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But Benedict was waiting, his pet regiment at his back. Benedict cut them to pieces, and it sure looked as
if he'd wounded Dalt mortally. A few of his men were able to carry him off the field, so we never saw the
body. But hell! Who cared?"
"And you think he could be the same guy who was Luke's friend when he was a kid - and later?"
"Well, the age is about right and he seems to hail from that same general area. I suppose it's
possible."
I mused as I strolled. Jasra hadn't really liked the guy, according to the hermit. So what was his part
in things now? Too many unknowns, I decided. It would take knowledge rather than reasoning to answer
that one. So let it ride and go enjoy dinner. . . .
I continued on down the concourse. Near to its farther end I heard laughter and saw where some
hardy drinkers still occupied a few tables at a sidewalk cafe. One of them was Droppa, but he didn't spot
me and I passed on. I did not feel like being amused. I fumed onto Weavers Street, which would take
me over to where West Vine wound its way up from the harbor district. A tall masked lady in a silver
cloak hurried by and into a waiting carriage. She glanced back once and smiled beneath her domino. I
was certain that I didn't know her, and I found myself wishing I did. It was a pretty smile. Then a gust of
wind brought me the smokesmell of someone's fireplace and rattled a few dead leaves as it went by. I
wondered where my father was.
Down along the street then and left on West Vine... Narrower here than the concourse, but still
wide; a greater distance between lights, but still sufficiently illuminated for night travelers. A pair of
horsemen clopped slowly by, singing a song I did not recognize. Something large and dark passed
overhead a bit later, to settle upon a roof across the street. A few scratching noises came from that
direction, then silence. I followed a curve to the right, then another to the left, entering what I knew to be
a long series of switchbacks. My way grew gradually steeper. A harbor breeze came up at some point a
little later, bearing me my first salt sea smells of the evening. A short while afterward-two turns, I
believe-and I had a view of the sea itself, far below; bobbing lights on a sparkling, swelling slickness over
black, pent by the curving line of bright dots, Harbor Road. To the east the sky was powdered slightly. A
hint of horizon appeared at the edge of the world. I thought I caught a glimpse of the distant light of
Cabra minutes later, then lost it again with another turning of the way.
A puddle of light like spilled milk pulsed on the street to my right, outlining a ghostly gridwork of
cobbles at its farthest downhill reach; the stippled pole above it might advertise some spectral
barbershop; the cracked globe at its top still showed a faint phosphorescence, skull-on-astick style,
reminding me of a game we used to play as kids back in the Courts. A few lighted footprints proceeded
downhill away from it, faint, fainter, gone. I passed on, and across the distance I heard the cries of sea
birds. Autumn's smells were submerged in ocean's. The powdered light beyond my left shoulder rose
higher about the water, drifted forward across the wrinkled face of the deep. Soon. . . .
My appetite grew as I walked. Ahead, I beheld another dark-cloaked stroller on the other side of
the street, a slight glowing at the edges of the boots. I thought of the fish I would soon be eating and
hurried, breasting the figure and passing. A cat in a doorway paused at licking her asshole to watch me
go by, hind leg held vertical the while. Another horseman passed, this one headed up the hill. I heard the
fringes of an argument between a man and a woman from upstairs in one of the darkened buildings.
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Another turning and the shoulder of the moon came into sight like some magnificent beast surfacing,
shrugging droplets From bright bathic grottoes. . . .
Ten minutes later I had reached the port district and found my way over to Harbor Road, its lack of
all but occasional globes supplemented by window spillage, a number of buckets of burning pitch and the
glow of the now-risen moon. The smells of salt and sea-wrack were more intense here, the road more
cluttered with trash, the passersby more colorfully garbed and noisier than any on the concourse, unless
you counted Droppa. I made my way to the rear of the cove, where the sounds of the sea came to me
more strongly: the rushing, building advances of waves, then their crashing and splashing out beyond the
breakwater; the gentler falls and slopping withdrawals nearer at hand; the creaking of ships, the rattling of
chains, the bumping of some smaller vessel at pier or moor post. I wondered where the Starburst, my old
sailboat, might be now.
I followed the curve of the road over to the western shore of the harbor. A pair of rats chased a
black cat across my path as I wandered briefly, checking several sidestreets for the one I sought. The
smells of barf as well as solid and liquid human waste mingled with other odors here, and I heard the
cries, crashes and thuds of a struggle from somewhere nearby, leading me to believe that I was in the
proper neighborhood. From somewhere distant a buoy bell rattled; from somewhere nearby I heard an
almost bored-sounding string of curses preceding a pair of sailors who rounded the nearest corner to my
right, reeling, staggered on past me, grinning, and broke into song moments later, receding. I advanced
and checked the sign on that comer. SEABREEZE LANE, it read. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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