Fear's Union

Epilogue

Dear Solemnity, this was a boring job. Frenk scratched his arse. Wall walking may be uneventful, but at least that was a role where one was given space to drift effortlessly within a daydream. Down here, on the gates that guarded the Old Town, the task offered neither peace nor interest. Life on the gates was a constant barrage of interruption and tedium.

"Oi, you. Where's your paperwork? Pah, you can go back where you come from."

Cal, his fellow guard was more animated. He loved all this, the power it represented to be about other people's business. He was a nosey sort, always digging around for gossip truffles, and this work suited him. It also gave Cal the right to turn his social superior's away, a delight for someone constantly at odds with the injustice of their birth.

"Bloody scroungers, they were. They would've clogged up the marketplace an' all that."

He had serious doubts on that notion, but he did not say as much. The traders who'd been refused entry looked just the sort of people the Old Market wanted. A lack of formal papers was, however, an unforgivable bureaucratic error, and so entry was declined. It was an injustice for certain, but it was easier than the paperwork he'd have to complete in order to get them entry. It made his day's tedious work that little bit more bearable, and that was reward enough.

That and the fact that he didn't give a damn. He had other things on his mind.

"Good work, Cal. Keep this up 'n' you'll be a sergeant before long, like me."

In truth, he doubted that Cal would ever make sergeant. He was simply not smart enough. It didn't hurt to keep the troops rubbed up the right way, though. It made his life easier after all.

Cal was beaming, clearly dreaming of the pleasure he could work with those extra hammers on his uniform. Idiot. He grunted and fingered the embroidered signature of his own station – three hammers; a sergeant. He had to cover the grin up as something between a hiccup and a cough when Cal looked at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"What's up with you today? You've been right quiet, you 'av. You been thinking about that beauty you've got tucked up in your lair?"

"No I bloody haven't, and I don't have her tucked up in my lair." The anger flared. That was exactly what was on his mind. "I'm doing a favour, helping her out. It's the least I can do."

Cal smiled greedily and winked. The implication sickened him, and he shook his head, turning away. He was always thinking of her.

The memory of her heavenly form laid just below the thin sheet was more than he could bear. He flushed. If it wasn't for that damn kid who came as part of the package, he may well have tried his luck by now. Dear Father, he was due a slice of fortune, and she would be the greatest slice of all. Unfortunately, the Father was long gone. The Departed hung faint and lifeless in the early evening sky.

"You saying you haven't had a dip?"

"No I bloody haven't! That's my sister-in-law you idiot, or does that not mean anything to you?"

"When something's that pretty, there ain't no meaning to nothing. I gotta give in to the little man." He winked callously towards his genitals, the crude idiot.

The truth though was that he wished he did have the low moral standards of his companion. Then at least he may have the balls to try it on, even with the screaming nipper on the other side of the room. Everyone needed some fun after all, and perhaps those close-fitting shifts she'd been wearing were a sign? Was he missing something?

"Well, she's my sister-in-law, the widow of my deceased brother. That is the end of it for me."

And that was the end of it. She was Cris's widow, the partner of his fabulous little brother who'd been born with the dragon's share of every conceivable faculty: wits, looks, intelligence, dexterity, build. He had been the darling of the family, the super son who was cruelly snatched from the world by a darkness which had since been spectacularly turned away by the Jinq overlords. Cris had had everything, including the flawless young wife who presently resided in his cramped quarters. She'd been evicted from her own house when Cris's income stream dried up. Now he had gained from his little brother's misfortune, only there was a kid in tow. Had Cris died just a year earlier he may have benefited with none of the downside, but the reality didn't stack up. In that child was the image of his brother, and that child denied his path to desire. He just couldn't do it.