THE NICK OF TIME
(and other abrasions)
Acquainted With The Night
by
Al Bruno III
Chapter Two
Haruspex Boulevard
Many considered it an irony that this desolate, cul de sac thoroughfare was the nexus point for religious activity throughout the City.
Prophets and missionaries stood on boxes and rickety homemade stages preaching their gospels to any that listen. The air was choked with the rumble of a legion of voices all trying to shout each other down. On one side of the street a trio of women sang in a lost Aztec dialect, on the other a six fingered man offered himself to any who would convert to his faith. A Catholic priest stood at a podium in the center of the road, quietly shuffling through his Bible with clumsy, bandaged hands.
“Excuse me.” Dr. Flesh approached him, “Could I ask you a few questions?”
“Of course my son.” His smile failed to fill his wide, round face.
“I'm Dr. Flesh.”
“I'm Father Muñoz.” they gently shook hands.
“Father Muñoz, I can see you're about to speak so I won't waste too much of your time.”
“Oh, that's all right. I arrived here only a few days ago under special orders from his Holiness and you're the first friendly face I've seen.”
Dr. Flesh picked up the Bible and began thumbing through it, a nostalgic twinkle in his eyes. He read aloud, “’Now giants were upon the earth in those days. For after the sons of God went in to the daughters of men, and they brought forth children, these are the mighty men of old, men of renown.’ Genesis chapter six, verse four.”
The priest regarded him oddly, “You know your bible.”
“I was a monk for a while.”
Father Muñoz snickered with disbelief, Dr. Flesh cocked an eyebrow and flipped to another familiar passage in the book, “’There we saw certain monsters of the sons of Enac, of the giant kind: in comparison of whom, we seemed like locusts’. Remember that one?”
“I'm afraid not.”
“Oh, come on! You must know that one.”
“I'm afraid…” He held up his bandaged hands, “…but this isn't my best day.”
“I apologize.” Dr. Flesh said, “Let me ask you this question and I'll be on my way. Does the name Morgan mean anything to you?”
“No, I'm afraid not.”
“He's a tall man with powdered wig. He apparently likes to cause trouble here.”
“We've had a lot of troublemakers, but I don't remember anyone with a powdered wig.” Father Muñoz said, “But on my first day here, some maniac in a black mask attacked me. With just a touch he gave me frostbite on my hands. All he did was touch me!”
Dr. Flesh frowned at this, “Did you report the attack to the Sentries?”
“Sentries?”
“Father, every mile or so there's a gray structure; it’s almost the same thing as a police station.”
“Oh.”
“You know, if you want I could fix those.” he tapped the priest's bandaged hands.
“Thank you my son.” Father Muñoz drew back, “But it is not my way.”
“No problem, jut be careful you don't lose a finger.”
“I will.” He smiled, “And I'm sorry I couldn't help you find your friend.”
“Oh, he's not a friend.”
Further down the boulevard there was a commotion, a speaker was being heckled. Dr. Flesh handed back the Bible and bid a swift farewell to Father Muñoz.
“Pomegranate eaters!” the man in the audience shouted, “Foolishly you place your faith in the simple tools of the one true immortality!”
The aged speaker's voice and gaze never faltered, “...through the sacrifice and resurrection of her only begotten daughter, Demeter has paved the way for us to live again as surely as the plants rise again each spring...”
“And why do the plants return?”
“...those who partake of our communion will...”
“The sweet rains is what makes the plants return, not your pathetic Demeter!”
Dr. Flesh shouldered his way through the crowd of faithful and curious; past the wild eyed cultists of Tsathogghua and the quietly chanting devotees of Noggar Dallieon. He had no idea how he was going to find Morgan, Dean of the Fourth Circle, much less how he was going to kill him but he needed the money. The problem was the current political climate had made people very unwilling to volunteer information. That had left him with only one option, to bluff wildly and call in favors.
“...when there will be winter or fall, only a perpetual spring. Eternal life for those who believe.”
“Your savior is but the minor Godling of a dead culture!”
The heckler was within sight now. Dr. Flesh rolled his eyes with exasperation.
The priestess left the pulpit, her face stony.
“Run! That's right! Run!” The heavyset man in loose trousers and a high necked shirt called after her, “Run from the truth, run from the scintillating waters of eternal purification!”
“Don't you mean the scintillating waters of infernal putrefaction?”
A growl began deep in the heckler's throat, he spun, his hands curled like talons. The sight of Dr. Flesh transformed his growl into a roar of laughter, “Only you I would let say such a thing!”
He had time to gasp, “Scamander!” before the bearded man's hug knocked the wind from him.
“So good to see you!” Brother Scamander said lifting Dr. Flesh off the ground, “How long have you been here?”
“I only arrived last night.” Dr. Flesh wheezed.
“Wherever are you staying, leave!” Brother Scamander released him, “Stay with me at my house! Eat at my table! Take any of my wives for your enjoyment!”
“I'm afraid I can't Scamander.” He slipped his gloves back on, “I'm here on business.”
“Business! How long can you live like you do? When was the last time you laughed from your belly? You’re still using aren’t you?”
Dr. Flesh shrugged, “I'm here for Morgan.”
“Morgan.” The color returned to Brother Scamander' cheeks at this time, he spat on the ground. They started walking. “I know this man. He comes here to mock us. He claims that all faiths are lies and illusions. He brags that one day we will worship him! I would worship the worms in a dog's droppings first!”
A cry went up, crowds began to gather around the kiosk dedicated to the prophets of Druagga, stigmata were erupting all over the sermonist's face and arms.
“Does he come at any particular time of day?” Dr. Flesh waved to Father Muñoz, busy preaching to an audience of one.
“No. Sometimes he comes at night, sometimes he comes in the day.”
Dr. Flesh drew his pocket watch from his jacket and examined the digital readout. “Maybe I should just give my fee back and go home.”
“If I were believing you would do that then I would be believing that Elvis is still alive.”
“You don't believe Elvis is alive?” Dr. Flesh cracked a grin, “Bloody pagan.”
Their eyes met and they both laughed out loud. “Please,” Brother Scamander said, “My home for dinner tomorrow?"
“Oh all right.” Dr. Flesh said offering his own, less powerful hug, “I'll try to be there.”
“Wonderful!”
Something bolted through his legs, a streak of orange that quickly lost itself in the sea of bare feet, boots and high heeled shoes.
“What the –”
“Was that …?” Dr. Flesh craned his neck for some sign of the creature.
“A friend of yours?” Brother Scamander bent down.
“I don't think so."
“I think perhaps it is.” the bearded man said, picking up the gutted rat that had been left between Dr. Flesh' legs.
He shook his head, “I found a dead kitten last night.”
“In the Outlands?”
“No.” Dr. Flesh took the mouse and examined it, “In the blind alley just off Thorn Park. I heard it scream but by the time I got there I was too late.”
Brother Scamander wiped the blood from his hands, “It must have been sick, no one may kill a cat.”
“Maybe they don't know the law.” Dr. Flesh said, “Or they just don't care.”
“These are disturbing times.”
He let the mouse slip through his fingers, “On second thought maybe I will join you for a drink.”
No comments:
Post a Comment