Keeping Body and Soul Together
By Jim Webster
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About this ebook
Jim Webster
I can cope with being described as fifty-something. During the course of a reasonably quiet life I’ve done a number of things. I’ve farmed cattle all my life, and at the same time have been a consultant and a freelance writer. I also fit in being a husband and father. My life has included some intriguing incidents, at the age of twelve, my headmaster was somewhat put out to discover that not only was I selling ammonium nitrate to other boys to make bangers, it wasn’t actually forbidden by the school rules. I’ve watched Soviet troops unload coffins from a transport plane at Tashkent; been questioned by an Icelandic gunboat captain, not so much at gun point as at 40mm Bofors point, and according to the nice man at Frankfurt airport, I inadvertently invaded Germany. I was perfectly happy to believe him, I am happy to believe anyone who points a Heckler & Koch MP5 at me. Brought up on the classic masters of SF, I bought Jack Vance, ‘The Dragon Masters,’ in the early 1970s and that book taught me that the world or society the characters lived in was every bit as important as the plot. I’ve also written Supplements for Pelgrane Press to go with their ‘Dying Earth’ role-playing game, inadvertently contributed to the design of the FH70 Field Howitzer and living where I do on the outskirts of Barrow-in-Furness most of my mates have at one time or another built nuclear submarines. Me, I tend to seasickness on a particularly bracing bus trip.
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Keeping Body and Soul Together - Jim Webster
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