Extract from Praetor - Modern Proposals. New eBook series coming July 2014. For more information visit http://www.jandoncom.com/praetor_series
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“Faster Daddy, Faster.”
The little girl squealed with delight as her Father, ever the obedient servant to his 'Little Princess', started to run as fast as common sense allowed over the slush and black ice patches currently serving as the ground of the Docklands Market Square.
Ziggy made her way up from the docks themselves, the weight of the books in her haversack pushing her into each level of the white steps. She reached the top in time to watch the girl clap and giggle as the sled rounded a corner and disappeared. Her laughter faded into the distance, an echo and then a memory of the sound.
Oh dear. 'A memory of the sound.' It was official. Ziggy Carmichael had been hanging around Freud for too long. The old bugger was turning her into a poet.
She figured that her current love affair with the artistic verse would not last for much longer though. She was freezing! She could actually feel her brain turning to mush. She should have worn her thicker coat, but it had been raining when she had left and she hated getting her thicker coat wet. It stank for days when she did that, and she doubted that it did the lifespan of the material any favours.
It was also the best coat that she owned, and for a long time had even been her only one. So she did not want to ruin it unnecessarily. She knew that if she asked, Freud would buy her a new coat in a heartbeat, but just because she could do something, it did not mean that she should do something.
Waste not want not had always been the motto of one Sigourney 'Ziggy' Carmichael. Well not really a motto. A habit born out of necessity would probably be a better description.
So instead of her thick coat, she was wearing a thin waterproof coat which might as well have been made of tissue paper for all the good that it was doing her against the weather right then. Naturally, the rain had stopped as soon as she was halfway from home, leaving her walking the rest of the way in a redundant waterproof in freezing temperatures. She believed that particles of ice had now formed in her bloodstream. Her face felt like plastic where the wind had forced tears to fall and solidify against her cheeks.
Could tears freeze?
That was all she needed. A question she could not answer. She hated not knowing things. There was probably a book about it somewhere in The Library. She would ask Freud when she got home.
She was hungry, too.
Ziggy rounded the same corner as the sled, and heard the little girl again. She was still laughing as she was lifted from the sled and placed astride over her Father's shoulders. Father and daughter had stopped outside a Neighbour Canteen. Light and warmth flowed onto the street in a gentle cascade (Poetic again, Ziggy) and yes, there was her stomach growling.
The smell was amazing as she stepped into the doorway and tasted the air. Her mouth was watering just thinking about it. She gave one hundred thanks to the Skyfather, because pork was on the menu.
The money that Freud had given her to pay for a Rickshaw home was already burning a hole against the tissue paper of her coat pocket. She took it, and already the justification had formed in her mind. Only a madman would take a Rickshaw in icy weather. They were death traps in mild weather. Freud would know and respect that. Besides, it was not as if she was giving up the money for nothing. This was pork!
