An unexpected visitor.
Milo turned, his fingers were wet and sticky with devil’s ink that had spilled like juice squeezed from a tomato down his hand. Unsmiling, he accepted the delicate lace-trimmed handkerchief, switched hands and watched the stain grow like summer wine spilling over a tablecloth. He afforded Caspian a quizzical look, leaned back and stared up at the gray-blue clouds that had gathered above the city. The day’s heat had escaped the city and the choir of mewing seagulls that had greeted him on arrival had all but died down.
“Ah, petchin’-!” His head snapped back to the unapologetic face of Caspian while the man pulled small glass needles out of his arm like he was plucking daisies. He looked the man over with a hawkish frown, the man who was no longer a stranger, but not yet a friend either. Hardly an acquaintance and yet Milo was relieved to see that aside from his ruined, dirt-stained clothes, Caspian seemed to be in one piece.
“You look awful too,” said Milo with the faintest hint of a grin.
He wondered just how often fights broke out at the World’s End. Caspian’s calm demeanour made him suspect it was somewhat common at least, though he noticed a bead of sweat on the man’s brow.
“I’m fine,” Milo added. “I just need a moment, I think…” He sucked in a deep breath through his mouth and idly scratched the side of his head with grubby fingers when he noticed something wet and slippery in his hair. He pulled his hand back like he’d been stung and for a while just stared at his fingertips in disbelief. Then the spuds and the breaded cod came boiling back up. He stumbled forward a step, doubled over, clasped a hand over his mouth and-
-swallowed the mouthful back down in the nick of time.
“M-maybe not,” he stammered when he had recovered. He felt more light-headed and nauseous than he had at sea, and grew fearful that Caspian would abandon him right there and then. The man could, if he wanted to. Probably could take everything he had too, his money, the ring he carried, and there would be nothing Milo could do about it.
But Caspian didn’t try to rob him, didn’t take advantage of the situation. Not yet anyway. If this doctor of his was some kind of elaborate trap, it would be an awful lot of effort for something that could be done and over with in a matter of tones.
Looking decidedly paler than before, Milo looked around the plaza. “Which way?”
~~~
The story continues here.
75th of Spring 521AV
Milo turned, his fingers were wet and sticky with devil’s ink that had spilled like juice squeezed from a tomato down his hand. Unsmiling, he accepted the delicate lace-trimmed handkerchief, switched hands and watched the stain grow like summer wine spilling over a tablecloth. He afforded Caspian a quizzical look, leaned back and stared up at the gray-blue clouds that had gathered above the city. The day’s heat had escaped the city and the choir of mewing seagulls that had greeted him on arrival had all but died down.
“Ah, petchin’-!” His head snapped back to the unapologetic face of Caspian while the man pulled small glass needles out of his arm like he was plucking daisies. He looked the man over with a hawkish frown, the man who was no longer a stranger, but not yet a friend either. Hardly an acquaintance and yet Milo was relieved to see that aside from his ruined, dirt-stained clothes, Caspian seemed to be in one piece.
“You look awful too,” said Milo with the faintest hint of a grin.
He wondered just how often fights broke out at the World’s End. Caspian’s calm demeanour made him suspect it was somewhat common at least, though he noticed a bead of sweat on the man’s brow.
“I’m fine,” Milo added. “I just need a moment, I think…” He sucked in a deep breath through his mouth and idly scratched the side of his head with grubby fingers when he noticed something wet and slippery in his hair. He pulled his hand back like he’d been stung and for a while just stared at his fingertips in disbelief. Then the spuds and the breaded cod came boiling back up. He stumbled forward a step, doubled over, clasped a hand over his mouth and-
-swallowed the mouthful back down in the nick of time.
“M-maybe not,” he stammered when he had recovered. He felt more light-headed and nauseous than he had at sea, and grew fearful that Caspian would abandon him right there and then. The man could, if he wanted to. Probably could take everything he had too, his money, the ring he carried, and there would be nothing Milo could do about it.
But Caspian didn’t try to rob him, didn’t take advantage of the situation. Not yet anyway. If this doctor of his was some kind of elaborate trap, it would be an awful lot of effort for something that could be done and over with in a matter of tones.
Looking decidedly paler than before, Milo looked around the plaza. “Which way?”
~~~
The story continues here.
