Fantasy in the City

Iron Horse

This is a much longer companion piece to one earlier in the collection, Commuting.  I thought it would be fun to write a version of the story from a different perspective.   I do hope that you enjoy it.

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The sun was late in the sky before I had finished my morning penances.  I am not sure why, but it seems as if there are ever more sins to seek forgiveness for every day.  As a sworn brother of the Blessed Eagle - may his talons ever hold fast and his cry of righteousness be heard across the land - I am oath-bound to uphold the banner of purity, honour and charity.  That’s not easy to do, especially in this city. 

I put away the tools of mine own flagellation.  After this, I walked over to the window and gazed upon the nest of depravity and degradation that is my demesne. 

I am not sure why the Brotherhood insists upon novitiates undertaking their first missions in the city because the Blessed Eagle loses more recruits to the lure of easy money, the temptations of the flesh and Facebook, than it does to the minions of the Dark One.  However, minister to the unworthy we must, to earn our right to quest.  I have been ministering longer than most novitiates and I suspect that I have been a sore trial to my fellow brothers at the Temple.  Only last week Abbott O’Shaughnessy had gently suggested in my latest performance management meeting that undertaking ten percent more penances, good deeds, as well as increasing my conversion rate, might put me to the head of the line for an Iron Horse and my first quest. He had also less than gently suggested that if I did not improve my figures, then I could expect to be cleaning out the TempleAviary for the next six months.  That’s not something that any novitiate wants, especially when those birds have an all meat diet and a nasty sense of humour. 

So here I was, about to embark upon a new day of doing right, resolved to work just that little bit harder, live just a little bit more ascetically and get that seat on the Iron Horse. 

It took me only a few minutes to make ready.  Over my jeans and Fruit of the Loom t-shirt, I donned hauberk, mail, and pauldrons, leaving my sword belt until last.  I scratched Mr Frisky between his ears and, finding that the milk was getting low, left out a note for my roomie, a maintenance warlock with an elevator company who tends to pull night shifts.  Note complete, I put down my quill, placed the missive on the table and left the apartment, picking up my shield, lance and helm on the way. 

Normally, I would indulge in a pastry and a decaf skinny latté at the corner coffee shop before taking to the streets in search of wrong doing.  Today, as a symbol of my renewed zeal, I picked up an apple and a mineral water from the Korean convenience store opposite my apartment building. 

“Good Morrow, Mr Park, may the Talons of Righteousness shield you from evil!” I said by way of greeting. 

“Hi, Steve!”  MrPark grinned from behind his newspaper, shaking his head mysteriously. “I don’t normally see you in the morning.  What gives?” 

“Just thought I’d get an early start on the evil-doers of this parish.  A little water and a piece of fruit will purify me a little better than coffee and donuts.” 

“Sure will.  Hey, maybe you use some kim chee too!  If that don’t drive away evil then nothing can!” Mr Park gestured at some unsettling looking vegetables in his deli counter.  His smile grew even wider. 

Sensing that I was being mocked, I noted Mr Park’s lack of faith for future reference and hastily completed my purchase.  

Outside the convenience store a sudden uproar caught my attention over the racing engines and blaring horns of thickening traffic.  I glanced over to the coffee shop and saw a great tumult.  It appeared that those heretics from “The Order of Abasement”, who usually plagued the early morning commuters buying their morning coffees, had brought down some sort of woe upon themselves.  Good thing too!  I had smitten them greatly on more than one occasion to discourage their panhandling, the shysters.