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 needed a drink.

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."

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.

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.

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?

Tonight would bring a new dawn.

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.

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.

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...

Lines worth Crossing

Some lines are drawn in the sand,
some in stone, and some are only found
within the minds of men.

Susan, however, could care less about such esoteric dribble. The only comment she would make agreement with, was that some lines are simply meant to be crossed. The three inch thick bit of cording running between Mrs. Makwall's apartment window above her own and the fire escape of Mrs. Benton's across the alley was one such line. Once, it might have been a clothesline but not a good one as it was too thick for most clothespins pinch. Nobody used it for anything, which of course meant Susan felt she needed to give it a purpose.

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.