at my words, a tremendous roll of thunder sounded outside…
when it subsided, the blind boy began to recite his love poem (to a hypothetical maiden or goddess)…
lovely lady, with lashes of lapis lazuli
and eyes as dark as pools of martian mercury
pay no heed to my pathetic foolery
unless my desperate words affect you truly
dare i, a humble bard of no renown
bitten by every dog in road and town
a flea on the wind-whipped hide of fate
e’en cast an eye on one of your estate?
your airy form, your gracious mien
astound the eyes of those who’ve seen
the goddesses’ procession in the skies
and yet the bolts that dart forth from your eyes
slay not, but only serve to stoke the fire
of gods and mortals maddened by desire…
at this point the lad’s effusion was interrupted by a loud banging on the door of the inn.
"go on," i encouraged the budding bard, "it is only the wind."
"i think not, master," exclaimed the innkeeper, "i know that knock."
and indeed, even as the innkeeper spoke, the pounding doubled in force, and there was no mistaking it for the wind or anything but a deliberate summons to open the door.
"well," i said to the innkeeper, as good humoredly as i could, for i was quite annoyed by the interruption but determined to play the role of a genial mortal, "you may as well let the person in."
the innkeeper quickly proceeded to the door and opened it.
a furious blast of wind and rain entered the open door, along with two heavily bundled figures, one large and one small, and the innkeeper shut the door behind them.
the larger figure shook the water from himself like a bear and pulled back the hood of his garment , revealing a villainous face with a heavy black mustache. the smaller figure remained motionless behind him.
the innkeeper murmured some sort of obsequious greeting to the visitor, who shoved him aside and entered the parlor and approached the table at which our little party was seated.
“greetings, sir,” i addressed him as civilly as i could, though he was staring at me as a wolf might at a somewhat unappetizing looking sheep.
“do you know who i am?” the newcomer asked me in a commading voice. his companion had entered the parlor behind him, still covered from head to foot and revealing nothing of its particulars.
“no, sir,” i answered , “i am a traveler from a distant land, and i do not know who you are.” i could see that thomas was more than a bit irritated by the visitor’s peremptory manner and inclined to rebuke him, but i signaled to him to hold his tongue.
“i am arboc!” the man announced.
“arboc…” i heard the poet murmur behind me, and his companion the musician mutter something in return.
“i am sorry, “ i told the fellow, “but i have, as i said, travelled from a distant land, and your no doubt well deserved fame has not reached my ears.”
“come, arboc, “ the innkeeper whispered to him, “let me find a place for you by the fire, while i bring you … whatever you like. i am sure these worthy gentlemen travelers will happily make room for you.” and he cast a glance both pleading and terrified at us.
at this point the second, smaller visitor plucked at arboc’s sleeve and whispered in his ear.
arboc listened, and then straightened up and addressed me, with a smile still wolfish but a little uncertain.
“my companion suggests something, which, if true, is most interesting,” he said.
“and what might that be?” i replied.
“that you and this other person here,” nodding at gex, “are not mortal men, but gods.”
i smiled. “your companion has the imagination of a poet. i too, am a poet, as is this little fellow here. we were just settling in to a companionable night of bardolatry. perhaps you are a poet also, and would care to join is.”
“a poet! i do not write poems, i have poems written about me! i am arboc, the bandit and rebel who will soon rule this empire!”
“a worthy ambition,” i told him. “and i wish you all success. but as i am not a citizen of this empire, it is no concern of mine.”
“but , sir poet, you have not answered my question. are you in fact a god, and not a man?”
the fire crackled behind me.
38. the witch
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