Love, Life and The Old Stench of Luck

1. Strictly Eggs-3

“You can’t be any worse than the others,” said Sabienn to the stranger, conferring with Bray.

“Just save it for the survey. Two coffees?” said the stranger. Having received his instructions, he left and the brothers resumed their seats.

“Impressions?” asked Sabienn of his brother.

“Fascinating,” said Bray brightly. “Can’t we ever go anywhere people don’t know us?”

It was odd for Sabienn sitting there. The moment he suddenly became aware of the thing called the Squealer, he started seeing it in the hands of various audience members. Two rows in front of him, he saw a Turr mother holding one sitting next to her two boys. It was an impressively long roll filled with a steaming and aromatic dead animal and she was pulling it apart into bite size pieces and feeding her boys from above their head; like they were chirping chicks freshly broken from their shells looking up for a morsel. Other eaters were less graceful and he saw a multitude of people with yellow and red wetness going down their hands, arms, faces and cloaks.

“Our new best friend?” whispered Bray to Sabienn. “Can he get Stork and Deep out?”

Sabienn kept silent as two Turr men had entered the centre of the arena and were facing the Presidential box. The announcer was dutifully solemn, “Ladies and gentlemen. Before you is the contest for the leadership of Solo, an ancient city which has produced patriots by the thousands. This contest is by Presidential decree.” He turned to the two men, one tall muscular man dressed in a red shirt and shorts and the other a smaller more slender man, with no obvious strength, dressed in green shirt and shorts. The announcer raised his hand up high and spoke towards them, “For those about to die, we salute you.”

Once the words were spoken, Sabienn was interested in the reaction from the crowd. There was no cheer. There was no barracking. There was, what Sabienn could only assume, was total apathy. There seemed to be a competition among the spectators as to how disinterested they could be. And if it were a competition between the life and death struggle about to unfold on the field and the overzealous glances some were offering to their long rolls filled with dead pig, it would seem the food would win out.

A whistle blew on the field and the contest began. Sabienn couldn’t keep his eyes off the opening movement of the pair. They looked at each other as they circled around; the tall muscular man in red, the smaller man in green. There was something about the men that would indicate to Sabienn that they were soft and gentle beings. They bore no scars of hardened battle and indeed Sabienn could imagine each of the men would sooner read a book than be reduced to the instincts of animal survival.

The big red man picked up some sand from the arena and threw it into the small green man’s face. It blinded the green man temporarily and the red man lunged forward to strike the green man with fist. It was to be the last act the red man would ever do. The green man countered the advance by swivelling around to be behind the taller red man and placed a choke hold with his forearm across the neck of the bigger man. Both men went to the ground, but the green man hung on and squeezed the air passage to the conclusion. After a minute, the big red man’s body slipped out of the green man’s hold and lay lifeless on the ground.

Sabienn looked to Bray who was equally stunned. It still meant something to both of them to see a man die before their eyes. With little sympathy from a crowd still busy eating.

Looking up to the Presidential box, Sabienn saw Ramm and his two offsiders busy marking papers in front of them and casually pointing now at the green man now standing in the arena. To Sabienn, it seemed like Ramm had been watching a dancing recital and was now marking points down for technique and passion. The two men beside Ramm now had their hands up and gesticulating wildly; probably telling the President how they would have performed the manoeuvres and how better they would have been.

With a final approach to a microphone in front of him, Ramm spoke quietly but his voice rang through the arena. “Thank you, Mr Voz,” he said without emotion. “Your credentials are acceptable.”

There was a sadness in the green man’s eyes as he acknowledged the President and walked off the field. From the other side, two men appeared quickly to grab a leg and drag the lifeless frame of the big red man off the arena’s centre stage, leaving the arms to make furrows in the sand behind.

As soon as the arena had been vacated, two more Turr men appeared. This time dressed respectively in blue and yellow shirt and shorts. Before they could commence combat, Sabienn’s friend, the stranger, returned juggling a long wrapped bread roll and two coffees. He found his seat next to Sabienn and after offloading items, he held his hand out to Sabienn, “The name’s Jank. Lord Jank. Thanks for this. I’m famished.”

Sabienn took the hand in welcome, “Are we friends?”

“I’ll let you know after the Squealer,” said Jank. “Shake hands now before I open this mess,” said Jank to Bray.

“What makes you think it’s worth shaking?” said Bray.

“You’re a little bit aloof, sir,” said Jank. “You must be the artist.” Jank held his hand out expectantly to Bray. “Shake it. Come on.”

Bray relented and took the hand gingerly which Jank pumped from his side. “Who won the last contest?” said Jank, turning his eyes back to the arena and unwrapping his roll.

“Someone who didn’t want to be there,” said Bray blankly.

“Well your fortune lay with the winner,” said Jank, stooping to take a generous bite from his food finally exposed. “Oh, that’s good.” He spoke ecstatically with pig rolling round his mouth.

Sabienn looked towards his brother before replying. “A fellow named Voz, I think.”

“Good,” said Jank, not elaborating. “He’ll keep you in line.” Jank turned to the bemused brothers. “Do you have any questions?”

“Only why are we here?” asked Bray innocently.

“You mean sharing time and space on this tiny rock in the universe?” replied Jank pleasantly.

“Drill down closer to this seat I’m sitting on,” commented Sabienn.

“Are you the reader, sir?” said Jank politely, before filling his mouth with more torn-off food.

“Look, I pride myself on being less than truthful,” said Sabienn plainly. “This lack of wiggle-room is impressively disturbing.”

“Why should you be the only comfortable person in this country?” said Jank with a full mouth. “Coffee’s to your liking?” In response, Sabienn saluted his sipped cup. Jank continued, “And before you ask. No, I can’t do anything about your friends. If they get caught, they’re on their own.”

“You’re here to handle us?” asked Sabienn.

“Keep you in a holding pattern,” replied Jank, eyeing off another portion of his Squealer. He proffered it forward to Sabienn. “Please, you can’t die till you’ve eaten one,” Jank said, as he tore off a portion without his saliva and offered it to Sabienn. Sabienn took it with the generosity it was offered and took a large bite. It was salty, wet and spicy and he’d tasted better.

Casually Jank continued waving his roll around to encompass the arena. “This whole world,” said Jank. “This stadium. Everything here. It’s all here for Lord Ramm.”

“Lord Ramm or President Ramm?” enquired Bray.

“Lord, President, Emperor, you choose,” said Jank, biting hard as he spoke. “You’re here to be placed in a holding pattern. I’m here to see you stay there.”

“That’s nice,” said Sabienn dismissively. “But we have things to do.”

“Make time,” said Jank.

“Time’s something we don’t have a lot of,” said Bray.

“I’m not making the rules here,” said Jank. He turned to Sabienn. “How good a reader are you?” When Sabienn returned a nonplussed look, Jank offered his side pocket for Sabienn to place his hands into. “My fingers are wet,” said Jank. “Pull the first thing you find out of that pocket.”

Wiping his own fingers, Sabienn reached in and immediately he felt a shiver as if there were darkness in the folds of the man’s cloak. His hands gripped on to something and Sabienn’s brow broke into sweat. He pulled out a business card similar to others he had held before. It was the greeting for business of Sabienn’s Father, Murrlock Hyde. Sabienn pulled it out for Bray to view. He reacted with equal surprise.

Sabienn felt the simple cardboard with the title in small print, “The Grand Inquisitor Profound” with the Hayddland seal.

“Let me know what you think,” said Jank expectantly.

It was then Sabienn felt the familiar feelings of a vision descending on him. He had the feeling like a whirlpool at the top of his head and his vision began to star.

Then his mind went blank.