Chapter 27
Damon City's outer wall, if not all the property damage from the city battle, had now been repaired.
(And the inpour of Mexicans had receded to a trickle.)
At last the end celebration of the Summer Festival could take place, that was aborted by the Paskos' attack.
(Despite fierce resistance from anti-abortion activists!)
The procession from the temple of the Goddess marched through the wider streets of Damon City, cheered by thousands of citizens.
([Bored voice] Yaaay...)
On her high-seat, in the middle of the parade of priestesses and novices, Inu waved her blessings to the people, like other high-priestesses in similar ceremonies across Castilia.
(This was the time when her Depends saved the day.)
Only this time, the procession avoided the castle and sent no emissaries to the city lord. It was a clear message, that Inu was displeased with him - and it was equally clear why.
(Really? Why?)
Dohan Damon could see the distant procession from the balcony of his rooms. He was as yet imprisoned in his home, and could only wave at the high-priestess, hoping she would notice the movement through a telescope tube.
(Another desperate attempt to flirt up passing women...)
Once, he had been madly in love with her... as had most men.
(Except Ted Haggard.)
But it was impossible to love a haughty goddess like a down-to-earth woman of flesh and blood, like he loved Meijji. Would prayers help bring them together again?
("Dear God, help me get laid...")
"Can you hear me now, Goddess? Is this your will?" he asked in a low voice, watching Inu's procession move away from the castle. The noise of the cheering crowds slowly faded.
(The fool! Doesn't he know that Jerry Falwell, our only direct link to Heaven, has died?)
(Citizens! Wash and rinse your ears to prevent infectious rumors!)
Everyone knew that Sir Dohan, in spite of his heroic defense of the city, was placed under house arrest.
(Even Alberto Gonzales knew.)
In the days after the city battle, a time of numerous funerals and injured men, the church's priestesses were busy - but high-priestess Inu remained absent from these drudging tasks, seeking refuge in the cathedral and the Scriptures. This was generally regarded as a bad omen, since a high-priestess was considered a vessel of the Goddess.
(The yacht of the Goddess. The barge of the Goddess. The *BONK*)
Inu's earlier declaration of the return of the King was now widely interpreted in the light of recent events. In the mouths and minds of the citizens, the banishment of Darc had upset the Goddess
(Ewww!)
- Darc was the reincarnated Singing King after all, and the public longed for his return.
(In a Platonic way.)
The Doctors' Guild members, on the other hand, were merely relieved to have him out of the way.
And among the nobility of the Madrivalo province, opinions of Darc were greatly divided - nowhere more so, than in the Damon household...
("It's pronounced 'Dars'!" - "No, it's "Dark!" - "Is not!" - "Is too!")
(Deceived flesh and blood should be treated with antibiotics.)
The other dinner guests did not answer, nor meet his eyes.
("I can't fit your eyes into my calendar now, try next month...")
It was the wine speaking for him, maybe - after he rid himself of Darc and imprisoned his own son, Bor had taken to drinking much more than usual.
("Hi! I'm your pal Boozy the Bottle, and I'll speak for you!")
His usually restrained temper had turned more bitter and mercurial, and he saw Pasko spies in every corner.
("They're there! And there! And there!)
The atmosphere of this particular dinner table, the second evening after Darc's banishment, was oppressive - Dohan's chair stood empty next to Bor's, as an unstated accusation.
(Can you hear the sound of one accusation clapping?)
Strangely enough, the single present member of the Pasko family had yet been spared his wrath. Andon Pasko had made himself invisible from the city battle up to this moment, feigning illness to avoid turning up for dinner.
(And with those fateful words, the text collapsed under the weight of its own pretentiousness.)
Only now he dared to sit with his wife Bwynn at Bor's table - his nervous thin lips silent, his eyes downcast.
Then Bor's eyes fixed on Andon's hunched, pale, scrawny figure - that was almost dwarfed by his robust, upright, red-haired wife.
("What does 'robust' mean? - "Fat.")
Dull anger grew in Bor's face as the minutes passed, waiting to explode.
(Do I cut the red wire or the blue wire?!?)
Everyone could feel it coming.
When Andon excused himself to leave the table, in his haste he scraped the chair - loudly - against the tiled floor. He swallowed, stretched his thin hand toward the table and gulped from his cup - and an involuntary reflex caused him to drop the cup.
It clanged onto the floor, spattering Eveli's blue silk skirt with drops of wine.
(Awkward!)
Bor bolted upright, and bellowed: "Are you insulting my daughter, Pasko? What do you think you're up to?" Andon froze before his accuser's stare, unable to move. "Perhaps you are the man behind all this! Answer me, Andon! Have you been talking to your big brother's informers?"
([Whiny voice] "Yes! How did you know? It's a fair cup, Guv'nor.")
Red-faced, Bwynn stood up and faced her drunken brother. She had his firm jaw and heavyset figure, and could hardly be called beautiful - but no one questioned her character.
("What sort of character?" - "Fat.")
When she spoke, one listened.
"Watch your tongue, my lord," she said in a loud, but controlled voice.
("You have to look down to see it.")
"This is my husband you are accusing of high treason."
(Shouldn't that be 'medium' treason?)
Bor threw her a fierce glare - but his rage receded. A full-blown feud, once started, might tear apart his entire clan - Bor feared that above anything else, and Bwynn knew it. She did not have to challenge his power; only a hint would suffice. With a grunt, he sank back into his chair.
([French accent] "And now, a wafer-thin mint...")
Andon left the hall, trying not to look like he was running.
Eveli wept in silence, not because of her stained dress. Her tears fell onto her silver plate - so silent was the hall, that they could hear the drops hit the plate.
("Who's 'they'?" - "The plate, and the hall.")
She wished that at least the wise Lord Fache had been there, to counter her father's faltering reason - but he had already returned to his own city.
(Misfortune is a present you don't want.)
And the injustice of his own father throwing his friend to the Lepers, made his skin prickly with anger. Everywhere Dohan turned, his own culture was backstabbing him.
(The Backstabbian High Culture.)
It seemed that only Darc could help him - at least without bloodshed.
(Bloodshed: A tool shed after a woodchipper accident.)
The worst part of it was that, step by step, his own father was changing into an enemy. Dohan could see the reason in Bor's actions. Yet, he knew his father was wrong. He had never consciously considered to overthrow anyone, seize power that was not his by right of law - but the seed of rebellion had been planted in Dohan's mind and was growing by the minute. It was not a comfortable feeling.
(What with the twigs and leaves growing out of his ears...)
He looked out the window, at the lit clock tower in the city below. The time was past nine in the evening, and Dohan's evening meal was supposed to be delivered to his quarters by now.
([Keanu voice]"I - want - ROOM SERVICE!")
He knocked on the hallway door, slid open the tiny shutter at eye level, and faced the guard's suspicious gaze. A human guard, of course - Dohan's trick on Lachtfot had been revealed.
"Yes, sirrah?"
"Why is my meal late?"
([Effeminate voice] "Wait in the bar, wait in the bar.")
"I have no clue, sirrah. I can send a messenger to the kitchen, if you wish."
"Do so."
(No-one must ever know how close the author came to writing, "Make it so.")
The guard, not being allowed to leave his post before night relief, caught a passing maid and sent her to the kitchen. Dohan stood waiting by the door, juggling half-baked escape plans in his head.
(Wow! How does he do that?)
Where could I go? he thought.
(To Detroit?)
Back to Kap Verita? Not without risking the safety of Meijji's family, if the Doctors' Guild gets hold of their position. Damn that Guild!
("Damn those magnificent bastards!")
If only Darc was here - he always knows what to do. Goddess, let him be alive.
Maybe I could find him, if I got my father to reveal where Surabot dropped him off. Maybe the Lepers haven't taken him, he is much too sharp-minded to end that way. What else could I do? Who else can match my father's power?
(The state your old man is in, David Faustino should suffice.)
As if to answer his unspoken question, the guard knocked.
([Knocking] "Shave-and-a-haircut, to go!")
"Your dinner, sirrah."
The guard unlocked the door, and the maid rolled the dinner cart inside. Dohan glanced briefly at the guard's hands that clutched a bayoneted rifle - the guard would never dare to kill the city lord's son; yet escape was pointless, if one had nowhere to run.
The guard let out the maid and locked the door. Dohan sighed, and lifted the lid covering the hot dinner plate.
("They forgot the ketchup again!")
There was a note stuck under the lid! Dohan snatched it, stepped closer to a ceiling lamp, and read the note. It read, in extremely neat, small handwriting:
("Dear Mr. Damon: I am Dr. Nkomo Tbolo from the National Bank of Nigeria...")
Do not show this message to others. A friend from another noble family is prepared to help you out of Damon City and to freedom. There are those who think the ruler's son should ascend to power now, after he proved his worth in battle. Wait for further messages. Burn this note. - A friend
Dohan's hope soared and sank in the same moment.
(How?)
He thought: A friend! A helper! Then: A traitor! A trap! Impulsive he was - dumb he was not.
(More like "semi-retarded.")
Another noble family - could it be Azuch Fache? Time would tell.
([Deep voice] *BEEP* "This is Time; I'm not here at the moment, please leave your message and number after the tone...")
He burned the message. A short while later, the electric lights were shut down by the city lord. Dohan ate, retreated to his bed, and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.
(Eating in the dark had made a mess of his clothes.)
(Jeez, even in the future upper-class housewives have too much time on their hands!)
The library, and its treasure of books from past centuries, thus became a refuge from her earthly duties. The following morning, after church service, she went to the castle library and sought out Librian. The old librarian was paler than in the past, and his sad eyes perhaps sadder.
(And the prose was perhaps even more vague.)
But he greeted her with a welcoming smile, as always: "Good morning, my young lady! What can I do for you?"
She looked down at her feet - a gesture very unlike her character and upbringing.
"It is... could we talk somewhere private?"
(This is a family-friendly website, so the particularly disgusting comment was omitted.)
They went into Librian's narrow private office, and Eveli told him: "You know what is happening here, Librian. War breaks out! The family is coming apart at the seams! My brother imprisoned! My father is turning into a drunkard! Aunt Bwynn was this close to having a fight with him! And Darc..."
([Girly voice] "...won't let me get a tattoo!")
She burst into tears. Librian taught both Eveli and her brother language, the sciences and geography; manners were not his trade, and she had confided in him before.
Librian patted the black-clad girl's shoulder, and talked in a soothing voice: "There, there, my lady. Have you said your prayers today?"
(Remember, kids: when you ask adults for advice they will mock you!)
His words, though well intentioned, fell on deaf ears - Eveli was tired of praying, and wanted to act for once.
(What about the ears of those deaf people?)
She choked her tears and stuttered: "Where is he, Librian? Where could he be? Might he be alive?"
(Actually, it sounded like this: "Wh-wh-where is-s-s he, L-l-l...")
His brow wrinkled, and he shook his head slowly. "I am so sorry, Eveli. Only your father knows."
("Why I can't shake my head faster.")
"Please try to find out where he might be! Somewhere in the Wastelands, maybe..."
([Sings] "Somewhere, over the Wastelands...")
Eveli spoke of territories she knew very little of; Librian smiled at her naivety.
(Readers smiled at the clunky style.)
"I will do everything I can, but I can promise nothing. If you..."
("...are fed up with my condescension...")
Librian hesitated; he was on the verge of suggesting treason.
("May I suggest treason?")
"You are the only one who Lord Damon might confide in now, my lady. He still thinks of you as an innocent child, like all fathers do."
(Except the father of Prince Harry.)
He dared say no more, and turned away. But Eveli understood.
("Oh, I understand. You're chicken.")
She promptly left the library to seek out her father.
([Whiny voice] "Daa-ad! I want a bigger allowance!")
DARC AGES (c)A.R.Yngve 1995, 2000, 2004. All rights reserved. May not be copied without permission.
______________
A.R.Yngve
The MSTing Of
DARC AGES
Book 2 1/2: The Smell Of Fear
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(Magna Charta's Angels.)
The public trust in the ruling family was wavering, and from the castle rumors of discord trickled out into the citizens' ears.
"I know you are all intriguing behind my back," Bor Damon muttered under his breath. "My own flesh and blood, deceived by that troublemaker."
Dohan, though imprisoned, had not given up. His desire for the dark-skinned island woman Meijji grew stronger as he brooded over his present misfortune.
Eveli used to spend some days in the vast castle library, when she was not occupied with her teachers and following her mother's work. A noblewoman in training had to prepare for the responsibility of a vast household staff and social circle; Eveli was no exception.
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