Fiona McIntosh - Scrivener’s Tale

The man lost his immediate fear and his voice softened. ‘Too much cider for you, eh?’ he admonished gently. ‘Well, I don’t know how you got in here, but go on, be gone with you. Quickly now, or I’ll have to tell Master Flek and he does so hate for anyone to be in the tithe barn.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Pel. No-one important.’ Gabe stared at him. ‘Why do you look so scared? I’m not going to punish you. What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Gabe … Gabriel. I’m lost.’

‘Where do you hail from? Perhaps I can help,’ Pel said kindly. ‘Is that a quill you’ve got in your hand, son? I hope you haven’t taken that from here?’ Gabe shook his head. ‘No, I don’t recognise it, but even so, a naked man and a fine quill.’ He made a small tutting sound.

Gabe’s sense of dislocation intensified. Say nothing ! Angelina snapped and he only now realised she was talking in his mind … Gabe now felt deeply frightened but urged himself to stay calm, draw on all his counselling skills and practise what he knew. This was some sort of anxiety attack, for sure. He just needed to take a deep breath and be rational.

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