Introduction
The Fop and The Silver Lady had passed the hedgerow when the Ragamuffin King appeared at the fountain. He perched birdlike on the edge of Psyche's knee, dirty coat-tail barely dipping like a paintbrush in the water. He was watching for something behind those matted dredlocks, Tupelo could tell. He also knew the thin partnership the Fop and the King shared had ended, purportedly over a bag of zombie powder. It wasn't he, though; Tupelo tried to steer clear of the King the last few weeks. The King could be irascible in the spring months.
Tupelo turned back to the tall ashtray, fished a butt from the sand with a fingertip's worth of tobacco left. He stashed it quickly in the recesses of his coat, drew a small celtic knot in the sand. When he looked back, the Ragamuffin King was gone, vanished into the park square. Tupelo scanned about quickly, then scuttled out of the square.
copyright 2009
bacon press ltd
tcr
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