Bump

8.2: THE GATEKEEPER (part 2)

A delicate balance was being preserved in the interior of Lord Winkton's coach. Winkton and Fang faced each other in the gloom, their mutual distrust meaning neither was willing to take his eyes off the other for a moment. Winkton sat with his chest puffed out like a courting peacock, while Fang hunched opposite, giving off a seemingly effortless aura of menace.

In fact, it was taking a considerable amount of effort. Fang took great pride in maintaining the little nuances and gestures that, according to tradition, went tooth in throat with the true essence of vampirdom. The neck must be held forward thus, the chin tucked in thus, the shoulders rounded thus, the eyes narrowed thus, one eyebrow raised thus. And, for the finishing touch, the index finger of one hand (preferably ensconced in an impressive-looking signet ring) must rise and fall in a slow and ominous tap...

Tap...

Tap...

Thus.

But the real delicacy of the situation, and the real test of Fang's vampiric self-control, was this: every time the coach rattled over a rough patch of road (which was more often than either of its occupants had expected), they were both faced with the prospect of a highly undignified bump! On one occasion the coach rocked so enthusiastically that Winkton and Fang's heads bounced simultaneously off the ceiling before they were returned to their seats by the obliging force of gravity.

As a matter of pride, neither could admit to any discomfort throughout this ordeal, which was made all the more difficult by the road's overall condition. Which was not good. In fact, it was bad. To be perfectly truthful, it was appalling.

"Are you sure this is actually—" Bump! "—a road?" Lord Winkton called to the coachman. Fang allowed himself a sneer of triumph. That is, after he had made sure the bump had done no visible damage to his composure.

"Yes, sir. The road to—" Bump! "—Barthane Town, sir."

"And have we nearly reached—" Bump! "—Barthane Town?"

"Yes—" Bump! "—sir. We are, in fact, arriving now—" Bump! "—sir."

"Thank Day for that," Winkton muttered, and then looked very surprised at the lack of bumps. Fang, as surprised as he, let only a slight twitch of his eyebrow betray it. They stared at each other.

"Well, it looks like our ride is finally ov—"

BUMP!

There followed a rather confusing time, in which Winkton was thrown forwards from his seat, Fang was hit with the force of a large and unpleasantly human-smelling man, and they both found themselves in a perplexing tangle of cloaks. When finally they managed to extricate themselves from this compromising position, they sat back in their seats, neither meeting the other's eyes.

The coach drew to a halt. They heard the coachman address the guard at the gate.

"Lord Winkton's coach," they heard him say, presumably in response to a query from the guard. If not, well, Winkton prided himself in employing servants who stuck meticulously to etiquette, even if the other party did not.

This was fortunate, as the guard seemed to have no sense of propriety whatsoever. "Yes, I can see that. But what does your Lord Winkton want in our good town?"

Everyone present was surprised by Fang barking out, "Your good town is infested with the biggest pack of gutter-rats imaginable."

The guard cleared his throat. "Ah, his Lordship has already had the misfortune of visiting?"