After binding my wrists with some hemp they took me to an enormous and grotesque white building, all sharp angles and mottled with pebbles and granite chunks. They called it “City Hall.” There was a ring of deep water around it full of piranha and the leftover bones of all their previous meals. The lawmen marched me down a never-ending and windowless corridor, lit only by flickering red torch flames. Just when I’d taken to thinking they really were leading me to the edge of the world, we reached a pair of massive, cherry wood doors, and Lamech and his partner each pushed one open then shoved me inside.
The coppers’ friendly nudge sent me spilling to my knees. Palms pressed against the stone floor, I looked up and around. In an inset nook on the far wall there roared a large fire. In front of that, the skin of a grizzly bear was spread across the ground. Adorning the black onyx walls were the severed heads of a variety of creatures – a lynx, a dire wolf, an eagle.
Just beneath the snarling visage of a decapitated lion was a big granite block covered in clay goblets full of steaming brown liquid, inked-up reeds and blank cuneiform tablets. Behind it was a wooden chair, and standing beyond that was a man with his back to us, dressed in a fancy maroon silk robe. He had his hands linked just above his rear-end, staring out the wide opening that looked onto the city.
If I’d been a sap, I’d have found all this inspiring. Continue reading “The Good-Bye Garden: Part Six”
I had to wash the taste of Sephura out of my mouth, so I found the nearest saturnalia and bummed as much wine as I could from the men and women there. About a hundred depraved and randy partygoers danced around this big bonfire and pulled each other into the shadows to commit carnal acts I wouldn’t care to describe. They were a friendly bunch, and I was wasted in record time.
The air reeked of alcohol and sweat and smoke. Some naked guys were banging on bongos, a few others blowing into flutes and strumming on little harps. I wondered if they’d bought all that gear off of old Jubal, wondered where he and his brother and my ass and my toe were, and found myself getting angry. I grabbed an ewer of mead out of somebody’s hands and drank harder; I didn’t want to be angry. I didn’t want to be anything. Continue reading “The Good-Bye Garden: Part Five”
“You horse’s arse!”
For the first time in two years this pretty little thing and I were standing face-to-face, and she wasted no time making with the insults. There wasn’t much delay, either, in the way her cupped hand drew back, like a reflex, and slapped holy hell out of my gob. Got me right in the tender spot, too, where my tooth had fallen out.
“Damn,” I said. “You been practicing that or what?”
“Yeah, smart-aleck,” she said, her sleek black hair drooping over one eye. “Every night before bed I’ve been smacking the snot out of a dumb, fat pig looks just like you. I can hardly tell the difference.” She reached back for another good wallop and I snatched her wrist just in time to stop it.
“Now, sweetheart,” I said, “I don’t think you really wanna do that.” Continue reading “The Good-Bye Garden: Part Four”