The Golden Queen Read Free

came over in his severe black frock, all gaunt and starved looking, and sat down next to Seamus with his own pipe, sucking hard to nurse some damp tobacco into flame. Father Heany was such a tidy and proper man that folks in town often joked of him, “Why the man is so clean, if you took a bath with him, you could use him for soap.”
    Together, the two old men blew the pleasant smell of their tobacco all about until they were wreathed like a pair of old dragons in their own smoke.
    “So, Gallen,” Seamus said, “rumor has it that you’ll be staying here in Clere now.” He didn’t finish the sentence, now that your father has died, leaving your frail mother a widow.
    “Aye,” Gallen said. “I’ll not be roaming far from home, nowadays.”
    “How will you keep yourself, then?” Seamus asked. “Have you thought about it?”
    Gallen shrugged. “I’ve been looking about, and I’ve got a bit in savings. It should last awhile. I’ve thought about taking up fishing, but I can’t imagine any woman ever learning to love the smell of a fisherman.”
    “Sure, the blacksmith is looking for an apprentice,” Father Heany offered.
    “I saw him just today,” Gallen said, remembering how the smith would pick up the horse’s back foot, leaning his shoulders up against the horse’s sweaty rump, “and to tell the truth, I’d rather be a horse’s ass than work with my head so close to a horse’s fertilizing region.” Seamus and Orick the bear laughed, and Father Heany nodded wisely.
    “Sure,” Heany admitted, “a smart man can always find a job that will let him keep himself unsoiled.” He frowned as if thinking furiously, then said, “There’s the priesthood.”
    “A fine vocation,” Orick cut in with his deep voice. The bear was sitting on the floor, paws on the table, licking out of a bowl. Some milk still stuck to his muzzle. “I’ve been thinking of joining myself, but Gallen here makes light of God and his servants.”
    “I’ll not make light of God,” Gallen responded, “but I’ve no respect for some who call themselves his servants. I’ve been thinking on it. Your Bible says God created man in his own image, and it says God is perfect, but then he only made man ‘Good,’ as in good enough? Like maybe he was lazing about. It seems to me that God could have done better with us, considering that we’re his crowning creation: for instance, a day-old fawn can jump a four-foot fence—so why can’t a day-old child?”
    “Ah, and to be sure, Gallen O’Day—” Father Heany said with a fiery twinkle in his eye “—if God had had you looking over his shoulder on the day of creation to give him a little advice, we would have all been better off!”
    Orick lapped at the bowl of milk on the table, and the bear had a reflective look in his dark eyes. “You know, Gallen,” Orick grumbled soberly, “God only gave man weaknesses to keep him humble. The Bible says ‘man is just a little lower than the angels.’ Surely you see that it’s true. You may not live as long as a tortoise, but you’ll live longer than me. Your mind is far quicker than any bear’s. And with your houses and ships and dreams, your people are richer than us bears will ever be.”
    Spoken like a true priest, Gallen thought. Few bears ever entered the priesthood, but Gallen wondered if perhaps Orick wasn’t a natural for it.
    “I’m not one for the priesthood,” Gallen assured Father Heany. “I still love the road too much. I’m looking to buy some property, then lease it out. Other than that, I plan to continue my work as an escort. There are plenty of short routes hereabouts. I can take some work and still care for my mother.” He said it mildly, but it was not the short roads Gallen wanted to travel. He wanted to someday head south to Gort Ard and look on Saint Kelly’s likeness of the face of God, or head east and search for hidden treasures. But now he would be stuck here in County Morgan, never more than a