Malta is getting steadily hotter though it's not as bad as I've known it be -- yet. August tends to be the worst month so we've got a few weeks to go yet. It's not dropping below 22-23C at night though, so sleep is becoming harder.
Does Canada actually have any slums? I would have thought your winters precluded any of that... :)
In the slums "A car seems unnecessary to go to Whitehall," said Ernest as he opened the passenger side door and got in. Samual half-smiled. "After all, it's just a couple of streets away." "What would people think if they saw Lord Derby walking about?" said Samual. "They'd think, 'oh, there's someone else about their business,' I expect." "But you're not about your business, are you? You're about the King's business." Ernest smiled. "Touche, Samual."
Rows of poorly built houses leaned on one another; walls put up in a hurry a hundred years ago and only intended to serve for a matter of months. Roofs were missing slates in patches and timbers were exposed, slowly rotting in the damp London air. The streets between the rows were narrow, usually mud slick with nightsoil, stale, and sometimes the filthy grey rain. People clustered here and there, their clothes tattered and patched, as dirty as their skin. The smell was overwhelming: an initial ammoniac stench laid over something organic, rich, almost sweet in a nauseating manner. Three-day old raw chicken left in bright sunlight would have brought a refreshing note to the miasma. In a room four shaky stories above the street with walls of exposed brick and greyish, wet-looking floorboards that creaked softly, two women sat crosslegged, facing one another. They were both wearing coarse, sackcloth tunics and breeches and leather ankle-high boots. It would take a discerning eye to spot that underneath the sackcloth were silk vests and undergarments, and that the boots were hand-stitched and deliberately dirtied -- and anyone staring for that long would attract the attention of the pair. Those attuned to the sources of magic that flowed through the world would have been stepping cautiously backwards, rubbing at the raised hairs on their arms: the two women were weaving flows of power together delicately. When you knew this, you might find the tiny pewter pins pressed into the decaying floorboards; the power was directed around them, sometimes many times, gradually forming the kind of elaborate, decorative knot found in very few books. As the knot pulled tight the air between them shimmered like there was a source of heat below it, and then turned the dead, featureless grey colour of nothingness. And into the nothingness one of the women dropped just a little mathematics.
As Samual drew the car to a halt in Scotland Yard, the Eastern end of the Whitehall complex, there were several men unloading a dray. Lord Derby started to thank Samual, and stopped in mid-word, staring at the men who were backing off hurriedly from the cart. A barrel was abandoned on end and the men turned and ran. "What?" said Samual, also staring. Lord Derby pointed upwards; a bat-winged, rhinocerous-snouted creature the size of a horse was plunging down from the sky, four taloned arms clawing madly in front of it.
Greg - yeah it's getting annoying hot here as well. It's supposed to be 36 several times over the course of the next week.
No, not really any slums. Trailer parks would be the closest thing, I suppose...
Love the descriptions here, of the two women and their activity in particular. But also, obviously, the dropping of the bat rhino horse from the sky was the best part :D
2 comments:
Malta is getting steadily hotter though it's not as bad as I've known it be -- yet. August tends to be the worst month so we've got a few weeks to go yet. It's not dropping below 22-23C at night though, so sleep is becoming harder.
Does Canada actually have any slums? I would have thought your winters precluded any of that... :)
In the slums
"A car seems unnecessary to go to Whitehall," said Ernest as he opened the passenger side door and got in. Samual half-smiled. "After all, it's just a couple of streets away."
"What would people think if they saw Lord Derby walking about?" said Samual.
"They'd think, 'oh, there's someone else about their business,' I expect."
"But you're not about your business, are you? You're about the King's business."
Ernest smiled. "Touche, Samual."
Rows of poorly built houses leaned on one another; walls put up in a hurry a hundred years ago and only intended to serve for a matter of months. Roofs were missing slates in patches and timbers were exposed, slowly rotting in the damp London air. The streets between the rows were narrow, usually mud slick with nightsoil, stale, and sometimes the filthy grey rain. People clustered here and there, their clothes tattered and patched, as dirty as their skin. The smell was overwhelming: an initial ammoniac stench laid over something organic, rich, almost sweet in a nauseating manner. Three-day old raw chicken left in bright sunlight would have brought a refreshing note to the miasma.
In a room four shaky stories above the street with walls of exposed brick and greyish, wet-looking floorboards that creaked softly, two women sat crosslegged, facing one another. They were both wearing coarse, sackcloth tunics and breeches and leather ankle-high boots. It would take a discerning eye to spot that underneath the sackcloth were silk vests and undergarments, and that the boots were hand-stitched and deliberately dirtied -- and anyone staring for that long would attract the attention of the pair.
Those attuned to the sources of magic that flowed through the world would have been stepping cautiously backwards, rubbing at the raised hairs on their arms: the two women were weaving flows of power together delicately. When you knew this, you might find the tiny pewter pins pressed into the decaying floorboards; the power was directed around them, sometimes many times, gradually forming the kind of elaborate, decorative knot found in very few books.
As the knot pulled tight the air between them shimmered like there was a source of heat below it, and then turned the dead, featureless grey colour of nothingness. And into the nothingness one of the women dropped just a little mathematics.
As Samual drew the car to a halt in Scotland Yard, the Eastern end of the Whitehall complex, there were several men unloading a dray. Lord Derby started to thank Samual, and stopped in mid-word, staring at the men who were backing off hurriedly from the cart. A barrel was abandoned on end and the men turned and ran.
"What?" said Samual, also staring. Lord Derby pointed upwards; a bat-winged, rhinocerous-snouted creature the size of a horse was plunging down from the sky, four taloned arms clawing madly in front of it.
Greg - yeah it's getting annoying hot here as well. It's supposed to be 36 several times over the course of the next week.
No, not really any slums. Trailer parks would be the closest thing, I suppose...
Love the descriptions here, of the two women and their activity in particular. But also, obviously, the dropping of the bat rhino horse from the sky was the best part :D
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