokey, who in turn reached for the bar phone and made some cryptic calls, as Charlie headed towards the apartment. The box swung a bit as she took the stairs two at a time. She didn't knock but just put her key in the lock and opened the door. It startled Kevin slightly from his slumped position on the bed but Hammond had heard her on the stairs was almost to his feet by the time the door swung inward. He had known. Somehow he hand known. He had been unable to set his mind at rest. For the last several hours he had been awake watching Kevin sleep and pacing about the floor.
"Kevin, get lost."
Kevin looked first from the tense face of Big Charlie who had spoken so out of character and now turned to the pale face of Hammond.
"Go. The less you know the better."
Kevin had heard and part of him had understood. Something in him refused to move. His more animalistic hind brain perhaps, had taken in the scene and decided now was not a moment for leaving.
Hammond turned to face him. "Please, you're already up to your eyeballs in trouble, alright. Go. Please, Kevin."
It was the second please, the desperation in it, that got his higher self to pay attention and take control. Even though it was the right decision by all his inner accounting, part of him still wanted to be in that room with Hammond. He made his way slowly down the stairs and to Smokey. His brain filled with horrible scenarios as he watched the door to the back. Minutes later when Hammond came through thatdoor, Kevin was forced to turn away as he passed by towards the alley door. The look on Hammond's face was cold, hard, icy even. Kevin didn't have the strength to look and so despite the early hour he ordered a drink.
The wind had picked up outside as Hammond made a bee line through the maze of alleys. He pulled his coat tighter around him as he moved closer to the car that awaited him. A man with a blue hat and a blue suit opened the back passenger door for him on a long black car. It had dark windows and tiny flags of a nearby province on it. This was a Statesman's car. Nobody was going to pull them over not even as the car rushed towards its destination at nearly twice the in city speed limit. In the backseat, Hammond opened the lock box with the code on the yellow scrap of paper. Inside, he found a change of clothes. As he buckled his shoe and moved to readjust the dark wool coat he donned a new expression.
The clothes were richly made and the shirt was brightly dyed. He was a Statesman's playboy son now, and he needed to look the part. He ran his fingers through his hair and found tiny travel bottle of gel to make it stick. He looked rich, he looked loose. There was just one more thing he needed to complete the facade. In the case, there were several bundles of counted cash in all denominations. He stuffed his pockets and knocked on the glass that divided his space from the driver's.
"I need to make a stop." He pushed some money into the driver's lap.
They pulled off a main thorough fair towards a seedy looking part of town. The driver flashed his lights at a group of scantily dressed girls on a corner. Two approached the car. Hammond rolled down his window flashed some cash.
"Grab your friends. I'm having a big party with big spenders." The eldest and probably the wisest girl looked him and his car over before hailing the rest of the girls over.
Hammond's arrival at the hotel caused quite a stir. It was still early and most of the day staff had not arrived yet. On the ride to the resort he had encouraged the girls to drink as much of the car's stash of liqueur as they could. When they reached the resort he fained drunkenness with them. One glance at the flags on the car hand been enough for the doorman to be extra polite. Hammond shoved a wad of cash at him.
The hotel conceirge took the room key and led him up to the penthouse floor. All three of the largest rooms had been rented out. As Hammond called for more alcohol, more food, more women, the penthouse's other guests began to arrive. Including a thirteen year old girl with a 50+ entourage. She wore a purple fur coat that spilled out in a long train behind her. Her hair was a mass of perfectly groomed curls. Under her coat she flashed the concierge a glance ay an expense sequined dress low cut across the top and short in the hem. She moved with the air of self impoertance. Her body guards kept the hotel staff at arm's reach as the entire group moved towards the elevator. The entourage was a strange assortment of body guards, richly dressed peers, personal assistants, male and female strippers, and several men in business suits. As she stepped off the elevator and allowed member of her staff to light her cigarette, a man claiming to be her publicist and manager pulled the concierge aside.
"Her father, as I'm sure you're well aware, the Statesman wants to make sure she has everything for this little bash. We need you to make sure everyone has food and drink and most importantly a good time." The conceriege was busy all day as guests of the playboy and birthday girl came and went all day. He was denied access to the hotel's upper floor while the all day party was ensueing.
Big Charlie encouraged the drunken circus by well, inviting a circus. A dozen acrobats made quite a scene in his lobby before being shooed upstairs. The concerciege was most apologetic in telling the young miss, he could not think of a way to get an elephant into the elevator. She staged a tantrum to end all tantrums, until it was discovered that some one had snuck in a pair of leopard cubs for her birthday. Between the coming and going of animals, fire eaters, lion tamers, and hookers the hotel staff had no time to notice that Hammond had snuck off to the third Penthouse. From his wool coat he took out the long barrel and all the smaller pieces that made up the rifle. Methodically, he put the pieces together cleaning each piece as he did so.
Out on the balcony of the thirty storey building him leaned aginst the rail counting glass windows of the office building across the street. He looked at his watch, then down at the street far below. through the removed scope of his rifle he watched high end patriots get out of their cars and file into the building. It had taken months to get the information about this meeting.
The zoom on the scope allowed him to make out the definite faces of men in a boardroom across the way. None of them were his intended target. A heliocopter landed on the roof of the office building. No doubt carrying precious personages. He couldn't get a clear shot he'd have to wait till they were all in the office building.
A woman in a red skirt and suit was coralling the rest of the patriots into the office. Her hair was almost knee length and very dark. The business men wore black suits and red power ties. They all had matching lapel pins with red horizontal bars on them. She was directing their attention to a drop down screen when the first ping was heard.
The bullets Hammond was using were tipped to penetrate the glass without breaking it. The first target must have been asleep already because no one noticed as he slouched a bit more after impact. Five others, ping ping, ping, and then the presenter in the red skirt and heels before she could retreat into the hall. Hammond then took the gun back inside and disassembled it. Storing each piece where it had come from in the clothes he wore he went back to the party. In his absence a DJ had been hired and the lights lowered for dancing. It made his exit easier. He took the emergency stairs and then emerged in the alley. As he walked he tossed each piece of the gun away. He doubled back on himself several times to make sure he wasn't followed. Then as he moved further from the resort he began to discard each piece of borrowed clothing. It was easy to just take something from a clothesline and hang something in its place. He didn't go back to Smokey's.
As he stood in the shower of a cheap motel room, his mind drifted back to Kevin. It pissed him off more and more. He had lost so many already to this city and the damn patriots. He was mad at himself. What am I doing? He kept asking himself. If he had any sense he told himself he would take the rest of the money and Kevin and leave. But he couldn't he knew he couldn't. The damn black coats deserved more bullets for what they had done and were continueing to do. Regardless of what Hammond might want, Kevin had already joined the Old City. He had become a lily a man of the widow. Kevin in that way was stronger than he was. He wanted to go on living, to go on fighting, and he wasn't going to back down. Kevin hadn't lost his family to the patriots like Hammond had but who was he to tell Kevin he couldn't fight. Even as it broke part of Hammond's heart he knew that Kevin wasn't a man to back down. Maybe that was why it hurt so much. Hammond didn't think he was enough to love a man like that.
4.26.2009
November
It was late November and the snow was falling as it had been for days. The city lay mostly quiet, Hammond lived for this kind of quiet. This was the quiet that swallowed sounds. This was the kind of weather for things to happen. Things to go on quiet like. This was Hammond's city now.
He'd been away for far too long he decided as he entered the shopping district and found he was lost. He headed towards the largest of streets and tried to reorient himself. Not even the street signs provided any clue to where he might be standing. He moved closer to the brick wall and store window beside him. He pulled out a hand rolled cig and lit it.
With the smoke now creeping through his veins trailing nicotine he began a hard target scan of the street. The sign post had said Patriot's Way but he never remembered hearing any street called that. He looked at the long rows of posters. The great line of black uniformed shoulders standing shoulder to shoulder in the paper rectangles stuck to every unclaimed vertical surface. He considered running along and tearing them down. He reconsidered when he noticed the cameras under the nearest street-lamp. He sucked up the last of the cig before stamping it underfoot.
His brownish coat wasn't enough against the bite of the wind as the day drew to a close. Every shop he passed was closing up for the night and the little stalls that sold food were moving towards the parts of town where the lights glowed a little bit more comfortingly. Ahead of him now was a string of restaurants.
The road was well lit with neon of every color advertising a wide assortment of fairs. Yet the neon did nothing to catch his attention or rouse his appetite quite like the smell of a passing cart. He followed it as it turned into an alley and reloaded its baked goods.
The restaurant was filled to brimming with a wide assortment of folks. Families crowded in the back passing steaming dishes while single bar patrons were lined up against the north wall taking beers and punches it seemed. There wasn't a table open anywhere that he could see. Luckily, a bar stool opened up about a third of the way down. He moved quick and plopped down before anyone else might chance to take it.
He'd been away for far too long he decided as he entered the shopping district and found he was lost. He headed towards the largest of streets and tried to reorient himself. Not even the street signs provided any clue to where he might be standing. He moved closer to the brick wall and store window beside him. He pulled out a hand rolled cig and lit it.
With the smoke now creeping through his veins trailing nicotine he began a hard target scan of the street. The sign post had said Patriot's Way but he never remembered hearing any street called that. He looked at the long rows of posters. The great line of black uniformed shoulders standing shoulder to shoulder in the paper rectangles stuck to every unclaimed vertical surface. He considered running along and tearing them down. He reconsidered when he noticed the cameras under the nearest street-lamp. He sucked up the last of the cig before stamping it underfoot.
His brownish coat wasn't enough against the bite of the wind as the day drew to a close. Every shop he passed was closing up for the night and the little stalls that sold food were moving towards the parts of town where the lights glowed a little bit more comfortingly. Ahead of him now was a string of restaurants.
The road was well lit with neon of every color advertising a wide assortment of fairs. Yet the neon did nothing to catch his attention or rouse his appetite quite like the smell of a passing cart. He followed it as it turned into an alley and reloaded its baked goods.
The restaurant was filled to brimming with a wide assortment of folks. Families crowded in the back passing steaming dishes while single bar patrons were lined up against the north wall taking beers and punches it seemed. There wasn't a table open anywhere that he could see. Luckily, a bar stool opened up about a third of the way down. He moved quick and plopped down before anyone else might chance to take it.
With half a loaf of brown bread and a ham steak situated under his chin and a tankard in open hand life seemed a little less dark. Despite a full stomach he was still disappointed in himself for not having found his way. The city had changed so much it seemed, out there in the cold winds, but in here where people were happy and the food was piping not so much.
As the last of the ham and beer disappeared down his gullet, he managed to catch the eye of one of the bartenders. The man was young maybe 22 at most his hair was dark and slicked back off his face. There was a slight blush of color to his face from running back and forth, a sign of a busy night. "What can I get ya?"
"Actually, I'm new in town. Do you know where I could find a place called Smokey's? I got turned around and found this place, supposed to meet some of my crew mates over that way. I thought it was closer to the docks but like I said I'm not from around here."
"Smokey's, huh? That's a tough place and it's pretty far from here. Tell you what me and some of the girls get off in an hour. They live over that way we'll show you. Hey, Sarah." The bartender waved to a platinum blonde who was carrying a tray of empty tankards. "Sarah, this fellow here wants to go to Smokey's, it'alright he walks with us?"
Sarah eyed him up and down suspicious, critical, but not unkind. "Sure doll, the more the merrier."
About an hour and a half later, Hammond followed the bartender out the back and into the alley. Four women and two men were already out there exchanging lights on the two mostly empty lighters they shared. Sarah was a little further off her fur trimmed pulled snugly around her curves. The bartender, whose name was Kevin, corralled the others and they began the long walk towards the commercial docks. As they made their way down Patriot's Walk a major thoroughfare along the Military docks, it became apparent to Hammond why this group traveled together. Each of the girls got a handful of hoots and suggestive remarks from fellows outside the bars. It appalled him the way these men in uniform were acting. The restaurant they had left had twice as many people in them but not one of the girls had moved to hide her face there. As they moved further down the Walk as Kevin called it, the bars got fewer and farther between. The street lamps also got fewer and more of the ones that remained had a greenish glow to them. They were reaching a much more residential part of town as the group began to dissolve.
Sarah leaned in closer to Kevin just before they reached her side street. "You sure? I mean I could walk the rest of the way to Smokey's with you if you want."
"Nah, you worked more hours than me today, besides if he were going to try anything Smokey and his boys would have him."
"Alright Doll, you know best. See you on tuesday." She kissed his cheek almost maternally before turning and leaving the two men behind.
Another six blocks and a turn to the east revealed another row of Neon signs. Smokey's was off to one side in the almost cul-de-sac. Hammond wasn't really sure what to make of Kevin but he had been glad for the company. He was amazingly still early for his meeting. As he looked around at the tables filled with work day regulars he began to wonder if this had been the right choice. Compared to the last place this was danker, darker, and much more sinister. Against his higher intellect he felt more at home here. His instructions had been to proceed to the second level and buy an amber ale from someone called Big Charlie.
He wasn't expecting Big Charlie to be a thirteen year old girl in suspenders. He wasn't expecting the amber ale to be the clearest most esophagus burning liquid on the planet either. He found a table off to the side to wait. He watched a few guys come in and stake out a pool table. Could these middle aged men be his contacts? As the men racked the balls, Kevin came into the room a thin darkly dressed woman beside him. He seemed a little surprised to see Hammond off to the side but quickly moved towards the billiard players. After a round of the players sizing up Hammond at a distance. The man in the hat approached.
"You the dead shot I hear tale of?"
"Maybe, depends what did ya hear?"
"Nothin' good."
"Then it couldn't have been me."
The conversation flowed naturally unlike Hammond's rehearsal in front of the mirror earlier that day. The man sat beside him.
"You know what was in that drink you ordered?"
"No. but I have a nagging suspicion."
"Good. Good. Shows you got trust and a smattering of brains. That's what this organization needs trust and a smattering of brains. I hate to do this boy but it's gotta be done."
He got up slowly and returned to the group. Kevin then approached and standing in front of him. "Don says you passed. You're the man they sent for. The question now is what do we do with you till she's ready to see you."
'She' he pondered. The 'widow' wanted to meet him. A sense of awe fell on him then. Kevin offered a hand and lifted him out of the chair. He was then lead downstairs and behind the bar. There was a tight passage between barrels of liqueur and then a stair. Kevin moved ahead of him and unlocked the door at the top of the stairs. "You live here now." He said turning to hand Hammond the key. "Don has gotten you a job at the docks you start the day after tomorrow. You keep your head low, and your mouth closed. Your instructions will be delivered here."
"Alright."
"Anybody gives you trouble you tell Don, he's your handler. If you get followed by the black go tell Big Charlie."
"Is it ok to have my stuff delivered here?"
"What kind of stuff?"
"Supplies, for the job. I also have some personals back on the steamer."
"Bring you personals yourself less suspicious. Anybody ask you're renting from old Smokey and Big Charlie. The supplies you talk to Don about there are channels and such. You know you're lucky you ran into me if I'd been a bit more Patriotic I would have turned you in for being a foreigner. How'd you pick up a local accent anyway?"
And here comes the Dawn
Six months and a year to that day, Lauren stood on the roof of Smokey's once more. The sun was due up in less than an hour in the smog filled city that had already begun to lighten. They were waiting for the first signs of change to rock the city. There was great explosion off to the east and then a wail of sirens.
"That's the cue," mumbled Don, the man who had lost the beef rations at their first meeting.
"We'll know how successful this little recruiting bit of yours has been in a few minutes," said Abraham the man who still wore his dark blue jacket with the tan lapels.
"That's the cue," mumbled Don, the man who had lost the beef rations at their first meeting.
"We'll know how successful this little recruiting bit of yours has been in a few minutes," said Abraham the man who still wore his dark blue jacket with the tan lapels.
Sirens on every block
began to ring
with the change
that was coming.
The change she had wrought.
In the distance, she could already see the great wall of smoke pouring up towards the heavens from the military docking posts. Three months of bribes to smuggle in the illegal solutions and powders was paying off. The wall of smoke crew exponentially outward north to south as much as skyward with every explosive crash as the dawning crept closer.
As the docking posts began to fall, the great airships began to rise like so many helium filled balloons with their strings cut. The largest of the Patriot fleet vessels soon lost their tethering to the ground via the multi-story docking posts. The great steamers built for long distance flight and upper atmosphere battles were never built to remain this close to the ground of their own accord. They weren't constructed for tight maneuvering either which was evident as several bumped and collided with its neighbors. As was planned most of them would only have skeleton crews aboard and the likelihood of them being re-moored anytime soon was extremely slim. Even if all the guide ships in the city could round up their crews and worked together (an unlikely event), it would be days before all the ships were rounded up and repositioned. Not that it would matter much if they could be, when about half of the docking posts were being blown sky high.
Lauren couldn't help but smile as more of the ships let go of terre firma. They floated upward gracefully as if in some cosmic ballet to unheard chords. The continuing explosions in the distance stood testament to the number of allies she had now. She wished her son could be standing beside her now to see this but she had decided that his life and this new life of hers had to remain separate. Still a smile remained on her face as she heard the moving sirens of emergency response vehicles heading towards the explosions.
As the docking posts began to fall, the great airships began to rise like so many helium filled balloons with their strings cut. The largest of the Patriot fleet vessels soon lost their tethering to the ground via the multi-story docking posts. The great steamers built for long distance flight and upper atmosphere battles were never built to remain this close to the ground of their own accord. They weren't constructed for tight maneuvering either which was evident as several bumped and collided with its neighbors. As was planned most of them would only have skeleton crews aboard and the likelihood of them being re-moored anytime soon was extremely slim. Even if all the guide ships in the city could round up their crews and worked together (an unlikely event), it would be days before all the ships were rounded up and repositioned. Not that it would matter much if they could be, when about half of the docking posts were being blown sky high.
Lauren couldn't help but smile as more of the ships let go of terre firma. They floated upward gracefully as if in some cosmic ballet to unheard chords. The continuing explosions in the distance stood testament to the number of allies she had now. She wished her son could be standing beside her now to see this but she had decided that his life and this new life of hers had to remain separate. Still a smile remained on her face as she heard the moving sirens of emergency response vehicles heading towards the explosions.
Her life as the Widow,
as the leader of the city's next revolution,
had just had its explosive beginning.
as the leader of the city's next revolution,
had just had its explosive beginning.
Across town, in the Broken Bottoms the city's warning sirens had been going off for about an hour. None of the residents of this area of town though were moved by them. Children were told to go back to bed, and wives leaned out windows to share knowing looks about the activities going on elsewhere. Broken Bottoms was not a place for secrets. If you knew, then everyone knew because everyone was in on it. Nearly every man, woman, and child made their living in some way by the business that came in on the docks. It wasn't such a such a hard thing to carry a certain device and just leave it at work especially when your wife asked you so nicely.
Besides if a man of the city should come to the old neighborhood, in a week or so and start asking questions he wouldn't get anywhere. This was doubly the case if he didn't have enough sense to not wear his red and black uniform when he started asking. Men walking around looking like that walking alone and asking questions tended to leave with broken faces and a limp. It wasn't that folks in this neck of the woods were unfriendly to men of the law, it was more that the neighborhood had no secrets for telling folks outside of it.
Susan's grandmother had already been up when the sirens had started wailing and it was her calm smile that greeted a sleepy Adrien and Susan. The kids had been up most of the night talking near nonstop. This was to be expected though. Susan had lost her father, too, in the cause. Granny had lost both her boys in the co called Battles of the Coast. She didn't care what the Patriots said her boys were heroes for wearing the blue and tan. Despite this fact, she had mixed feelings about her daughter-in-law engaging in controversial actions this close to home. She wasn't sure she could handle raising both of the young ones on her own if something were to happen. As the kids settled down again with their cocoa, she pulled out her deck of yellowed cards. The sun sat triumphantly of the top. She chuckled. Maybe the girl had listened to her after all.
Besides if a man of the city should come to the old neighborhood, in a week or so and start asking questions he wouldn't get anywhere. This was doubly the case if he didn't have enough sense to not wear his red and black uniform when he started asking. Men walking around looking like that walking alone and asking questions tended to leave with broken faces and a limp. It wasn't that folks in this neck of the woods were unfriendly to men of the law, it was more that the neighborhood had no secrets for telling folks outside of it.
Susan's grandmother had already been up when the sirens had started wailing and it was her calm smile that greeted a sleepy Adrien and Susan. The kids had been up most of the night talking near nonstop. This was to be expected though. Susan had lost her father, too, in the cause. Granny had lost both her boys in the co called Battles of the Coast. She didn't care what the Patriots said her boys were heroes for wearing the blue and tan. Despite this fact, she had mixed feelings about her daughter-in-law engaging in controversial actions this close to home. She wasn't sure she could handle raising both of the young ones on her own if something were to happen. As the kids settled down again with their cocoa, she pulled out her deck of yellowed cards. The sun sat triumphantly of the top. She chuckled. Maybe the girl had listened to her after all.
4.25.2009
Walk this way, and Luck ain't no Lady
With the latching of the gate, and silent prayers to the household gods (the Lare) to keep vigil over her son, Lauren moved into a night that could only be defined by the darkness that was gaining a hold on it. Her red pumps clicked on the sidewalk as she hurried towards the row of bars and clubs strung along like a necklace of decaying pearls that ran parallel to the military and commercial docking points on the east side of the city.
The streetlights glowed a pale green in her residential district from the bio-luminescent algae suspended in their lamps. As she moved towards the docks, they became more yellowy in color as many were older street lights still clinging to the city's old electric grid. There were neon signs coming into view with red letters spelling names like "The Deep Bottle" and "Club 69." She slowed her pace, and ran a tentative hand through her hair to shake it out a bit.
"Soldier's Paradise," the neon sign read as an equally bright neon and scantily-clad woman danced with a gun beside the door. This was as good a place as any.
Inside, the air was think with smoke, booze, and many other undesirable smells. As she entered, her eyes took in the whole scene. She was looking for a target, a relatively new guy and hopefully an officer. From her scanning of the room's occupants, she could tell this wasn't the place to find new guys or officers. Everyone here had the air of local and enlisted. She needed some place a bit more upscale.
As quickly as she entered, she left. No one noticed. Upper scale places would have to be in the newer sections and a little closer to the commercial docking points. As she moved in the shadows between street lamps she couldn't help looking up into the face of the moon. The thin clouds being pulled back like a great theatrical curtain. The moon's light cut through the dark sky revealing the outline of the great military steamers high above her. Even in this low light she could see their were thousands of such warships docked, layer upon towering layer.
Something had to be done. She was moving faster now, as if the night itself could never be long enough to give her time to bring her new dawn. Almost out of breath and only a handful of blocks away, she paused. She wasn't being rational. One person, one mother moving through the docks couldn't be enough to bring this great monster down. Not if she slept with every officer and learned every command code.
She moved closer to the commercial areas but this time she looked for a bar that was filled with blue collar types.
"Smokey's Last Barrel" read a red and white sign. Smokey's had the right feel when she entered. She purposely made no eye contact except with the bartender. She wanted anonymity and a cold brew. In a back booth she settled in to watch, somewhere in the drunken revelry, there had to be someone.
Someone who
was fed up, too.
Someone who
was willing
to make things happen.
She got her answer. Three men, normal looking men, came in the door. They ordered brews and then they moved upstairs. What made these men unique, was that two of them wore hats, with brass lilies pinned on them. The man in the middle wore a jacked of dark blue dusty, dirty but definitely blue with pale tan lapels.
She waited a moment before following them up the stairs. A pole dancer was performing in the middle on the room that over looked the rest of the bar. A house bouncer or perhaps her handler stood against one wall watching for potential trouble makers. His cold eyes sizing up every man who watched her. Those eyes spoke volumes as to the pain the man behind them could inflict if anyone stepped out of line. After a particularly difficult stunt in her routine, the girl turned and winked at him. For just the briefest of moments, he smiled. But like lightening, it was gone with the next down beat.
The trio had moved to the other room, where some pool tables and a second bar stood. They grabbed an empty pool table as soon as it opened up. She watched them sort the balls and call bets.
"'Ello, boys. Chance a gal could get in on a game with such nice fellows as yourselves."
The man in the coat, sized her up his head cocked at a strange angle as he was still leaning over the table to pull a green ball out of the side pocket. The shorter man in the blue hat, removed it, and rubbed his balding scalp revealing a mass of tiny scars across it's surface.
The third man adjusted his cap, "Dunno, Miss. A girl like you any good?"
"Am I good? Well, that would depend you willin' to bet a beef ration that you're better?"
He chuckled, "Alright, two beef rations and a brew, says I'm better than you."
"Honey, you ain't seen nothin' yet."
The streetlights glowed a pale green in her residential district from the bio-luminescent algae suspended in their lamps. As she moved towards the docks, they became more yellowy in color as many were older street lights still clinging to the city's old electric grid. There were neon signs coming into view with red letters spelling names like "The Deep Bottle" and "Club 69." She slowed her pace, and ran a tentative hand through her hair to shake it out a bit.
"Soldier's Paradise," the neon sign read as an equally bright neon and scantily-clad woman danced with a gun beside the door. This was as good a place as any.
Inside, the air was think with smoke, booze, and many other undesirable smells. As she entered, her eyes took in the whole scene. She was looking for a target, a relatively new guy and hopefully an officer. From her scanning of the room's occupants, she could tell this wasn't the place to find new guys or officers. Everyone here had the air of local and enlisted. She needed some place a bit more upscale.
As quickly as she entered, she left. No one noticed. Upper scale places would have to be in the newer sections and a little closer to the commercial docking points. As she moved in the shadows between street lamps she couldn't help looking up into the face of the moon. The thin clouds being pulled back like a great theatrical curtain. The moon's light cut through the dark sky revealing the outline of the great military steamers high above her. Even in this low light she could see their were thousands of such warships docked, layer upon towering layer.
Something had to be done. She was moving faster now, as if the night itself could never be long enough to give her time to bring her new dawn. Almost out of breath and only a handful of blocks away, she paused. She wasn't being rational. One person, one mother moving through the docks couldn't be enough to bring this great monster down. Not if she slept with every officer and learned every command code.
She needed a drink.
"Smokey's Last Barrel" read a red and white sign. Smokey's had the right feel when she entered. She purposely made no eye contact except with the bartender. She wanted anonymity and a cold brew. In a back booth she settled in to watch, somewhere in the drunken revelry, there had to be someone.
Someone who
was fed up, too.
Someone who
was willing
to make things happen.
She waited a moment before following them up the stairs. A pole dancer was performing in the middle on the room that over looked the rest of the bar. A house bouncer or perhaps her handler stood against one wall watching for potential trouble makers. His cold eyes sizing up every man who watched her. Those eyes spoke volumes as to the pain the man behind them could inflict if anyone stepped out of line. After a particularly difficult stunt in her routine, the girl turned and winked at him. For just the briefest of moments, he smiled. But like lightening, it was gone with the next down beat.
The trio had moved to the other room, where some pool tables and a second bar stood. They grabbed an empty pool table as soon as it opened up. She watched them sort the balls and call bets.
"'Ello, boys. Chance a gal could get in on a game with such nice fellows as yourselves."
The man in the coat, sized her up his head cocked at a strange angle as he was still leaning over the table to pull a green ball out of the side pocket. The shorter man in the blue hat, removed it, and rubbed his balding scalp revealing a mass of tiny scars across it's surface.
The third man adjusted his cap, "Dunno, Miss. A girl like you any good?"
"Am I good? Well, that would depend you willin' to bet a beef ration that you're better?"
He chuckled, "Alright, two beef rations and a brew, says I'm better than you."
"Honey, you ain't seen nothin' yet."
to be continued...
The sun also rises: the knight rides out
It took all of twenty minutes, for Lauren's sense of injustice to flair and then subside enough for rational thinking. In that time, she had pulled had her young son close to her as if to keep away all the nightmares that haunted her once lovely city. The sky was growing dark and the bio-luminescent lamps were just beginning to glow.
In her child's plea,
to help a little girl he barely knew
was the sound of trumpets.
to help a little girl he barely knew
was the sound of trumpets.
The call to action.
A thousand reasons
to make a stand.
In the kitchen, as she pulled the roast from the oven, she began to wonder. Surely, she couldn't be the last of the Old City supporters left. Many had fallen over the years. The movement had moved so far underground that she had lost contact years ago or at least that's what she told herself. Her greatest fear was that they like her grown so fearful, so frightened at the prospect of what might be lost. Had everyone stood down and put down their arms? She didn't want to believe it. There had to be others, if there were fallen then there should survivors, maybe even other widows.
Adrien entered the room, just as she was hiking up her skirt a little higher. "Mom, wants going on."
"Adrien, honey. I'm going out tonight to find out somethings. Don't worry I'll be back before you have to be up in the morning."
"But, what if there's a search?"
"Well, if there's a search, you tell the police men, 'Your mommy went out to meet a soldier friend because she likes soldiers just like your dad, who fought so bravely in the coast battles.' Because, it's the truth even though you'll be leaving out a few details." She plopped down on the bed, and pulled him into her arms. "I need you to remember what I just said. Ok? I'm just going to find some information so that what happens to Maggie's family doesn't happen to anyone else's."
"But..."
"But, what?"
"Why are you dressed like that?"
"Because I'm going to meet some soldier 'friends,' and I want them to like me and you can tell the older coppers I said that, too."
"Ok, but..."
"Did you say goodnight, to the Lare?"
"Yes, momma."
"And you've brushed your teeth?"
"Yes, momma."
"Good. Now I want you to have lovely dreams and I'll be back before the morning star fades."
A thousand reasons
to make a stand.
In the kitchen, as she pulled the roast from the oven, she began to wonder. Surely, she couldn't be the last of the Old City supporters left. Many had fallen over the years. The movement had moved so far underground that she had lost contact years ago or at least that's what she told herself. Her greatest fear was that they like her grown so fearful, so frightened at the prospect of what might be lost. Had everyone stood down and put down their arms? She didn't want to believe it. There had to be others, if there were fallen then there should survivors, maybe even other widows.
Now was not the time, to be dreaming of fairy rescuers. Now was the time for action. They hadn't taken the city, yet. Nor, would they. Not like this. They couldn't just win by fear alone. What could she do? Did she have allies? Did anyone in times like these?
After dinner, and vespers to gods the Patriots did not believe in. Lauren tucked Adrien into bed. She put on her nicest nylons, hard to come by these days. She took out her box of rouges and made up her face into a mask to make her look ten years younger. She would need information before she could do anything else.Tonight would bring a new dawn.
Adrien entered the room, just as she was hiking up her skirt a little higher. "Mom, wants going on."
"Adrien, honey. I'm going out tonight to find out somethings. Don't worry I'll be back before you have to be up in the morning."
"But, what if there's a search?"
"Well, if there's a search, you tell the police men, 'Your mommy went out to meet a soldier friend because she likes soldiers just like your dad, who fought so bravely in the coast battles.' Because, it's the truth even though you'll be leaving out a few details." She plopped down on the bed, and pulled him into her arms. "I need you to remember what I just said. Ok? I'm just going to find some information so that what happens to Maggie's family doesn't happen to anyone else's."
"But..."
"But, what?"
"Why are you dressed like that?"
"Because I'm going to meet some soldier 'friends,' and I want them to like me and you can tell the older coppers I said that, too."
"Ok, but..."
"Did you say goodnight, to the Lare?"
"Yes, momma."
"And you've brushed your teeth?"
"Yes, momma."
"Good. Now I want you to have lovely dreams and I'll be back before the morning star fades."
XIX The Sun
Perhaps, she thought my
knight shall ride in
and rescue me.
knight shall ride in
and rescue me.
Perhaps, he will have compassionate eyes and save us all with the might of his arm and sword. Her mind drifted to thoughts of knights, dragons, and princesses in towers. Who was she kidding after all? She was no princess, there were no more knights on white steeds who stepped up to rescue girls like her. The old woman had said to look to the card for inspiration in the times ahead.
On the yellowed card, a brave looking soldier stared up at her from his white horse the sun glorious behind him. A victor's card to be certain. She had thought to toss the old thing away, many times but never seemed to have the heart.
Adrien, her son, was hollering from the backyard. "Mom, mom!"
"Adrien, Adrien!" She hollered back as he jumped down from the wall that separated their yard from the alley.
He ran at full speed, into the kitchen, huffing. "Mom, mom. Did you hear? Did you hear?"
"Did I hear what?"
"The soldiers, the soldiers. They've come home. They're here!"
She just about dropped the plate back into the sink of suds. Soldiers, but how. "Now, slow down. You're not makin' sense, try again."
"Mom, Jenny's grandma saw them in the square hollerin' for people to join up. They had guns, and Jenny says her brother Henry who works by the docks has been watching the ships come in. The big military steamers, mom."
She lowered to his level.She could see the excitement in his eyes. "Adrien, look at me. Dad ain't comin' home with them. It can't be. Your dad died in the coast battles, he ain't among the soldiers. Please, promise me you won't go lookin' for him. I know you miss him; I do, too. But you gotta understand the soldiers, the ones in the square they aren't like your dad, or grandpa, or Uncle Charlie. They're different kind."
"I know you said dad was gone. I know he's dead. But if Jenny says the soldiers have come home then they are just like dad. Wouldn't that mean they've got families, too? Shouldn't we support them."
"Honey. It's not that, it's..." She paused watching the confusion well up in him with a lump of tangled emotions.
"What do you mean they're not the same?"
"Adrien, what color are their uniforms?"
"Black and red just like the posters."
"Come with me." She rose taking his hand and leading him upstairs to her room. She pulled up the mattresses of the queen size bed. "Move those boxes, and tell me what you see."
He looked at her, head titled, before climbing inside the frame. He pushed aside, some shoe boxes and a long box with the wrapping paper in it. "It's just the floor, mom."
"Look, closer."
He knelt down feeling the wood planks with his fingers. Then his fingers found the edge of a board it was slightly lower than the rest. He pulled on it with his fingernails and it came up. The hole was only two boards across but over a foot in length. She knelt down with him, leaning to pull a thin box that had rested snuggly in the hole. It was covered in three years of dust. The three years it had filled this hole a tiny compensation for husband shaped hole left in her life. The lid opened slowly a bit of tan fabric rolled neatly inside. She unrolled it across her lap, almost gasping as she looked at the blood on the far bottom corner. The fabric was tan where it had once been yellow, but the blue was less faded.
Adrien gasped as she lifted up the brass lily pin that had been on his father's lapel in every pictured Adrien had ever seen of him. "Dad, dad, was-"
"Against, those men in the square. Don't say the word. It isn't how he would have wanted to be remembered. You've got to understand dad was a man of the old city. He fought because he believed that no one should have to choose between his family and being a patriot. He believed as I believe that we should never silence dissenters, that even when there is nothing left, we are all humans, not chattle, not slaves."
"But I don't understand!"
"You know those posters, and the big speakers and screens in the shopping district."
"This is Life, We Fight slogans, you mean?"
"Yes, they want you to think that in order for you to have food, water, a roof over your head, everything, must be taken. It isn't true. No matter how much they shout, you must remember, a human being is a human being. No one is a slave because no one is better than anyone else. I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid."
"I know, mom." He paused and then helped her put the box away. He sighed, as if some great burden might have been lifted off his shoulders. "I wanted to tell you before, but I didn't understand what was happening, I was so afraid. I didn't know what you'd say. The teachers were so, so in on it, somehow."
"What are you talking about? Did something happen at school?"
"I saw what they did to Maggie's little brothers. They came to school, mom. They came to school and they took them from the classrooms and made them stand outside. The patriots said their family hadn't been paying their taxes, they hadn't given their fair share to us citizen. They put them in chains, and took away their lunches. One soldier even spit on them. I saw! I didn't understand how my dad could be one of those guys, how they could be the good guys. Maggie, ran, but they caught her. I know, because she belongs to Jenny's family, now. I saw her bruises and her cuts. "
"My gods."
"Maggie, she is always crying, really quiet but I can hear, I can feel it. Jenny's dad threw her in the basement this morning. And at school, the teacher told us, it was because they were weak. If you are weak, then you can't be a citizen. If you can't be a help then you harm all the patriots, you have no right to be a citizen. Why do they say that? Why? How come Maggie has to wash Jenny's clothes and why does Jenny's mom yell at her and hit her all the time?"
"The patriots believe that a person must show no mercy, that you must be strong in order to be a person. No matter what, don't believe them. Everyone is a person. Everyone." She put the boxes and the mattresses back. "If, the soldiers really, are in the city recruiting then we need to leave. They are not going to take you from me I promise."
"I don't care about me, mom. I care about Maggie."
to be continued...
4.24.2009
Lines worth Crossing
Some lines are drawn in the sand,
some in stone, and some are only found
within the minds of men.
God had not seen fit to give her wings, though she might have prayed for them nightly but he had given her a pair of strong well made feet. Feet, which she was most thankful for when she needed to get somewhere fast by running through alleys, on the rails of fire escapes, and weaving through chimney pots. She had out run packs of dogs that roamed the older parts of the city, and the occasional cop who thought her time would be better spent in class. No one in the neighborhood was as nimble as she was. In all her twelve years not single rooftop, or alley in the Broken Bottoms quarter had gone unexplored by her and her nimble toes. She and that black line had a date with destiny. She decided two days after she and her comrades had discovered a traveling troupe of performers that had set up shop over on Gales Street in an empty lot. From the rooftop, across the way she and her friends had watched the fire eaters, clowns, magicians, and finally the tight rope walker perform. They had been close enough to feel the excitement but far enough not to have to pass the hat or see the distinct faces of the children of the performers.
On a warm day in late in that spring, she mounted up the fire escape to Mrs. Benton's level dislodging a few sun basking stray cats in the process. She climbed up to the highest bar beneath the black cord and reached out to feel it's texture. It wasn't a cord at all but rubbery in texture. Could this be one of the electrical lines that used to run through the city bringing light and heat all those years ago? Maybe, it was a telephone line? Her neighborhood hadn't seen regular use of either in nearly six years and before that the electricity from the city's grids had been so sporadic that nobody had really relied on it in nearly ten. If it was an electrical line she hoped it wasn't operational as she climber higher on the escapes outer supports.
On a bar about three feet above the black line she roosted, observing. She knew she wouldn't be able to make the first time without help. She considered bringing Roger or Damien in on her new project. Roger and his little brothers likened themselves to professional acrobats and could often be seen hanging upside from various fixtures all over the city. And, Damien was a year older and what he liked to call a planner. His planning had been instrumental in the gang's heist of the ice truck the previous summer. What would Damien, recommend? She looked about.
Well, first she was always better off without her shoes. She pulled off her canvas shoes. Tying the strings of the pair together she put them around her neck. He'd also recommend a back up plan in case things didn't go smoothly. The troupe had a net they hung under the tightrope but all she had was the alley's concrete floor four flights down which looked less friendly. Roger would probably suggest if it couldn't be found you weren't looking right. Glancing upwards her gaze settled on a clothesline of soft cord. She rose carefully and set to the task of getting her hands on the laundry line just above her head.
Hanging freely now from the laundry line she wriggled till her toes touched the line below. As a small wave of fear, passed through her she was grateful she hadn't told any of the boys about her plans. Them, standing around gawking would have done little for her courage. She swallowed a lump in her throat and put more of her weight on her legs. Susan straightened her back and tried to put her mind on the image of the boy on the tight rope, he'd made it look so easy. She took a few steps and calmed herself.
Then cautiously, she left go with one hand and proceeded to take a few more steps. Her balance was good, but nothing had prepared her for this. Wobbly, she put both hands back securely on the clothesline. Today, she decided, she would be content to make it across once. She sort of shuffled sideways to the half way point, unsure now of taking full steps this far from the comforts of the fire escape.
As she continued across, her confidence grew, thanks mostly to Mrs. Merch opening the window in front her all the way. She was glad it was open. She hadn't really thought about the prospect of it being closed or locked when she had started across. Mind you, she would need a pretty compelling story for Mr. Merch as to why she was climbing through his dining room window. Thankfully, as she stepped onto the sill and slid down to a squat hands firmly on the window frame. Mr. Merch was no where in sight and Mrs. Merch was puttering away with her back turned in the kitchen. With a sigh of relief, she sprinted across the Merch's apartment pulled open the door and scurried down to the lobby.
Normally, she would have been in the clear, if Zephyr and his boys hadn't been coming up the stairs to the entrance. Zephyr was six years her senior and easily three times her size. Each one of his pals carried a weapon in the form of two mitts. She'd already gotten a black-eye from him on his own for not doing what he said earlier in the month.
She turned back up the stairs, in double quick time, and burst out onto the roof breathless. Zephyr and his gang was definitely one line she was not yet ready to cross. She moved silently, down the fire escape on the south side of the building just as she heard them burst onto the roof. Still feeling unsafe, she moved towards the abandoned office building across the troupe's lot. Hoping a little space, and free entertainment would calm her nerves a bit.
A bit of introduction
I believe a bit of introduction is in order. I am a quiet unassuming author from nowhere in particular. Advantageously, for you I've found some spare time recently and have begun to write in earnest once more. This isn't so much a blog as a chance for a little experimental writing to take place as I move to find my niche within this medium. The hope is that at least once a week one of our adventuristic heroes or heroines will wander over to give tale of their exploits. Expect, to meet pirates, marauders, assassins, Lady's of the Evening, politicians, and the occasional monster or two. Fear, not for no harm may come to you here in this land of illusion. All are dangerous but none are deadly. Together, dear traveler in the interwebs I hope to provide a small amount of respite from the chaos that is these tumultuos times. Please, set down your troubles and take a moment to journey to other places and other times. Please, join me as I take the plunge.
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