appearance. Nor the maternal sympathy, ease-up child,
the little man showed. Or the boy's readiness to get near a stranger.
A small dry hand, with fine sinews, long fingers, she remembered.
He liked it here? Hah! Though the man could hardly write, "My son loathed your cooking and was
contemptuous of your resentfully given hospitality so can I come and tell you so?" even supposing the boy
could indicate that.
To ring or not to ring?
Envision the breeder from the bred, and find if the reality corresponded with the vision?
Hmmm.
She stared at the spiral.
It was reckoned that the old people found inspiration for the double spirals they carved so skilfully, in
uncurling fern fronds: perhaps. But it was an old symbol of rebirth, and the outward-inward nature of things--
Half an hour of your time, my sweet soul. That would be all. You might even learn something new.
She doodled a finger in the centre of the spiral.
You might, says the inner voice, find out where guttersnipe Gillayley lost half his teeth. And get your queen
back into the bargain.
"True," says Kerewin, "I might at that."
"This evening" by Gillayley time, was half past six.
She hears the crunch of gravel through one slit window. It has been a dreary and tiring afternoon, pinching
clay, punching clay, trying to make a worthwhile shape. Nothing grows under her anxious hands. She feels
empty and sour.
To hell, why didn't I ring and say No? Perhaps I could hide and they'll go away?
But she goes down a level, and washes her hands; down another level, and stirs the fire along.
She squints out the livingroom window. Hard to see in the dark, but she can make out two figures, one half
the size of the other. The urchin back as well... let's hope there's not going to be a scene of any kind. Now
why should I think there's going to be a scene?
As she opens the door, Simon stumbles in.
He has apparently been leaning against it, knocking on the wood.
Remembering Piri Tainui's remarks, she had listened for knocking, but it hadn't been audible until she was
nearly into her entrance hall.
Hoowee, remind me to install a bell, an alarm, a photoelectric eye--
she steps to one side to avoid the child's entrance, but not fast enough. He is mysteriously happy to see her,
taking her free hand and kissing it, grinning widely, his eyes sparking green in the lanternlight.
"Uh yeah, and how are you?" embarrassed by this wholehearted greeting, lowering her eyes.
His foot is still bandaged, still lacking a sandal. She raises her gaze, and Simon's gesture leads it on to the
other person, waiting quietly on the threshold.
"Urhh," says Simon -- it is a sound: his fingers snatch at the air and swing abruptly to his throat. The person reaches down and takes hold of his shoulder gently.
"I'm Joseph Gillayley. I'm glad to meet you."
A deep voice. She is looking at the hand, and wondering at the way it has suddenly linked them all.
A dark hand, broad and strong-looking, with neat blunt nails.
Her eyes travel rapidly up the arm and flick to the man's face.
"Hello... o," she gestures with the lantern, and Simon swallows audibly, and draws her hand to his shoulder.
"Kerewin Holmes," she says as their hands touch.
A hard warm hand, and her eyes go back to his face.
He smiles, an amiable grin.
Hell unholy! It's that joker from the pub--
and the pink paper plus the stream of fucks becomes a roaring ribald laugh in her mind. She grins hurriedly
back. You and your berloody doorway Vikings Holmes, and uptight dignities... though it's a nice grin, merry
as his fosterling's, it must be fostered, and her smile grows, rounding her cheeks and squinching her eyes
narrow.
"And I'm very glad to meet you," she says, the laughter in her mind sneaking into her voice. "Both," she adds to the boy, and he
chuckles, strange little sound in the shadows.
Joseph Gillayley laughs quietly, bassing behind it.
"Well come!" says Kerewin. "Come on up. There's coffee at the top, and it'll
the little man showed. Or the boy's readiness to get near a stranger.
A small dry hand, with fine sinews, long fingers, she remembered.
He liked it here? Hah! Though the man could hardly write, "My son loathed your cooking and was
contemptuous of your resentfully given hospitality so can I come and tell you so?" even supposing the boy
could indicate that.
To ring or not to ring?
Envision the breeder from the bred, and find if the reality corresponded with the vision?
Hmmm.
She stared at the spiral.
It was reckoned that the old people found inspiration for the double spirals they carved so skilfully, in
uncurling fern fronds: perhaps. But it was an old symbol of rebirth, and the outward-inward nature of things--
Half an hour of your time, my sweet soul. That would be all. You might even learn something new.
She doodled a finger in the centre of the spiral.
You might, says the inner voice, find out where guttersnipe Gillayley lost half his teeth. And get your queen
back into the bargain.
"True," says Kerewin, "I might at that."
"This evening" by Gillayley time, was half past six.
She hears the crunch of gravel through one slit window. It has been a dreary and tiring afternoon, pinching
clay, punching clay, trying to make a worthwhile shape. Nothing grows under her anxious hands. She feels
empty and sour.
To hell, why didn't I ring and say No? Perhaps I could hide and they'll go away?
But she goes down a level, and washes her hands; down another level, and stirs the fire along.
She squints out the livingroom window. Hard to see in the dark, but she can make out two figures, one half
the size of the other. The urchin back as well... let's hope there's not going to be a scene of any kind. Now
why should I think there's going to be a scene?
As she opens the door, Simon stumbles in.
He has apparently been leaning against it, knocking on the wood.
Remembering Piri Tainui's remarks, she had listened for knocking, but it hadn't been audible until she was
nearly into her entrance hall.
Hoowee, remind me to install a bell, an alarm, a photoelectric eye--
she steps to one side to avoid the child's entrance, but not fast enough. He is mysteriously happy to see her,
taking her free hand and kissing it, grinning widely, his eyes sparking green in the lanternlight.
"Uh yeah, and how are you?" embarrassed by this wholehearted greeting, lowering her eyes.
His foot is still bandaged, still lacking a sandal. She raises her gaze, and Simon's gesture leads it on to the
other person, waiting quietly on the threshold.
"Urhh," says Simon -- it is a sound: his fingers snatch at the air and swing abruptly to his throat. The person reaches down and takes hold of his shoulder gently.
"I'm Joseph Gillayley. I'm glad to meet you."
A deep voice. She is looking at the hand, and wondering at the way it has suddenly linked them all.
A dark hand, broad and strong-looking, with neat blunt nails.
Her eyes travel rapidly up the arm and flick to the man's face.
"Hello... o," she gestures with the lantern, and Simon swallows audibly, and draws her hand to his shoulder.
"Kerewin Holmes," she says as their hands touch.
A hard warm hand, and her eyes go back to his face.
He smiles, an amiable grin.
Hell unholy! It's that joker from the pub--
and the pink paper plus the stream of fucks becomes a roaring ribald laugh in her mind. She grins hurriedly
back. You and your berloody doorway Vikings Holmes, and uptight dignities... though it's a nice grin, merry
as his fosterling's, it must be fostered, and her smile grows, rounding her cheeks and squinching her eyes
narrow.
"And I'm very glad to meet you," she says, the laughter in her mind sneaking into her voice. "Both," she adds to the boy, and he
chuckles, strange little sound in the shadows.
Joseph Gillayley laughs quietly, bassing behind it.
"Well come!" says Kerewin. "Come on up. There's coffee at the top, and it'll
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