MUNICH, GERMANY
2010
Cuthbert Darling was the son of two bookkeepers who were enamoured with fantastical literature, particularly volumes written by British authors. Cuthbert was the complete opposite, much to his parents’ dismay. He loved non-fictional books by great German scholars. He loved German libraries and German librarians, and German halls and German schools.
It was in a school in Munich that Japenga found Cuthbert Darling pouring over a large tome written in what looked like German.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Japenga said. Cuthbert jumped in his seat and looked over the top of his book.
“I- I didn’t see y- you,” Cuthbert stuttered. He clamped his mouth shut then opened it again, not stuttering this time. “Who the hell are you?”
“Language, Mr. Darling,” Japenga said, scowling. “And my name is Japenga.”
“Like the game?”
“No. That’s Jenga.”
“Well, what do you want, Jenga?”
“It’s Japenga.” Japenga narrowed his eyes at Cuthbert. “Mr. Japenga to you.”
“And why have you bothered me this time of day, Mr. Japenga?”
“You are nineteen years old, dropped out of high school in the eleventh grade and you backpack around Germany. You work small jobs at libraries or groceries and you are currently unemployed. You sleep under local hub roofs, newspapers, or moldy motels when you can afford it. Is that all correct?”
“Yes.” Cuthbert spent too much time around dreamers to bother question as to why Jenga knew so much about him.
“Mr. Darling, how would you like a job that would pay you enough that you and your parents could each rent a room in the finest hotel in Europe every single night for the rest of your life?”
“And why should I trust you?”
“That’s fine by me, if you want to eat burgers for the entirety of your wretched little life.”
Cuthbert sighed. “I’ll take your job. But human rights apply to me too. And I know how to use a gun.” Japenga just nodded and reached inside his coat. He produced a manila envelope and laid it on the table.
“Everything you need to know is inside,” Japenga said. “Make sure no one else sees it. And don’t throw it out.”
A/N I last updated on... May 24, 2012. So roughly around 8 months. ^.^ Happy, Joelle?
YOU ARE READING
Ameliora
Science Fiction"The masked creatures slithered out of the sewers at dawn, the second day of January, just like they always did. They couldn’t be called people. They all had similar cold black eyes and pale white skin despite ethnicity. They were all tall and well...
