Maggie MacKeever by Vampire Bespelled

Author:Vampire, Bespelled [Bespelled, Vampire,]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Thou art a bitter bird, said the raven to the starling.—Romanian proverb

It was a lovely day, said Cedric, for a gentle stroll; or as lovely a day as Edinburgh might be expected to provide; and he was eager to show his companions around the town. Ceddie knew a great deal about Edinburgh, his mother having hailed from here-abouts, as result of which he had spent a considerable amount of time in the city during his younger years. And not just his younger years; if memory served (and it didn’t always), he had visited Edinburgh a mere few months back. He hadn’t been in Edinburgh when his cousin Charlie died, however; Ceddie recalled distinctly that he had travelled to France, along with a great many of his fellow Englishmen, there to witness firsthand the ravages of Napoleon’s ambition and more importantly—to Ceddie, at any rate—sample a variety of fine French brandies. He hadn’t done without brandy during the long years of war, due to an enterprising band of smugglers that operated near the family seat on the Kentish coast; but there was nothing like drinking from the source.

And so Ceddie had done just that. Since he told no one of his travel plans, some little time had passed before he could be first located and then sobered up sufficiently to grasp the news of his inheritance. Sad news it had been, because Ceddie had admired his charming cousin Charlie; but good news also because it meant he now owned a London house. Ceddie could have bought any number of London houses, had he wished, his pockets were so plump; but he had never got around to it. Had never been sober enough to get around to it, if truth be told. Though Ceddie might be a devotee of Bacchus, he was nobody’s pigeon for the plucking, and refused to conduct any business whilst under the influence of the grape or grain, which meant that—so often was Ceddie under the influence—business seldom got done.

He paused, briefly, for breath. Said the fairest of his companions, “Fancy that!” The second of his companions didn’t speak at all, being sunk in gloom.

Ceddie sympathized. If Monk Melchers had been his uncle, he would have been sunk in gloom, too. Even Ceddie, who tended to believe the best of everyone, couldn’t help but consider Monk a deuced rum touch.

Most often, Ceddie managed not to consider Monk at all. Or anything else of an unpleasant nature. He pointed out to his companions the delights of the Royal Mile. In addition to Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood, the Tron Church was worthy of remark, as were the Tolbooth and St. Giles. Of almost as much interest were the Lawnmarket and Gladstone’s Land; the John Knox House, beyond which was located the Old Netherbow Port, which had once had two round stone towers, with a gate between; and beyond that the Canongate.

Edinburgh once had any number of ports, explained Ceddie. Frequently heads, limbs and sometimes entire bodies had been displayed

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