The Jack Hansard Series: Season Two

Episode 1.1

Picture . . . a dusty, disused warehouse.

It has a shabby tin roof, which is now more corroded than corrugated, and blackened brick walls crumbling under decades of dirt and slime.

Picture . . . me. Jack Hansard, a humble, hard-working merchant of simple means and honest ambitions. I am tied to a chair in this warehouse.

And picture . . . Ang. Two-and-a-half feet of grizzled coblyn in a grubby waistcoat still sprinkled with pastry crumbs from breakfast. She is also tied to a chair.

And she is not happy about it.

'What was it I said to you before about this idea, gwas?'

'You said it was a bad one.'

'And what was it you said to me, gwas?'

'I said, "Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be happy to see us."'

'I ought t' wallop you one, gwas.'

'Luck you're tied up, then.'

'When I get outta this chair, gwas . . .'

'Oh, shut up, both of you.' This came from the other corner of the room where our captor, a man scrawnier than myself, was watching us from his perch on a three-legged stool. It was a small stool and he was a tall man, so he sat awkwardly hunched over with his knees reaching for his ears. He shifted uncomfortably. 'It's nothing personal, you understand. But I could do without the chatter.'

I shrugged as best I could with both hands tied behind my back. 'I know how it is. Good price for us, is it?'

'It'll pay for a new set of wheels, I'll tell you that.'

'What kind?'

'Quality Transit van, I reckon.'

I looked hurt. 'You sold me out for a van, Steve? I'm worth more than that. A Range Rover, at least.'

'Dunno, mate. You ain't got much in the way of assets.'

This was regrettably true.

Above our heads, a single yellow bulb flickered erratically, suspended from a wire thrown over a rusted beam. It created a rather capricious circle of light in the murk of the warehouse, at times lending a frenzied glow to Steve's features, and at others dimming so that we could barely make each other out.

As the bulb flared back to life, I clicked my tongue absent-mindedly and caught Steve's eye again. 'How's the wife?'

Steve shrugged. 'Oh, you know. Has to look after her old mum a lot these days, but she's fine. The travel gets her down a bit. I said we should look for a nursing home but she's having none of it.'

'That must be rough,' I said sympathetically.

'Aye. That's life.'

A few moments passed.

'How's business on the charms front?' I enquired politely. 'Going strong?'

He perked up, just slightly. It did wonders for his posture. 'Not bad, actually. Reckon it's the current socio-economic political climate, an' that. Lot of people on edge these days, looking for a lifeboat to cling onto. Fear makes people superstitious as anything, I'll tell you that.'

'Oh? You're getting more common customers than usual?'

'Like you wouldn't believe, Jack. Dunno how, but even the lady at the corner shop knew about my stock the other day. Asked about charms to keep immigrants away. I said there's no such thing!' He hunched forward again. 'You ask me, world's gone bonkers. Why's everyone so bothered about geography all've a sudden?'