The Bog • Plaza

"They survived."

"And?" The voice said, Patches squealed and made small noises in the background like a child. There was a smack, a punch perhaps. Then silence.

“They’re innocent, allegedly.”

"Again, and? Who cares if they were found innocent? What matters is whether the people think they’re innocent, now that’s the real test. Trust is a currency that can’t be bought with a petty fight. Let them live their sad lives, they’ll come around to fulfill their roles soon. I promise.”

He threw the glass onto the bed. The air was sweet, there was wine, tangy sorbet amongst a cart sitting center of his room. He hated the smell.

Joseph walked over to his balcony, looking down from the high towers, to see if he could see the rioting and cumulative aggravation of the commonwealth. Of course, he couldn’t see it, but perhaps he felt it. Like static in the air.

His purple eyes blinking innocently, his hand underneath his jaw and his shoulders slumped over into a lazy thinking man's pose. He was just a bit sad, but only slightly. And in some way, happy too. For what’s a game without the wide range of players to enjoy defeat and loss?

•

Apollo and Dion took deep breaths as they walked through the crowd trying hard to enclose on them, and perhaps had it not been for the Leper in front of them, they would have been swept away in the rage of the crowd.

"Well, we can’t win everything." The Leper laughed. He was screaming, the shouts of the spectators were too loud. Apollo had one finger in his ear and the other close to the Leper.

“You’re going to have to leave.”

Dion read his lips. He looked surprised, “No, I’m not feeling sleepy.”

“No, no.” The Leper shook his head. “I said, you’re going to have to leave!”

“Where?” Apollo asked. “How? With what?”

“With almost nothing. I can’t get you back your weapons immediately. I can get you some money to start you off, perhaps a friend who owes me a favor.” He pushed away a man. “As for where…”

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They walked away from the crowd, in a quick jog across the plaza and towards the thin streets with the broken down cars and the carriages and the smell of smog in the air. A wet, humid type of smog. A mixture of toxicity and mist.

“You’re going to Rothenburg.”

"What the fuck is Rothenburg?” They could hear the crowds approaching. Apollo made small glances towards the street downhill where the noise perpetuated from.

"Are you a fan of the German people."

"God damn, are you serious?" Apollo said. “Europeans?”

“I love Europe.” Dion said, a bit of joy coming from his voice.

“They act, well. They act like you,” He pointed to the Leper. “Friendly and arrogant, all the same.”

“Don’t be racist.” Dion said.

"You can’t call it arrogance when it’s based in truth!” The Leper joked. “Besides, you’ll love it. Rothenburg. It's a small town, I'm sure the both of you will appreciate the niche of the quaint.”

"Rothenburg.”

"The modern, medieval town.” The Leper said joyously.

“What is this, a travel ad?” Apollo mumbled.

He nodded his head and looked back to the crowd. It was approaching and all he had on his mind was the trial, the success and the running away he was forced to endure.

“Why can’t we stay?” Dion asked.

“Because they’d accuse you of something else if you did. And eventually, even my abilities wouldn’t help you. Never underestimate the mob.”

“They could charge us for anything and they’d get away with it. We’ll have to stake it out, wait. Can’t say I’m surprised or even disappointed. I always hated the Vatican, the church, this shitty island.”

“And Elijah?” The Leper said. Apollo could tell he knew what the word meant, what it would evoke. He gave him nothing, a glare perhaps, but nothing concrete that would signify his deep sadness, his deep anger.

“No, I didn’t hate him,” Apollo said, somber.

They looked at each other, only briefly and split, the Leper to approach the crowd and Apollo and Dion to run away from it. They ran fast, ran until they could see no one and then reflected, under the shade of a skinny tree.

Fucking Rothenburg, he kept thinking. The legion of scorn a far-off image, a silhouette of a large crowd with swords and guns and pitchforks and fires in hand.

“You think he’s alright?” Dion asked.

“The Leper? Who cares.” Apollo said.

“He’s the only way we’re getting back in. We need his help for the nomination process, I mean, if we really want to stay alive that is.”

“You’ve lived long enough to know how unreliable those promises are, haven’t you? I don’t trust the Hospitallers, I don’t trust the Knights or the Holy See. Fuck ‘em all.”

"Well, I’d like to come back eventually.”

“Then you’ll have to wait,” Apollo said.

“How long?”

“The Leper said it’d take months, so we’ll wait months.”

“I hope it isn’t too cold over there.”

“Of course it’ll be cold and boring and everything you hate. It sounds like that type of city because it is, I just know it.” Apollo said.

And thought. And thought. And thought.

Of Rothenburg, of the trial, of Dion’s sad and displaced mind, of the Leper and his mad powers.

He just thought, until, growing bored or annoyed or angry, he stood. And, he supposed, it was straight to Rothenburg for him.