Scrivener’s Tale. Fiona McIntosh

he called again, rubbing his companion’s cold hand.

      To his relief the man stirred. ‘It is done,’ he murmured.

      ‘What?’

      Fynch opened his eyes and their light had dimmed: no longer like bright gemstones but more like pebbles on a shingle beach, dashed and rolled around until dulled. He spoke again, croaky this time. ‘My friends … their souls have spoken. Aphra is travelling and she’s bringing someone with her.’

      Gabe woke properly, coming to his senses gasping, hands on knees, to draw breath. There was pain everywhere. He couldn’t isolate it. Even his mind hurt.

      Be strong, Gabe, said a voice he knew. He straightened with a groan and looked around. He seemed to be alone and had probably imagined Angelina’s voice. He was in a shed of some sort … no, a barn but it was huge and full of wheat or barley in sheaves. How quaint. He staggered to the enormous doors and pushed on them. They were solid and heavy, but also barred from outside.

      Through a wide gap in the doors he could see beyond to a patchwork of fields — uneven, ragged oblongs of brown and gold, and even pale grey for as far as he could see. There were people working … they were dark specks but he could make out signs of labour. No machinery, just the regular swinging of arms, probably with some sort of tool, he thought. And suddenly a man was approaching. Gabe gave a soft sound of panic and lurched back as the man lifted the bar and unlocked what sounded like a padlock. Sunlight burst in as the doors creaked back. Gabe blinked in the soft rays and saw an elderly man in a black robe regarding him.

      ‘How did you get in here?’ the man asked.

      Gabe shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘You’re naked, man!’

      He looked down, only now aware that he was indeed standing there without a stitch on. He cupped himself, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m even doing here. Where the hell am I?’

      The man lost his immediate fear and his voice softened. ‘Too much cider for you, eh?’ he admonished gently. ‘Well, I don’t know how you got in here, but go on, be gone with you. Quickly now, or I’ll have to tell Master Flek and he does so hate for anyone to be in the tithe barn.’

      ‘Who are you?’

      ‘I’m Pel. No-one important.’ Gabe stared at him. ‘Why do you look so scared? I’m not going to punish you. What’s your name?’ he asked.

      ‘Gabe … Gabriel. I’m lost.’

      ‘Where do you hail from? Perhaps I can help,’ Pel said kindly. ‘Is that a quill you’ve got in your hand, son? I hope you haven’t taken that from here?’ Gabe shook his head. ‘No, I don’t recognise it, but even so, a naked man and a fine quill.’ He made a small tutting sound.

      Gabe’s sense of dislocation intensified. Say nothing! Angelina snapped and he only now realised she was talking in his mind … Gabe now felt deeply frightened but urged himself to stay calm, draw on all his counselling skills and practise what he knew. This was some sort of anxiety attack, for sure. He just needed to take a deep breath and be rational.