Lock drabble: Scaling the Heights
Giles had worked resentfully through the first eighteen locks at Caen Hill before he realised he was being watched.
Bloody Watcher-bonding. As though they didn’t meet daily at Council headquarters. Two damp October weeks on a narrow-boat with seven sharing tight cabins and inadequate laundry. The smell of wet tweed was overpowering even before this damn hill and its tortured boat staircase made them all knackered and soaked.
The man watching was Travers. He beckoned, passed Giles a thick file and said, “Merrick is dead. It’s your time.”
Giles abandoned the canal without hesitation. Play was over. Now for reality.
Bloody Watcher-bonding. As though they didn’t meet daily at Council headquarters. Two damp October weeks on a narrow-boat with seven sharing tight cabins and inadequate laundry. The smell of wet tweed was overpowering even before this damn hill and its tortured boat staircase made them all knackered and soaked.
The man watching was Travers. He beckoned, passed Giles a thick file and said, “Merrick is dead. It’s your time.”
Giles abandoned the canal without hesitation. Play was over. Now for reality.