Eden's Jester Read Online Free Page A

easy, once you get used to the idea--which I had.
    My favorite table sat alongside the storefront on Washington Street. I watched the morning commuters as they passed. The buildings were from the late nineteenth century, but in good repair. The town was healthy. I realized that Oxford came close to Aeson’s ideal community. It was small, surrounded by farmland and open fields, and most of what a person needed was within walking distance of the center of town. If you lived in the original neighborhood, you really didn’t need to drive anywhere. Crime was practically nonexistent. The fact is, I liked Oxford because it manifested the very qualities Aeson extolled at his Gathering.
    I pulled a ball of napkins from my pocket and picked it apart. Three napkins had Aeson’s name written at the top. The others I wadded up and pushed back into my jeans. My files on Aeson weren’t extensive, but they spoke to me. A well-written napkin can make the most marvelous mischief.
    “Hello, Elson,” said a familiar voice next to my table.  
    I turned to see a black-robed figure, his face shrouded in the shadow of a large hood. The robe looked as if it had been made in the fourteenth century.  
    The figure moved to sit opposite me and pulled back his hood. There I was, staring Death in the face.  
    I hate it when he does that.
    “Hello, Death. It’s nice to see you. Which I say only because I know you can’t kill me.” He smiled a smile that I didn’t like one bit--lots of bone-grey teeth and a twinkle in his ice-blue eyes. “What brings you to the great village of Oxford? Killing one of my neighbors today, are you?”  
    Death wasn’t an Engineer. He was something else. I didn’t know what. His power and scope of responsibility were enormous, as was his sense of humor. Which was good, I suppose. That job could get to you. But your worldview can be irreparably damaged when Death plays a practical joke on you. I don’t recommend the experience.
    “Elson, Elson. I have lots of things to do besides my day job. I’m getting into all kinds of new things.”
    “Really, then why do you still wear that getup? It’s been, like, five-hundred years now.”
    “Style. It’s all about style. You’ve got to have style, as they say.” He leaned back in his chair and loosened his robe. “And it scares the hell out of people. What are you drinking?”
    “Espresso. Want one?” I asked.
    “Sure. Make it a double,” he said.  
    I signaled Jill, behind the counter. She nodded. Jill always took care of me. She was young and still optimistic about the world. But underneath that perky exterior, I sensed strength--wisdom. Don’t ask me how I could tell. Maybe it was the way she moved around the store, going about her simple duties like a Shaolin priest. Maybe it was the way her smile was more motherly than girlish. Maybe it was the way her eyes caught yours and wouldn’t let them go. I don’t know what it was. But she radiated goodness and peace. Part of me wondered if I’d frequent the coffee shop with such commitment if she weren’t a part of it.  
    In a few moments a steaming cup of java was delivered to Death himself. She stared at his black robe and raised an eyebrow.  
    “He’s from Sweden,” I said.  
    That seemed to satisfy her curiosity. Death gave her a nod and a wink. One day I’d have to share his real identity with her. She’d laugh.
    “I came because I need a favor,” Death said.
    Now, I’m not the brightest lighter at the concert, but there are some things that even the village idiot can’t miss. Death doesn’t need favors. He doesn’t need anything. Well, maybe he needed a new wardrobe and some time off. The little voice inside that murmurs things—nasty things that get me into real trouble—was telling me to step carefully. I ignored it.  
    “A favor? That means you’d owe me. I’m interested.” Having Death owe you was better than cash.  
    “I’m good for it. You know that.” He looked at his