Ruffians & Roughnecks: The Malcontent (or —Obsolete—Malignant)
In the Ruffians & Roughnecks post series I’m taking a word that describes a type of “bad guy”, e.g. ruffian or rogue, or alternatively a “rough diamond”, such as a roughneck, and matching it with a character from my novels.
As in the A Geography Of Haarth series, each entry is accompanied by a relevant passage from the books, which could be drawn from one of the two Wall Of Night series novels currently published, or my Kids/YA standalone, Thornspell.
The definitions are taken from Merriam Webster Online, my current go-to dictionary when writing
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Today’s descriptor is “malcontent”, although I believe the now obsolete “malignant” (often used by the forces of Parliament to describe Royalist supporters in the English Civil War, 1642 – 1651) would be equally fitting. But I’ll go with “malcontent.”
Malcontent: one who bears a grudge from a sense of grievance or thwarted ambition
And our malcontent-de-jour is (with or without drum roll 😉 ):
Maister Gervon:
“…you have cast him into the shade, Maister Carick.”
Ghiselaine nodded. “He will not forgive you for it. But he will stay and you will go soon, so you mustn’t let one warped priest spoil your time with us.”
Sound advice, thought Carick—but he found it hard to put into practice when he met Gervon later that evening. It was still raining and the dusk was thick as he returned to the inn, which was not a place he expected to meet the Serrut maister. So he was taken by surprise when he ducked through the gate, head down against the weather, and bumped straight into the man. They both drew back, Carick apologizing and the maister hissing like an angry cat. Then Gervon drew himself up, his glance flicking right and left across the empty yard. When he looked back, his pupils had narrowed almost to pinpricks and there was so much malice in the man’s face and manner that Carick automatically took a step back. The priest’s lips twitched and Carick saw foam appear at the corners of his mouth.
“Are you well, Maister Gervon?” he asked, striving for a normal tone.
“I?” Gervon wiped at the foam with a hand that shook. “Look to your own health, interloper!” His voice hissed again as he stepped forward. “You think yourself so fine, with your learning and your River ways, but you know nothing—nothing of what really matters in this world.” Gervon drew closer still, so that Carick caught the stink of his breath and could count the red veins across the priest’s narrowed eyes. The man was whispering now, but this only increased the venom in his tone. “You will scream and I shall laugh to hear you. Soon, oh soon, my fine River maister.”
~ from © The Gathering Of The Lost, The Wall of Night Book Two: Chapter 14 — Maister Gervon
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I believe there may only be two or three more entries for Ruffians and Roughnecks after this, so I’ll have to start thinking of something else that’s book themed for Fridays…Watch this space!