XIX

Torundel exhaled nervously. The guards had allowed him and Uranumsia to enter without questions about their marital status. He'd been a frequent guest in the mountain manor, so they suspected nothing.

Count B's Isolexit ball, celebrating the day, two millennia earlier, where people had left the fallout shelters, was held in a giant elegantly adorned grotto. Torundel listened to the chatter of the guests. Because of the shitpost craze people were again reading the old poets, and names like Sang Utor, Sang Argilius and Sang Hortuscany rang from every corner of the grotto.

‘Torundel! I can't wait to see your new wife...’ It was his former wife in an exquisite, white dress, more stunning than ever. He'd planned this, but it didn't give him any pleasure.

She stood there, stunned, then furious. ‘This is illegal! Torundel. A fisherman's wench!’

‘I have...’ he said with a weak voice, then pulling himself together he shouted as loud as he could, ‘I have married this woman by Sang law. Yesterday we mixed blood and semen.’

Uranumsia raised her arms towards the roof, and her cape fell to the floor. Underneath she had sewn a perfect copy of the immodest dress that Dykeia wore on the forbidden wall paintings in grotto A23.

Torundel exhaled nervously.

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Torundel the Shitposter! part XIX

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