The Eyes Have It

The magi and the magistrate became as one -

Silks and their weavers

merchants and their traders

all combined into one -

these made up the Lawyers robe,

pulled together with a single stitch,

embroidered with a common vernacular

to fill the bulging purse.

Aloft their station was the spectacle maker.

Fashioning ground glass, tooling the wire,

sight is a gift far beyond measure.

In the hierarchy of worldly wealth

the iridologist and his prescriptions

were well standing.

Again, the two became in twine -

hand in glove, lens with lens - tethered the two

more powerful than judiciary,

church, or governing mens.

Crusty cockles littered the sluice, the dark waters licked and slapped a tangle of seaweed and grit. Tindle paced the shore every morning half hoping the ‘messenger’ that came to him would appear again - however, he did not.

There was some movement in the half-light of the approaching dawn, but this was not at all whom he had been hoping for. It was his wife! As he came closer Tindle could see that she was naked, dancing around in circles, humming to herself as though she were a little child … unawares of any impropriety - completely without modesty or shame.

His wife had purchased a small shipload of whiskey from which she had tippled morning to night. The crates were all emptied now and their planks onsold to the carpenter, and the jugs were refurbished with vinegar.

“Put yer garments back on,” he shouted disapprovingly, rapidly approaching the rotund woman.

Although weathered by the rum, she still felt his disdain and yelled back “I have born ye babes, and I am worn. You would once tear my clothes from me, what offends thy eye these days old man?” she spat at him.

“I know not what you want from me wife. Do I not give you anything and everything you have asked for?” he replied, neglecting her question.

It was true. As the business had prospered her purse had always been full.

Tindle picked up a rock and threw it at her and it clipped the side of her cheek from behind. It went far harder than he had intended. She screamed in fright, and then with a rebound rage, took the jug she had been carrying and broke it onto a mound, then ran at him with the jagged porcelain.

Tindle lost his footing and fell sideways splitting his head on a rusted pike sticking out from the ribs of a wayward fisherman’s trawler.

She emptied his pockets before leaving him to the evening tides.

* * *

Alex looked over to Puck, who, was once again emptying his boots of their contents - this time all over the mosaic tiling - he then gazed over to Mercedes, who was standing close to the lift, ready to take her chances as soon as the cleaners had finished mopping up.

“It was you” he said under his breath looking hard at her. And suddenly, very suddenly, his head hurt.

* * *

No sooner had the ‘apparition’ disappeared from the room, taking the small goat with it Alex and Mercedes watched Romulus pacing again - they were both barely daring to breathe wondering what he would do next. They had witnessed unseemly magical events around him in the past - inexplicable and surprising manifestations - but this was something very different, for the man in the long coat was so real and unafraid, and the mess that he and the goat left behind was undeniably real.

“Pack your things” Romulus shouted across the room addressing Alex who momentarily thought he was being told to leave. He had been waiting for this with mixed emotion but as it turned out Romulus meant for him to go with him.

“We leave on the 23.00 Silver Fox out of here.” Romulus liked to call his private get 'Silver Fox’ because the jet had been brought out of commercial retirement and repurposed.

Mercedes took her opportunity while the two were packing: when the lift doors opened and closed again she finally was inside it, making her way back down to earth, into the streets, never to return.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series