Ok, you win; I'm not going to coerce Death and the guys into talking about spell-books :)
The spell-book Madame Sosotris sat at the window and stared out. The Unreal City sprawled away, both in the distance and below her. The Heron Tower stretched upwards with early fog swirling around its upper stories already, and the yellow cranes at the wharves swung silently in and out, loading and unloading the cargo ships. If she strained her hearing she fancied she could hear screams, but that was more likely to be seagulls riding the autumn winds than to be slaves from Korisy being forcibly debarked from the satinwood trading ships. Traffic dragged itself along the roads, slow-moving and polluting, and people shuffled here and there, spirits depressed by the grayness of the autumn weather. She sighed, and rubbed away the drip at the end of her nose, everpresent reminder of her eternal cold. "Not just slaves from Korisy," said a voice behind her, and she turned her head. She wasn't here willingly, and her body language indicated that she was only looking round under duress. "Oh don't be like that," said an equally elderly crone in the doorway. "Your curiosity is as strong as mine, my dear, or you'd have found a way to not leave your house. Or has it reached levels of squalour enough to be classified as a hovel yet?" "It is a house, at least," said Madame Sosotris. There was fire flashing in her eyes and her voice was strong, almost youthful. "And not a fragile eyrie sat above the world declaring its occupant remote and aloof. If were we meant to fly, wherefore were we not given wings?" "Perhaps we were," said the other crone. "Perhaps they were not given to everyone, but only those considered... deserving?" "I suppose harpies must fly," said Madame Sosotris, and she turned back to stare out of the window at the City below. Tower Bridge was just catching the afternoon sun and becoming luminous. "Not just slaves," said the crone in the doorway, though the pause made Madame Sosotris think that the harpy jibe had struck home. "Spellbooks too." "Grimoires? From Korisy? Like Bibles from Mecca." "The Heresiarch attempts to control information, but they do not entirely succeed." "Anyone can write a book and call it a grimoire. And when it comes from a land where such things are banned, then surely the buyer must beware." "Caveat Canum." "That," said Madame Sosotris with undeserved satisfaction, "means Beware of the dog." "Wise advice," said the other crone. "The grimoires retail for 600 pounds." "An outrage," said Madame Sosotris, forcing her lips to form the words while her mind reeled. How did this crone know this? Did she have a seller? "But if the grimoire were to hold even shreds of truth...." There was only the ticking of a the mantle clock for nearly five minutes while the two women contemplated what even a true page from a Korisian grimoire might mean to them. "I know a man who seeks his fortune," said Madame Sosotris at last. "We all do." "This one is inclined to follow the cards." "They say, though they are clearly lackwitted, that you read the most reliable cards in the City." "I feel the cards may say that a certain book should be in a certain place at a certain time." "I also hear that you are lucky with your predictions." This time the ticking in the silence seemed oddly smug.
Greg - hah. Actually I was pretty sure you'd find a way, but all right :)
This is an intriguing addition to the world of Madame Sosotris. The other crone makes for interesting conversation, and the plan being hatched... well, I'd like to see it play out!
2 comments:
Ok, you win; I'm not going to coerce Death and the guys into talking about spell-books :)
The spell-book
Madame Sosotris sat at the window and stared out. The Unreal City sprawled away, both in the distance and below her. The Heron Tower stretched upwards with early fog swirling around its upper stories already, and the yellow cranes at the wharves swung silently in and out, loading and unloading the cargo ships. If she strained her hearing she fancied she could hear screams, but that was more likely to be seagulls riding the autumn winds than to be slaves from Korisy being forcibly debarked from the satinwood trading ships. Traffic dragged itself along the roads, slow-moving and polluting, and people shuffled here and there, spirits depressed by the grayness of the autumn weather. She sighed, and rubbed away the drip at the end of her nose, everpresent reminder of her eternal cold.
"Not just slaves from Korisy," said a voice behind her, and she turned her head. She wasn't here willingly, and her body language indicated that she was only looking round under duress. "Oh don't be like that," said an equally elderly crone in the doorway. "Your curiosity is as strong as mine, my dear, or you'd have found a way to not leave your house. Or has it reached levels of squalour enough to be classified as a hovel yet?"
"It is a house, at least," said Madame Sosotris. There was fire flashing in her eyes and her voice was strong, almost youthful. "And not a fragile eyrie sat above the world declaring its occupant remote and aloof. If were we meant to fly, wherefore were we not given wings?"
"Perhaps we were," said the other crone. "Perhaps they were not given to everyone, but only those considered... deserving?"
"I suppose harpies must fly," said Madame Sosotris, and she turned back to stare out of the window at the City below. Tower Bridge was just catching the afternoon sun and becoming luminous.
"Not just slaves," said the crone in the doorway, though the pause made Madame Sosotris think that the harpy jibe had struck home. "Spellbooks too."
"Grimoires? From Korisy? Like Bibles from Mecca."
"The Heresiarch attempts to control information, but they do not entirely succeed."
"Anyone can write a book and call it a grimoire. And when it comes from a land where such things are banned, then surely the buyer must beware."
"Caveat Canum."
"That," said Madame Sosotris with undeserved satisfaction, "means Beware of the dog."
"Wise advice," said the other crone. "The grimoires retail for 600 pounds."
"An outrage," said Madame Sosotris, forcing her lips to form the words while her mind reeled. How did this crone know this? Did she have a seller?
"But if the grimoire were to hold even shreds of truth...."
There was only the ticking of a the mantle clock for nearly five minutes while the two women contemplated what even a true page from a Korisian grimoire might mean to them.
"I know a man who seeks his fortune," said Madame Sosotris at last.
"We all do."
"This one is inclined to follow the cards."
"They say, though they are clearly lackwitted, that you read the most reliable cards in the City."
"I feel the cards may say that a certain book should be in a certain place at a certain time."
"I also hear that you are lucky with your predictions."
This time the ticking in the silence seemed oddly smug.
Greg - hah. Actually I was pretty sure you'd find a way, but all right :)
This is an intriguing addition to the world of Madame Sosotris. The other crone makes for interesting conversation, and the plan being hatched... well, I'd like to see it play out!
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