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+-+--+-+--+-+ VOLUME TEN NUMBER FOUR
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+___________+ FFFFF SSS FFFFF N N EEEEE TTTTT
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| ++ | F S F NN N E T
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| ++ | FFF SSS FFF N N N EEE T
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| | F S F N NN E T
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|_________| F SSS F N N EEEEE T
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/___________\ ==========================================
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| | BITNET Fantasy-Science Fiction Fanzine
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___|___________|___ X-Edited by 'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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CONTENTS
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X-Editorial 'Orny' Liscomb
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A Wyrm's Tale Ron Trenka
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A Summer's Day: June, 2084 Sean Myles Smith
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Tattoo's Becki Tants
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*Worthy of the Title, Part 2 M. Wendy Hennequin
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Date: 031988 Dist: 590
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An "*" indicates story is part of the Dargon Project
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All original materials copyrighted by the author(s)
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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X-Editorial
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Hello! Since this issue follows right on the heels of 10-3,
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there's really no new news to bring up, and I honestly don't want to
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bore you with the standard editorial comments, so I'll depart from
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tradition and, as it were, editorialize a bit.
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You know, running a magazine is a fascinating experience. No,
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really! The strangest things happen. For instance, for over two
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years readers have been commenting that although the Dargon Project
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is excellent, they'd like to see more non-Dargon fantasy stories and
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more science fiction in FSFnet. And, for over two years, I've been
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replying with the standard disclaimer that I can only print what
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people submit, and that no one is submitting anything but Dargon
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stories. Well, within the past two weeks I've received seven
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non-Dargon stories from five different authors, with promises for
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more. It's enough to make an editor want to take up something sane,
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like professional wrestling! But don't mind me, it's healthy for an
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editor to rave - it only *looks* like insanity.
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There are some interesting differences between editing an
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electronic magazine and a 'real' one. An electronic magazine must,
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by nature, be freely distributable, because it is so easy to send
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copies along to non-subscribers. To offset this, electronic
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magazines do not need to worry about advertising costs, as most
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network services are glad to make room for a magazine announcement
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or information file. There is also a closer tie between the editor
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and the readership of an emag, due to the ease of communication via
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electronic mail. But the most noteworthy difference is inherent in
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the difference between the phosphor screen and the printed page.
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Most people find that the attention span of an individual reading
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one article from a computer screen is much less than if they were
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reading printed text. The repercussions this has for emags is that
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their articles should be short and to the point, like newspaper
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articles, and issues should be small and frequent rather than large
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and infrequent. Of course, FSFnet is no exception to this rule, and
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I'm sure that many people simply never get to their issues. However,
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I find that most people who are serious FSFnet readers do not read
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issues at a terminal, but print them out and read the hardcopy, thus
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successfully avoiding the problem.
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Well, before I bore you all to tears with subjects only an
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editor could enjoy, I'd better sign off and get this issue sent. My
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welcome to all the people who have recently subscribed, and for
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BITNET readers, don't be shy about appending to the FSFNET
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discussion on the server CSNEWS@MAINE. And, of course, back issues
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are available from the server LISTSERV@TCSVM.
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-'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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A Wyrm's Tale
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The warrior sat near the mouth of the lair and planned. Soon
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would come the time when the wyrm would sleep. Then there would be
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no time to waste. He must be swift or he would fail like the rest.
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"There," he thought. "The sunset approaches. It is time." He
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gathered up his equipment and gingerly picked up the weapon he had
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spent many years to find and more to secure. It was rumored to be
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the only thing that could kill the dreaded wyrm... a creature he had
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sworn to slay or die in the process. He entered into the darkeness
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of the cave.
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Through the darkness he crept, moving slowly and silently as not
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to awaken the wyrm. Many years had he perpared for this moment. Only
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if the wyrm slept would he be able to slip his blade into the
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creature's chest.
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"That glow must be the wyrm's chambers," he said quietly to
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himself, "where he sleeps on his golden bed. Quietly. I mustn't fail."
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"Hello," a deep vioce said as the warrior entered the chamber.
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The warrior stood paralyzed as the wyrm's massive head rose to look
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him straight in the eye.
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"I knew that it was too good to be true," the wyrm said. "It has
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been so many years since the last one, I had hoped the world had
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forgotten me." The warrior was aghast when a glint showed in the
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wyrm's eye.
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"Ahhhh...." the wyrm said, obviously statisfied. "You have
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brought back Wirmhyr. Then you are welcome."
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"Back, horrid wyrm," the warrior said, drawing Wirmhyr from its
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sheath. "Or surely this blade will find its mark!"
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"I beg your pardon," the wryrm said. "I think you are quite
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mistaken. There isn't a blade of this world that can pierce my hide."
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"I have come to end your reign of terror," the warrior announced
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in a formal challenge. "You have murdered your last maiden, stolen
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your last cattle...."
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"I think you have come to the wrong cave," the wyrm said calmly.
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The warrior was somewhat taken aback.
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"Is this not the cave of Kravaxx the Golden?" the warrior asked.
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"It is," the wyrm replied.
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"Then I have come to the right place," the warroir said flatly.
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"I beg to differ," the wyrm said.
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"You beg to what?" the warrior asked, incredously.
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"I am Kravaxx the Golden," the wyrm said, "but it ha been a few
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centuries since I have stolen cattle and never have I slain a maiden
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that didn't deserve it."
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"I do not understand," the warrior said, confused.
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"Look," the wyrm said, "it isn't difficult. The last maiden I
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murdered, if you want to call it that, was Karita the Loud. And if
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you ask me, it was more a mercy killing."
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The warrior then smiled and raised Wirmhyr confidently.
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"I understand you now, wyrm," he said. "You try to confuse me
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and lure me into a trap. It will not work, for I have heard of this
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trick before. You are beaten, wyrm."
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"By the gods, you are thick," Kravaxx said. "Look, if it would
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make you happy, I will let you strike once with Wirmhyr. Anywhere
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you like, except the face. I put so much work getting this face to
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look as perfect as it does - I wouldn't want you to scratch a scale."
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"Again you confuse me, wyrm" the warrior said.
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"Give it your best swing," the wyrm said. "Go ahead. I will even
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pretend that I am sleeping." And with that, the wyrm promptly laid
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down, as if to rest. The warrior stood, wondering what to do, and
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decided that it couldn't hurt to give it a try. If he was fast,
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which he was, he could be in and out before the wyrm could strike.
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So, preparing himself and carefully choosing a likely spot, the
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warrior darted in and swung Wirmhyr with all his might. The blade
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whistled through the air as it came around.
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And then bounced off the thick scales of the wyrm with a
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resounding clang.
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The warrior was too scared to even move. The wyrm opened his
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eyes and turned its huge head toward the warrior. Praying to his god
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and preparing for a blast of the wyrm's firery breath, the warrior
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could only stare.
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"See, I told you so." was the only thing the wyrm said.
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-Ron Trenka <SAGAPO@SBCCVM>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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A Summer's Day: June, 2084
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It was wasting-time again.
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Jason hated wasting-time, hated it like poison. Not because of
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the wasting itself, but because of the messiness that always seemed
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to go with it. Jason was a very clean boy, and despised being messy.
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he would have condemned wasting-time altogether had it not been for
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the fact that his birthday was on the second day of the third
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wasting-time of every ninth month. As it was, wasting-time was
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hated, but tolerated.
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Jason slipped out of bed and headed for the shower; another
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reason to hate wasting-time. Jason liked to get in and out as
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quickly as possible, every action intentional and economical.
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Instead, he scoured himself three times with the rough soap, doused
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his hair with shampoo, rinsed himself with too much water. Which, of
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course, was the entire purpose of a waste-day: to waste things.
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After using two towels to dry off and too much toothpaste to
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clean his teeth, Jason cleared out of the bathroom to make way for
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his sister, Janice-- who, when it came to the bathroom, used too
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much of everything anyway. Except, of course, when it was
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fasting-time. Janice brushed by him with a sniff and shut the door
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firmly behind her.
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The lights in the hall were all on, which meant that his parents
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were already up. Jason groaned. Whenever possible, Jason liked to
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make his own breakfast on waste-days, sparing himself the almost
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sickening culinary orgy that was the norm. He padded into the
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kitchen, resigning himself to the inevitable. "Hi, mom." he said.
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"Why, hello, Jason." she answered. "Breakfast will be ready in a
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minute. Just sit down at the table--but turn on a couple of radios
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while you're up."
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Jason snapped on two of the several radios within a few feet of
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him, then sat down. he studied his mother as she deftly flipped
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eggs, fried bacon, buttered toast and English muffins, opened canned
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fruit, poured milk and orange juice, and carried out all the other
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myriad responsibilities of making breakfast on a waste-day. Mrs.
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Grady Powers was a tall, graceful woman in her late thirties. Her
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darkish hair, beginning to show signs of grey, was let down so that
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it fell around her shoulders, one of the outward signs of a
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waste-day that Jason had come to notice.
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As Jason's mother finished her cooking and began placing the
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heaping platters on the table, his father walked in. He raised the
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radios' volume and turned on a third. "Smells good." he commented.
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Jason wrinkled his nose in distaste. His father reeked of
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cologne on wasting-days.
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"What?" asked Jason's mother.
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"I said," repeated his father, loudly, "it smells good!"
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"Thank you!" she replied, with similar of volume. "Eat up!"
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Jason's father sat down and began shoveling food into his mouth
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with his fork. Jason did so less rapidly. Janice came in, sat down,
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and started complaining that waste-days ruined her diet.
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"Eat." said Jason's father, around a mouthful of bacon. "You'll
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be thankful for it next time fasting-time comes around."
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"Terrific." she said, and began to eat.
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Jason played with his food, hoping to disguise his reluctance to
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consume as much as his parents and sister.
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"You too, Jason." his mother said. "A growing boy has got to
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eat." Jason scowled. On fasting-days his mother said that to not eat
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when one was hungry built character.
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"I'm not hungry." he muttered sullenly. "I hate waste-days."
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"Now, Jason." his father admonished. "You know that everybody
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needs a proper balance of attitudes. That's why we have
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wasting-time. If we didn't have wasting-time, there would be nothing
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to balance out fasting-time. If we didn't have lazy-time, there
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would be nothing to balance out work-time. If we didn't have. . ."
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"If we didn't have any times at all," Jason interrupted, "we
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could do whatever we wanted and we wouldn't have to do whatever the
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Shrinks told us to."
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"Jason!" his mother exclaimed. "You should be ashamed of
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yourself! The Shrinks only want what is good for us! Eat another
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bagel, this instant!"
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Jason grabbed a bagel and began stuffing it in his mouth. "With
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cream cheese." his sister mocked. Jason HATED cream cheese.
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"Shut up, wart." he answered. He crammed the rest of the bagel
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into his mouth and swallowed hugely.
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"Just because you don't like doing something is no reason to be
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surly, young man." Jason's father said firmly. "Just for that, you
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wash your dishes last."
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"Aww, dad. . ." Jason whined. Washing your dishes last meant
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waiting around an hour and a half while everyone else did theirs.
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Jason ate in silence for five minutes, then asked to be excused.
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His mother examined his plate critically, then told him he could
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watch TVs until it was time to wash the dishes. "And tape something,
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too." she called.
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Finally, two hours later, Jason put away the last of his dishes
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and went outside, heading for Robert Bond's house. Jason liked
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Robert. He could always think of neat things to do.
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Jason walked down the street, kicking pebbles. Robert lived only
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four houses down, but Jason took the long way around, circling the
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block. The cool air felt good upon his skin. he squinted up at the
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sun, enjoying its warmth. All in all, he decided, a good day to be
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alive, except for the wasting.
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Robert's house was a neat little two-story brick edifice. Jason
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went up the walkway and rang the bell. Robert opened the door and
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grinned when he saw Jason. "Hi, Jase." he said. "I knew you'd come
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by. What do you want to waste today?"
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"How about time?" Jason asked, hopefully.
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"That's for lazy-time, dummy." Robert answered. "Let's waste,
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uh, let's waste film!"
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"Okay." Jason said. Jason liked photography--not as much as
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Robert, who had glossy photos all over his walls, but enough not to
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mind spending the day snapping his shutter at everything he could
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find. "Get your stuff."
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Robert ducked inside, re-emerging half a minute later with his
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camera and a bag full of film. "Come on." he said. "Let's go." They
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walked towards Jason's house.
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"I wish we could just use your stuff." Jason said. "It's
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inconvenient to have to walk back to my house."
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"It's not that far." returned Robert. "Besides, rules are rules.
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Everyone has to waste his own stuff or the Shrinks won't know who
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needs to be checked."
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"I guess." Jason said glumly. "You want something to drink?"
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"Yeah." said Robert. "My mom'll kill me. She'll say, 'Why
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couldn't you be thirsty at our house? Don't you think we have
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requirements to meet, too ?' I know she will. I don't care, though.
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What's a little lemonade between friends?"
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Jason opened the front door. "You know where everything is. I'll
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be right there. Pour me one too, okay?" He went down the hall and
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into his room. He heard Robert pouring as he found his camera and
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grabbed a satchel.
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"Jason?" came his mother's voice from somewhere upstairs. "Is
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that you?"
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"Yes, mom." he answered, moving back into the kitchen. "Me and
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Robert are gonna go take pictures."
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"Oh. Okay. Bring me back some beauties."
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"I will, mom." Jason crossed the kitchen to the cabinet the film
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was stored in. He scooped a dozen rolls into the satchel and turned
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to face Robert . "Ready?" he asked.
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"When you are." Robert replied, and held out a glass of lemonade.
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"Oh, yeah." said Jason. He took the glass and downed the
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contents in three long gulps. The two of them left the house and
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headed down the street.
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"Where do you want to go?" Jason asked.
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"I was thinking we could go down to the river. Near the falls."
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"Okay by me."
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They followed the road for a while, then cut across an open
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field. Robert took occasional shots of the houses, the sun, and the
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sky. Jason loaded his camera, but didn't take pictures. Robert
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appeared not to notice, absorbed in his surroundings. The field
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ended in a long downslope, with the river at the bottom. They picked
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their way carefully until they stood on the sandy, relatively level
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bank. Robert began to walk upstream, and Jason followed.
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"You know what I'd like to be?" Robert asked after a while.
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"No, Robert," Jason asked, amused, "what would you like to be?"
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"A Shrink." Robert answered.
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"You're crazy."
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Robert laughed. "That's a good one." he replied. "A crazy
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Shrink. That's a good one." he repeated. "No, but really," he said,
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sobering, "I think I would. When testing-time comes around again, I
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think I'm going to tell them that."
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"Come on, Robert." Jason said. "Almost nobody makes it. And
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nobody knows why the ones who do get picked. 'The ways of the
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Shrinks are downright strange.'" he said, quoting an old proverb.
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"Still," Robert insisted, "I can always try."
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The sound of the waterfall was getting louder. Jason began
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taking pictures of the trees and rocks. They rounded a bend in the
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river and he could see the waterfall, throwing broken reflections of
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light at him, all red and green and blue. Jason began taking
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pictures in earnest.
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So absorbed was he in getting a close-up of the rushing waters,
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Jason failed to notice the man sitting behind the waterfall until he
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stood up. He was small, only a couple of inches taller than Jason,
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and dressed in tattered, threadbare garments. Despite this, he
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possessed a calm dignity that held Jason semi-hypnotized for the
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first few seconds.
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"Robert." he said, softly. "Rogue."
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Robert turned. His eyes grew wide and his mouth formed an O
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shape. Suddenly, his mouth snapped shut and he began to run back
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downstream. "Wait." called the man, but Robert kept running. Soon he
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was out of sight.
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Jason stood paralyzed. He had heard about rogues, of
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course--everyone was supposed to be on the lookout for them and know
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what to do in case one was spotted. But he had never figured on
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actually SEEING one. Rogues were the dissidents, the ones who didn't
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believe in the Shrinks or their ideas. They ran away from the crews
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who came to take them to attitude training, and lived in the
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wilderness. The Shrinks said that there weren't very many of them,
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and Jason had believed it. Surprise was all that kept him from flight.
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Finally, after an eternity, Jason began to run.
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"Boy. Wait." said the rogue, and something, the calmness in his
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voice , maybe, but something made Jason hover, if only for an instant.
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"Hear me out." said the rogue. "I have seen you. I know that you
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are different--that you do not believe the Shrinks when they say
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that they must control the way you act and the way you think. I know
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you want to live life the way YOU want to live it, not as the
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Shrinks would have you. Come with me, Jason." He became intense. His
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eyes locked on Jason's, and spoke silently of forgotten freedoms. "I
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will take you to meet others like you," he continued, " but we must
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hurry. Your friend is already on his way to bring the authorities. "
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The rogue held out his hand. "There is a better way than you know."
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he finished.
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Jason stared at him for a few moments, unbelieving. Then he
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turned, and ran from the rogue faster than he'd ever run in his life.
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He was nearly to his house when he heard the sirens, and he knew
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the rogue would get away. It was easy to hide in the woods. He
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slowed down, and saw Robert waiting for him on the steps leading to
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his door.
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"God." said Robert. "I've never been so scared in my life."
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"Me too." Jason panted. "I don't much feel like taking pictures
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anymore."
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"Neither do I." said Robert, and headed towards his house.
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Jason was grilled about the event at the dinner table by his
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parents, and again later that evening by the police. He told them
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both the same thing. "I got so scared I couldn't move." he said. "He
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started talking crazy, and I ran before he could grab me or
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somethin'." Both his parents and the police seemed satisfied. The
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sergeant who interviewed him said that they didn't expect to catch
|
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the rogue, that they were usually experts at hiding, but that there
|
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was little chance he'd be hanging around this area, either. Jason
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was relieved.
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And the next morning, the second day of the first wasting-time of
|
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the sixth month, Jason ate everything on his plate and asked for more.
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|
-Sean Myles Smith <SSSMIT@MACALSTR>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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Tattoo's
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As Kara walked onto the bridge, all the crew's eyes turned
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|
toward her. She looked disheveled, with burn marks on her ripped
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clothing and her face streaked with ash. Her hair was a mess, full
|
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of knots and singed spots.
|
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"What should I expect", she thought, "I look like I've been thru
|
|
hell and back. It was only a little revolution."
|
|
Little revolution. Amazing how easy it had become to write
|
|
things like that off. Only killed a few million people, no big deal.
|
|
Slowly but surely, these ties to the Fifth Horsemen Mercenary Troops
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were getting to her.
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"How do they get me INTO things like that???" she asked herself.
|
|
Yet she knew the answer already. It was Cross. Damian Cross. As
|
|
usual, he had asked her for help and she had brought her ship
|
|
running to his aid. And he didn't even need her this time (altho he
|
|
got some kind of joy out of watching her fight like that...just
|
|
sitting up in his HoverTank watching her lead her men.
|
|
"Well, at least they respect me.", she thought. "Anyways, back
|
|
to work."
|
|
"Navigator, plot a course to Delta Mynas II. Security, report
|
|
status, both ship and crew."
|
|
"Security reporting Ma'am. Ship security tight and unbreached.
|
|
Seems they can't get off the planet down there. What did you guys do
|
|
to them?"
|
|
"Never mind," she said, snickering a little about the ease with
|
|
which they had immobilized the Space Port. The Horsemen were famous
|
|
for such great planning as that. "I'll tell you all about it later.
|
|
How about the crew?"
|
|
"Well, as you know, we lost 45 men down on planet, and 3 more of
|
|
the injured have died since we brought them back up here to high
|
|
port. The rest are expected to be OK. That leaves us with about 102
|
|
soldiers and the normal on board personal."
|
|
"Damn. That's a lot to loose. I'm going to my cabin to clean up.
|
|
Send a message to Cross that he's invited to dinner over here in 2
|
|
hours. Let me know what he says."
|
|
"Yes Ma'am."
|
|
"Ma'am," the navigator piped up. What a weaselly little man.
|
|
Maybe I'll send him on combat duty soon...see if that strengthens
|
|
his character.
|
|
"Yes, Johnson, what."
|
|
"Ma'am, the course is plotted and laid in."
|
|
"Good, we won't be leaving for about 3 hours, so double check
|
|
your figures. No mistakes allowed this time. I think the
|
|
sharpshooters need some moving target practice." With a snicker she
|
|
remembered the time they had ended up at exactly a 180degree angle
|
|
from where they were headed because he reversed a couple figures.
|
|
God what an idiot. That got him his pay docked for months to pay for
|
|
the time lost and the job passed on. This time she wasn't in as
|
|
patient a mood.
|
|
"Yes Ma'am." Johnson said with a cringe. She'd done it before.
|
|
|
|
God was it nice to be alone.
|
|
For the first time in days, she could get undressed, take a
|
|
slow, leisurely shower, and not be surrounded by hot, sweaty men.
|
|
The way they all looked at her was enough to drive any woman
|
|
bonkers. Stepping out of the shower, in front of the full length
|
|
mirror, she acknowledge that maybe they had a reason to gawk her
|
|
like that. Maybe. Maybe if she were just some normal bimbo on the
|
|
street. But she wasn't. She was in command of the Iron Fox III, a
|
|
name passed from generation to generation of ship's captains. One of
|
|
the finest mercenary ships in this part of the galaxy, second only
|
|
to the Horsemen. The shouldn't gawk her like some street whore. She
|
|
was a pretty woman, but 15 years of leading this group through
|
|
uncounted battles have left their marks. Scars marred the once
|
|
beautiful face giving her a very rough look. Lines from worrying and
|
|
from fighting made her look years older then she was. Her figure was
|
|
as slim, lithe and strong as ever, but as scarred as her face. And
|
|
then there was the tattoo.
|
|
The shape of the Fifth Horseman's symbol, small, dark, shown on
|
|
the side of her hip. The sign of a female possession of theirs. A
|
|
permanent mark for all the world to see.
|
|
She had been found on a devastated planet, her father's ship
|
|
destroyed by an attack of the Horseman. She was 15 at the time, and
|
|
some of the horsemen had decided he wanted her as their pet. They
|
|
tattooed her, and put her to work onboard their ship, serving food
|
|
and sleeping her way up thru the command ranks in an attempt to get
|
|
out. When she met Damian, he saw some potential in her. He gave her
|
|
the chance to learn ships operations and mercenary actions. Soon she
|
|
was a strong commander and an even stronger soldier, so when a
|
|
derelict (but still flying) ship was found, Damian convinced the
|
|
other leaders to let her have it. (A simple feat, considering that
|
|
they had been watching her to make sure she didn't organize a revolt
|
|
among the servants for quite some time.) From there she'd made her
|
|
own way. Getting the ship fixed up, getting a crew, and eventually
|
|
getting some soldiers together took the better part of the next 6
|
|
years. But she did it. Alone. Never, however, forgetting about
|
|
Damian. he'd given her the chance. And he called that one in every
|
|
time he could.
|
|
"Stop daydreaming and get dressed!" Kara said out loud, as if
|
|
saying it out loud would change the fact that she was still somewhat
|
|
lost in her own thoughts.
|
|
The battles of the past few days was still very fresh in her
|
|
mind. She and her men had merely been extra numbers, not needed, but
|
|
it looked good. The Horsemen rarely NEEDED the help. They had a
|
|
beautifully laid and executed plan. The world involved, Altilles
|
|
Planet, had a dependence on outside fuel sources. The Horsemen
|
|
merely ran them dry, let a shipment get thru, and then blew up the
|
|
ground side space port with all the fuel in it. Made a rather large
|
|
crater of the capital city, killed most of the major government
|
|
figures (as was their contract with the neighboring planet who
|
|
wanted the agricultural land there) and left the path open for
|
|
takeovers. Of course, they took more then their share of loot off
|
|
the place. They always do. But then again we did too. That's the
|
|
mercenary way.
|
|
After three days of cleaning up the last of the straggling
|
|
government and sending them all to their makers (in rather
|
|
imaginative ways), it's time to move on. And count the loses. One
|
|
third of my mercs on a battle that we weren't even needed for.
|
|
Damian had better clear this debt now. They would be hard to replace.
|
|
|
|
Half an hour later, dressed in her normal black jumpsuit, with
|
|
her long wavy red hair down for once, Kara was back on the bridge.
|
|
"Cross will be arriving in 15 minutes Ma'am. Everything is
|
|
prepared for your dinner in the Main Conference Room."
|
|
"Thank you, Stevens. I'm headed down there now. If anything
|
|
should happen while I'm there, buzz me."
|
|
"Oh, and Johnson, tell Port Control that we will be leaving in
|
|
exactly 2 hours. Get the clearance."
|
|
"Yes Ma'am.", Johnson said, as she turned and walked out of the
|
|
room. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned back to his calculations.
|
|
|
|
When Damian walked in the room, she was standing facing out the
|
|
port hole, not really at anything, but just out. Away from him. She
|
|
knew what would happen when she turned around. He would be in
|
|
control. The only man that had ever been able to control her. She
|
|
wasn't even sure if she resented that fact or not.
|
|
"Evening. You wanted to see me?", Damian said, as he walked in,
|
|
poured himself a drink, and sat down at the head of the table.
|
|
"Yes.", she said, turning around to face him where he sat. "I
|
|
seem to have lost a lot of men in the past few days over a silly
|
|
squabble that you didn't even really need me for. Now why did you
|
|
really bring me here?"
|
|
"If I said because I wanted to get laid would you get mad at
|
|
me?", he asked, with a smile so sarcastic, it was almost painful.
|
|
"Yes, I would. I do have jobs of my own you realize. I hope this
|
|
absolves any debt you feel I still owe you. You've been paid a
|
|
million times over for it."
|
|
"That tattoo you bare on your hip tells me when you owe me no
|
|
more. As long as it's still there, you still owe me." Putting his
|
|
feet up on the table, he picked up his plate and started eating,
|
|
completely ignoring her.
|
|
Furious, she turned away from him and stared out the port hole
|
|
again until she was calm enough to talk again. "Damian, me, you may
|
|
feel you own. The battered hull of this ship you own. But I lost 1/3
|
|
of my crew down there and you do NOT own them. Now I need some kind
|
|
of recompense for this. Otherwise next time I won't come."
|
|
"You haven't checked your bank account recently. Money for the
|
|
men you lost is in there. And as far as you go, dear, I do own you.
|
|
Don't you ever forget that fact. In the meantime, I just wanted to
|
|
let you know that I won't be needing your help for a while. We're
|
|
taking some time off and you need to train some new men. I'll call
|
|
when I need you. Have a nice day." Out of his mouth, "have a nice
|
|
day" sounded like a string of obscenities.
|
|
He got up to leave, but as he reached the door, he looked back.
|
|
Walking across the room to where Kara was standing, he grabbed her
|
|
and gave her a rather rough, but passionate kiss. Then he turned and
|
|
walked out. Again.
|
|
After eating, she headed back up to the bridge, all the way
|
|
saying to herself "Damn, he did it to me again." But that's how it
|
|
always went, and altho it put her in a foul humor for a day or two,
|
|
it never changed.
|
|
Arriving on the bridge, she did the only thing possible.
|
|
"Johnson, get us out of here now. And you'd better get it right!"
|
|
|
|
Later that night, after safely getting underway on the right
|
|
course, Kara wandered back to her room. She wasn't furious anymore,
|
|
just in that state of mind where nobody wanted to cross her. It was
|
|
written all over her face. Needless to say, most of the crew gave
|
|
her a wide berth as she walked down the hall.
|
|
Arriving back in her quarters, she was surprised to see a bit of
|
|
a glow coming from around the corner, her bedroom. Drawing her
|
|
Neural Paralyzer, she quietly moved up to the corner. "Nice little
|
|
weapon" she thought, as she set it on one of it's lesser settings.
|
|
These weapons had been known to cause insanity, or at the very least
|
|
extreme pain to those hit by it. Perfect for anyone sneaking around
|
|
in the Captain's quarters. She swung around the corner, weapon going
|
|
first, ready to fire.
|
|
"So, what took you so long?", Damian said, apparently unfazed by
|
|
the fact that she had a weapon in hand.
|
|
"Damnit, what are you doing here????? I thought you'd crawled
|
|
back in your hole by now." He was sitting, well actually lying, on
|
|
her bed with her favorite wine on the table next to it and candles
|
|
glowing in the candle globes she kept scattered around the room for
|
|
relaxation.
|
|
"I told you. We're taking a vacation. So put the gun down and
|
|
come over here. I've already poured you some wine."
|
|
"Damn." she thought, as she put the weapon down and walked
|
|
across the room to him. Here we go again.
|
|
-Becki Tants <RETANTS@SUNRISE>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
Worthy of the Title
|
|
"You might as well go out and see the festival, now that you're
|
|
here," Lord Clifton Dargon had suggested as his twin cousins
|
|
finished breakfast. "Melrin only comes once a year."
|
|
"Yes," Luthias had agreed practically, but his voice was heavy.
|
|
"We might as well."
|
|
"What's going on today in the Melrin, Bartol?" Roisart asked his
|
|
cousin Dargon's bard.
|
|
"Oh, final competition for the Bardic Crown," the bard cum
|
|
bodyguard announced enthusiastically. "Today at noontime."
|
|
"What else?" Luthias wondered. While bardic tales could interest
|
|
Luthias, hours upon hours of sung tales drove him to distraction.
|
|
Bartol gave him a strange, appalled look. "What else?" demanded
|
|
Bartol, gazing at the young noble as if he were insane. "What else
|
|
is there?"
|
|
Roisart looked at his twin and smiled. Luthias rolled his eyes.
|
|
Then he turned to his cousin, the lord. "Clifton, do you think
|
|
you'll be all right here after what happened to our father yesterday?"
|
|
Clifton had laughed then; Roisart smiled. "Come on, Luthias,"
|
|
his brother urged. "Think about it. What would Clifton, with all his
|
|
guards, need us for? Considering the men who attacked us this
|
|
morning," Roisart continued, turning his eyes towards his cousins,
|
|
"we may need guarding ourselves."
|
|
But Clifton had smiled and shaken his head. "You'll be safe
|
|
enough in the festival," the Lord of Dargon ventured. "And the city
|
|
guard is out in full should you need assistance." The smiled widened
|
|
and the skin around Dargon's brown eyes crinkled slightly. "Besides,
|
|
you two didn't do all that badly this morning."
|
|
So it was with this assurance the Roisart and Luthias left
|
|
Dargon Keep and strolled into the Middle City, where most of the
|
|
Melrin was taking place. There were as yet three hours until the
|
|
Bardic Crown competition was to take place, so Luthias suggested to
|
|
his brother, "Let's go down to the docks. There's bound to be
|
|
something happening there."
|
|
"Yes, Father used to take us there when we got to the Melrin
|
|
early," Roisart sighed. Luthias frowned; he too missed their father.
|
|
Then Roisart brightened a bit. "Maybe the races are today."
|
|
The noble twins walked a little more quickly toward the docks,
|
|
past the side shows and food stands that were just setting up for
|
|
the fourth day of Melrin. Roisart noted curiosities along the way: a
|
|
bearded lady, a steer the size of a small house, a fortune teller or
|
|
two, a seller of rare books...many things that he and Luthias would
|
|
have to see. It would have been easier if their father had been with
|
|
them; the late Baron was much like Roisart in his zest for oddities
|
|
and stories. Luthias was not as interested such things, for which he
|
|
could find no real use. Then Roisart spotted the booth of an armoire
|
|
come all the way from Magnus for Melrin, and decided it would be
|
|
easier than he had anticipated to drag Luthias back.
|
|
They arrived at the docks very early, so the docks were
|
|
deserted, except for old Simon, the Stew Man, and his monkey, who
|
|
chattered at the twins in a primate greeting. Luthias played with
|
|
the jovial creature, and Roisart began eagerly to ask the old man
|
|
about a sea legend he had recently read and whether or not it could
|
|
have any truth to it. Finally, as the crowds began to press onto the
|
|
docks, Luthias slipped the monkey a sovereign and pulled Roisart
|
|
away to find a good view for the race.
|
|
It was a spectacular race, with Captain Kent's "Victory Chimes"
|
|
taking the honors at the end. When it was over and the crowd was
|
|
thinning, Roisart told his brother, "I saw some interesting booths
|
|
over by the market. Let's go look them over."
|
|
Luthias shrugged his shoulders and together they left the dock
|
|
areas for the Middle City, near the market. As Roisart had expected,
|
|
Luthias was not particularly interested in the side shows, but he
|
|
became very enthusiastic when he saw the display of the best sword
|
|
maker of Dargon. While Luthias inspected the blades, Roisart paid
|
|
two coppers to see the steer as big as a house and played a game of
|
|
toss, though he won no prizes. Still, Roisart made sure at all times
|
|
that he knew exactly where his brother was.
|
|
Luthias watched Roisart as well, saw him duck into the tent with
|
|
the exaggerated steer. "I'll take this one," he said to the sword
|
|
maker, choosing the best blade of the lot, but keeping his eyes on
|
|
the tent. "And a scabbard, too." Roisart emerged from the attraction
|
|
and moved over to his brother. "Look, Roisart," Luthias bragged as
|
|
he paid for his new toy, "see this!"
|
|
The pride was well-founded; the sword was very well made and
|
|
decorated. "You going to fight with that?" Roisart laughed.
|
|
"That's what swords are for," Luthias said, a gleam in his eye.
|
|
"But that's too nice to fight with," Roisart argued. "Besides,
|
|
in a pinch, you're used to your old blade."
|
|
Luthias grimaced. "We had better stick together, twin. I thought
|
|
I saw someone following us on the docks."
|
|
"You worry too much," Roisart chided his brother lightly. "Come
|
|
over here, Luthias. Let's take a look at this scribe's cart. Did you
|
|
see the books?"
|
|
Luthias took his sword from its maker and nodded. "I saw them,"
|
|
Luthias confirmed as they crossed the street. "Very old."
|
|
Roisart arrived at the cart and immediately began rummaging
|
|
through the titles. "These aren't so old, Luthias."
|
|
"I meant the scribe," joked his brother, picking up a red-bound
|
|
volume inscribed with blue. He opened it, looked at the title page,
|
|
then called over the scribe. "How much is this?"
|
|
"Do you have 'History of the Ancient World'?" Roisart wondered.
|
|
The scribe shook his head. "I'm sorry, young sir. And you, young
|
|
sir...." He looked from Roisart to Luthias, then back again. Then,
|
|
to Luthias, he gave the price of the book, which Luthias paid
|
|
laconically and turned away to flip through it as Roisart browsed.
|
|
After a minute, Roisart peered over his brother's shoulder.
|
|
"What's that you've bought?"
|
|
"Meresan's 'Lives of Lords and Princes'," Luthias told him.
|
|
"We're going to need the examples if one of us is going to be baron."
|
|
Roisart sighed. "If we can ever decide who is to be baron."
|
|
Luthias looked into his brother's brown eyes. "I think you
|
|
should be baron."
|
|
"What?" laughed Roisart. "But I'm not much of a leader, or a
|
|
fighter. Men would follow you, Luthias. In an emergency, you think
|
|
fast and act."
|
|
"But that would be deadly to me if I were judging a legal case,"
|
|
Luthias replied, closing the book with a decided thump. "I would
|
|
think too quickly. You'd delve into the matter until the truth was
|
|
found. I might take the truth at the surface. And what about law,
|
|
Roisart? I know nothing of laws."
|
|
"If only we could both be baron," sighed Roisart dismally.
|
|
"I know that that is against the law," Luthias chuckled. "We
|
|
can't both be baron."
|
|
"I know, but we both have qualities that are so necessary to be
|
|
one," Roisart replied. "And it's hard to tell which one of us would
|
|
better serve Clifton."
|
|
"Clifton," muttered Luthias, beginning to move away from the
|
|
scribe's cart. "Now, about him I am very worried."
|
|
"You worry too much," Roisart laughed. Then he sobered. "But
|
|
something's got to be done. Clifton can't let this continue."
|
|
"There's nothing we can do about it, though," Luthias pointed
|
|
out. "We'll just have to decide which of us should be baron."
|
|
There was a moment of silence, then Roisart announced suddenly,
|
|
"Luthias, I'm hungry."
|
|
Luthias smiled. "So am I. I think there's a tavern on the next
|
|
street over. It's been a long time since breakfast."
|
|
"I hope it's a good tavern," Roisart said. "I don't want to get
|
|
sick before the ball tomorrow."
|
|
Slowly, the twins made their way through the crowds to the
|
|
nearby street. The tavern which Luthias had earlier spotted, the
|
|
Rogue and Quiver, was full, and seemed rather dirty. So they kept
|
|
walking and searching, until Roisart spotted a large sign which
|
|
advertised, "Belisandra's."
|
|
Luthias gave the place a cursory inspection. "It looks clean,
|
|
and the food smells good. Let's eat."
|
|
Together, the twins ducked into the darkened tavern, scanned the
|
|
room and its patrons (neither seemed too bad), and found a table in
|
|
the corner nearest the door. Luthias pointed it out, and motioned to
|
|
his brother. Roisart nodded, knowing the location's advantages as
|
|
well as Luthias did; it allowed no attack from behind, and the
|
|
proximity to the door made the twins difficult to spot as a
|
|
potential killer's eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness.
|
|
A sharp-eyed serving wench had spotted the brothers almost
|
|
immediately and hustled over to their table as they seated
|
|
themselves. She was a small girl, only reaching the twins'
|
|
shoulders, but she dressed neatly and wore a pleasant smile. "Good
|
|
Melrin to you, sirs," she greeted the twins politely. "What may I
|
|
serve you?"
|
|
Roisart began to smile in a lazy way which triggered alarms in
|
|
Luthias' brain. Roisart was having an infatuation again. Luthias
|
|
sighed mentally. Well, at least the girl wasn't a peasant; her
|
|
speech was clear and free of the peasant accent, and she wore her
|
|
clothes like a decent woman, unlike another serving wench on the
|
|
other side of the room. Still....Luthias nudged his brother beneath
|
|
the table and spoke. "Two ales, to begin with. What's the special
|
|
for luncheon?"
|
|
The girl's smile spread. "Belisandra's Secret Stew. The recipe's
|
|
older than the Keep. It's the best stew in Dargon. And it's fresh;
|
|
Belisandra made it just this morning." The girl nodded
|
|
enthusiastically to a buxom woman nearing middle age, who stood
|
|
behind the bar, tending it and a large cauldron of stew behind it.
|
|
"It comes with fresh bread and butter and greens, and I can bring it
|
|
to you right away."
|
|
"Perfect," Luthias' stomach answered. "Bring two of those please."
|
|
The girl nodded and turned away with a natural, unflirtateous
|
|
bounce. "Too young for you, Roisart," muttered Luthias. "She can't
|
|
be more than fourteen."
|
|
"She's very sweet," Roisart argued.
|
|
"Yes, but she's not for you." Roisart sighed with resignation;
|
|
his brother smiled affectionately. "You give your heart too easily."
|
|
"Whoever is baron could choose his own woman," Roisart realized.
|
|
"If only we could choose a baron," Luthias laughed as the girl
|
|
returned with two bowls of stew, a plate of fresh bread and a pat of
|
|
butter, and a bowl of greens. Wondering how she could carry all
|
|
that, Luthias continued, "There's absolutely no way to choose
|
|
between us."
|
|
The girl was setting the dishes down. "Belisandra will be over
|
|
with the ales in a minute," she promised. She leaned back a moment
|
|
and surveyed the young brothers with an appraising look. "Choose
|
|
between you? How could any girl choose between you?" She blushed
|
|
then, perhaps feeling immodest. Both twins, blushing as well, smiled
|
|
at her as she continued. "Maybe your lucky lady should see Corambis."
|
|
The tavern mistress Belisandra, bearing two ales, came from
|
|
behind the girl as Luthias asked, "Who is Corambis?"
|
|
"You don't know Corambis?" the girl asked, her eyes now wide. "I
|
|
thought everyone knew Corambis. He's the Sage in the market-place.
|
|
Your lady should see him today to see which of you she should choose."
|
|
Belisandra set the ales down with two distinctive thumps. "Go to
|
|
him today? Mika, he may never come back!" She gave the twins a
|
|
motherly gaze. "He's been gone all winter, without a trace, and--"
|
|
"He got back yesterday," Mika protested. "He read my horoscope
|
|
for me this morning, Belisandra."
|
|
She turned again to the twins, and began to continue, but
|
|
Belisandra interrupted. "Where was he this time?"
|
|
Mika took a moment to recall the information. "He went off with
|
|
a young man for a few days, then stayed with relatives for the
|
|
winter, he said. But he is back," she assured Roisart and Luthias,
|
|
"and you can go and make an appointment for your lady friend. He's
|
|
right in the market."
|
|
Luthias faced his brother. "Do you think we should?"
|
|
Roisart shrugged. "Why not, Luthias? We've tried everything
|
|
else." He then asked Mika and her lady, "Where can we find Corambis?"
|
|
"Oh, he's easy to find, my lords," Belisandra explained
|
|
helpfully. "It's the only closed booth in the main market place. You
|
|
can't miss it, young sirs."
|
|
"I'll think we'll try it," Luthias decided. "Thank you."
|
|
Mika smiled engagingly; Belisandra nodded, pleased. "You're
|
|
welcome, my lords," Belisandra answered. "Good Melrin."
|
|
"Good Melrin," Roisart returned politely.
|
|
Belisandra went back to her bar and her stew and left Mika with
|
|
the twins. "Enjoy your meal," the girl said pleasantly. "Call me if
|
|
you'd like anything else, milords."
|
|
Luthias nodded and smiled at her, and then Mika also left.
|
|
Luthias turned to his stew and greens and began to eat hungrily.
|
|
Then he laughed, his mouth full. Aware of his manners, he stopped,
|
|
swallowed, then said, "I can't believe I'm actually going to see a
|
|
fortune-teller!"
|
|
"Why not?" Roisart answered, stirring his hot stew to cool it.
|
|
"Didn't she say he was a Sage? Sages are very wise men, Luthias."
|
|
Still Luthias shook his head. "Leaving a barony to a horoscope..."
|
|
Roisart laughed. "Be practical, twin, just as you always tell me
|
|
to be. We're going for advice, not for a decision. That will have to
|
|
be made by you and me."
|
|
For a moment, Luthias was quiet. Then he said in a low voice,
|
|
"We should be more careful what we say in public, Roisart. The girl,
|
|
Mika, didn't guess what we really meant, but if someone were
|
|
searching for us..."
|
|
"It wouldn't be that hard," Roisart countered. "I'd bet that we
|
|
were the only twins in mourning blue in a festival city."
|
|
Luthias attacked the greens. "Still, we don't need the whole of
|
|
Dargon knowing about us and about...our cousin's troubles."
|
|
Roisart swallowed and nodded. "Agreed. But we should go see this
|
|
Corambis. We need all the help we can get."
|
|
"It certainly couldn't hurt," Luthias concurred.
|
|
|
|
About mid-afternoon, Luthias and Roisart finished their
|
|
leisurely meal, and after paying Belisandra and generously tipping
|
|
the girl Mika, they made their way to the main market square in
|
|
search of Corambis the Sage. As Mika predicted, his stall in the
|
|
market place, the only one that was closed in completely, was easy
|
|
to find. Luckily for the twins, the people of Dargon, accustomed to
|
|
Corambis, were exploiting other fortune tellers today. A bit
|
|
self-consciously, Luthias knocked on the door, and the nervous twins
|
|
were admitted into the booth by a young woman whom Roisart
|
|
recognized as being one of the serving wenches at Belisandra's. She
|
|
smiled at the twins provocatively, and in a sugary voice informed
|
|
them that Corambis was with another querent, but would be free very
|
|
soon. Both twins nodded soberly at this information and seated
|
|
themselves gingerly on a wooden bench.
|
|
After a minute, a middle-aged man dressed in a gay shade of red
|
|
came through the door directly opposite the twins. A young woman
|
|
followed him, apparently in tears. She slipped the man a gold piece
|
|
and then slipped out the door. The man then turned his attention to
|
|
the twins. "Who are these men, Thuna?" he asked the girl, giving her
|
|
a stern, suspicious look.
|
|
The wench Thuna shrugged coyly. "They've come for you, Corambis."
|
|
The Sage looked visibly relieved. "Come in, gentlemen," he
|
|
invited, motioning toward the plain, still-open door. In unison,
|
|
Roisart and Luthias rose and walked toward the room.
|
|
The cubicle was dark, despite the afternoon daylight outside,
|
|
and from what the twins could tell, somewhat bare. Candles
|
|
illuminated a small, circular table. Roisart recognized it as the
|
|
Wheel of Life, a divination device. After a moment, Luthias also
|
|
recalled the Wheel. Roisart noticed two chairs in opposing points
|
|
around the table. He indicated it to Luthias, who shook his head, so
|
|
Roisart sat down.
|
|
After a few quick words of instruction to Thuna, Corambis the
|
|
Sage joined them. "I apologize about Thuna," the Sage began. "I
|
|
thought that perhaps she had fallen into old habits again." The Sage
|
|
looked at Luthias, who was still standing. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't
|
|
have another chair."
|
|
"It's all right," Luthias assured him. "Don't trouble yourself.
|
|
I don't mind standing."
|
|
"All right," the Sage agreed. He looked at Roisart then, and
|
|
again at Luthias. "How may I help you, gentlemen?"
|
|
"We would have you tell our horoscope," Roisart answered quickly.
|
|
Corambis at once appeared surprised and flattered. "It's not
|
|
often men of nobility come to me," he chuckled, beginning to smile.
|
|
"They don't often trust their problems to strangers."
|
|
"This is an exceptional problem," Luthias revealed.
|
|
"You may confide in me, my lords," Corambis declared with
|
|
dignity. "I will not reveal your secrets. Why have you come to me?"
|
|
Roisart smiled. "I suppose we had no where left to go."
|
|
Corambis' eyebrows raised. "Sir?"
|
|
"My brother and I," began Luthias, "have come to you with an
|
|
unusual problem, sir. When we were born, our mother died, and so no
|
|
one noted which was the elder."
|
|
"And your father has just perished?" Corambis asked
|
|
sympathetically, gazing at the blue-grey mourning dress. "I see. You
|
|
have no idea which of you is heir." Roisart and Luthias both nodded.
|
|
"My lords, have you brought your case before Lord Dargon?"
|
|
Roisart and Luthias looked each other in the eye a moment, and
|
|
Luthias had his doubts. But Roisart trusted the Sage, and Luthias
|
|
gave his consent, so Roisart revealed the entire story to Corambis.
|
|
To the twins' astonishment, the Sage was not surprised by the
|
|
information. "I have been seeing that in the stars lately," mused
|
|
Corambis. He sighed, then looked at Roisart, sitting across from
|
|
him, and then at Luthias. "Well, my lords, I shall do what I can to
|
|
help you."
|
|
The Sage rose and turned to a little cubby-hole in the corner.
|
|
>From it, he withdrew a small, velvet bag. He opened it, rummaged a
|
|
moment, then turned back to the cubby-hole. He reached into it
|
|
again, and tossed something across the room to Luthias.
|
|
Luthias caught the thing deftly, then opened his hand to examine
|
|
the object. It was a small red chip.
|
|
Corambis seated himself once more. With one hand, he offered the
|
|
velvet bag, and another red chip to Roisart. With the other, he
|
|
beckoned Luthias closer. "It isn't often I do readings for twins,"
|
|
he mused, "but I often read for couples. Lord Roisart, take half the
|
|
chips, and do not look at them. Give the rest to your brother."
|
|
"What's the red chip for?" Luthias asked.
|
|
"Put that on your birth sign, the Oak," Corambis instructed.
|
|
"You too, Lord Roisart." The twins obeyed. Roisart took a handful of
|
|
chips, and gave the rest to Luthias. Corambis spun the wheel. "Drop
|
|
them when you are ready."
|
|
Without any outward signal, the twins simultaneously dropped the
|
|
blue chips onto the whirling Wheel of Life. It spun and spun;
|
|
Luthias knelt next to the table to see better. The Wheel spun and
|
|
spun and spun. Roisart put a hand on his brother's shoulder.
|
|
Corambis stared at the whirling Wheel. The Wheel stopped.
|
|
Corambis stared at the Wheel, with its scattered chips of red
|
|
and blue, for a moment. "Unusual," he said. "Look here, my lords.
|
|
The two birth chips have separated. One has stayed on the Oak, a
|
|
sign of strength and long life. The other has strayed to the Ship,
|
|
as if he were going to make a journey away from the other."
|
|
"What's that blue one on the Ship?" Roisart asked, fascinated.
|
|
Corambis scrutinized the symbol. "A new ally, come from afar, it
|
|
seems." He gazed at the other chips. "You will need him, along with
|
|
this ally--" Corambis pointed to a chip straddling the elements of
|
|
Fire and Sword. "--to combat these two. Two very dangerous enemies,
|
|
one caught between deceit and caring...probably a woman," he mused
|
|
to himself. "And another, on the sign of the Fox--" Again, Corambis
|
|
pointed. "He is a dangerous, cunning man, and I would be wary of him.
|
|
"The outcome..." Corambis looked at the chips. "It will be
|
|
decided soon, my lords. There are chips in the present and in the
|
|
near future."
|
|
"But which one of us?" demanded Luthias.
|
|
The Sage shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I know not, my lords.
|
|
But I can tell you this," he promised, pointing to the sign of the
|
|
Knight, which held two chips, "the decision will be made by an act
|
|
of extreme valor."
|
|
Luthias looked up at his twin. "I should have known that there
|
|
would be no easy answer, my brother," sighed Luthias.
|
|
"So should I," smiled Roisart.
|
|
Corambis shrugged pleasantly. "I can assure you of this, my
|
|
young lords. The sign of the outcome is on the Mistweaver. Whatever
|
|
happens in your case will be a fufillment of destiny."
|
|
"Do you mean that the elder will gain the barony?" Roisart asked.
|
|
"The Wheel is not specific," sighed Corambis. "It is never as
|
|
specific as I would like. As you said, my lord, there are no easy
|
|
answers in the affairs of destiny." The Sage smiled.
|
|
Both twins returned the smile with crooked, somewhat sad grins.
|
|
Luthias rose, and Roisart rose with him. "Thank you, Corambis,"
|
|
Roisart said respectfully. "We appreciate your time."
|
|
"How much do we owe you, sir?" Luthias inquired.
|
|
"Nothing," said Corambis amiably. "It isn't often I get to tell
|
|
the future of the Baron of Connall and the Lord of Dargon."
|
|
"Please," Roisart insisted, "let us give you something for your
|
|
trouble. You lost other Festival customers by telling our fortune."
|
|
"Doubtless there are other fortune tellers in Dargon for the
|
|
festival," Corambis smirked. "No, my lords, you need not pay me."
|
|
"But we want to," Luthias said, with the tone of a demand.
|
|
Corambis rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right," he conceded. Luthias
|
|
gave him two sovereigns. Corambis looked at the coins, then back at
|
|
the twins. "I suppose you won't let me put up a fuss about the
|
|
amount, my lords?" Luthias gave him a wild, wicked, challenging
|
|
grin. "I didn't think so." Corambis sighed. "Well, good Melrin to
|
|
you, lords, and be careful."
|
|
"Good Melrin," echoed Roisart, and Luthias nodded a silent
|
|
farewell as they stepped out the door. A little old lady rushed past
|
|
them to see Corambis. They heard a hysterical weeping as he door shut.
|
|
"Poor woman," said Roisart sympathetically. Luthias took a deep
|
|
breath. The twins crossed the room and left Corambis' booth. Roisart
|
|
looked at his brother. "Well, twin, what do you think?"
|
|
Luthias shrugged his large shoulders elaborately. "What should I
|
|
think, Roisart?"
|
|
"I think you'll be the next baron," Roisart announced flatly.
|
|
"Me? Why me?" wondered Luthias. "Haven't we already spoken of
|
|
this, Roisart?"
|
|
"The Sage said it would be decided by an act of valor," Roisart
|
|
reminded his brother. "You excel in matters of bravery, twin,"
|
|
Roisart praised with a confident, affectionate smile.
|
|
Luthias' faced echoed the smile falsely; Luthias' smile was
|
|
introverted, private, but it retained the happiness shared by his
|
|
brother. "Roisart," Luthias told him, "there are many sorts of valor."
|
|
The two wandered in silence for a few moments, then Roisart
|
|
wondered, "What shall we do now, Luthias?"
|
|
Luthias gazed up at the sky. The sun was just above the horizon.
|
|
Funny, but it didn't seem as if it should be that late. Lunch and
|
|
finding Corambis must have taken longer than he thought. The reading
|
|
was certainly quick.
|
|
Due to the setting sun, people were clearing the streets. The
|
|
merchants were closing and barring their shops and booths; the side
|
|
show people were packing their equipment. Tomorrow was the last day
|
|
of Melrin and the best day for business. One could not take a chance
|
|
on one's equipment being stolen in the twilight. Luthias grimaced.
|
|
If humble merchants took that much care....
|
|
"Roisart, perhaps we'd best go back to our cousin's," Luthias
|
|
suggested, carefully omitting their cousin's noble name. "After what
|
|
happened this morning..."
|
|
Roisart appeared disappointed (he had heard that there would be
|
|
firework s that evening), but then thought about the situation. "I
|
|
agree, my brother. Let's go home."
|
|
The twins were a little over a mile and a half from the keep, a
|
|
nice leisurely walk in the twilight. Roisart did a little mental
|
|
calculation and figured that he and his twin brother would arrive at
|
|
Dargon Keep about the time of the sunset. Perfect, just perfect.
|
|
Roisart again thought about that morning's escapade and began to
|
|
feel apprehensive. These murderers after Clifton, he thought, don't
|
|
even wait until after the dark. Just a deserted place. They don't
|
|
mind the twilight.
|
|
Another thing occurred to Roisart. He was unarmed. Luthias had
|
|
bought the fine, new sword at the bazaar, but he, Roisart, had
|
|
brought no weapon. Only the city guard was allowed to wear arms
|
|
during the festival, a mandate Clifton had issued for public safety.
|
|
Luthias, therefore, carried his new sword, snug in its fabulous
|
|
scabbard, in his hand, and by the blade.
|
|
That morning, the two of them had ridden prepared. But now...
|
|
Apparently, Luthias had shared his brother's thoughts. Luthias
|
|
gazed at the covered sword, and at his brother's hands, which
|
|
carried only the book Luthias had purchased. "Let's hurry, twin."
|
|
"You worry too much," Roisart said automatically.
|
|
"I don't want to lose you, Roisart," Luthias answered, sotto voce.
|
|
Yes, Luthias worried too much. After all, what assassin would be
|
|
stupid enough to try the same trick twice in the same day?
|
|
Still, Roisart gave his twin a watery smile, then gripped the
|
|
book tighter as the pair quickened their pace slightly. The streets
|
|
were becoming deserted. Luthias took a step closer to his twin.
|
|
Roisart noticed that the knuckles of the hand clutching the sword
|
|
has paled. Grim, Roisart quickened the pace again.
|
|
It was getting dark quickly.
|
|
Roisart looked at the setting sun, red and round, like a ripe,
|
|
round apple, then at his brother's face, bathed in red light.
|
|
Something moved behind Luthias.
|
|
"Roisart, fall!" cried Luthias suddenly.
|
|
Instinctively reverting to the fighting lessons they had
|
|
received under their father's auspices, Roisart trusted his brother
|
|
and collapsed carefully onto the ground. He rolled to the side,
|
|
looked up. Luthias swung at a thief, bearing a knife in one hand a
|
|
rope in the other, and bloodied the man's nose with a sweep of the
|
|
sword. The one behind Luthias, whom Roisart had seen move, moved to
|
|
strike, but Roisart pulled his brother's leg, tripping him. Luthias
|
|
stumbled, but was unhurt.
|
|
Roisart rose, put his back against Luthias', and observed the
|
|
numbers. Six. And thieves again. Roisart wondered at one of them; he
|
|
seemed familiar, but the light, as well as the observer, was
|
|
uncertain. He heard something clatter to the ground behind him;
|
|
Luthias had unsheathed his sword. Roisart cringed. Six to two, and I
|
|
am unarmed. He took a good hold on the book. Not a peasant weapon,
|
|
the unexpected thought came, but certainly an odd one.
|
|
Suddenly, there was a cry from the shadows, and four more men
|
|
joined the scene.
|
|
Luthias lunged forward and impaled a thief in one sure thrust.
|
|
Roisart leapt toward one of the attackers, and clubbed him clumsily
|
|
with Luthias' new book. The thief stumbled, more surprised than
|
|
hurt, but he shook his head and kept coming. Roisart kicked him
|
|
soundly in the groin, and when he fell, he clubbed him again with
|
|
"Lives of Lords and Princes."
|
|
Roisart lunged from the knife of his attacker, but the thief
|
|
dodged despite the pain. Roisart fell to the ground, losing his
|
|
breath. Some strong arms roughly grabbed him and hauled him to his
|
|
feet. "Master Roisart, are you all right?" Bartol's voice hissed.
|
|
"Bartol!" cried Roisart. "Thank God!" Then, in the darkening
|
|
twilight, Roisart saw movement again. "Bartol, look out!"
|
|
Deftly, the bard turned to defend himself. Roisart crouched, to
|
|
try to ward off any attackers with hand-to-hand combat. He left the
|
|
book in the dust; it was of no use to him in this situation.
|
|
Six of them, six of us, Roisart thought. Fair odds.
|
|
One of the thieves lay on the road, bleeding from wounds from
|
|
Luthias' sword. Another's head was crushed on one side from a blow
|
|
from one of Bartol's three guards. But one of Bartol's men was
|
|
still, the slit in his neck allowing all life to gush from him.
|
|
Roisart checked around. One, two, three--where is the fourth---?
|
|
A crushing blow to the neck gave Roisart his answer. Behind him.
|
|
Dazed, Roisart fell. Far away, he heard Luthias' voice, "Roisart!
|
|
ROISART!" Far away, he felt rough, rough hands tying his arms and
|
|
feet with coarse, chafing ropes. Not far away, he saw through
|
|
blurred eyes another of Bartol's men fall. He saw Luthias, trying to
|
|
fight off three thieves. The other, probably the one who had tied
|
|
him, was being defeated by Bartol and the last of his men. Bartol's
|
|
last guard fell, leaving the bard alone. And Luthias, defending
|
|
himself against three thieves.
|
|
Bartol fell, clutching his sword-arm. The thief kicked him
|
|
soundly, and ran to join his comrades, fighting Luthias.
|
|
Luthias, Roisart tried to cry out. His mouth wouldn't move.
|
|
Luthias! Bartol, help him.
|
|
Bartol was bleeding. Roisart couldn't even see Luthias any more.
|
|
There was a strange battle cry.
|
|
Suddenly, a blue and white clad stranger leapt into the midst of
|
|
the four fighting Luthias. One, he stabbed in the back. Luthias made
|
|
a lucky thrust into one of the others. The other two backed off, but
|
|
did not run. The strange, a short, young man, Roisart judged him,
|
|
swung an odd curved sword above his head and charged one of the
|
|
thieves. Encouraged, Luthias sprang at the other, who was ready. The
|
|
thief stabbed at Luthias, and Roisart heard his brother cry out. The
|
|
stranger's opponent fell.
|
|
The stranger saw Luthias clutch his side and quickly went after
|
|
the thief. One slash rid the thief of his arm. Another robbed him of
|
|
his life.
|
|
Roisart regained his breath and began to fidget. The ropes
|
|
irritated his wrists, which had been bound tightly. He heard Bartol
|
|
moan. It was becoming difficult to see.
|
|
"Are you all right?" asked the stranger in accented words.
|
|
"It's not deep," Luthias said. "But my brother...Bartol..."
|
|
Luthias took a few steps toward his brother and knelt beside
|
|
him. "Roisart?" he asked, tentatively touching his brother's forehead.
|
|
"Untie me," Roisart demanded irritably.
|
|
Luthias slit the bonds. "Are you all right?"
|
|
Roisart pushed on the ground and managed to get on his feet.
|
|
"Yes, I'm all right. Bartol?"
|
|
"A cut," the stranger answered. He was binding it. "A physician
|
|
should be able to repair it."
|
|
Luthias put his hand on his brother's arm and together they
|
|
joined the bard and the stranger. "We are indebted to you, sir,"
|
|
Luthias said politely. "We--my brother, Bartol, and I--would have
|
|
died here without your help. Thank you."
|
|
"Prease," said the stranger, "do not make fuss over it. I saw
|
|
that the thieves attacked you, and like any honorable man, I wished
|
|
to help."
|
|
"How can we ever repay you?" Roisart asked.
|
|
"Prease," the stranger begged, "I do it out of honor and
|
|
decency. I need no reward."
|
|
"At least come to sup with the masters and their cousin, the
|
|
Lord of Dargon," the bard urged. "We at least owe you that much, sir?"
|
|
The stranger took a step back and bowed. "I am Ittosai Michiya
|
|
of Bichu."
|
|
"I am honored, Michiya-san," Roisart answered, bowing and using
|
|
the suffix he had learned in books. To his surprise, Mocha bowed
|
|
again and smiled. "I am Roisart Connall. My brother, whose life you
|
|
saved, is Luthias Connall. The other man is," here Roisart smirked,
|
|
"apparently our new body guard."
|
|
Bartol frowned. "Yes, Lord Dargon sent me and the others to look
|
|
after you two."
|
|
"We should be leaving this place," Ittosai recommended.
|
|
"I agree," Luthias replied gravely. "Do come to dinner with us,
|
|
sir," he urged. "You did us a great favor this night, and the least
|
|
you deserve is our thanks and our hospitality."
|
|
"You do me honor to invite me to the house of Dargon," said
|
|
Ittosai. "I will go."
|
|
"Quickly," said Bartol, clutching his arm.
|
|
Quickly, they returned to the keep.
|
|
|
|
Roisart, rubbing his rope-burned wrists, and Luthias, clutching
|
|
his thinly-sliced side, rushed though the gates of Dargon Keep with
|
|
Bartol the bard and Ittosai Michiya, the noble from Bichu, in close
|
|
attendance. The city of Dargon had stealthily and swiftly snuck into
|
|
the dark, night hours. From their experience at the morning's dawn
|
|
and this evening's twilight, the twins knew they were no longer safe.
|
|
Roisart's head was throbbing miserably. Stubborn blood seeped
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slowly through Luthias' clenched fingers. Both twins hurt, but
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Roisart knew by instinct that he did not have a concussion, and
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Luthias' wound was only skin deep, as much as it was bleeding.
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Bartol also nursed a minor flesh wound in his sword arm; the bard
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sincerely hoped that all tendons were intact. Ittosai was slightly
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winded, nothing more.
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Guards quickly ushered the wounded party to the presence of Lord
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Dargon, who was waiting for the return of his noble cousins of
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Connall. As soon as he saw them, he rose. "God, not again!" He
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looked at the twins, then at Bartol. "Bartol, I gave you orders--"
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Bartol wore an obstinate mask. "My lord, the three you
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instructed to take with me are dead. If it were not for my lord of
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Bichu, Master Roisart and Master Luthias would have died too."
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Dargon grimaced and went to the door. "Bring Griswald," he told
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the nearest servant, who nodded once and went immediately to fetch
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the old physician. He shut the door and returned to his guests.
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"Forgive me, cousins," he said to Roisart and Luthias. "I thought
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you would be safe in the city."
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"They waited until sunset," Luthias informed him. "The streets
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were almost deserted. This man, Ittosai Mich...Michiya? saved us."
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Dargon bowed to the Bichurian in the style of the foreigner's
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homeland. "I am honored to meet with you again, Lord Ittosai. You
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honor my household." Past the formalities, Dargon then said, "I
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thank you for saving the lives of my cousins, Lord Ittosai. I am
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indebted to you."
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Ittosai himself bowed to Dargon's lord. "I do what any man would
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do, Lord of Dargon."
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"I have offered the hospitality of your household to the Lord of
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Bichu," Bartol informed his lord.
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"You did right, Bartol," Dargon replied. He again turned to
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Ittosai Michiya. "You are welcome here, Lord Ittosai, not only as a
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hero, but as a noble of a great land."
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Griswald almost seemed to choose this moment to enter the lord's
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study--without knocking. He looked from Bartol to the twins, and
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groaned, "Gods and gods, what have you two been doing this time?"
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Dargon unconsciously frowned at the disrespect of Griswald's words,
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but said nothing, as he thought that the old man meant no harm.
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"Bartol, what happened to you?" Griswald quickly snatched an herb
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and some cloth out of his bag and bound the bard's arm. "It should
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heal quickly. Don't overuse it." He turned then to Luthias and did
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the same. "And what happened to you?" he finally asked Roisart.
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"I was clubbed from behind," explained Roisart. Roisart turned
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to his cousin.
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Griswald grunted by way of reply, and probed the boy's skull
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with dexterous fingers. "No lump. Were you unconscious?"
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Roisart gingerly shook his head. "It's sore, though," he
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admitted. Roisart turned to his cousin. "They were careful, Clifton.
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They didn't want me harmed. They clubbed me hard, but it didn't put
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me to sleep. And then...they tied my hands." Clifton frowned,
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exchanged a glance with Luthias. Luthias gravely nodded the
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|
confirmation of the event and his understanding of its implications.
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Griswald seemed unaffected. "Can you see all right? Feel
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nauseous? Tired?"
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Again, Roisart carefully shook his head.
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"Then don't worry about it until you do," the physician
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instructed in harsh, laconic tones. Griswald then turned to his
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lord. "If you'll not be needing me, I'm going to bed. You got me up
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very early this morning." Without waiting for Dargon's dismissal,
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Griswald abruptly left.
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"He hasn't been himself for days," Dargon revealed, having seen
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Ittosai's perplexed expression following the physician.
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"Can a man not be himself?" Ittosai wondered, no less confused.
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"It's an expression," Roisart explained with a smile. "It means
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he is not acting as he usually does."
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"Let's go to dinner," Luthias suggested. "It's been a long time
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|
since Roisart and I ate lunch."
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Dargon nodded, and Bartol went to hold the door open for the
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Lord of Dargon and his noble guests. As Dargon followed Ittosai out
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the door, he said, "You will be coming to the Melrin ball, won't
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you, Lord Ittosai?" When the Bichurian didn't answer, Clifton
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continued, "You are invited, as my guest, as the worthy noble of a
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distant land."
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"I fear I am not versed in your past-times," Michiya admitted.
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Roisart smiled. "But it's simple, Michiya-san. You smile at the
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pretty women--"
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|
"And try not to fall in love with them," Luthias finished for
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his brother.
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"A strange expression is falling in love, as if one were to fall
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|
into a pit," Ittosai noted.
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|
"Please do come, Lord Ittosai," Dargon repeated his invitation.
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|
"The people of Dargon are very curious about your nation across the
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sea, and want to have better relations with you and your people."
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|
"I am not the best speaker of my people," Ittosai protested,
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|
"but I will come."
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"Thank you," said the Lord of Dargon. "Please accept my house's
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hospitality for this night, and for tomorrow night, after the ball.
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You wouldn't want to miss any part of it."
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"Yes," Roisart said. "I imagine it will be a night to remember."
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-M. Wendy Hennequin <HENNEQUI@CTSTATEU>
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