where there were signs of new construction and preliminary explorations for the building of Allian’s sewers, towards the Nelly Bold.
Ah, the Nelly Bold! A name worthy of legend. She stood at the intersection of three streets which were undergoing modernisation. Much of the square had been repaved with the hard black rock of Karsa’s cliffs, the streets lined by new kerbstones. A triangular seating area had been fenced off by gleaming rails. Three saplings, sickly from filthy air, were caged at each point. To the north side of the square an entire block had been flattened. Gaps in the roofline further back toward the Parade indicated that this area was next to suffer the attentions of the architects. The surveys for the sewers were being conducted in a most direct manner. More buildings would fall later to provide space for a new boulevard.
Not the Nelly Bold. Somehow, she had been saved when countless other buildings of note had not. Is it her indomitable skirts of stone, or her impressive height? Five storeys, higher by far than the slums about her. Is it the venerable history of the place, standing as she had there for three hundred years, when this was nothing but a wind-blasted heath, and the sea could still be spied from her topmost windows? Is it my presence here, for it is my favourite hole? Or was it, perhaps, good Ellany’s strategic application of monies and other favours? Who knows? Perhaps it is unimportant. The Nelly Bold would remain, and that is that. She was wearing a fresh coat of paint in anticipation of new suitors. Modern glimmer light shone from the tall windows and from lamps upon her front. Her sign was bright and new. The brothers paused outside. Another tremor rocked the Earth. Neither the crowds or the pub paid it notice. Of more annoyance was the rain sweeping in from the sea, chill and thick.
“Now this is more like it,” said Trassan, and reached from the door handle.
“I hope he’s in there,” said Garten, shivering.
I see from your faces that you anticipate what’s coming, as you should, for the place I describe is this the very one where I sit now telling you this tale and the brothers are outside this very moment. Now, look to the door. It opens.
In they come.
CHAPTER SIX
The Nelly Bold
F UGGY AIR AS thick as bricks walled the threshold of the Nelly Bold. But although the Nelly Bold appeared a down at heel establishment, it was, for a large part, sham. Doormen appeared silently, taking the brothers’ coats and hats in exchange for garderobe copper chits, and the two brothers found themselves not so uncomfortable after all.
To go from the dark and cold to a noisy house discloses to a man the true state of his mind. Outside, the brothers had felt sober as Guiders. Inside, their drunkenness was revealed to them entire.
“The god is here!” shouted Trassan. “I’m getting a drink, then I’m buttonholing the bastard.”
“Cider, I’m sick of beer. Why that face?” he said to his brother’s expression of distaste. “You come to The Nelly Bold to appreciate the rougher side of life. Cider! And, and food!” he yelled after his brother, who although only three paces away had been swallowed by the crowd. “I’m starving!”
Trassan emerged back through the press, and grabbed Garten.
“Eh?”
“Look who I’ve found,” he said, dragging his brother after him. Scowls followed them as Trassan jostled arms and elbows.
“Look!” Trassan pointed to a man sitting in a booth, all alone. He was shorter than either of them, more slender, with long pale hair arrayed on a large lace collar. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, even indoors, and was nursing a glass of wine.
“Guis? Guis!” shouted Garten. “Where have you been?”
The two brothers were obliged to shout together to attract Guis’s attention. The scowl he wore at the disturbance melted into a fragile smile when he saw who addressed him.
“Trassan? Garten!”
The two younger Kressinds forced
Ah, the Nelly Bold! A name worthy of legend. She stood at the intersection of three streets which were undergoing modernisation. Much of the square had been repaved with the hard black rock of Karsa’s cliffs, the streets lined by new kerbstones. A triangular seating area had been fenced off by gleaming rails. Three saplings, sickly from filthy air, were caged at each point. To the north side of the square an entire block had been flattened. Gaps in the roofline further back toward the Parade indicated that this area was next to suffer the attentions of the architects. The surveys for the sewers were being conducted in a most direct manner. More buildings would fall later to provide space for a new boulevard.
Not the Nelly Bold. Somehow, she had been saved when countless other buildings of note had not. Is it her indomitable skirts of stone, or her impressive height? Five storeys, higher by far than the slums about her. Is it the venerable history of the place, standing as she had there for three hundred years, when this was nothing but a wind-blasted heath, and the sea could still be spied from her topmost windows? Is it my presence here, for it is my favourite hole? Or was it, perhaps, good Ellany’s strategic application of monies and other favours? Who knows? Perhaps it is unimportant. The Nelly Bold would remain, and that is that. She was wearing a fresh coat of paint in anticipation of new suitors. Modern glimmer light shone from the tall windows and from lamps upon her front. Her sign was bright and new. The brothers paused outside. Another tremor rocked the Earth. Neither the crowds or the pub paid it notice. Of more annoyance was the rain sweeping in from the sea, chill and thick.
“Now this is more like it,” said Trassan, and reached from the door handle.
“I hope he’s in there,” said Garten, shivering.
I see from your faces that you anticipate what’s coming, as you should, for the place I describe is this the very one where I sit now telling you this tale and the brothers are outside this very moment. Now, look to the door. It opens.
In they come.
CHAPTER SIX
The Nelly Bold
F UGGY AIR AS thick as bricks walled the threshold of the Nelly Bold. But although the Nelly Bold appeared a down at heel establishment, it was, for a large part, sham. Doormen appeared silently, taking the brothers’ coats and hats in exchange for garderobe copper chits, and the two brothers found themselves not so uncomfortable after all.
To go from the dark and cold to a noisy house discloses to a man the true state of his mind. Outside, the brothers had felt sober as Guiders. Inside, their drunkenness was revealed to them entire.
“The god is here!” shouted Trassan. “I’m getting a drink, then I’m buttonholing the bastard.”
“Cider, I’m sick of beer. Why that face?” he said to his brother’s expression of distaste. “You come to The Nelly Bold to appreciate the rougher side of life. Cider! And, and food!” he yelled after his brother, who although only three paces away had been swallowed by the crowd. “I’m starving!”
Trassan emerged back through the press, and grabbed Garten.
“Eh?”
“Look who I’ve found,” he said, dragging his brother after him. Scowls followed them as Trassan jostled arms and elbows.
“Look!” Trassan pointed to a man sitting in a booth, all alone. He was shorter than either of them, more slender, with long pale hair arrayed on a large lace collar. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, even indoors, and was nursing a glass of wine.
“Guis? Guis!” shouted Garten. “Where have you been?”
The two brothers were obliged to shout together to attract Guis’s attention. The scowl he wore at the disturbance melted into a fragile smile when he saw who addressed him.
“Trassan? Garten!”
The two younger Kressinds forced
Similar Books
