The Larion Senators e-3

by Rob Scott

  Steven whispered, ‘Get them going and they’ll go on for ever, like the Twinmoons, or the fountains at Sandcliff.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Just something Gilmour used to say.’ He shrugged. ‘It was time, I guess. Lessek let them go; he let a very old spell spin itself out… or maybe it was me.’

  Hannah kissed him lightly. ‘You can’t blame yourself for Gilmour. No one could have done what you did today. You heard Lessek; everything had to be perfect. Everything had its place and yours was there, standing down that creature, the minion trying to open the Fold. The rest of us would have been swept away in its wake. You knew where it was coming and you knew what to do. Gilmour would have been proud of you.’

  ‘He was,’ Mark added, ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘We need him,’ Steven said. ‘We need his knowledge; we’re lost, just groping about in the dark without him. We don’t know the people, except for Gita. We don’t know the cities, the industries, the teachers, the business owners, the merchants. We’re starting off, what, ten, maybe even twenty years behind without him.’

  ‘But we have to do it,’ Mark said to the empty yard. ‘It will be the defining achievement of our lives.’

  ‘Unless we get the shit kicked out of us,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Unless that, of course.’ Mark chuckled. ‘And I think there’s a good chance of that happening, probably more than once. Hey, do either of you want anything before I go to bed? I’m pretty tired. Except for those few minutes this morning, I don’t think I’ve really slept in two months.’

  ‘Nothing for me,’ Hannah said. Steven didn’t answer.

  ‘What about you, Stevo?’

  ‘Look at that,’ Steven whispered to himself.

  ‘At what?’ Hannah said, sliding under his arm.

  ‘Down the block, just over there, behind those elms.’ He pointed. Hannah and Mark followed his gaze towards the dimly lit sidewalk.

  ‘Sonofabitch,’ he whispered.

  An elderly man made his way hurriedly towards them. He was tall and gangly, dressed in a worn overcoat buckled at the waist. His balding pate reflected the streetlights like polished marble.

  ‘Who? That old dude?’ Mark said. ‘He’d better get inside; he’ll freeze out here tonight dressed like that.’

  ‘Do you recognise him?’ Steven asked urgently. ‘Is he somebody who lives on this block?’

  Mark squinted. ‘Christ, but this sailor’s eyesight was shit.’ He leaned over the porch rail. ‘Nope, don’t know him.’

  ‘I do,’ Steven said, smiling. He pulled Hannah close and kissed her hard, then laughed. ‘My friends,’ Steven said into the night, ‘things are looking up.’

  ‘What are you up to, sailor?’ Hannah asked, moving even closer to him. ‘Things are not up yet,’ she whispered, sliding her hips forward, ‘but there’s definite potential.’

  ‘Slut,’ Steven teased. He looked longingly at her and felt his very soul lighten as he shouted towards the street, ‘Things are looking up! Aren’t they?’

  The old man leaped the fence and started up the driveway. ‘I must learn to operate one of these automobiles. It’s gods-rutting cold here,’ he grumbled.

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  Document ID: fbd-b8574a-6684-3a4a-759d-7efb-ec6c-c31f49

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 28.03.2011

  Created using: Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software

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