The rain came out of the west the way it always did, hammering my broad felt hat and oiled cape. The brief and aggressive showers were a regular event, though not as bad as during the pending wet season. The tiled rooves of the Azanjin docks sent the rain sheeting into the street, drenching anyone who walked too close to the structures. Too many streets were so narrow that it was impossible to avoid one side or the other. Sloshing through the puddles and the hurrying crowds, I made my way deeper into an area I’d never visited. I got dirty looks from doorways and from below the protection of awnings. Those hurrying about didn’t have time to notice the Atlorian in their midst. The stuccoed exterior of the buildings were painted with vibrant hues in geometric patterns.
I found the site of Najala’s ‘house’ and stared at the oversized structure. Its roof had a pattern of blue and beige tiles. The facade had an abstract pattern in blue, beige, and green that reminded me of islands in a choppy sea. Under a cloth awning, a broad-chested Azanjin man stood, blocking the entrance. His blunt face did not carry much of a spark of intellect in its slack expression.
“Is this the ‘House’ of Nanjala?” I asked.
“We do not serve Atlorians,” he said, his accent bordering on incomprehensible.
“I am not here to do business. I am Acting Magistrate Jasper Browne.”
“We do not serve Atlorians,” he repeated. It slowly dawned on me that he didn’t actually understand a word I was saying. He was merely repeating a sequence of sounds by rote.
“Is there anyone here who actually speaks Atlorian?”
“We do not-” he was interrupted when the door cracked open and someone peered out. There was a brief exchange in their tongue before the door opened slightly further. A diminutive woman in a shawl and close-fitting sleeveless dress stepped halfway out of the doorway.
“Magistrate Browne?” she asked, her accent thick but not insurmountable.
“Yes, I am Jasper Browne. I am trying to find Nanjala to speak with her.”
“She said you would be here.” The woman spoke to the door guard and he grudgingly stepped aside. I stepped into a small antechamber. As I reached for the curtain across the inner doorway of the antechamber, the small woman stopped me.
“Please take off hat, cloak, and boots.”
Looking at the cascade of water puddling the tile underfoot, I obliged. She at least provided dark brown slippers so I wouldn’t be trudging about in my stocking feet. Past the inner curtain was a domed space ringed with similarly curtained spaces. Rugs lay in a neat pattern on the tilework that mimicked the geometric design of the colors in their weave. The padding muffled our footfalls as we crossed to an otherwise unremarkable alcove at the far end. It proved to be the foot of a staircase going up. The stairs doubled back to reach a walkway along the inside of the domed ceiling. From the new vantage point, the lack of a ceiling on the rooms became apparent, as did the aroma wafting out of the occupied spaces. The attendants were women in similar close-fitting gowns but a variety of hair styles.
The patrons lounged upon pillows, singly, in pairs, or small groups. Each had a long-stemmed pipe they periodically puffed from, resting the bowl over a small charcoal brazier that had been laced with sandalwood. Beyond ethnicity, there was no common aspect to the customers. Those who appeared better off were also served drinks and light refreshments. The meanest had a disinterested attendant. Many lay stupefied, their glassy-eyed stares focusing on nothing.
Use of smoked somnifers wasn’t illegal, but it wasn’t exactly well-regarded either. Still, the stupefied Azanjin were not causing me any trouble. I was not here to fix social problems, not even in my role as a priest. So I made no mention of the business being conducted as we made our way to a space above the entryway.
“Magistrate Browne,” Nanjala purred in emulation of the predatory cat whose spotted pelt now decorated the back of her divan. She lazed languidly on the divan, propped up on one elbow, hand draped over her clavicle. With a flick of her eyes and a tip of her head, she dismissed the attendant who’d escorted me in. “I hope the door guard wasn’t too much of a hassle.”
“He was not,” I said.
“Have you come to bring me Thornton’s things?” she asked, arching her eyebrow.
“No,” I said.
“No?” She pouted in a manner some men might find flirtatious. I was too hungover to want to engage with her charms. Though hungover and drunk were my two primary states of wakefulness, and I wasn’t about to do this drunk.
“I came here to find out what your real connection to Magistrate Wilcox was.”
“I told you-”
“A convenient story. I may be a drunk, but I’m not a fool. Thornton was married, and you’re not the starstruck type.”
Nanjala bristled for a second before regaining her mask of nonchalance. “Fine, think what you want.”
“So, you and Wilcox.”
“Our personal relationship aside, Thornton was also my business partner.” She languidly gestured around us. “This was more than I could afford to get started myself. And he naturally couldn’t run the business. Other duties aside, he can’t show his face here. The Azanjin wouldn’t frequent an Atlorian establishment.” There was a brief flash of legitimate emotion in Nanjala’s eyes as she realized she’d used the present tense to refer to Wilcox.
“What did you expect the Magistrate to be carrying that was so important you wanted his effects?”
“T’bora didn’t tell you?”
“If you mean your oversized countryman, he didn’t even tell me his name.”
“I see. I’d been acting as a go-between for Thornton, and I was sure T’bora came to you to cut me out of my share.”
“I don’t have anything to sell him regardless,” I said. “The killer took anything of value off Wilcox. All he had on him was bloody clothes.”
Nanjala scowled.
“So, who else knew he was coming to see you?”
“Why do-”
“I told you I’m not a fool. You expected Wilcox to have it. T’bora doesn’t have it. I don’t have it. Who else knew he was coming to trade?”
“I told no one except Thornton and T’bora. Who they told, I couldn’t say.”
“And where were you supposed to meet?” I asked.
“What?”
“This is exceptionally deep into the Azanjin district, and I can’t help but notice the welcome I got. Not the most amenable place for an exchange of valuables. Besides, Wilcox would then have to carry his share – or the jewel – back out again. Seems risky to me.”
“You aren’t Thornton. He spoke the language, and people knew him. He’d be in no more danger here than on the Atlorian side.”
“That would not be reassuring to a man who had to deal with the criminal element day in and day out.”
A subtle frown twisted the corner of Nanjala’s lip as she contemplated what to tell me.
“You may know the mind of your countrymen better than I,” she said. “Thornton wanted to meet on top of the island, but T’Bora didn’t like the idea of being so far from his ship. We had agreed to a storehouse close to the docks and close to where… he ended up. But Thornton never showed. I didn’t know why until morning.”
“And T’Bora did?”
“He was there all night, raging like a whipped bull. He has a colorful vocabulary.”
“And his men?”
“I can’t keep track of a ship’s whole crew even had I thought to.”
“I see. Thank you.”
“When you find it, we can finish the deal so cruelly interrupted,” Nanjala said.
“What makes you think I’m going to take that offer?”
“You need to. I mean, it’s no real secret you need the money something fierce. The Gold King is the only buyer who is going to pay anything near what you need. To everyone else, it’s stolen goods, and they’ll undercut you.”
“Speaking of money, if Wilcox didn’t leave mention of this establishment in his will, his share will go to his widow. I’m not so sure she’ll be amenable to being in the vice business.”
Nanjala gave a viperous grin.
“All the more reason for you to find the Star. One of us can just buy her out.”
I knew she didn’t want me as a business partner. She might not know how or why a Priest of Craddix was resistant to her charms, but she’d figured out enough to change tack. Then again, if I had the Star of Azanjin, I would not need her or T’Bora. I could bring it back to Atlor. If I owed the value of the jewel in restitution, the jewel itself should cover it.
I wish I could have dedicated more time to the opium den culture, but it would have derailed the story.
How far were you ready to go for your art?
Art?
I don’t make art. I make entertainment.
So no smoking opium then.
That was a thought of mine. I’m me, and though never personally dabbled in *that* vice, it’s a fascinating subject and tremendous setting for ”chill’ nefarity.
I realized something…
To me, I introduced the term Somnifer in “On Unknown Shores” – which is incplete, so none of you have read it. It does go into more detail what it is in that volume.
Oops.
That was an interesting section. I had to look up a word there – “opium” is not what I gathered but I have no idea what opium actually does so there is that.
My understanding is the nods.
I hadn’t thought of this when she appeared earlier, but now I’m picturing her as Eartha Kitt.
🙀
I am enjoying the story.
I’m glad to hear it. Anything stand out?
I like the world building so far.
I may be a jobless loser leech on society, but I’M GOING TO ICELAND, BITCHES
I do hope you enjoy your trip.
The Missus made that trip several years ago, they took a day side trip to Greenland, I guess to get a passport stamp.
She enjoyed Iceland on a tour with a group of her newest friends.
This is the only thing that has brought me any kind of optimism in the last few months. It’s good to have something to plan for.
👍🌋
Mine is, I decided I hate where I live. I have no reason to be here, I can live wherever I want, and my job is strongly hinting where they want me so why not. I even kind of miss the office LOL. Unlike my current office that I haven’t visited in two years, there are actually a lot of people I work with every day in the possible future one.
There is no rush so I can plan it carefully at least.
@rhywun Would this move take you out of NYS?
Yes. Not far, though.
:):):)
From a marketing standpoint, the most popular genres are children’s fiction and fantasy. There’s some overlap in those categories.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_best-selling_books
https://platedlizard.blogspot.com/2025/10/hard-truths-about-publishing.html
Great minds think alike.
https://platedlizard.blogspot.com/2025/11/ukraine-and-its-allies-should-reverse.html
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OxyV-ifO-s
Slutty Sunday After Dark.
https://archive.is/7PbsU
NSFW.
You brought your A game tonight.
Poor Neph.
Shedeur Sanders with a QBR of 13.5. If all you do is go in and throw incompletion after incompletion, your rating will be 39.6.
It seems like every time I hear anything about that team there is another new QB.
Meanwhile the Bills got it together again but it feels like yet another year where good is not going to be good enough.
Oof. The fans must be all over him.
My orbital sander ceased to function. I guessed correctly that the dust recovery bag was clogged. I did not anticipate HOW plugged it was.
https://www.glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/IMG_3200-scaled.jpeg
After basic cleaning
https://www.glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/IMG_3199-scaled.jpeg
I broke out a new tool tonight. Trying to give some stainless panels in my new work truck a brushed finish. Turned out I got a bit too aggressive with sanding off the malformed edges of where I drilled holes. I
May hit it with 120 on the grinder and start again, or call it good. Not sure yet. https://ibb.co/XmWG9px
Not bad. I am not standing in front of it- but it looks like one more pass and then fine sanding.
Some deeper cross scratches from running an 80 grit flapper wheel on my grinder. I’ve never tried to get any of that sort of scratch out of bare metal before. It’s quite a bit of work.
Looks like the sander had a good time.
It did get blown.
Anything is a smoke machine if you operate it wrong enough.
Indeed. I blocked off the intake holes. The bag is a wreck. It can just blow sand when it runs now.
If your sander’s a wreck maybe it’s time to shed’er
My project tonight turned out 90% or so. Not bad. Not perfect.
https://ibb.co/7NdSwGCt
Looks good to me, 3door, but I’m probably not the last opinion you need.
Fourscore, my wife said I was going to have the nicest worktruck on the road as it was.
Those look like mighty fine finished parts.
*fans self*
My afternoon plans changed, so I had time to knock this out
[url=https://flic.kr/p/2rFPud2][img]https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/54928220241_60c846e844_b.jpg[/img][/url]
It a a lower shelf for the lathe I am restoring.
Wood lathe I’m assuming Zwak?
No, Logan 10″ metal lathe. I had a South Bend, and before that an Atlas/Craftsman, but space is an issue.
Here is were we are now:
[url=https://flic.kr/p/2rFkuAe][img]https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/54922758393_2bd7c53402_b.jpg[/img][/url]
“My orbital sander ceased to function.”
Your male gaze is overpowering. Impressive, but see an optometrist if ya wanna at least *maintain* your oppression.
The orphans manually sanded for me this last week. They got extra rations of gruel.
Getting there RJ.
The truck is rapidly becoming an overkill snowball.
I need to write a couple more pieces on it and send it to you all.
Hobby/craft article.
What are you making RJ?
I understand completely.
Well, I should probably write it up. My wife desires a tornado shelter every time we move. We moved about 6 months ago, and just got the shelter in. She wanted to make a Meow Wolf kind of interior. So after I did basic wiring, I went to town. Pictures incoming.
https://www.glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/IMG_3201-scaled.jpeg
https://www.glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/IMG_3203-scaled.jpeg
https://www.glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/IMG_3202-scaled.jpeg
How large is the space?
Tiny. 4 feet square for the floor, with a metal storage bench. It has a 3/4 threaded pipe inlet for wiring, which I very much took advantage of.
I used a massive magnet ti attach the fan/light. Wish I had done that last time.
Tiny.
Shades of Indiana Jones in a refrigerator.
From the Indiana Jones movie that does not exist.
Oh. *oRBITal.* Not oPTICal.
Maybe *my* optical scanner is goin’ nuts. *turns in with clenched fist, celebrates self*
I misread it as “Orbital Scanner”
All of your sanders did a better job than Shadeur.
How much sand could a sandman sand if a sandman could sand sand?
Ahem. It’s industrial abrasive and prosomnolent grit.
That’s too hard to rhyme.
I saw Prosomnolent Grit open for Legendary Pink Dots back in 97 but I was candyflipping with 2C-B that night so I don’t remember a thing.
“Somnifer”
Ah. Papaver somniferum. The source of opium. It actually used to be a garden plant in the 19th century and occasionally escaped into the wild.
I have actually reading the serialized story, but thanks to terrible internet connections I’ve never been able to comment on it the day it was posted. This is the first time I’ve been able to.
I swear the very first time I saw the opening illustration (it was part 2, I just now read part 1 to catch up) that it was different person. A man, looking like a young worried Charles Bronson, wearing a blue gemstone that reminded me of the one featured in Fletcher Pratt’s Blue Star. Maybe my memory is playing tricks on me.
I think the washerwoman is involved. For one thing, the constantly changing name of the sick woman. Two, she’s lying about bloodstains being indelible. From personal experience.
Whee!
And the he endorsed both Massie and MTG.
I lost my wallet last week at a bar after the beer fling, which is a San Diego kind of thing, never mind. The nightmare of it all isn’t getting my cards back and canceling them and all that shit but that I have to get my license in Cali, ah shit.
So far it’s not bad and with an appointment it’s usually pretty smooth. Not having access to banking is tough, even with metals
Just tell them you identify as an unpapered person.
Off we go to the most chill day of my workweek, The first half of yesterday ground on, for once *not* zippin’ by. Hopefully, that isn’t on Repeat and I’m outta there before most of y’all have begun to think of the *end* of the day, and my weekend begins just as the reality of the workweek hits *you.*
That’ll be somethin’ to be smug about. It doesn’t *do* anything advantageous for me, personally, but spreading the misery makes it feel like there’s less it on *your* bit of toast by sharing the ‘outrage.’
Yuck. That, right there, is how ya get crabs *eager* to drag the others back in. Have a good one when it comes and a relaxing one while it’s still here.
Get cracking, y’all! Have a Glibtastic Monday.
☺️🌤️🍳
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YweT8jvGXI
🎶🎶
Oh, I’m excited.
Morning, Sean.
Off to the office I go.
Good morning, Sean, EfE, Ted’S., and U!
Morning, How goes?
Very well so far, thanks! The only trouble I foresee is a bunch of frost on my windshield, as it was clear and cold overnight. How are you?
I made it to the office, where I superglued my finger together. (winter dry skin crack that decided to keep growing rather than healing). It should recover now that it can’t keep growing.
At first, I misread that as “superglued my fingers together,” and I thought, “That’s going to make it hard to type.” Glad I was mistaken, but sorry the cold affects your skin that badly.
Good news: I got a library e-book downloaded and open on my new Nook, so I seem to be completely in business now! 😁
I think it’s less the cold and more the lack of humidity. I can fend it off with moisturizer if I remember.
Have you tried udder balm?
My wife has that problem with her feet, she quit flouride toothpaste and here’s started to heal. We’re on well water so we don’t get any flouride that way. Her theory is that since flouride is a thyroid hormone antagonist it allowed her body to heal properly.
suh’ fam
whats goody
Good morning, homey!
Good morning Glibbies.
Good morning, JI!
25% in. Working Crush adjacent, but made a ‘low key’ move when I thought I was leaving, so jokes and banter alone continue, as it should. Adding lightness makes the day go by quicker.
Sunrise is quite nice as well. Gurgling that I have much more headway to make on the Real Job front. So it goes.
Mornin’ all!
Good morning , folks!
A cool 19F to start the day but wood in the furnace makes the morning seem a little brighter. Coffee is 1/2 gone in the mug, maybe start the day off with a nap.
I’ll be out this afternoon trying to pick up girls, well, one, a slightly more mature lady, fresh from her Arizona visit. She arrives right at dinner time, tough to find a restaurant open on a Monday here but maybe a Perkins. She said this is her last trip, All good things come to a close, according to Dandy Don.