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By Taylor, Rigby

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Book Id: WPLBN0004102412
Format Type: PDF (eBook)
File Size: 1.48 MB.
Reproduction Date: 4/1/2015

Title: Mortaumal  
Author: Taylor, Rigby
Language: English
Subject: Fiction, Romance, Love
Collections: Erotic Fiction, Authors Community, Science
Publication Date:
Publisher: Self-published
Member Page: Rigby Taylor


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Taylor, R. (2015). Mortaumal. Retrieved from

One would expect a young man whose single mother skipped town a couple of hours after his birth, to have a few problems, but Mortaumal [Mort] doesn’t seem to, thanks to his grandfather. However, when that support is gone and foster parents fail, and there are nasty people demanding he do evil deeds...things begin to look pretty desperate. From the age of ten to eighteen Mort lives with and meets an extraordinary variety of people, gets himself into and out of very hot water, sees rather too many people die, learns to defend himself both physically and mentally, and ends up unimpressed with humanity in general, while loving the few who come up to scratch. This is a light-hearted, not too serious tale about death and dying, affection and callous indifference, independence and love somewhere in tropical Queensland. There’s sentiment but not sentimentality, social criticism, excitement, fun and a bit of everything else in a fast paced yarn that suggests ways to live that are more interesting and natural than those we see on our screens.

This is a light-hearted tale about death and dying, affection and callous indifference, independence and love, somewhere in tropical Queensland. Mortaumal gets himself into and out of very hot water while learning to defend himself both physically and mentally in a fast paced romp in which there’s sentiment but not sentimentality, social criticism, excitement, fun, and a bit of everything else.,

1 Mortaumal According to his grandfather, Mortaumal was a smart kid. According to Mortaumal, Simon was a brainless bully. So why wasn’t it Simon lying on his belly, face pressed into the dust, scarcely able to breathe? Surely twice as big should be beaten by twice as clever? Obviously not, or Mortaumal wouldn’t have had his head flushed in a toilet bowl yesterday, and he wouldn’t have had to endure six months of increasingly unpleasant torment. On this relentlessly sunny afternoon, Simon had ambushed Mortaumal from behind a billboard advertising the benefits of ‘Jezebel’s Gymnasium for Fabulous Fitness’, dragged the object of his unwanted attention behind it, thrown him on his face in the dust and sat on his legs. When fruitless flailing of arms failed to free him, Mortaumal had just decided to humiliate himself by screaming for help when Simon dragged his shorts down. Shocked, or perhaps excited at the absence of underpants, the bully allowed his grip to slacken enough for his victim to slither away and tear down the street, school bag flying, shorts barely back in their usual place when he was stopped by a busy road. A quick look behind made him reckless, and with a one-fingered salute to his persecutor, he shot across in front of a large truck. Determined to avenge the unpardonable insult of being given the finger, or perhaps eager to take another look at his quarry’s cute little bum, Simon managed a spectacular sprint and would have caught his prey if it hadn’t been for… The sound of brakes screeching, onlookers shouting and a squishy pop made Mortaumal stop and look back. A smile split his face and for the first time in what seemed his entire life, he relaxed. The front wheel of the truck had driven over Simon’s belly, splitting it open, spraying blood and undigested bits of Mort’s lunch onto the footpath. The driver got out, looked underneath his vehicle and vomited, adding to the muck. ‘He may be still alive!’ someone screeched, prompting a bystander to leap into the truck and drive it a few metres back, squeezing out more of Simon’s innards and revealing such a mess that several more people followed the driver’s example. A deep voice directly behind Mortaumal began to chant softly: ‘Mother dear, what have we here, Spread out like strawberry jam? Hush dear boy, it is your Pa Run over by a tram.’ Mortaumal laughed aloud, causing nearby heads to turn and frown. ‘The lad’s hysterical from seeing such a dreadful accident. Someone attend to him!’ a motherly type called. ‘It’s alright, he’s with me,’ the owner of the voice announced, placing a large hand on Mort’s shoulder. A woman on the other side of the road suddenly screamed, causing all heads to turn. ‘Where’s the kid who pushed that poor boy under the truck? I saw him do it! Find him before he escapes!’ The arm belonging to the hand on Mort’s shoulder wrapped itself around him, and drew him down a side street until they were invisible to the gathering crowd of thrill-seekers. ‘Don’t go away, young fellow,’ deep-voice said calmly, ‘I have to get my son.’ Mortaumal looked back and saw a wheelchair slowly manoeuvring towards them. The man took hold of the handlebars and brought the wheelchair closer, then bent over the occupant and adjusted some straps. A sudden fit of the shakes forced Mortaumal to sit on the ground. Visions of the mess on the roadway that could so easily have been him, filled his head, which began to spin, so he wrapped his arms around the nearest solid support, the powerful leg of his abductor. Tears sprang and great sobs wracked his frame. A hand caressed his hair and he gazed up into concerned brown eyes. His agony evaporated, but he didn’t release the leg. ‘I didn’t push him!’ Mortaumal sounded desperate. ‘I know you didn’t; I saw what happened. You’ve done nothing wrong, but when humans are hysterical it’s dangerous to be rational, that’s why we didn’t hang around. Are you feeling sorry for that dead boy?’ ‘No, I was imagining it was me all squashed. It could easily...’ ‘No it couldn’t. I saw you check that you had time to cross the road. You’re far too smart to meet your end in such a cliché, so forget about it. Time for introductions I think. I’m Leon.’ He held out his hand. Mortaumal released Leon’s leg, stood, and manfully shook his hand. ‘I’m Mortaumal...only everyone calls me Mort.’ ‘And what name do you prefer?’ ‘Mort. Would you want to be called death to evil?’ ‘Death to…? Of course...French. Whose idea was that?’ ‘Granddad’s. He spoke French till he came here. He says he’s seen too much evil and hopes I’ll live up to the name.’ ‘And so do I...but don’t let the responsibility get you down.’ ‘Oh, he didn’t mean all the evil in the world, just bad people I meet.’ ‘That’s a relief. Well...I’m delighted to meet you, Mort.’ Leon turned to the wheelchair. ‘This handsome young man is Fystie.’ Mort captured the hand that was fluttering in his general direction, shook it firmly, then held on to prevent it escaping. ‘Hi, Fystie, what’re you doing in a wheelchair?’ ‘Trying to relax; my chauffeur’s not up to much, he seems determined to drive me through every stone and pothole in the city. What were you doing on your feet when we met?’ ‘Going home from school. You talk a bit funny...I can understand you but...are you OK? You’re twitching a bit and your mouths open and…’ ‘And I’m dribbling.’ Fystie’s face was a picture of despair. ‘Please don’t tell me you don’t find it sexy, I’ve been practising my come-hither tongue lolling, ready-for-a-kiss look for weeks! I thought that was why you’re still holding my hand.’ ‘Of course it is,’ Mort didn’t bother to conceal his grin. ‘It’s very fetching.’ ‘Then how about fetching my towel from behind the seat and using it.’ ‘Mort extracted a towel from the bag hanging on the back of the chair and after gently wiping his new acquaintance’s face he looked deep into his eyes. ‘Sexy doesn’t begin to describe you, Fystie. Perhaps...’ ‘Alluring? Sensual? Voluptuous…?’ ‘All those things.’ Both boys cracked up with laughter. ‘I think we ought to be getting a move on,’ Leon interrupted nervously. ‘Ambulances, TV cameras, police… I’ve a feeling we ought to scarper.’ ‘Yeah, I can’t wait to tell Grandpa. But...’ Mort looked uncertainly at Leon. ‘You said you’d seen everything...would you come and tell him so he doesn’t think I’m exaggerating?’ ‘I was going to suggest it. Which way?’ They set off at a fast trot, Mort having to jog to keep up. After ten minutes they stopped. ‘Do you need a rest?’ ‘No, but can I push the chair?’ ‘Sure, until you get tired. This is the brake; make sure you engage it before you collapse.’ ‘No worries, Leon. Hang onto your seat, Fystie.’

Table of Contents
Table of Contents 1 Mortaumal 2 Leon 3 Shrude Aywun 4 Confidences 5 Death 6 Mrs. Pettie 7 Dying 8 The lawyer. 9 Self Defence. 10 Pissed Off 11 Leon and Hugh 12 Family life 13 Fystie 14 A day at the river 15 School 16 School work 17 Mr. Brawn on Women 18 A visit 19 Beach Bully 20 Debriefing 21 Abuse 22 Rescue 23 Marshall on Childhood 24 Paying for It 25 Fystie Returns 26 Life with a lawyer 27 Further Education 28 Sergei 29 Zoltan’s Mother 30 The God Question 31 On Top of the Mountain 32 Marshall meets Angelo 33 Perdita 34 The Beach 35 Bullies 36 Ultimatum 37 Farewells 38 A Change of plans 39 Impersonation 40 Julian 41 The Truth 42 Elbert 43 A Social Occasion 44 A Room With a View 45 School 46 Mr. Preggy 47 The Basement Flat 48 The cop 49 Miss Bussty 50 Brawl 51 Perdita’s present 52 Stefan 53 Perdita Perdue 54 Talking and thinking about it 55 Lydia Sees Mortaumal 56 Procuring the Stuff 57 Sweet Revenge 58 An Unwelcome Offer 59 Exiting 60 The Runner 61 Flight 62 Rescue 63 Hale’s Place 64 Acrobatics 65 Planning 66 Getting Ready 67 Hale 68 Meet the Gelds 69 Mort’s Spiel 70 Hale’s Spiel 71 Performance 72 Refreshments 73 The Plot Unfolds 74 Performing 75 Finding Father 76 Oasis 77 Mortaumal meets Archibald 78 Mortaumal meets Calumnia 79 Mortaumal meets Oasis 80 Dinner with Calumnia 81 Hercules Explains and Mort Fits In 82 A Star is Started 83 Agony Mort 84 A Formal Dinner 85 After Dinner 86 Surprises 87 Revelations 88 Zadig 89 Hale Returns 90 The Best Laid Plans 91 The Hotel 92 The Problem 93 A Perfect Day For It 94 Consequences


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