Abbott and the Djinn, chptr. 5.7

Iamerge blinked, dazzled by the brightness of the day as he walked out of the inn.  He cursed himself for a fool, looking at where he’d nearly been run down in the street and Jim Cooper had hauled him out of danger.  Were his street skills so impossibly rusted as all that?  If the self-styled Mayor of Rat Town had meant him ill he’d have dispatched Iamerge without breaking a sweat.

Despite the warm sunshine Iamerge shivered.  What madness, what trouble, what had come of all his plans?  The world had conspired to relieve him of his worldly possessions, true he’d done the better part of that by turning his back on his accumulated wealth and all its restrictive constraints by dying one of his convenient deaths, but he’d had hopes for the little boat and what little he’d taken on her, now smashed to pieces on Gospels’ skellig and scattered on the floor of the sea.  And now, coming to gather his well hid seed money, he’d nearly been trampled by the man he meant to find.  And there was another ill turn the world had thrown him, it wasn’t the man he’d hoped, but his son. 

Iamerge took more care as he entered  street again, this time he had more company and less scrutiny, there was no Jim Cooper and everyone else seemed intent on their own business.  Iamerge blended into the human stream and walked into town toward what he guessed would be a town square. 

He walked, carefully now, and he observed.  Iamerge had nothing at all in the world that he could call his own, but he’d risen to rule empires again and again.   It shouldn’t matter.  But when had the world been so against him?

Iamerge laughed, Stop your mopeing old Smoke.  You saw worse when you lost your first boat to pirates and avoided slavery only by merest good fortune.  That time you’d never survived and thrived half a dozen times, but that first time you did like all the rest.  Iamerge grinned, “What could be better for a life grown stale then a little adventure?” He said and winked at the old woman who looked at him questioning, perhaps his sanity, him talking to himself or the air and all.  Iamerge walked on whistling a tune and looking for opportunity.