Lost in Babylon. Peter Lerangis

guards surrounded us, glaring, six spears pointed at our chests.

      

       to understand Aramaic to know we were in deep doodoo.

      The guards’ leader was maybe seven feet tall. An evil, gap-toothed smile shone through a black beard as thick as steel wool. He jabbered orders to us, waited while we stared uncomprehendingly, then jabbered something else. “I think he’s trying out different languages,” Aly murmured, “to figure out which one we speak.”

      “When does he get to English?” Marco asked.

      Trembling, Cass lifted his hands over his head. “We. Come. In. Peace!”

      The men raised their spears, tips to Cass’s face.

      “Never mind,” he squeaked.

      The leader gestured toward the city, growling. We walked, our hands quivering fearfully over our heads. As we reached the bridge over the moat, I peered downward. The moat’s water churned with the action of long, leathery snouts. It was muddy and blood-red.