Friday, August 11, 2006
New Beginning 64
It was supposed to be his last year leading the procession and now this. Fifty-seven years as High Rook and not once had such a debacle occurred. Fifty-seven years! What would the Old Rook say if he knew about this?
High Rook Nesume scurried down the long spiraling staircase from the highest tower on legs grown knobby with age and rheumatism. He held his robes up high on his thighs as he rushed down the unending spiral; he'd tripped over his hems once as a young Pawn and still had the marks of the long, long fall to the bottom. He'd thanked the Nexus for his survival and had been cautious about the stairs ever since.
Now there was no time to be cautious, he must hurry - there wasn't a moment to spare! Nesume pushed past two young acolytes somewhere near the thirtieth floor, he almost ran over Pawn Serine and Rook Sibyl around the fifteenth floor, and by time he reached the third floor, he was panting and gasping so that Rook Jeffries tried to make him stop and drink a glass of wine.
Lost in his private concern, Nesume bulled past the young Rook without so much as a second glance.
A mistake. There, on the Throne of Basalt, sat the lecher King Sebastiano, nary a Bishop or Knight in sight!
Too late, Nesume recalled himself. The robes in hand, so immodestly high. The sultry breathlessness, so easily misconstrued.
The King leered, beckoning lewdly with his rod.
Nesume sighed in resignation. He was practically begging for it. Black squares! He was about to be . . . castled.
Opening: K.D. McEntire.....Continuation: Fischer