A Tailor's Son (Valadfar) (28 page)

The sun set over the canals that night and Neeskmouth
continued under its deep red rays. The evening newspapers filled with
the story of the killer priest denting the faith people had in Sacellum but
it would not be hindered for long as soon farmers would come in from
the fields with more stories of the shadow demon Rinwid and people
would flock back into the pews of Saint Anne’s. The catacombs would
be sealed shut to bury the sins of this mad man forever in the bowels of
Saint Anne’s. The flooding below the Queens would wash Williams’s
body into the canals and eventually out to sea. It would not be long
before people forgot about the poor dead prostitutes as more flocked
in to take their place. A city is a fickle beast and Neeskmouth had
always seen more than its share of death and pain.

Neeskmouth ridge fell behind Harold and Muriel a mile at a
time as they headed west. The cart rolled onwards with its windows
pulled shut to the setting sun shining through the lush blue material.
There was silence, apart from the clatter of horseshoes on the uneven
road and the gentle sound of Muriel’s snoring as she slept in Harold’s
arms. Harold would propose once they reached the beaches. He didn’t
know what would become of him. If Paul was right he would be able to
control his hunger. If not then the lands of the north would have
another monster to fight. Somehow though, Harold felt that with
Muriel on his arm he’d battle his demons and win. The horrors of the
last few weeks fell into oblivion in his dreams as he wondered if the
beaches would look as wonderful as he remembered. Harold slid his
eyes open slightly, just enough so that he could see her. She was
sleeping still. Harold pulled her closer, a slight murmur signalling
Muriel’s ease in his embrace. He knew he would one day have to face
the choice he made but until then he would be with her.

Dante’s journeys led him to the Cassandra and climbing up
the wet chain of the anchor marked a new journey for him. One that
would take him all the way to the Green Stone Isles, oddly this little
creature’s journey would play a part in the events of Neeska long after
his death that would one day be legendary. The letter from William still
tied to his tail was also a story for another time, much like that of the
match girl and Granny, for we have not seen the last of the haggard old
woman of the north.
* * * * *

In the abandoned tailors shop on East Street, a couple of
mice played happily around a dusty ball of string. A strange odour filled
the air. A memory of fresh tobacco smoke sailed through and went as
quickly as it came. It was gone.
Spinks and Son’s
had shut for the last
time.