Be Prepared.
When Samuel found out I’d been down to the market to meet Challoner on my own, he went a bit funny. He said I’d taken an unnecessary risk. I agree it’s a bit rough down there, but I thought he was going a bit far.
“There are people who go to those markets who don’t like us.” He said.
“There were people who didn’t like you.” I told him. “And I would have let you know, but you were still sulking about Reeves.”
Samuel, ever since I told him about Friday, has been wondering what to do about Alex Reeves. At least one of the thick-necks who beat him up is in the employ of the millionaire magician, one of the most powerful men in their elite. I had questions to ask Samuel about what happened that night, but Enright’s resurrection interested him about as much as a makeover show. He doesn’t know why Reeves would want him hurt, or worse. I suppose compared to that, when he’s dealt with magic for seventy years, Enright’s brief suicide is like a Punch and Judy show – divertingly violent, but old fashioned fun.
We spent two hours today doing martial arts, at the end of which I wanted to throw up. Samuel almost broke my arm, showing me how to defend myself. He said my body was like jelly on a stick – which I thought sounded nice. That was lesson one.
When we were done I had to put up with Chris in the kitchen, asking me why Angela’s so keen to stay, what’s keeping her here, what’s wrong with him, like I’m Trisha or something. He doesn’t get what she’s looking for.
“It’s not another man.” He said, confidently. “Right? I mean, she’s told me that much.”
“I don’t know why she’s here.” I said. I realise now that’s actually true, but at the time I just wanted Chris to shut up while I ate some sugar.
“What’s the attraction? That guy?”
Norman had emerged from feeding the rats in the study and was locking the door. He turned to find us staring at him, and there passed a mute moment of mutual consideration. And then Norman went upstairs to watch Diagnosis Murder.
“She’s rather be with that Viking than come home.” Chris whined. I put this down to beard envy. Angela and Norman are close, but only because they don’t know anyone else. It’s not as though they’re in a special magic club together. Angela can tell me even less about Friday than Samuel’s tight lips have given away. Norman, as usual, knows nothing – but he was at least excited by the prospect of magic recovering, and he’s taught me how to make pizza from scratch.
Still no word from Challoner. His hotel say only that he’s not in his room.
“There are people who go to those markets who don’t like us.” He said.
“There were people who didn’t like you.” I told him. “And I would have let you know, but you were still sulking about Reeves.”
Samuel, ever since I told him about Friday, has been wondering what to do about Alex Reeves. At least one of the thick-necks who beat him up is in the employ of the millionaire magician, one of the most powerful men in their elite. I had questions to ask Samuel about what happened that night, but Enright’s resurrection interested him about as much as a makeover show. He doesn’t know why Reeves would want him hurt, or worse. I suppose compared to that, when he’s dealt with magic for seventy years, Enright’s brief suicide is like a Punch and Judy show – divertingly violent, but old fashioned fun.
We spent two hours today doing martial arts, at the end of which I wanted to throw up. Samuel almost broke my arm, showing me how to defend myself. He said my body was like jelly on a stick – which I thought sounded nice. That was lesson one.
When we were done I had to put up with Chris in the kitchen, asking me why Angela’s so keen to stay, what’s keeping her here, what’s wrong with him, like I’m Trisha or something. He doesn’t get what she’s looking for.
“It’s not another man.” He said, confidently. “Right? I mean, she’s told me that much.”
“I don’t know why she’s here.” I said. I realise now that’s actually true, but at the time I just wanted Chris to shut up while I ate some sugar.
“What’s the attraction? That guy?”
Norman had emerged from feeding the rats in the study and was locking the door. He turned to find us staring at him, and there passed a mute moment of mutual consideration. And then Norman went upstairs to watch Diagnosis Murder.
“She’s rather be with that Viking than come home.” Chris whined. I put this down to beard envy. Angela and Norman are close, but only because they don’t know anyone else. It’s not as though they’re in a special magic club together. Angela can tell me even less about Friday than Samuel’s tight lips have given away. Norman, as usual, knows nothing – but he was at least excited by the prospect of magic recovering, and he’s taught me how to make pizza from scratch.
Still no word from Challoner. His hotel say only that he’s not in his room.
posted by The son of Edward Fold at 11:05 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home