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Authors: G.P. Taylor
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two fledglings to be out at night and snapped up by foxes. It is a dangerous place since the coming of the comet and the sky-quake. Many people lost their lives and so will many more.’ Barghast waved his cape back and forth like the wing of a huge bird trying to scoop its prey beneath. Beadle shivered as he tried to smile at the man.
‘Then we are pleased with your company,’ Raphah saidquickly, before Beadle could reply. ‘To the inn,’ he continued, hoping not to give the slightest glimpse of suspicion that filled his heart.
Barghast walked slightly before them, his head bowed low as if to stoop to their height. As he walked, Beadle thought the man looked like a gigantic bird that nodded and pecked as it walked.
‘From your accent, Mister Beadle, I would say that you come from Baytown?’ Barghast guessed as he strolled on.
‘Nearby,’ said Beadle with a nod. ‘Nearby but not too far away.’
‘Not a place that I would choose to visit for myself. I once passed through but never again. Had business with the parson. Demurral … Have you heard of him?’
‘And you, sir, from where do you hail?’ Raphah asked as he walked at a wary distance, two paces to his side, and ignoring the man’s question.
‘Did someone once say, birds have nests and foxes their holes, but I have nowhere to lay my head? Then that truth would be mine. I am a wanderer, always have been and always will be. Never will I rest until I have travelled every road that man has made and then walked them all again.’ He paused and gazed at the stars in a melancholic way as he rubbed his long, wolf-like nose with the sharp tip of his finger. ‘If I had only given him rest, then life would have been so different.’ Barghast muttered and then snorted a sly and sorrowful laugh. ‘I take it from your direction that you seek a coach to take you to Peveril?’
‘We seek a coach and …’ Beadle attempted to reply before Raphah spoke above him.
‘We too are travellers and will go the easiest road to the furthest place.’ He tried to laugh but could only give a very unconvincing snigger. ‘We’ll walk with you until the inn and then our ways will surely part. You look like a man that would only travelwithin a coach and we’re so poor that a journey on the coach roof wrapped in a horse blanket beckons.’
‘Then let us walk. Perhaps you will have news that interests me? Since the sky-quake and the comet, things have changed in this world. I passed many a bare hovel and shack. ’Tis as if the whole land has emptied itself for fear of another curse falling from the sky. Met a man the other day that said he would never venture forth from his house for fear of the whole sky falling upon him. He’s taken to wearing ladies’ clothes and painting his face – sadly he had not shaved the beard from his chin, which gave him a disturbing countenance.’ Barghast spoke slowly, his eyes glowing in the night.
Ahead, by the crossroads, the sound of the inn grew closer. Glimmering flag-lights quickly came into view as the three walked silently on. There was something unnerving and yet comforting about Barghast. He reminded Beadle of a man he had once met after a shipwreck in Whitby. The man had travelled from the east of Europe and had been washed ashore during a squall that had sunk his vessel. He and a black dog had been the only creatures to survive the beating of the sea. Like Barghast, he had that gaunt look of one who neither slept nor ate. Also like Barghast he had the same penetrating eyes that shone like two full blue moons set within darkened rims.
As they approached the inn they could see a pack of languid coach hounds sleeping by the stable door. The beasts crowded together to keep out the night cold. Behind them was a smouldering forge from which hot embers were lifted upwards by the breeze like fly-sparks. For the travellers, the scene murmured contentment and peace. A fat, drunken man belched merrily upon a milking stool by the
‘Then we are pleased with your company,’ Raphah saidquickly, before Beadle could reply. ‘To the inn,’ he continued, hoping not to give the slightest glimpse of suspicion that filled his heart.
Barghast walked slightly before them, his head bowed low as if to stoop to their height. As he walked, Beadle thought the man looked like a gigantic bird that nodded and pecked as it walked.
‘From your accent, Mister Beadle, I would say that you come from Baytown?’ Barghast guessed as he strolled on.
‘Nearby,’ said Beadle with a nod. ‘Nearby but not too far away.’
‘Not a place that I would choose to visit for myself. I once passed through but never again. Had business with the parson. Demurral … Have you heard of him?’
‘And you, sir, from where do you hail?’ Raphah asked as he walked at a wary distance, two paces to his side, and ignoring the man’s question.
‘Did someone once say, birds have nests and foxes their holes, but I have nowhere to lay my head? Then that truth would be mine. I am a wanderer, always have been and always will be. Never will I rest until I have travelled every road that man has made and then walked them all again.’ He paused and gazed at the stars in a melancholic way as he rubbed his long, wolf-like nose with the sharp tip of his finger. ‘If I had only given him rest, then life would have been so different.’ Barghast muttered and then snorted a sly and sorrowful laugh. ‘I take it from your direction that you seek a coach to take you to Peveril?’
‘We seek a coach and …’ Beadle attempted to reply before Raphah spoke above him.
‘We too are travellers and will go the easiest road to the furthest place.’ He tried to laugh but could only give a very unconvincing snigger. ‘We’ll walk with you until the inn and then our ways will surely part. You look like a man that would only travelwithin a coach and we’re so poor that a journey on the coach roof wrapped in a horse blanket beckons.’
‘Then let us walk. Perhaps you will have news that interests me? Since the sky-quake and the comet, things have changed in this world. I passed many a bare hovel and shack. ’Tis as if the whole land has emptied itself for fear of another curse falling from the sky. Met a man the other day that said he would never venture forth from his house for fear of the whole sky falling upon him. He’s taken to wearing ladies’ clothes and painting his face – sadly he had not shaved the beard from his chin, which gave him a disturbing countenance.’ Barghast spoke slowly, his eyes glowing in the night.
Ahead, by the crossroads, the sound of the inn grew closer. Glimmering flag-lights quickly came into view as the three walked silently on. There was something unnerving and yet comforting about Barghast. He reminded Beadle of a man he had once met after a shipwreck in Whitby. The man had travelled from the east of Europe and had been washed ashore during a squall that had sunk his vessel. He and a black dog had been the only creatures to survive the beating of the sea. Like Barghast, he had that gaunt look of one who neither slept nor ate. Also like Barghast he had the same penetrating eyes that shone like two full blue moons set within darkened rims.
As they approached the inn they could see a pack of languid coach hounds sleeping by the stable door. The beasts crowded together to keep out the night cold. Behind them was a smouldering forge from which hot embers were lifted upwards by the breeze like fly-sparks. For the travellers, the scene murmured contentment and peace. A fat, drunken man belched merrily upon a milking stool by the
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