Opening Passages III: The Chieftain

 This is the opening chapter of a novel TOF started writing in a night class he took from John Dunning, lo, these many years ago. It is sorta kinda complete, but it sucks. A few years ago, TOF conceived of rewriting it as a magical fantasy, but with the magic understated.

 

 

Uair robo tarisi le macaib Ruaidri a n-airecht fein arna cuired do cech oen fo leth dib-sin, acht mad Cormac mac Tomaltaig Meic Diarmata & Dauith O Flainn & a aes grada archena.

 – Annála Connaught, 1225

The sons of Ruaidri felt confidence in their own lieges, having been asked to come into the country by each one separately, except Cormac son of Tomaltach Mac Diarmata with Dauid O Flainn and the rest of his officers.

– Annals of Connaught, 1225

 

Prologue: Knockmoy

Death was in the room; but Death was patient.  Such was his cruelty. 

Garbed in the gray robes of a monk, Cathal of the Red Hand O Conner, king in Connaught, lay on a pallet of down-filled cushions and moaned.  Hands limp; bones protruding like rocks from the weathered earth; sweat glistening pond-like on skin; red-rimmed eyes filled with rheum that trickled down sunken cheeks.  There was a smell in the air: one part each of sweat, urine, wine, the burnt odor of rushes in their sconces, the incense the monk sprinkled on his brazier, the heavy, pungent beeswax of the votive candles.  There were sounds in the air:  the barking of dogs outside in the courtyard, the murmuring of the monk at prayer, the harsh, labored breathing of the dying man.  Cathal’s head moved to the side and a moan passed his lips, low and barely audible. 

Opening Passages II

 Another opening snippet, this of an alternate history. It continues with vignettes of them=prominent Wieners: J Strauss Jr, Herzl, Freud. Bruckner, Mahler, the Emperor, Klimt.

                                                            Mayerling

And what is this specter galloping so madly through the Vienna Woods in a morning not yet graced with sun? The way is steep and hilly and, in the dark, difficult to see. A misstep would kill the horse, perhaps its rider. Yet he does not rein in, for death echoes with every hoof-beat. His cloak snaps behind him and brushes the whispering black fir boughs where they encroach on the uncertain roadway. Foam flecks the nostrils of his steed. The hooves throw up clots of mud and dirty snow. Hard riding from the Baden railhead!

The weather has warmed, the snow is sluggish. The breath of man and beast are bright puffs of steam in what meager moonlight pierces the black lace of trees. The rider is silent, intent on his perilous course, his face half-concealed by a muffler of yellow and black. He knows what lies behind him, in that gay, nervous city on the Danube. He does not know what may lie before.

I

Sometimes beginnings can be seen in a death, and endings found in a squalling birth.

Vienna in the January of 1889 is a butterfly, and the Emperor Franz Josef its cocoon. Within his dull and dutiful manta, impatient larvae stir.

Not least of these worms is Crown Prince Rudolf Franz Karl Josef von Hapsburg, a slender man for such a weight of names. The prince believes in progress and industry and liberalism, but he is tomorrow’s emperor and in Vienna it is always yesterday. The Empire is a fairy tale, full of castles and princesses. There is no room in it for smokestacks or for so impertinent a thing as a bourgeoisie. History is suspended, his father ageless. Rudolf’s dashing, storybook features have grown gaunt and his eyes hollow from the eternal waiting. He is become a prince of masks, changing them as needed, perpetually ignored, perpetually dismissed. Respect is all he asks. He is Inspector General of the Royal-and-Imperial Army – and is never told of staff meetings. He wears the uniforms of a dozen regiments – and serves in none. He would like a kind word from his father. There is no telling what color his butterfly wings will flaunt when he explodes at last from the cocoon. That might depend on how long he must wait – or whether he waits. Recently, he has bought a farm near Mayerling to use as a hunting lodge.

 (c) 2022. Michael F Flynn

Opening Passages I

 Herewith, the opening passages of sundry works in process, in no particular order.

Muffler Man and the Great Telepresent Bank Heist

    by Michael F. Flynn

When they finally let Darymple out of jail, he decided to go straight. 

It was a simple choice.  The Tangerine Bar and Grill sat directly across Fox Avenue from the main entrance of the Southampton County lock-up.  

Darymple paused at the curbstone and brushed the sleeves of the rumpled, dull grey suit that the county imagined to be a Fashion Statement.  Then he studied the buildings across the street: a grocery store, a dry cleaner, a beauty shop.  A bank occupied the corner at Ninth Street, and Darymple contemplated its location so near the county prison.  Bravado?  A taunt?

Darymple shrugged.  He made one last effort to straighten the jacket -- the textile firm had discovered the secret of Permanent Unpress -- and then crossed Fox Avenue to the bar.  

Inside, Algernon Anderson was sitting at the bar nursing a bourbon and water.  He turned when Darymple entered and beamed as if he had just discovered a long-lost relative.  “Ted!” he said.  “Long time, no see.”  

Darymple gave him a weary look.  “Three years, two months, seven days.“  

Al made a motion over his drink.  “Otto, another bourbon for my friend here.”  He looked at Darymple.  “You have any cash on you?”  

“I just got out of the joint, Al.  They give you fifty bucks when you leave.  They think that gives you a New Start in Life.  How did you know to wait here?”  

Al waved a hand.  “You get out today, right?  Where you gonna go first?  Are you going to go grocery shopping?  No.  The beauty salon?  No.  The dry cleaners....”  He studied the suit carefully, then waved a hand.  “Naah, I figure first thing you’re gonna need is a drink, so am I right?”  Al smiled and dared Darymple to find a flaw in his reasoning.  As if to support him, Otto came and placed the bourbon in front of Darymple.  Then he carefully walked to the far end of the bar and became interested in the scenery outside.  

“There’s a bank on the corner,” Darymple pointed out, just so Al wouldn’t think he was too clever.  “I mighta gone there.  You know, like for old times’ sake.”  

Al brushed that off, too.  “You’re a planner, Ted.  You don’t do things like that off the cuff.  Too much can go wrong.  Besides, I couldn’t wait for you there.  Hang around a bank too long not doing anything in particular, and the guards might remember your face, which it could be real embarrassing in our line of work.”  

Darymple gave up.  “All right.  All right.  You figured I’d come here, so you figured you’d come and wait for me.  So, the next question is why?”  

Al looked surprised.  “Why?  For a job, of course.”  

Darymple looked at him.  “A job?”  

“That’s what I said.”  

“Al, do me a favor and lean forward just a little bit.  That’s right.  Now look out the window over there.  What do you see?”  

“The county jail.”  

“Right.  I just got out, so I'm not hiring right now. Sorry."

 "Naah. It's me got a job for you."

"You want to sit here and plan a job while looking out the window at the local lock-up?”  

“Naw, of course not.”  

“Well, then...”  

“Otto’s got a back room which it doesn’t have no windows.  Well, maybe a small one way up high on one wall, but it looks out over that alley, so you can’t see the -- ”  

“Al?  Maybe you also forgot that I just got out.  I already know what it looks like inside, so I don’t need to go back to refresh my memory...”  

“See, it’s like riding a bicycle.”  

Darymple paused and looked at Anderson.  “A bicycle.”  

“Sure.  You fall off, the best thing is you get right back on and take another ride.”  

“You mean the best thing for me is to get back inside?”  

Anderson gave him a funny look.  “No.  Whatever gave you that idea?”  

“You did.”  

“No, I didn’t.  I was gonna suggest a job -- ”  

“So I could take a fall, like off a bicycle -- ”  

“No, I meant doing a job is like riding a bicycle and going in stir is like falling off.”  

Darymple thought about that.  “Why didn’t you say so?”  

“I did say so.  I don’t know where you get these ideas, Ted.  I really don’t.”  

Darymple sighed again.  He remembered that he sighed a lot around Al.  “Okay, Al.  Tell me about the job.  Then I can tell you no, and we can get on to other things.”  

“Don’t be silly.  What you gonna do, sell brushes door to door?  That’s not you.”  Al handed both drinks to Darymple and led him toward the back of the bar.  There were two doors there, marked ‘Men’ and ‘Women,’ only under each sign was an arrow pointing to the other door.  Al nodded to them as they went by.  “I bet Otto gets a lot of ‘em that way.”  

“Otto is a priceless comedian,” 

 “Look, the best thing about my idea is we don’t get caught.”  He opened the door for the back room.  Darymple looked at him before going in.  

“That’s what you said the last time.  You and that holographic projector.”  

Al spread his hands.  “How was I to know it was upside down?  This time it’s a cinch we don’t get caught.”  

The back room was stacked high with liquor cartons.  A bare bulb hung from a cord from the ceiling.  There was a felt-topped card table underneath.  Darymple handed Al his drink and pulled out one of the folding chairs.  He slumped into it.  “Okay.  I’ll bite.  Why won’t we get caught?”  

Al grinned.  “Because we won’t be there!”  

Darymple said nothing.  He only sat there looking at Al.  Al continued grinning.  Darymple continued looking.  After a while, Al placed his bourbon on a coaster, folded his arms and leaned on the table.  “Tell me, Ted.  Have you ever heard of telepresence?”  
#

(c) 2022. Michael F Flynn

I Forgot

Other items languishing unfinished. When I copied from the old machine and pasted to this shiny new one, I remembered. 

• "Muffler Man and the Great Telepresent Bank Heist."  A couple scenes written in a comic caper story, but it may be out of date.Fans of Dortmunder may recognize the pastiche.
• "The Laws of Science and the Ignorant Chicken." A fact article on the dappled world. Why scientific laws can never be universal and a Theory of Everything is probably impossible. h/t philosopher Nancy Cartwright
• "Moonrise at the Tatamy Book Barn." Complete, but rejected at Analog. It features several characters from other stories living different lives; to wit, Jacinta Rosario, Roberta Carson, and Heinrich von der Berge.
  

Contents of the Belly

Roster
Prologue  
1.    Role Call   

The Whale as she was – In the Burnout – ‘Excellence, we have a problem’ – Damned capewalkers – Nobody’s body – Ling-ling shows her ankle– Kicking the can down the road – A pedestrian observation.   

2.    Nobody  

The captain knows which way to go – “Near as I tell, he doesn’t exist.” “Excellence, you cannot allow this.” “Dead Man get around plenty before he is dead.” There was something mighty important about that envelope. – Carpet call.  

3.    Inquiries   

Shoe leather and sit-flesh. –  One stroke each – a bluecape in splendor – the airs of Pigwhistle – The Whale as she was. – Dandi Nandi.   

4.    Sightings   

A walk through the wild side.. – Scuttlebutt in the flower market. – Were they ‘boo poles, or not? – Stars don’t grand jete. – He has the devil’s eyes. – This chicken was once a chicken. – Crazy eights.   

5.    Discoveries   

My sister is a freemartin. – an Extravagance – a liverwurst sandwich – a meeting of the Guild – nothing comes from nothing – a walk in the park   

6.    Investigations   

That’s really not his best side. – A curvaceous grandfather. – All gristle and bone. – Fort Freedom. – Let nature take its course.   

7.    Preparations   

Orders are orders – “It’s just that you worry me so.” – The answer was ‘very.’ – “Money and mouth should co-locate.”   

8.    Expeditions I   

“What this shit?” – Winsome Alabaster's superpower.– Twelve are too many. – "In Burnout, no easy routes." – Walking on wall not so easy as it looks. – A rest stop.   

9.    Consequences   

A ringularity – The bloody aftermath. – The Undine Place Massacre.   

10.    Expeditions II   

Dead body stink after four days – The tracks of her tears. – “She was our irritating little skite.” – Are there bags enough?   

11.    Expectations   

A cat among the pigeons. – A meeting of the powers. – Ling-ling eavesdrops – Chen brings a message – An empty seat.   

12.    Trials   

A death sentence concentrates the mind wonderfully. – Professional pride. – A stoatin idea   

13.    Tribulations   

Don’t go home. – Broken carrot sticks. – They were only on loan – The long farewell – “Perhaps he intended to brace her.” – “We’ll just have to go and fetch them.”   

14.    Setbacks   

Back in the nick – Through the Bubble –inter legere –– Ling-ling sits her Exams. – Mulligatawny   

15.    Searchings   

Wilderness Road – Down among the pipes – It’s hard to follow someone who knows you by sight – Recruities   

16.    Confrontations   

The tripartite oath – In Pass’ Christine – battle at Hanging Bridge   

17  Restorations   

A cry in the night – caraway – In the fo’c’sle – “Put the two propositions together.”   

18  Afflictions   

Goliad’s retreat – a parking ticket – a mathematical model – Beneath trees.   

19    Aftemaths (I)   

Perhaps he seduced an Excellent’s Woman – A surprise visit. – No words would ever do,   

20.    Promotions   

A labor of love. – With enough predictions, some are bound to come true. – Organson receives a briefing. – Lucky’s luck runs out.   

21    Commotions   

A new Number Three. – Battle honors. – Peng agreed to do me a favor. – Do you know how deep the fen-fen is that you’ve stepped in? – A humiliation. – Holy shit.   

22.    Resolutions   

At Comm Central Plaza  – A great wave of thirst  – “By the Bood, there’s another one!” – The true coriander..   

23.    Disruptions   

A trigger warning. – “What be da meaning o’ dis bustle?” – In the dark. – That can’t be good. – What the hell is going on? – A pair of eyes.   

24    Exhortations   
25    Mutinies   

Hamdu is a big boy. – Lifted out of the press - What is the difference between a surgeon’s scalpel and a sledge hammer? - “Hit the deck!”   

26    Aftermaths (II)   

Her tactics had succeeded – “What is he doing here? – No words would come. – The scalpel and the sledge. – “He’s very good at that.”   

27    Escapades   

A burnsider learns patience. – A true captain. – On the tram platform. – Justice or mercy? – Why are you smiling?.   

28    Executions   

Are you one of us?  – The curse of Winsome Alabaster, – Pale men and crossbows. - The execution of Li Son. – The Orphans – The sergeants – Regulation 18.3   

29    Incidents   

Highsteeple and Hexenplaza – The Storming of the Brig –Incident at Power House – The Siege of Undine Place – Maintenance first of all – You may need to evacuate – Only madmen.   

30    Captives   

“We must be removing ourselves from this place” – An altogether tougher nut – “He thinks we’re in the Imperial Fleet Marines.”– Lǎo dàjīngxiǎoguài. – “We can handle ourselves.”   

31    Executions (II)   

The hauteur of Sophie Masterson  - "We can defeat them in detail." – Tommi Two Stones needs a woman – Regulation 18.872 – Two brothers. – Tommi Two Stones throws a strike.   

32    Complications   

The only thing left is style. – Little Face scouts the rear – She can keep a cool head in a firefight. – The distress of Hamdu Organson.   

33    Presentations   

"Two more, and I got the whole set." – “That won’t last.” - Unleashing hell. – In the captain's cabin. – “That’s a suitably vague charge." – Heroes of the Mutiny   

34    Constitutions   

A constituent assembly. – L’envoi   

Tech notes   

What's TOF Up To These Days

 TOF, as noted supra (or infra) has completed the draft for In the Belly of the Whale and dispatched it to meet its fate. It is set on a multi-generation starship 200+ years into a thousand-year voyage to Tau Ceti, whose Planners had forgotten one very large thing in designing the ship and its social ecology.

Earlier, he had released into the wild the novel The Shipwrecks of Time, written on spec, now facing an unknown future. This is set in the alien world of 1965 Milwaukee. It involves a group of historians who discover traces of an immortal Danish barbarian, the problem being he doesn't want to be found.

TOF has nothing in the queue elsewhere, but several pieces lying about iin various stages of incompleteness; to wit:

• "Adventures in Mythistory." A fact article about how pukka history becomes myth. Essentially complete, but where to send it?
  
• "Hunter's Moon." Perhaps half done. A 'shooter' on the Lunar railgun sending bulk goods to Mars has died. Was it really the freak accident it seemed? Mickey, the troubleshooter for Phobos Port Authority, sent to Luna on other business, gets involved. Mickey was first seen in the story, "In Panic Town on the Backward Moon."
  
• "Mandarins." Maybe complete. It is a section from an Alternate History I was writing with Someone Else, but there has been no movement in a couple of years and I am thinking of decoupling it from the larger story and fashioning it as a stand-alone. The Great Navigator has been sent with a small fleet by Sri Vijaya's Palembang to find the sea route to the fabled Empire of the Romans
  
• "Little known Speedbumps on the Happy Highway of Progress." A series of vignettes in which various of the Naked Apes make technological breakthroughs that don't quite work out. Three or four have been written.
  
• "The Journeyman: In the Mankiller Mountains." A few sentences. Teodorq sunna Nagarajan and Sammi of the Eagles desire to cross the mountains on the other side of which is said to be the fabled village of Varucciyaman. But the snow-capped mountain range is called the Mankillers. "That can't be good," says Teddy.
  
• "Red Clay Man." A prehistoric ape-man, biologically human, becomes ontologically human when at puberty he invents language. A few paragraphs written.
  
• "Res Cogitans on the Town." The protagonist, participating in an experiment designed to show free will is an illusion, quits in disgust. A freak traffic accident results in his res cogitans popping loose from his res corpora and entering another's body. Envision a series of "head-hopping" encounters. Nothing written yet.
  
• The Chieftain. A novel involving David O Floinn and his son Fiachra during a civil war among the O Connors for the kingship of Connaught in the 1220s, These are actual historical characters, named in the Annala Connaughta, as are all other Mjor Players, as well as the course and events of the war. The good news is that an entire rough draft exists. The bad news is that it sucks. It was written decades ago when TOF was taking a novel-writing course taught by John Dunning at the University of Denver. About four or five chapters have been rewritten to add a fantasy magical element; but the draft is now out of reach downstairs.
  

Which of the above would Faithful Reader wish to see?

Red Clay Man

 

I have begun a short story of excruciating difficulty; viz., "Red Clay Man." It is a prehistoric tale of a young lad who, upon reaching puberty, has a Helen Keller moment and devises "language." What makes it difficult is that I must tell the tale using language, which will distort the reader's understanding. Hence, I am feeling my way into the story using an omniscient narrator, while the characters themselves (other than Red Clay) are more the Show-Don't-Tell sorts. The paragraph of opening stands at the moment, thus:

 

They called him Red Clay Man from his custom of smearing his forehead with a paste he made from the red clay above the lagoon. This was a feat, since the clay could be scraped only by standing on a precarious ledge above the crocodile-infested waters, but Red Clay Man did not realize this yet. He had not yet reached puberty, and the other naked apes on the island gave no thought to crocodiles they were not directly confronted with; or indeed much thought to anything at all, inasmuch as one cannot give what he does not have.

 

The above has already been changed. 

Let’s call him Red Clay Man, after his custom of smearing his forehead with a paste he makes from the red clay above the lagoon. This is not his name for himself. He doesn’t have one because he doesn’t need one. He knows who he is, and so do the other Naked Apes hanging out on that wide and bountiful island.

Nor does he need names for the other accouterments of his world. No one needs to be told that he is eating a banana, or that the sun is shining, or that this is a brown snake and so best avoided. Red Clay knows these things as he knows all else: directly through his senses. He is a “show, don’t tell” kind of guy.