Read Online Dirty Eden by J. A. Redmerski - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. A. Redmerski
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from the alley, I would’ve taken the twins instead.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!” I started to walk away, but then remembered Tsaeb could barely carry the bag of riches on his own. I snatched it up and tossed it over my shoulder again.
“Which way?” My tone was anything but kind.
The people of Fiedel City were as filthy as they were rude. Those we passed on the street often bumped into me and sent me scrambling to hold my footing. “Watch where you’re goin’!” they said, and no one moved to let me pass even though I clearly deserved the right of way. The street was narrow, barely wide enough for a carriage pulled by a single horse to pass through; it was thick with mud making it more difficult for me to tread carrying such a heavy load on my back. The rain picked up by the minute. People entered and exited buildings, bundled in hooded cloaks. A two-story wooden building stood haphazardly to the left. Its uncovered windows were warm with lantern light where busty women sat on ledges, beckoning onlookers. A building to the right, much smaller, was boarded up. Windows and doors with bright red paint smeared across the front that read: ‘fuCken sHUt doWn’.
“ And on the Eighth Day, God gave us ale and it was good.”
--
WE PASSED THE TOWN center where a body dangled from a noose, head uncovered with the tongue lolled out of its mouth. Fresh corpse. Clothes finer than that of the average denizen. Haircut. Shaven face. Compared to everyone in the streets, the dead man had been wealthy and looked as much a native of this city as I did.
“Ah, here we are.” Tsaeb stopped in front of another two-story wooden building. “We’ll get a room and stash our things before we go to the fortress to see the queen.”
“Wait a minute — stop right there.” I went after him, stumbling up the rickety steps and toward the building entrance. “I thought we were here to see some witch?” I cringed, thinking about what I apparently had to do with her. “I don’t want to do anything else, meet anyone unnecessary or go anywhere out of our way.” I dropped the heavy bag on the porch and tried to catch my breath. “I said stop !” I jerked Tsaeb around.
“Yeah, yeah, the queen — she is the witch. The imps want her dead, others want her alive. Women love her, men hate her, children — even the fake ones like myself — don’t know whether to be afraid of her or to throw things at her for fun.”
“Why do men hate her?” My voice shook with the question.
“Dunno.” Tsaeb pushed open the wooden door. “Never met her.”
My teeth grinded angrily behind my tight-closed lips.
The tavern was as I imagined; unsettling and dark, surrounded by musky heat and sweaty drunks. Mangy long-legged dogs lay in wait on the floor for leftovers. Barmaids acted as barmaids and prostitutes; perfume thick and intoxicating. Corsets busting out. Pots and pans clanked and banged in the back. A pig squealed somewhere in the distance and then suddenly fell silent. A chorus of voices carried through the tavern; so many talking over one another that few conversations were clear, and even fewer hospitable. Old men belching and farting, slipping their greasy hands up the dresses of the barmaids who pretend to be repulsed, but were not the greatest of actors. A small group of sullied old men near the bar sang some song: ‘ the rick-tickety witch creaks and squeaks and ticks when she wickety-walks’ , their mugs raised and toasted, raining ale on their already soiled clothes.
I was ready to buy those horses now and leave this place.
“Come on,” Tsaeb urged, stepping up as though he had just gotten back from somewhere. “I got us a room. We’ll go hide my bag and come back for something to eat.”
I followed quickly.
Maneuvering our way up the stairs and around one corner, we came upon our room just above the noisy tavern. The walls were thin and rotted, blocking neither sight nor sound from the room next door, until I stuffed a
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!” I started to walk away, but then remembered Tsaeb could barely carry the bag of riches on his own. I snatched it up and tossed it over my shoulder again.
“Which way?” My tone was anything but kind.
The people of Fiedel City were as filthy as they were rude. Those we passed on the street often bumped into me and sent me scrambling to hold my footing. “Watch where you’re goin’!” they said, and no one moved to let me pass even though I clearly deserved the right of way. The street was narrow, barely wide enough for a carriage pulled by a single horse to pass through; it was thick with mud making it more difficult for me to tread carrying such a heavy load on my back. The rain picked up by the minute. People entered and exited buildings, bundled in hooded cloaks. A two-story wooden building stood haphazardly to the left. Its uncovered windows were warm with lantern light where busty women sat on ledges, beckoning onlookers. A building to the right, much smaller, was boarded up. Windows and doors with bright red paint smeared across the front that read: ‘fuCken sHUt doWn’.
“ And on the Eighth Day, God gave us ale and it was good.”
--
WE PASSED THE TOWN center where a body dangled from a noose, head uncovered with the tongue lolled out of its mouth. Fresh corpse. Clothes finer than that of the average denizen. Haircut. Shaven face. Compared to everyone in the streets, the dead man had been wealthy and looked as much a native of this city as I did.
“Ah, here we are.” Tsaeb stopped in front of another two-story wooden building. “We’ll get a room and stash our things before we go to the fortress to see the queen.”
“Wait a minute — stop right there.” I went after him, stumbling up the rickety steps and toward the building entrance. “I thought we were here to see some witch?” I cringed, thinking about what I apparently had to do with her. “I don’t want to do anything else, meet anyone unnecessary or go anywhere out of our way.” I dropped the heavy bag on the porch and tried to catch my breath. “I said stop !” I jerked Tsaeb around.
“Yeah, yeah, the queen — she is the witch. The imps want her dead, others want her alive. Women love her, men hate her, children — even the fake ones like myself — don’t know whether to be afraid of her or to throw things at her for fun.”
“Why do men hate her?” My voice shook with the question.
“Dunno.” Tsaeb pushed open the wooden door. “Never met her.”
My teeth grinded angrily behind my tight-closed lips.
The tavern was as I imagined; unsettling and dark, surrounded by musky heat and sweaty drunks. Mangy long-legged dogs lay in wait on the floor for leftovers. Barmaids acted as barmaids and prostitutes; perfume thick and intoxicating. Corsets busting out. Pots and pans clanked and banged in the back. A pig squealed somewhere in the distance and then suddenly fell silent. A chorus of voices carried through the tavern; so many talking over one another that few conversations were clear, and even fewer hospitable. Old men belching and farting, slipping their greasy hands up the dresses of the barmaids who pretend to be repulsed, but were not the greatest of actors. A small group of sullied old men near the bar sang some song: ‘ the rick-tickety witch creaks and squeaks and ticks when she wickety-walks’ , their mugs raised and toasted, raining ale on their already soiled clothes.
I was ready to buy those horses now and leave this place.
“Come on,” Tsaeb urged, stepping up as though he had just gotten back from somewhere. “I got us a room. We’ll go hide my bag and come back for something to eat.”
I followed quickly.
Maneuvering our way up the stairs and around one corner, we came upon our room just above the noisy tavern. The walls were thin and rotted, blocking neither sight nor sound from the room next door, until I stuffed a
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