Sgt. Janus Returns by Jim Beard

Author:Jim Beard [Beard, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780615951980
Goodreads: 20588412
Publisher: Flinch Books
Published: 2020-06-15T05:00:00+00:00

Before we had left, I put the top up on the automobile, for it looked like rain.

My lady settled herself beside me on the seat, all done up in a tweed suit, longcoat, and with a cap on her head underneath which she had stuffed her long, raven hair. This affectation had become something of a habit for her since our last adventure. Sadly, I was witnessing the last dregs of her femininity fall away to be replaced by a more staid persona. My lady carried herself quite differently now.

As we sped away from Janus House and Mount Airy, she directed me to drive westward, despite the nasty, angry storm clouds that were gathering there in the sky. I figured we’d meet them before long and was glad I’d put the top up.

With a few miles behind us, I was wondering to myself whether it was to be another ride about the countryside in mutual silence when my lady surprised me by speaking.

“Joshua,” she said, “I know we’ve had a rough patch or two, but I assure you that I am indeed feeling very strong now. Those moments of…weakness are behind me. I’m much more myself these days and would like to try and resume my full activities.”

That inspired a hot flash of anger in me and I bit down on my tongue until I could stand it no longer; I made up my mind there and then to let her have a significant piece of it.

Suddenly, a signpost appeared up ahead of us and my attention wandered toward it. It read “Pitcairn.”

I realized I was lost again.

We continued to drive for several more miles, passing around and through a string of little towns with names like “Porten,” “Samovar,” “Raleighsburg,” and “Casperinius.” I asked my lady if she cared to stop in one of them so that I might gather my wits and get us back on to a major thoroughfare, but a flash of lightning and a peal of thunder heralded an impromptu course change.

At a little wooden sign by the side of the road that pointed to “Hope’s Puddle” some three miles to the north, my lady suddenly shouted for me to turn the motorcar toward it.

Fighting to keep us upright, I made the turn and we resumed our speed, heading in the direction of either fate or foolishness, but more than likely given our recent history, a bit of both.

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