story.â
Zakora looks to Brother Xavier and smiles.
Angelica loves few things better than to pile strawberries, ice cream and chocolate sauce onto a tower of steaming waffles (Mrs M knows exactly how she likes them: crisp on the edges, soft in the middle).
âCrunchy on the outside, smooth on the inside, just like an armadillo, is that not so, princess?â jokes the mayor, sitting at the far end of the table in the breakfast room.
âThatâs not funny anymore,â mumbles his daughter, her mouth full of sugary food, cream and chocolate sauce dribbling onto her chubby chin. âIâm eighteen and your jokes are not funny.â
The mayor sighs and sips his tea. He takes an envelope from his jacket pocket and taps it on the table. His daughter ignores him.
âWouldnât you like to know what I have here?â
âWhy would I?â asks Angelica without looking up, shovelling strawberries and waffle into her mouth.
âThis letter is from the County Judiciary,â he says in his most pompous mayoral voice, âthe body responsible for female prisons.â
Angelica stops mid-chew, wondering where this might lead.
âNow that you have turned eighteen you are of an age to visit the gaol.â
He looks to her for a reaction. Her mouth has fallen open as she begins to comprehend the implication of what he has said.
âAnd, yes, prisoners numbered 2367 and 2368 have agreed to you visiting.â
âPerch and Carp!â shrieks Angelica, spraying waffle and mush in her excitement.
âAnd the next visit is ⦠wait for it ⦠tomorrow.â
She lumbers around the table and falls upon her fatherâs neck.
âYou did it for me, you did it. You are the best papa in the world.â
âLike an armadillo?â asks the mayor.
âYes, like an armadillo ⦠and I do like that joke. I do. It is so funny, Papa, so funny.â
This is a time of fear in the Greater Province. Every new day brings rumours of conflict at home and abroad. New sicknesses spring up unannounced. There is the quiet whisper of plague, like poison being dripped into the ear of the listener. Funerals multiply. Prices at market and wharf fall daily, yet traders and politicians grow wealthy. The land seethes with discontent. Children close their minds and hearts to their parents. Elders lose their place and status in society. In the midst of it all, a seeming oasis nestled on the edge of the land, Tidetown goes on as Tidetown always has. It is as if the town has a special immunity, a solidity and resilience at its core that keeps it apart, that enables it to resist all that is outside, all that circles beyond. It makes its own laws to suit its folk. It turns its diurnal course in the face of all that surrounds it. Today the election date is announced, with six hopefuls standing against the mayor. Yet he is the patriarch. The benign. But no fool is he, happy to share crumbs from his table, so long as he keeps the loaf.
As Angelica walks along the long echoing passage, she takes in every sight, every smell, every sound. Itâs all sheâd hoped for, all sheâd imagined. A heady mix of The Castle of Otranto , Bedlam, and all the workhouses that ever were, with their oakum picking and sad poets on treadmills. High grey walls of solid stone. Corridors of mysterious and heavily bolted doors. Cold flagstones underfoot, empty space above that disappears into blackened voids. She is led down a steep stairwell to a tiny room where she is asked to sit at a table. The one small window is high above, the hazy shaft of light highlighting the immense thickness of the walls.
A side door opens and there they are: the Fishcutter twins, led into the room by a stockily built female guard who beckons them to sit at the two chairs opposite Angelica. Angelica is dumbstruck, even though the twins barely seem to notice she is there. The guard sits down next to her on the fourth
Zakora looks to Brother Xavier and smiles.
Angelica loves few things better than to pile strawberries, ice cream and chocolate sauce onto a tower of steaming waffles (Mrs M knows exactly how she likes them: crisp on the edges, soft in the middle).
âCrunchy on the outside, smooth on the inside, just like an armadillo, is that not so, princess?â jokes the mayor, sitting at the far end of the table in the breakfast room.
âThatâs not funny anymore,â mumbles his daughter, her mouth full of sugary food, cream and chocolate sauce dribbling onto her chubby chin. âIâm eighteen and your jokes are not funny.â
The mayor sighs and sips his tea. He takes an envelope from his jacket pocket and taps it on the table. His daughter ignores him.
âWouldnât you like to know what I have here?â
âWhy would I?â asks Angelica without looking up, shovelling strawberries and waffle into her mouth.
âThis letter is from the County Judiciary,â he says in his most pompous mayoral voice, âthe body responsible for female prisons.â
Angelica stops mid-chew, wondering where this might lead.
âNow that you have turned eighteen you are of an age to visit the gaol.â
He looks to her for a reaction. Her mouth has fallen open as she begins to comprehend the implication of what he has said.
âAnd, yes, prisoners numbered 2367 and 2368 have agreed to you visiting.â
âPerch and Carp!â shrieks Angelica, spraying waffle and mush in her excitement.
âAnd the next visit is ⦠wait for it ⦠tomorrow.â
She lumbers around the table and falls upon her fatherâs neck.
âYou did it for me, you did it. You are the best papa in the world.â
âLike an armadillo?â asks the mayor.
âYes, like an armadillo ⦠and I do like that joke. I do. It is so funny, Papa, so funny.â
This is a time of fear in the Greater Province. Every new day brings rumours of conflict at home and abroad. New sicknesses spring up unannounced. There is the quiet whisper of plague, like poison being dripped into the ear of the listener. Funerals multiply. Prices at market and wharf fall daily, yet traders and politicians grow wealthy. The land seethes with discontent. Children close their minds and hearts to their parents. Elders lose their place and status in society. In the midst of it all, a seeming oasis nestled on the edge of the land, Tidetown goes on as Tidetown always has. It is as if the town has a special immunity, a solidity and resilience at its core that keeps it apart, that enables it to resist all that is outside, all that circles beyond. It makes its own laws to suit its folk. It turns its diurnal course in the face of all that surrounds it. Today the election date is announced, with six hopefuls standing against the mayor. Yet he is the patriarch. The benign. But no fool is he, happy to share crumbs from his table, so long as he keeps the loaf.
As Angelica walks along the long echoing passage, she takes in every sight, every smell, every sound. Itâs all sheâd hoped for, all sheâd imagined. A heady mix of The Castle of Otranto , Bedlam, and all the workhouses that ever were, with their oakum picking and sad poets on treadmills. High grey walls of solid stone. Corridors of mysterious and heavily bolted doors. Cold flagstones underfoot, empty space above that disappears into blackened voids. She is led down a steep stairwell to a tiny room where she is asked to sit at a table. The one small window is high above, the hazy shaft of light highlighting the immense thickness of the walls.
A side door opens and there they are: the Fishcutter twins, led into the room by a stockily built female guard who beckons them to sit at the two chairs opposite Angelica. Angelica is dumbstruck, even though the twins barely seem to notice she is there. The guard sits down next to her on the fourth
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