Read Online My Black Beast by Randall P. Fitzgerald - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Randall P. Fitzgerald
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Marka’s world and Lowell was ushered inside and dumped on the
floor. His jacket was tossed in as an afterthought. It was nice of
them not to just leave it in the street. The guards took their
leave and Lowell simply let himself sprawl on the cool stone
ground. The cell was spacious, almost upsettingly so. It didn’t
seem like the sort of place you kept criminals. Not exactly a hotel
either. There was a slit along the wall about halfway up and it let
in light from the outside. The light never changed in the time
Lowell had been outside and was the same now. He wondered idly if
there was such a thing as night here but gave up on the curiosity
before he made it too far along. Protruding from the far wall out
into the room was what looked to be an observation deck and the
first thing he’d seen that wasn’t made of stone. A tall glass wall
with no one on the other side. He stared up at it, waiting. After
about five minutes the guards that had left him there found their
way in. They stood, staring. Lowell squinted up at them. The glass
wall didn’t appear entirely sealed.
He sat up. Not easily, but he got it done. The
motion must have been curious to the guards as one looked to the
other and Lowell could hear their voices. It wasn’t
sealed.
“ Hey!” He struggled to get enough
volume but it caught the attention of both the guards. “Where is
this? Where is Marka?”
One said words but not words he could
understand and so he slumped in defeat and then rolled over onto
his good side. He was exhausted and he might as well sleep. He
couldn’t actually get himself to sleep, but at least it was
something to do. There was a slab with a flat mattress maybe twenty
feet away but he couldn’t be bothered. The floor was fine. What was
the difference? He was probably going to get executed to these
people’s weird demon meat god or something. Maybe the floor would
at least make him tougher to chew.
Chapter 8
The deep, warm hum of the stone door
brought Lowell back from the edge of an uncomfortable sleep. The
idea of moving to sit up sounded painful and impractical so he just
shifted his head. First through the door was a guard carrying a
simple wooden chair. The color was striking in a world that had
only been stone from the moment he’d stepped in. Behind the guard
was the old man from before and then another guard.
The chair was placed on the floor a few feet
from the doorway. The old man made his way around and sat,
adjusting his robes as he did, before motioning for the guards to
leave him. Lowell hadn’t paid the man’s clothes much mind before.
Robes of a heavy linen make that ran in a gradient of deep blue to
dark grey at the bottom. The bottom was frayed where it had dragged
the ground for a time but otherwise it looked plush and
comfortable.
“ I have the name Degoed and the
title of Elder Werra. I would make apologies for any, eh…
roughness.”
His accent was strange, like a French person
trying to speak English with a German accent. The voice itself was
slow and gave the impression that he didn’t tend to speak without
giving considerable thought to his words.
“ Can you sit?”
Lowell wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a
command or a question raised out of concern. The guards all seemed
to pay close attention to the old man which spoke to his station.
It took effort, but sitting was achieved. Lowell rubbed a hand over
the area, lamenting how resting seemed to have given his body
permission to make things hurt worse somehow.
“ I again say, I make many
apologies. Violentness is not our way.”
The old man did what Lowell thought was surely
meant to be a kind smile but it still seemed
disingenuous.
“ Please, though, I would know what
to call you?”
“ Lowell.”
Talking hurt. Everything hurt. Laying on the
concrete was stupid. He was stupid. The old guy was stupid. That
stupid glass up there was stupid. This totally wasn’t a
tantrum.
“ Yes. Good. Lowell—” He’s
floor. His jacket was tossed in as an afterthought. It was nice of
them not to just leave it in the street. The guards took their
leave and Lowell simply let himself sprawl on the cool stone
ground. The cell was spacious, almost upsettingly so. It didn’t
seem like the sort of place you kept criminals. Not exactly a hotel
either. There was a slit along the wall about halfway up and it let
in light from the outside. The light never changed in the time
Lowell had been outside and was the same now. He wondered idly if
there was such a thing as night here but gave up on the curiosity
before he made it too far along. Protruding from the far wall out
into the room was what looked to be an observation deck and the
first thing he’d seen that wasn’t made of stone. A tall glass wall
with no one on the other side. He stared up at it, waiting. After
about five minutes the guards that had left him there found their
way in. They stood, staring. Lowell squinted up at them. The glass
wall didn’t appear entirely sealed.
He sat up. Not easily, but he got it done. The
motion must have been curious to the guards as one looked to the
other and Lowell could hear their voices. It wasn’t
sealed.
“ Hey!” He struggled to get enough
volume but it caught the attention of both the guards. “Where is
this? Where is Marka?”
One said words but not words he could
understand and so he slumped in defeat and then rolled over onto
his good side. He was exhausted and he might as well sleep. He
couldn’t actually get himself to sleep, but at least it was
something to do. There was a slab with a flat mattress maybe twenty
feet away but he couldn’t be bothered. The floor was fine. What was
the difference? He was probably going to get executed to these
people’s weird demon meat god or something. Maybe the floor would
at least make him tougher to chew.
Chapter 8
The deep, warm hum of the stone door
brought Lowell back from the edge of an uncomfortable sleep. The
idea of moving to sit up sounded painful and impractical so he just
shifted his head. First through the door was a guard carrying a
simple wooden chair. The color was striking in a world that had
only been stone from the moment he’d stepped in. Behind the guard
was the old man from before and then another guard.
The chair was placed on the floor a few feet
from the doorway. The old man made his way around and sat,
adjusting his robes as he did, before motioning for the guards to
leave him. Lowell hadn’t paid the man’s clothes much mind before.
Robes of a heavy linen make that ran in a gradient of deep blue to
dark grey at the bottom. The bottom was frayed where it had dragged
the ground for a time but otherwise it looked plush and
comfortable.
“ I have the name Degoed and the
title of Elder Werra. I would make apologies for any, eh…
roughness.”
His accent was strange, like a French person
trying to speak English with a German accent. The voice itself was
slow and gave the impression that he didn’t tend to speak without
giving considerable thought to his words.
“ Can you sit?”
Lowell wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a
command or a question raised out of concern. The guards all seemed
to pay close attention to the old man which spoke to his station.
It took effort, but sitting was achieved. Lowell rubbed a hand over
the area, lamenting how resting seemed to have given his body
permission to make things hurt worse somehow.
“ I again say, I make many
apologies. Violentness is not our way.”
The old man did what Lowell thought was surely
meant to be a kind smile but it still seemed
disingenuous.
“ Please, though, I would know what
to call you?”
“ Lowell.”
Talking hurt. Everything hurt. Laying on the
concrete was stupid. He was stupid. The old guy was stupid. That
stupid glass up there was stupid. This totally wasn’t a
tantrum.
“ Yes. Good. Lowell—” He’s
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