Of Machines & Magics by Adele Abbot

Author:Adele Abbot [Abbot, Adele]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: science fiction, fantasy, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯), sci-fi, steampunk, Adele Abbot, Barking Rain Press
Publisher: Barking Rain Press
Published: 2012-04-03T14:00:00+00:00

“Look at these, Roli! Oysters! Now these are good eating—good enough to eat raw. Ponderos picked up a handful and with his knife prized one open, scooped out the meat and popped it in his mouth. He swallowed and quickly followed the first with two more. “Excellent. Try one.”

Roli turned the corners of his mouth downward. “They’re alive, Ponderos. Drop them in boiling water for a minute and I might try them then but not raw, not alive.”

“I tell you Roli, there’s nothing finer. Some black pepper, a dash of sour wine as well; truly a dish from the gods.”

“When they’re cooked. Let’s collect enough for a good meal and then eat.”

Ponderos shrugged and bent to help his companion. When they straightened up again, each with an armful of silver white shells, they found five or six men regarding them from the shore.

“You’d best put them back,” said one. “Then we needn’t add thievery to trespass.”

“Thievery! Collecting shellfish from the river? Come now, let’s be sensible.”

Three crossbows appeared as if by magic. Their silent argument was effective.

“Well, let’s be reasonable about this,” Ponderos bent and laid the oysters back in the water. “I mean how were we to know this was a, er, a farm? Is there a sign?”

“A crime isn’t cancelled by ignorance, young man. Come along now.” The spokesman waved the point of his crossbow to indicate they should come out of the river. “This way and we’ll see what First has to say.”

Ponderos and Roli were persuaded to walk along the shore until a few hundred paces further on they suddenly saw what had been there all the time: a small village built of driftwood. The ancient timber, bleached as grey as the weather-worn granite, was virtually invisible until the eye knew it was there. Doorways were built from rounded river stones and roofs laid with split slates from the river bed. Even the grey smoke from the grey chimney stacks was largely invisible against the valley wall.

The column halted in front of a particularly ancient house, so tumble-down that it seemed more like a heap of storm tossed branches than a dwelling.

“Ho there, First. We have a pair of filchers here for you to judge.”

Nothing happened for several seconds, then planks were pushed aside and a head appeared, it was almost bald on top with a straggly beard beneath. “What?” he asked. “What they been after?”

“Pilfering our best oysters. That’s what they’ve been after.”

“Oysters, eh?” First grinned a wide but gap-toothed grin, the teeth which were left were interesting shades of yellow and green. He climbed all the way out of his ramshackle home, a tall emaciated figure wrapped in course grey cloth and strode across into the space enclosed by the houses. “Filchers, eh? Tie their hands.”

“People!” He shouted. “Everyone. Young girls, go to where such things grow and gather onions and leeks, potatoes and sour cabbage and crisp water lettuce. Women, gather oysters. Men, go to the brew house and broach a barrel of sweet ale.

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