Demons and Gin
Demons and Gin
by Joanne Anderton
They had started life so beautifully. When Ralanous created the network of canals he had summoned their shape from the gods and crafted them of living, willing stone. He had lined them with shining rails, covered them with delicately arching bridges, and filled them with water from the purest underground stream. Sparkles of clear, lapping light, weaving their way through grey buildings.
Ralanous leaned over one such rail and vomited. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and slumped against the metal, breathing thick air. A tinge of sulfur from stagnant water, along with whatever waste the people of Castus saw fit to dump in the drains wafted up to greet him.
“Damn it.” Ralanous managed to turn around, still holding the rail for balance.
He should have walked another way.
The canals, his canals, had done their job well. Defended a city’s worth of people who did not know they needed it. To see what the ducts had been reduced to, what years of neglect had done to them…
Ralanous fumbled in the pockets of his coat and pulled out a small tin flask. He took a swig of gin and gasped at its bite, so sharp after a night of nice, foamy ale. Screwing up his face, he dropped the flask back into his pocket. He just did not have the stomach for more liquor. Not tonight.
Home. Yes, he should go home and sleep until the alcohol was gone from his head and stomach. Then he would be ready to try again, to live without the need for drink or smoke. To face the memories.
As Ralanous pushed off from the rail a new, sharp smell burned the back of his throat. Sudden and familiar. Far too familiar and…impossible!
Ralanous almost tripped on his own feet as he twisted to look back over the railing. The smells of rotting sewerage and vomit were gone, hidden beneath the burning in his nose. Pushing away insistent memories, wading through the ale in his brain, Ralanous listened. And heard nothing.