A Little More… Sepharad

Just because it was such a pain to dictate, hereʼs a little more of what went vocally into Scrivener on Wednesday, December 1. Remember… Judah and Søren are trying to break into the Green Tower, lair of the infamous (but tantalizing) Red Witch, Larissa. Judahʼs working for the minor crime lord Reynaldo, who is in turn trying to impress a patronizing lord who is himself currying favor from the (even more nefarious, and deservedly so) Necromancer!

We pick up where we left off last Sunday.

Enjoy.

Judah unbound the strange device he had tried to explain to the Northman from heavy loops of rope. It looked an awkward thing, though Søren’s experience distinguished the climber’s hook protruding on an iron bar from one end of it. Casually his partner began turning a screw on one side.

“This little machine will send the hook all that distance?”

“And more. You’ve never before seen one of these?”

“No. A Moorish invention?”

“Aye. Based, some say, on old Greek and Roman rowing machines, but I’ve seen drawings of these old catapults and read about them in Vitruvius. They worked on entirely different principles,” Judah grunted out between turns on the screw, effort which grew visibly more difficult even for his lean strength. “Get’s called a crossbow. And I think I’ve wound it tight enough.”

Judah raised the wooden device and held it shoulder high, aiming the hook end at the rooftop some twenty yards distant. Now it was evident that at least some of the rope was attached to the climber’s hook. Citing steadily, the Kabul West fingered a catch on the wooden structure. With a clear thrum the bar and hook sailed at the rooftop of the Green Tower, trailing rope behind.In an instant the hook clattered on the other roof. Judah pulled carefully on the rope tugging the hook toward one particular angle on a cornice where he hoped it securely lodged.

Several stout pulls the rope indicated his aim and effort had been true.

“So now one can swing across?”

“It should work.”

“So which of us goes?”

“The trick was designed for just one, but as I suggested, I think we’ll try it together, Søren. Aiming for that window there. See? Can you gauge the right length of rope?”

“It’s a long swing to a tiny target, Judah.”

“That window’s six feet high and three across. All we have to do is hit it and not the wall to either side. Or swing too high or too low. This was the hitch in the plan for me: I’m not sure I could get myself across accurately. But you, can you do it?”

Søren, who had met you experience with ropes and swinging on such, both in the fjords and mountains of his distant homeland, but also at sea, a-Viking, examined the tower, the hook’s evident location and the rope — certainly stout enough to hold two, considered, and finally nodded. “Aye.” They were still speaking German, partly from convenience, partly yet from a sense of secrecy.

Søren squared himself to that distant tower — tugged strongly on the rope, observing both the pivot of the hook and the window. Judah had aligned where the bolt landed and struck well, whether from luck or skill. And with a brush of luck and application of skill, Søren should be able to swing to the window — the challenge being the double load, taking the smaller man along.

Hesitating would not resolve or improve the situation. “Climb on,” he ordered, nearly kneeling on their parapet. Judah clambered piggyback onto the huge man’s shoulders, which Søren flexed in a couple of shrugs, adjusting to the burden, then grasping the rope firmly in both hands, dangling some out into space ahead, twirled the last few feet around his chest and Nathan’s rear. He stepped back a few feet and then sprinted to the parapet, saving one last long step to the top of that low wall, and leaped.

The rope snapped taught around both their bodies after a few seconds of free fall, rushing they are descending for word momentum. Nathan felt his heart thundering in his arms, wrapped around the big Northman’s shoulders. Three heartbeats, four: Søren swung his boots foremost, and they smashed into the glazing of the window, true on center, as Søren released the rope and let it snake away raspingly from his body.

As last time, if you see something that seems wrong, (thank MacSpeech Dictate and) let me know…

©2010 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A

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