ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/tport/tport.zoo/etc/fiction/stephan

Text File | 1989-10-20 | 9KB | 167 lines

Article 14642 of rec.games.frp:
From: [e-mail] (james l davenport)
Date: 15 Aug 89 17:32:50 GMT

    Gerar squinted in the sunshine as he glanced around nervously. There
were only a few people near him on Sagget Street; not the south end near the
docks, but the north end, up by the Temple of Altok, the heart of the upper
class crafts district of Tabolport. Two streets over was the Gymnasium. Sagget
was a quiet back street in the midst of the comings and goings.

    There were only a few people within sight of Gerar. A blind beggar was
lying against the wall of a house, his face turned upwards to enjoy the warmth
of the sun. A couple of street arabs were playing Karadi, learning the basics
of card-hustling. In a year they'd be down by Crusader's Square on the docks,
milking the flood of foreigners. Old Woman Hezeg sat on her stool, peeling
potatoes and talking to nobody in particular.

    Usually these people were like family to Gerar, but now he just wished
that they'd all go away for a while. He looked up and down the street again,
watching for the merchant Sagi or a City Quadrum. All Gerar needed now was for
Sagi to come back early from the Gymnasium, or some stupid City militiaman to
change his route because of the nice day.

    He heard the clatter of a metal pot falling on to stone from inside
Sagi's shop. Gerar was loitering outside as a lookout for his partner Stephan
while Step removed some worthy objects from the possession of Sagi the brass
merchant. It was Gerar's first 'job', and he felt like he could throw up at
any moment.

    After an eternity, Step stepped out of the brass shop with a stachel
hung over his shoulder. He was whistling loudly and looking around as if
he hadn't a care in the world. Gerar almost fainted dead away. Step had started
stealing things earlier that summer and he had his moves down pat. Gerar walked
over to his friend, a little to quickly perhaps.

    "What were you doing in there, Step? Weighing out everything to find
the purest pieces?" hissed Gerar. He hated being scared and he was more scared
now than ever before.

    "Calm down, you silly fishwife!" whispered Stephan through his smile.
He strode out into the middle of the street and into the bright sunshine of the
warm August afternoon.

    "Good day, Mistress Hezeg," he called out as he sauntered down the
slope of the avenue.

    "Good day, Master Stephan. I did not see you there. How is your
gracious mother, Mari bless her every day." replied Hezeg. She stopped her
peeling to look up at the two of them.

    "She's doing much better. Life in the country was always her love, you
know." Stephan had walked up to the old woman. he bent down to kiss her cheek,
and Gerar saw him slip three unpeeled potatoes into his cloak. The old woman
cacked foolishly.

    "Save your kisses for the young maidens, young Master. Waste them not
on a hag like me." Stephan squeezed her shoulder as he laughed with her, and
then rejoined Gerar in the street.

    They walked down the avenue in the direction of the docks, Gerar
lagging a little behind, still looking everywhere for some sign of disaster.
As they passed the Sweet Brine Tavern, Gerar's eyes met those of a man who
he could swear he'd seen before. The man was leaning against the outside of the
tavern, his right leg braced behind him. He held a goblet in one hand, the
other lost in the folds of his large, dark grey cloak. His hair was blonde and
cut very short except on the top where it stuck up like an unruly sheaf of
golden grain. His eyes were a haunting blue, so light they seemed to have a
silverish tinge. Gerar saw the hilt of a sword at the man's waist, and an
amulet around his neck. The shadow of the tavern's overhanging roof obscured
the amulet's design.

    "Come on, Serval. We'll be late for supper!" called Step from the next
corner. Gerar turned to go, and glanced back once only to see an edge of the
dark grey cloak slip back into the dim and smoky tavern. He trotted down the
street to his friend.

    "Serval? Who's Serval?" asked Gerar after they had gone a few blocks
more towards the docks.

    "Sometimes I wonder if you still have cowshit in your head. You want
me to shout out 'Gerar' loud and clear, so it'll stick in everyone's memory?
Sometimes I don't know why I ever brought you into this." Gerar's face went
deep red and he felt his friend's words like a mortal wound to his heart.
He had known Stephan ever since his family had moved to Tabolport. They had
always been the best of friends, but Gerar wondered if Step's new life of
thievery might change that.

    Gerar was still mulling over ways to impress his year-older partner
when they arrived at an imposing black brick house. The area was a very poor
section in the south part of the docks, near the saltwater marsh that bordered
the southern edge of the city. The marsh was a smelly area of brackish water
and sewage, moved only by tides that would tip over the rocky breakwater, or
by overflows from the Aldar River that ran through the center of Tabolport.
Its smell was unmistakable. Luckily, they were still far enough away for the
salt water breezes to command the attention of all but the most delicate
nostrils.

    Gerar listened to the screech of the seagulls, breathed in the
heavy salt air, and felt much better. He had always loved to be at the docks,
to see the ships from far away arrive and depart, to listen to the ever
changing chatter of the sailors and merchants.

    His relaxation was broken quickly as Stephan pulled him through the
open arched entryway of the house. The place smelled strongly of ashes and
perfume, a mixture that assaulted Gerar's nose. They were standing in a large
room made completely of the same black bricks. It had a high vaulted ceiling
with two iron chandeliers hanging by thick chains at either end. A long oak
table stood off to one side and a fireplace at the far end looked disused and
dusty.

    "What now, Step?" asked Gerar in a hesitant whisper.

    "We wait for McMorgan to show up." Step walked over to the table and
laid down his satchel. Gerar foudn the doorskin next to the archway and
released it from it hooks so it would cover the doorway. The light fell away
to a level only helped by tiny diamond shaped windows high up on the sidewalls
of the room. Thousands of points of light floated down through the thin shafts
of light provided by the windows.

    Stephan began to remove things from his satchel, first a brass lantern,
then a set of keys, and finally a beautiful statue of a lion about a foot tall
and covered here and there with a white paste. Step pulled a rag out from his
over-sized cloak and began to wipe the paste off with careful circular strokes.
Gerar just sat down against the right wall, keeping a watch on the long
wrinkled doorskin.

    After only a few minutes, the skin moved to one side and McMorgan
stepped in. Gerar had met the man before and did not like him. He was very
tall, probably a Brynite, with a close-cropped black beard. His hair was long
and drawn back over his scalp in a ponytail tha hung down over his shoulder;
not braided, but held by three small gold rings. He favored bright colors and
silks from the south.

    Now he wore a field green cloak over a leather jerkin and breeches, not
his normal attire at all. He did not even smile at Gerar, simply acknowledging
his existance with a curt nod. He walked over to the table with Gerar
following.

    "Well, what did you get, Stephan?" asked McMorgan. Gerar glanced at the
table and noticed that the ring of keys was not with the lantern and the
statue.

    "I had very little time, Sir. Sagi came back early from the Gymnasium."
McMorgan looked disdainfully at the items on the table.

    "Lantern is worth two silver, and the statue, five at best." Gerar
grinned expectantly. At those prices, his cut would feed him for at least
two weeks.

    "Oh you jest, kind sir. Sagi sells his lanterns for ten nobles a piece,
and the statue is worth far more than the lantern." At first McMorgan looked
angry, but quickly assumed a haggler's face.

    "Everyone knows that Sagi overprices his lanterns and the statue is not
of quality. It is barely twice the lantern's weight. I fear it is hollow."

    Gerar walked over to the fireplace while the tow bartered back and
forth.

    "Alright Stephan. Even though I'll most assured lose money on these, I
do want to encourage business between us. Twelve nobles for the lot," offered
McMorgan with an exaggerated hint of despair in his voice.

    "Done," agreed Stephan. The two shook hands and McMorgan produced the
agreed upon sum from his belt purse. Gerar loved the sound of the coins piling
into his friend's hands.