3755. MANIKIN

MANIKIN

Lifting the gate, a man sees nothing but

his own expectations. 'Let the foul bastard

in, and his horse,' the gruff gate-master says.

He's paid by the Kings Constabulary and wants

to know nothing about anything else. 'I'll be the

one making choices 'round here, my fellow.'

The rider dismounts, and is immediately told

to drop his arms before he steps forward.

'Drop yer arms, you bastard beggar then,

first a'fore you go,' was how it was actually

said. And they was ready to whip him

down if he'd said so much as 'no.'

-

I always liked those odd adventure tales, 

the ones that said nothing and meant less.

Not so much like a Grimm's or Aesop's,

which always seemed to be on their

way to something  -  a lesson to impart,

a moral, a story to learn. That was all for

the school-time stuff; learning and reciting.

I much rather had a share for the leatherman's

tales, told 'round the coal bucket at seaside

inns and bucket barracks. They always made

more sense and reason to me. Romance.

-

And that wasn't all. Those old stories, the ones

with the lady for whom everything was given and

then a life itself was sacrificed; they were the ones

that kept me strange. How could a man ditch

himself, I always would wonder, for a high-ideal

woman who'd never give him much anyway? I

always felt the lessons stank, that everything

was, instead, really about payoffs and position

and ranking  -  who could get where by doing

what they did. Anyway, nobody really cared much

about any 'royal' snatch, that stuff was free, for the

taking, and it was all over the street; every woman

already having come fully-equipped and ready to

deal. All that high-falutin' stuff was crap. There's

no ideal better than grabbin' what you can catch.