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Jim Webster, (In On a Chance! )
Gingerlily (The One and Only) wrote: "I am thoroughly sundry after the last few days. And feeling a lot less tired and battered that I have been recently."that's good. Amazing how hot weather can help you chill :-)
Quick tidy everything up, Patti's coming round to collect a link, so I don't want this spot looking a messhttp://jandbvwebster.wordpress.com/20...
thanks Jim! was finally able to read it.my fantasies about your bronzed six pack and pooie toes have been quashed
I refuse to be held responsible for your fantasies. Isn't it time you had your tablets checked :-)
And now, Book 4 from the Land of the Three Seas is available.Learning a Hard Trade
Dengan was killed for the belt he wore. His son, Trulor Dengankin tries to discover the secret of the belt and to finish the task that cost his father his life. Solving the mystery will mean he has to face such perils as war, savage beastmen, lawyers, and young ladies wishing to purchase ribbon.
The last being the worst of course!
Gingerlily (The One and Only) wrote: "The last being the worst of course!"Trust me in this
"The Innkeepers wife smiled at his comment. She went across to the cart where Decan joined her and the conversation moved to fabrics and thread. Trulor finished his beer and listened lazily to the two chaffering by the cart. Eventually a deal was done and Decan carried two rolls of cloth into the inn.
Trulor had almost dozed off when a female voice asked, “Do you have any pins?”
He snapped awake, to see a girl of perhaps fourteen standing by the cart. He stood up and joined her at the cart. He produced the packets of pins and tried desperately to remember the price Decan had mentioned. He sold her a book of pins for fifty three dregs, and then they were joined by two other girls, one of whom had obviously just done her hair and was wearing a dress that was still unfinished. It dawned on him that the delightful complications that he had discovered when helping Urlan maidens fit their mail shirts were as nothing to helping a village girl get her bodice looking just right."
Jim clearly has experience of bodices.Write what you know, they say...
Will wrote: "Jim clearly has experience of bodices.Write what you know, they say..."
Alas, my experiences are more prosaic :-(
Next morning saw two men with a handcart make their way up the narrow street by the side of the Debtors’ Entrance. Both were dressed in well-worn tunics, the embroidery long removed to adorn a more prestigious garment. Judging by the way the tunics were stained, both men, or at least their tunics, had seen hard service in the building trade.
They placed a short ladder against the wall next to the first cell window and the younger of the two climbed the ladder and started chipping the cement out from under the window sill. His older colleague assisted with advice and pointed observations from below, and then started mixing a small quantity of fresh cement on a board placed on the cobbles. As the younger man finished clearing the old cement out, the older man passed up a bucket full of cement and a pointing trowel. The younger man starting putting fresh cement under the window sill to replace the cement he’d chiselled out.
They were working on the second window when a guard appeared and stood watching them for a while. Both nodded to him and continued their work. Finally the guard felt obliged to comment. “What you two doing?”
Decan turned from giving Trulor unneeded advice and fished a grubby piece of paper from out of his pocket. “Been sent to re-point the underside of the sills. Cement’s rotten, see. Sneeze too loud and you’d like as not blow the bars out.”
He handed the guard the paper, and the guard glanced at the scrawled message. Obviously learning nothing to his advantage from that, the guard wandered across to look more closely at what Trulor was doing.
Decan called up to Trulor, “An’ don’t you go slopping cement on everyone below, neither.”
“Well if you mixed it to a decent thickness it wouldn’t be a problem. Any thinner and I’d be using a jug, not a trowel.”
Decan stood next to the guard and joined him watching Trulor’s work. “Cheeky young beggar thinks he knows it all.”
The guard grunted sympathetically. Finally, with the sill re-pointed, Trulor passed the bucket down and descended the ladder.
The guard watched as they moved to the next window and started again. He cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you two lads to it then.”
Trulor waved his chisel in acknowledgement from the top of the ladder whilst Decan gave the guard a nod as he filled the bucket again.
They’d done two more windows before another guard turned up; this one was obviously officer material, in his own eyes anyway.
“Can I see that bit of paper, please?”
Decan obligingly pulled it from his pocket where it had managed to become even more creased and grubby. The new guard peered at it carefully. “We’ve not been told anything about this.”
Decan turned and shouted over his shoulder to Trulor. “Isn’t that just the limit, no one’s told ’em we’re s’posed to be here.”
Trulor paused, his trowel in the bucket. “I hope we’re still going to get paid.”
“You want to be paid for the sloppy mess you’re making? There’s two days work with a broom cleaning up the stuff you’ve spilt.” Decan turned back to the guard. “Always the way isn’t it? We were supposed to be doing a job for Old Widow Kimble down in Glasscutters Ginnel and then we were told we’d got to come and do this urgent. The old widow has a sharp tongue and she’ll give us hell when we turn up, seeing as how her chimney’s close to collapse and she daren’t light a fire, but we were told this had priority and…..”
The guard broke in hastily to halt what was rapidly becoming a rant. “So who sent you?”
”Our foreman, Gillip. That’s his name on the ticket.” Decan took the paper and ran a grubby finger over it. “There it is.” Triumphantly Decan placed his finger on an indistinct scrawl, making it even more indistinct.
The guard looked at the ticket again. “But who told Gillip?”
Decan looked perplexed. “Damned if I know.” He pursed his lips, and then rallied. “Not my place to know mate, me and the lad just do as we’re told. Go and point the window sills the man said, so we go and point the window sills. But you can bet,” he added bitterly, “that it won’t be Gillip who has to go and tell the widow why she’s not had her chimney seen to.”
The guard was silent briefly and then asked, “So how much have you to do?”
Decan made a vague gesture with one arm; “Whole damn wall, leastways every window in it, on account of the damp and the fact that when they did the job first time they used too much sand in the cement.”
“So you’ll be back tomorrow then?” asked the guard, with the enthusiasm of someone who sees an opportunity to leave a problem to someone on the next shift.
“Tomorrow? Speed he’s working I’ll be dead of old age and you’ll be retired on a pension before we’re finished.” Decan rolled his eyes, before adding in a more conversational tone, “Yes, we’ll be here tomorrow and happen the day after. So we’ll not need the ticket signing until we’ve finished. Maybe they’ll have got round to mentioning us to you by then.”
“Indeed.” The guard stared up at Trulor who’d obviously decided he wasn’t needed in the conversation and was once more wielding his trowel with uncertain enthusiasm. “Anyway, you might as well carry on and I’m sure they’ll eventually get round to alerting us to your arrival.” He turned and left. Decan looked up at Trulor. “And what’s with the long slow strokes, come over all artistic? Just ram the damn stuff in, pack it tight, and one pass with t’other trowel to finish it. Hells, Old Widow Kimble could make a better job.” Still grumbling, Decan started to mix some more cement.
Thanks Jim, perfect timing. Ready to start reading.
Wot, no tractor?Actually, it's Jim's stuff making me want a kindle.
'fraid no tractors, it's not that sort of fantasy ;-)
Oh, and I just gave my spare kindle to Mental Dave.
i don't have a 'spare' kindle.i have two kindle.
spend some of your mouldy money and get one! im shocked you haven't one!
mouldy money? is it really that wet in wales?
Will wrote: "So he can read about tractors?A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian"
No, so he can proof-read his book on it.
im frequently very damp in Wales.
Too much information, Patti.Now, if all the group rush out and buy Bass Instinct, maybe I could afford a kindle.
Patti (Beach Bunny) wrote: "im frequently very damp in Wales."Apparently there was a seismic event in Vietnam. Those who were checking recordings say that it had a definite Canadian accent
my friend who is on holiday in kiwiland apparently experienced 47 quakes today.lucky cow
So the earth didn't move for you then......
It probably just went 'squish'
i did bash my elbow earlier.it sounded rather like...
'ouch fuck I bashed my elbow'
Is that Canadian for 'We've just had a seismic event'?
Thats not nearly polite enough to be canadian for anything!
Was that Patti's seismic shock?
Well someone's concrete erection collapsed pretty darned quick
Well someone's concrete erection collapsed pretty darned quick
Gingerlily (The One and Only) wrote: "twice??"well once took twelve minutes
Have you ever had the days when you felt it might become the sound track of your life ;-)
That sounds exhausting!
Jim fancied being chased by the scantily clad lovelies, GL.Now come to think of it, how did it go again?
Yakety Sax
Yes but nobody ever gets caught and you all end up in an exhausted heap on the floor. Doesn't sound like much fun to me.
Well I never said they were the good days
I was expecting a benny Hill clip. Van was no visual substitute.(although the music was an improvement)
No, Van reminds me of a depressive penguin. If you really want something slightly more scantily clad girlish, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBWkPR...
*Speechless*Glad it's on Jim's thread, not mine.
Its not that bad Will!
Better get some pepsi to help the clean up.
Post no 1000. Do I get a prize?
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Books mentioned in this topic
In On a Chance (other topics)Justice 4.1 (other topics)
Law 3.3 (other topics)
Plague 1.4 (other topics)
War 2.2 (other topics)
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now that's a sturdy building material.