Search This Blog

Friday, September 14, 2007

On the way to getting shot, accidentally

When I get sidelined by the short taxi driver I'm in a bit of quandary: turn on my heel and go back in to the hotel, or walk up the road as if that's what I'd intended all along. I chose the latter with prickles up my spine, feeling the watcher's eyes on my back.

I walk for about a mile (still within my clockwork radius, so ok there) and taking in the business going on - mainly people shouting at other people about commerce in a language I don't understand, until I come across two stalled beam engines, on metal tracks, with smoking stacks, blocking the road. There's a crowd of people all shouting at the pilots, one thin and apologetic, the other ugly and aggressive.

There are automatons and bikes and smelly exhaust three-wheelers backed up. We're not getting past, but that's ok because I've reached my limit, and have no real choice but to turn back.

I'm conscious that Bêbe's back at the hotel, glowering at the indecipherable tug-vision on the shitty little portable epoxied to the wall, that we can't turn off, because there's a Mercan dollar coin jammed in the slot, and she's waiting for me to come back, victorious from my expedition with the taxi man. Fat chance now.

The jar is in my man-bag (yeah, it's Bêbe's handbag, and although no-nonsense Svalti utilitarian, is still a little little for me). The jar's not very heavy, but weighs a spiritual tonne - the name of its nasty contents, literally translated from Old Svaltish, is "heart of dead comrade, in salt water", but, no it's not Fusel's heart, but something else Bêbe dug out of his corpse, on the way back down from the horrors of Gethsemet. I need to take it to a man in the Broken Quarter, which is outside my allotted range, but fat taxi man was supposed to be able to fix that. Fuck.

Anyway, I stand and watch for a bit, and then there's shooting, I think ugly has had enough, and he's shooting into the crowd. I get hit. Next thing I'm in a very clean hospital with a very clean nurse plugging a hole in my side where I've been leaking out. I don't remember how I got here, and the nurse only speaks Toswanian, so I'm none the wiser when I pass out.

Next Bêbe comes to get me (there are uniformed men blurred behind her, I am having trouble focussing). We take a taxi back to the hotel. I recognise the driver.

Bêbe's not talking to me. And this fucking hurts (the hole, not that bitch's ignorance. No, actually that hurts too).

No comments:

Post a Comment

Say what you want to say, I'm watching you