tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64290244778825074042024-03-28T20:28:22.943-07:00Niche of TimeWell, for a start, this shall be the home for my Biographical Inventory of Books. After that, who knows?Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.comBlogger1579125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-79922147746996922162024-03-28T07:31:00.000-07:002024-03-28T07:39:13.550-07:00The Case of the Clerical Cookie Jar<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8LSqBmnytwso64BS2rVQ75dCl4NiskaXv93zwgWj1__hhqmdh834vOHUXUoydiXtF1SJ21CCcmPRIW0XSBgusDYR35fl7Hdp0hTwaZ0JNbcR1gvUC93D8V7ZP_KbDBfTgyR4vnKKjir2he98YLV-n9mArIW-VDm7AeOq4js-kBn7oc33U91SJt6UTnM/s489/ff-ska.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="296" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8LSqBmnytwso64BS2rVQ75dCl4NiskaXv93zwgWj1__hhqmdh834vOHUXUoydiXtF1SJ21CCcmPRIW0XSBgusDYR35fl7Hdp0hTwaZ0JNbcR1gvUC93D8V7ZP_KbDBfTgyR4vnKKjir2he98YLV-n9mArIW-VDm7AeOq4js-kBn7oc33U91SJt6UTnM/w388-h640/ff-ska.jpg" width="388" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">The Case of the Clerical
Cookie Jar<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">“In the roadside towns, the
wizards picked up stories and rumors … One man in the town of Edgebrake sat up
all night, staring at a little smiling cookie jar made in the shape of a fat
monk; it stood on a high cupboard shelf, smiling darkly amid the shadows. The
man could not tell anyone what was wrong, or what he thought was wrong.” – <i>The
Face in the Frost</i>, by John Bellairs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Thus
began another one of my strange compulsions, one might almost say obsessions.
The year was 1978 or 1979 (I imagine), and <i>The Face in the Frost</i> was one
of the first three fantasy books I ever bought with my own money (earned
working at Nanny’s, I believe). The other two were <i>The Source of Magic</i>
by Piers Anthony and <i>The Illearth War</i> by Stephen R. Donaldson; I bought
them all off the rack at our local Gibson’s. Good fantasy-style covers, two of
them rather wizardly-looking. Two of them turned out to be parts of a series. What
did I know? I didn’t care about that at the time, though I am now more cautious
about beginning things at the beginning. But I had recently read <i>The Lord of
the Rings</i>, and I knew I must try to chase that high.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">When
I ran across that passage in <i>The Face in the Frost</i>, it struck a strange
chord in me. It was in a section describing a series of odd hauntings or inexplicable
obsessive thoughts that were plaguing the land of the story, harbingers of the
machinations of the evil wizard Melichus. But I had seen just such a cookie jar
lately, and in real life! Well, in catalog form, though I cannot remember at
this distance if it was from Sears or JC Penney. I didn’t care that its
appearance was ominous in the book; the mere unlikely conjunction of the twain
made it seem somehow fated. I must try to instantiate this object from a fantasy
realm into my own world. I must own that monk cookie jar!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 12pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlfw2r-qjWjPhb6UBKXmVVGFC5MpHT8W6WIiBeIeb49YyT8IR1dz0lW8WuT58HdupDcceNIs7jmxk-N1UBm-kqSZ1cXTMRbPhtpl1goZO_XhEr2oZLU9ikpPFh97_CGAs1Pu1Ns6OXENqe9HWStkJhJ9jz98a2ZNYJ8xIMO5qhppNig4mi3IQUYVUgGI/s1480/Monk-Cookie-Jar-Treasure-Craft-Thou-full-1A-720x2_10.10-08c294e9-f.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1480" data-original-width="1480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlfw2r-qjWjPhb6UBKXmVVGFC5MpHT8W6WIiBeIeb49YyT8IR1dz0lW8WuT58HdupDcceNIs7jmxk-N1UBm-kqSZ1cXTMRbPhtpl1goZO_XhEr2oZLU9ikpPFh97_CGAs1Pu1Ns6OXENqe9HWStkJhJ9jz98a2ZNYJ8xIMO5qhppNig4mi3IQUYVUgGI/w640-h640/Monk-Cookie-Jar-Treasure-Craft-Thou-full-1A-720x2_10.10-08c294e9-f.webp" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">But
it was not to be. In the first place, it cost $10, which translates to $45
worth of spending power in our current debased currency. No matter how much I
pleaded, Mom could not see it in her monthly budget. But the phrase ‘monk
cookie jar’ began to frequent my vocabulary, especially used whenever reciting
a list of my wishes. It became quite familiar to the family.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">So
much so that I wonder if it may, perhaps, have influenced my sister Susan’s
eventual cookie jar collecting. She has, as of now, several hundred examples.
But always in her hunting she kept an eye open for a ‘monk cookie jar’ for me,
and in the early 2000’s (I believe), she presented me with an example like this: <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 12pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENXcjmudEOTe2BoJEAXY_mvEUp0MpldjWm5Lk0qDPxjux0ReViaGcqzYfjT3R1u9q2zKmoBgcYP5CzhTzeNsIIEGkgtuO8zXfEtMOUPlxBnu0m8tuzM68unnRi2GKHEXl6OwmPae89c2fUy59XAEBoxHWMegHSSmzo-U0DBiFQGSEIxsuSyEMnnUOKZw/s600/monk%20cookie%20jar%2002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="346" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENXcjmudEOTe2BoJEAXY_mvEUp0MpldjWm5Lk0qDPxjux0ReViaGcqzYfjT3R1u9q2zKmoBgcYP5CzhTzeNsIIEGkgtuO8zXfEtMOUPlxBnu0m8tuzM68unnRi2GKHEXl6OwmPae89c2fUy59XAEBoxHWMegHSSmzo-U0DBiFQGSEIxsuSyEMnnUOKZw/w370-h640/monk%20cookie%20jar%2002.jpg" width="370" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">It
still remains a treasured object on my sideboard, though these days it holds
diet cough drops rather than cookies.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">However,
what with the familiarity and luxury of eBay (the world’s garage sale) I could still get that original ‘monk cookie jar’ quite easily now. Most
examples cost little more than that inflationary price. But it shall probably wait
until I have an excess of money or a paucity of books to chase before I order
one up.</span></p></div>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-10982469363617199052024-03-27T09:05:00.000-07:002024-03-27T09:05:25.075-07:00Quotes from The Commonplace Book: John Gardner<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzl55nIzon6fVLSqyeGXNblQVHazcHSJThl41Ns6Xq8pPLMiKLe5XjOeKSWwtsD9QmwU64wfQH89emuhdKYmY9fDqTsYj32BifpanK54cMoL9Z8Cvm5Y_pWDppkk-Gq6u5EorXqkqT3QUXTogHyr4BrGbeRZeP9srjUOzzOL_mEKpxaBRUOKPd05TVkwc/s1000/Gardner-John.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="669" data-original-width="1000" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzl55nIzon6fVLSqyeGXNblQVHazcHSJThl41Ns6Xq8pPLMiKLe5XjOeKSWwtsD9QmwU64wfQH89emuhdKYmY9fDqTsYj32BifpanK54cMoL9Z8Cvm5Y_pWDppkk-Gq6u5EorXqkqT3QUXTogHyr4BrGbeRZeP9srjUOzzOL_mEKpxaBRUOKPd05TVkwc/w640-h428/Gardner-John.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">“Stars, spattered out through lifeless night from end to end,
like jewels scattered in a dead king's grave, tease, torment my wits toward
meaningful patterns that do not exist.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EL" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EL; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">― John Gardner,
Grendel<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">Many was the night when my brother John and I would be out, either coming home from work or traveling between Seguin and San Marcos, when one or the other of us would gesture dramatically at a particularly impressive display of stars and declaim, "Like so many jewels!"</span></p></div><p><br /></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-19600288424456378662024-03-26T19:28:00.000-07:002024-03-26T19:28:39.158-07:00Some Daily Ephemera<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWA-riuizoRY56wCi0llGxU7nnpQxtpWE4o9NCLh1EaDckDZJwjOHCDnwewBxtV8EkZDXjIVMhsRN8zyL9rWQpZkLQljSQ-5GRH9LDKbQWJD5BRpXhBFd8cbBGAxgwWYvnk-YXD5G4O0909V4Xs4DTqOgkIiFmkwiQs4YePttDR0mnv7IoygJjkeMgkuw/s960/donkey%20chesterton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="698" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWA-riuizoRY56wCi0llGxU7nnpQxtpWE4o9NCLh1EaDckDZJwjOHCDnwewBxtV8EkZDXjIVMhsRN8zyL9rWQpZkLQljSQ-5GRH9LDKbQWJD5BRpXhBFd8cbBGAxgwWYvnk-YXD5G4O0909V4Xs4DTqOgkIiFmkwiQs4YePttDR0mnv7IoygJjkeMgkuw/w466-h640/donkey%20chesterton.jpg" width="466" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6N8j0ZxQX_RnTe94CMrdVTpf2FSOw7pn7E0UWl_rcRgFmcQu7lblzVf0kzceEmCCqbFEFBLqBG5iZA8HXsl9IXxpVIcRKMDDgxIY9BsPAIbthDJDYs7oeNU3rR72dJwFCSCOmiMOmrQi3EQ7_PyDgtrC289jDMyXzlBSLEBL5C_P_TunH_S-fBdD6Srw/s1116/woden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1116" data-original-width="739" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6N8j0ZxQX_RnTe94CMrdVTpf2FSOw7pn7E0UWl_rcRgFmcQu7lblzVf0kzceEmCCqbFEFBLqBG5iZA8HXsl9IXxpVIcRKMDDgxIY9BsPAIbthDJDYs7oeNU3rR72dJwFCSCOmiMOmrQi3EQ7_PyDgtrC289jDMyXzlBSLEBL5C_P_TunH_S-fBdD6Srw/w424-h640/woden.jpg" width="424" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFLY21XLofMM1-nNXRcCw4EiO2R17OxncJ6K2LfTyIiNMC3gvhdJ63KGqP-69ouspOZO5LiqUUeJ0Lhu1uYds7qyeXCfa9yq4O-5Xa6lz1TzrYa-8ahPNGY4b2CmDHXbe7PEE-DPwUEeqWEXwOp5ijFSbXCNYaq78JCYqMOOdyvduoG7djsy9cwK-pss/s933/final%20sacrifice%20bluth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="700" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFLY21XLofMM1-nNXRcCw4EiO2R17OxncJ6K2LfTyIiNMC3gvhdJ63KGqP-69ouspOZO5LiqUUeJ0Lhu1uYds7qyeXCfa9yq4O-5Xa6lz1TzrYa-8ahPNGY4b2CmDHXbe7PEE-DPwUEeqWEXwOp5ijFSbXCNYaq78JCYqMOOdyvduoG7djsy9cwK-pss/w480-h640/final%20sacrifice%20bluth.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Just three images snatched off of Facebook today. G. K. Chesterton's poem <i>The Donkey</i>, a picture of Woden thrusting the sword Gram into the Branstock Oak, and a poster for <i>The Final Sacrific</i>e done in the style of Don Bluth. <i>The Final Sacrifice</i> episode of Mystery Science Theater Three Thousand might be me and my nephew Kameron's favorite parody of all time. The movie itself is such an obvious passion project made on such a shoestring that somehow it transcends all design inadequacies and obvious absurdities and rises to a sort of greatness. And MST3K's jokes are pretty good, too.</span></div><br /><p></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-28086389003029048842024-03-26T05:01:00.000-07:002024-03-26T05:03:22.729-07:00Swans They Say: My Poetry<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkmh7lGF_uAXtwi1EqGXtPFHGDiHfT5E3Zrb4X8InqUO-pLozhzB7SJKkMF0yilIb2ys_Kwj1Vm1h1cT7uIzOIMADPUCWbw3arIrC-C7psgq5gcZl94UFhTpOLWaJldW5ZfqLn8nMlvZk3PQ3gNGjTNpjPpZErf7AkttT-MLz1mlsKoBMeZ07_NsA6XcI/s775/640px-Gravure_door_Reinier_van_Persijn.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="775" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkmh7lGF_uAXtwi1EqGXtPFHGDiHfT5E3Zrb4X8InqUO-pLozhzB7SJKkMF0yilIb2ys_Kwj1Vm1h1cT7uIzOIMADPUCWbw3arIrC-C7psgq5gcZl94UFhTpOLWaJldW5ZfqLn8nMlvZk3PQ3gNGjTNpjPpZErf7AkttT-MLz1mlsKoBMeZ07_NsA6XcI/w528-h640/640px-Gravure_door_Reinier_van_Persijn.jpg" width="528" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">SWANS, THEY SAY<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Swans, they say, before they die,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Intone one last melodious cry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Even so, when Death comes
winging,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">I hope that it shall find me
singing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">3/26/2020</span></p></div>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-1499794903436646082024-03-25T08:50:00.000-07:002024-03-25T08:50:38.135-07:00The Lord of the Rings: The Forbidden Pool (Part Two)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYloY2F4AeeIpUyOd4yzbD49SrsNLAxpnSN0w4mCvzv3_GgL2kYHsb1kHj9kB313p6GujBx2T08YrKO_Z7a6NEJLWDJyQ2SCIIfgk0vvFzveLTw5dBFbB5PZcPaZVpBQcPGD9lEZR5o9ucRm88lakfkQ-724QHziBBwAcri-cdtCvmvdVK-RO8AmG7No/s566/gollum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="566" data-original-width="559" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYloY2F4AeeIpUyOd4yzbD49SrsNLAxpnSN0w4mCvzv3_GgL2kYHsb1kHj9kB313p6GujBx2T08YrKO_Z7a6NEJLWDJyQ2SCIIfgk0vvFzveLTw5dBFbB5PZcPaZVpBQcPGD9lEZR5o9ucRm88lakfkQ-724QHziBBwAcri-cdtCvmvdVK-RO8AmG7No/w632-h640/gollum.jpg" width="632" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Tale<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo and Sam are summoned again
to the recess at the back of the cave, where Faramir awaits. He tells his men
to bring Gollum. Anborn carries him in, and the ranger takes the hood off
Gollum’s head, puts the wretch on his feet, and stands behind him, supporting
him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Gollum blinks in the
lamplight, angry eyes hooded, wet hair dripping over his bony brows, a fish
still clutched in one hand. His nose is sniveling as he asks to be released. He’s
done nothing!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faramir calmly questions
that statement. He asks, has Gollum never done anything worthy of punishment?
But the past is not for him to judge. He is here because Gollum has trespassed
where it is death to come. ‘The fish of this pool are dearly bought.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Gollum hastily drops the
fish, saying he doesn’t want it. But Faramir says only to come to the pool
means death. He has spared him so far at the prayer of Frodo, but he has to
satisfy Faramir as well, before he can release him. Who is he, where is he
going, and what is his business?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘We are lost, lost … No
name, no business … only empty… only hungry … A few little fishes, nasty bony fishes,
for a poor creature, and they say death. So wise they are, so just, so very
just.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Perhaps not so wise, Faramir
answers but as just as we can be. He hands Frodo a little knife and tells him
to set Gollum free. Gollum squeals and falls to the floor, misinterpreting the
gesture. Frodo says he must trust him, cutting his bonds and raising him to his
feet. Faramir commands him to look at him. He asks if Gollum knows where he is
and if he’s ever been there before?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Gollum looks unwillingly
into his unwavering eyes, then drops his gaze and slumps to the floor. ‘Never
came here; never come again.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faramir deems there are dark,
locked rooms in Gollum’s mind, but on this subject, he believes him. What oath
can he swear that he’ll never return or lead any others to this place? Gollum
looks at Frodo. Master knows. If Master will save him, he will promise to It.
He crawls to Frodo’s feet, whining and pleading. Faramir asks is Frodo is
satisfied, and the hobbit assents. It is a good promise; Faramir must accept it
or carry out their law. But he hopes he won’t: he promised Gollum his safety,
and he hopes he won’t be proved false.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faramir thinks deeply for a
moment, then surrenders Gollum into his Master Frodo’s custody, to judge him as
he will. But what will Faramir do with the Master? Frodo asks. ‘Then I will
declare my doom,’ Faramir replies. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo and those under his
protection are free to travel through to the furthest ancient bounds of Gondor,
but never to return to or to reveal the location of this secret post. This will
last for a year and a day or until he comes to the Steward of Gondor to be confirmed
in this judgement. Meanwhile he and his companions are under his protection and
‘the shield of Gondor.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo bows, and at Faramir’s
word takes Gollum into his protection. Sam audibly sighs at the act. Faramir
tells Gollum that he is under Frodo’s care, but if he is found without Frodo,
he will be killed. Now, Frodo has declared he was his guide; where is Gollum
taking them?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Gollum refuses to answer,
but Frodo says he was taking them to a high pass near Minas Ithil – Minas Morgul now,
Faramir reiterates. There they hope to find a way into Mordor. Faramir asks him
if he knows the name of that path, then reveals it is called Cirith Ungol.
Gollum hisses sharply at the name. Oh, so you’ve heard of it? Yes, Gollum admits,
but what’s in a name. Master must go, and there is no other way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faramir wonders how he would
know that; is he familiar with all the ways of the Black Land? He tells
Anborn to take Gollum away but to watch him closely. And he warns Gollum not to
try to escape by diving into the waterfall; the pool below has sharp rocks that
would surely kill him. Anborn leaves with Gollum cringing before him. The
curtain falls again over the recess.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faramir tells Frodo that he
is very unwise to have Gollum as a guide: ‘malice eats [him] like a canker, and
the evil is growing.’ If Gollum wants, he will have his men take Gollum to
wherever the creature will on the boundaries of Gondor, so Frodo will be done
with him. But Frodo says Gollum would never do that. He’ll follow Frodo – and the
Ring, he implies – wherever he goes. Besides, he’s made promises to Gollum.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Farmir counsels him against
Cirith Ungol, though. The place has an evil reputation, nothing known surely of
course, but old loremasters with ‘blanch and fall silent’ if it is named. There
is some dark terror there. And the way will take them near Minas Morgul, long
now the fortress of the Nazgul, haunted by ‘a shapeless fear within the ruined
walls …You will be espied. It is a place of sleepless malice, full of lidless
eyes.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo replies he has to try.
He is bound by solemn undertaking to find a way or die. If he turns back with
this Thing, where would he go? To Minas Tirith? It already caused Boromir’s
fate; what would happen then to Gondor? ‘Shall there be two cities of Minas
Morgul, grinning at each other across a dead land filled with rottenness?’
There is no time to look for another way, so he must take what path that he
can.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faramir reluctantly agrees,
but warns Frodo again about Gollum. He has done murder before (he can see it in
him). But for now Faramir will have food prepared for their leaving. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘I would gladly learn how
this creeping Smeagol became possessed of the Thing of which we speak, and how
he lost it, but I will not trouble you now. If ever beyond hope you return to
the lands of the living and we re-tell our tales, sitting by a wall in the sun,
laughing at old grief, you shall tell me then. Until that time, or some other
time beyond the Seeing-stones of Numenor, farewell!’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bits and Bobs<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Poor Gollum. His answers to
Faramir that he is lost, that he has no name or business, that he is only
empty, only hungry, hints at his loss of identity in his yearning for the Ring.
He may be trying to play on Faramir’s pity, but he is revealing sad truths
about his condition that he probably shies away from in normal circumstances. Malice
and desire for the Ring eats him up like a ‘canker’, an ulcer or sore, but a
word also related to ‘cancer’.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The word ‘doom’ is used in
the passage for ‘judgement’ (Faramir pronounces his doom on their case).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We get a nice tease of Minas
Morgul, our next point of destination.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Some have wondered why Faramir did not at
least explain the meaning of the word ‘Ungol’ (spider); perhaps he assumed
Frodo already knew. When questioned about the pass, Gollum first tries to lie
about what he knows, but his oath seems to give him a sharp pinch, so he is clearly
under some compulsion beyond even his … well, let’s call it his sense of honor.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘A year and a day’ is an old
legal term to assure the full completion of a term. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I wonder what Frodo made of ‘the
Seeing-stones of Numenor’; <i>we</i> know what they are, but he wasn’t there
with Pippin and Gandalf.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The irony that Faramir says the rocks in the pool would end Gollum 'before his time' lies in the fact that Gollum has already lived far beyond his time. But perhaps he means 'beyond his fated time.'</span></p></div><p><br /></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-55863247393933465802024-03-24T16:32:00.000-07:002024-03-25T00:11:54.766-07:00Me and the Bee-Wolf: A Journey Through Time with Beowulf<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWhPEKEPzkza4d0slTIWR7M3yDcuLbNrtkveD8Bbbh9VdtBRDgzVOjx3vnkExvtIJqXQjST5lSZB6mEbhuQYx3Qiye4VnvkTDVc51nIzALeeZlgArYwRB6dU2Y7xab97__kiMUlH5TOEIYs2dui_iaAt0wEP8siupYGmZ0jS53uPxPj4Ar_0v-DNn_uk/s628/Beowulf_Cotton_MS_Vitellius_A_XV_f._132r.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="375" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWhPEKEPzkza4d0slTIWR7M3yDcuLbNrtkveD8Bbbh9VdtBRDgzVOjx3vnkExvtIJqXQjST5lSZB6mEbhuQYx3Qiye4VnvkTDVc51nIzALeeZlgArYwRB6dU2Y7xab97__kiMUlH5TOEIYs2dui_iaAt0wEP8siupYGmZ0jS53uPxPj4Ar_0v-DNn_uk/w382-h640/Beowulf_Cotton_MS_Vitellius_A_XV_f._132r.jpg" width="382" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">I.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> What
it is: “<b><i>Beowulf</i></b> (</span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA/English" title="Help:IPA/English"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">/</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">ˈ</span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">be</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">ɪə</span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">w</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">ʊ</span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">lf/</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">; </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_English_language" title="Old English language"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Old English</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">: <i>Bēowulf</i> </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA/Old_English" title="Help:IPA/Old English"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">[</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">ˈ</span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">be</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">ː</span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">owu</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">ɫ</span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">f]</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> –
the ‘wolf of the bees, i.e. the bear) is an Old English </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epic_poetry" title="Epic poetry"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">epic
poem</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> in
the tradition of </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Germanic_heroic_legend" title="Germanic heroic legend"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Germanic heroic legend</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> consisting
of 3,182 </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alliterative_verse" title="Alliterative verse"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">alliterative lines</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">. It
is one of the most important and </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_translations_of_Beowulf" title="List of translations of Beowulf"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">most often translated</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> works
of </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_English_literature" title="Old English literature"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Old English literature</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">.
The date of composition is a matter of contention among scholars; the only
certain dating is for the manuscript, which was produced between 975 and 1025
AD. Scholars call the anonymous author the "<i>Beowulf</i> poet". The
story is set in pagan </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scandinavia" title="Scandinavia"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Scandinavia</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> in
the 6th century. </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beowulf_(hero)" title="Beowulf (hero)"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Beowulf</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">, a
hero of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geats" title="Geats">Geats</a>,
comes to the aid of </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hrothgar" title="Hrothgar"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Hrothgar</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">,
the king of the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danes_(Germanic_tribe)" title="Danes (Germanic tribe)"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Danes</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">, whose </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mead_hall" title="Mead hall"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">mead
hall</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heorot" title="Heorot"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Heorot</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> has
been under attack by the monster </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grendel" title="Grendel"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Grendel</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> for
twelve years. After Beowulf slays him, </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grendel%27s_mother" title="Grendel's mother"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Grendel's
mother</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> takes revenge and is in turn defeated. Victorious,
Beowulf goes home to Geatland and becomes king of the Geats. Fifty years later,
Beowulf defeats a </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dragon_(Beowulf)" title="The Dragon (Beowulf)"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">dragon</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">, but is mortally wounded in
the battle. After his death, his attendants cremate his body and erect a </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tumulus" title="Tumulus"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">barrow</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> on
a headland in his memory.</span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #202122; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">“The poem survives in a single copy in the
manuscript known as the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nowell_Codex" title="Nowell Codex"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Nowell
Codex</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">. It has no title in the original manuscript, but has
become known by the name of the story's protagonist. [It is one of the rare
Anglo-Saxon survivors of Henry VIII’s rape of the monasteries; other vellum
manuscripts were later found being used as leather for shoes. Thanks, Hank.] In
1731, the manuscript was damaged by a fire that swept through </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ashburnham_House" title="Ashburnham House"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Ashburnham
House</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> in London, which was housing </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sir_Robert_Cotton,_1st_Baronet,_of_Connington" title="Sir Robert Cotton, 1st Baronet, of Connington"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Sir Robert Cotton</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">'s
collection of medieval manuscripts. It survived, but the margins were charred,
and some readings were lost. The Nowell Codex is housed in the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_Library" title="British Library"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">British
Library</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">. The poem was first transcribed in 1786; some verses
were first translated into modern English in 1805.” – Wikipedia.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi66MfErWViiiD617jt4SmoDvxv9Tqyq_F5AK-kePpjZLmGDm7mIR-URK69SvvaN20mmhdbI-GC6LbVuzzwmw5dm-JpHm48w1cPt_AbkkCaPMb9aeQ1iWXUSG6Joa6YEWy2OxclEPHz5uLKErjTGSAonI85qWh_rkGgjM_6SXNOCVWFWwaapoGMEL-Zhf8/s640/71bW05ObL4L.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="381" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi66MfErWViiiD617jt4SmoDvxv9Tqyq_F5AK-kePpjZLmGDm7mIR-URK69SvvaN20mmhdbI-GC6LbVuzzwmw5dm-JpHm48w1cPt_AbkkCaPMb9aeQ1iWXUSG6Joa6YEWy2OxclEPHz5uLKErjTGSAonI85qWh_rkGgjM_6SXNOCVWFWwaapoGMEL-Zhf8/w382-h640/71bW05ObL4L.jpg" width="382" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", serif; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">II.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Beowulf the Warrior</span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">,
retold by Ian Serraillier (1954), Illustrated by Mark Severin. This skinny
little book is more important than it might appear. It is the first version of
Beowulf that I ever read. I think it must have been because of “The Tolkien
Reader”; I had heard of Beowulf before, but “Reader” was the tipping point,
with its Anglo-Saxon talkifying, that made me try it. And a better introduction
to the poem for a young reader there could not be. It is told in unrhyming
stressed poetic lines like the original; its illustrations mimic period art;
and there is no extraneous “interpretations or opinions” added by the teller.
This book, along with “The Hobbit”, Pyle’s “King Arthur” (with Arthurian
satellites “The Crystal Cave” and “The Sword in the Stone”) and “The Dark is
Rising”, was part of the catalyst that solidified my imaginative matrix in
middle school. I have an early picture (early in my drawing as well as in time)
where I try to mimic the coiling dragon from the illustrations; on the other
side of the paper is a tracing of heraldry shields and terms from the World
Book. I bought this copy (from the Lompoc Unified School District, no less)
many years later over the internet.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFBTgi6ihfwEFEXML_lxXfiyrkJjyFZmpYWNGc8xlOffQSY53NQmt193azx0yS0oSFL3UZQ2dT9Goj9PPgtR5uuqvvfBvZH6Er3psYNoQ36xsTNzoDDCyeerPYPM4ra-OoS8IbtetAafLl7Qexr9iIvxbTyB0fWXbogLgHkieyI2SnXWPQ2nNpnm2iaY/s502/grendel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="502" data-original-width="292" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFBTgi6ihfwEFEXML_lxXfiyrkJjyFZmpYWNGc8xlOffQSY53NQmt193azx0yS0oSFL3UZQ2dT9Goj9PPgtR5uuqvvfBvZH6Er3psYNoQ36xsTNzoDDCyeerPYPM4ra-OoS8IbtetAafLl7Qexr9iIvxbTyB0fWXbogLgHkieyI2SnXWPQ2nNpnm2iaY/w372-h640/grendel.jpg" width="372" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: -0.5in;">III.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: -0.5in;">Mrs. Hardcastle’s class in my Junior year
(1979) … I remember in her class I also wrote a rhymed-couplet version of
Beowulf’s fight with Grendel; I’ve lost that poem, but that’s on me. The only
two lines I remember go something like: “Ever did Beowulf clutch his coat,/ Ever
did Grendel seek his throat.” That was also about the time I read <i>Grendel</i>,
by John Gardner (1971), found in our high school library.</span><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYQfLK9o5vQn2_gAgIgjTKnm2NljNYRIKSIHSpnKQ7levW7Z1ZyKuv5laTsmJhSG0d98lDYbS8WMhVYkv0RLlGLAjxn4_3TNxQxhYFg9gVOAx1xL5-aEgDQlnEiaxS41o-mFkQu_LLV0swvbSLNOcKw2BjHo_kswI6Jcp0L0m2jYAIIFlABNFnelBGiA0/s470/19181.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="470" data-original-width="288" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYQfLK9o5vQn2_gAgIgjTKnm2NljNYRIKSIHSpnKQ7levW7Z1ZyKuv5laTsmJhSG0d98lDYbS8WMhVYkv0RLlGLAjxn4_3TNxQxhYFg9gVOAx1xL5-aEgDQlnEiaxS41o-mFkQu_LLV0swvbSLNOcKw2BjHo_kswI6Jcp0L0m2jYAIIFlABNFnelBGiA0/w392-h640/19181.jpg" width="392" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">IV.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Beowulf</span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">, by
Robert Nye. An adaptation and interpretation of the Beowulf story for younger
readers. I was first exposed to this book (unknowingly) in my senior year when
Mrs. Richardson read us a bit of it for an assignment (without mentioning the
author) about re-writing a classic in our own words. Didn’t know it was Robert
Nye, whose adult books I discovered in college. Got this edition and recognized
it in the first few pages and made the connection. A cover by Jean Leon Huens.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2N7CyW7DwSPMcK86h5kHtS8WlczIziiR7e3tzAJ5_JLqdRh0m9GpP_gOS2dxPZKrVelFC3O1cK4bURMbW2-hlmjxoBKDGTTjTeOEGT1AqZmcLyRbCYdR-VRG8ByTKQDY9gke8vEMicLR5Zx3tPt3hXAJK_US62DWDsvZBK9Rp9z4_TnZ30uKRuVOaTs/s500/Monsters_tolkien.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="317" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2N7CyW7DwSPMcK86h5kHtS8WlczIziiR7e3tzAJ5_JLqdRh0m9GpP_gOS2dxPZKrVelFC3O1cK4bURMbW2-hlmjxoBKDGTTjTeOEGT1AqZmcLyRbCYdR-VRG8ByTKQDY9gke8vEMicLR5Zx3tPt3hXAJK_US62DWDsvZBK9Rp9z4_TnZ30uKRuVOaTs/w406-h640/Monsters_tolkien.jpg" width="406" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">V.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">The Monsters and the Critics and Other
Essays, by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. The 1984 Houghton
Mifflin Company edition. I got this second-hand copy sometime later, however,
being unaware of its publication at the time. The first page seems to be pasted
to the book jacket. “The Monsters and the Critics, and Other Essays is a collection
of </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J._R._R._Tolkien" title="J. R. R. Tolkien"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">J. R. R. Tolkien</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">'s
scholarly linguistic essays edited by his son </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christopher_Tolkien" title="Christopher Tolkien"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Christopher</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> and published
posthumously in 1983. All of them were initially delivered as lectures to
academics, with the exception of "On Translating <i>Beowulf</i>",
which Christopher Tolkien notes in his foreword is not addressed to an academic
audience.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUvpgEVbNyh_65mxpw5NwkTyjCcL9khnDqhfV2YCh0zUKbodkh-nRKmTiyNo-sqTwFLJuAlf5cd1_5HFBUk0Wnk-8tXVPJCbDYr7fBI_w670GpcaePzUHGyRpIvoDqI641-nOVvlSr7Fg8sCGhfNOs_Ihrhw_-Ten1-YBap_93WebRHXinfXGfsazAT7A/s640/beowulf%20jerry%20biingham.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="476" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUvpgEVbNyh_65mxpw5NwkTyjCcL9khnDqhfV2YCh0zUKbodkh-nRKmTiyNo-sqTwFLJuAlf5cd1_5HFBUk0Wnk-8tXVPJCbDYr7fBI_w670GpcaePzUHGyRpIvoDqI641-nOVvlSr7Fg8sCGhfNOs_Ihrhw_-Ten1-YBap_93WebRHXinfXGfsazAT7A/w476-h640/beowulf%20jerry%20biingham.jpg" width="476" /></a></div><br /> <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">VI.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Beowulf</span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">, by
Jerry Bingham. A 60-page Graphic Novel, (1987), First Comics. I know I didn’t
get it that year, but I couldn't pinpoint when I did. A pretty fair adaptation of the saga, but as a graphic novel ... a little turgid.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7vir9pf0r7rLbUhyphenhyphenBHkfsOnvgeCxAfggw9rvQxcdx3fdaaIUKT7HyXnlSTlt-36o1yUSsfXZZAHwr9Yh3yxuIt1kiuV0KZdZZLu4VnwKiDxPniYE0RnuYocRBR4wq0R9gdWtJsXLOHOsI6eyCwKpRYO1m5Rg4L0nrGR2UdBvIccg_wgylry2KROYquow/s1000/penguin%20prose.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="618" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7vir9pf0r7rLbUhyphenhyphenBHkfsOnvgeCxAfggw9rvQxcdx3fdaaIUKT7HyXnlSTlt-36o1yUSsfXZZAHwr9Yh3yxuIt1kiuV0KZdZZLu4VnwKiDxPniYE0RnuYocRBR4wq0R9gdWtJsXLOHOsI6eyCwKpRYO1m5Rg4L0nrGR2UdBvIccg_wgylry2KROYquow/w396-h640/penguin%20prose.jpg" width="396" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXF4RHqxU2z9bBdlIMogZ7yooXDKH36ZgL4aRva_x0TnlEZS0TN0yoy_-TpikDkS-HnhMmaviqGirwLSnRU_4H_wND2qmOtffJyYPu0P7pjz4QU9PrHqLIfFuXwvWrgc4NzDdncMK6GrJyFVfi13O12PAHCirDDh_gPFjGZUK3LnrIquBfhGI_ugIsqWY/s640/beowulf%20raffel.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="376" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXF4RHqxU2z9bBdlIMogZ7yooXDKH36ZgL4aRva_x0TnlEZS0TN0yoy_-TpikDkS-HnhMmaviqGirwLSnRU_4H_wND2qmOtffJyYPu0P7pjz4QU9PrHqLIfFuXwvWrgc4NzDdncMK6GrJyFVfi13O12PAHCirDDh_gPFjGZUK3LnrIquBfhGI_ugIsqWY/w376-h640/beowulf%20raffel.JPG" width="376" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVvmqVQ8mlki0EJBS7N7aBZre3M5szDoeaIYd4OZuOXFwnvT33yTalDryIIv_TYM14lhP4r3A53tbGsCHbNCZBiy_JJpoK4yh1OTq2nYGwXLi50vEPpyMbJW9w5D2OEi3AfW__sR23Y7CeCjJQSeqGAEikYdIe55Ep3MAFyeVOnNlf9dJGQnjlB70Nbs/s475/rosemary%20sutcliffe.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="305" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVvmqVQ8mlki0EJBS7N7aBZre3M5szDoeaIYd4OZuOXFwnvT33yTalDryIIv_TYM14lhP4r3A53tbGsCHbNCZBiy_JJpoK4yh1OTq2nYGwXLi50vEPpyMbJW9w5D2OEi3AfW__sR23Y7CeCjJQSeqGAEikYdIe55Ep3MAFyeVOnNlf9dJGQnjlB70Nbs/w410-h640/rosemary%20sutcliffe.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHRnQBPnCV_hfsmhJ2peIqs2kGmoPrKYAxlybz8akMvAJ6Qy0UGnrQU3mDyklb7f2OfAiu9vvdEk2mAietO1Go98E4DQIW_MUKlJBjwrIzW46O6qSc0C7Bq-Y16SbDWwNz_SBTu8Jeby_hyphenhyphenJb_I_L6djoehFhyphenhyphens03RwdEv2fshx__lWUHK_KvdUVv_b2g/s1000/beowulf%20seamus%20heaney.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="662" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHRnQBPnCV_hfsmhJ2peIqs2kGmoPrKYAxlybz8akMvAJ6Qy0UGnrQU3mDyklb7f2OfAiu9vvdEk2mAietO1Go98E4DQIW_MUKlJBjwrIzW46O6qSc0C7Bq-Y16SbDWwNz_SBTu8Jeby_hyphenhyphenJb_I_L6djoehFhyphenhyphens03RwdEv2fshx__lWUHK_KvdUVv_b2g/w424-h640/beowulf%20seamus%20heaney.jpg" width="424" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiseqB_0xjnHBYGpsVNoKUsX2XU3WnRB7-jf-sDBwKjlu6BOljEHGigKK56aKMup1-sct_mfmSyJyMh1oPZeh3yZebQQ6NADNNXrWeBzqj04ToXxxNHbolxUeR5SM-qzxs3kQsN0lvv0muftrmdKaKFeNIoe2rm2xbZIQdiPU7Qb-s4wj8A5P37e6ijmWw/s500/beowulf%20grendel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="309" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiseqB_0xjnHBYGpsVNoKUsX2XU3WnRB7-jf-sDBwKjlu6BOljEHGigKK56aKMup1-sct_mfmSyJyMh1oPZeh3yZebQQ6NADNNXrWeBzqj04ToXxxNHbolxUeR5SM-qzxs3kQsN0lvv0muftrmdKaKFeNIoe2rm2xbZIQdiPU7Qb-s4wj8A5P37e6ijmWw/w396-h640/beowulf%20grendel.jpg" width="396" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">VII.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"><i>Beowul</i>f Penguin David Wright 1957; <i>Beowulf</i>,
translated by Burton Raffel, Mentor Classic, 1963; Rosemary Sutcliffe <i>Beowulf:
Dragonslayer</i> (1968); <i>Beowulf</i> Seamus Heaney 1999 Nobel
laureate Seamus Heaney finds a resonance that summons power to the poetry from
deep beneath its surface. Drawn to what he has called the "four-squareness
of the utterance" in <i>Beowulf</i> and its immense emotional
credibility, Heaney gives these epic qualities new and convincing reality for
the contemporary reader.</span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #0f1111; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">The
Tolkien scholar </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Shippey" title="Tom Shippey"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Tom Shippey</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> wrote that if Heaney
thought his dialect had somehow maintained a native purity, he was deluded. <i>Beowulf
and Grendel</i> … John Grigsby … 2005, posits that Beowulf is based on the memory
of an ancient human sacrificial cult (bog burial and all that) that was driven
out by the encroaching Northern culture. I never found it particularly
enlightening, but then I’m more interested in the literary side rather than any
anthropological interpretation. All versions either desired, acquired, or expired.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtIdoMczZ6hQDFM6-giPz6XYtRcv1tO_EqmDQZlq8hILGHANpX-sayxY6cconN7X-jSwx7_2LOl8wSNFFyKWyE8R_d8EmvTBDJUZPQC46ORB28MnkvyOuChCR3UBDRfTjKJngA4AbFOPBiwS26FHTj2LYmwGH9hGZM0Pefyu2_202sSEOPRHh8GAAjLM/s445/beowulf%20directors%20cut.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="314" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtIdoMczZ6hQDFM6-giPz6XYtRcv1tO_EqmDQZlq8hILGHANpX-sayxY6cconN7X-jSwx7_2LOl8wSNFFyKWyE8R_d8EmvTBDJUZPQC46ORB28MnkvyOuChCR3UBDRfTjKJngA4AbFOPBiwS26FHTj2LYmwGH9hGZM0Pefyu2_202sSEOPRHh8GAAjLM/w452-h640/beowulf%20directors%20cut.jpg" width="452" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHuVgX1APnxQckpqrg4_cCCRO5F9qzYc2lGPCAcsthQBDgNw_xbXteBPBUiXlLMtFnsIVeNq9l9y7zq1RdPAeEKsWvTdWML8Cbk3haXLKzvh1ahyGcHdGPQ9dkFjhNiLt8XXTZxiLaoRLZ9ATK60sZ9s1A7n6ljY5JLVHzFi1SSCBxCQcSQ___-ndmUM/s499/51c7B5Woc8L._SX372_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="374" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHuVgX1APnxQckpqrg4_cCCRO5F9qzYc2lGPCAcsthQBDgNw_xbXteBPBUiXlLMtFnsIVeNq9l9y7zq1RdPAeEKsWvTdWML8Cbk3haXLKzvh1ahyGcHdGPQ9dkFjhNiLt8XXTZxiLaoRLZ9ATK60sZ9s1A7n6ljY5JLVHzFi1SSCBxCQcSQ___-ndmUM/w480-h640/51c7B5Woc8L._SX372_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">VIII.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Beowulf: The Script Book</span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">, by
Neil Gaiman and Roger Avary, (movie 2008, script 2009) I don’t know if it’s the
admixture of another artist, or the difficulty of getting Gaiman’s poetic
vision onto a screen, but these efforts, as films, were mediocre at best.
Reading the script of <i>Beowulf</i> you get a glimpse of what he was trying
for; seeing it dropped like an old horseshoe bare on the screen leaves out the
shadows and fog.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZE7YzD6KcNfZxvTZjBNWy5X-8TgRX2UMra_bHkaAP3cXO3XzxL1jK4Uyi2AD148eqf1DHdeZKSrZSkzFU7CHZI9ZlVwiW_PbRx8-CXRpAWeohTY1n7wOWsgNfjZFbKJgMQORx-yiBEXaPmyecybOlEWOf8JNB4VyzBHwHfiXfsrjuXXl3Z4Ka_Gkn6ew/s499/beowulf%20tolkien.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="320" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZE7YzD6KcNfZxvTZjBNWy5X-8TgRX2UMra_bHkaAP3cXO3XzxL1jK4Uyi2AD148eqf1DHdeZKSrZSkzFU7CHZI9ZlVwiW_PbRx8-CXRpAWeohTY1n7wOWsgNfjZFbKJgMQORx-yiBEXaPmyecybOlEWOf8JNB4VyzBHwHfiXfsrjuXXl3Z4Ka_Gkn6ew/w410-h640/beowulf%20tolkien.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">IX.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Beowulf: A Translation and a Commentary
(together with Sellic Spell)</span></i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">, by J. R. R. Tolkien.
Edited by Christopher Tolkien. (2014) “It is the long-awaited version of the
premier Anglo-Saxon epic by a great scholar of philology best known to the
world as one of the greatest Fantasy authors of modern times. As such it may be
asked: at whom is this edition aimed? The English scholar, or the fan of
speculative fiction, or is it just the enthusiastic reader who wants to tuck
into a good version of Beowulf? The answer, I think, is none of these in
particular. The person this book will appeal to most is someone with a great
interest in Tolkien himself, and the history of his thought and creative
processes. Christopher Tolkien, in his Preface, says as much: "The present
work should best be regarded as a 'memorial volume, a 'portrait' (as it were)
of the scholar in his time, in words of his own, hitherto unpublished."
The book itself consists of a prose translation by Tolkien and commentary on
the text extracted from a series of lectures; included is <i>Sellic Spell</i>,
his imaginative reconstruction of the folk tale that Tolkien suspected lay
behind the epic, and a couple of short(-ish) ballad re-tellings of the Beowulf
story. For the Tolkien enthusiast and scholar a hearty banquet, for the casual
peruser a hard garden in which to find the way. Perhaps the most interesting
(and by far the longest) section is the Commentary on elements of the poem
itself. It is fascinating to watch Tolkien unpick and unpack the meanings of
Anglo-Saxon words and phrases, revealing the implications and thoughts behind
such terms as 'wyrd' or 'the whale-road,' of Grendel's relation to Cain and the
giants of old, of the glimpses at life lived in another age revealed in simple
metaphors like trouble 'denying men the ale-benches,' i.e., the simple
pleasures of a stable life. Reading these notes, in the Professor's
unmistakable voice, can give you the feeling of actually attending one of his
lectures on one of those famous occasions when he turned the classroom into a
mead hall. It would not surprise me if scholars of <i>Beowulf</i> would
be mining this volume in years to come for insights and inspirations. The icing
on top of this rich cake and the part most immediately accessible to the casual
reader is <i>Sellic Spell</i> ("Marvellous Tale"), the
Beowulf story recast into what Tolkien imagined could be its original
fairy-tale mode, followed by the two ballads. It would be easy to imagine
the <i>Spell</i> extracted, illustrated by Pauline Baynes, and sold
on its own as a children's book. Here we read Tolkien's Anglo-Saxon
scholarship, love of fairy stories, and vigorous narrative skills once more
combining to bring a "lost tale" to life, and the ballads <i>Beowulf
and Grendel</i> and <i>Beowulf and the Monsters</i> are
respectable contributions to the growing body of Tolkien's poetry (always
underrated, in my opinion). <i>Beowulf: A Translation and Commentary</i> is
a significant addition to the corpus of Tolkien's work, and a beautiful book to
boot, illustrated with three pictures from the author's own hand. As a source
of insight into his creation of Middle-Earth it is at the same time peripheral
and profound: the occasional reference to his own epic work is only to be found
in Christopher's editing hand. But <i>Beowulf</i> and all the
traditions behind it were a deep element in the "leaf-mould" of
Tolkien's mind, and here you can sniff and handle the soil from which Arda
sprang.” – Power of Babel, 2014.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5w5bWNROckzamYFlJXXnljB4iX98hET2Xm2NWsXIPfQIXUh8lmhJInlt4ZZmbQIaLtznNBeTg_d6R8NtRXgEhTJE5ovKr5hDR3Ju0IrbBNkN4z04ndV0QLxJMv0M4h5dSeibUVfj2gkkMeh1DoBo_OVTgdLuEJmzAbKVxrkrb5ewBH9VlNpD0jJ7PZmM/s1500/north.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="967" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5w5bWNROckzamYFlJXXnljB4iX98hET2Xm2NWsXIPfQIXUh8lmhJInlt4ZZmbQIaLtznNBeTg_d6R8NtRXgEhTJE5ovKr5hDR3Ju0IrbBNkN4z04ndV0QLxJMv0M4h5dSeibUVfj2gkkMeh1DoBo_OVTgdLuEJmzAbKVxrkrb5ewBH9VlNpD0jJ7PZmM/w412-h640/north.jpg" width="412" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7D90QvLAq4hpf2vn8v_7xLrYr9X9AxM1E9lt82Sl8CcbswfSw9brt7DU1xQrFSzuiFyCuHZuUSOW_B857Aq7cF_4ZQ83suafMe3edDCbtxjUWJtgoWbbRPLxijWHGq00Jd2YCKj9-wx79-1ijp8XUxlDToq2zTWxSzcmFdoOfzgz97A1nR_nkm6BM0mc/s600/beowulf%20tom%20shippey.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7D90QvLAq4hpf2vn8v_7xLrYr9X9AxM1E9lt82Sl8CcbswfSw9brt7DU1xQrFSzuiFyCuHZuUSOW_B857Aq7cF_4ZQ83suafMe3edDCbtxjUWJtgoWbbRPLxijWHGq00Jd2YCKj9-wx79-1ijp8XUxlDToq2zTWxSzcmFdoOfzgz97A1nR_nkm6BM0mc/w640-h640/beowulf%20tom%20shippey.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 45pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.5in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Book Antiqua"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Book Antiqua";">X.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">And now, having read<i> Laughing Shall I Die,
</i>I find myself wanting two more books<i>, Beowulf and the North Before the
Vikings</i> (August 2022) and <i>Beowulf: Translation and Commentary</i> Tom
Shippey (August 2023). Shippey’s version is no longer available on Amazon; I
may have to get it from the publisher, Uppsala. </span></p></div>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-56089346719001384012024-03-24T10:29:00.000-07:002024-03-24T10:29:01.344-07:00Into the Archive: How Very, Very, Very Witty<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7iSqNySU839gwHShVmcoQWkDuoEoXCztd8iP7nfcB7h6S020mp5BJpQccpmcCF84aI9QoXMbvzGDMTEuPtrssbwxvkefB4YncA58KdiHo5NcQLaIF2qI9JHmUjbA91wIN6mbphchKZpj8Sa5IsZZ94JIveNoYl8gFCbKl4HR8Q8oQHTe6dcVM9A458Y/s1000/gilliameque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="758" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7iSqNySU839gwHShVmcoQWkDuoEoXCztd8iP7nfcB7h6S020mp5BJpQccpmcCF84aI9QoXMbvzGDMTEuPtrssbwxvkefB4YncA58KdiHo5NcQLaIF2qI9JHmUjbA91wIN6mbphchKZpj8Sa5IsZZ94JIveNoYl8gFCbKl4HR8Q8oQHTe6dcVM9A458Y/w486-h640/gilliameque.jpg" width="486" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Yesterday, as the evening
shades were falling, Andy brought a couple of packages over to me. They were my
orders from Amazon, which I did not really expect until the 28<sup>th</sup>. So
that was a pleasant end to a rather uncomfortable day. They were a couple of
items I had on the Wish List for a while, and which checking I found had fallen
to more comfortable prices.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The first was <i>Gilliamesque:
A Pre-Posthumous Memoir</i>, by Terry Gilliam (2015, Hardback, 352 pages,
Harper). When I first opened it, I thought someone had vandalized the page
edges all around by writing ‘ME’ in red marker, but that turned out only to be
Gilliam’s book design declaring his subject.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“The screenwriter,
innovative animator, highly acclaimed visionary film director, and only
non-British member of Monty Python offers an intimate glimpse into his world in
this fascinating memoir illustrated with hand-drawn sketches, notes, and
memorabilia from his personal archive.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“From his no-frills
childhood in the icy wastes of Minnesota, to some of the hottest water
Hollywood had to offer, via the cutting edge of 1960s and ’70s counter-culture
in New York, L.A. and London, Terry Gilliam’s life has been as vivid,
entertaining and unorthodox as one of his films.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Telling his story for the
first time, the director of <i>Time Bandits, Brazil, The Adventures of
Baron Munchausen, The Fisher King, 12 Monkeys,</i> and <i>Fear &
Loathing in Las Vegas</i>—not to mention co-founder of <i>Monty Python’s
Flying Circus</i>—recalls his life so far. Packed with never-before-seen
artwork, photographs and commentary, <i>Gilliamesque</i> blends the
visual and the verbal with scabrous wit and fascinating insight.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Gilliam’s “pre-posthumous
memoir” also features a cast of amazing supporting characters—George Harrison,
Robin Williams, Jeff Bridges, Robert De Niro, Brad Pitt, Uma Thurman, Johnny
Depp, Heath Ledger and all of the fellow Pythons—as well as cameo appearances
from some of the heaviest cultural hitters of modern times, from Woody Allen to
Frank Zappa, Gloria Steinem to Robert Crumb, Richard Nixon to Hunter S.
Thompson. Gilliam’s encounters with the great and the not-so-good are
revealing, funny, and hugely entertaining.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“This book is an
unrestrained look into a unique creative mind and an incomparable portrait of
late twentieth-century popular culture.” – Amazon.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6XMlvXttJR6KvFrha98A1FNlBYKh52t7qfNdNcWrGXpkVVuD3kWjgmX6_F-L71CkyPOu3I1TJVGGnk3l7wLOnIDaUvt7Trt3YwXB5QUYbHuefD3vOakGX18QxsC9WMQC9KpI_e4mOG1MpubS8so14o6a15qAfC2EYFX8x1mszOZKmrglBjA8223w8dpc/s1000/still%20at%20large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="646" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6XMlvXttJR6KvFrha98A1FNlBYKh52t7qfNdNcWrGXpkVVuD3kWjgmX6_F-L71CkyPOu3I1TJVGGnk3l7wLOnIDaUvt7Trt3YwXB5QUYbHuefD3vOakGX18QxsC9WMQC9KpI_e4mOG1MpubS8so14o6a15qAfC2EYFX8x1mszOZKmrglBjA8223w8dpc/w414-h640/still%20at%20large.jpg" width="414" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The second book was <i>Ustinov:
Still at Large</i>, by Peter Ustinov (1993, Hardback, 192 pages, Michael O’Mara
Books). For some reason (scatterbrained old me) I thought this was going to be a continuation of his autobiography. I find now that this book is a collection of essays, a sequel of sorts to a similar book, <i>Ustinov
at Large</i> (1991), which is not offered on Amazon but which I must now try to
get. Luckily, eBay has one for $4.50.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“It has been said that
reading Peter Ustinov is like listening to a good story told by an old friend.
Ustinov’s gifts as a raconteur have been widely demonstrated both in print and
on television so readers of this volume will not be surprised at the ample wit
and telling observation displayed in <i>Still at Large</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“These essays, which first
appeared in <i>The European</i>, written during Ustinov’s regular
perambulations around our planet, take up every subject under the sun from
American politicians to Britain’s royals. The moods take in wry humor,
indignation, and outright anger. But whatever the mood, Ustinov is always
interesting, always caring, and always … well, friendly.” – From the Front Flap.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Opening it, I found to my
surprise and joy that Ustinov had autographed it, which is certainly an
unexpected bonus. “To Francia (?), Best Wishes, Peter Ustinov.” Of course, the ‘Peter
Ustinov’ is rather deduced from the stylized swirls of his handwriting. But it
does mean that, whatever the reading experience, it enters my small selection
of authors’ autographs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But I’m not much worried
about the quality of the writing. I read the first chapters of both books
before going to bed last night, and I can see that I’m in for some engaging
hours ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></p></div><p><br /></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-53177413026738507112024-03-23T15:59:00.000-07:002024-03-23T16:10:46.900-07:00What's Up With Me (March 23, 2024)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bzeZ_38BDktDMnPiYWBY_dv_X-2IWWKvI-wDBx-8o4IobE6V2Gx3ZI8nWVg-_Vs_GcJeu6LgfH9kGl-VdbGm-vttqm7DU3Uq_7uvGgMEJN8EcMcTd5VN_4ABsVRWzcLMRxCWsNBSO90WvCm_YRvqGLiqGHOewl8sBRv-RZzJwX6vaYT_IZyeGAMBIS8/s500/hb01.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="358" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bzeZ_38BDktDMnPiYWBY_dv_X-2IWWKvI-wDBx-8o4IobE6V2Gx3ZI8nWVg-_Vs_GcJeu6LgfH9kGl-VdbGm-vttqm7DU3Uq_7uvGgMEJN8EcMcTd5VN_4ABsVRWzcLMRxCWsNBSO90WvCm_YRvqGLiqGHOewl8sBRv-RZzJwX6vaYT_IZyeGAMBIS8/w458-h640/hb01.jpg" width="458" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmDKr1Y-D9cD6XH9-avGX9T3gHnhU9jIqwwkj52JFALZnK97BcIPjoGHbFHWEwxeTsmHvQgTLEubLmJ3w2uHXXVUUP8GCC_JEuhnKD-39RcxkM2IjX-MX1AN7zy_1KOiWQ9qo5u1Sqj0u2kk9w_lmMb1z45GZt5Hz12606zxAqcsSe77s2fSYklBQNuI/s612/hb02.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="427" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmDKr1Y-D9cD6XH9-avGX9T3gHnhU9jIqwwkj52JFALZnK97BcIPjoGHbFHWEwxeTsmHvQgTLEubLmJ3w2uHXXVUUP8GCC_JEuhnKD-39RcxkM2IjX-MX1AN7zy_1KOiWQ9qo5u1Sqj0u2kk9w_lmMb1z45GZt5Hz12606zxAqcsSe77s2fSYklBQNuI/w446-h640/hb02.jpeg" width="446" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Last night, Friday, we went over to my brother John's house and watched </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Hellboy</i> and <i>Hellboy II</i> along with my nephews Kameron and Joey. The visit was further livened up with a visit to new batches of kitties (spring is here!) and a talk about M. Emmet Walsh, who has just passed away, and his many acting roles. All in all a good evening.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">But today has been quite another story. Only let me say never mix bacon greasy food and milk for breakfast, even if they go separately into your stomach. I've spent a rather queasy day, never too far from the restroom, and I certainly didn't feel like working on the post I was planning. I hope I'll have it ready tomorrow. My only consolation is that I've 'discovered' another Morg character. Whether she will appear in <i>Thrand</i> or will warrant her own short story is yet to be seen. In the meantime I continue to develop what I know about her; even if she never formally appears I consider her already a part of Ortha Lore.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I also have two new spring cleaning projects nagging away at me. One is re-organizing or updating the DVDs on this blog, popping in the names so they will be searchable. The other is another book shelf shuffle, making room for new acquisitions in a proper arrangement. We shall see if either will be fulfilled. It's so easy to dream about doing something that you have no real pressing need to do.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Oh, and here are the few <i>Action Figures To Be Noted</i> for the past weeks.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF02W-PovPEthpA_FcbbnDl8T0jWNO74N6qfA8vuJZJPZH6EwyBSkuoMLuO_uwO6kz27EnTjaEYUMNuVeAcIEQvGTGFIVU0mwmc2sww9wrwKiIL2IFUeozPwPfBqu4agkjh3FovyWj8sLUdha03uy4bhCMEKm88miQlUf-Ki_IWqMMyGZAtAYaiol6ScU/s1200/vitruvian%20hacks%20wanderer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF02W-PovPEthpA_FcbbnDl8T0jWNO74N6qfA8vuJZJPZH6EwyBSkuoMLuO_uwO6kz27EnTjaEYUMNuVeAcIEQvGTGFIVU0mwmc2sww9wrwKiIL2IFUeozPwPfBqu4agkjh3FovyWj8sLUdha03uy4bhCMEKm88miQlUf-Ki_IWqMMyGZAtAYaiol6ScU/w640-h640/vitruvian%20hacks%20wanderer.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-DRFVWcQ9_C9VuF_7k8jGWHpF94nomADrE3J0cQU0FETo2RJHhTRnZtED_VEd2ueXQGpRwRcfPxeGH0Ky8I2dW2zJXsoScgovZObYDuBCvJgdNaCUeYbhrLFINr-6K__4cHe3_fPWgp955oTt4LdSk_q4A6712y97S-FIM3agoAKZYmf2No7svxIXuc/s720/tetta%20kisaki.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-DRFVWcQ9_C9VuF_7k8jGWHpF94nomADrE3J0cQU0FETo2RJHhTRnZtED_VEd2ueXQGpRwRcfPxeGH0Ky8I2dW2zJXsoScgovZObYDuBCvJgdNaCUeYbhrLFINr-6K__4cHe3_fPWgp955oTt4LdSk_q4A6712y97S-FIM3agoAKZYmf2No7svxIXuc/w640-h480/tetta%20kisaki.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSqw4h8BzIStNJdnBJZX5-YFoj9cro0CPcwZk4sCeYXPLrQjb9TxxtUY4UDTnPlTgg2OlBcwxsuWAt8jtF3Axz80HOoAerlIA8vxa6iyItS3B5Kuiepg3rgWZRxQ0b1i3xipITR85TpPflXdPTTEkOaoAXV2l1-HYx0-GW_c2B16viucWEX-OSFsY1TU/s500/2023-07-21T115909.609.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSqw4h8BzIStNJdnBJZX5-YFoj9cro0CPcwZk4sCeYXPLrQjb9TxxtUY4UDTnPlTgg2OlBcwxsuWAt8jtF3Axz80HOoAerlIA8vxa6iyItS3B5Kuiepg3rgWZRxQ0b1i3xipITR85TpPflXdPTTEkOaoAXV2l1-HYx0-GW_c2B16viucWEX-OSFsY1TU/w640-h640/2023-07-21T115909.609.webp" width="640" /></a></div></div><p></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-86199914611287825762024-03-22T02:01:00.000-07:002024-03-22T02:29:56.183-07:00Friday Fiction: Sergeant Roth<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidj97nY7ekQ0AQXBhaUwUyAGjCBTlTlpSuIVdWkPgRQIcWSQqO4snwLheBsf_XhWten4fSM0mE8wTnTK6PqTzOhR0UU9ov2hIbiUSLtS1aaLrwRDFH2-31AissQO-zYzQHo8wNSUfoC32cgrmjchs41cYzZrlkY_0DDxsb3FujUpFfIgLhk3f1-P5IVw8/s720/Roth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="574" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidj97nY7ekQ0AQXBhaUwUyAGjCBTlTlpSuIVdWkPgRQIcWSQqO4snwLheBsf_XhWten4fSM0mE8wTnTK6PqTzOhR0UU9ov2hIbiUSLtS1aaLrwRDFH2-31AissQO-zYzQHo8wNSUfoC32cgrmjchs41cYzZrlkY_0DDxsb3FujUpFfIgLhk3f1-P5IVw8/w510-h640/Roth.jpg" width="510" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">SERGEANT ROTH<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Sergeant Roth, late of the Fourteenth
Troop and currently serving duty in the City Guard, sat back and sipped his
sour ale in the relative cool under the awnings of The Roaring Boar. The worst
heat of the day had passed and he was off patrol. There were not too many who
came to enjoy a drink as astringent as that served in this obscure little inn
tucked away in the shadowy skirts of the Great Market, but it was just how Roth
liked it. The squelching tang stung his tongue and reminded him somehow of his
old home on the bitter steppes beneath the Norkult Mountains' gloom. He even
savored the loneliness, like an oasis of solitude in the heart of the teeming
city. He sat back, sighed, and put up his aching booted feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> He had to admit that he liked the
City as an idea more than he did in person. When the Fourteenth was out on
rotation, say in Steepwater or on the Ghamen Border, the City and the Sun Tower
were places that needed to be protected from the world. The concept was clear
cut: Us against Them, with home at your back and your shield in front. Here in
the City it was different, the struggle internal. How did you fight against the
bad people inside your own stronghold? How could you even judge? Roth was a
simple Morg and liked a simple situation. The City ... was complicated.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth belched in contemplation,
tasting onions, and picked the sharp teeth in his muzzle. He looked down
sidelong at the remains of his meal in its shallow pan and thought idly about
finishing the bird off: he had ordered a whole bustard, with all the fixings.
That was another thing wrong with his station here. On any frontier the
quartermaster regulated your rations. The City was boring, the pay immediate,
and indulgences ready at hand. Roth had always been stocky but muscular, and
now he was starting to put on the pounds. He thought about just letting the bird go,
but the waste! And what else did he have to do at the moment? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> He was saved from his baser
instincts at that moment by a glissando of strings. He turned his head a little
farther. The landlady, an old grey Morg in a shapeless, colorless sack of a
dress, had pulled a harp out in the shadows behind the bar inside, and was
running her claws over it aimlessly as her staff went about, cleaning away the
mugs and plates on the tables inside. Roth realized he was the only patron
still lingering in the gathering evening gloom. The notes teased themselves
into the semblance of a familiar tune, leading Roth to relax, lean back, and
hood his eyes as he tried to identify it. And just as it came to his
remembrance, she raised her husky voice into words more chanted than sung.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I walked on the
sand<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> At the end of the land<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> And gazed at the booming
sea.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> I came to a halt<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> When the sea brume salt<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Seemed to bring to me<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> An ancient song <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> From the land I long<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Had sought
unceasingly..." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> It was <u>The Wanderer's Lament</u>,
he realized, the old old song that every Morg heard in the cradle. His madra
had sung it to him in his time, and it immediately made him homesick. The weird
thing was that it always <u>had</u> made him homesick, even when he was back in
his village.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Come back to home,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> You kin who roam<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Afar in ships<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Upon the foam.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Come back we call<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> To empty hall<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> For absent kin<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Is bitter gall.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Of blood to blood<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> And mood to mood,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> We feel the call<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Of Morgish brood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Great Gammoth
stands<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> With outstretched hands<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> On a green hill<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> In Golberand..."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Sometime, he knew, in the dim
past, his ancestors had set out in a fleet from Golberand to find and found a
new country somewhere in the vast reaches of Ortha, had landed in Forlan, and
in the hardships of colonization had lost their naval lore. Even the location
of the Morgish homeland was forgotten, except that tradition held it was
somewhere to the northwest. But it was in every Morg's bones, Roth's no less
than in any other's: the glories of the White City, the wisdom and courage of
Mog Gammoth the First Father, the stories of the titanic struggles in the
Beginning of Things. All Morg fables and wisdom tales began there, in
Golberand. He leaned farther back, closed his eyes, and let himself be
swallowed up by nostalgic yearning for a place he had never seen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The harp and singer wandered on,
barely interrupted when Roth heard a low voice murmur politely "Your
dishes, Sir." He grunted in reply, not opening his eyes, his boots
wandering in his sleepy brain on that lonely shingle of song while plate and
bottle clinked softly off the table. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "So it sang, then
thinned, and died away<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Like smoke blown on a misty
day;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> And the sea roared upon the
shore<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> And the clouds in the wind
were rent and tore<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> And I stood still on the
beach alone<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> While the gulls wailed and
the sea moaned..."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Suddenly the harp jangled to a
halt and the old lady's voice was raised in an indignant squawk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Hey, you! Boy! Stop!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth snorted himself awake in
time to see a rawboned human teen, bustard and ale in hand, abruptly put on the
speed and go dashing off down the street. Roth flailed in his cloak for a
moment to get free, scrambled to his feet, and was pounding away after the boy
before he could even think, the landlady bawling after him, "Hoy! Come
back! You haven't paid!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth tore down the stony street
like a charging bull, iron-shod boots thundering on his heavy feet, and like a
bull he was almost blind with rage. His red eyes focused on the fleeing teen.
The fact that he was tired and full and half-asleep only made him madder and
more determined to punish the thief who had taken advantage of his weary state.
No matter which way the boy ducked and dodged, Roth followed like grim death,
never letting him out of his sight. Even so, he wasn't gaining on him, and each
late peddler dodged or barrel leapt put the lad a fraction of a second more
ahead of him. There was still some inner part of Roth's brain, riding behind
his anger, that marveled at the fact that, even as he loped along, pan in hand,
the boy never dropped a crumb of the left-over meal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The thief turned suddenly into an
alleyway on the left, feet skidding in his tattered shoes, rags flying. Roth's
muzzle kinked in a snarl of savage glee. He knew that street: a dead-end. <u>Nowhere
to run, boy</u>, he thought, <u>and you're not getting back past me either</u>!
He slowed a bit and took the corner wide, wary of ambushes, and stepped into
the alley triumphantly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> It was as empty as the blank face
of the evening moon, just rising over the featureless walls and flooding the
alley with a pitiless, searching light. Roth stood a moment, stymied, breathing
hard, eyes darting. No windows, no doors in the blind walls. A flat pile of six
or seven short boards, a squat rubbish barrel, a scattering of garbage that
hadn't made it into the barrel. He drew the short sword from his belt slowly,
and started down the alley, tapping the stones of the walls on either side.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> He kicked the pile of boards when
he came to them, and they went clattering away, revealing nothing. The barrel
was far too short to hide the lad, but he probed it to the bottom just the same
and rolled it aside when he was done. He approached the dim shadow at the end
of the passageway, where the moon could not reach, and though he could see that
nothing was there, he cautiously put out his hand and felt along the wall.
Nothing. He rapped it with his knuckles. No sound. Solid stone. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth looked up the wall, his
claws tangling his beard in thought. The lad must have had a rope or something
ready for an escape. But how did he get up so quickly? And with his hands full?
And pull the rope after him? There hadn't been much more than half a minute
before Roth had investigated the dead-end. He shook his head. He must have had
some confederates, is all, Roth concluded, to pull him up. Still, the wall was
twenty-five feet, if it was an inch. It hardly seemed possible ... He walked
out of the alleyway, head still shaking, looking back now and then as if to see
if anything had changed. His footsteps echoed hollowly, mockingly, up the empty
walls.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth's journey back to the
Roaring Boar took a lot longer than the chase away, not least because it was
slowed by his puzzled, angry mind. When he got there, he found Lieutenant Borl
had just arrived, summoned by the vexed innkeeper, who it seemed was merely
starting in on her complaint to that skeptical superior. The Morg officer had
one bushy eyebrow cocked and his blubbered underlip pursed uncomfortably at the
old lady's outrage. She was obviously just getting wound up and might go on for
hours. The lieutenant turned his eyes up, spotted Roth, and deftly redirected
the elderly Morg's wrath onto his unfortunate underling. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Ah! Sergeant!" he
wheezed. "You're just in time. This lady --"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "That's the one!" she
snapped, turning on Roth. "Run off without paying he did! One fine bustard
with taters and carrots <u>and</u> onions, not to mention the gravy, and a
quart bottle o' Teleth's Sour. That's three marks reg'lar, and enough to feed a
family, it is! You're ready for the mad lads to try somethin', but one don't
expect the constabulary..."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "You saw me chasing that
boy," said Roth sullenly, reaching for his money pouch. "I was trying
to help you..." he grumbled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I seen double-acts
before," the lady snapped. "One partner distracts you while the other
makes off with the swag. Oh, a very pretty variation on an old theme, my
lad..."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "If that were the master
plan, why am I back here a-payin' you?" Roth grumbled. He handed three
small grubby silver coins over to the lady, who grasped them tightly in her
claw but stood looking at him expectantly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "<u>And</u> another two
marks for the plate and bottle," she said. "They don't grow on trees
for the pickin', you know."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "It wasn't me that took 'em,
it was that boy --" Roth began hotly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "It was on your watch,
Sergeant," said Borl, looking solemn, but barely hiding a grin behind his
gingery-brown beard. "Best pay the lady."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth's muzzle twitched, but he
handed over two more coins, which immediately vanished with their brothers into
some secret hoard in the landlady's dress. She seemed mollified, if still far
from happy, which seemed a little stiff to Roth, who felt sure a mark would pay
for at least three plates or ten bottles.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "There you go, ma'am,"
said Borl, touching his helmet in salute. "All cleared up. Just a bit of a
mistake."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Aye, I suppose," she
groused, glaring at Roth in begrudging judgement. "Come again, Sergeant.
Just be a little more careful next time." She turned and went back into
the inn, slamming the door with more firmness than seemed necessary. Almost
simultaneously the lock clicked and the lamp in the window was blown out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Oh, you'd like me to come
back, at these rates," muttered Roth as he turned from the closed door.
"You'd be wearing jewels on your greasy old robes and gold in your ratty
hair in a month, you old hag."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Borl laughed and clapped him on
the back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Now, now, got to keep the
local merchants happy, my son. Remember, you'll be off on another billet come
fall, but I'll have to deal with old Milta all year round, and so will the next
fella in your place." He put his arm around Roth's shoulder, and began
gently pushing him back in the direction of the Guardhouse. "After all,
where else are you gonna get that awful sour ale that you like?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth chuckled at that, sighed,
then grunted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Hur. No, it's that little
thief I should be mad at." They walked on a few steps in silence. "I
tell you, Lieutenant, I'm going to get that boy and make him pay back every
mark. On his hide, if no way else."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Borl was amused.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Roth, Roth, Roth," he
sang, like a wise but tired father. "You still have much to learn about
City ways. You can't go hawking after street trash. It's like trying to wave
flies away from fruit; there's always more! Keep your energy for bigger
targets. We got enough to do with big robberies and murders. These kids... it's
no worse than shallidoos."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth looked sideways at his
commanding officer. A shallidoo was another thing he had a hard time coming to
grips with. Any member of the watch on the beat needing a quick pick-me-up
could approach, say, a pear vendor, and ask him "Shall I?" The vendor
would invariably reply, "Do!" and there you'd have it, a quick snack,
for free. Good will, personal relationships, mutual obligations satisfied all
around. Some guards, he knew, took advantage of it, helping themselves to huge
portions, even when off duty. It was part of the grease that made the wheels of
the city turn, and like grease it could get pretty smelly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "'Little seeds grow big
weeds'," he said stubbornly. "That's what my <u>madra</u> always
said. If we could stop more of these street rats maybe there wouldn't be so
many of those robberies and murders." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Borl wagged his head in mock
sadness. There was no arguing with a Morg's <u>madra</u>, he knew, and
especially Roth's, as he'd come to find out. But he thought he'd give it one
more try.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Forget it, Roth. It's just
the Morg City way. You can't stop 'em all." They walked on a few paces
without words, falling together instinctively into the measured step of the
patrol beat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Maybe not all," said
Roth at last, eyes smoldering in the dark street. "But I'm going to stop
that one. <u>He</u> had the audacity to rob <u>me</u>! And that offends my
dignity, it does. He'd better watch out from now on, because I'm going to be
watching out for him!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Oh, aye, sure, sure you
are," said Borl. "And we'll lock him up for a hundred years, and
honor will be satisfied." He had seen these little snits take his men a
thousand times, and it tended to blow out by the next day. But there was a hint
of unease in his mind. If anyone, it was Roth who might actually carry out a
vendetta. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Let's get you back to the
Guardhouse and bunked down for the night. That's where I was, you know, when
your little fracas got me out of bed. Just startin' to have a bee-yoo-dee-ful
dream too, about a lass in a field of daisies. Wonder if she'll still be
waitin' for me, or if dear old Milta will be chasin' me all night now?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth barked in laughter; Borl
laughed with him, and relaxed. Hopefully, he thought, that will be the end of
that. It was home to a warm bed, and tomorrow would be a new day. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The next day <u>was</u> a new
day, as it tends to be, but it wasn't quite like the day before, as Borl had
been rather expecting it would. In fact, it was quite a while before the
lieutenant found out how different things were. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth rolled out of bed, restless
and unable to sleep. After a hasty breakfast of boiled ham and hard bread in
the commissary he went and relieved his counterpart on the nightwatch early and
started his rounds with hard purpose in his eyes. Usually as he trudged along
his beat he kept a wide relaxed focus on the world around, looking at
everything and nothing as he passed by, waiting for out of place details to
snag his attention. Now he found himself reflexively narrowing in on anyone
that even slightly suggested last night's con, even well-dressed young Morgs of
the right height. Roth shook his head when he realized what he was doing and
tried to broaden his gaze again. No telling what he might miss like that: maybe
even the real thief disappearing around another corner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Almost before he realized it, he
was standing in front of the blind alley. He stood looking at it as the morning
crowds pushed by him, watching him curiously as they went past. He could <u>see</u>
there was nothing there, but his eyes narrowed as if they would bore holes in
the stone. Finally, he snarled and turned down the dead end, obsessively
examining it again in the full light of day. He saw nothing new, nothing at
all. He left and quickened his pace to make up for lost time but counting his
steps under his breath as he went.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> At the nearest inner city gate he
went through and turned left to examine the other side of the wall. This side
was all private houses, backed by gardens. He made his calculations carefully,
then pounded at a certain door when he was fairly sure. It was opened by a
youngish Morg, maybe fifty, dressed in a red robe cinched with the black sash
of a student of law. He looked Roth up and down. "Yes?" he said
irritably.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Watch," said Roth,
touching his iron cap as proof. "Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I'd like
to search your back yard."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "What! Why? What is this all
about?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Should only take a minute,
sir."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The other bridled visibly, beard
bristling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "This is rather
high-handed," he harrumphed. "What's your warrant? Where's your
grounds?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth gripped the handle of his
sword, casually but firmly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Here's my warrant, the City
Arms. And here's the grounds: I have reason to believe you may be harborin' -
though all unwittingly, I'm ready to accept - a wanted criminal and a disturber
of the King's Peace. Now, for your own safety, I'm suggestin' you allow me a
quick search, not impedin' my duties, and if all's right I'll be out of your
beard in two shakes."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The young Morg stood uncertain,
wavering, but obviously laboring under a legal compunction to hold to his
rights.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "If it's any mitigation, I
don't want to search your house, just the garden. And I'll prolly be checkin'
your neighbors' yards, too." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Oh - very well," the
other crumbled. "This fellow's dangerous, you say?" He opened the
door and gestured for Roth to come in.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Could very well be,"
Roth said neutrally, keeping his eyes straight ahead as they passed through the
house to avoid seeing anything he might have to legally object to, after
gaining entrance on very shaky grounds. Luckily it was mostly hallway.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> They stepped out of the back door
onto the porch. Roth looked at the garden. It was not very tall, being devoted
mainly to flowers and some fancy herbs. Before he even set foot off the porch,
he asked, "Watered recently?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Just yesterday morning, in
fact."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Ah. Wait here, sir."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth tromped down the muddy path
and examined the back wall. There were no tracks in the ground beneath it. He
gazed up at the limed expanse of stone above. No scuffs, no scratches, no
scrapes. No incriminating rope hanging from the top. He checked the neighboring
walls to left and right, and saw they were just the same. He nodded, frowning,
and turned back to the house.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Well?" the lawyer
asked querulously. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Everything seems to be
safe, sir. Sorry to bother you."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The young Morg looked at him
haughtily and escorted him back through the house, glancing askance at his
muddy boots.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "You've got a nice garden
there, sir," said Roth as they reached the front door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Yes." The other
started to shut the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Lovely stand of wild
dill," said Roth off-handedly. The door stopped. "Course anyone what
didn't know better would think it was <u>ranna</u> weed." The law student
looked at him, eyes boggling. "Looks to me like it's about to shed though,
and then it won't be of any use to anybody. If I was you, I'd dredge it up and
use it right now, if you get my drift."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The young Morg swallowed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Yes, Sergeant. Thank you,
Sergeant."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "You have a nice day
now," said Roth. <u>And a probably even nicer night</u>, he thought as he
walked away. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The rest of the day went as
usual. Roth broke up two street fights and helped a farmer move his broken
ox-cart out of traffic. He aided a few frail old human ladies across the
avenues; most weren't as thrawn as Morg females grew to be as they got older. All
routine, but his nerves were twanging the whole day, as his eyes darted
restlessly, searching the crowds. He didn't think the boy would be stupid
enough to return to the scene of the crime right away, so when he was relieved
he didn't go back to The Roaring Boar that evening. Roth wasn't sure he could
see Milta again just then anyway, without one or the other of them losing their
tempers. He ended the day with a few bouts on the archery ground at the
Guardhouse to relieve his tension, a short meal of commissary chow, and an
early evening. The streets seemed to pour through his dreams all night.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The next day was a repeat, with,
if anything, even greater diligence on Roth's part. This led him to catching
more street kids in the act of lifting their unofficial shallidoos and sending
them on their way with a swat of his paw and a stern word. He started to feel
guilty about taking any shallidoos himself, even when a grateful shop-owner
offered him one. He took to refusing them, with thanks. The merchant would look
at him surprised, maybe even a little offended. One baker went so far as to
mutter "Mad," under his breath when Roth paid him one brass krett for
a bun, then gave it to the thin little waif who had just tried to snatch it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> By the end of that day he was
ready for a sour ale, Milta or no. He dragged himself back to the inn, paused
at the door with a huge sigh, steeled himself, walked in with his head down,
and took a table. A girl crossed over to take his order. "A half-chicken
roasted and a pint of Teleth's; loaf of brown," he murmured.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Is that Sergeant Roth I
hear?" The merry ingratiating squawk rang through the air, and the
bustling form of the landlady came swooping out from behind the bar.
"Sarge! We missed you yesterday! We don't have so many customers, select
though they be, that we can do without one of the best, now can we?" She
sat down on the stool next to him and settled in like a squatting hen ruffling
its feathers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Please, ma'am, I just want
to eat in peace," Roth groaned. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "'Course you do," Milta
said, grabbing his upper arm and smiling at him through snaggled teeth.
"But I couldn't just leave you sit down without letting you know we're all
friends again. You're welcome back any time, and bring your comrades!" <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth's muzzle twisted into a wry
smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Thanks, I'll do that,"
he said. <u>If I have any I want to shake off</u>, he thought grimly. Just at
that moment his order arrived, and Milta looked at the scanty portion in
disapproval.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Pooh, Sergeant! Lost your
appetite?" Her hand withdrew into one of her voluminous sleeves, like a
snail shrinking into its shell. "Well, this ought to perk you up."
Her claw popped out again, and to Roth's astonishment it held a silver mark.
"Here," she said, and handed it over to him, grinning as if she were
the Autumn Pilgrim presenting a winter gift.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth took the coin with equal
parts wonder and suspicion. "What's this now?" he asked, squinting
one eye over at old lady who sat preening like a dog waiting to be petted for a
clever trick.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Would you believe it? I
opened the back door yesterday morning and that rascal had returned the plate <u>and</u>
the bottle, clean as a whistle and pretty as a picture. I guess you must have
put the fear of Mog in him after all. So I'm refunding your money," she
finished piously.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth looked at the coin, deep in
speculation, thinking about her story and what it might mean. At last he looked
up. "As I recalls," he drily observed, "It was two marks, not
one." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Oh, well," Milta said,
hastily rising and gathering her skirts. "You wouldn't scant a poor old
widow costs for her time and trouble and worry, would ye? That's only right,
that's only justice, isn't it? Now enjoy your meal, Mister Roth! I got to get
back to the bar and keep my eye on the kitchen. A woman's work ... " She
scuttled away into the shadows of the inn and left the stocky Morg pondering,
tangling his beard with thoughtful claws.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> <u>An honest thief</u>, he mused.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> He was still turning that thought
over in his mind when he went to bed that night, having put the mark right back
into the old lady's hand to pay for his supper before he left. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> A month later Lieutenant Borl
called Roth into his office for a little talk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> It was the height of summer now,
and every window of the Guardhouse was open, gasping for air. Roth knocked at
the door that stood already ajar, then walked in on Borl, who sat squirming
behind his desk in his sticky, leather-covered chair, muzzle gaping for breath.
Borl had shaved his bullet-head in a desperate attempt to keep from frying. The
gingery length of his beard was twisted into a stiff braid and tied off with a
scrap of ribbon, to hold it away from his dripping chest. Roth kept himself
from grinning. He definitely wouldn't want to appear that way himself in
public, but he certainly understood his superior's attempts at private relief.
He came to attention and saluted. "Sir," he barked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Borl looked up like a dying fish.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Damn, it's hot," he
wheezed. "When do you think it rained last?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Couldn't say, sir. Sometime
late spring. Four months, sir."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Ach, drop the protocol,
Roth. It's too hot. Sit down, sit down. Quit blocking the door; I'm trying to
catch a cross-breeze." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth relaxed a little, but still
held himself wary. You didn't get called to the office just to shoot the shit.
He pulled one of the rough wheel-backed chairs from against the wall and sat
down. It wasn't as cushy as Borl's upholstered seat, but in the circumstances
its open spokes were more comfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The older Morg wiped his
forehead, then squeezed the sweat out of the tip of his beard. He picked up the
paper he had been perusing on the desk in front of him, frowning. It was
speckled with moisture. He dropped it and looked up at Roth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "How you doing, son? Holding
up in the heat?" He folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward.
"You're looking good. Lost a few pounds, I see. Must help, in this
weather."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "This hot ain't
nothing," Roth rumbled. "I was at the Plains of Dar, for a while. You
couldn't even go out in the day there; all our movements had to be by
night."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Is that right?" Borl
said distantly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Fact," said Roth.
"My pal Lek said that when he was on day-watch there, he saw a hawk
startled out of its tree burst into flame when it hit sunlight. Not even a
cinder left." He grinned. "He might a' been exaggerating a bit. Anyways,
the switch-over from iron to hornscale armor for summer was none too soon.
Lighter."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Yes ... yes." Borl
leaned back again. He spread out his folded hands as if letting his words go.
"I ask because I've been hearing some odd things about you,
Sergeant."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth stiffened.
"Complaints?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "No, no complaints, as such.
Just ... odd things. You don't sit easy with some people, Roth."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Such as how?" he
growled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Oh, nothing bad, nothing
bad," Borl hastened to assure him. "Diligent. Tough but fair. Even
compassionate, in some cases. There's a barrow-man on Potter's Lane who thinks
you should be made General. But maybe a little, ... stand-offish, let's say.
And with one little sore spot that troubles some folks."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I know where this's
going," Roth sighed and sat back himself, clenching his teeth.
"Didn't know this job included being a nursemaid, Borl."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "This <u>is</u> about your
attitude with the mad lads. You're pushing them too hard, my friend. What you
don't realize is that makes 'em push back even harder, and that don't make the
merchants happy. You put a rock in the river and the water don't stop flowing.
It just goes somewheres else. We <u>had</u> a system in place." Borl
passed an annoyed hand over his sweaty head, then looked up at Roth in appeal.
"Look, I don't want you to be a nursemaid to these street kids, but can't
you just be Uncle Jolly? Wink your eye now and then; look the other way. Afore
things get any worse." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth slammed his fist on his
knee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Just let me get my claws on
that <u>one</u>," he snarled. "Then there'll be a little peace."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Ah-hum," Borl snuffled
skeptically. "And how's <u>that</u> chase been going for you?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth slumped in his chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "None too good," he
admitted. "I don't even know the <u>kraddach</u>'s name yet, though I've
quizzed every culprit I've collared. You've got to admire it. They've got a
code. No ratting on their fellow rats. I'm sure they'd come down like the Black
Hammer on any one of them that did."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> He perked up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I got close to him a couple
of times, though. I'd have had him on Long Street if he hadn't used the Donkey
Drop on me as I was crossing the road. And then I almost had my hands on him
chasin' through Slaughterhouses, when he pulled a Gorko's Riff, which I didn't
think anybody could do in the kind of shoes he had on. Still don't know how he
got away that first time, though." He grinned. "Oh, he's a sorcerer,
that one. Each time he took the time to look back and smile at me through that
scraggly mustache of his." Roth leaned back in his chair, spine straight,
eyes gleaming. "Don't think I can really rest now until I teach that smile
a thing or two." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Borl sighed again, even deeper.
"Roth, do you remember the story of Jash and the Rogue Torben?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I ain't obsessed,"
Roth snapped. He shifted uneasily. "This is a matter o' honor now,
Borl."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Seems to me it's a matter
of leftovers. Let it go, Roth." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Not just <u>my</u> honor,
sir. The Guards' honor. The King's honor. Hell, the whole damn City's honor! I
was in uniform! Nobody can miss those color-coded rainbow horse-blankets we
wear. Damn the bustard! I ain't gonna have anybody spit in our beards and just
let it go." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "All right. Fine.
Fine." Borl rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his snubby nose.
"You're obviously having too much fun with this for me to stop you. I get
it. Adds a bit of zest to the boring city routine. Another shining tale of virtue
for the Silver Book. Hunt your torben." He scowled suddenly, voice
hardening. "But lay off the other mad lads. No more questioning. No more
... persecution. And show friendly. Take a shallidoo yourself now and then.
Everybody expects it. Get off your lonely throne and walk with us commoners a
while, Roth. It's hot enough as it is without you stirring up the flames."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Is that an order?
Sir?" Roth asked stiffly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "That is my concerned and
friendly advice to you, soldier, but since you ask, yes, I'm making it an
order." Borl picked up the sweat-spattered sheet from his desk and held it
in front of his face, eyes fixed. "You're dismissed. And send Captain Galt
in to see me." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth rose, saluted, and stood
there, muzzle open as if wanting to add something. Borl studiously ignored him.
Roth closed his mouth, saluted again, and, turning with military precision,
marched out. Borl listened to his footsteps as they faded away, then dropped
the paper to the desk wearily and wrung out his braided beard again. <u>Gods,
it's hot</u>, he thought. <u>Moon of Melniar, send us some rain</u>!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> It was the smoldering high end of
late summer, breathless as a pile of bones, hot as a forge. Roth stood panting
in the wavering heat, claws clenched on a set of filthy rags. He didn't know
it, but his luck was about to change.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Aw,
Sarge, can't you just let me go? I promise I won't do it no more."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth shook the young Morg he had
just collared by the scruff of his neck.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "You're not gonna get off
that easy, my lad. That's the third time I caught you lifting pouches off the
folks on Sidewander, and I already let you go three times before with a warning
after you promised me you wouldn't do it no more. Or did you forget?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Times is tough,
Sarge," the boy whined. "You gotta get by somehow."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Whyn't you get a job, then?
Believe it or not, there's a labor shortage right now. Plenty an honest penny
to be made, if you'll just work for it." He looked at the young Morg's
face. "You almost got your Third Beard. You ain't no urchin no more,
mister. What's your name, then?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "It's Pel, Sarge, Pel at
your service. I'd get a job, but I'm not strong. I ain't been well, Sarge, and
in this heat too much activity would just kill me, I know. The bosses drive you
cruel hard."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth grinned mirthlessly. Though
the lad was trying to look as limp as a boiled chicken, Roth had broken horses
with less of a struggle than Pel had put up when he was arrested. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "You won't have to worry
about that for a while, then," said Roth. He tugged the leather wrist
shackle he had strapped on the other's arm a little tighter. "It's room
and board at the lockhouse for you. Lots of lovely leisure and slop twice a
day, regular. Come on, get marchin'." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> They trudged through the dusty
streets, Pel sulking along in front, Roth nudging him forward again whenever he
began to slow down and try some new bargaining tactic. At the transfer of
Market Square, Roth got another man to take up his rounds, and he headed with
his prisoner to the Watch House. Along the way he noticed with grim
satisfaction the looks on the faces of the mad lads they passed, round-eyed and
wary (he guessed some of those were Pel's pals) or amused and vulturine (whom
he supposed to be from a rival gang). He saw all that through the sides of his
eyes. He wasn't letting this one dash off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> They were almost in the shortened
shadow of the tower of the Watch House when Pel stopped, turned at bay, and
refused to go another step.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Look, Sarge," he said
pleading, in a low, desperate voice. "I got reasons I don't want to go to
the lockhouse, reasons I don't expect a guy like you could understand, but it
ain't just the time. I go in, I don't expect I'll get out again, least not with
arrangements like they was before. You let me go, one more time, and I'll ...
I'll ..." His voice sank even lower. "I'll tell you want you want to
know."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth went still. "And just
what do <u>I</u> want to know?" he asked quietly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Pel's muzzle twisted into a
complicit smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "You're Sergeant Roth,"
he said. "Every mad lad knows who <u>you</u> want."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth stared at him, neither
assenting nor denying.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Well?" he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "His name's Taryn," Pel
hissed, lowering his head. "He don't belong to any of the gangs regular.
Won't join in on any of the big games. Prolly wants to start his own. They call
him Tearin' Taryn, cause he's always running off to do something or
other." He looked up hopefully. "Well, Sarge?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth stood a moment, considering,
then yanked the leather shackle impatiently.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Nope. Not good enough.
Let's go."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Wait, wait," Pel
yelped, digging in his heels. "I can tell you where to find him!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Yes?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Only you gotta let me go.
That's the deal!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> There was a low brool of thunder,
and a sudden rising gust of wind kicked the dust up around their feet. Roth
looked up. The light had changed, grown a shade dimmer. A thrill went tingling
through his blood. He felt somewhere in his guts that it was a sign.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "All right," he growled
eagerly. "Where?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Dead end off of Elms,
before you hit Gold Lantern Street. Come by the north. Five o'clock, every
sixth day, but if he sees you there once he'll probably change his
pattern."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "That's fifteen minutes from
now!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Better hurry then,"
Pel urged.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth started to unstrap the
shackle. "All right. I'll let you go this time, for 'helping the Watch
with the pursuit of their duties'. And if I catch you again, I ain't gonna
arrest you." He smiled wickedly as Pel slipped out of the leather loop.
"But it might get around what happened just now, and I don't think your
street friends will be too happy having a snitch in their midst, so watch your
step."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Pel rubbed his wrist and looked
around uneasily. "Speakin' o' which, just in case anybody's gawpin', do
you mind? I don't want it to look like we're too friendly, like."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "With pleasure," Roth
said, and without a pause roundhoused the other Morg with a cuff that laid him
rolling in the dust. Pel recovered his senses and raised his ringing head just
in time to see Roth disappear, hurrying into the hot wind and gathering
darkness falling from the advancing line of clouds above. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth pushed his way through the hastening
people that were scrambling to get off the streets before the weather struck.
He could smell rain in the swelling wind, and any other time he would have
stopped to relish it, but now it excited him more. He quickened his pace as the
crowds got thinner and thinner. He was just able to duck behind an awning that
had been lowered like a tent to the ground over a display of crockery, when the
Sun Tower, raised like a warning white finger against the rushing black clouds,
started ringing five on the City bell. Roth cautiously turned his head and
looked out past the snapping canvas, peering down the alleyway. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> At first there was nothing there.
He watched impatiently as the last few fleeing figures of pedestrians passed in
front of his line of sight, cloaks flying wildly, pushed along by the wind.
Then he caught his breath sharply. A lone figure had turned into the alley,
emerging from behind an ox-cart being driven clattering down the road.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> It was swathed in short, tattered
robes, hood drawn and held around its face, but even from the back the Morg
could recognize that figure. It advanced
to the back wall of the blind street and knelt. Roth leaned in closer to the
flapping cloth. What the hell was the crazy lad doing? Getting ready to take a
nap? Praying?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> There was a grinding sound more
felt in his feet than heard, and he saw the boy heaving aside a huge flat
paving stone to expose a gaping tunnel beneath, and the answer flashed through
his head like the bolt of lightning that lit the sky at that instant. In the
same moment the gale hit with redoubled force, and the awning blew away with a
sound like a tortured ghost screaming. The crouching figure jerked his head up
at the noise, hood flying off, and Roth and Taryn stood looking at each other
face to face, not thirty feet apart, as the first black gush of rain came
pouring in a howling cataract between them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Taryn was down the hole almost
immediately, but Roth had recovered first and was just a few seconds behind,
plunging his stocky body feet downward and dropping into the tunnel beneath.
The dim, disastrous light from above was just enough for him to see that he and
his prey had descended into the old sewers below the City, normally not
navigable. They must have been lying dried out and forgotten throughout the
summer. <u>Clever boy</u>, he thought. In the darkness of the rounded passage
to his right he could hear splashing footsteps; without hesitation he turned
and followed them into the sightless gloom. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> It was not as bad for him as it
must be for the boy, he thought, or even for most Morgs, who have pretty good
darksight. Roth had spent a couple of seasons in the mines back home and he
could sense the shape of his way in the dark, mostly by the sounds echoed in
his low, round ears. He kept on Taryn's trail through every twist and turn down
the slightly inclining tunnel, even over the soft purling roar of the water
that was starting to ripple and rise around his feet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Every now and then he would see
the lad flit into the palest of light cast from some gutter above, a silvery
curtain of water cascading off his back as he floundered past. Roth sped up,
spurred on by these glimpses of his quarry, eyes squeezed to slits in
concentration, legs churning relentlessly as he grabbed the walls to hurl
himself forward. He didn't even think about calling out for the thief to stop.
He knew in his bones it was a waste of wind; he needed that for the chase. He
ran on, eyes wincing from the dripping water, teeth clenched in his muzzle and
breath blowing in and out, scattering the drops with each blasting exhalation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Suddenly the footsteps stopped.
Roth lunged forward, taken off guard for a moment. He brought himself up short;
it was hard with the current pressing against his knees now. He was sure, with
a hunter's certainty, that he was standing close to where the noise of his prey
had ceased. He inched forward carefully, claws creeping along the wall, the top
of his helmet brushing the low roof. All at once his hands met open air on
either side. He was at a juncture of some kind that met this tunnel from left
and right. Which way had the lad gone?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> He stood for a moment, writhing
in an agony of indecision. If he chose wrong, he would lose his chance, and
possibly himself in this lightless dungeon. Roth held his breath, concentrating
with all his ears, hoping for a clue.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> As he stood there, catching his
breath, calming his heart, it came to him that there was something different
about the tunnel to his left. There was a subtle sound, more than the rushing
of the water. He puzzled a moment what it could be, and then it struck him: it
was the sound of water pushing by some sort of obstruction. Without thinking he
turned and pounded down that way. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> The footsteps started up
immediately, but much closer now. Roth grinned. <u>Clever boy</u>, he thought
again, as he plunged after him. <u>But not clever enough</u>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> They passed just once more by the
light of another gutter streaming from far above, dark dim red as if the sun
had finally set below the line of dark clouds above. Taryn looked back for a
second, eyes darting, sparse mustache dripping limply. <u>Not smiling any more</u>,
Roth thought, muzzle splitting in a grin that showed all his teeth, sharp and
bloody-looking in the light. The boy turned away and laid on another burst of
speed. It didn't last long. It put maybe a foot or two more between them, but
Roth was catching up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> In fact the problem for Roth now
was not going <u>too</u> fast. The water was getting up to his waist, pushing
against his back, and he was having to place his boots carefully and quickly
along the slick bottom. He was concentrating too much on tracking Taryn and
keeping his feet to notice the steepening descent, or the growing roar ahead. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth was just beginning to notice
a weak glow from ahead that showed the floundering outline of the running boy
when he was suddenly punched in the back by a swelling billow of water, coming
with redoubled force behind him, sweeping him off his feet with a yell. As he
fell forward he saw the figure of Taryn jump to the left, and then Roth was
sweeping helplessly past him, head held just above water, as the boy watched
him from a recessed shelf to the side.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> For a second Roth could see what
the light ahead was. Into a vast shaft a hundred feet high, closed by an iron
grill above, a dozen torrents were pouring thundering down from outlets all
around him, turning a heavy groaning wheel with flat spokes broad as tree
trunks at a speed sickening for something so big. He eyes boggled down at the
hungry maw, claws scrabbling uselessly at the stones beneath him as he slipped
forward.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> He was jerked back by a yank on
his cloak. His helmet went flying off his head with the force, tumbling down
right into the teeth of the mill. There was a crunch and a metallic whine, and
the helmet was gone without slowing the wheel for an instant.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Hold on, mister!" <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth turned on his belly, choking
in the current and by the straining cloak, and suddenly his hobnailed boots
found purchase on the rock. Taryn was pulling him back with both hands
clutching the cloth, his feet braced precariously on a low curb around the
recess, back bent and muscles straining, moving the Morg slowly but steadily
towards the shelf. Roth finally reached out at last and got his claws on the
curb and the boy quickly, convulsively, switched one hand to the Morg's belt,
and together they heaved his panting, waterlogged body up to safety.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Taryn sat down heavily,
collapsing, wheezing for air, head held back and hair dripping against the
wall. Roth lay for a while like a landed fish, muzzle gaping, sides throbbing.
Slowly he drew his limbs under himself and sat up, beard drizzling into his lap.
Taryn looked over at him tiredly, and then away in exhaustion. Roth gathered
his strength and looked at Taryn, then down into the boiling abyss just three
feet away, then back at the lad - almost a man, he could see now. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> They sat quietly in the dim glow,
resting, catching their breath, watching each other with wary eyes. At last
Taryn suddenly smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Well, I guess I'm under
arrest," he chuckled. He held out his wrist. "Put the cuff on me,
Sarge. It's been a good chase."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth stared at him, eyes wide
with disbelief, and waved off his words in puzzlement.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "That can wait," he
said. He paused. "Why'd you save me? We could have both been pulled down
and killed in that crusher! Why'd you risk yourself?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Oh, well." Taryn
crossed his arms on his knees and leaned forward, considering. "Couldn't
let you die. You seem like a decent enough guy. Maybe a little stubborn."
He smiled. "You ever hear the story of Jash and the Lone Torben?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I am not Jash!" Roth
barked, eyes flashing red. Taryn's head snapped back and his smile vanished.
Roth glared at him a moment, then his chest started heaving convulsively. To
the boy's surprise the Morg burst out in a braying laugh. It echoed out of the
little cubby over the roaring waters and didn't stop. "And you ain't no
torben!" Roth wheezed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Taryn looked at him in wonder,
then started laughing himself, tentatively at first, and then helplessly.
"I'll say I'm not!" he managed to squeeze out at last. "I can't
even sw... swim!" They laughed
together a while after that, the laughter of people who have suddenly escaped
death, until it wound down. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "The water's still
rising," said Taryn quietly. Roth looked at it, and said nothing, but
shifted his feet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "So," the boy said
briskly, after a pause. "How'd you finally find me? According to what I
know about your beat, you should have been heading home on the other side of
the City, almost."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I <u>was</u> there,
almost," Roth admitted humorously. "Haulin' in a little road-apple
named Pel. Suddenly I had the over-whelmin' insight that I knew where you'd be,
so's I dropped everything and hurried on over."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Pel? Pel Pelnik, King of
the Pluckers?" Taryn frowned. "Well, that makes sense, I guess. He
always was a turd. Doesn't like me, I know. Wouldn't mind ratting to stay boss,
it seems."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "What do you mean?"
said Roth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Get tossed in jail, you
lose your status," the boy explained matter-of-factly. "Gangs won't
keep a leader that gets caught. Gross incompetence, that is. And the position
does have its cushy side."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "And what about you? Are you
a boss?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Ha!" Taryn spat out
the side of his mouth. "I never would even join none of them, the Pickers
or Pluckers or Crooksticks. Plenty asked me. Bunch of rats and ruffians. Got to
be sort of a sore spot after a bit. 'Oh, you're too good fer us, eh? Don't
wanna play the game, your lordship?'" He spat again. "I ain't
surprised at Pel selling me out and thinking he can get away with it. Nobody
will give a damn if I'm out of the life."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth looked out at the water. It
was lapping at the brim of the shelf now.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I might understand how that
feels," he muttered. He looked up. "Ever think of leaving the
life?" he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "And go where?" Taryn
replied bitterly, wrapping his rags around his shoulders and shivering.
"Every job that will take a kid wants 'a nice strong honest Morg boy', not
a skinny street rat." He shook his head ruefully. "I'll give you
Morgs one thing. Men might be faster and smarter, but you guys are a lot
tougher." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Well, thanks." The
sarcasm was thick on Roth's tongue. "But I figure a smart fast kid like
you could get a job <u>somewheres</u>. And you're not really a kid no more,
anyhow."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Yeah? Mister, that's the
least of my worries right now." He leaned forward and pointed past Roth to
the back wall. "This flood ain't slowing down. If that highwater mark
there is any indication, this room'll be underwater in a very few minutes and
we'll be flushed into that grinder and drowned first if we're lucky. I reckon
my near future is pretty much provided for." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth looked down into the
churning maelstrom below and gritted his jaw. The lower outlets were already
spewing jets that turned the great roaring wheel ever faster in a blur of speed
and water.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Any way out back that
way?" he asked, pointing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "'Bout twenty feet on,"
Taryn said laconically. "There's an access tunnel going up to the gutter,
with some rungs. I was heading for that, but I got distracted somehow, and shot
past it." He grinned. "Moot point, now."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Well, I want you to
seriously think about getting a job," said Roth. His hands went to his
throat, undoing the clasp of his soaked cloak. He dropped it to the floor; it
landed with a plop amid the waves that were starting to wash over their feet.
"And I'd like you consider joining the army with me when we get out of
here." He held out his hand. "<u>I</u> can swim."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Taryn boggled. "What?! Are
you insane! Look at that water!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I've swum worse in the High
Passes home in the Norkult Mountains," Roth said briskly. He pulled out
the leather cuff and began latching it to his belt. "There's still plenty
of air space now, but it won't last forever, so we better get moving."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I told you, I can't
swim!" <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Then it's a good time to
start to learn," Roth said, taking Taryn's unwilling hand and trying to
buckle the cuff on. "Look, all you gotta do is hang onto my belt and kick
your legs. I'll do all the work. Just keep your head above water and look for
that tunnel."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "This is crazy!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "It's wait here and
definitely be killed or try to leave and only probably get killed. Only
probably killed is maybe ending up alive." Roth waggled his eyebrows.
"Matter of time, boy. One way's just a little quicker."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Taryn stopped squirming and
stared at Roth. The smiling Morg waggled his eyebrows again, his grin
broadening. Taryn desperately grabbed for the cuff.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "You know, I like this
plan," he babbled, struggling to tie it on tighter. "Bold. Daring.
Completely mad. I'm proud to be a part of it."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Good." Roth struggled
out of his boots and they joined his cloak. He stood up, flexing his toes.
"Now take off everything you can spare, 'cause we don't need no drag. I
wouldn't keep on this scalehorn, 'cept the belt's a part of it, and you need
somewhere to hold."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "How 'bout your beard?"
Taryn teased.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Not even in a joke,
human."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Taryn quickly shed his rags and
stood there shivering in his underclout. The water was flowing over their
ankles. Roth moved to the very edge of the shelf and looked into the blank dark
as it vomited black water at them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Twenty feet, you say?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "More or less."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "All right. Hold tight, kick
your legs, and for Mog's sake try to find that ladder!" <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Piece a' cake, in all that
dark. Must be night by now."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Well, listen for it then!
My head's gonna be underwater half the time, I can't do everything! Tap me on
the back or poke me or something when we get there."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Taryn hooked his hands around the
belt, and Roth looked back to make sure he was ready. "By the way,"
the boy said, "My name is Taryn."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I know," said the
Morg, nodding his head. "I'm Roth."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I know," the boy said
quietly. They nodded their heads together again silently in acknowledgement.
"Let's go."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "On three," said Roth.
"One ... two ... three!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> He kicked off and hit the water
like an arrow, Taryn leaping with him, legs flailing. For a moment when they
hit the stream he felt like they were being beaten back. All thought left his
head except pumping his arms back and forth against the tide. When he breached
gulping for air for a few seconds he didn't dare look back, but just lunged
back down into the dark and cold, fighting for every inch. Somewhere far away
he could feel Taryn's frantic legs thrashing behind him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Seven times he lifted his head
into the roaring darkness, and couldn't tell if he had moved a foot closer to
the goal. He was about to come up for the eighth time, wondering how much
longer he could hold up, when he became aware of a distant tugging on his belt.
His breath exploded under water, and he rose gasping, nostrils running, to hear
Taryn yelling, "You passed it, you passed it!" He turned, claws
churning to stay in place, and there, glimmering in the faintest moonlight
sheen, was Taryn, hanging from an iron rung, his hand outstretched.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth was almost literally swept
away with sudden relief, grabbing at the slippery arm as he passed. Taryn
hissed as the black nails bit into his flesh, but pulled back, muscles
straining, until the stocky Morg could heave himself up from the grasping tide
and grip the cold metal handle with one firm claw.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> They hung there a few moments,
dripping and whooping for breath. Taryn at last chuckled weakly. Roth felt like
he wanted to laugh too, but he knew they were far from home safe yet, and
frankly, he was too tired. He looked up into the grey shade above them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "How far?" he asked
shortly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Too far," said Taryn.
He put his hand wearily, gamely, on the next rung. "We'd better get
going." They started to climb.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Captain Galt sat smoking in the
Watch House gate room, feet up on a cushioned stool, the Morgish pipe stuck
halfway down his leathery muzzle. It was carved in the shape of an Ogre's head,
and every deep puff lit up its purple glass eyes menacingly. Galt was doing his
best to stay warm. This sudden cold front had caught everyone unawares, and the
stove lay shut and empty of fuel. It was all right for everyone else in the
barracks with the wind flushing out the summer fug, he thought, but out here on
duty, practically in the rain, it weren't no picnic. Bake or freeze, it was
always something.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> He looked out gloomily into the
pouring rain. Least it had let up somewhat. Instead of bucketing, it was just
driving. He sat listening for a moment, then suddenly stood up. There was
someone coming through the rain, and they were ... singing? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "... And the se-e-ea <u>roared</u>
upon the shore<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> And the <u>clouds</u> in the
<u>wind</u> were rent and tore<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> And I still walked on the
beach alone<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> While gulls <u>wa-a-iled</u>
and sea <u>mo-o-oaned</u>..." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Galt peered out as a pair of
misty figures came marching through the silver curtain of rain. His eyes
boggled at them as they got ever nearer. One was obviously a Morg, barefoot and
hatless, but wearing a coat of Guards' hardscale armor, beard streaming in the
downpour. The other was a skinny teen, also barefoot as he came stomping
through the rain, dressed in some kind of rough striped tabard, cinched at the
waist with a bit of rope, the neckhole just a rough tear in the cloth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Galt hurriedly grabbed up his
pike and stepped into the light at the gateway. "Halt!" he said
gruffly. "Who passes?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Captain Galt, sir!"
Came the merry bellow in reply. "Sergeant Roth, reportin' for bunk call,
and about time too, you’re probably thinkin'! Any stew still in the
kitchen?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "There's always stew in the
kitchen," said Galt. "They can't get rid of it fast enough. What's
left over the night before gets dumped in the new pot the mornin' after. I
suspect there's bits still swimmin' around from Thron's coronation day. Who's
this?" He looked at the lad blinking the water away next to him and his
eyes lit up at the sight of his scanty, clumping mustache. "Oho! Finally
got your torben, eh?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "This ain't no torben,"
Roth said, slapping his companion on the back, knocking him forward a
half-step. The boy looked over at the Morg in equal parts annoyed and amused.
"This here's a new recruit for the Fourteenth. Meet Mr. Taryn, lately in
the life, but soon to be in service o' the King."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Oh, really, now?" Galt
eyeballed him, raising a skeptical brow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Really absolutely,"
said Roth, taking his elbow and hustling him into the gatehouse. "Galt,
lend me a gold mark."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "What? Why?" the older
Morg asked suspiciously as the other hustled the trio into the little room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Just do it," said
Roth. "Write it up in the paybook. Oh, and you can put me down for a new
helmet. And a cloak. And some boots." Galt reached reflexively for the pen
and the ragged account book and started to write. Roth glanced at Taryn.
"Oh, and I guess you'd better add I owe for an awning from a shop on
Latchet Street." He tapped the book where Galt had paused writing, looking
up in horror. "'Appropriated in the course o' duty,' Captain." <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Galt shook his head wearily but
wrote it down. He reached into his poke and drew out a mark.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Here," he said,
"But you owe <u>me</u>, Roth, and I better get it back before you move
out."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Yes, <u>sir</u>," said
Roth merrily, then snapped to attention and turned to Taryn. All fooling seemed
to have fallen away from him in an instant.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Mister Taryn," he said
solemnly, holding up the glittering coin. "This is the King's Mark. Do you
accept it in token of your loyal service, to the King and to Morg City, their
fiefs and bonded allies, to go where called and do as bid?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Say 'yes'," Galt said,
taking his pipe out and muttering from the side of his mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Er ... yes, I do,"
said Taryn hastily, cutting his eyes between the two Morgs. He straightened up.
"Faithful and true. I do."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Receive the King's
Mark," Roth barked, presenting it stiffly. Taryn took it in hand, looking
at it curiously. He had handled marks before, but now it felt different.
Heavier, somehow. Roth relaxed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Welcome to the Loyal
Fourteenth," he grinned. "Galt, why don't you send for somebody to
get our new squire some clothes? Can't have him running around dressed like
that, can we? Oh, and I could use some boots, too."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "All right, dang ye. Just
watch the gate till I get back." The old Morg turned and headed grumbling
into the Guard House, pipe smoke trailing behind him like a cloud of
crotchetiness. "Whoop-de-doo, a new recruit!" <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Roth sat down on the bench under
the light, and Taryn sat down next to him. They looked out at the rain. After a
bit Taryn sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "I hope I'm doing the right
thing," he said. "Don't know if the mad lads will let me alone after
this. Poacher turned gamekeeper, sort of thing."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "Don't mind that none,"
said Roth. "The Fourteenth's moving out in a week, anyway, on winter
rotation. By the time we get back, there'll be a whole new generation what
don't know you, and you'll have fightin' skills they can't even dream of.
What's more, you'll have the Guard at your back." He snorted cheerfully.
"You could say we're the biggest gang in the whole City."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Taryn laughed at that, perking
up. He rubbed the gold mark in his hand. "Wonder where I should spend
this?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> "<u>I</u> know where you're
gonna spend it," said Roth. "We're going to the Roaring Boar to
celebrate. You still owe me for a bird and a bottle of Teleth's
Sour!" </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Started: Oct. 24, 2018</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">First Draft Finished: 5:30 PM; Nov. 3, 2018<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Notes</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOaA3kpIdobCVSLvF7yu9exqosXCq3IxgEsKBNs79_OEv_kUwoZI_msyvhwBHxahHKV66rZF4-eg1AkxzT5gkH1rgVDCpGE7MpR_0fo8_MrBUUMGYhcSM8z1UtwrMdobdf0rCd3QB-L_1wKzaviGdydaMPdADFlKY09c5VtThvYayxiPF6ihqsoCdPC10/s472/Taryn.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="374" data-original-width="472" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOaA3kpIdobCVSLvF7yu9exqosXCq3IxgEsKBNs79_OEv_kUwoZI_msyvhwBHxahHKV66rZF4-eg1AkxzT5gkH1rgVDCpGE7MpR_0fo8_MrBUUMGYhcSM8z1UtwrMdobdf0rCd3QB-L_1wKzaviGdydaMPdADFlKY09c5VtThvYayxiPF6ihqsoCdPC10/w400-h318/Taryn.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">In the timeline of the Ortha
stories, <i>Sergeant Roth</i> takes place about forty years before the events
of <i>Goldfire, </i>the original epic. It is, canonically, the second Roth biographical
story. It is also the origin story of Taryn, who goes in the tales from being a
‘street rat’ to a general (surpassing Roth, who remains an archetypal sergeant
whatever his rank), to a king, to his death in the unfinished ‘Thrand’. The one
outstanding physical characteristic of Taryn in Goldfire was his luxuriant moustache,
which I record here in its humble beginnings.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Wv45QwZHtNjtTKyImsKlgKU_aZgcXh2WzQnudJvEeRj3XrZQKSS7c1p1w1hYLND5j8GabPPzusV4Xw2VlxOfwAuR0GSfrlvrzA1kEN7vhg-Ar0-3EWejj53-FirHwHXJsi1yTk7-EFkSVugrIZa8C9Yp09i_-pQnTf0DLOGVwseT0zQqQmRIgi4yneQ/s1788/Great_Bustard_woodcut_in_Bewick_British_Birds_1797.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1788" data-original-width="1202" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Wv45QwZHtNjtTKyImsKlgKU_aZgcXh2WzQnudJvEeRj3XrZQKSS7c1p1w1hYLND5j8GabPPzusV4Xw2VlxOfwAuR0GSfrlvrzA1kEN7vhg-Ar0-3EWejj53-FirHwHXJsi1yTk7-EFkSVugrIZa8C9Yp09i_-pQnTf0DLOGVwseT0zQqQmRIgi4yneQ/w269-h400/Great_Bustard_woodcut_in_Bewick_British_Birds_1797.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">A ’bustard’ is a large,
heavily built, swift-running bird, capable of heavy flight, found in open
country in the Old World. The birds were once common in England and abounded on
the Salisbury Plain. They had become rare by 1819. The last bustard
in Britain died in approximately 1832, but the bird is being
reintroduced through batches of chicks imported from Russia. The adult male
weighs about 44 pounds, slightly bigger than a turkey, so Roth could well be
able to share it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">I wrote the poem <i>The
Wanderer’s Lament</i> years ago in high school and decided that this was a good
place to use it. Borl had his origins as a minor figure in <i>Goldfire</i> and
went on to have a career as a secondary character in several other short
stories. <i>Jash and the Rogue Torben</i> is obviously a story of destructive
obsession, the Morg version of <i>Moby Dick (torben: </i>a gigantic kind of heavy shark<i>), </i>and <i>ranna</i> the
equivalent of another terrestrial weed (‘</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">an outlawed plant whose use causes exhilaration but whose overindulgence
causes medical harm’ – <i>The Morgish Lexicon</i>).</span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">It was in this story that I
really started developing both the Morgish system of beards (Morgs have a
complex relationship with their beards. The males calculate their lives’ seven
stages by the changes in the growth, and over the ages certain beliefs had
sprung up and grown entrenched about what your beard said about you; the Third Beard is the 'Beard of Decision', the time for the 'teenage' quest for a way in life) and the
Army’s color-coded cloaks, based on the assumption that Roth must always have a
red cloak. They are:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">General: Blue<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Colonel: Gold<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Captain: Dark Red<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Lieutenant: Green<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Sergeant: Bright Red<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Private: Brown<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><u><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">First Beard</span></u><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">: Young male Morgs fully grow it about 10 years old, a milestone of their growth; </span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">the
beard a Morg is born with, the Beard of Birth; <u>Second Beard</u>: the Beard
of Youth, or Childhood; </span><u><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Third Beard</span></u><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">: </span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">the Beard of Decision, the ‘teenage’ beard</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> grown when a Morg's adolescence is over; </span><u><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Fourth
Beard</span></u><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">: the Beard of Growing, when one undergoes one’s
apprenticeship in your chosen way; <u>Fifth Beard:</u> the Beard of Maturity,
when you obtain the mastery in your way; </span><u><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Sixth Beard</span></u><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN;">: the Beard of Age, or Wisdom; <u>Seventh Beard</u>: the Beard of Decline,
or Withering.<o:p></o:p></span></p></div><p><br /></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-32499516473605553492024-03-21T04:01:00.000-07:002024-03-21T04:01:45.618-07:00Coming to Conclusions Without Context<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjufSut6mF0-dphS1ywG3FQFA_D9ojzI2xdZyHoH3sKS1XRiYMfhNNm21WKrwZBq9kFb3KWm4nsW0iwaitRFd3GR1hSDs_YJU9oAKNCHb0l-Kx8qsJwTLbJHJiSz_6HPYT1ob3sXLKpKCZCxgYD1S0JLFzu4Mgb-vwuFpxXzjfWJ4yQGEJt8RpzeBJ4JRk/s1336/12-8-72.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="1336" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjufSut6mF0-dphS1ywG3FQFA_D9ojzI2xdZyHoH3sKS1XRiYMfhNNm21WKrwZBq9kFb3KWm4nsW0iwaitRFd3GR1hSDs_YJU9oAKNCHb0l-Kx8qsJwTLbJHJiSz_6HPYT1ob3sXLKpKCZCxgYD1S0JLFzu4Mgb-vwuFpxXzjfWJ4yQGEJt8RpzeBJ4JRk/w640-h134/12-8-72.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2fe1U-qLmd0KsI92bTOXeAbdyJ_vTecif0gdc9C3tUCQKb22K5D1qujWxFX3SRor37Tv7XfPMRo8KmHEszs5l9dxucGcbDBKk59h01QNgL90__qMP68-KR9RygcJGXUDPBx3SKw0KG63UHKiF419N5bR8R_SqXMuK8_ESkZS6ulyWvrFlCr84gld5_EY/s256/stupid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="256" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2fe1U-qLmd0KsI92bTOXeAbdyJ_vTecif0gdc9C3tUCQKb22K5D1qujWxFX3SRor37Tv7XfPMRo8KmHEszs5l9dxucGcbDBKk59h01QNgL90__qMP68-KR9RygcJGXUDPBx3SKw0KG63UHKiF419N5bR8R_SqXMuK8_ESkZS6ulyWvrFlCr84gld5_EY/w320-h246/stupid.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-55066045664918851152024-03-20T17:19:00.000-07:002024-03-20T17:19:13.164-07:00T. M. Junge Rides Again!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypuQjbR3bu_0S4dDoN5Vat5Pfn1hyphenhyphencx9wk2Fw0d500vF0hwbmy-uR0kgwZhDgl3nrE3QukivFxUXK3sgiv_TMKodx3xzbDglALEwre9i4R1_iF4LX4URtSzTGId2kwBr3WUJjdu97CPQNRVlwGyWCqbyvoU-j059LTFCT30nLJDtdW7Zq26ewpkxeWwE/s650/a-heretic-is-always-worse-than-a-heathen-a-heathen-may-be.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="650" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypuQjbR3bu_0S4dDoN5Vat5Pfn1hyphenhyphencx9wk2Fw0d500vF0hwbmy-uR0kgwZhDgl3nrE3QukivFxUXK3sgiv_TMKodx3xzbDglALEwre9i4R1_iF4LX4URtSzTGId2kwBr3WUJjdu97CPQNRVlwGyWCqbyvoU-j059LTFCT30nLJDtdW7Zq26ewpkxeWwE/w640-h640/a-heretic-is-always-worse-than-a-heathen-a-heathen-may-be.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I discovered another T. M. Junge quote, this one supposedly from the papers of George MacDonald. I slipped it into quote/meme form.</span></div><br /><p></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-14597878858520006572024-03-20T07:41:00.000-07:002024-03-20T12:09:22.044-07:00Oh... My... Eru!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy6U9sSdvD_QpvEdlccE-7jr0B1i7nXRAC4RrbV4QFT2owHEMHF5ax9RinTM4fXK8boLt_aPdhHSjjugxiWQDRHa7N1xAI14GntVY1lqRloml8u4FXmVw2CuwX1ZNzrVQcLovMVOKQiyj-Vipohr6WUxufrjvoKBz5DBib_IojUkx29veG75OEGfTFOfo/s652/jrrt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="652" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy6U9sSdvD_QpvEdlccE-7jr0B1i7nXRAC4RrbV4QFT2owHEMHF5ax9RinTM4fXK8boLt_aPdhHSjjugxiWQDRHa7N1xAI14GntVY1lqRloml8u4FXmVw2CuwX1ZNzrVQcLovMVOKQiyj-Vipohr6WUxufrjvoKBz5DBib_IojUkx29veG75OEGfTFOfo/w490-h640/jrrt.jpg" width="490" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 14px; padding: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-size: large;">World first publication of the collected poems of J.R.R. Tolkien, spanning almost seven decades of the author’s life and presented in an elegant three-volume hardback boxed set.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">J.R.R. Tolkien aspired to be a poet in the first instance, and poetry was part of his creative life no less than his prose, his languages, and his art. Although Tolkien’s readers are aware that he wrote poetry, if only from verses in </span><span class="a-text-italic" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic !important;">The Hobbit</span><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"> and </span><span class="a-text-italic" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic !important;">The Lord of the Rings</span><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">, its extent is not well known, and its qualities are underappreciated. Within his larger works of fiction, poems help to establish character and place as well as further the story; as individual works, they delight with words and rhyme. They express his love of nature and the seasons, of landscape and music, and of words. They convey his humour and his sense of wonder.</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">The earliest work in this collection, written for his beloved, is dated to 1910, when Tolkien was eighteen. More poems would follow during his years at Oxford, some of them very elaborate and eccentric. Those he composed during the First World War, in which he served in France, tend to be concerned not with trenches and battle, but with life, loss, faith, and friendship, his longing for England, and the wife he left behind. Beginning in 1914, elements of his </span><span class="a-text-italic" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic !important;">legendarium</span><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">, ‘The Silmarillion’, began to appear, and the ‘Matter of Middle-earth’ would inspire much of Tolkien’s verse for the rest of his life.</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">Within</span><span class="a-text-italic" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic !important;"> The Collected Poems of J.R.R. Tolkien</span><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"> almost 200 works are presented across three volumes, including more than 60 that have never before been seen. The poems are deftly woven together with commentary and notes by world-renowned Tolkien scholars Christina Scull & Wayne G. Hammond, placing them in the context of Tolkien’s life and literary accomplishments and creating a poetical biography that is a unique and revealing celebration of J.R.R. Tolkien.</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-size: large;">--Amazon UK</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn83UjSRY28OzZOOro8IclKxEoAWR9SVQsskLA-0Mbxyq5GgQbiRpsHj7zd0mnpnaj7KjzQesjq_d8cQgazPyrZm2WRwASkk6NmvQiFUJp8UpHAkC-9491U9rJ_GjPwjX2ZF2h5rwd7wW_ASKg9WxMo4SP_OlJPw7I1uSlz3nAfvtLK9nKu1x1vlH3TwQ/s641/413px-Collected_Poems_of_J._R._R._Tolkien_title_page.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="413" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn83UjSRY28OzZOOro8IclKxEoAWR9SVQsskLA-0Mbxyq5GgQbiRpsHj7zd0mnpnaj7KjzQesjq_d8cQgazPyrZm2WRwASkk6NmvQiFUJp8UpHAkC-9491U9rJ_GjPwjX2ZF2h5rwd7wW_ASKg9WxMo4SP_OlJPw7I1uSlz3nAfvtLK9nKu1x1vlH3TwQ/w412-h640/413px-Collected_Poems_of_J._R._R._Tolkien_title_page.jpeg" width="412" /></a></div><p></p></div>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-23804279774681523002024-03-20T04:26:00.000-07:002024-03-20T04:26:07.682-07:00“Quark Will Come Through”: Memories<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8m2wXASax71bPLCxU-s00y-Go3AatRcZcA0R5HEslh_v8aluKU8oz5fNRnfChCmKP5vXm517cpAIP7usGvKSVh-D4BsJAxg2Jg-uuepgz_5s4LzFf__SmjJShtc1yMme5iW1XKyXF8xEq-Mvu8OvFSR0nuBsBkt2OOUadVHHqr38pJ9lIcjVmVSPzQOQ/s900/quark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8m2wXASax71bPLCxU-s00y-Go3AatRcZcA0R5HEslh_v8aluKU8oz5fNRnfChCmKP5vXm517cpAIP7usGvKSVh-D4BsJAxg2Jg-uuepgz_5s4LzFf__SmjJShtc1yMme5iW1XKyXF8xEq-Mvu8OvFSR0nuBsBkt2OOUadVHHqr38pJ9lIcjVmVSPzQOQ/w426-h640/quark.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Quark</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> is
a 1977 <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States" title="United States">American</a> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Science_fiction" title="Science fiction">science
fiction</a> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sitcom" title="Sitcom">sitcom</a> starring <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Benjamin" title="Richard Benjamin">Richard
Benjamin</a>. Broadcast on Friday nights at 8:00–8:30 p.m. on <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/NBC" title="NBC">NBC</a>, the pilot
aired on May 7, 1977, and the series followed as a mid-season replacement in
February 1978. The series was cancelled in April 1978. <i>Quark</i> was
created by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buck_Henry" title="Buck Henry">Buck Henry</a>, co-creator of the spy spoof <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Get_Smart" title="Get Smart">Get Smart</a></i>.”
– Wikipedia.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It was the late Seventies,
and we kids were eager for anything Star Trek or Star Wars related, even a TV parody.
The one joke I remember from the pilot was when Dr. O. B. Mudd (who didn’t
appear in the later series), a crotchety old man with an eyepatch, peered into
a monitor, panicked that he saw only an endless black void, and declared they
were doomed. Quark calmly replied, “Other eye, doctor.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When the series started up
in 1978 we decided to record it with our tape recorder. The cast now consisted of
Quark, captain of a garbage collection spaceship, the Bettys, identical girls
who always argue over which one is the clone, Gene/Jean, a transmute who
switches between extreme stereotypical male/female behavior, Ficus Pondarata,
an emotionless Spock-like Vegeton, and the home-made robot Andy, a boxy
neurotic primitive automaton. They get their orders from ‘The Head’, a big
giant head floating against a black screen, and his lacky Bob Palindrome,
located at the space station Perma One. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This is the episode we
recorded:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Perma One is in a state of
emergency, as the Gorgons have created the ultimate weapon to defeat the United
Galaxy. Palindrome gives Quark the secret weapon, "The Source"
(voiced by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hans_Conreid" title="Hans Conreid">Hans Conreid</a>). Quark must believe completely in the
Source in order to defeat the Gorgons. The episode parodies elements from <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Wars" title="Star Wars">Star Wars</a></i> and
1930's sci-fi serials <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flash_Gordon" title="Flash Gordon">Flash
Gordon</a></i> and <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buck_Rogers" title="Buck Rogers">Buck
Rogers</a></i>. The episode title parodies the phrase "May the Force Be
with You" from <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Wars" title="Star Wars">Star Wars</a></i>.” – Wikipedia.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It only lasted 8 episodes
including the pilot, and we never recorded another. It was rather ‘meh’, okay
but not compelling. It reminds me, in fact, of “When Things Were Rotten,” Mel
Brooks 1975 Robin Hood spoof TV series. We did continue listening to the tape
for quite a while. The complete series was released on DVD in 2008, and only
recently did I find episodes on YouTube (almost accidentally) which brought it
once more to mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaYwBxgX2ngpACwveyfkl5bfhRuY2FwoPdwUkTLwBLjmx2DuiGaZFoAvt8nVV_dIuP4aTDNlLPsBp7YmZBGC77IrhBJ-iKtGpTPDhVDecIpZP6HBfRrNs5Roc_xghn2vJ7dc8EwkJZnqUU5jlM1aNh8IdwaOCILMcGhw1xzD2UpKP1-LCU1uyaBz0GCkY/s815/big%20giant%20head.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="815" data-original-width="717" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaYwBxgX2ngpACwveyfkl5bfhRuY2FwoPdwUkTLwBLjmx2DuiGaZFoAvt8nVV_dIuP4aTDNlLPsBp7YmZBGC77IrhBJ-iKtGpTPDhVDecIpZP6HBfRrNs5Roc_xghn2vJ7dc8EwkJZnqUU5jlM1aNh8IdwaOCILMcGhw1xzD2UpKP1-LCU1uyaBz0GCkY/w564-h640/big%20giant%20head.JPG" width="564" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“The galaxy, ad infinitum!”<o:p></o:p></span></p></div><p><br /></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-42805773355745815792024-03-19T17:18:00.000-07:002024-03-19T19:54:00.627-07:00"He's Looney, I Tell You!"<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVLlfU-TQVddG8ieDw3m9DaEt4DZFrD1TlzqwvUDKyvL0K17VlgHbZjFovPXa30oKGDOgVWB1guEtvdico2EETCtdcF3NhPLnBCiYiDMkBrhI-3pl1deSSqXaO9BtFX0KURCEpl94rgU5dvGX3AB-HaoefppAS3RdevIhHJy91_cR5Ap5pjff5eBQXTQ/s500/mlsp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="339" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVLlfU-TQVddG8ieDw3m9DaEt4DZFrD1TlzqwvUDKyvL0K17VlgHbZjFovPXa30oKGDOgVWB1guEtvdico2EETCtdcF3NhPLnBCiYiDMkBrhI-3pl1deSSqXaO9BtFX0KURCEpl94rgU5dvGX3AB-HaoefppAS3RdevIhHJy91_cR5Ap5pjff5eBQXTQ/w434-h640/mlsp.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><i>Matthew Looney and the Space
Pirates</i> (1972), by Jerome Beatty Jr. (Illustrations by Gahan Wilson)<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This Sunday I finally read <i>Matthew
Looney and the Space Pirates</i> after having it in my library for well over a
decade. It was bought at one of the now defunct Half Price Books, mainly as a
‘remembrance’ of the first Matthew Looney book read back in grade school, but
never browsed for fear of ‘spoilers’ about the two volumes published in
between. Well, now I’ve recently bought and read the previous three books, so
this Sunday I finally sat down and read <i>Matthew Looney and the Space Pirates</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I found it a pleasant read,
but nowhere near as innovative as the first three, which, admittedly, had the
advantage of setting things up and exploring their oddities. I think it benefitted by my having read the previous books; it would have been harder to follow otherwise. MLSP follows the adventures of Matthew Looney,
who has advanced through the books from a Cabin Boy to a Commander, and who, in
the face of further encroachments from the Earth, is sent on an expedition to
found a Moon colony on the distant uninhabited world of Freeholy. This is
complicated first by the machinations of his old frenemy, Hector Hornblower
(who blows his own horn while hectoring his way into situations), who weasels
his way onto the expedition, then by space pirates who locate and hijack their
spaceship thanks to Hector’s carelessness. Matthew is set adrift by the pirates
into space, and the rest of the tale involves his rescue and his adventures to
overcome the pirates and save the expedition. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This was the last of the
Matthew adventures in the Looney series by Jerome Beatty. There are three
others featuring Matthew’s younger sister, Maria. I shall probably wait a bit
before trying to get them; at least two are in the $30 range on Amazon. But I
do want to eventually complete the sequence. <o:p></o:p></span></p></div><p><br /></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-53353559153684243402024-03-19T01:15:00.000-07:002024-03-19T01:15:22.956-07:00Around This Time, 2018<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCk6FVu_VBHeD2Fce_yqj2WnXC_x-HxMTeZZKdz6roM6kPiXhR1ljZ_hF7zVp3D8Ww-jxfWZDyUtt0XI7tvMEBjWo9a0bXMDDGdeEEeg6IWWDSF0tkX6hQAfJfWGEo_K8mTFXIKQKfTwsZSZIQ2WYW3LxNRJqfb2rmFrxtWt_I6VV1dP81UKKs3vcNS8/s1074/fallen%20live%20oak%20leaves.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1074" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCk6FVu_VBHeD2Fce_yqj2WnXC_x-HxMTeZZKdz6roM6kPiXhR1ljZ_hF7zVp3D8Ww-jxfWZDyUtt0XI7tvMEBjWo9a0bXMDDGdeEEeg6IWWDSF0tkX6hQAfJfWGEo_K8mTFXIKQKfTwsZSZIQ2WYW3LxNRJqfb2rmFrxtWt_I6VV1dP81UKKs3vcNS8/w640-h406/fallen%20live%20oak%20leaves.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">2018 DIARY<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">It is with a bit of a shock that I realized I hadn't
written any kind of a diary (as such) since Kaitlyn's wedding in October. Here
it is March 18, and the Shanafelts have just come back from Spring Vacation in
Florida, so why not start up again?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">First, a short summary of what has gone on between. I
am no where nearer to getting The American Fantasy published, though I have
written several short stories in connection with it. The circulation in my
right leg seems to be getting worse, so more pain and trouble there. I've had
several trips to St. James Catholic Church, to start work on my joining. I've
started transcribing Mike's work on his early novel, <i>A Stranger and Alone</i>.
After I broke my old Kindle in October, John has given me a new old Kindle, which
I quickly loaded with over 800 free books, and am now reading <i>Pepys' Diary</i>
again. Have taken up playing Words With Friends on Facebook, and Amy is giving
me a tough but fun run for my money. And that is the short of things. So on
with the diary.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">March 18, 2018: Yesterday I had swept leaves
everywhere (front porch, kitchen porch, back porch, pergola, pool) in
preparation for the Shanafelts's return, and ten minutes after I was done a short sharp
shower swept through and muddied and beleaved everything up again [live oak tree leaves fall in spring]. But luckily
I had got the Rottweilers put away in time. So the family got back about 9:30 PM or so. I
gave them a few minutes to get back in, then Kameron came in, and we talked a
little bit about the trip (it was like pulling teeth) but mostly about his
travel anxieties. When I went in to say hello and good night to S&A, the
first thing I learn is that I had been feeding Vader Kylo's food (well, it was
the only bag on the counter) but it was okay. Kameron decided he wanted to
sleep in my house, so it was after about an hour we actually settled down (he
had to take a shower in the big house, and have the chihuahuas, and Andy brought him corndogs after
they got his truck) and then it was a while before Kam settled down to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">This morning we got up about 9AM. We watched <i>Duck
Soup</i> and <i>Howl's Moving Castle</i> on DVD, then the end of <i>Finding Nemo</i> and the new
<i>Star vs. The Forces of Evil</i>. I got Kameron some powdered donuts and deer
sausage for "breakfast," then at 2:30 PM Susan brought him a couple
of tacos. At 3 PM he went back in. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">So, no souvenirs from the trip this time, ... and not even a bit of a 'welcome
back' meal yet (unless you count those two cold mustardless corndogs last
night). What I've had so far is some popcorn to eat all day -- but I've had
worse Sundays. I've got to buckle down and stop drifting and see if I can't get
out of this situation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">So I helped Andy and Kameron set up his PS2, then
went out to dip my feet in the pool a bit. It was still too cold to swim, but I
soaked a bit, saved a grasshopper, and fished leaves out. Then the dogs came
out, and Vader got all over me, so I went in and took a shower. This evening
Andy brought me out a cinnamon bun from Whataburger and a batch of the worst
snack mix I've ever tasted, left over from the trip. The bun was great. I did
eat all the snack mix, in lieu of a real meal. I am jonesing for meat, and sit
dreaming about making a thick turkey soup with potatoes, carrots, onions, and
celery. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">3/19/2018: Back to the old routine. Ramen for
breakfast, and then salad and couscous for supper; no meat. Kameron hung around
this evening and we had a good visit. For a while these past months he seemed glued
alone to his room, but now we have visiting time again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">3/20/2018: Joined Fr. Mitch's "Scripture and
Tradition" on Facebook. Very nice day; windows open and fan on low. Swept
porches and brought in recycle bin. I had taken a cardboard box out to put it
in bin, and the truck pulled up when I was half-way down the driveway, so I was
just in time. Boiled taters and salad for supper. Another nice visit with
Kameron. We looked up what a cranefly is and and talked about Sanskrit and
looked up James Hong and found out Hong translates to "big" and
talked about mental health! The boy has many interests. Still reading <i>Pepys'
Diary</i> (hereafter PD). Kelsey coming to take me with her to do wash tomorrow.
Legs still pins-and-needling making it hard to lie down. Right now <i>Modern Times</i>
is on; I had put "Spring is Here" from Limelight on Facebook today.
It IS the first day of Spring.<o:p></o:p></span></p></div><p><br /></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-18907691156107846482024-03-18T09:06:00.000-07:002024-03-18T09:06:57.734-07:00The Lord of the Rings: The Forbidden Pool (Part One)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRbRILKZ750bntb9gv-nYA1Sv9iT9Y9BGHks9w1ScvBXn3JDKHrJ1fKd7lWIkWTn6COeCeFfUT6lpbcvbXOuuhw3QucThNqVGh0ZE43U0AX0sklihqxv52Jy-uwB_nFGfzO7Bl06rZToFy4cjmt48fRfZuIuGwVUr16zahD2hTq1xfbm6azcgJV8kNGA/s1200/joan%20wyatt%20forbidden%20pool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="805" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRbRILKZ750bntb9gv-nYA1Sv9iT9Y9BGHks9w1ScvBXn3JDKHrJ1fKd7lWIkWTn6COeCeFfUT6lpbcvbXOuuhw3QucThNqVGh0ZE43U0AX0sklihqxv52Jy-uwB_nFGfzO7Bl06rZToFy4cjmt48fRfZuIuGwVUr16zahD2hTq1xfbm6azcgJV8kNGA/w430-h640/joan%20wyatt%20forbidden%20pool.jpg" width="430" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Tale<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo wakes in the cold early
hour before dawn finding Faramir bending over him, and for a moment he is
afraid. But Faramir bids him rise and follow. There is something he wants to
show him. A moment later Sam wakes up ‘by some instinct of watchfulness’ and
silently follows them past rows of sleeping men. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The moonlight has turned the
waterfall to a silken curtain of ‘melting icicles’. Once outside they take a
path along the side of the height. It winds its way upwards to a wide flat rock
like a platform where a guard is on watch. Looking out, Frodo sees that the
setting moon has changed the broad view, going as far as White Mountains, into
a vale of shadow and silver.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘For a while Frodo stood
there on the high stone, and a shiver ran through him, wondering if anywhere in
the vastness of the night-lands his old companions walked or slept, or lay dead
shrouded in mist.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sam mutters that it’s a fine
view, but cold to the heart and bones. He wonders why they’re here. Faramir
answers that it’s worth a few shivers to see fair Ithil (the moon) glancing on
the white locks (hair) of Mt. Mindolluin (site of Minas Tirith). But Sam has
only himself to blame for his chilliness since he (once more) wasn’t summoned
along with Frodo. But he bids them look; there is something more to see. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo and Faramir step
forward to look, but Sam hangs back. He is not too happy with heights. Looking
far down, Frodo sees the falls going into a distant pool below. In a moment, he
spies a small dark figure diving into the pool, ‘cleaving the black water as
neatly as an arrow or an edgewise stone.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faramir turns to the man on
watch, who turns out to be Anborn from before. Faramir asks him if THAT is a
black squirrel, or maybe they have black kingfishers in Mirkwood? No, replies Anborn, it has four limbs and
dives ‘manwise; a pretty mastery of the craft it shows, too.’ He and his men
are ready to shoot it to preserve the safety of their hideout, if the Captain
commands. Faramir turns to Frodo. Should they shoot it?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo hesitates then says no,
though Sam, who guesses what they are looking at, wants to say yes, quicker and
louder. Faramir asks why shouldn’t they shoot, noting that Frodo has said
nothing about his ‘gangrel companion.’ His men have been hunting Gollum, and
now his trespassing on their hideout is a worse offense then hunting rabbits in
the highlands; his life is forfeit. But he wonders why so crafty a creature
sports so openly in the pool, revealing his whereabouts. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLCFkJDW7V4M3_lw8AP9SplSPgxVAeAXW1syzltVvMdvQYpt1jVTqsnWNqj6g1NAdrHkMQDWz8i1CkKcxeSnGBrrWBC51vuq_tzvRJaF7GleCSAell8Z6VVEqjVsT_B3xhsjR7kXSxW2QnwlPeWUTXUS4vogBemBX0pGQEPaAFXO8IE58qJKFxY5lWd-s/s600/anborn%20faramir%20frodo%20sam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="600" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLCFkJDW7V4M3_lw8AP9SplSPgxVAeAXW1syzltVvMdvQYpt1jVTqsnWNqj6g1NAdrHkMQDWz8i1CkKcxeSnGBrrWBC51vuq_tzvRJaF7GleCSAell8Z6VVEqjVsT_B3xhsjR7kXSxW2QnwlPeWUTXUS4vogBemBX0pGQEPaAFXO8IE58qJKFxY5lWd-s/w640-h256/anborn%20faramir%20frodo%20sam.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo says perhaps so well
is their refuge hidden, perhaps he is not aware of it. Also, Gollum has a
mastering desire that leads him here. Faramir cautiously asks him if he means ‘the
burden’ that Frodo bears. Frodo answers, well yes, he knows what he bears and
desires it greatly, but he means something else. Gollum wants fish.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">They look down at the pool
and see him swimming about and then ‘with marvellous agility a froglike figure
climbed out of the water and up on the bank’, where he begins gnawing at the
small glinting fish he has caught. Fish! Faramir laughs. Not as perilous as the
Ring, he implies, but maybe as deadly. Anborn asks if he should shoot; it is
their law. Faramir tells him to wait. This is a more complicated matter. He
turns to Frodo. Why should they spare this creature?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg81_mU8NYAag6RB90VfAi-3UjEPDZivLHdJl46HhVsqJbwIKBMFRiMiV5yVyTWFaDtmv0XNfNQXoD5jF1v9MW4GPZftkyv3HlgBqYRJRlioCUiMHFhQg6sx5qLd3i0vGTlEylaPigNFW-sJUWuKHKOMo5K88pBQxYRhWurGcm_qdPNTxt2OMl6Rw4rXxI/s450/TN-Gollum_at_the_Forbidden_Pool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="379" data-original-width="450" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg81_mU8NYAag6RB90VfAi-3UjEPDZivLHdJl46HhVsqJbwIKBMFRiMiV5yVyTWFaDtmv0XNfNQXoD5jF1v9MW4GPZftkyv3HlgBqYRJRlioCUiMHFhQg6sx5qLd3i0vGTlEylaPigNFW-sJUWuKHKOMo5K88pBQxYRhWurGcm_qdPNTxt2OMl6Rw4rXxI/w640-h540/TN-Gollum_at_the_Forbidden_Pool.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Gollum is wretched and
hungry, and doesn’t know he is breaking their law, Frodo pleads. Surely Gandalf
would have had him spare him for those reasons alone. But Frodo also feels
Gollum ‘is in some way bound up with his errand.’ Before the men caught them,
he was their guide. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The story grows ever
stranger, says Faramir. But he cannot just let Gollum go, to blab to every Orc
he meets the secrets of their location. He must be taken or killed, and his men
cannot get close enough to capture him. Frodo begs that he let him go down to
Gollum and get him. Faramir agrees to let him try, but if he fails, Gollum <i>will</i>
be killed. He takes Anborn’s bow, and the ranger leads Frodo down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">They go silently, and Anborn
stops some distance from the pool so Gollum will neither hear nor smell him.
Frodo creeps forward over the slippery rocks, and soon he hears Gollum
muttering to himself as he eats his fish, complaining ‘almost as unceasingly as
the waterfall’.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The moon has gone down, and ‘poor
Smeagol’ can at last eat his fish in peace. No, not in peace; the Precious is
lost again, the ‘dirty hobbits’ have abandoned him, and now Men will get the
Ring. He’d throttle them all, all the thieves, if he gets the chance. But nice
fish makes us strong. ‘Makes eyes bright and fingers tight, yes.’ He slavers
and gurgles as he eats.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo shivers as he hears
that voice, and wonders if he <i>should</i> have them shoot and free him of it
forever. But Gollum has a claim on him now, and a ‘servant has a claim on the
master for service, even service in fear.’ He lead them out of the Dead Marshes
faithfully. And besides, Gandalf would have wanted him spared. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He calls to Smeagol, telling
him that Master is here, and that he should follow him lest the men find and
shoot him. Gollum is sullen at first, saying the Master isn’t nice for leaving
him and going off with new friends. Besides, he wants to finish his fish. He
won’t take it with him, and he won’t leave it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In desperation Frodo
threatens that, by the oath Smeagol swore on the Precious, he will command that
the bones of the fish to choke him, and then he’ll never taste fish again. ‘Come,
Precious is waiting!’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Gollum hisses sharply, then
comes out of the darkness ‘crawling on all fours, like an erring dog called to
heel.’ He carries one fish and has another still in his mouth. He comes up to
Frodo and sniffs him. Finally, he takes
the fish out and stands up. He is obsequious again, calling Frodo nice Master,
nice hobbit. They should leave quickly, while there is no moon or sun yet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo explains they can’t
leave, but he promises they will. They are not safe yet. But for now, Smeagol
must trust him. Trust him? Why? And where is the ‘cross rude hobbit?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo explains he is ‘up there’
above them and they’re not leaving without him. His heart sinks. This is too
much like trickery. He doesn’t think Faramir will kill Gollum, but he’ll surely
be taken prisoner and tied up, and it ‘would seem a treachery to the poor
treacherous creature.’ He’ll never be able to explain it to him; he must simply
try to keep faith with both sides. ‘Come!’ he orders. ‘Or the Precious will be
angry!’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Gollum crawls along for a
while, snuffling and suspicious. Suddenly he becomes aware that something is
ahead, something not a hobbit. ‘Wicked! Tricksy! False!’ He turns back on
Frodo, a green light flickering in his bulging eyes, arms stretched out,
spitting with anger. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Anborn and two other men
grab him before he can reach Frodo, pinning him down ‘none too gently’ while he
twists and wriggles, biting and scratching. Frodo pleads with them to go easier
and pleads with Gollum to calm down and he won’t be hurt. Gollum spits at him.
The men carry him off and Frodo follows.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Back in the cave torches are
lit and men are stirring. Sam is there, and he looks at the limp Gollum carried
by the men. ‘Got him?’ he asks Frodo
laconically.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Yes. Well no, I didn’t get
him. He came to me because he trusted me at first, I’m afraid. I did not want
him tied up like this. I hope it will be all right; but I hate the whole
business.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘So do I,’ said Sam. ‘And
nothing will ever be all right where that piece of misery is.’</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWKY50ObAk0c9Z6HsVBVDnFa_ne6rCDhhu7tfn6LtMds7WHpcolb-xZ1nknEY9G9ltRs8cbTyMjNb972nOF6p5PoY8LsjT_ZzwIYxL0f3djCAg6qiCwMS2SYzEBGAL2wPYBOijY0ZGlcbbmqDTcr8bwPjDgdbLQyB8N95TkZdaBa0VGkpQvI18Q5sPwFY/s1046/hildebrandt%20gollum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1046" data-original-width="730" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWKY50ObAk0c9Z6HsVBVDnFa_ne6rCDhhu7tfn6LtMds7WHpcolb-xZ1nknEY9G9ltRs8cbTyMjNb972nOF6p5PoY8LsjT_ZzwIYxL0f3djCAg6qiCwMS2SYzEBGAL2wPYBOijY0ZGlcbbmqDTcr8bwPjDgdbLQyB8N95TkZdaBa0VGkpQvI18Q5sPwFY/w446-h640/hildebrandt%20gollum.jpg" width="446" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bits and Bobs<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Not much to say here, except
to note Frodo’s mercy again, even against his instincts and his weariness of
dealing with Gollum, perhaps exacerbated by his time with nobler companions.
Sam continues to display his fear of heights and his eager willingness to
dispense with Gollum altogether. And Faramir, if they cannot catch him, says
they must kill him. Gollum, wretched as he is, can never understand or
recognize the severe mercy he is shown. The green light in his eyes shows that
the worse half of his personality is to the fore.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This is a fairly short chapter; I may be able to finish it next week.</span></p></div><p><br /></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-63901803858935275292024-03-17T01:26:00.000-07:002024-03-17T01:26:19.814-07:00Regrets, I've Had a Few<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1LOJ4R4BZyrWUlkyygjxqI9OJNPPYGM57Qnv7f1LO2NmewCnB7gvOQvNrDqoBz5gYO2CMf2GBUwVr1K7yG1lLa7AQ2OR9hHve6tNHQR39pt6J-EcQqbhjJdZMj1TlbVhYIvZNocPt3K7Bb90vtfL61K3KZVcKsoKSFLenk0h1LTfZFbUkxgd1TR363EQ/s1125/shevs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1125" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1LOJ4R4BZyrWUlkyygjxqI9OJNPPYGM57Qnv7f1LO2NmewCnB7gvOQvNrDqoBz5gYO2CMf2GBUwVr1K7yG1lLa7AQ2OR9hHve6tNHQR39pt6J-EcQqbhjJdZMj1TlbVhYIvZNocPt3K7Bb90vtfL61K3KZVcKsoKSFLenk0h1LTfZFbUkxgd1TR363EQ/w640-h640/shevs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I was sitting around
yesterday evening thinking about the Shadow Library and lamenting some books
that, for one reason or another, I no longer have. There are a few (by no means
all) that, if I could have them again by merely wishing and had the room for
them all, I would take back. Probably not to pay money for all of them, mind
you. So I went and made this list of about 150 books I wouldn’t mind
having once more. Some are classics, some are for research, and some are just
sentimental picks. They are by no means the entire Shadow Library and are in no
particular order. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Satyrday, by Steven Bauer<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sea Monsters, by Walter
Buehr<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Barchester Towers & The
Warden, by Anthony Trollope (A Modern Library Book)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Maxfield Parrish … Coy
Ludwig<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Howard Pyle … Henry C. Pitz<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Hero with a Thousand
Faces … Joseph Campbell<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Uses of Enchantment …
Bruno Bettelheim<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Barlowe’s Guide to
Extraterrestrials; Barlowe’s Guide to Fantasy … Wayne Douglas Barlowe<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Pictorial History of
Philosophy … Dagobert D. Runes<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Steel Bonnets … George
Macdonald Fraser<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Medieval and Tudor Drama …
John Gassner, Ed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Elizabethan Drama …
(Anthology of Plays)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Poems of Francois Villon
… (Signet Classic)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Waste Land and Other
Poems … T. S. Eliot<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Four Quartets … T. S. Eliot<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Old Possum’s Book of
Practical Cats … T. S. Eliot, Edward Gorey<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Fireside Book of Folk Songs
… Margaret Bradford Boni (ed.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mickelsson's Ghosts ... John
Gardner<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bullwhip Griffin … Sid
Fleischman<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Shaggy Dog … Elizabeth
L. Griffen<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Mystery in Dracula’s
Castle … Vic Crume<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bridge to Terabithia …
Katherine Paterson<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Coming of Conan the
Cimmerian; The Best of Robert E. Howard Vol. I: Crimson Shadows; The Best of
Robert E. Howard Vol. II: Grim Lands; Bran Mak Morn: The Last King; The
Conquering Sword of Conan; The Bloody Crown of Conan; The Horror Stories of
Robert E. Howard; Kull: Exile of Atlantis; The Savage Tales of Solomon Kane …
Robert E. Howard<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Riot at Bucksnort and
Other Western Tales; The Black Stranger and Other American Tales; El Borak and
Other Desert Adventures; Boxing Stories … Robert E. Howard<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Blade of Conan … L.
Sprague de Camp (ed.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Spell of Conan … L.
Sprague de Camp (ed.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Dune Encyclopedia …
Willis E. McNelly<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Illuminatus! Trilogy …
Robert Shea & Robert Anton Wilson<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Schrodinger’s Cat Trilogy …
Robert Anton
Wilson <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Masks of the Illuminati …
Robert Anton Wilson<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Hitchhiker’s Guide to
the Galaxy*; The Restaurant at the End of the Universe; Life, the Universe, and
Everything; So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish; Mostly Harmless … Douglas
Adams<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Lost Books of the Bible
and The Forgotten Books of Eden … Rutherford Hayes Platt, Brett Alden<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Shadowland … Peter Straub<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Great God Pan & The
Hill of Dreams … Arthur Machen<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The House of the Wulfings;
Child Christopher and Goldilind the Fair; The Roots of the Mountains … William
Morris<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Five Children and It, The
Phoenix and the Carpet, The Story of the Amulet (1 Volume) … E. Nesbit<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Complete Works of Lewis
Carroll … Alexander Woollcott (intro)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Dwellers in the Mirage; The
Black Wheel; The Face in the Abyss; The Ship of Ishtar; The Fox Woman and other
stories … A. Merritt<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Wisdom’s Daughter; She and
Allan; Ayesha: The Return of She … H. Rider Haggard<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Prince of Annwn; The
Children of Llyr; The Song of Rhiannon; The Island of the Mighty … Evangeline
Walton<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Gray Wolf (and other
fantasy stories); The Wise Woman … George Macdonald<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Epic of Kings … Firdausi<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Rural Rides … William
Cobbett<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Dragonworld … Byron Priess
& Michael Reaves<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Deus Irae … Philip K. Dick
& Roger Zelazny<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Labyrinth … A. C. H. Smith<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Dark Crystal … A. C. H.
Smith<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Neverending Story …
Michael Ende<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Tales of the Mysterious and
Macabre; Tales of the Uncanny and Supernatural … Algernon Blackwood<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Middle Ages: Myths and
Legends … Helene A. Guerber<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mythical Monsters … Charles
Gould<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Vampires and Vampirism …
Montague Summers <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Werewolf in Lore and
Legend … Montague Summers<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The History of Witchcraft
and Demonology … Montague Summers<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Poetic Edda: The Heroic
Poems … Henry Adams Bellows (tr.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Prose Edda … Snorri
Sturluson<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Gildenfire … Stephen R.
Donaldson<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Chronicles of
Chrestomanci, Vols. I, II, and III; Earwig and the Witch … Diana Wynne Jones<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Dalemark Quartet … Diana
Wynne Jones<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Folk of the Air … Peter
S. Beagle<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Shakespeare’s Bawdy … Eric
Partridge<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Catch-22 … Joseph Heller<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The History of the Church,
by Eusebius (Translated by G. A. Williamson)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Outer Dark; The Road; All
the Pretty Horses; Blood Meridian … Cormac McCarthy<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Name of the Rose … Umberto
Eco<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Dragon Path: Collected
Stories of Kenneth Morris (1995). Edited by Douglas A. Anderson<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Super-Monsters … Daniel
Cohen<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Monsters You Never Heard Of
… Daniel Cohen<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Monsters, Giants, and Little
Men from Mars … Daniel Cohen<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Magic Goes Away … Larry
Niven <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Magic May Return … Larry
Niven<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">King Arthur’s Daughter …
Vera Chapman<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The King’s Damosel … Vera
Chapman<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Song of Sorcery; The Unicorn
Creed … Elizabeth Scarborough<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Doomfarers of Coramonde;
The Starfollowers of Coramonde … Brian Daley<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Myths of Greece and Rome, by
H. A. Guerber<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Hrolf Kraki’s Saga … Poul
Anderson<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A Voice for Princess; The
Questing of Kedrigern; Kedrigern in Wanderland; Kedrigern and the Charming
Couple; A Remembrance for Kedrigern … John Morressy<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Dark Tide; Shadows of
Doom; The Darkest Day; Trek to Kraggen-Cor; The Brega Path … Dennis McKiernan<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Lure of the Basilisk;
The Seven Altars of DuSarra; The Sword of Bheleu; The Book of Silence …
Lawrence Watt-Evans<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Summer Tree; The
Wandering Fire; The Darkest Road … Guy Gavriel Kay<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Pawn of Prophecy; Queen of
Sorcery; Magician’s Gambit; Castle of Wizardry; Enchanter’s End Game … David
Eddings<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Sword and the Satchel;
The Elves and the Otterskin; The Thrall and the Dragon’s Heart; The Wizard and
the Warlord; The Troll’s Grindstone … Elizabeth Boyer<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Time of the Dark; The
Walls of Air; The Armies of Daylight … Barbara Hambly<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">So You Want to Be a Wizard;
High Wizardry; Deep Wizardry … Diane Duane<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A Wizard Abroad … Diane
Duane<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Wizard’s Dilemma … Diane
Duane<o:p></o:p></span></p></div><p><br /></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-68047899983243248822024-03-16T06:22:00.000-07:002024-03-16T07:30:00.234-07:00Sha-na-na-nara<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3xqq1CGh382s32oybQREQFamfKl-EnTMD5dcSAhOZYE5RU25Wm1xX_5Jwj1qfDewbrgNn6557Gq7SnN_1YwSBOkSjwWV0E1SYBQhiCTpwMC0RcT7pEf8Y5MtqGQMnezeReC-mH61GLH5wExdxmGtjpd-ElXmpnb0kjMZ_yz-x6Nu0jhFQMEI3xKdA0M/s683/begin.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="468" data-original-width="683" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3xqq1CGh382s32oybQREQFamfKl-EnTMD5dcSAhOZYE5RU25Wm1xX_5Jwj1qfDewbrgNn6557Gq7SnN_1YwSBOkSjwWV0E1SYBQhiCTpwMC0RcT7pEf8Y5MtqGQMnezeReC-mH61GLH5wExdxmGtjpd-ElXmpnb0kjMZ_yz-x6Nu0jhFQMEI3xKdA0M/w640-h438/begin.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQXTqpskikhbX8MKx9iEihyXHG3nQ6CdmOlv2DSiey_mqHeKFIo0c1HUjzXoIPzmO-MvlPo4AE0NhBAlrAV6zQHQAYiw7l8Clrbq9LFp-74SlgLVpn3pHe5OoXlcQMGLSUt_BiwG2AucV_iF2IKivSWKe3ZPXYYytbxrVKhKgmiuyOfW6vkWfvPhRwgJI/s1600/tumblr_ngfv3uNmAQ1qidrpho5_r1_1280.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1027" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQXTqpskikhbX8MKx9iEihyXHG3nQ6CdmOlv2DSiey_mqHeKFIo0c1HUjzXoIPzmO-MvlPo4AE0NhBAlrAV6zQHQAYiw7l8Clrbq9LFp-74SlgLVpn3pHe5OoXlcQMGLSUt_BiwG2AucV_iF2IKivSWKe3ZPXYYytbxrVKhKgmiuyOfW6vkWfvPhRwgJI/w410-h640/tumblr_ngfv3uNmAQ1qidrpho5_r1_1280.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNR25Qsg4THrtqKrL1KmUy9jf_4D3yTHIIh2l98swmp6dDGcDsoBjFZ5i_A7SwyN4ohYXwcAdCftR5cYK_feboMJu89hqgzN2h-ZPbq_3b_2hpJhJh_krsZtZeCCmAMFHLbvY_licX4kF2Fbda_yZyIklvSlI3LI22YlurdRJUE66TVV_q8PBFs3aMqk/s745/end.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="745" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNR25Qsg4THrtqKrL1KmUy9jf_4D3yTHIIh2l98swmp6dDGcDsoBjFZ5i_A7SwyN4ohYXwcAdCftR5cYK_feboMJu89hqgzN2h-ZPbq_3b_2hpJhJh_krsZtZeCCmAMFHLbvY_licX4kF2Fbda_yZyIklvSlI3LI22YlurdRJUE66TVV_q8PBFs3aMqk/w640-h440/end.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">The year was 1978. <i>The
Sword of Shannara</i> by Terry Brooks had come out just the year before (1977, the
same year as <i>The Silmarillion </i>and <i>Lord Foul’s Bane</i>, by the way;
<i>Shannara</i> was the first book published under the Del Rey imprint). It was the
beginning of the next wave of Fantasy, probably kicked off by the success of
the Science Fantasy of <i>Star Wars</i> at the movies. Anyway, the newspapers started a feature in
1978 called <i>Best Seller Showcase</i>, which was to print comic adaptations
of best sellers, and they chose <i>Shannara</i> for their first sample, drawn by Gray Morrow (there's a fantasy name for you!). <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"><i>Best Seller Showcase</i> did not
last long, probably because they had to change genres so often. Anyone who read
it for Fantasy at first would probably drop it when they switched to a Romance.
They could not build up a dedicated readership.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">There were black-and-white
dailies and colored Sundays; our paper did not carry the dailies, but I had a
vague interest in the Sundays, even clipping out a few individual panels and
saving them (I still have at least two of these). I even drew a ‘Skullbearer’
based on the comic’s interpretation. I don’t think I was more involved in collecting
them because I saw the strips themselves as too commercial and stereotypical in
most of their depictions of the characters, and the book itself as being a
shameless clone. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">But I am interested in them
as an element of nostalgia. Bits and pieces can now be gleaned from over the
internet (which I have done here); I suppose if one had the patience they could
be stitched together in their proper order. More appealing would be a small
book reprinting the entire story. With all Terry Brooks’ merchandising I’m
surprised that hasn’t happened, but perhaps he is not too proud of these humble
beginnings. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Still, I suddenly feel a
little urge to go back and read <i>The Sword of Shannara</i> novel again, if
only to cast a more mature eye over it. It must be forty years or so since I read
it last. I cannot believe it has gotten any better over time, although they do
say Brooks himself has improved as a writer That may be so, but I’ve not been
quite able to digest that first lump (though I did buy the next two sequels –
never read) and proceed to the rest of the meal. Still, nostalgia …</span></p></div>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-46391023692687591372024-03-15T01:22:00.000-07:002024-03-15T01:22:35.668-07:00Friday Fiction: Blake<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLuZ8LLwjHJIsHqpVtGg_Top1PyrcIIOYPtBZx_JmRsSPoVZjl-4q0kcGSbB_3gwOYPdge6p4hX384dt2i6weA_jAXSpwPWITnpKXQyZ6CrJAn9TBT75tVX640cVuI-fjy99xou9mu3t1MjbohC3R1ArsWOgqlc3k2kTjX03NEPVbZWXxCXzmRfaF6J4/s524/giant%20spider.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="519" data-original-width="524" height="634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLuZ8LLwjHJIsHqpVtGg_Top1PyrcIIOYPtBZx_JmRsSPoVZjl-4q0kcGSbB_3gwOYPdge6p4hX384dt2i6weA_jAXSpwPWITnpKXQyZ6CrJAn9TBT75tVX640cVuI-fjy99xou9mu3t1MjbohC3R1ArsWOgqlc3k2kTjX03NEPVbZWXxCXzmRfaF6J4/w640-h634/giant%20spider.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">BLAKE<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake drove his athema into another brown
hairy spider with a satisfying thud that splattered acid-green blood down the
wall. The spider, big as two hands, curled up as if it were trying to grab the
blade. Blake pulled back and jerked the dead thing off into the shadows.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Enough! Show yourself, unless you're
afraid to face me!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> A slow harsh hiss curled around the stained
walls, finally turning into words.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "So brave it is. So brave for one so
young. So little, too. The sendings can take care of it. Yes, I don't think we
need trouble ourself."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "I can squash as many bugs as you can
make," said Blake. "You'll have to match your power against me
personally."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "So confident...so contemptuous,"
the voice crooned. "Try this!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> A bulky shadow in the corner burst into
legs and sprang at Blake, vaulting ten feet and knocking him to the filthy
floor. A spider the size of a Rottweiler scrabbled and snapped at Blake, its
multiple eyes gleaming blackly in the light of the athema's blade. He had
raised it in anticipation in the fraction of a second, and now it was the only
thing keeping the venom-dripping jaws inches from his face.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Clever and quick. But how strong is
it? Not enough, I think."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "We'll see," said Blake through
gritted teeth. He held the blade flat in the armored jaws, which were too tough
to cut and clinked unscathed against the sharp metal. But there was a soft
inner part visible for an instant when the spider unclenched to bite down
again. Blake timed it twice, then twisted the athema and ripped downward.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> The spider squealed and fell over, its
belly seaming open like a rotten garbage bag. Blake backed away from the final
spasms and heard the voice suck itself away in shock and silence. He grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "That was it, wasn't it? That was your
big boss, your last defence. It's just you and me now." Blake held the
gory athema out in the palm of his right hand. "Going to find you."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He stepped forward cautiously. For three
paces nothing happened. Then the blade twitched to the left. Blake stopped,
then turned left. As he went the knife raised itself until it was pointing at
the roof.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Upstairs. Interesting." He
pulled a flashlight out of his coat pocket and flashed it at the cieling. There
was an old attic door. its grimy pull string broken short.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He dragged a side table over, tested its
strength, and found it adequate. He climbed up and pulled the door open.
Folding stairs clattered down, along with dust and several hand-spanning
spiders. Blake edged back, but they lay still where they fell. He looked up.
There was a faint light.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake checked his watch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Almost sunrise. Out of time."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Leave us alone," the voice
whispered. "This is our place. Go away."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "It's not yours," said Blake. He
started up the stairs. "There's no place for you in this world
anymore."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> The attic seemed empty and completely bare
except for dust. Blake cautiously came up the last stair and looked around. The
pre-dawn light was already filling the room, but in one dark corner he saw that
something was hanging pendulous from the roof-beam.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He thought it was a real body, at first.
The twisted rope around the neck had snapped the head sideways, and the eyes
bulged and the mouth was open wide. As he watched, one last gelid spider rolled
out of the mouth and down the tongue, to splatter inertly to the floor. Then he
saw that the creeping rays of sun were turning the bare feet of the ectoplasmic
appearance transparent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Got you," Blake said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> As he walked nearer the shape he saw that
it hung in the center of three concentric circles, drawn in chalk, faintly
visible under the dust, and ornate with signs familiar to him from his studies.
This was the concentrator that bound the thing to earth. He held the athema
high, drew a breath, and stepped into the first ring.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He was in a dead forest, the trees bare and
black, and overhead were bitter, pitiless stars in utter vacuum. Under his feet
were fallen leaves that rustled stealthily in an uneasy wind. All around he
heard the voice, the whispering spell-speech, of his enemy. Suddenly it focused
into clear venomous hate.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "I curse you," it said. "I
curse you with Fear, Fear that paralyzes the will and freezes the heart, Fear
so that you cannot take another step, I curse you..."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake almost laughed. "I'm always
afraid, stupid. Fear is part of why I do what I do. No-one knows my fears
better than I. But you were afraid of what comes after death. Your circle is
broken."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He stepped forward. For a second everything
around him flickered, and he saw the attic room. Then he was plunged back in
darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He was in a vast open field, under night
unrelieved by any star. Stretching in endless rows around him were stones,
gravestones shaped like books, and in front of each were rusted athemas or the
ruined heads of staffs. No grass grew on the mounds of broken earth of each
grave. Blake shuddered when he realized where he was. On every stone was
written "Killed In The Line Of Duty."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "I curse you with Pain and Loss,"
hissed the voice. "So that all that you you achieve may fall to dust, and
all your victories will be hollow, and all that you suffer be useless, with
Pain and Loss I curse you..."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake was silent. Then he spoke quietly,
his eyes closed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Pain and Loss is what all living
things pay for everything. Nothing good is gotten without pain, and everything
is paid finally with loss. But the brief moment of achievement is the glory of
the living."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He opened his eyes. They narrowed, and he
frowned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "But you wanted to be beyond pain and
loss, to be here forever, and never pay the price. But the price is always
paid, by anything that is born."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He stepped forward.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Your circle is broken."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He was back in the attic. There were no
more illusions. He stood in the final circle, the rotting semblance of what was
once human dangling a foot from him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake looked up into its eyes. They glinted
with malice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Now you face me at last." The
lips did not move. "But I do not curse you. I will only foretell. You
think you triumph over me. But I tell you with the foresight of the dead, that
you will get everything that you want, fulfill all your dreams, and they you
shall find that they are an empty cup. That will be my satisfaction, though you
destroy me today."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "You destroyed yourself, a long time
ago. I'm just...cleaning up your mess." He held out the athema. The tip
touched the thing's chest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Be purified."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blue flame blossomed from the blade,
engulfing the ectoplasmic corpse instantly. The voice screamed briefly,
fearfully, a scream that dwindled to silence as it's phantasm was devoured away
into nothing. In three seconds it was gone. There was a blast of wind as
something invisible passed Blake, leaving the world, scattering the dust and
the last fragments of the chalk circle as it did.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake looked around the attic. The sun had
definitely risen now, and in its light there was no trace of anything
unnatural.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake put his athema in its sheathe at his
side.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Spiders," he said, shaking his
head again. "What a cliche."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He looked at his watch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Damn it. I'm going to be late for
class."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Jean had decided to leave the car and go in
looking for Blake when he came out of the old house's boarded door, combing
back his short black hair and hooking his backpack off the porch as he came
down the steps. She settled behind the wheel in relief. Exploring an old
decaying building for revenants might be her sixteen year old brother's idea of
fun, but it certainly wasn't hers. She pulled her gray sweater closer against
the morning chill and squinted at him in the rising sunlight as he opened the
door and slid in next to her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Hey, sis, thanks for waiting."
He put the backpack on the floor between his feet and pulled the seatbelt down
with a click. "I think we'll have to go straight to school. No time for
home."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Not even for a shower?" She
brushed his shoulder briskly. "You smell like dust and yuck." She
smiled. "You'll never get a girlfriend like that. Not a live one,
anyway."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "We're on the other side of town,
Jean." Blake unzipped his backpack and pulled out a clipboard loaded with
a wad of crumpled, curling papers. "I'll shower in gymn. That's only
fourth period. While you drive I'll see if I can get this report filled
out."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Okay, boss. Jean, Jean, the driving
machine, at your service." She started the engine with a roar that
assulted the quiet morning air and pulled out into the sparsely inhabited
suburban road. "You're just lucky I don't have any of my courses until one
today."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "I appreciate it, Jeannie, I really
do. With this mission I've finally got enough field hours to take the Training
Permit Exam, and today's the last test for three months." Blake ticked a
quick series of boxes off on the form. "Damn. If I knew there was so much
paperwork, I don't know if I would have ever started this crap."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Kind of left it to the last minute,
didn't you?" They were driving through the outskirts of town, where the
houses were beginning to show signs of life, porch lights going off and kitchen
lights on, and in a few driveways cars chugging exhaust as they warmed up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "They never can tell when a suitable
job will turn up. Though I don't know how they missed this one. It must have
been almost a hundred years old. Look at this." He pulled out a manila
folder dossier from the pile and flipped it open. Jean glanced over and saw a
sheet with several columns of run-off pictures with data. It was labelled
"Suspects."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake tapped a yellowed reproduction near
the top.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "The original owner. It's not in the
records, I think it must have been hushed up, but it appears he committed
suicide in the house. A clear case." He shuffled the folder away and wrote
an entry on the forms. "Of an Arachne syndrome haunting."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "And what does that mean?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "People who hang themselves have an
affinity for spiders. It's an old Greek legend. But he was a spell-weaver too,
so that accounts for the persistence of the manifestation," he added
thoughtfully, and made another entry. He turned the pages over.
"Peculiarities."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "The whole damn thing seems peculiar
to me." They were in town. Jean was nervously watching the growing
traffic.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "You're telling me. I almost got eaten
by a spider the size of a pony."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Blake!" She reflexively tapped
the brakes, almost squealing to a halt. The car behind her honked angrily.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Nothing I couldn't handle, sis."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Jean stared at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "What? I was fine. Really. No big
problem. Really."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Jean finally looked away and slowly started
driving again. Blake looked down at his papers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Peculiarities," he mumbled.
"It used the royal plural pronouns at first, then switched to the singular
personal as I got closer to its focal point."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Real megalomaniac type, huh?"
Jean spoke lightly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Well, he did want to cheat death and
never give up his earthly habitation. He sure fits that pattern. But it can
sometimes indicate a multiple haunting, or an arrangement with...other powers.
Or maybe that he was just lonely. Talking to his spiders for a hundred years
like a crazy old lady with her cats." He looked up. "What are you
doing?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Jean pointed with one finger off the wheel
at the shop whose drive-through she was turning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "The Donut Palace." She smiled.
"breakfast is the most important meal of the day, kid. Good morning,
Mabel. Large coffee, large juice, and six cherry-filled doughnuts,
please."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Thanks, Jeannie," he said as
they pulled out. "I hadn't even thought about eating." He gulped some
juice and took half a doughnut in one bite.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Got to keep those energy levels
up." She smiled and sipped her coffee, keeping wary eyes on the traffic.
"But you don't have to wolf it down."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "I don't have time. The test starts
in...shit, eight minutes!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Don't panic, we're almost there. You
finish your report and let me worry about getting you to class on time."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Okay, but if you don't, that's more
field work for the next three months."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> They were quiet for the rest of the drive,
Jean maneuvering with hawk-like excitement and skill through the sluggish
morning traffic and Blake concentrating on his work forms and stuffing two more
doughnuts down as he did. By the time they pulled into the Gothenberg High
School complex his forms were stained with jelly and grease, but done.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Still the old snake-pit, I see,"
said Jean in mock nostalgic tones. "I'll let you off in front of the
building. Where are they holding it?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "The 200 Wing. Math rooms. I guess
they think the build-up of negative energy is a good simulation of adverse
conflict situations." He grinned and gathered up his backpack.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Jean rolled her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "You and math. Well, here we are, with
minutes to spare." She touched to a stop. Outside was the plain,
industrially grim 200 Wing. She turned to Blake as he struggled with his seat
belt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Good luck, little brother. Give 'em
hell."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "You know it, Imperious Leader. You
know it."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake got out, paused as if to say
something, then knocked twice on the car roof.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Got to go." He slammed the car
door, turned, and loped hurriedly toward the building's doors, papers flapping
in one hand and pack swinging in the other.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Jean watched until he was safely inside,
then drove away, heading for her dorm room and a few hours of snatched sleep.
As she pulled out of the tangled school traffic system, she couldn't help
feeling that, although she hoped Blake passed for his sake, she wouldn't mind
three more months before he got his Training Permit and the real danger began.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake flashed his I.D. at the hall monitor,
who waved him along. Blake could see down the corridor the short, straight
figure of his instructor Mr. Guthrie, waiting stiffly outside a closed
classroom door. For all his urgency Blake slowed down as he approached those
icy blue eyes and dour, scar-pitted face. He held out his papers like a shield
or an offering between them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "I did it. I've got the hours."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Guthrie took the papers, flipped through
them, nose wrinkled. He lowered the forms and raised his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "I don't have time to review these
properly. The test starts in five minutes."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake felt his stomach fall to his feet. He
seemed to shrivel in front of his teacher, who was actually a few inches
shorter than he was.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "However, I think we might be able to
squeak you in, Mr. Martin."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake's hope rose.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "If you will consent to be Read."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake hesitated for the fraction of a
second. He trusted Guthrie with his training, but the idea of his teacher
probing his mind was disquieting. He looked into those cold assessing eyes and
decided.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "All right. Go ahead. Do it."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Close your eyes. Clear your head. And
relax." The instructor was all clipped tones and precise, practiced
movements. He raised the index and little fingers of his right hand.
"Don't resist. I'm only going to look at the last eight hours. All your
big secrets and personal opinions will be safe."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He gave a wintery smile. Before Blake shut
his eyes he saw Guthrie's red chapped fingers closing in, then felt their cold
touch on his eyelids.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> He had been told that for people who Read
minds to recover experiences was like living them again in the actual time it
took, though the Reading might last only a few seconds. It was not that way
being Read. Blake saw nothing. But it was as if he felt all the emotions he had
felt all night, all at once, in a blazing instant. He exhaled like he had been
kicked in the solar plexus. Then the fingers were removed from his lids.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake opened his eyes, blinking against the
sudden tears trickling down his cheeks. Guthrie drew back, eyes unfocused and
staring, then snapped to attention. He pulled out the pen from his top pocket
in a business-like manner and riffled the mission forms to the back. Blake
could see beads of sweat on his forehead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "I believe that performance merits a
Beta-Plus, Mr. Martin." He coughed deep in his chest, then marked the last
page. "I'll discuss the details with you later. In the meantime, this more
than qualifies you to take the Federal Paraskills Training and Requirements
Test." Guthrie drew out a jangling ring of keys attached to a chain,
unlocked the schoolroom door, and held it open.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "Let's begin, shall we?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> Blake started through the door, but the
instructor held him back a moment with a hand on his shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"> "And Mr. Martin?" Guthrie smiled
wolfishly. "That is <u>exactly</u> why we chose the Math Wing."</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">Notes</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: #002f44; font-size: 16px;"><span style="color: #ddeeff;">"The second strand [of The Bureau of Shadows]showed signs of life around 2006, when I began what was projected to be an entire book on the adventures of Martin Blake, a high school student seeking to enter the government Paraskills Program. I had finished the first chapter, printed it out, and started on the next when my computer crashed, obliterating many files. That made me abandon the project in despair."</span></span></span></p></div>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-9357432808819590322024-03-14T10:46:00.000-07:002024-03-14T10:46:24.085-07:00Toys To Be Noted: Cryptozoology<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk2TZWZ2etoSexolQH7EvhT8IXWGrNFlaMQaZET06lJnlS7BwuBnjcxOk4lKbSIDgulM6SeEC6ryRtIZKLhy_G313gFfvHwBDSFzsvQOSlsmDBN6zLPJrvfTrv9ubn6hm2OT6WFYiAKK2JI_xq98-PrzciJk3-r7KIOKWhQH2wJuJ3NQsV5qf0TmLyWlo/s1500/safari%20ltd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1428" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk2TZWZ2etoSexolQH7EvhT8IXWGrNFlaMQaZET06lJnlS7BwuBnjcxOk4lKbSIDgulM6SeEC6ryRtIZKLhy_G313gFfvHwBDSFzsvQOSlsmDBN6zLPJrvfTrv9ubn6hm2OT6WFYiAKK2JI_xq98-PrzciJk3-r7KIOKWhQH2wJuJ3NQsV5qf0TmLyWlo/w610-h640/safari%20ltd.jpg" width="610" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;">Safari Ltd. tube of crypto creatures, including Bigfoot, Yeti, Loch Ness Monster, Kraken, Coelacanth, Jackalope, and Furry Trout. I don't have them, I just saw it.</span></span></div><br /><p></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-84197559349651040962024-03-14T06:55:00.000-07:002024-03-14T06:55:21.239-07:00Going Back To Ortha<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2q8h3gUduVn-yqAN4PWe3CbqKubbAYd3Um7n0-QL6WRPfg-WhOpchv56GyvYtwkJpshVRTGO_P0DHpHGd4tcsWUonzn5U8x6kKXOKx8qF0COSuOeYwMapNurerfHrRRXIjkyvmyNHnd1QbO2bM1HRtI6udlu2eHoP2cM1MNeorO2YdG3PCNpKr5StfQM/s550/secret%20gate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="389" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2q8h3gUduVn-yqAN4PWe3CbqKubbAYd3Um7n0-QL6WRPfg-WhOpchv56GyvYtwkJpshVRTGO_P0DHpHGd4tcsWUonzn5U8x6kKXOKx8qF0COSuOeYwMapNurerfHrRRXIjkyvmyNHnd1QbO2bM1HRtI6udlu2eHoP2cM1MNeorO2YdG3PCNpKr5StfQM/w452-h640/secret%20gate.jpg" width="452" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">BACK TO ORTHA [A la Paul Simon]<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">I’m going down to Ortha<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gonna hang with Roth and Korm<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gonna drink me some Loraleid<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">And be chillin’ with my Morgs<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gonna walk through Morg City<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Take in a tavern or two<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">See the Library at Tronduhan<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">As we’re walkin’ through the school.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yeah, I’m going back to Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Back to Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dunwolf will do his magic<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Or Koppa if he’s not there<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">We’ll check out the Domain of Doors<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">and maybe Drang’s old lair<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">There in Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">There in Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Might visit Master Belmok<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Or King Thron in his prime<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Maybe old Mog himself<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Depending on the time<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I go to Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Go to Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">[Chorus] I’m going down to Ortha<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">To hang with Roth and Korm<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gonna drink some Loraleid<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">And be chillin’ with my Morgs<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Back in Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Back in Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Wolf-shades and the Ogres,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Woses and the rest,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Ghamen and the Ivra,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">I’ll give ‘em all my best<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I visit Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">I visit Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">If there’s a way, I’m on my way<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">I shall not hesitate<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">To take the paths past sun and moon<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">To that land that we create<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">That we call Ortha<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">We call Ortha<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">[Chorus] I’m going down to Ortha<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gonna hang with Roth and Korm<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gonna drink me some Loraleid<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">And be chillin’ with my Morgs<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">There in Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yeah, going back to Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Have a time in Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Meet you there in Ortha.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">See you back in Ortha …<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Since I mentioned it in my 2020 diary, I thought I'd go ahead and post it. It's just a <i>jeu d'esprit,</i> of course, a bit of fun, and could use a little work. More of a song than a poem, of course, lacking connective tissue, probably more comprehensible if sung to music.</span></p></div><p><br /></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-39457936292431818702024-03-13T05:32:00.000-07:002024-03-13T05:32:29.002-07:00From An Alternative Past<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aDdeBpBXn5bdQxZr93ea8Rs7UQ8Bv3OzgFziTRctVfyktQIYktKxJ9mLJodmPNOrTbWnRx407d18Bu8u-opvuNATKePkdnvtQDgqpqGQ15lMgqTqYUiZsV4b-zQpoY6ZvthdpxzL9_AUYmoVtHPcl2_aVn5MzavnZPgYAGRfrNrQ1uNTSEwyVvQ6W6I/s555/lotr-spanish-1979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="555" data-original-width="421" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aDdeBpBXn5bdQxZr93ea8Rs7UQ8Bv3OzgFziTRctVfyktQIYktKxJ9mLJodmPNOrTbWnRx407d18Bu8u-opvuNATKePkdnvtQDgqpqGQ15lMgqTqYUiZsV4b-zQpoY6ZvthdpxzL9_AUYmoVtHPcl2_aVn5MzavnZPgYAGRfrNrQ1uNTSEwyVvQ6W6I/w486-h640/lotr-spanish-1979.jpg" width="486" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqbroAbjH0H4tDlTcyqTFtY3SjwtGQFkkwJVrME_OwFtXtwypI8_FIMihzsAWuaNllIbXzEfuyk6_Wx2jor-6mQB7C4vsRZmsLEcqilMinmgdfT0Xevo-NRcG6Yqroai4DNm9WGD9QRT0-ehwe_3DBlQl7IcKhBT3wcOmJW3lEbwoE1MhGwHS4Tl5oC2g/s681/lotr-spanish-1979-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqbroAbjH0H4tDlTcyqTFtY3SjwtGQFkkwJVrME_OwFtXtwypI8_FIMihzsAWuaNllIbXzEfuyk6_Wx2jor-6mQB7C4vsRZmsLEcqilMinmgdfT0Xevo-NRcG6Yqroai4DNm9WGD9QRT0-ehwe_3DBlQl7IcKhBT3wcOmJW3lEbwoE1MhGwHS4Tl5oC2g/w470-h640/lotr-spanish-1979-2.jpg" width="470" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4vobuu_Yz3dSSJjbv5Eg3XYoXevrj5ZmtLjkM7QuTrGIpQ4Tqyqt6QbFFJkAIp11pMTtbowNZSghyphenhyphenBwM7Qzu75Fez-SjAM90hJP51ww3PEcW-rM9cGKwetUOvD3_t5C8SGtXUBUKsBawbDhvI8PDdYcbOyQK8keW9oKDQFkzpDI6DOtCL7G3P3q9uQ4/s676/lotr-spanish-1979-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4vobuu_Yz3dSSJjbv5Eg3XYoXevrj5ZmtLjkM7QuTrGIpQ4Tqyqt6QbFFJkAIp11pMTtbowNZSghyphenhyphenBwM7Qzu75Fez-SjAM90hJP51ww3PEcW-rM9cGKwetUOvD3_t5C8SGtXUBUKsBawbDhvI8PDdYcbOyQK8keW9oKDQFkzpDI6DOtCL7G3P3q9uQ4/w474-h640/lotr-spanish-1979-3.jpg" width="474" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zGrhUr7UP2jN8V6dlHMp_AQBdWzfZTyjU0bAsuAaR1VFhsuxheRfGQZzYQLvnomo0IXZpymJHH6WHq6PbcM1G2pcSgTzQdRq07r3yxDlULon1hwGiCu3UZN5xtIFhK9OJR4a6MdtHup3F4CajZjdKlBMonNMs9rcrsBgTYHqAlvNgtSSl49UuVUwrGg/s696/lotr-spanish-1979-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zGrhUr7UP2jN8V6dlHMp_AQBdWzfZTyjU0bAsuAaR1VFhsuxheRfGQZzYQLvnomo0IXZpymJHH6WHq6PbcM1G2pcSgTzQdRq07r3yxDlULon1hwGiCu3UZN5xtIFhK9OJR4a6MdtHup3F4CajZjdKlBMonNMs9rcrsBgTYHqAlvNgtSSl49UuVUwrGg/w460-h640/lotr-spanish-1979-4.jpg" width="460" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd48erwzJEDqYlIwdhzXyRhn3rsUDVZzdY3DL7jnwSGHd5Rg5VjvvZyIYprGbDq1GLBqgVTIwbOi3Ea1n2nrTyXCziH5kfEksFJuJG1G3wKiwAlLt_1Bua_0PgdshX0SQF0bud2mLXu1WiyYiNzCyxP-6GCE9Ws2-dDOzqbv29RaUR0pIpce4gxB0KXWU/s653/lotr-spanish-1979-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd48erwzJEDqYlIwdhzXyRhn3rsUDVZzdY3DL7jnwSGHd5Rg5VjvvZyIYprGbDq1GLBqgVTIwbOi3Ea1n2nrTyXCziH5kfEksFJuJG1G3wKiwAlLt_1Bua_0PgdshX0SQF0bud2mLXu1WiyYiNzCyxP-6GCE9Ws2-dDOzqbv29RaUR0pIpce4gxB0KXWU/w490-h640/lotr-spanish-1979-5.jpg" width="490" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">During the years 1979 -1981, artist Luis Bermejo released a three-volume comic book adaptation of Ralph Bakshi's <i>The Lord of the Rings</i>, published in 10 different languages (including Spanish and Icelandic), but not in English. Copyright difficulties, apparently. Here are some samples I've been able to glean from various resources.</span></div></div><p></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-27408198694393441222024-03-12T07:50:00.000-07:002024-03-12T10:33:53.969-07:00This Time of Year in 2020: The Plague! The Plague!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQj40k0rpyEuYnFlIySrUxzOmynrx6kVarQGj-EwJ1rj4hLyYt2K4F9pnMip7wtvaVOggZo4hXNgiRP9JB4O6hz_zDz7YvqQgXFAUOTR3NKwkvp1RDj5xxBcfLtX7mS0WtKfUBYr_Jj_f90Js4S6UCJEgxShKpgzTcQFIRHLy_QQSNP3yx9wc91dMa8Wk/s1409/m%20quixote.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1409" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQj40k0rpyEuYnFlIySrUxzOmynrx6kVarQGj-EwJ1rj4hLyYt2K4F9pnMip7wtvaVOggZo4hXNgiRP9JB4O6hz_zDz7YvqQgXFAUOTR3NKwkvp1RDj5xxBcfLtX7mS0WtKfUBYr_Jj_f90Js4S6UCJEgxShKpgzTcQFIRHLy_QQSNP3yx9wc91dMa8Wk/w284-h400/m%20quixote.jpg" width="284" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">3/12/2020: So did all the
usual things today (all my prayers in the morning), as well as a trip to FD at
9:30 AM … Watched the first episodes of DS9 on Netflix, and in the evening
wrote four pages of K[ing] K[orm] in script form, which broke my blockage. A
warm, sunny day, with oak leaves pattering down all the time. Now at 9:30 PM,
when everything is settled for the night, Vader is barking, just to mess things
up. Or is something going on? [No, it wasn’t.]<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">3/13/2020: Friday the 13<sup>th</sup>.
Decided NOT to ride the bus to HEB today. Instead, after morning prayers went
to Dollar General … Left at 8 AM and back at 9 AM … THIS IS A RARE SITUATION,
only possible because of my $20 writing payment from John and the $20 Susan
gave me for emergencies. And since the week is just about up and supplies are
low, I feel justified in a bit of indulgence. I certainly paid for it with
weary legs, which are already smarting from the extra miles the dogs and the
leaves and the pool are putting on. Got almost 2 pages script written this
morning, introducing 'the Watchman.'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Breakfast at 11 AM (but
what?), then at 2 PM lunch (ramen), then at 6:30 PM fish sticks (it is Friday).
Listening to LTW ("Like Trees Walking," a podcast) much of the time today. Sheesh. I swept all the porches and
‘dusted’ the leaves off Susan’s vehicles, and 2 hours later they were covered
again. E-mailed John:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Yesterday I managed four
pages and today (so far) almost two, so my block is at least broken. I did it
by using the old trick of scripting, where I set the scenes, then focus on the
characters and what they are doing, reveal by dialogue, give stage descriptions
of tone and emotion. This shows me all the notes that have to be struck, which
can later be elaborated (but not too much) into prose. It kind of cuts the
Gordian Knot of "How do I tell this?" by simply showing. And it's
fun. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">Still, what I have done has
not reached the end of the scene yet; when it does, I shall probably send it on
to you and then begin the next scene (probably writing again in prose, but who
can say for sure), even before I work this scene into prose.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">I'm still not sure if the
Shanafelt's are going to take that one more day before the parks shut down or
just head home. I wonder if they'd call ahead to tell me. … It's sort of a
dubious question, isn't it? On the one hand they're already there, on the other
it might be better if they left now. And one has to wonder about Yen's
livelihood and his situation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">I've been kind of poking my
own lungs and wondering. I did NOT go anywhere by mass transit today. And I may
not go to church on Sunday which, believe it or nay, I really enjoy. But it may
be my duty.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">About 5 minutes after I sent
that I saw an announcement that Amy has passed along on FB that gathering at
church was suspended with a dispensation from the Bishop.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">I think you might be
confusing the meanings of two different words, “dispense” and “dispensation”.
One means to manage without or get rid of. “Dispensation” means exemption from
a rule or usual requirement; or permission to be exempted from the laws or
observances of the Church. In this case it is the promise to gather and “do
this in remembrance of Me, until I come again.” This has been suspended for a
short period in time, in charity and reason, and Catholics are being dispensed
(another meaning of the word!) forgiveness for being temporarily unable to
fulfill this promise. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">3/14/2020: Up at 6 AM, did
all my prayers and Bible, including Novena and Rosary. Went through the day as
usual; temperatures in the high 60’s. … Sent off KK 'Mog' section to John at 1
PM, but here it is 9:30 PM and I hain’t heard a word out o’ him. Well, it is
Saturday, and Joseph Loth’s birthday to boot. When will the Shanafelts
reappear? I know not for sure but guess in the middle of the night. Did enjoy
the writing I got done. My right leg feels pretty bad. And that’s all I got to
say about today in this Journal of the Plague Year.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">And they just rolled in at
9:35 PM, not 5 minutes after I wrote that and was ready to lay down!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;">3/15/2020: The Ides of
March. Up about 6 AM, and at 7 AM started watching the Mass on EWTN. Andy came
over and we talked a little about what we might need for groceries during ‘the
shutdown weeks’ (yes, there’s kind of a social shutdown going on to slow the
coronavirus now). Prayers and Bible … Kind of cool with a little rain once, but
not much. … Started watching “Monsignor Quixote” on YouTube: it's available to me at last after about 30 years. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></p>
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">3/16/2020: Up at about 4:30
AM. Prayers, Bible. … Wrote a quick</span><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua", serif; font-size: 16pt;"> poem ‘Back in Ortha’ by 7 AM. Kenny called
me early discussing the possibility of reading AGODP aloud on FB Live … Much of
the evening spent listening to Kenny read “The Monk” by Matthew Lewis. Rosary.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">****</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">So. The early phases of Covid-19, with 'two weeks to slow the spread.' It is disconcerting to see that it's already been four years since I quit writing on the Bob sequel; I never did get back to it. Shall I ever, I wonder? Susan and Andy had gone to Disney, and I was taking care of Kameron and the house, which is always kind of a fraught time for me.</span></div><p><br /></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-41187905210956204652024-03-11T19:02:00.000-07:002024-03-11T19:02:57.270-07:00One of the Shadowiest in the Shadow Library<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyOri6TVyEuycN56MG3plXbDydU_MZpXjqZittAdlqlVaKm1LUbSKqNdMvxOqq03yiQYyZtjajRkaX4DUAhQMnP7XpdIDkCKMiuJUAYWxW4kipV1t0GtsTEAZv4JQGGW1AtXJbvmBJABgHGy_QC8E3F4ApGNmcHI-c4Uh31YD3UptrlSIkJ8Cpobx44Q4/s288/hesiod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="175" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyOri6TVyEuycN56MG3plXbDydU_MZpXjqZittAdlqlVaKm1LUbSKqNdMvxOqq03yiQYyZtjajRkaX4DUAhQMnP7XpdIDkCKMiuJUAYWxW4kipV1t0GtsTEAZv4JQGGW1AtXJbvmBJABgHGy_QC8E3F4ApGNmcHI-c4Uh31YD3UptrlSIkJ8Cpobx44Q4/w389-h640/hesiod.jpg" width="389" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Hesiod and Theognis</i>. Got it because it was a Penguin book and Greek, which was my thing for a while. Can't say as I ever got into it, nor do I remember any details about it.</span></div><br /><p></p>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6429024477882507404.post-559034235934284512024-03-11T09:33:00.000-07:002024-03-11T09:33:52.911-07:00The Lord of the Rings: The Window on the West (Part Seven and Last)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvpBKDc6VokR2fizcYk-cdIsx36kfxt4YpqxW5THa68ZxiVnq6DsToa8b3ZQvkMM9i9Bp6JI77Wb_eHJ0S4snnAXkSs07k-wRLhcYn5Ct3xhSSbHHC7-sRg4CNTjn22dMGivDof3Fajsgwy3Rfq2Nett5TokmJmi11mE3aYdRxOMiguAhxwRgZMCvVDE/s768/eiszmann23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="587" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvpBKDc6VokR2fizcYk-cdIsx36kfxt4YpqxW5THa68ZxiVnq6DsToa8b3ZQvkMM9i9Bp6JI77Wb_eHJ0S4snnAXkSs07k-wRLhcYn5Ct3xhSSbHHC7-sRg4CNTjn22dMGivDof3Fajsgwy3Rfq2Nett5TokmJmi11mE3aYdRxOMiguAhxwRgZMCvVDE/w490-h640/eiszmann23.jpg" width="490" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Tale<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Frodo is no longer sleepy and is willing to talk, telling
many tales of their journey, steering away from the Ring and their mission but
always emphasizing Boromir’s bravery and his part in the quest. He tells Faramir
that his brother was so valiant as to be the last to leave the bridge of Khazad-dum,
because Aragorn was forced to lead the way out. Faramir wonders if it would
have been better for Boromir to fall there than go to the fate that awaited him
at Rauros Falls. He wonders again, what might have happened there?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Frodo turns that thought aside, and asks him how things
going with Gondor and Minas Tirith, ‘the long-enduring’?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faramir
doubts if they can meet this new challenge from Mordor, unless more help comes
to them, from Elves or other Men. Although their kingdoms were founded by
Elendil and the Numenoreans, they have dwindled since their days of glory. The
Men of Gondor have never loved the Darkness or the ‘evil arts’, but they still
carry the infection that caused the downfall of Numenor in the old days: they ‘hungered
after endless life unchanging.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Kings
made tombs more splendid than houses of the living, and counted old names in
the rolls of their descent dearer than the names of sons. Childless lords sat
in aged halls musing on heraldry; in secret chambers withered men compounded strong
elixirs, or in cold high towers asked questions of the stars. And the last king
of the line of Anarion had no heir.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But
the Line of Stewards that ruled after them were wiser and made peace and
alliances with ‘the proud peoples of the North’, the Rohirrim, their ‘kin from
afar off,’ like the Numenoreans one of the Three Houses of Men who fought
Morgoth in the First Age, but who had never gone to the West, the Middle
Peoples, Men of the Twilight.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘For
so we reckon Men in our lore, calling them the High, or Men of the West, which
were Numenoreans; and the Middle Peoples, Men of the Twilight, such as are the
Rohirrim and their kin that dwell still far off in the North, and the Wild, the
Men of Darkness,’ such as ‘the wild Easterlings or the cruel Haradrim.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But
it is not so much a ‘racial’ division as a cultural one. The Gondoreans have
been slipping from the ‘High’ into the ‘Twilight’ themselves; where the
Rohirrim have been enhanced with arts and gentleness, the men of Gondor have
come to see war and valor as an end to themselves, almost as a sport, and
warriors are esteemed above men of other craft. Because Boromir was a hardy and
valiant ‘man of prowess’ he was seen as the best man in Gondor. Faramir sighs
and falls silent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Sam, who has warmed up to Faramir
because he has referred to the Elves with reverence, asks him why he has not
said much about the Elves. Faramir replies that he is no master of Elven-lore, and
that’s another sign of Gondor’s decline. In the old days their fathers fought
beside the Elves against Morgoth and so were rewarded with the island of
Numenor. But since coming back to Middle-earth they have become more estranged
from the Elder People, and fear and misdoubt them, like the Rohirrim. Though
there are still some who go in secret in search of Lothlorien, though few
return. Faramir himself thinks it dangerous for mortal men to seek the Elves
now, though he envies them for having spoken with the White Lady.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
Lady Galadriel! The subject sets Sam off into poetic rhapsodies. ‘Sometimes
like a great tree in flower, sometimes like a white daffadowndilly, small and
slender like. Hard as di’monds, soft as moonlight. Warm as sunlight, cold as frost in the stars.
Proud and far-off as a snow-mountain, and as merry as any lass I ever saw with
daisies in her hair in springtime.’ Faramir remarks she must be lovely; indeed,
perilously fair. Sam replies fair, yes, but only perilous because she’s so
strong: you could wreck yourself on her like a ship on a rock, but it wouldn’t
say it’s the rock’s fault. ‘Now, Boro –‘. Sam stops and turns red.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faramir
presses him. Would Sam say Boromir took his peril with him?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sam
begs his pardon and says Boromir was a fine man, but Sam watched him – just looking
after his master and meaning nothing against him – since Rivendell, but he
believes that is in Lorien that Boromir first faced his desires, that he wanted
the Enemy’s Ring!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Sam!’
Frodo is aghast. He’s been deep in his own thoughts, but Sam’s words have
snapped him out of it. Sam goes white, realizing he’s done, then goes red and
stands to face Faramir. Sam says he’s been a fool, but that’s no reason for
Faramir to take advantage of them. He’s been talking very well, but <i>handsome
is as handsome does</i>. ‘Now’s the chance to show your quality.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faramir
answers him slowly and softly. So that’s the answer to all the riddles: the One
Ring! Boromir tried to take it, they escaped him, and ran all the way into his
arms! Here they are at his mercy. He stands up straight and tall, grey eyes glinting.
The hobbits spring up in alarm, backs to the wall, hands going to their sword
hilts. All the men in the cave stop and watch them in wonder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But
Faramir begins to laugh softly and sits down again. Then he becomes grave. ‘Alas
for Boromir! It was too sore a trial!’ But Faramir will hold to his given word,
though he didn’t know it was the Ring when he said ‘Not if I found it on the
highway would I take it.’ He tells Sam to be at peace, for it was alright for
him to reveal this thing and it may help his master in the long run. As for
Faramir, he won’t even name ‘this thing’ again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Things
settle down again around them, and the hobbits sit. Faramir marvels that Frodo
can carry ‘this thing’ with him and not use it; Hobbits are new to him, and he
wonders what their land is like. Are they all like these two? Surely gardeners like
Sam must be highly prized! But now they must rest, and he must sit and watch
and think how best to help them on their way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frodo
is overwhelmed with weariness after the shock of Sam’s slip-up. He can resist
no more. He tells Faramir of their complete mission: to return the Ring to Mount
Doom and destroy it. ‘I do not think I shall ever get there.’ Faramir gazes at
him in silent astonishment, then Frodo sways, falling asleep. The man catches
him and puts him to bed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sam
hesitates a moment before following suit, then bows to Faramir. He took the
test and showed his quality: the very highest. Faramir replies that praise from
the praiseworthy is above all rewards. He is merely keeping his word. There was
no lure to do otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Ah
well, sir,’ said Sam, ‘you said my master had an elvish air … you have an air
too, that reminds me of, of – well, Gandalf, of wizards.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Maybe,’
said Faramir. ‘Maybe you discern from far away the air of Numenor. Good night!’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bits
and Bobs<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
began this chapter back in January, but here we are at the end of it at last.
Faramir gives much of the history of Gondor in brief, including the decay and
degeneration that they’ve inherited from Numenor, the lust for ever more life
beyond their natural bounds, the same sort of desire that fuels the modern
quest for transhumanism, for the so-called ‘Singularity’ where artificial
intelligence will merge with the human mind and become functionally immortal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This
is also the section that is most often quoted by those who hold that Tolkien
and his work is racist. This division into High, Middle, and ‘Dark’ might
seem so at first glance, but is more like classifying civilizations into Iron,
Bronze, and Stone. It is their development that defines them, and they can be
judged on a sliding scale. Gondor is slipping from the High. Men of the Dark
are not so because of their skin color but because of their distance from and
rejection of the Light from the Valar and the Elves.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sam
is full of his rusticisms and folk wisdom, using ‘daffadowndilly’ for daffodil and pronouncing 'di'monds' for diamonds,
and phrases like the Gaffer’s ‘Whenever you open your big mouth you put your
foot in it’ and ‘handsome is as handsome does.’ Do I need to note that handsome
here is used in the sense of ‘high substantial quality’ and not merely good
looks? He also comments after his praise of Galadriel that it needs a real poet
– he’s only good for ‘a bit of comic rhyme.’ I love that later Faramir
compliments him with the phrase ‘the praise of the praiseworthy is above all
rewards.’ Faramir, too, knows quality when he sees it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Not
like movie Faramir at all.</span></p></div>Brerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14429065718316352989noreply@blogger.com0