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Authors: F E Higgins
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the
truth.’
‘He’s thrown another family out on the streets, you
know,’ they would continue, undeterred by Joe’s apparent
indifference. ‘At least, he had those brutes do it for him.
They wear masks over their faces so we don’t know who
they are. And for the sake of a few pennies’ rent, Mr Zabbidou.
It’s not right.’
If they expected Joe to do something about it, they were
disappointed. He merely shook his head sadly.
‘A terrible business,’ he said. ‘A truly terrible business.’
Chapter Sixteen
Fragment from
The Memoirs of Ludlow Fitch
The City was grey from dirt and disease; Pagus Parvus
existed in a grey light that was cast by clouds that never
seemed to go away. I soon learned the weather in the region
varied little from what I had experienced the night I
arrived. Sitting as it was on the exposed side of a mountain,
covered in snow eight months out of twelve and rained on
for the other four, Pagus Parvus was not popular with outsiders,
and those who lived there left it rarely. Although
rumours had reached them of a vehicle that moved by itself,
they had not yet seen one of these great iron beasts, and the
parallel tracks it rode on were not coming in the direction
of Pagus Parvus. If given a choice Pagus Parvians preferredto travel by horse and carriage, but that was a privilege of
the few, so mainly they were on foot.
If it had not been for Joe there was little to keep me
here, but still I began to think of it as home. My days as a
pickpocket were long over and I was glad not to have to
thieve any more. I continued to wear Ratchet’s gloves and
scarf, however. It was worth it to see how he stared whenever
we met.
At night, after supper, we would sit by the fire and talk.
We discussed many things but seldom reached any conclusions.
Joe was a man of few expressions; his face rarely gave
anything away, although he became quite animated when we
talked about Saluki. That frog was treated like a queen. Joe
fed her the finest bugs and snails and worms and the Sourdough
boys were up almost every day just to fuss over her.
We also talked about Jeremiah Ratchet. Whenever the
shop bell rang I had taken to guessing whether it would
be a pledge or merely another complaint about Jeremiah.
The blustering buffoon had practically the whole village
beholden to him. He seemed to spend his days either threatening
to evict his tenants or sending his masked men to do
just that. Every time I heard his name I became more andmore frustrated that no one in the village seemed willing,
or able, to challenge him.
‘Why do you think the villagers tell you so much about
Jeremiah Ratchet?’ I asked Joe.
‘Because they are impatient.’
It was a typically brief reply. Sometimes conversations
with Joe were like riddles.
‘Jeremiah,’ he continued, ‘is a heavy burden for a small
place like this.’
‘Then why don’t they do something? There are enough
of them.’
Joe shook his head. ‘Jeremiah is a cunning fellow. Each
person is so caught up with his own predicament that he
cannot see true strength is in the crowd. To overthrow Jeremiah
they must work together, but he has them divided and
held hostage to their fears. They believe he has informers
in the village.’
‘Surely the villagers wouldn’t betray each other?’
‘No doubt they are forced to,’ said Joe. ‘And because
they cannot trust each other then they are unwilling to plot
against Jeremiah in case he finds out. They talk to me
because I am a stranger and Jeremiah has no hold over me.In their desperation they think I might save them from that
scoundrel.’
‘And will you?’ I asked. Silently I willed Joe to take him
on.
‘However bad the situation, I cannot change the course
of things,’ he replied and would not be drawn on the subject
any further.
I cannot count the number of times Joe said this. It
always left me wondering: was he suggesting that he knew
the course of things? And although he maintained that he
was unwilling to
truth.’
‘He’s thrown another family out on the streets, you
know,’ they would continue, undeterred by Joe’s apparent
indifference. ‘At least, he had those brutes do it for him.
They wear masks over their faces so we don’t know who
they are. And for the sake of a few pennies’ rent, Mr Zabbidou.
It’s not right.’
If they expected Joe to do something about it, they were
disappointed. He merely shook his head sadly.
‘A terrible business,’ he said. ‘A truly terrible business.’
Chapter Sixteen
Fragment from
The Memoirs of Ludlow Fitch
The City was grey from dirt and disease; Pagus Parvus
existed in a grey light that was cast by clouds that never
seemed to go away. I soon learned the weather in the region
varied little from what I had experienced the night I
arrived. Sitting as it was on the exposed side of a mountain,
covered in snow eight months out of twelve and rained on
for the other four, Pagus Parvus was not popular with outsiders,
and those who lived there left it rarely. Although
rumours had reached them of a vehicle that moved by itself,
they had not yet seen one of these great iron beasts, and the
parallel tracks it rode on were not coming in the direction
of Pagus Parvus. If given a choice Pagus Parvians preferredto travel by horse and carriage, but that was a privilege of
the few, so mainly they were on foot.
If it had not been for Joe there was little to keep me
here, but still I began to think of it as home. My days as a
pickpocket were long over and I was glad not to have to
thieve any more. I continued to wear Ratchet’s gloves and
scarf, however. It was worth it to see how he stared whenever
we met.
At night, after supper, we would sit by the fire and talk.
We discussed many things but seldom reached any conclusions.
Joe was a man of few expressions; his face rarely gave
anything away, although he became quite animated when we
talked about Saluki. That frog was treated like a queen. Joe
fed her the finest bugs and snails and worms and the Sourdough
boys were up almost every day just to fuss over her.
We also talked about Jeremiah Ratchet. Whenever the
shop bell rang I had taken to guessing whether it would
be a pledge or merely another complaint about Jeremiah.
The blustering buffoon had practically the whole village
beholden to him. He seemed to spend his days either threatening
to evict his tenants or sending his masked men to do
just that. Every time I heard his name I became more andmore frustrated that no one in the village seemed willing,
or able, to challenge him.
‘Why do you think the villagers tell you so much about
Jeremiah Ratchet?’ I asked Joe.
‘Because they are impatient.’
It was a typically brief reply. Sometimes conversations
with Joe were like riddles.
‘Jeremiah,’ he continued, ‘is a heavy burden for a small
place like this.’
‘Then why don’t they do something? There are enough
of them.’
Joe shook his head. ‘Jeremiah is a cunning fellow. Each
person is so caught up with his own predicament that he
cannot see true strength is in the crowd. To overthrow Jeremiah
they must work together, but he has them divided and
held hostage to their fears. They believe he has informers
in the village.’
‘Surely the villagers wouldn’t betray each other?’
‘No doubt they are forced to,’ said Joe. ‘And because
they cannot trust each other then they are unwilling to plot
against Jeremiah in case he finds out. They talk to me
because I am a stranger and Jeremiah has no hold over me.In their desperation they think I might save them from that
scoundrel.’
‘And will you?’ I asked. Silently I willed Joe to take him
on.
‘However bad the situation, I cannot change the course
of things,’ he replied and would not be drawn on the subject
any further.
I cannot count the number of times Joe said this. It
always left me wondering: was he suggesting that he knew
the course of things? And although he maintained that he
was unwilling to
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