Alphonse Maria Mucha Morning Star

Alphonse Maria Mucha Morning StarAlphonse Maria Mucha Monaco Monte CarloAlphonse Maria Mucha Medee
low priest threw down his cards.
‘Double Onion’ he said.
The High Priest looked down suspiciously.
The low priest consulted a scrap of paper.
‘That’s three hundred thousand, nine hundred and sixty-four pebbles you owe me,’ he said.
There was the sound of footsteps.
The priests exchanged glances.
‘Haven’t had one for poisoned dart alley for quite some time,’ said the High Priest.
‘Five says he makes it,’ said the low priest.
‘You’re on.’
There was a faint clatter of metal points on stone.
‘It’s ‘Hey,’ said the one who was not High. ‘You don’t think it could be -‘ ‘Here? Oh, come on. We’re in the middle of a godsdamn jungle.’ The High Priest tried to smile. ‘There’s no way it could be -‘ The footsteps got nearer.a shame to take your pebbles.’There were footsteps again.‘All right, but there’s still the -‘ a creak, a splash ‘ - the crocodile tank.’There were footsteps.‘No-one’s ever got past the dreaded guardian of the portals -‘ The priests looked into one another’s horrified faces.
The priests clutched at one another in terror.