Previous – Book1 Page35 – Next
Chapter 5
Missing
Being stabbed awkwardly in the soft, sensitive part of your lower eyelid, by a jagged shred of dried hay, is not a welcome experience. Especially when you’re asleep!
Forcefully brushing it away from his left eye, with the sort of push normally reserved for a wasp buzzing about his face, MickeyWarr slowly opens his right eye. Half opens it, squinting in the half light of the barn, trying to make out what’s going on.
No wasp!
With his left cheek still firmly on the floor he opens his left eye a little, and tries to focus.
A few broken rays of sunlight have found their way through the gaps in the uneven, dilapidated wooden walls. This hard floor is unmistakeably dry earth, and the inadequate layer of hay was certainly not conducive to a good night’s sleep.
Even with global warming it’s still a typical, chilly Sunday morning in late October, and MickeyWarr is not dressed for rough sleeping! He’s dressed for a Saturday night out at the tavern. A smell of unfamiliar manure hangs in the air. It’s not goat dung. He knows that smell, but this one is heavier, clinging to the lining of his nose and throat, like a drowning man who’s clinging onto a rope and refusing to let go.
Raising the left side of his head off the floor a little, he looks about.
“Angel! Angel, where are you?”
“She’s not ‘ere mate,” says a raspy, gruff voice to his right.
“What?”
“She’s gone, you’ll not be seein’ ‘er again.”
Except for the docks, where the pirates are in control, the local militias run everything in Worringfolk. ThunderCloud won’t have his hands soiled by doing the dirty work, so he leaves it to the pirates in Boot, and to the local mobs inland, to handle all day to day business.
Previous – Book1 Page35 – Next