A Snippet!

Written for a contest to prove to myself and to others that I can still do foreshadowing.

I am not married to the thing, but I do love bits enough to post the whole of it here.

Following is copyright 2007 MB

Enjoy!

“Lie down ole bones, lie down”

“Lie down old bones, lie down,

Don’t you know that you are dead?

You are, dead and buried dead and buried,

And so you can not dance, no, you can not dance”

The words piped out, tangling the brightness with mischief, and seemed to scuttle along the before Mynasthoa. He frowned slightly, and left the shade where he’d been playing hide and find with the nooning brightness of Aledal’s suns. The intensity of the light rolled over him like honey filling up all of his senses and threatening to overload them. Mynasthoa took several deep breaths, blinking in the brightness, and the light finally gave up the disorientation slid away.

“Lie down ole bones, lie down”

“Lie down old bones, lie down,”

The rhyme he’d known in his childhood repeated itself in a breathy taunt, though it sounded as if it were coming from behind rather than in front as it had when it started. The singer had to be very near him.

Mynasthoa turned slightly as several people pressed pass him; there were two venders trotting behind their push carts of wares, headed to the scarlet awnings on the other side of the avenue to show their goods to those trapped there by the brilliance of the nooning hour, a man and two small girls that held hands tightly and ran along the near side of the street, perhaps looking for the other half of their family, and a pair of street artists running for cover their caps jingling with coins they’d earned from telling stories to the stranded shoppers.

No Aledalian child would be familiar with the chant, he ran a hand through his hair smearing his fingertips with grit and sweat, before giving his locks a gentle tug as if that would release the answer from where it was hiding in his mind. It wasn’t something that a merchant would sing; it was too provoking and rude to be found in a salesman’s mouth. No Talebearer would start off their roll of stories with something so archaic, stories of heroes and daring escapes and kings and princesses running afoul of luck and then having everything turn out well, were what people wanted to hear.

“Don’t you know that you are dead?

You are, dead and buried dead and buried”

Mynasthoa scowled and turned on his heel moving back under the protective awning but as he did so, his long coat brushed up against his back and then whispered out again as someone insinuated an arm between his ribs and inside coat pocket

“Stars take it” he swore and spun with the motion of the intruder, catching a wrist and yanking the thief hard against himself. Dust scuffled up from the cracked stone road, and he felt the gazes of the clustered citizens snap to him as his prisoner writhed and twisted.

“Ah, there will be no biting, for I will bite you back and you’ll go home with half a hand” he warned as the pick pocket lowed their head and he felt teeth set against his knuckles. There was a hoarse word and he laughed. “Manners now, manners. And I caught you out, so by law you owe me seven times what you took” There was a hard inhale from the small frame and then Mynasthoa’s leather courier roll dropped onto the ground. So that’s what they’d been after. Odd.

“Now that’s a start, much better one than trying to rob this old man” Mynasthoa smiled grimly “Tell you what, I’ll take what is mine and you keep what is yours and we’ll be friends. What do you say to that?”

“I’d say that you never were one for knowing what was yours and what wasn’t” the thief murmured. Mynasthoa’s eyes widened and the tension in his arms slacked on the other frame, just enough. The thief broke his hold and spun away from him, dipping down between his feet a moment to snatch the dropped papers and then she straightened, black hair fierce in the brightness and eyes that were too blue to be purple and too purple to blue looked straight into his own. She slipped the paper down inside her jerkin and straightened her arm. A cylinder twanged into her hand and she squeezed it, out shot two lengths of pole and she stepped to the side, twirling the staff through her long fingers. “I wonder though, dear Rulebook, if in our time apart perhaps finally you’ve learned how to dance.” He backed away, giving ground and fumbled for his own calibone as her collapsible one struck at his boot tips.