Back The Wise Friend
Chapters (31)
  1. Chapter One
  2. Chapter Two
  3. Chapter Three
  4. Chapter Four
  5. Chapter Five
  6. Chapter Six
  7. Chapter Seven
  8. Chapter Eight
  9. Chapter Nine
  10. Chapter Ten
  11. Chapter Eleven
  12. Chapter Twelve
  13. Chapter Thirteen
  14. Chapter Fourteen
  15. Chapter Fifteen
  16. Chapter Sixteen
  17. Chapter Seventeen
  18. Chapter Eighteen
  19. Chapter Nineteen
  20. Chapter Twenty
  21. Chapter Twenty-One
  22. Chapter Twenty-Two
  23. Chapter Twenty-Three
  24. Chapter Twenty-Four
  25. Chapter Twenty-Five
  26. Chapter Twenty-Six
  27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  30. About this book
  31. FLAME TREE PRESS

He stared at me in the mirror longer than I thought was safe. “You’re the only feller in here besides me.”

I mustn’t add to the distractions that might be brought to bear on him, and I stayed quiet until we approached a junction. “Straight on,” I said, and hastily “When the lights are green.”

This time his stare was even more prolonged. “Don’t need to tell me that, pal.”

I managed just to send him onwards at each set of lights, until at last we had to turn right. The road led to the station, and the taxi drew up outside it, not quite what I’d directed. “I’m just across the road,” I said.

“Good for you, pal.”

He either didn’t trust my guidance or had tired of it, and I’d had enough of him. Surely I could cross the street without being run over. I dug in my pocket for notes and handed them through the gap in the glass partition. “Sorry I’ve no less. Just give me six,” I said.

He glared at the handful I’d passed him and screwed his head around on his stubby reddish neck to train all the force of his disfavour on me. “Less of the laughs, pal. That’s no joke.”

“I’m sorry, what isn’t?”

He thrust his hand under the partition, and I saw he was holding torn scraps of paper. I recognised the writing on them – Lumen Scientiae’s script – and glimpsed the names Bal and Bel before the driver threw the handful out of his window. “Let’s have the cash,” he said, “or I’ll be calling the law.”

I fumbled money out of my pocket, or at least that was what it felt like. Yes, I’d found a scrawny wad of ten-pound notes, two of which the driver accepted with a display of ill grace. He passed me a pound coin and a crumpled grubby fiver, and as I climbed out I saw the fragments of the page under the taxi. I was loitering on the pavement to retrieve them when he moved off, and a trickle of oil from beneath the vehicle blackened every scrap. The sight infuriated me so much that I stalked across the road, and if I’d failed to notice any traffic I might well not have reached the other side. My survival only postponed the next attempt on my life.