Shadows

Mr Colywick had been uncharacteristically silent as he and Robert had walked back from the festival stalls to the bookshop. He had listened patiently whilst Rosemary had explained what had happened, thanked her for explanation and politely explained he would be taking Robert home for the day. Rosemary gave Robert an attempt at a cheery smile which he echoed back to her and waved sheepishly as he followed Mr Colywick back home. The sun beat down as they made their way back in silence, the cheerful noise of the festival fading into the distance as they rounded onto Maldetete Crescent and got closer to the door of the bookshop.

Mr Colywick unlocked the door and headed inside, Robert following nervously. He watched as Mr Colywick hung his hat on the peg he had taken it from that morning, and realised he had lost his own in the chaos earlier. That had cost him 6 silver hussars, that hat. Robert wondered if he would be allowed to go back and search for it – that was if Mr Colywick ever let him leave the shop again. He could only imagine how angry and disappointed the man was that he had broken his rules and trust so flagrantly. The only time Robert remembered seeing Mr Colywick in such a downcast mood was when his wife had died. Mr Colywick hefted himself onto a stool behind the shop counter and rested his head in his hands.

“What am I do to with you, lad?” he asked sullenly.

“W-what do you mean, Mr Colywick?” asked Robert nervously. Mr Colywick looked up at Robert and saw the man’s eyes were tearful.

“For goodness sake boy, call me Elphias or father or dad or anything! I’ve raised you all these years haven’t I?” Mr Colywick’s head dropped into his hands again and Robert could see he was shaking. “I’m sorry lad, forgive me. It’s just – I care for you, you know? I’ve tried to help you, to keep you safe all these years, and it pains me to see you hurt. I’m angry you disobeyed me, and I’m angry at that Oxbrow lad for what he’s done to you, and I’m angry at myself for not keeping a better eye on you! I should have known something like this would happen!”

“Please, M-Mr C-Colyw- fathe- sir, please don’t blame yourself! It was my fault, I d-disobeyed you when you told me not to go to the festival. I should have listened!”

“Yes you should have!” Mr Colywick snapped, rocking back and forth on the stool. “But I was a boy once, I know what it’s like. If I’d have known, I could have helped! Why didn’t you tell me you had a lady friend?”

“Oh, R-rosemary? She only asked me in the past few days, I didn’t want to mention her as I knew you didn’t want me g-going to the festival…”

“If you’d mentioned her maybe I could have explained to her precisely why I didn’t want you at that festival, the two of you could have had a lovely meet-up some other day and this whole situation could have been avoided! For heaven’s sakes boy, you’d never shown interest in girls before and I would have thought you’d have mentioned!”

“Sorry sir, I d-didn’t think…”

“No, but that’s not your fault, lad. No boy your age properly thinks things through. But you’re a very intelligent lad, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else who thinks the way you do, though. Your priorities all seem jumbled! Maybe that’s my fault though, I should have raised you better. It’s too late now anyway I suppose…”

“What do you m-mean?”

Mr Colywick sighed.

“Did you hear what that Oxbrow lad said as he was being led away? ‘Don’t think this is over!’ What do you think that means?” Robert stared blankly back.

“I’m not entirely sure, sir. What did he mean by ‘t-this’?”

“He meant the whole ‘attacking you’ business!”

“But begging your pardon sir, surely it was over? He had stopped attacking me?”

“That’s not what I meant, lad! Think of it this way: what’s he going to do when he’s let out of jail?”

“…Go home?” Mr Colywick gave a weak cry and dropped his head until it nearly hit the desk.

“Please don’t think so literal lad. What he’s going to do once he’s let out, is come after you again. If I hadn’t turned up when I did I dread to think what might have happened to you and whilst I wouldn’t say a word against Sergeant Finney and the rest of the guard, but by the time they got there it might have been too late.”

“Late for what?” asked Robert.

“To stop him killing you!” groaned Mr Colywick. Robert was silent. Now he understood what was going on.

“S-so what do we do, Mr Colywick?” Mr Colywick stared at Robert for a long time. So long that Robert got uncomfortable and stared at the floor for a little while, before looking back to see Mr Colywick still staring. The old man looked older than ever, his eyes tired and his skin creased and worn. With a heavy heart Mr Colywick opened his mouth, licked his dry lips and said:

“You have to leave Velayne.”

The bookshop was quiet. Mr Colywick sat solemnly on his stool, his elbows resting on the worn counter, his head in his hands. Robert stood blankly in the middle of the shop floor, his clothes ragged and ripped from his earlier tussle. A bruise above his left eye was starting to swell, and the lenses of his glasses were cracked and scratched.

“Did you hear me lad?” asked Mr Colywick. Robert stared blankly ahead still. “You have to leave Velayne, Robert. Get as far away from here as you can. Buy passage on a ship heading south to Elthrium, go as far as they can take you away from Oxbrow and his brutish son. I have some money saved up for a rainy day I can give you, that should help with food and lodgings until you can get another job to support yourself. The capital might be good for work. I can write a letter of recommendation as to your skill as a bookbinder. It’s been a while since I’ve dealt with any of the bookbinders down south but my word might yet carry some weight.” Robert made no sign of having heard anything Mr Colywick had said.

“Robert!” Mr Colywick barked, and Robert finally seemed to snap back to life. “Did you hear me lad?” Robert nodded dumbly.

“Can I go to Alderbay?”

Now it was Mr Colywick’s turn to stare dumbly.

“I beg your pardon lad?”

“Only, I remember going there years ago with you on a business deal and I thought it was very nice there, quiet and orderly. I’d rather go there than the c-capital. I don’t want to go to the capital, it’ll be too busy; too noisy.” Mr Colywick got up from the stool and walked round to Robert.

“That’s the point, lad. Alderbay’s too close to here; too quiet. Oxbrow will know you’re there and doubtless come after you. In the hustle and bustle of the capital you’ll be far away and hidden safe.” Robert seemed to take a moment to process this information.

“C-can you come with me?” Mr Colywick sighed and his eyes grew tearful again.

“I’m too old to make the journey south, lad. Much as I want to come with you, there’s too much here for me. I was born in this bookshop and I shall die here no doubt. No, I’m afraid this is a journey you shall have to make yourself.”

“Can’t I just stay here with you? I won’t leave the bookshop, I’ll be well b-behaved…”

“Lad!” Mr Colywick wept, “You’ll be the death of me one day with all these stupid questions! Don’t you get it?! If you stay here, you will die. I can’t keep you safe all the time, much as I wish I could. Today proved that. I’ve done all I can to help you lad, and it wasn’t enough… Now come on, I’ll help you pack, then there’s a lady I know who can take a look at those bruises of yours and I’ll see you on your way.”

“After I go – w-when will I see you again, Mr Colywick?”

“You won’t, lad. With any luck you’ll live out the rest of your life in peace somewhere in the south and own a bookshop far grander than this heap of dusty old tomes.” Robert was taken aback at this damning indictment of the books he had grown up around, but bit his tongue.

“But I like it here.” Mr Colywick smiled gently.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard you say that. Why’d you have to go and make this even more difficult for me?” Mr Colywick sighed, wiping his eyes on an old handkerchief and blowing his nose. “I’m glad you like it here lad, but you can’t go on living in the past all your life. Sooner or later we all have to move forward.”

Angie groaned as she heard the tinkling of the bead curtain in the doorway to Gable’s Apothecary from below. Please, she implored the ceiling, can the people of this city keep themselves from injury for five minutes? As it was a festival day she’d set up shop in one of the upstairs rooms to run a makeshift clinic, and she had been working non-stop pretty much since sunrise. True, she had been making a lot of money fixing and curing relatively petty or simple ailments, but the sheer workload combined with the unbearable heat had left Angie an amorphous blob slouching in a chair. There had been a brief respite from customers for a little while and she’d hoped this was because the festival was coming to a close and people would be going home. Judging from the voices downstairs however, there was no such luck.

Still, Angie thought as she sat back up in the chair, there had been the rather entertaining news that Jacob Oxbrow and his friends had got themselves into a stupid fight and been arrested by the town guard. Rosemary Bletherwick had come to have her foot looked at, worrying that she might have broken it stamping down on Jacob’s boot. Apparently the girl had also smacked him in the head with a parasol, knocking him to the ground and breaking his nose. The image of that had made Angie laugh heartily and she had only stopped when Mrs Gable came upstairs to check everything was alright. She sorely regretted not having been there to see the fight occur. Angie had had to admit that she didn’t think such a wisp of a girl had it in her to attack Jacob, foolish though her actions were.

Her mind fading back to the present, she could hear Mrs Gable chatting with what sounded like an old man downstairs. Angie willed in her mind that she wasn’t going to have to look at any more feet today – besides Rosemary’s, which had by far been the nicest foot (as far as feet went) she’d examined today, Angie had been graced with umpteen traders and merchants who had worn their soles ragged on the long road to Velayne and subsequently wrecked their feet. Maybe the old man downstairs would just have a bad back, or aching joints? Those she could handle quite easily, but the thought of having to examine another pair of sweaty, blistered feet turned her stomach.

She heard Mrs Gable climbing the stairs, recognisable by the clashing of her many bracelets and bands that punctuated each step, and stood up, stretching herself out and preparing herself. Mrs Gable took a few seconds to get her breath back and fan herself frantically with a hand fan that had seen better days, then poked her head into the doorway and smiled at Angie.

“Evangeline dear, young man to see you, looks in a dreadful state, bruised and swollen all over. Shall I send him up?”

“Oh, um, yes. Young man, Mrs Gable? I could have sworn I heard an older man talking to you just now?”

“Yes dear, that was old Mr Colywick the bookbinder. He’s brought his apprentice along. Apparently he was in a fight earlier, though the boy doesn’t look the sort to be starting fights. Looks a bit odd, though perhaps that’s very unfair of me. Shall I send him up, dear, or are you done for the day?”

“Fair enough, send him up and I’ll see what I can do. I don’t suppose you’ve got any ginger left, have you? I’m running fairly low and if he’s in pain I don’t have much else I can give him.”

“I think we have some ginger beer left over from Captain Verne’s visit last week if that’ll do?” Angie sighed, remembering when Verne had dropped by last week for afternoon tea. Despite Mrs Gable’s constant attention, flitting to and fro with cups of tea and slices of lemon cake, he still hadn’t really relaxed, and had awkwardly excused himself well before sunset. He and Angie had hardly spoken that afternoon, and Angie prayed to herself that once this damn orb business was over Verne would be back to his usual jovial self. Even Mrs Gable had commented on his “aura of discomfort and unease”, that no number of perfumed cushions had been able to soothe. Normally a man with a voracious appetite as well, he had hardly touched the lemon cake Mrs Gable had laboriously made for him earlier that day. Angie had finished it off later with much gusto, and told Mrs Gable how much she had genuinely enjoyed it, but Mrs Gable had still been quite deflated. What had she been thinking about? Angie thought, catching Mrs Gable staring at her as she daydreamt of lemony cake. Ginger beer, that was it!

“Um, not really, but it might just placate him for now if you wouldn’t mind digging it out.”

“Alright dear, cup of tea?”

“No thank you Mrs Gable, I’m quite alright.” With their brief discussion complete Mrs Gable began the trip back down the rickety stairs, bangles and bracelets clashing discordantly as she went. Soon her footsteps were replaced by a different set, awkward and irregular as if the owner had more limbs than they knew what to do with. Angie watched with curiosity as her patient entered the room, ducking to avoid smacking his head on the leaning lintel. He was a boy of a similar age to herself, perhaps a bit older, and just about the plainest person imaginable. If he was a colour he would be grey, thought Angie, and indeed this was the colour of most of his clothing save for a frankly awful bow tie that was patterned with faded red and gold swirls. He had curly brown hair that put Angie in mind of a dying, disorderly hedge, but when he finally made brief eye contact Angie was rather taken aback. If she’d been asked to guess she would have assumed he had brown eyes, or grey, she grinned to herself, but instead he had the most brilliantly piercing blue eyes, quite in contrast to the rest of him.

“Hello,” said Angie, brushing a strand of unruly hair behind her ear, “I’m Angie. And you are?” The boy coughed.

“I’m Robert Hickson. Sorry, the lady downstairs told me to come up and see E-Evangeline, d-do you know where she is?” Angie raised an eyebrow quizzically, trying to work out if the boy was joking.

“That’s me. Angie, short for Evangeline.”

“Oh. S-sorry, I don’t follow.”

“Um, well,” said Angie, slightly taken aback and still trying to work out if he was making an elaborate and rather unfunny joke, “For example, your name is Robert, right? Well if I called you ‘Rob’ for short, you would still be Robert wouldn’t you?”

“W-why would you call me Rob though?”

“Well,” sighed Angie, not having expected to have to give this level of explanation and floundering for a reason that would not entail further questions, “If I wanted to call someone’s name quickly and didn’t fancy saying their whole name, I’d perhaps shorten their name. Evangeline is quite a long name and a bit too fancy for my liking, so I go by Angie on a day to day basis. Does that answer all your questions?”

“I think so.” replied Robert hesitantly, though it was clear he was still uneasy with the concept. Angie gave the boy another cursory glance, taking into view a rather bruised swelling on his left temple.

“Head injury?” she asked bluntly, cutting to the chase. “I’ve heard you were in a fight?”

“Oh, yes. I was.” There was a pause where Angie listened expectantly, but heard only silence. When it was clear Robert had finished talking, she continued:

“Master of the details, you are,” grumbled Angie, “You look like you’ve been run over by a wagon, who were you fighting?”

“I wouldn’t say fighting as such, more g-getting hit by,” said Robert, and caught the look of impatience on Angie’s face. “B-but in answer to your question, Jacob Oxbrow and his friends T-Thomas Sandalwood, Arthur Hatcher and Steven Glenn I believe.”

“Ah, so you’re the one responsible for getting Jacob locked up are you?” asked Angie, wondering what madness had led to this gangly confusion of a boy getting into a fight with four much larger and meaner looking lads.

“And his friends Thomas Sandalwood, Arthur Hatcher and Steven Glenn.” Robert added.

“Yes, and his friends.”

“His friends Thomas Sandalwood, Arthur Hatcher and-”

“The names don’t really matter.” Snapped Angie briskly.

“Oh, s-sorry. I didn’t mean to annoy you. A-are you friends with them?” Angie snorted.

“Hah, hardly! They were a ruddy nuisance! I’m only sorry they won’t be locked away for longer.” Angie paused and gave Robert an appraising look. “One thing I haven’t heard is why you were fighting in the first place. What did you do that got Jacob Oxbrow’s attention? Had he been wanting to take Rosemary Bletherwick to the festival?”

“I’ve b-been told that insulting his f-father’s business techniques and c-competency may have had something to do with it.”

“You insulted Angstrom ‘Angry’ Oxbrow in front of his son?” Angie asked incredulously.

“N-no. In front of a c-crowded bookshop.”

“Ah, well that’s a relief.”

“W-why is that a relief?”

“It means this stupidity isn’t a recent development.” Robert frowned, and winced as his temple throbbed. “Your brain might not be too addled, though you may yet be a tad concussed. Come here so you’re stood in the light,” said Angie, trying to position Robert so she could utilise the best of the light of the setting sun. “I need to take a good look at that bruising on your head.”

“I d-don’t like people t-touching my hair,” replied Robert nervously, bundling his arms up to his chest hesitantly.

“Or brushes from the looks of it,” added Angie. “Now come here,” she said, taking a step towards Robert and reaching for his head. Robert yelped and tried to push Angie away but she was more firmly rooted than him and all he managed to achieve was pushing himself over backwards into the door frame and startling Sapphire the cat, who had slunk into the room to see what was going on. She hissed, leapt up onto a pile of boxes and spat angrily at Robert.

“Well that was clever, wasn’t it?” sighed Angie, hands on hips. “Come on mister, I need to look at that bruising to see how bad it is. If you insist on throwing yourself into things it’s only going to get worse, believe me.” Robert, however, didn’t seem to be listening.

“Oh I say, is that a Tsunnese Blue? I’ve never seen one before – they’re rather rare according to Vanmeiyer. Apparently they were worshipped as deities in ancient Tsun; they were very sacred animals.” Sapphire seemed to like this description, and purred pompously from her perch atop the boxes. Maybe the grey human wasn’t too bad after all.

“More like a demon if you ask me,” replied Angie, reaching out a hand to help Robert up. Sapphire hissed and swiped a paw lazily in Angie’s direction before curling up in a basket and watching the pair idly. “Now, are you going to let me look at your head or are we going to keep being silly?” Angie distinctly felt she was talking to a child rather than another young adult, like when she had to instruct the Rufford twins to sit still whilst she checked them for ticks. Robert felt rather chastised and closed his eyes whilst Angie’s fingers pried through his hair, trying to think of happier things like books and fresh leather bindings. Angie meanwhile also tried to think of happier things than running her fingers through Robert’s coarse hair, like lemon cakes or the bath she intended to have when she got home to The Sailor’s Jaunt.

“A-are you nearly done?” asked Robert, eyes still screwed tightly shut.

“Yes, I’m done.” Soothed Angie, withdrawing her hands and dunking them into a nearby bucket of water to try and clean some of the grease off. Robert opened his eyes. “Thankfully for you it doesn’t look too bad though I recommend someone keep an eye on you for the next day or so to make sure you don’t pass out, or start slurring your words, or vomit or anything, okay?”

“I don’t have anyone,” stated Robert. “Will that be a problem?” Angie looked at him bemusedly as she dried her hands on her apron.

“What about that Mr Colywick who brought you here? Why can’t he look after you for a day?”

“Because I have to leave Velayne tonight. I’m in danger here because when Jacob Oxbrow gets out of jail he will come after me, or his father Angstrom will if I’m unlucky.” Robert said, as if reading from some unseen script. Doubtless told to him by Mr Colywick, Angie thought. She could hardly disagree, which annoyed her all the more. If Jacob Oxbrow was in jail his father would be furious and everyone knew what had happened to his poor wife when Oxbrow senior had come home in a drunken rage one night.

“Right. Well you don’t seem too bad so I’m not too worried about that, just take it easy and don’t do anything stupid and you should be fine. Do you need anything for the pain?”

“W-what do you mean by ‘anything stupid’? And I am hurting a fair bit actually, that would be nice.”

“Well, like getting into another fight or anything else that might hurt you more than you’ve already managed. How are planning on travelling, boat? Wagon? I wouldn’t go riding any horses and shaking yourself up too much.” Angie explained as she stepped across the room to the doorway. “Mrs Gable!” she shouted down the stairs, “How are we getting on with that ginger beer?”

“I’ve nearly found it dear, won’t be a moment!” came a muffled reply from Mrs Gable.

“I don’t like ginger beer.” Said Robert.

“Well do you prefer pain or ginger beer?” asked Angie exasperatedly.

“I d-don’t like either.” Angie pursed her lips and tapped her foot impatiently.

“You’re a pain, you know that don’t you?”

“I have been told words to that effect, yes.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“What about white willow bark? Salix Alba? I’ve heard that’s quite good for pain.”

“It is, yes,” nodded Angie, finally hearing something sensible and relevant from the boy. “Unfortunately I’ve run out, Mr Johnson had the last of it for his knee earlier today. Where did you learn about white willow bark out of interest?”

“It was in a book.”

“Read a lot of books, do you?” asked Angie, the spark of an idea forming in her mind.

“Oh yes, I find them a great source of information and enjoyment.” Smiled Robert.

“Yes, well don’t trust everything you read in books. I once read a book about pirates that was very misleading… but I digress. I wonder if you’ve read many books about magical creatures?”

“Have I?” grinned Robert. “I’ve read them all.” He announced proudly.

“Well that’s promising,” admitted Angie. “So, and I don’t quite believe I’m saying this, you would know if some sort of evil deadly shadow creature thing existed, would you?”

“Oh, do you mean a Skadirr?”

“A what?”

“A Skadirr. Is that what you mean by ‘evil deadly shadow creature thing’? Well actually ‘evil’ is a bit unfair, they are deadly but usually their deeds are the will of their masters, not their own.” Angie was listening intently now. Perhaps Verne wasn’t losing his mind, she thought. That said, I’m taking this information from a uniquely strange boy who’s quite probably experienced some moderate head trauma, so maybe I shouldn’t come to any conclusions just yet.

“I don’t know if that’s what I mean. What exactly is a ‘Skadia’, did you say?”

“Skadirr,” Robert correctly politely, “are magical constructs that were commonly created by sorcerers of old for the express purpose of discreet assassination or slaughter. Usually taking the appearance of a hooded, cloaked figure woven from shadow, they are ethereal in form and cannot be killed by any mortal means. They are driven by the will of their master and will not stop in the completion of their duty unless ordered to. Due to their nature they do not need to stop to eat, drink or rest. They can inhabit and travel through shadows, and are stronger at night when they seem to be able to feed off the darkness itself. Their reliance on darkness to sustain their power however comes with the price that they cannot move in daylight.”

“Ah. Right…” murmured Angie, half in disbelief and half in deep contemplation. She hadn’t fully understood all of what Robert had said but there were two points that stuck out to her uncomfortably.

“If you d-don’t mind me asking, where did you h-hear about them? They’re only really mentioned briefly in Boeman’s Apocrypha, and as far as I’m aware I’m the only one who’s r-read it.”

“I think one of my friends is being hunted by one. Did you say-?” Angie started, but Robert cut across her, catching her off guard.

“Forgive me, but I think that’s h-highly unlikely! Skadirr haven’t been around for hundreds of years, there’s no s-sorcerers left any more to create them! Not since the Great Magick Cull of 139 AU.”

“No, I know there’s no magicians around these days-” Robert cut across her again, and Angie felt her temper rising.

“Oh, there’s p-plenty of magicians! Did you not see the stalls at the f-festival? Doing card tricks and the sort. I’ve read a few books on card tricks, would you like to see one?”

“No, I would not!” Stamped Angie, lips pursed and hands on hips. “I meant I know there’s no real magic around these days, if there ever was, but that’s not the point! My friend wouldn’t lie about this, and he saw one slaughter half his crew. You said they can’t be killed by ‘any mortal means’, how can they be killed?” Robert cowered slightly at Angie’s rebuke.

“B-Boeman doesn’t say, like I said they’re r-really only mentioned as a footnote in the assassination of Prince Yaseer-”

“I don’t care about Prince Yaseer – you’ve read a lot, tell me how they can be killed and make it brief!”

“Well, um – m-maybe by magic? Or by killing the sorcerer controlling the Skadirr, like with thralls, b-but I’m guessing here!”

“What are thralls? No, forget I asked!” groaned Angie, pre-emptively interrupting Robert as he made to open his mouth. “Neither of those methods are any good, I don’t know anyone capable of magic and I’ve no idea who the sorcerer is. But thank you, I suppose. One last question – how good are Skadirr at hunting their prey? If they were hunting for an object for example, how good are they at finding it?”

“Is the object magical?”

“Why does that matter? And yes.”

“Well, Skadirr are attracted to things imbued with magical essence. For example, one tracked down Prince Yaseer by following the trail left by his enchanted anklet. They can sense magic over hundreds of miles. Um, w-where are you going?” Robert shouted after Angie as she pelted out from the room and took the stairs down three at a time, her heavy boots slamming against the creaking wood. He heard Mrs Gable exclaim loudly as there was a clatter of bottles shattering on the floor downstairs, and he stared out the window as the figure of Angie disappeared at speed down towards the dockyards, hair flailing wildly and boots clomping frantically. There were footsteps on the stairs behind him and he turned around to see the flushed face of Mrs Gable appear in the doorway.

“I’m dreadfully sorry about that dear boy, I don’t know what’s got into Evangeline. Knocked over a display of my finest elixirs and flew out the door without so much as a ‘by your leave’! She’s normally not that rambunctious, I do apologise. Oh Sapphy, there you are!” she crooned, opening her arms to welcome Sapphire down from her perch upon the boxes into her arms. “Did she manage to help you at all sweetie?”

“Um, she d-didn’t really do anything to be honest. We mostly just t-talked.”

“You’ve been up here for over half an hour, my dear – you mean to tell me the two of you were just chatting all that time?”

“Well, she did look at my head at one point. And just before that I fell over.”

“I wondered what the thud was,” mused Mrs Gable. “Well well, I have to say I didn’t think dear Evangeline had it in her to talk to someone her own age for so long. She is sweet and good-natured, don’t get me wrong, but she does have a certain roughness to her at times. She probably inherited her temperament from Captain Verne of course, and very charming on him it is for certain, but on a young lady the personality of a rugged sea captain is not most becoming. Alas, despite my best attempts to find her suitors she just doesn’t listen! She’d much rather be out lancing boils than dancing with boys, ha!” She tittered at her own joke, and Robert took the opportunity to break the endless flow of the woman’s well-mannered chatter.

“I apologise, b-but if there’s no more to be done about my bruising I must be on my way.”

“Oh but of course my dear boy, I’m sorry Evangeline wasn’t able to do much for you. Will you at least have a mug of ginger beer to help the pain before you go?”

“Thank you, but I d-don’t like ginger beer.” Robert replied, taking a step towards the door, eagerly hoping to be free of the woman’s inescapable net of pleasantries.

“You don’t have to be polite sweetie, Angie doesn’t like it and I won’t drink it all so please help yourself to a mug.” Robert didn’t seem to understand why Mrs Gable was labouring the point. He had told her he didn’t like ginger beer and he wasn’t trying to be polite, he just wanted to leave and be on his way from Velayne.[15]

“I d-don’t want to be rude Mrs Gable, but I really m-must be going. I’m afraid I don’t have time for g-ginger beer.”

“Oh, but of course!” Exclaimed Mrs Gable, and Robert sighed gratefully that this seemed to have convinced her to let him go. “Funny how the time flies, the sun’s starting to go down already! I’d better not let a nice boy like yourself wander the streets past dusk, should I?”

Robert turned and looked out the window again as he noticed the sun’s glare fading below the rooftops. The shadows of the buildings opposite were already growing long, stretching out with great speed that suggested they had been waiting for the sun to cease its onslaught all day. Despite himself, Robert couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

“I’ll pour you a bottle for the road, shall I?”

[15] It is a trait of people like Mrs Gable everywhere to refuse to accept that their guest isn’t just ‘being polite’ when they decline an offer of food or drink. Granny Augusta Forsyth had apparently been so infamous for this that any guest of hers invariably left with at least a dinner service, fondue set, and cuddly toy.