like a dull knife just ain't cuttin'
we're just talkin' a lot and sayin' nothing
- james brown
we're just talkin' a lot and sayin' nothing
- james brown
7 Winter, 513 AV
Tiny lizards spilled from the wall's jumbled cracks. They scuttled across the reddish hardpan of the road, eluding donkeys laden by bales and jars, and the careless heels of charlatans, traders, and pilgrims before melting with quick tail-lashing into a disused granary.
Seju regarded the lizards. The speckles and stripes melded before his gaze. They were gray and gold, things of lazy chimera that didn't bother to hide. Taking the toe of his boot, he traced a line before him. Tufts of grass picked from the dirt. The lizards did not cross. They looked up from the dirt, poked heads from pitted mortar. Judged him with their eye-beads. Painted hides and metal rings over his skin. Patches of whisker on his cheeks, the puffy scratches on clasped hands. Seju held out his palms, as if saying, look, there's nothing there.
Then a broad man jostled between him and the wall. There was a stink of rum about the man, but it wasn't all that unpleasant.
Seju jerked away from his line. Trudged down the lane, passing under a gate of cracked, brass-bound cedar that led to an alley lined by plaster havelis. There was graffiti there, but of the vulgar kind. Dirt hazed over green-glazed windows. Clay shards cracked under his heel. Passing under an archway, he emerged into a square with a few, dingy stalls and a wagon being divested of barrels. Obese flies hung around a brazier. Kebabs of spiced lamb charred over the coals, shedding grease. Seju squeezed by a pile of carpets, pushed against heavy timbers. They gave before him, revealing a chamber with low, curving rafters.
Taking a step inside, he blinked slowly. The lamps were lit. There was a tiled stove, and beyond it a jumble of large jars. The walls were lined by benches, some of them dubiously covered by pelts, and a few trestles covered by mismatched cups. The men at them played at bones. They muttered and fidgeted distractedly, gazed into their cups with a dubious anticipation. They jeered as well.
“Toss 'em, why don't you?”
“Petch!”
“Two fives? That ain't enough.”
Seju discarded his pack and joined them, sipping from a cup with a chipped rim. The wine was harsh, little more than dregs, but it dulled his anxiety. The bones clattered again. Taking a place along the wall, he slouched against a beam. That's it, he inhaled deeply. They'll not mind if you hear them. Seju untensed his jaw. Raised his cup again. Slurped loudly, letting some trickle over his chin. Dipped his head like it was his only mooring, thin lips curling in a grin. Listened.
“Took a few bales off that cromster, y'know the one that just arrived. The striped sails and all. That fat purser gave me double.”
“Double?”
“Double.”
“They must've been dirty, then.”
“That's what I thought, but I'll take it.”
Seju perked up a bit. That's something, he thought. Peering over the rim of his cup, he looked over the man who'd spoken of the vessel. Dirty hands jutted from a robe. Braids projected under a square cap, hanging against skin like milky coffee. Big nose making him ugly. Zigzags of black and red on his shawl, seeming a bit alien. Knotted beard like that of his comrade. Seju figured they'd just come from the wharf. There might've been illicit goods, but then again, what wasn't these days? This wasn't the kind of rumor he was after, though.
Brushing against the plaster, he kept his ears peeled. Three men slumped at a trestle, all ringmail and bearded jaws, looking like hell.
“Y'hear about those giant tarantulas?”
“Nope.”
“Ain't certain of it.”
“You want to?”
“Nope.”
“Nope.”
Seju gazed at the tarantula man, recognized the possible chagrin in the man's gimlets. The shrug as the jug was passed around again. Seju moved on.
“There we were, y'see – her with the axe, me with just a sausage in my hand. Tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't have it. The devil fire was in her. Didn't make any sense to me. I've only talked with that floozy, you can ask anybody. I just wanted to get out of there, but my old lady wouldn't let me, the crazy bitch. She kept swinging the axe around, just about hacked off my ear with it. Can you believe that? Broke up the best chair into kindling. She bangs up the kettle. Boiling soup spills over the fire, so now I've got no supper. Smoke billows all the way up to the rafters. Then I'm just coughing and stumbling. Trying to get away from her, but she came at me again. That just gets me upset, so I bop her a good one with the sausage. It stunned her a bit, I think. It gives me the opportunity to grab my britches from the ground...”
“Jem?”
“Yeah, wuzzat?”
“Don't want to interrupt or anything, but I've got to ask. What kind of sausage is this?”
“Pork, I'm told. Spiced with garlic.”
“Ah.”
“Why d'you ask?”
“Um, forget it. Then what did she do?”
Seju passed them, heading for the table where all the jugs were. There was a chubby woman in a head-cloth there. Torches poked from the walls. They gave off an acrid smoke that wasn't hasty in leaving through the hole in the ceiling. The haze made his eyes water. There must be something else, he scowled. There just has to be.