think you are addressing?”
“A most peculiar occupation for a gentleman, sir! You are head to foot in mud, and that –”
It wasan imp, emanated from the tower on Tiberius’ green rolling lawn, and the Cardinal’s men were having at it, with poor effect.
“Don’t look at us! We had one cross our grounds with the Viet Cong in hot pursuit! If you let it get to the Park you’ll have that horde coming back after it! Tiberius is not under my lord’s jurisdiction! He’s your neighbor!” There was a horrendous scream. Niccolo winced. “My lord views this as his property line, and kindly respect it. I am sure my lord wishes your lord well, and hopes you will succeed in driving that creature back to Tiberius’ premises, where it will be aptly situated. I shall report it immediately, and you may rest assured we will not let it pass.”
“You may rest assured His Eminence will seek damages!” the Cardinal’s man cried.
“You may rest assured His Eminence understands exactly the situation downtown. If you cannot deal with this yourselves, then appeal to my lord, and we will take over your defense – in a neighborly way. But I think His Eminence has a very clear reason why we will not be seeking anything in the law courts at this precise moment!”
“Vous,” the Cardinal’s man said – the respectful pronoun, this time, then at a renewed scream from his men, spun around and started to run. “Idiotes! Chut! Tenez! Tenez-vous!”
Damn the roses. Niccolo turned and ran for the house, but Julius was already on his way out into a sudden spate of rain, armed with a pistol, with Mus, Scaevola and Sargon’s two Scorpion Guards – that was two M-16’s and a pair of tall spears; and behind them came Augustus’ German Guard, howling like wolves, invoking one-eyed Wotan and waving their Gewehr 98’s at the lightning above.
Niccolo simply wiped the mud off his hands and nicely opened the garden gate, as the French rallied and began to chase the imp back in Tiberius’ direction.
Rifle fire stitched the water. The Germans and Sargon’s Scorpion Guards waded out after the retreating imp.
Julius and his bodyguards stopped at water’s edge, watched for a moment, then walked back through the villa gate.
“I think that’s handled,” Julius said. “Was he appropriately polite, the Cardinal’s man, Niccolo? I noticed a little waving of hands.”
“He had to have things explained, m’lord.”
“You might write the incident up,” Julius said. “In case.”
Niccolo bowed. Smiled at Julius, despite a raindrop making a slow path down the side of his nose, and another down his opposite temple.
He so appreciated little chances like that, to advance himself in the household, to become – perhaps – essential. Essential was good.
Essential was always good, where it came to princes.
Revolutionary Justice
by
Leo Champion
“You’re a damn failure, Guevara,” said the man who’d kicked open the door to the shanty where the rebel leaders slept. “You failed as a doctor, you’ve failed as a revolutionary and you couldn’t even die well.”
Slowly, Guevara looked up. “Who in hell are you?” Che Guevera took a final swig from his beer and threw the empty at the pile on the floor, where it hit a full bottle. The full bottle exploded with a punctuating bang, showering the shack with foam and glass.
“William Walker.” Walker ignored the bang and the spray. “Get your ass up and listen for three seconds.”
A hairy man in a filthy tie-dyed shirt sat upright on his cot, pawing shards of glass from his beard. None of his snoring compatriots so much as moved. “Who does pint-size, here, think he is, boss?”
“Yeah,” echoed Guevara. “Who do you think you are, Walker?”
“Ask the Hondurans. Ask the Nicaraguans.” Walker’s eyes scorned the shanty, jabbing disgust at empty bottles and empty souls passed out
“A most peculiar occupation for a gentleman, sir! You are head to foot in mud, and that –”
It wasan imp, emanated from the tower on Tiberius’ green rolling lawn, and the Cardinal’s men were having at it, with poor effect.
“Don’t look at us! We had one cross our grounds with the Viet Cong in hot pursuit! If you let it get to the Park you’ll have that horde coming back after it! Tiberius is not under my lord’s jurisdiction! He’s your neighbor!” There was a horrendous scream. Niccolo winced. “My lord views this as his property line, and kindly respect it. I am sure my lord wishes your lord well, and hopes you will succeed in driving that creature back to Tiberius’ premises, where it will be aptly situated. I shall report it immediately, and you may rest assured we will not let it pass.”
“You may rest assured His Eminence will seek damages!” the Cardinal’s man cried.
“You may rest assured His Eminence understands exactly the situation downtown. If you cannot deal with this yourselves, then appeal to my lord, and we will take over your defense – in a neighborly way. But I think His Eminence has a very clear reason why we will not be seeking anything in the law courts at this precise moment!”
“Vous,” the Cardinal’s man said – the respectful pronoun, this time, then at a renewed scream from his men, spun around and started to run. “Idiotes! Chut! Tenez! Tenez-vous!”
Damn the roses. Niccolo turned and ran for the house, but Julius was already on his way out into a sudden spate of rain, armed with a pistol, with Mus, Scaevola and Sargon’s two Scorpion Guards – that was two M-16’s and a pair of tall spears; and behind them came Augustus’ German Guard, howling like wolves, invoking one-eyed Wotan and waving their Gewehr 98’s at the lightning above.
Niccolo simply wiped the mud off his hands and nicely opened the garden gate, as the French rallied and began to chase the imp back in Tiberius’ direction.
Rifle fire stitched the water. The Germans and Sargon’s Scorpion Guards waded out after the retreating imp.
Julius and his bodyguards stopped at water’s edge, watched for a moment, then walked back through the villa gate.
“I think that’s handled,” Julius said. “Was he appropriately polite, the Cardinal’s man, Niccolo? I noticed a little waving of hands.”
“He had to have things explained, m’lord.”
“You might write the incident up,” Julius said. “In case.”
Niccolo bowed. Smiled at Julius, despite a raindrop making a slow path down the side of his nose, and another down his opposite temple.
He so appreciated little chances like that, to advance himself in the household, to become – perhaps – essential. Essential was good.
Essential was always good, where it came to princes.
Revolutionary Justice
by
Leo Champion
“You’re a damn failure, Guevara,” said the man who’d kicked open the door to the shanty where the rebel leaders slept. “You failed as a doctor, you’ve failed as a revolutionary and you couldn’t even die well.”
Slowly, Guevara looked up. “Who in hell are you?” Che Guevera took a final swig from his beer and threw the empty at the pile on the floor, where it hit a full bottle. The full bottle exploded with a punctuating bang, showering the shack with foam and glass.
“William Walker.” Walker ignored the bang and the spray. “Get your ass up and listen for three seconds.”
A hairy man in a filthy tie-dyed shirt sat upright on his cot, pawing shards of glass from his beard. None of his snoring compatriots so much as moved. “Who does pint-size, here, think he is, boss?”
“Yeah,” echoed Guevara. “Who do you think you are, Walker?”
“Ask the Hondurans. Ask the Nicaraguans.” Walker’s eyes scorned the shanty, jabbing disgust at empty bottles and empty souls passed out
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