Read Online The Texts Of Festival by Mick Farren - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mick Farren
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around all day and scratched themselves they put on a good show, thought Frankie as the troop, about thirty in all, passed him. The first dozen wore the black surcoats with the device of the high lord, the white circle enclosing an inverted ‘Y’. The remainder wore the retainer livery of various merchants and cartels.
‘What’s all the fuss about?’ A bearded man in the costume of an out-of-town merchant turned to Frankie. ‘Is this some kinda regular parade?’
‘No, man. They’re a-gonna check ou’ some kinda trouble up the highway, some travellers came back with a tale of a caravan gettin’ wiped out.’
The merchant looked anxious.
‘That’s terrible, I’d planned to ride back to the Bridge in the nex’ coupla days.’
‘Reckon you’d be wise to wait till these troubles are sorted out.’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’
The soldiers were now out of sight, and the crowd began to drift away. Frankie turned to go, but the merchant caught at his sleeve with an embarrassed grin.
‘Lissen, uh … you look like a man of the world an’ I … uh.’
Shit, thought Frankie, now the rube wants to get laid. Thinking of the possible percentage, he restrained himself from laughing at the man.
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, I was wondering’ if’n you could fix me up with a bit o’ fun, you know what I mean.’ The man winked.
Frankie moved away a pace before the rube started nudging him.
‘If you wanna get laid, there’re plenty o’ chippies on the Drag.’
‘Yeah, I was wonderin’ if’n you could connect me with something’, like, you know, a bit … uh … unusual.’
Frankie stared at the man and the urge to gross him out became too strong to ignore.
‘I know this hooker who got a floggin’ not two days ago, that’d be pretty, uh, bizarre, huh?’ Frankie nudged the man in the ribs and leered at him. The merchant looked uncertain. Frankie leered again, showing his teeth.
‘It won’t cost too much and it’ll sure be somethin’ to tell the boys back home. C’mon an’ buy me a drink, an’ I’ll fix ya up.’
Frankie walked off with the man following.
Valentine, the seventh high lord of Festival, sat in the informal audience room of the stone palace and eyed the young woman who sat across the room from him. Normally the high, echoing room with its hangings, carpets and upholstered furniture, priceless objects from the days when men had crossed the sea, the smell of incense and the girl, painted and dressed solely to be an object of his lust, would have filled him with a happy sense of what he called exquisite grandeur. But today his full, rather cruel lips were thrust into a pout that gave his face the expression of a sullen child.
This trouble on the highway was monstrous. Probably some brain-damaged drifter had made up the tale for drinks and the soldiers would find nothing. There was no excuse for dragging him from his bed and sport so early in the day. The young woman with the gold hair and small firm breasts was excellent, one of the best his agents had ever found, and although he would quickly tire of her the novelty of the new body was still such that it irked him to have to spend the day investigating a fool’s paranoid fantasies.
The doors opened and Senior Official Lazarus bowed in. The old man in his long black robes stood silently in front of the door; Valentine was tempted to ignore him, but knew he would probably stand there for ever if he did. For a while Valentine examined the rings on his left hand. Then he raised his head.
‘Well?’
‘The textkeepers request audience, my lord. Phelge an’ Wheatstraw wait without.
They claim they have amassed such Self-Evident Truths as can be gleaned from the texts regarding the current emergency.’
Valentine cursed under his breath. After half the morning haggling over who should provide the soldiers for the inspection party, the textkeepers now wanted their token’s worth. Any advice those two dodderers might offer would be buried
‘What’s all the fuss about?’ A bearded man in the costume of an out-of-town merchant turned to Frankie. ‘Is this some kinda regular parade?’
‘No, man. They’re a-gonna check ou’ some kinda trouble up the highway, some travellers came back with a tale of a caravan gettin’ wiped out.’
The merchant looked anxious.
‘That’s terrible, I’d planned to ride back to the Bridge in the nex’ coupla days.’
‘Reckon you’d be wise to wait till these troubles are sorted out.’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’
The soldiers were now out of sight, and the crowd began to drift away. Frankie turned to go, but the merchant caught at his sleeve with an embarrassed grin.
‘Lissen, uh … you look like a man of the world an’ I … uh.’
Shit, thought Frankie, now the rube wants to get laid. Thinking of the possible percentage, he restrained himself from laughing at the man.
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, I was wondering’ if’n you could fix me up with a bit o’ fun, you know what I mean.’ The man winked.
Frankie moved away a pace before the rube started nudging him.
‘If you wanna get laid, there’re plenty o’ chippies on the Drag.’
‘Yeah, I was wonderin’ if’n you could connect me with something’, like, you know, a bit … uh … unusual.’
Frankie stared at the man and the urge to gross him out became too strong to ignore.
‘I know this hooker who got a floggin’ not two days ago, that’d be pretty, uh, bizarre, huh?’ Frankie nudged the man in the ribs and leered at him. The merchant looked uncertain. Frankie leered again, showing his teeth.
‘It won’t cost too much and it’ll sure be somethin’ to tell the boys back home. C’mon an’ buy me a drink, an’ I’ll fix ya up.’
Frankie walked off with the man following.
Valentine, the seventh high lord of Festival, sat in the informal audience room of the stone palace and eyed the young woman who sat across the room from him. Normally the high, echoing room with its hangings, carpets and upholstered furniture, priceless objects from the days when men had crossed the sea, the smell of incense and the girl, painted and dressed solely to be an object of his lust, would have filled him with a happy sense of what he called exquisite grandeur. But today his full, rather cruel lips were thrust into a pout that gave his face the expression of a sullen child.
This trouble on the highway was monstrous. Probably some brain-damaged drifter had made up the tale for drinks and the soldiers would find nothing. There was no excuse for dragging him from his bed and sport so early in the day. The young woman with the gold hair and small firm breasts was excellent, one of the best his agents had ever found, and although he would quickly tire of her the novelty of the new body was still such that it irked him to have to spend the day investigating a fool’s paranoid fantasies.
The doors opened and Senior Official Lazarus bowed in. The old man in his long black robes stood silently in front of the door; Valentine was tempted to ignore him, but knew he would probably stand there for ever if he did. For a while Valentine examined the rings on his left hand. Then he raised his head.
‘Well?’
‘The textkeepers request audience, my lord. Phelge an’ Wheatstraw wait without.
They claim they have amassed such Self-Evident Truths as can be gleaned from the texts regarding the current emergency.’
Valentine cursed under his breath. After half the morning haggling over who should provide the soldiers for the inspection party, the textkeepers now wanted their token’s worth. Any advice those two dodderers might offer would be buried
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