Door Handle.
You shrug in half-hearted agreement, and take the chance to ask the farmer his name. Even though you're sure you've seen him many times before in your daily routine in these parts, it crosses your mind that it's rather odd that you don't actually know him.
"You can call me Ned," he says. "And yours?"
"Alf," you reply.
"Hmmph." He nods, and begins the long walk back. He is already rehearsing his tall tale on how you both apprehended the girl, and as you follow him through the alleyways you cannot rid yourself of the look on her face as she so readily accepted her fate.
As you emerge onto the main street, you see to your dismay that your barrow has been broken. The fruits you had been selling have been strewn across the cobbled road, trampled by the horses. You walk past the milliner's shop where you had left your wares, and you see the face at the window again, smirking this time. Anger boils inside you. This is vandalism, not theft, and you are certain that the milliner is the culprit. But without witness, his word will be more valuable than yours and you know better than to make a scene.
With the knowledge that your pay will now be docked and most likely you'll be whipped too - the sight of the Blacksmith's Arms on the corner suddenly looks very appealing.
You follow the farmer towards the medieval style house, which has stood at the corner of this street for generations. The warped walls of its upper storey lean outwards at threatening angles while more recent extensions sprawl from its ground floor. The stables at the back are also new; added to accommodate the increasing number of coaches stopping overnight. It is a homely pub, one you've visited before on the rare occasions when you've had the money to spare.
An old man in shabby work clothes sits outside on a bench, sheltered by the overhang of the upper floor. He scratches his greying stubble and looks at you and Ned as you approach. The girl's object weighs heavily against your thigh and your hand moves to your money pouch once more.
The old man spits on the ground. "Ye find her, did ye?" he says, cocking his head in the direction of the chase.
"We did." Ned looks down at him in disgust. "No thanks to your help."
"Eh? And what would ye be implyin'? I'm too old ter go chasin' after the thief. 'specially at that pace."
You frown. "You called her a thief." You look from the old man to Ned. "But I thought she'd been discovered before she'd actually taken anything."
"What matter?" Ned dismisses your words with a wave of his hand. "She were tresspassin' and she were caught. And we're about to claim our reward." He turns to the old man. "We cornered her, we did..."
You feel a buzzing sensation around your hip, as if the object in your pouch is vibrating. A loud creaking noise from inside the pub interrupts the farmer before he can embellish his story further. You take a step back as you hear the sound of rubble falling from within. Something is wrong, and you grab the old man and pull him from his seat.
"Hey, have some respect for yer elders!" He wriggles free of your hold with indignation.
"It's going to collapse!" you shout, and you fling his flailing body towards the road. "Move!"
A crack appears in the gable and the windows shatter. Clouds of dust belch from the door as there is an almighty crash inside. You can hear the landlady screaming from one of the upper rooms and you exchange a glance with Ned.
The old man scrambles to his feet and runs away down the road, pushing past four other men who are on their way back from the chase.
"Not too old to save his own skin," mutters Ned. "Even at that pace."
"Help! For the love of God help me!" The landlady's cries bring your attention back to the crumbling alehouse. It is evident that she'll need rescuing before it is too late.
Another loud crack of splintering timber has you both retreating a few more paces, covering your faces against renewed clouds of dust. Then the noise dies down, and settles into an eerie silence, broken only by the continual patter of rain and the frightened sobs of the landlady inside.
The object in your pouch continues to buzz, and you're convinced that it has something to do with the sudden collapse of the building. You wonder what effect it might have if you withdrew it from your pocket, and what Ned's reaction might be to seeing such a curious object in a barrow-boy's possession.
There is shouting from the road and you see that some people have emerged from their shops and houses, and still more leaning out of their windows.
The collapse seems to have halted, and crowds of onlookers are gathering. You stare in disbelief at the state of the building, but you can think of nothing else but the girl, and what might be happening to her now.
"Well then, Alf? Are ye a man or a mouse?"
You look over your shoulder at Ned, who has taken off his jacket, ready to go inside.
"You can call me Ned," he says. "And yours?"
"Alf," you reply.
"Hmmph." He nods, and begins the long walk back. He is already rehearsing his tall tale on how you both apprehended the girl, and as you follow him through the alleyways you cannot rid yourself of the look on her face as she so readily accepted her fate.
As you emerge onto the main street, you see to your dismay that your barrow has been broken. The fruits you had been selling have been strewn across the cobbled road, trampled by the horses. You walk past the milliner's shop where you had left your wares, and you see the face at the window again, smirking this time. Anger boils inside you. This is vandalism, not theft, and you are certain that the milliner is the culprit. But without witness, his word will be more valuable than yours and you know better than to make a scene.
With the knowledge that your pay will now be docked and most likely you'll be whipped too - the sight of the Blacksmith's Arms on the corner suddenly looks very appealing.
You follow the farmer towards the medieval style house, which has stood at the corner of this street for generations. The warped walls of its upper storey lean outwards at threatening angles while more recent extensions sprawl from its ground floor. The stables at the back are also new; added to accommodate the increasing number of coaches stopping overnight. It is a homely pub, one you've visited before on the rare occasions when you've had the money to spare.
An old man in shabby work clothes sits outside on a bench, sheltered by the overhang of the upper floor. He scratches his greying stubble and looks at you and Ned as you approach. The girl's object weighs heavily against your thigh and your hand moves to your money pouch once more.
The old man spits on the ground. "Ye find her, did ye?" he says, cocking his head in the direction of the chase.
"We did." Ned looks down at him in disgust. "No thanks to your help."
"Eh? And what would ye be implyin'? I'm too old ter go chasin' after the thief. 'specially at that pace."
You frown. "You called her a thief." You look from the old man to Ned. "But I thought she'd been discovered before she'd actually taken anything."
"What matter?" Ned dismisses your words with a wave of his hand. "She were tresspassin' and she were caught. And we're about to claim our reward." He turns to the old man. "We cornered her, we did..."
You feel a buzzing sensation around your hip, as if the object in your pouch is vibrating. A loud creaking noise from inside the pub interrupts the farmer before he can embellish his story further. You take a step back as you hear the sound of rubble falling from within. Something is wrong, and you grab the old man and pull him from his seat.
"Hey, have some respect for yer elders!" He wriggles free of your hold with indignation.
"It's going to collapse!" you shout, and you fling his flailing body towards the road. "Move!"
A crack appears in the gable and the windows shatter. Clouds of dust belch from the door as there is an almighty crash inside. You can hear the landlady screaming from one of the upper rooms and you exchange a glance with Ned.
The old man scrambles to his feet and runs away down the road, pushing past four other men who are on their way back from the chase.
"Not too old to save his own skin," mutters Ned. "Even at that pace."
"Help! For the love of God help me!" The landlady's cries bring your attention back to the crumbling alehouse. It is evident that she'll need rescuing before it is too late.
Another loud crack of splintering timber has you both retreating a few more paces, covering your faces against renewed clouds of dust. Then the noise dies down, and settles into an eerie silence, broken only by the continual patter of rain and the frightened sobs of the landlady inside.
The object in your pouch continues to buzz, and you're convinced that it has something to do with the sudden collapse of the building. You wonder what effect it might have if you withdrew it from your pocket, and what Ned's reaction might be to seeing such a curious object in a barrow-boy's possession.
There is shouting from the road and you see that some people have emerged from their shops and houses, and still more leaning out of their windows.
The collapse seems to have halted, and crowds of onlookers are gathering. You stare in disbelief at the state of the building, but you can think of nothing else but the girl, and what might be happening to her now.
"Well then, Alf? Are ye a man or a mouse?"
You look over your shoulder at Ned, who has taken off his jacket, ready to go inside.