‘Catching up’: Roar Book I

‘Catching up’

Roar Book I

The glass kept out the rain, but the cool of the autumn day seeped through it with ease. The air was brisk, the land here always followed the wheel to her turn. The wood paneled room was neat, cozy, and accessorized for the essentials. A heavy wool and silk cloak; rich and deep as the far sea was blue hung on a brass hook neatly mounted on the back of a time tested door. A desk, single candle on it’s mantle flickered beside an oil map, twisting and brightening the room.

Siraj felt his cheeks warm as light cleared the room of its damp grip. He shrugged off his surcoat and hung it neatly along side his cloak.With a brief backwards glance his indigo eyes scanned the single bed, the shaded window, his desk lit with the warm flame of the brass lamp, and a leather sac laden with buckle and links laying at the foot of a welcoming nights rest.

With a satisfied breath, he stepped into the dim lit hall and drew the door shut. The hammer dropped and the lock fell into place he released the brass nob stepping around the corner and down stairs weathered and worn by the sea, time and foot.

Tambassum, or Tamb to the rest was sitting at a long table with thick blue glasses drying while he cleaned the rest from the dinners guest. Siraj joined him at the table, sliding into a chair, crossing a leg, resting hi foot on his knee. He leaned back, arms long on the leather rest.

“The conditions are simple.” Tamb’s thick accented gruttled voice begin swiftly, as if forcing the words out from a deep hole.

“No good tidings Brothe’r? Welcome back to the shit hole of the North Seas ass? Marooned on a peninsula filled with morons?”

“Be still your tongue Siraj,” Tamb continued to clean the cups, his wives clearing the tables candles, and pulling the wilting flowers for tomorrows fresh cuttings. They payed no mind to the men at the table beside the hearth. “You are to remain in the Port District, and to return each evening.”

“By the  sands that grind me?” Siraj leaned forward in his seat, his smirk bent.

“These are our…My terms. Ti’ll your ship’s repaired.” He lifted his large eyes, the kohl permanently stained beneath his long dark lashes. Tamb’s eyes  fixing on his wives, they we’re like krestles perched on a post watching mice dart to and fro. Be still the eyes and ears of wives!

In justified disgust Siraj clicked his tongue slapping his hands against the arm rest.

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