Book of the Fathers 8

From: Bill Thompson <interlit_at_pacificcoast.net>
Date: Thu, 14 May 1998 00:13:06 +0100


It is dark out now and in the beds next to this desk my brothers are asleep. The cloth tied around my waist is soaked through with blood and begs to be changed. Every breath sends new pain rioting through my body and thought is difficult with this razor pain in my belly. I take a slow shallow breath and listen for the tell tale sound of blood in my lungs. Fortunately the knife seems to have missed those organs though others may not have been so fortunate.

        I had been sitting on a stone bench by the once great tree. As time passed I came to realize that I was not the only one who watched this man with the mark on his arm. Casually I let my eyes stray around the square, touching and examining the people around me. On the far side , hidden by the bustle of a small diner , I saw him. I continued my scan of the square, looking for others who, like him, sat too still. I saw no others and returned my gaze to the remnants of the great tree before me, all the while thanking my yellow robe and genuine interest in this relic of a by-gone age.

        I remember a time when I was twelve. I had been wandering the floors of the citadel and I came across a man trapped in one of Father's Wards. It was not often that I saw outsiders so I stopped to speak with him for in truth I was lonely and looked to hear the sound of a human voice. We talked for a long while and over the course of our discussion we came to an agreement and I freed him.

         His name was Walegrin, he was a thief, a lier, and the most fun that I had experienced in all of my young life. I wonder sometimes that he didn't kill me but I suppose that I was useful to him and I think that he came to look on me as, if not a son, then a student. He taught me much over the next few years, including the way to see the lies of words through the truth of the body.

        The man on the other side of the square would have any who watched believe that he was there for a pastry and drink but his body told me otherwise. Every move that was made by the man with the mark was mirrored in some way by the man in the diner. Be it a shift of weight or turn of the head. I was thankful that I had been daydreaming about this now empty tinder trap. To any who watched in the fashion that I do , looking past appearances at intent, I would have seemed a typical yellow robe.

        I had allowed my own curiosity to lead me into a situation where any move I made could be seen. So I allowed the sun and heat and dust to fill my senses. Beneath me the bench was stone hard and heated by the sun. I sank into it. Around me the air was filled with scents and sounds and I welcomed them into my very center, losing my self in their myriad else. Then I stood and walked slowly to the Bazaar in the corner of the square.

        Never had I felt such a belonging. I had become a part of all that was around me and was loath to let it go. Yet let it go I did for time was runing short and I had been alone for so long that there was a certain familiar comfort in it.

        I now had two birds to watch and what better to watch birds than hawks. I looked within the Bazaar and soon found that which I sought. He was working the crowd with professional aplomb. His talent was undeniable, seldom have I seen a better cutter. His partner was harder to spot because she was smaller and always seemed to be in the thickest part of the crowd. She was the marker but I noticed that she also had talent as a cropper.

        Normally I would have watched them for a day or two until I could spot there patterns and hand signals but today events were piling up too quickly. Instead I slid through the crowd and cropped his catcher bag and I made sure that she saw me do it.

        I waited between two stalls and within moments they rounded the corner. I was waiting there for them with his bag dangling from my fingers. Her eyes went wide and she grabbed at his arm. He was young though and his anger had overwhelmed his intellect. He stormed towards me and reached inside his jerkin. While his hand was trapped there for a moment I threw his catch bag into his face. He jerked back to avoid it and I reaped his legs from under him. I expected her to go for me then so I moved away from him. She helped him to his feet instead and then turned to me and spoke.

"You want something mister or you wouldn't have waited. What is it?"

        Now that I was closer to her I saw that she was older than I had thought, sixteen maybe seventeen years.

"I have a predicament and I need help. Your help."

        She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and said, "You want charity, see a priest."

"I'm willing to pay"

        Now the lad spoke for the first time. "How much?"

"Whatever you have in that bag," I said. "I'll triple it."

        His face fell for he had no idea what the value was of the purses he had cut. Her eyes on the other hand seemed to light up, but her voice was steady as the prophet's keel. "Tell me more," she said.

"There is a man in the diner on the other side of the square. I
need to know where he goes and whom he speaks to tonight. Most importantly I need to know where he is staying that I might find him later."

"Show him to me," she said

        Me, show him to me. she said. I was definately speaking with person in charge. I pictured the face of the man in the diner and cast my prayers to the creator. Quickly my face changed and shaped itself into the man I had seen. The boy let out a squeek and rabbited. I let him go. So did she.

"Idiot," she murmered under her breath. Then she looked at me and
said," You stay here mister and I'll be right back."

        True to her words she was back in mere moments. "Allright," she said. "But the price is five times what's in that bag."

"Five!" I said. "Do I look like a trader or merchant with a belly
made fat by a moneybelt?"

"No mister, but I've seen that sort before and today the price is
five times the bag. Take it or not."

"Take it I will then, and please call me Tomas."

        She gave me another of those thoughtful looks and then spit in her hand and held it out..

"Interesting to meet you Tomas. You can call me Marie."

More later... Caffeine just wore out

Bill Thompson

"Ask me a riddle and I reply:
"Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie.""


End of The Glorantha Digest V5 #613


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