Andrew Girle's Blog

Crime and Speculative Fiction Blooking

The Talking Sword – Post 4

Posted by Andrew Girle on January 15, 2011

Dawn turned to look at him, and saw that he was smiling broadly.

“I haven’t seen you three for a long time. Since,” he paused for a moment, and then continued “good grief, since the wedding? What have you been up to?”

“We have had one or two assignments to keep us busy. It is a pleasure to meet you once more, Sorder.” The man with the scarred face reached out and grasped her grandfathers’ hand firmly.

“I haven’t been called that name in a long time. I’d like it to remain that way.” Her grandfather’s mouth was still smiling and his voice was level enough, but there was a note of steel underneath. The scar-faced man drew his lips together as if he had been mildly insulted, then nodded. Her grandfather released his grip.

“Now Dawn, have these gentlemen introduced themselves?”

“No, not yet Granpa.”

“Right, well the tall ugly one here is Neverbob.”

The man with the scarred face smiled slightly before dipping his head in acknowledgement.

“This,” her grandfather pointed at the second man, the proud possessor of a shock of flame red hair perched on top of a pale face pebble-dashed with freckles. “This is Bluey.”

The red headed man smiled and pushed his left hand forwards, the way other people put their right out to shake hands. Dawn grabbed it awkwardly and squeezed, and suddenly realised that his right sleeve was empty and tucked into his jacket pocket. She took half a step back, startled, and then forced herself forwards. She did not want to appear rude.

Bluey just smiled at her reaction. “Dinnae worry aboot it lassie, it happened a looong time hence.” His voice was like a bad comedian trying a Scottish accent but sounding like an Irishman. A drunk Irishman.

“And last but hardly least, is Marcus.”

The third man, broad shoulders filling out his coat but his face drawn painfully thin over strong cheekbones, moved to face her square on, his legs making a creaking sound as he moved them. He did not try to shake hands, but said “The pleasure is all mine, Belladonna.”

Dawn could not help but stare.

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