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The King of the Cockroaches staff would like you to know we are currently experiencing technical difficulties. Certain staff members are shirking their responsibilities, whining about how hard illustrations can be, day jobs and the like.  We assure you they will receive a thorough fonging.

In the meantime we ask that you please be patient and enjoy this picture of a goat.

Callings

            “Ah Aedlin!” Kurga said.  “They’ve stopped the waterfalls.  And I do believe the lake is smaller too.  Come to think of it, the whole place looks kind of run down.”

            “As long as they still can supply us with water, it could be a shed and a hand pump for all I care.  You will aid Captain Rayjay with the negotiations for our provisions?” Amisbhake asked.

            “Delighted.  The Emperor will probably gift us what we need, so excited will he be to see another holy person.”

            Ch’loi, sitting among the baggage, slashed the air in front of her, yet it was Amisbhake who spoke.  “No,” he said, “you will present us as traders.  Nothing else.”

            “But I thought..”  Kurga looked at the girl, “don’t you want to meet with the Emperor?”

            “Why,” her voice was as light and tremulous as dust lit by stained glass, “would one desire this?”

            “Why?  Why?  Why because I thought the idea was to proselytize.  To spread Yah’s message of peace, love and whatever comes after that.  Ch’Voga seemed rather keen on it.”

            “One is not the Fire-maker.  Aedlin is not one's calling.”

            “Not your.. well, what is your calling?”  But she would not speak anymore and Kurga knew from the look in Amisbhake’s eye that he was not welcome to push.  “Ah, well, all things reveal themselves to the patient.  Looks like a delegation is coming out to meet us anyway.” 

            They came alongside the quay and the gangplank was settled.  The delegation didn’t look threatening or welcoming.  It looked bored.  This was routine.  The toady at its head opened a scroll but never looked at it.  “The Emperor of the Sand Sea welcomes his honored guests to his capitol of Aedlin, the Jewel of the Empire.  He blesses you by the gods and prays your stay here will be one of fortune and good luck provided your papersareinorderandtaxesarepaidinfull.  Here is a list of currencies and trade goods no longer acceptable for tax purposes by order of the Chief Steward.”

            “And how is ol’ Khop these days?” Kurga asked.

            The toady turned one baleful eye in his direction.  “Dead.  Tea is provided for your refreshment as you are to enjoy the privilege of the search of your ship for impurities.  Please to step aside.”  They were made to exit the ship and stand on the quay as the desultory soldiers ransacked their goods looking for contraband. 

            “Probably looking to supplement their pay with whatever they find,” Captain Rayjay grumbled.  “’Impurities’ is probably code for ‘whatever fits in my pocket.’”

            “Oh cheer up Captain and have some lukewarm lake water with some leaves tossed in,” Amisbhake sipped his, “mm, poison sumac I think.”

            “It would seem the jewel of the Empire is anthracite.  Hear now, here’s a familiar face.  Ho there!” Kurga hailed the wharfmaster.  “Well met, friend, what’s the news?”  The wharfmaster began to tell them of his bunion and the horrible fee he would have to pay to have it removed, “yes, yes, I can see how that would be troublesome.  Almost as troublesome as removing and replacing a Chief Steward.”

            “Oh, has Rizzlethop gotten the axe too?  I hadn’t heard!”

            “I’m sure he hasn’t, (long life to him) I was referring to the Khop who was Chief Steward when last I weighed upon your hospitality.”

            “Really?  Had you not heard of his removal?  It came shortly after the succession of course, surely you must have heard.”

            “The succession?”

            “Oh now you’re just poking my belly.  Everyone in the Empire and beyond follows the successions.  Are you so removed from politics?”

            “You would be amazed how far one has to go to hear no news of the Empire.  So the child is no longer Emperor?”

            “Gods, no.  He was called to join a monastery in one of the far off provinces, I forget which one, not being a religious man myself and made his Vizier Emperor in his stead with full rights and lineage of succession.  Very generous.”

            “Yes, very generous indeed, one wonders if he knew what he was doing.  And the people, the people are happy with the new emperor?”

            “People are people,” a dismissive wave, “keep them fed, keep them busy and they don’t really care who sits in the throne room.  But overly principled people, religious fanatics, you know the type,” he elbowed Kurga, “Zealots who take their faith so seriously, they make normal people nervous.  Trust me, the people are better off with a bureaucrat than a crusader.  You know what I mean?”

            Kurga looked over the man’s shoulder at where Ch’loi was squatting and reading Ch’Voga’s copy of the Holy Scriptures under a parasol held by the Royal Counselor who was not a bodyguard.  “Yes, yes, I think I do.”

Intermission, don't forget to visit the snack bar.

i have a third installment written, i'm just struggling with the illustration.  In the meantime, here's a portrait of Amisbhake to tide you over and a excerpt of the conversation he had with the artist...

"Will this take long?"
"About two or three hours."
"Only?  And I'm not supposed to move in that time?"
"I'd rather you didn't, no."
"That may present a problem."
"Oh...how so?"
"I may get hungry and eat you."
"..!"
"Just kidding.  Fear not, I am a vegetarian."
"Oh, you had me worried there for a second!"
"Terribly sorry.  Are you quite recovered now?"
"Yes, just a momentary shock."
"Good, good.  Because if I don't like the portrait I may kill you anyway."

A time before the tooth.

            “Ch’loi?”  It was the voice of the Great Primary.  The voice of the benefactor.  The voice of the Fire-maker’s .. originator.  There was no cast for “Father.”  The Harvester-known-as-Ch’Loi struggled with the concept.  ‘Kin’ it understood.  It had many kin.  This was a type of kin.  A special type with special privileges and bonding rituals.  The Harvester-known-as-Ch’loi had never been held and gripped as the benefactor had held it, like a restraint..yet with gentleness.  As if the benefactor was giving something instead of taking.  Sharing.  Not in the harvester way.  Not the way the hive took a harvester’s bounty from its crop.  Not with a frenzy of pain but with…  Again the wall of silence.  The Harvester-now-known-as-Ch’loi wished for the words of the Fire-maker.  New words that brought back old meanings.  There were no fires of ideas and concepts without words.

            “Ch’loi?” the voice said again.  “Can you hear me?  I thought you said…”

            A new voice, the primary of the physicians, “it will take some time, the hardware, if you will, is sound, the mind must learn to use it.  Make new connections from the brain to the…”

            Without thinking the Harvester-known-as-Ch’loi cast, “Not thee.”  A sound frightened it!  It jumped, or tried to.  Something held it down.  It strained, it was so weak.

            “Good Yah have mercy!  The bonds..!”

            “Will hold, Sire.  Amazing!  So quickly!  Truly a beautiful piece of engineering!”

            “Ch’loi, you must not be afraid.  I am with you.”  The Harvester-known-as-Ch’loi ceased struggling.  “Your eyes are… not ready yet.  Much of your body is different now.  How do you feel?”

            It wanted to slash, “No!” but its arms were held fast. 

            “How do you feel?  Tell me, are you in pain?”

            It wanted to chop.

            “Use words, Ch’loi.  You have them now.”

            “Hoort.”  The sound made it jump again.  It was so loud!  So close!  It happened when she cast!

            “How much, Ch’loi, how much do you hurt?  Is it bad?  Would you like to sleep instead?”  Strain.  “I feel your arm trying to answer, use your mouth.  Learn to use it.  It will take practice.  Is it bad, the hurt?  Do you want to sleep?”

            “No.”  Only a little jump.  “Not ..thleep.”  It felt now the organ that made the sound.  It moved and was ..filled with something, something new and flexible and it could feel itself, touch things.  The Harvester-called-Ch’loi explored this little cave with the flexible organ and realized, “Not tooth!”

            “Yes, we took that out.  It wasn’t a part of you, not what you were, what you were meant to be.”

            “How..trink?”

            “You will learn, you will learn how to drink and eat!  Do you remember eating?  There will be many things to learn, to discover.  Most can wait till your strong.  But tell me, Ch’loi, what do you remember?  Do you remember a time before this was done to you?  Before the tooth?”

            “No.  Tooth alway.  Need alway.”

            “You don’t remember a home?  A mother or a father?  You don’t remember where you came from?  What you were?”

            “No.  Tooth alway.  Need alway.”

            “You don’t remember a time before the tooth, a time when you were.. a little girl?”

       

KotC: Book 2: A Girl Named Son: Chp 1: Traveling with Strangers

            “Are you well, Mr. Din Allorowro Vela D’Pomani D’Moro?” Amisbhake came up beside him on the rail of the skiff.

            “I am well enough, Sir.  Overjoyed to be free of the Docks if somewhat…ill at ease to find myself once again putting out into the Sea again.  And please, if we are going to be companions on this journey of several months, I am going to need you to call me just ‘Kurga’.”

            “You are ashamed of your family’s history?”

            “No.  Quite the opposite actually, I believe I bring shame to it.  It is better for them if everyone just thinks Kurga has failed, not the ignoble son of a great house has failed.”

            “I see.  You feel the weight of people’s expectations for you.  That can be a heavy burden.”

            “You have no idea,” Kurga said, then amended, “or do you?  I’m sorry, I really don’t know anything about you…or your rather silent companion.  Where is she?”

            “Resting.”

            “She seems rather frail.  This is not a journey for the weak you know.”

            The great, hulking Tigra bodyguard raised one eyebrow, “She is stronger than she appears.  How much did you know about Ch’Voga when you sailed from here with him?  Did you know his family?  His past?  His burdens?”

            “Not really, no.  I met him in a dockside café.  We both wanted to go east.  He had a contact with a boat but no money.  I had a contact with money but no boat.  That was all I needed to know.  I took him to be another child of privilege on a summer project of social justice.”

            “It would seem then, you are developing the habit of traveling with strangers.”

            “Well,” Kurga raised his waterskin, “Here’s to bad habits with better outcomes!”  He took a drink, wiping his muzzle with the back of his hand, his mother would be appalled, especially if she knew how much liquor he had added to the water.  Maybe this musclehead was right, he really was developing a lot of bad habits.  “Well, then Mr. Amisbhake, let us not tempt fate.  Tell me a little about yourself.”

            “What would you like to know?”

            “You said you work for the Viceroy?”

            “I serve him.”

            “Well, what’s it like being a bodyguard of a near-king?”

            “I am not his bodyguard.  Others do that work.”

            “Oh, I had assumed from your.. you’re not a..?  Well then how big are..?”  The eyebrow went up again and Kurga regrouped and restarted before he heard about another of his bad habits, “So what is it you do for the Viceroy?”
            “I sit on his council.”

            “You’re an advisor?”

            “I am.”

            “Well, fancy that.”

            “Yes.  Fancy that.”

            “Must be… interesting.”

            “It can be.”

            “Probably took a lot of schooling.”

            “A lifetime.”

            “Hm.”

            “Yes.”  The sand hissed under the boat.  The rigging creaked.

            “Why is she named, ‘Son’?” Kurga blurted.

            The Tigra smiled, “I was wondering when you would get around to asking me that.”

           

Monotooth Drone sketchy

i haven't yet given up y'all.  Though i've hit a few roadblocks of late.  Have to pick my way through the rubble and see if and/or what God has in mind for this tale.

Meanwhile, here's a lil' something that squeezed out of my pencil today.

Thanks mums.

A reprint of my old Rabbit Trail... for me mum.  And for all mums ever'where.
Best.  Gift.  Evah!