Another cold autumn night in Tbilisi. The rain has subsided, finally. A cold wind whips through the Greater Caucasus, howling through the Roki Tunnel, burying the Mamisoni Pass in snow. Disembodied voices whispering of coming War.A teakettle whistles in an apartment on Nucubidzis Kucha.
Notice the lighted window just to the left of the stairwell: Beltrano laboring through the night over certain charts of the greatest interest to the Patriarch, the Army, and the State. These include Mundane and Electional figures, as well as the Genethlialogical charts of certain prominent personages.
Someone knocks on the door, eleven times. There is no response from within.
The surface of the mirror begins to boil. Аҧсцәаҳа [aphstshwaha] is stirring, the one who is half-silver, half-gold. (зыбжa рaӡныз зыбжa хьыз [zәbӡә radznәz zәbӡә xyәz]). Try to keep warm, Comrades.
Sadidebelad Ghmertisa da C'mindata Mista!
BELTRANO
Posted by OLD HAT
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