"Small Tales" - Short Stories, Anyone?

[SpaceCadet]

Nice - a vicious little cuss, wasn't he?

I really should be working on mine ('got a reprieve 'til Midnight tomorrow from my blues-buddy story-swapper up in Portland, but am too bushed to boogie.) So here's a link to one of my faves, written by an absolute master of wit and elegance in writing...
The Pond by Saki

Truly wicked.
.

[Scythe Matters]

I love Saki - thank you!

[Mufasa]

Been sorta grumpy lately... so here's an additional page to Firstborn.
I know where this segment is going, so bear with me. It's gonna be ugly.

1381 / Montpellier, France

Sarah opened her eyes.
The site she had beheld a moment ago could not have been real, could it?
Slowly now, no rush. If it was real, it would be there again.
Sunlight filtered through her dark lashes, the suns warmth made it
difficult not to simply leave them closed, after the bone-chilling cold of
the lands they had left a few weeks ago.

"Deus lux mea est", Sarah whispered. God is my light.
The Mediterranean Sea sparkled before her. Sands as white as crushed
marble stretched left and right, the blue-green waves rolling inward to
break themselves on the beach at Sarah’s feet.
She was shaking; her arms wrapped around herself as if cold. Excitement and
wonder - not the weather, was the cause of her self-embrace.
Meridian watched her as she stepped into the warm water, and saw her arms
slide away from her sides, her muscles relaxing.
The waves hissed and sighed on the sand. She turned her head towards him
and smiled, not the smile of a friend that had received a small favor – but
of a young woman who had been released from some hellish prison cell.
She jumped up and down a few times, still smiling, and he laughed out loud.

He sat down on the warm sand, adjusting the two short blades at his belt to
prevent the pommels from sticking into his ribs, and watched Sarah wander
up and down the beach in front of him. The scar from the arrow was quite
visible on her bare back, and she was quite contentious of it. She would
wear it for the remaining years of her life.
Meridian could have easily dozed, he was weary - but chose to remain awake
to watch over Sarah. The city was safe, relatively, but there were always
those willing to harm another in order to feed their family or line their
own purse. It was never wise to equate beauty with safety.

They had spoken with Terrance Corsier’ earlier in the month, near his home
in Versailles.
Terrance had supplied them with two nights of rest, food and leisure at
a village near the city, both for themselves and their horses. The inn there
was owned by Terrance, and had been in his family for over a hundred years.
Versailles was in turmoil at this time, and was not safe for two travelers
– especially when one held the beauty that Sarah did.
“Beauty and safety” Meridian thought again. Never wise.

[Mufasa]

The River Lez emptied a short walk to the south. This was the main entry and exit for trade that flowed through Montpellier. The larger ships had difficulty going inland via the Lez, so huge, flat-bottomed barges were put into use in order to move the goods in and out of the city. The stream of boats and barges was nearly constant during the day.
Meridians mouth watered at the thought of crates laden with figs and olives, and salted meats, fruit and spices from the region. This was a good place to settle for a while.

Bishop Pierre De Vernols stood hidden in the shade under the awning of a high balcony.
The telescope that he peered through was fashioned of brass and exotic wood, polished to an expensive sheen. The University of Medicine owned everything in this area, with the exception of the docks themselves; that was held in a tight grip by the king. The school annex that he resided in was in the city, but this was where he preferred to spend his time - away from the students and other members of the order. He deserved better than a small chamber with a limited view of an inner courtyard. His request to be allowed to move his residence here was of course, denied. “This would interfere with the services that were expected of a man of his importance.”
Dolts. They spent their waking hours talking of mundane medical teachings and theory, never taking a moment to stare at the sea or enjoy the pleasure of the setting sun. It was all so old to him now; all so tedious and uninteresting.
He sat down on a stool that allowed him to be level with the eye piece of the telescope. Sipping local wine, he scanned the horizon, wondering what new something that the next ship would bring to shore. The barges moved slowly, trudging their way up and down the Lez, their oarsmen singing their lewd, raucous songs as they pulled the oars or shoved the craft forward with long poles. Perhaps his life would have been more adventurous as one of those boatmen; he would never know.

He sighed and drank the remaining wine from his glass. He scanned the horizon for a moment more, and then traced the coastline from left to right. There, almost close enough to touch, a young woman – a beautiful young woman. She was standing with her shoulder towards the shore, staring at something. Her hair was so dark that it looked like smoke from burning pitch. The sun made it gleam as if it were afire somehow. Her shoulders were narrow and angular, strength showed in them. Her legs… where was the wine? “Boy! Wine, quickly!”
From the arched walkway, a young boy in linen robes and sandals appeared. He carried a silver tray that was emblazoned with the Vatican’s royal seal. Setting the tray near the Bishop, he bowed and quickly left, but not before seeing what the Bishop was looking at.
The boy blushed and hurried into the doorway.

De Vernols poured wine into the silver-laced glass, spilling it onto the marble floor tiles in his haste.
“She is angelic”, he spoke aloud. “I cannot see her face. Show me your…” his voice rose higher as he stood. Sarah turned, and the sun shimmered upon her hair and body. She walked towards De Vernols, so it seemed. A sharp intake of breath from his open mouth.
“Dear God”, De Vernols mouthed the words.

[desertbear]

MORE!!!! MUFSTER, MORE!!!!

[Gungawoman]

Muffy--I find it so interesting that you write best when grumpy. I love this story. I hate to see you grumpy, but KEEP WRITING!

[Mufasa]

Thanks Gunga ~

[nettiesaur]

I can't wait to hear what happens next!

[Mufasa]

"You ... are a pig." Sarah's comment was emphasized with a flic of her wrist and a finger that touched the tip of Meridians nose.
"I excused myself! And the last time I heard you call someone a pig, you smashed a wine jar against his head."
Meridian said this in mock anger, more off-hand than serious.
"I did not know that you could eat so much", Sarah noted.
"Britain has no concept of food. They eat it - they do not enjoy it. Let me have a moment of pleasure, woman!"
"Pleasure? You had best drip your words with that honey if you should ever hope for it from me again." She followed this with
"that look" - the one that she offered when trying to be intimidating to him.

It was always a chore when she did this, to keep his snickering to himself. Meridian stretched out on the floor in front of the small fireplace in the corner cooking area. The apartment was actually an old warehouse that had been renovated into several small apartments and trading company offices.
"I love this", she said quietly, staring into the glowing fire.
"The apartment?", Meridian asked lazily.
"No - I mean yes; everything. I love the city, and the people are so clean! The streets are clean. The food is wonderful here, so... different from home." She sat on the carpet next to his back, leaning on him.
"Can we stay, at least a while?"
"It depends", he responded, raising one eyebrow.
"On what?" she said, serious now.
"On whether or not you decide I deserve a bit of pleasure."
Sarah grabbed his ear and his wrist in one motion, twisting his arm up into the small of his back while planting her knee against his spine.
"How's that, troublemaker?", she asked in a sultry voice.
"I yield! I yield! Gods, girl", he said while rubbing his arm.
Meridian had taught her well. Perhaps a bit too well, he thought.
"Who's the girl now?" she said, batting those long lashes.

Across the street, a lone watcher stood in the shadow of a boat yard vessel. His time was nearly completed, and the next man would be here soon. He shivered as if he had some illness, but the illness was knowing that he soon had to report to Bishop De Vernols, and it filled him with dread.

[Mufasa]

The Scholastic Halls were quiet and smelled of unknown things. At this time of night, all but the most dedicated students were either sleeping or studying the days lessons, hoping to not be chastised by their learned teachers when called upon to offer answers.
The employee of Bishop Pierre De Vernols moved uneasily through the servants entrance hall. He hated this place, full of arrogant asses - both young and ancient. God only knows what they really did in here. He preferred the simple life of errands and cut-pursing, although De Vernols had all but put an end to that occupation- making it clear that any involvement with the authorities would lead to immediate termination of employment, and a disavowing of all relation as employer by the Bishop. Manipulative bastard. He paid well, but his rules now made for a boring life for the employee.
He entered a small room through a door that squeaked on ancient, seldom used hinges. A small lamp was sitting on a table, flickering as the man entered.
"Close the door dullard." The voice was cold and oozed arrogance. De Vernols.
"Good evening Lord - good evening", breathed the employee.
"I am not a Lord... as I have told you many times", De Vernols said, clearly agitated.
"I am sorry my... sir. I am hungry and my memory is not..."
"I do not care for a report on your bodily functions. Tell me what you have learned."
"Sir, they appear to be man and wife. They arrived in Montpellier a few days ago, alone. His name is Meridian, and hers..."
De Vernols sat upright, his eyes dilated slightly.
"Is Sarah", the man finished.
"Sarah." The Bishop tasted the name, then again, closing his eyes as he did so.
The employee stood motionless, and noticed that he was holding his breath. He breathed out slowly, and shifted uneasily.
"Why are they here?" the Bishop asked.
"Unknown sir. They are not known by any of the local agents or vendors. Their coin is silver, both local as well as Britain.
Only two horses - no wagon, but the man appears to be skilled, sir."
De Vernols seemed to ignore that last, and sat quietly for a few moments. The employee shifted once again, wishing that this was over.
"Continue your watch for now, and try not to make yourself known. Reaffirm this with the others as well."
The man bowed too far, saying "Sir" as he did so. He turned and exited the small room, wincing at the cry of the un-oiled hinges. "The bastard did not even remember to pay me", he thought to himself. But the employee would not dare to remind the Bishop of this.
He checked behind him, and grabbed a small snuff jar from a table, stuffing the container into his belt.
He smiled to himself as he closed the outer door and headed down the dark alley.

De Vernols sat staring at the flickering lamp, his eyes half closed.
"Sarah", he whispered. "I will have you." Within minutes, he had formed his plan.