Free Fiction Friday: A Meeting at The King's Head
Okay I admit this one isn't quite a whole story, more of a nice little mood piece. It was originally written as a sample for a client to see how she wanted to proceed with a book I was ghostwriting. It was a Victorian England set story and she wanted to find a balance between contemporary style and something more modern.
I may ultimately include this set up in a series of mine called 'The Positively True Adventures of Albion Roddles, Cave Gentleman of Renown' which is a similar blend of cod-Victorian prose and the supernatural.
A Meeting at The King's Head
In the waning days of Autumn the orchard on the outskirts of Mayberry Village took on the uncanny appearance of a graveyard. Almost completely divested of their leaves, the trees rose from a blanket of gold and amber like fragile skeletons. A fine layer of mist rolled in from the mountains bringing with it the soporific odor of wild lavender, adding to the sense that this is a place where no wary traveler would tread.
Percival checked his pocket watch, an heirloom passed down from his Grandmother Ginny, said to be a relic of the Napoleonic wars. He would arrive in the village early, which is just the way he wanted it. There would be time to prepare, and mist notwithstanding, find a place to hide. It had been more than ten years since he had come to this place, and then just a boy. He had only done so on this occasion because of the sense of duty that had been instilled in him since an early age. A man is as only as good as his word, his Father would often say, and this had proved to be true time and again.
As the orchard gave way to the more inviting village road, a sense of foreboding overcame him that should have started as he had walked between the trees. Overconfidence was often his downfall and he tempered it now with the recollection of the last time he had met this fellow. The man who he had later come to understand was called Mr William Drogue had first been introduced to him in a bazaar in Marrakesh. He and an old school friend had arranged to meet the 'Seller and Aquirer of Unique Goods' (as Drogue had chosen to call himself) in a souk, hidden deep somewhere in the maze of market stalls. They had left with nothing at that time but for the feeling of dread that they had entered a dangerous world of which they knew nothing; a black market underworld where desires were bought and sold on an almost trivial basis. When that friend had died suddenly upon returning to England several months later, Percival had been bequeathed an item from his estate with the strict instructions to return it to the Seller and Aquirer of Unique Goods. The instructions were clear and written with a sense of urgency.
"What have you done Gilliam?" said Percival, cursing his friend's name, "It was always me who had to clean up after your little games wasn't it?"
Percival found the tavern where the appointment had been set but chose to cross to the grocer's opposite, still open for trade at this late hour. From there he thought he might be able to spy Mr Drogue as he arrived and get the measure of the man as well as anyone he chose to bring with him. Using the last of his coin Percival purchased an apple from the grocer and proceeded to eat it as nonchalantly as he could whilst keeping an eye on the tavern.
The hour of the rendez-vous came and went with a small relief to Percival that the whole affair may have come to a premature end. Just as he was readying himself to leave and to make his way back to town through the orchards once more, Percival felt a presence behind him. The warm breath of the stranger trickled across the nape of his neck, freezing him.
"Our meeting was for half past the hour in the King's Head, not for ten-to and in Old Beany's Grocery," came the rough low voice in his ear. Percival slowly span on his heel knowing that he would be confronted with that wretched face once more. In the shade of the souk it had only been an impression briefly glimpsed and better forgotten. But in the evening of the English Autumn it was illuminated with such clarity that Percival gasped. What ever Mr Drogue was, one thing was for certain: he was not entirely human.
