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Authors: J. A. Redmerski
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“Please and Thank You’s will get you nothing in this city.”
“I’d say good luck,” Gorg said from the carriage, “but sumthin’ tells me luck wishin’ is a waste o’ breath.”
I headed toward Gorg, carefully dodging the few mud puddles along the way.
“You’re leaving already?”
“I never stays long.” Gorg fiddled with the horses’ restraints, tightening and loosening them where they needed it. “Sold alla my stuffs and am good fer another six hundred days or so.”
Gorg’s carriage looked much cleaner than before, definitely less cluttered. There was not a finger or toe, shrunken head or dangling eyeball left anywhere. Gorg had even gotten rid of the ghastly necklace he wore around his throat.
“How much did you get for her wings?” I said.
“Oh, I bet he got another fifty years for those,” said Tsaeb stepping up. Tsaeb nosed his way inside the carriage. He reached in, grabbed hold of his oversized bag of stolen riches, and dragged it out with a grunt. Afterwards, my tattered backpack filled with less valuable items, landed next to Tsaeb’s bag.
“ One hundred fifty, to be exact.” Gorg answered. “Afrodeesiac. Yep. That funny smell they got — the best smoke this side of the Field, I tell you wut.” Gorg put his thumb and index finger together at his lips and sucked in air.
“Ain’t you’s gonna ask why I sold my stuff for ‘days’?”
I was caught off-guard.
“That did occur to me...well, now that you mention it, I would like to know.”
“Fiedel City is a city of flesh-eatin’ coots, and the queen owns that there Field of Yesterday.” Gorg pointed toward the field as if I didn’t already know where the torturous place was. “Parts and stuffs from the body pay my way, give ol’ Gorg more time to travel the field.”
My brows creased with confusion. “Why would anyone want to travel through that field?”
“Dun’t know why anyone else would, but I do it a’cause I dun’t want to no more.”
It made absolutely no sense, but I refused to press the issue. Already my head was on the verge of migraine status.
Tsaeb tried furiously to position the heavy bag on his little back, but to no avail. Every four-letter-word ever invented rang out.
“Well, time for ol’ Gorg to head out. Gotsta stay on time and on course, y’know.”
Gorg hopped on his carriage and snapped the reins. Disgusting. Perverted. Uneducated. Gorg was all of these things, but he was not Tsaeb, a demon of Greed, and that said a lot.
Gorg rode out; the big, squeaking wheels left a muddy trail behind him. Once it disappeared around the first crooked curve, I took up Tsaeb’s bag of riches and threw it over my back.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’m not going to steal anything.”
“Better not.”
~~~
“When are you going to get rid of this stuff?” I said ten minutes later. We stood in the street between a dozen odd buildings that had no signs. “I can’t carry it around forever, and it’s heavy even for me.”
I took the bag from over my shoulder and set it on the ground, kneeling in front of it. “What all do you have in here anyway? And how is any of it worth anything in a city like this?”
“Not everyone here is a cannibal.” Tsaeb snatched the bag closed, and I stood shaking my head. “You’ll thank me for this later because nothing you have in those pockets of yours will pay for what you need most.”
“Like what?”
“Uh, I don’t know, duh ,” Tsaeb said with belittling sarcasm, “protection, food that won’t make you sick, women that won’t give you warts just by looking in their general direction?”
He went on, his voice rising, “I don’t know, Norman, maybe a couple of horses to get the hell out of dodge when the assassins figure out who you are — Don’t even say it. That was a slip of the tongue. You know I can’t say. Don’t even ask.”
“I won’t,” I snapped, “but let it be known that if I could take back my decision to choose you
“I’d say good luck,” Gorg said from the carriage, “but sumthin’ tells me luck wishin’ is a waste o’ breath.”
I headed toward Gorg, carefully dodging the few mud puddles along the way.
“You’re leaving already?”
“I never stays long.” Gorg fiddled with the horses’ restraints, tightening and loosening them where they needed it. “Sold alla my stuffs and am good fer another six hundred days or so.”
Gorg’s carriage looked much cleaner than before, definitely less cluttered. There was not a finger or toe, shrunken head or dangling eyeball left anywhere. Gorg had even gotten rid of the ghastly necklace he wore around his throat.
“How much did you get for her wings?” I said.
“Oh, I bet he got another fifty years for those,” said Tsaeb stepping up. Tsaeb nosed his way inside the carriage. He reached in, grabbed hold of his oversized bag of stolen riches, and dragged it out with a grunt. Afterwards, my tattered backpack filled with less valuable items, landed next to Tsaeb’s bag.
“ One hundred fifty, to be exact.” Gorg answered. “Afrodeesiac. Yep. That funny smell they got — the best smoke this side of the Field, I tell you wut.” Gorg put his thumb and index finger together at his lips and sucked in air.
“Ain’t you’s gonna ask why I sold my stuff for ‘days’?”
I was caught off-guard.
“That did occur to me...well, now that you mention it, I would like to know.”
“Fiedel City is a city of flesh-eatin’ coots, and the queen owns that there Field of Yesterday.” Gorg pointed toward the field as if I didn’t already know where the torturous place was. “Parts and stuffs from the body pay my way, give ol’ Gorg more time to travel the field.”
My brows creased with confusion. “Why would anyone want to travel through that field?”
“Dun’t know why anyone else would, but I do it a’cause I dun’t want to no more.”
It made absolutely no sense, but I refused to press the issue. Already my head was on the verge of migraine status.
Tsaeb tried furiously to position the heavy bag on his little back, but to no avail. Every four-letter-word ever invented rang out.
“Well, time for ol’ Gorg to head out. Gotsta stay on time and on course, y’know.”
Gorg hopped on his carriage and snapped the reins. Disgusting. Perverted. Uneducated. Gorg was all of these things, but he was not Tsaeb, a demon of Greed, and that said a lot.
Gorg rode out; the big, squeaking wheels left a muddy trail behind him. Once it disappeared around the first crooked curve, I took up Tsaeb’s bag of riches and threw it over my back.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’m not going to steal anything.”
“Better not.”
~~~
“When are you going to get rid of this stuff?” I said ten minutes later. We stood in the street between a dozen odd buildings that had no signs. “I can’t carry it around forever, and it’s heavy even for me.”
I took the bag from over my shoulder and set it on the ground, kneeling in front of it. “What all do you have in here anyway? And how is any of it worth anything in a city like this?”
“Not everyone here is a cannibal.” Tsaeb snatched the bag closed, and I stood shaking my head. “You’ll thank me for this later because nothing you have in those pockets of yours will pay for what you need most.”
“Like what?”
“Uh, I don’t know, duh ,” Tsaeb said with belittling sarcasm, “protection, food that won’t make you sick, women that won’t give you warts just by looking in their general direction?”
He went on, his voice rising, “I don’t know, Norman, maybe a couple of horses to get the hell out of dodge when the assassins figure out who you are — Don’t even say it. That was a slip of the tongue. You know I can’t say. Don’t even ask.”
“I won’t,” I snapped, “but let it be known that if I could take back my decision to choose you
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