Bound by Rites Page 2

  “Stop. Right there, sit down. The rope is right at your feet,” Rhone directed, eyes nearly unaffected by the darkness. Nebanum squatted and felt around for the rope. He found the soft end.

  “I have it. I’m ready,” his heart was pounding in his chest, “Rhone, I’m afraid my excitement has decayed into nervousness. It’s been a while.”

  “There’s nothing to be nervous about, my love. This is going to be just as wonderful as it ever was. Play the cricket.”

  Nebanum held firm to the cat tail rope in one hand, and shook the box gently in the other. The cricket chirped and he heard Rhone whisper, “One...”

  Two.

  “Oh Gatekeeper, again we knock...”

  Three.

  “Again we come to cross your threshold...”

  Four.

  “Again we come humble and timid...”

  Five.

  “Asking that we be allowed to enter...”

  Six.

  “And allowed to leave...”

  Seven.

  “We have but simple blood to offer...”

  Eight.

  “But we pray it is enough...”

  Nine.

  “So be brave and answer, Gatekeeper...”

  Ten.

  “Because we are brave to knock.”

  A rat emerged slowly from his hole. He walked along the edge of the room. He saw the two giants sitting in the dark. One was making funny noises and the other moving a limb, making chirping sounds. Suddenly, one slammed its limb onto the floor and the chirping stopped. The rat almost turned to leave, but the two giants in the dark room disappeared. The rat looked with one eye and listened with one ear. It cocked its head to look and listen with the other eye and ear. Confident they had truly gone, it scurried over to the cow’s head and began to chew on its lip.

  Two

  A boy squatted below a windowsill, listening to the fighting couple inside. The early morning sun was sweet and cool. He knew the man would get angry and leave soon, hopefully after beating on the woman. He rolled his chapped lip between his thumb and index finger, waiting and listening.

  “...not to mention those people!” the woman yelled, voice hysterical.

  “What people? Me mates down at the pub? Better com’ny than you ‘aff the time!” the man sounded drunk.

  “‘Me mates,’ he says. Yeah, real good company; going through your pockets when you’re too drunk to piss standing up!”

  There was a light popping sound, flesh on fabric, followed swiftly by a sharper sound; flesh on flesh. The woman began to sob loudly—there it was.

  “You just stay ‘ere and fink about how you treat me. Maybe you’ll figure out why I go down to the pub so much!” the man shouted, triumphant.

  A door slammed. The eavesdropper crept to the edge of the house and saw a stout man walking angrily up the alley. He hustled to the window. He peered in slowly. The woman was sitting at a table facing away from the open window. She was wailing into her hands, periodically looking up to heaven for salvation. On the other side of the room, sitting on a dresser among a collection of banal objects, was a red box.

  The youth slowly pushed himself up onto the windowsill. His chestnut hair swung down over his face. First his right, then his left dirty foot slid over the wall and he eased himself down onto the rug. The rug felt good beneath his feet; he would have liked to rub his entire body on it. He walked briskly across the warm floor while the woman sobbed at the table.

  He lifted the box, it was weighty. Oh yes, oh so heavy, he thought. For small things, heavy is good, he had discovered in his short career as a thief. He tucked the box under his arm, ready to flee, when he became transfixed by a green amulet glowing on the dark, polished wood. The gemstone was held by the thinnest ringlet of gold. The hue darkened towards the center and gave the impression of a bottomless green well. He watched his dirty hand reach out, his mind scolding him for his greed. Just the red box! Come back later for the stone!

  He lifted the stone; it was also heavy. He turned to leave but the string of the amulet was tangled among other lackluster items on the dresser. It pulled down a candlestick, sending it cascading down, dragging with it nearly every other item on the dresser. The wailing stopped along with his heart.

  The two bodies snapped their heads around to look at the other. For a single dreadful moment, nothing happened. The boy stood motionless, red box in one hand, amulet, string dangling, in the other. The woman’s face was red, wet, and round. The boy watched her eyes go from box, to amulet, to his dirty face. Suddenly she sprung up from the chair, sorrow gone, replaced with rage.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you little bastard?!”

  The boy dashed for the window. The woman went thundering after him. He leapt through the window, twisting in the air, aiming to land on the tough part of his back. The mud caught him; he landed with a sticking splat. The woman was at the window, eyes like a mad bull.

  “Thief! Thief! Thief!” she screamed into the damp alley.

  A few windows opened, curious noses poking out. The boy wasted no time. He slipped around in the mud, onto his feet, and ran back through the alley. Heart panging, he ran up the muddy street, avoiding broken glass and inebriated men who reached out for him.

  “Come here boyo, I’ve got somefing for ya!”

  The boy turned, looking back up the dank alley littered with drunks and garbage. There was no sign of pursuit so he slowed his pace. He looked down at the green talisman in his hand, wiping away the mud with his thumb. It was still green underneath. He smiled and trod off through the back-streets of the busy city.

  His favorite alley, which he made a point of going out of his way for, ran behind Cardinal Street. There were four butcher shops on that street, and each one let the blood run out into the same alley. When they were in full swing, the entire path flowed with blood that rose to the boy’s ankles. He loved the way it stained his feet for the following few days and was careful not to get them too wet. But it seemed no one was hungry for flesh that day; nothing but sticky maroon mud caked his feet down Cardinal Alley.

  At the city gate, the boy waited until the next horse drawn cart came by. The road was thick with pilgrims, farmers, traders, wanderers, nomads... A large poultry cart was bustling through the crowd. He hustled alongside it. He stuffed the box between two crates of chickens and the amulet down his trousers, holding onto the string nonchalantly at his side. He walked close to the cart, confident in the tried and true facade. The soldiers at the gate didn’t even look at him. He admired their hard leather outfits, their frightening helmets, and their spear tips glistening in the afternoon sun.

  Once he felt that he was a safe distance from the gate, he removed the red box from between the cages. In its brief ride on the poultry cart, it had picked up a smelly white and brown souvenir. The boy hopped down off the road into the tall grass, heading towards the farmlands. The city was Warwick and had proven to be fruitful the past few months.

  The boy lingered at the fence around the goat farm, watching the adults graze and the kids leap off of stumps. He laughed and shook his head. Funny things.

  He trailed along the fence, periodically glancing towards the farmhouse. At the rear of the property, partially consumed by the encroaching forest, was a decaying shack. The boy walked through the shade and tugged at the door. It was locked. Inside, he could hear panting and a faint slapping sound. He banged on the door. The sounds stopped and after a while the door opened.

  “We were afraid they’d grabbed you, Rhone,” Nebanum smiled widely.

  “Yeah, you two sounded concerned.”

  Rhone stepped inside the dark room. It was hot and smelled like sweat. A dark haired girl lay reclined near the wall, bare breasts hanging beneath her greasy black hair. Her eyes were bright blue, so bright that most of the time they seemed white. One of her hands was moving slowly under the blanket.

  “Hello Rhone,” she sighed.

  “Hello Mary.”

  M
ary repulsed Rhone. Every word, every action twisted the knife. She had latched on to Nebanum a month ago, claiming to only need a place to stay for a few days. Rhone had known from the very first time she and Nebanum were intimate that she wasn’t going anywhere. When Nebanum went out, she would crawl over to him, drooling, groping at him, begging him to fuck her. I’d rather fuck a stone wall, he’d told her. Every refusal only seemed to spur her on.

  “So, how’d you do?” Nebanum followed Rhone into the room and sat on the floor. Rhone sat next to him then placed the red, chicken-marked box before them. A small keyhole in a brass diamond broke open easily under the twisting of a knife. Inside the red box, sleeping in a bed of white silk, was a tiny, gold Jesus Christ, crucified on a silver cross.

  “Oh Rhone...” Nebanum began, “this is incredible!” He slid his fingers carefully into the silk and began pulling at the cord from which the cross hung. The cross levitated from the silk and hung in the dark room, reflecting holiness into the eyes of the three sinners.

  “It’s beautiful!” Mary squealed. Rhone lived for Nebanum’s praise. Watching Nebanum turn the golden savior over in his hands sent chills up Rhone’s neck and over his head.

  “That’s not all,” Rhone began sliding the amulet out from his trousers, “I got this for you.”

  The malachite amulet hung framed in mud. It was hard for Nebanum to tear his eyes away from the golden treasure. He took the green amulet in his free hand.

  “You got this too?” His face was pure awe.

  “As a gift, for you.”

  Rhone was terrified, unable to read Nebanum’s reaction. Finally, Nebanum’s dark eyes looked into his.

  “Thank you Rhone. This is great!” a smile finally came, “Do you know how much money we can get for these?!”

  “No,” Rhone interrupted, “this one is for you to keep, not sell.”

  Nebanum’s smile faded and Rhone’s heart stopped. Suddenly he lurched forward and was embracing Rhone.

  “You’re the craziest kid I’ve ever met,” he said after they parted, lustily admiring the green amulet. He ducked his head down under the string. The muddy amulet glistened on his smooth, pale chest.

  “No fair!” Mary whined, “How come he gets a present?”

  Rhone glared at her, his contempt singeing his eyelashes. She grinned. What teeth remained were green, anchored to red and irritated gums. Her hidden hand still worked under the blanket.

  “I think there’s some goats that are itching to mount something, why don’t you go see?” Rhone said.

  Nebanum laughed and Rhone joined in. The only thing that made Mary bearable was the fact that Nebanum was never shy about teasing her. The movement under the cloth quickened as her craving eyes glared at Rhone.

  Rhone followed Nebanum through the woods, within eyesight of the main road. The road led to a village called Friar. Their fence, Rollo, lived there.

  “How old are you, Nebanum?”

  “I’m not sure. Why?”

  “Curiosity.”

  “Don’t forget about the cat.”

  “What?”

  Nebanum stopped and turned, grinning, “curiosity killed the cat.”

  The two walked through the shadowed forest. Rhone was still caked in mud. He picked at the drying places like scabs.

  “We should get something for Mary,” Nebanum said.

  “No we shouldn’t,” Rhone objected reflexively.

  “Did you see how sad she was when she didn’t get a gift?”

  “You give her a gift a couple times a night.”

  Nebanum laughed, “Don’t be envious. You can take her anytime you want.”

  “She’s just sleeping with you so she can stay and eat our food.”

  “I know.”

  “So get rid of her!” Rhone suddenly shouted. Nebanum turned and slapped him in his mouth. The popping sound echoed once in the trees.

  “Who are you jealous of? Me or her?” he said quietly, dark eyes drilling into Rhone’s. The green well dangled from his neck. Nebanum turned and continued through the shadows.

  Rhone began rolling his chapped lip between his fingers. The slap had split the thin and dry skin, painting his lip and fingertips red. It had also given him an erection.

  The village came into view. It was small; only twelve or thirteen structures, most of which were homes. The boys stuck to the tree line, walking the circumference of the village until they came to Rollo’s house. A large man, dark with body hair, sat on a stool outside the door whittling a piece of wood with a long blade. The boys approached and he spoke without looking up.

  “What d’you want?” he grunted. The blade was dull and got hung mid slice.

  “We have something to sell to Rollo,” Nebanum answered.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s for Rollo.”

  The hairy man looked up. The flesh on his face was thick; pores black and deep. He looked from Nebanum to Rhone, then reached his thick hairy arm towards the door and pushed it inwards.

  Inside, Rollo was standing behind a desk, as if he were waiting for them. He was a plain looking man; not many distinguishing features. That’s why he never gets caught, Nebanum had said, because he looks like everyone.

  “Hello boys, what’ve you got for me?”

  Nebanum presented the red box. They had tried to remove as much of the chicken’s souvenir as they could, but there was still a large ugly stain. Rollo pointed to the table and Nebanum set it down. Rollo moved slowly towards it and took it up in his hands. He examined the box carefully.

  “Open it,” Nebanum said.

  Rollo continued examining the box. The boys exchanged a quick glance when he sniffed the stain. Finally, he opened the box. He withdrew the silver cross and held it under a lantern. He was nodding slightly and a grin appeared then disappeared before he spoke.

  “Eight.”

  “Eight?!” Rhone brayed.

  “That’s a solid gold Jesus Christ on that silver cross!” Nebanum said, challenging.

  “Looks leafed.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Nine.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Ten.”

  “Twenty.”

  Rollo rubbed the cross in his fingers. His mouth twisted. He looked at the shining thing in his hand.

  “Tell you what: I’ll give you a shilling and an opportunity to make twice that.”

  “I’d rather have a bird in the hand.”

  Rollo laughed, “You’ve got a mouth on you. Believe me, if I didn’t think you two were useful I’d have Samuel come in here and break your backs. Then I could have this for nothing,” he held out the cross, “but I’d rather put you to work.”

  “What kind of work?” Rhone asked.

  “A friend of mine recently returned from the orient with three crates of something, never mind what’s in them. I want you to bring me one of those crates.”

  “What’s in it?” Nebanum asked.

  “Are you deaf and dumb? Never mind what’s in it. Go buy a handcart with the money I give you today and steal me one. He’s keeping them in Nettleham. There’s a house there where people go... to relax. While you’re there, don’t drink or smoke anything offered to you or you’ll get stuck.”

  “What do you mean, ‘stuck’?”

  Rollo sighed, “You really are stubborn aren’t you? I tell you where treasure’s buried and you complain that it’s in a grave. Go to Nettleham with a cart. The house is a brothel, it’ll be easy to find. I’ve seen the crates; they have oriental writing on them. It looks like chicken scratch. Make sure you get an unopened one. It should be very heavy.”

  Nebanum and Rhone looked at each other. Rhone smiled.

  Nebanum nodded, “We’ll do it.”

  “Good. Wait here.”

  Rollo went into a back room, taking the silver cross with him. He came back after some time with a small pouch. He counted out twelve small, silver coins and dumped them into the red box. “Take your shit box with you.”

&nb
sp; “We should get some food to take with us. It’s a couple days’ journey. We should go buy the cart now, too,” Rhone said, walking next to Nebanum in the woods, parallel to the road.

  “It’d be nicer if we happened to find a cart that no one was using.”

  “You’re right. What do you suppose is in the crate?”

  “I don’t know. Probably just wine. Rollo likes to be cryptic so that people don’t take advantage.”

  “What does ‘cryptic’ mean?”

  “Mysterious.”

  “Oh. You should have seen that big fat woman today. Her face was bright red and she screamed, ‘thief, thief!’”

  Nebanum laughed, “Thief? Are you a thief?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t want to just be thieves Rhone, I want to—” he became quiet and looked towards the road.

  “I don’t want to just be thieves either. But what else is there? You can starve or starve and work all day. I’d rather steal,” Rhone said.

  “Do you ever... do you ever feel like an empty eggshell?”

  Rhone chuckled, “What?”

  “Like if a chicken laid an egg, right? But instead of egg inside it was empty. I feel like that sometimes. I feel like that sometimes when I’m with Mary, too.”

  “Mary’s head is empty like an eggshell.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Nebanum fought a grin, “I guess I don’t know what I mean. I don’t feel that way with you though.”

  Without thinking, Rhone reached out and took Nebanum’s hand. Nebanum pulled away and pushed Rhone back.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?!” he shouted.

  Rhone was startled and hurt; he tried to speak but stammered. Nebanum spared him.

  “Don’t do that. That’s not what I meant.”

  Rhone watched Nebanum, feeling six inches tall and ashamed. What the hell’s the matter with you? The green well swayed on Nebanum’s chest, mocking him. Rhone was terrified that he would rip it off and throw it at him, but he didn’t. Instead, Nebanum turned and continued through the shadows. Rhone followed.

  They were back at the goat farm before noon. Mary was dressed when they entered the dilapidated shack.