(eng) Paul Hoffman - The Left Hand of God 03 by The Beating of His Wings

Author:The Beating of His Wings [Wings, The Beating of His]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

22

ALONG the banks of the River Imprevu one of its greatest oaks had fallen into the river, its roots undermined by the current created by the rocks that had fallen a few months earlier from the bridge above. Deeming the tree a hazard to shipping, the local mayor had ordered the branches to be stripped as far as possible so that it could be hauled to lie flush with the bank. They were lucky in that once the branches had been cut from the tree above the water a flash surge of water from rain in the mountains pushed it over so that the other side could also have its branches removed. Unfortunately, when they were almost finished, a second surge jerked it free of its temporary moorings and flushed the great trunk down the river toward the Mississippi where it would now become someone else’s problem.

• • •

THAT night, after the trial, IdrisPukke cooked dinner, a morose affair. The guests consisted of Cale, Artemisia, Vague Henri, Kleist and Cadbury.

“Is Vipond angry with me?” asked Cale.

“Would you blame him?” said Cadbury. “Isn’t Conn his great nephew or something?” He looked at IdrisPukke, taunting. “He’s even related to you, isn’t he? How’s that work?”

IdrisPukke ignored him. “Vipond isn’t a hypocrite. He understands why you felt obliged to give evidence. But he is puzzled.”

“Include the rest of us,” said Vague Henri. “I never saw anything so stupid in my entire life.”

Kleist said nothing. He hardly seemed to be in the room at all.

“God,” said Artemisia, clearly shocked by her lover’s behavior, “has a particular punishment for perjurers.” It was a sign of her failing affection for Cale that this was a harsher way of construing the events of the day than was strictly fair. Why were her affections failing and so suddenly? Why do they ever? Perhaps she had been impressed by Conn’s lonely courage and compared him, as they stood opposite one another, to Cale, so unblond, so strange and so lacking in nobility or grace.

“He sends them to bed without any pudding?” offered Cale.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. God always has something nasty lying in wait for naughty boys.”

“He’s got a devil put aside to torment you through all eternity by shoving a red-hot poker up your bottom.” This was from Vague Henri.

“Sorry,” said Cale. “He’ll have to go to the back of the queue. Besides, the devil they’ve put aside for me for poisoning wells is supposed to shove a pipe down my throat to fill my stomach full of shit-water. They’ll just cancel each other out.”

“Going under oath isn’t a joke. He’s going to die because of you.”

“The only reason he’s alive to be sentenced to death is because of me—so we’re even.”

“I think we should all calm down,” said IdrisPukke. “Wine, anyone?”

No one seemed interested in wine so he started handing out what looked like small crackers wrapped into a small thumb-sized parcel. There was one for each and they all stared unenthusiastically at the hard and unappetizing pastries.

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