Read Online The Rat and the Serpent by Stephen Palmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephen Palmer
Ads: Link
deliberate people, and I do not like their attitude. They see me as a freak because I like poetry. Might a nogoth not find poetry if he was desperate?
May there not be a poetry of gutter despair? I contend that there may be. But these thawers do not like it. They say I speak out of place. I tell them that I will speak in place for the sake of the Mavrosopolis, but inside my head I am formulating verse.
Inside my head is a place they can never reach.
I worry too about the emphasis they place on physical labour. I am tall and I bend like a reed. My back is weak. There is nothing wrong with this. My arms are thin and the lumps of muscle upon them are slight. There is nothing wrong with this, either. If I run fast I am soon out of breath, for I have poor stamina, and if I am asked to lift anything, or to fetch anything, I do the job poorly. But physical labour is not a task meant for one such as I. A thinker, me, one who considers, one, most important of all, who wants to find the location of peace. Is this so much to ask? Certainly, others have asked similar questions, and these others may also have sought the bright path. But where are they?
I have decided on one thing. I am prepared to give that I might receive. I know what I want and I am prepared—though perhaps not happy—to work for the end that I desire. My apprenticeship has shown me that such an equation is possible, indeed that it is one of the backbones of life in the citidenizenry. This strongly suggests that the citidenizenry is a happy place, a station in life where people may find fulfilment. I am looking forward to passing the test.
Chapter 4
It was evening, and Musseler’s apprentices were sitting before his dais in the Tower of the Dessicators. I knew a speech was coming because of the serious look on Musseler’s face.
“Apprentices,” he began, “we have arrived at the penultimate stage, the task prior to the citidenizen test. Those of you who undertake this task in the manner I expect will be recommended for the test.” He paused, glanced down a moment, then continued, “Though I should not say this, I confidently expect all of you to be put forward. But because the task you face—not to mention the test itself—is difficult, even dangerous, we have decided to allocate cimmerians to you. One each.”
Musseler paused, glancing towards the door behind the dais, then snapping his fingers as a murmur of conversation arose from the apprentices. Cimmerians, I thought; what are they?
In walked a column of dark-skinned people, the men naked from the waist up, the women dressed in tunics, every one athletic of build, though nervous in manner. I counted six, three men and three women.
“What’s a cimmerian?” Yabghu asked.
“A nogoth from one of the settlements at the periphery of the Mavrosopolis, very rarely seen. I will allocate one to each of you. Rely on your assistant, for you will need every particle of help in the forthcoming days. They are here to aid you.”
I frowned, a nervous tremor beginning in my stomach; six cimmerians but seven apprentices, and it did not take much thought to understand the reason for that. I ground my teeth, took a deep breath, then stood up.
“Musseler,” I said, “I apologise for interrupting, but I’ve got to point out that there are only six cimmerians.”
“Yes?”
“Who won’t get one?”
Musseler stared at me. “You want one too?”
“I am doing the task, aren’t I?”
“Well... I suppose so. Of course, you won’t be taking the test.”
I could not help but shout, “I will take the test!”
Musseler’s eyes narrowed, making me wonder if I had gone too far, but then he said, “Very well, Ügliy, you’ll get a cimmerian too.”
I sat down. “Thank you,” I said.
Under his breath, though not so quiet I would not hear, Musseler added, “Though what good it will do you I don’t know.”
The others stared at me. Atavalens had returned from his sick-bed and his gaze was the most
May there not be a poetry of gutter despair? I contend that there may be. But these thawers do not like it. They say I speak out of place. I tell them that I will speak in place for the sake of the Mavrosopolis, but inside my head I am formulating verse.
Inside my head is a place they can never reach.
I worry too about the emphasis they place on physical labour. I am tall and I bend like a reed. My back is weak. There is nothing wrong with this. My arms are thin and the lumps of muscle upon them are slight. There is nothing wrong with this, either. If I run fast I am soon out of breath, for I have poor stamina, and if I am asked to lift anything, or to fetch anything, I do the job poorly. But physical labour is not a task meant for one such as I. A thinker, me, one who considers, one, most important of all, who wants to find the location of peace. Is this so much to ask? Certainly, others have asked similar questions, and these others may also have sought the bright path. But where are they?
I have decided on one thing. I am prepared to give that I might receive. I know what I want and I am prepared—though perhaps not happy—to work for the end that I desire. My apprenticeship has shown me that such an equation is possible, indeed that it is one of the backbones of life in the citidenizenry. This strongly suggests that the citidenizenry is a happy place, a station in life where people may find fulfilment. I am looking forward to passing the test.
Chapter 4
It was evening, and Musseler’s apprentices were sitting before his dais in the Tower of the Dessicators. I knew a speech was coming because of the serious look on Musseler’s face.
“Apprentices,” he began, “we have arrived at the penultimate stage, the task prior to the citidenizen test. Those of you who undertake this task in the manner I expect will be recommended for the test.” He paused, glanced down a moment, then continued, “Though I should not say this, I confidently expect all of you to be put forward. But because the task you face—not to mention the test itself—is difficult, even dangerous, we have decided to allocate cimmerians to you. One each.”
Musseler paused, glancing towards the door behind the dais, then snapping his fingers as a murmur of conversation arose from the apprentices. Cimmerians, I thought; what are they?
In walked a column of dark-skinned people, the men naked from the waist up, the women dressed in tunics, every one athletic of build, though nervous in manner. I counted six, three men and three women.
“What’s a cimmerian?” Yabghu asked.
“A nogoth from one of the settlements at the periphery of the Mavrosopolis, very rarely seen. I will allocate one to each of you. Rely on your assistant, for you will need every particle of help in the forthcoming days. They are here to aid you.”
I frowned, a nervous tremor beginning in my stomach; six cimmerians but seven apprentices, and it did not take much thought to understand the reason for that. I ground my teeth, took a deep breath, then stood up.
“Musseler,” I said, “I apologise for interrupting, but I’ve got to point out that there are only six cimmerians.”
“Yes?”
“Who won’t get one?”
Musseler stared at me. “You want one too?”
“I am doing the task, aren’t I?”
“Well... I suppose so. Of course, you won’t be taking the test.”
I could not help but shout, “I will take the test!”
Musseler’s eyes narrowed, making me wonder if I had gone too far, but then he said, “Very well, Ügliy, you’ll get a cimmerian too.”
I sat down. “Thank you,” I said.
Under his breath, though not so quiet I would not hear, Musseler added, “Though what good it will do you I don’t know.”
The others stared at me. Atavalens had returned from his sick-bed and his gaze was the most
Similar Books
