Keeping Body and Soul Together

Jim Webster

Description

Rescuing random strangers on a whim may be the good deed for the day, but will Benor survive the blood feud he has unwittingly become part of. More importantly can he buy back the victim's soul?

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 20 mars 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785386299
• Langue: English

Extrait

KEEPING BODY AND SOUL TOGETHER
The Port Naain Intelligence
Jim Webster




First published in 2017 by
AG Books
www.agbooks.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2017 Jim Webster
The right of Jim Webster to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



Chapter 1
Had the latest lady in Benor’s life been wealthier or better connected none of this would have happened. But he was making his way home from the bed of the young wife of a corn chandler. She lived above her husband’s shop where the Wharves met the Sump. It has to be said that there are those who won’t go into the Sump, regarding the inhabitants there as mere ‘denizens,’ eating their own young and murdering each other for the price of a drink. This is nonsense, or at least it only happens in certain more select areas.
Still, whilst cosmopolitan in his tastes, Benor was making his way home along the rooftops - some of the streets he would otherwise have to walk along were unquestionably insalubrious. From below him he could hear the noises of the city, bickering families, drunks singing and the baying of a lynch mob.
It was the latter which drew him to the edge of the roof. A considerable crowd had gathered and they were following two men who were dragging a third towards a noose which had been rigged up from an upstairs window. It seemed unlikely that the victim was going to appreciate the cunning way the bed had been wedged in the window with a couple of chairs. But this allowed it to form the ‘L’ piece of a gallows from which the noose dangled. There was a heap of crates, some only partially rotten, placed carefully under the noose. This was for the victim to stand on, and off course for the executioner to kick away.
Idly, with no real intent other than to express his dislike of arbitrary ‘justice’ Benor bent down, picked up a roof tile and threw it at one of the two men dragging the third. The tile struck the man on the head and he dropped to the ground, clutching his head and cursing. The other man must have loosened his hold because suddenly the victim had broken free and was fleeing for dear life.
He sprinted away from the crowd. They roared and set off after him. Their pursuit was slowed as they were funnelled by the crates half blocking the lane. Benor crossed the roof to watch the chase, in time to see the victim run down a side alley, only to discover it was blocked at one end by a blank wall. He looked round frantically, and then scrambled up a pile of foetid detritus somebody had dumped against the wall. Standing on top of the pile he grabbed the guttering and tried to pull himself up. It was obvious to anybody watching that he wasn’t going to make it.
Benor made his way as swiftly as he dared to that edge of the roof, knelt down and grabbed one of the victim’s hands with both his own and pulled. Realising what was happening; the victim released the guttering and with Benor’s help, scrambled over the roof edge. Below the crowd howled its displeasure and spread out looking for ways up.
Benor had already worked out a route; it would have to be back the way he had come. Keeping hold of the victim’s hand he set off at a run along the roof of the winding terrace. Benor’s hope was that if he could get to the lane that interrupted this terrace they could cross before the crowd had worked out what was going on. They kept close to the ridge and bent double, in an attempt to ensure nobody could see them from the street. When they came to the lane Benor led his companion to the chimney breast. As he’d been using this route quite often he’d strung a line of black cord between this chimney and the nearest on the other side of the lane. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a karabiner which he clipped to the line, then tied a loop of rope through it.
“What are you called?”
“Jud.”
“Here then Jud, stand on the loop, hold the rope just below that metal bit.” His companion, somewhat warily, placed both feet in the loop and took hold of the rope.
Benor asked, “Ready?” Before the other could do more than nod he pushed him off the roof and the man’s momentum carried him over to the other side. Seeing him step out of the loop and onto the tiles Benor took off his hat, rolled it up tight and placed it over the black cord. Gripping it tightly with both hands he pushed off. Less efficient than a karabiner, it took him less than half way across and he dangled there uncertainly. Quietly so as not to attract attention from below Benor said, “Push the rope across to me.”
His companion looked a bit bemused. Benor raised his voice. “The rope, the thing you travelled on, leave it clipped to the line, but throw me the bluidy loop.”
Jud bent down and caught the loop and threw it. Benor managed to get his foot on it and pulled it towards him. Then with one hand he grabbed the rope and with the other stuffed his hat into the front of his jacket. His weight was moving him slowly across the gap, but below people had started to arrive and were pointing upwards and shouting. Hastily he pulled himself hand over hand along the line and got onto the roof.
“Right Jud, stick with me, this bit is a maze, there’s all sorts buildings backing into each other. I know a route that’ll take us to the edge of the Sump; they’ll not follow us there.”
“Dunno about that,” Jud said softly.
Ten minutes later found them at the edge of the Sump, the crowd still searching for them, and their escape largely cut off. Benor leaned against a trolley-way pillar to catch his breath. He glanced at his newly acquired acquaintance, it was the first time he’d had chance to look at him.
Jud was young, Benor decided; a youth, not a man. Thin but there was a certain wiry strength. By the look of his face he was malnourished and had a beaten, defeated look. Benor raised his hand to scratch his ear and the youth cringed away from him as if expecting a blow.
Benor looked up, above them the trolley-way sat invitingly on its pillars. It was raised up on this section, firstly to reduce the gradient for the horses, but also to ensure that those who rode it weren’t forced to accept the custom of the inhabitants of the Sump. He examined the pillar. It was round and where the rendering had broken away he could see the brick. He slipped on his gloves and took his short length of rope and put it round him and the column, threading it through his trousers’ belt loops. Then slowly he started up the column, gripping with his feet, pushing upwards. When he had pushed as far as he dared, with one hand he moved the rope loop up the column until it was higher than his waist, then he leaned back, letting the loop support him while he found new places to grip with his feet.
Jud stood below, watching him, as he inched slowly upwards. Finally he came to the crosspiece that supported the trolley-way. He unfastened the rope and pulled himself onto the crosspiece, sliding into the gap between the great beams the trolley-way rested on. He made his way along the crosspiece, working his way round the beams that supported the weight, until finally he could grasp the edge of the roadbed and his questing hand found one of the metal rails. He clipped his karabiner to it, fed his rope through the karabiner and then with the rope gripped tightly he swung himself out. With his feet in the loop of the rope he grabbed the railings and pulled himself up. Moments later he was lying sprawled on the roadway trembling. Muttering to himself about the stupidity of getting involved in other peoples’ quarrels he pulled himself to his feet and looked down over the rail. Forty feet below him Jud was standing pressed to the north side of the column, invisible to anybody following them.
Benor knotted his long line to the top bar of the railings, took it across the carriageway, over the other rail and then dropped the end down to where Jud caught it. It was at this point it occurred to Benor that he’d never asked if the other could climb a rope. Watching, it appeared that he could, but painfully slowly. Benor grasped the rope and tried pulling. Thin though Jud was, he was still too heavy for Benor to pull over that distance.
Benor leaned over; Jud was perhaps half way up and seemed to have stopped for a rest. One problem was that the rope hung clear of the column so the youth couldn’t even use that to help himself. More worryingly Benor could now see figures on the roof running towards them; it was inevitable that somebody would eventually catch up with them if they didn’t get a move on. He wasn’t sure whether Jud had noticed their pursuers yet.
Then he heard a noise from behind him. He turned and saw a horse team and wagon moving east towards him. The driver halted. “What you doing?”
Benor pointed over the side, “Escaping a lynch mob.”
The driver shouted something and the conductor climbed out of the back and walked to the rail. “Your mate stuck on the rope?”
“I don’t think he can climb and I cannot pull him up.”
The driver joined them at the rail, “So why they trying to lynch you?”
Benor shrugged. “I don’t