Sunday, December 28, 2008
Harold stared at the crate, suspicion crowding his features but the crowbar in his hand itching to prise off the lid.
“What’s in it?” Jasfoup asked.
“It smells of
and damp cinnamon.”
“The manifest says books and scrolls from Egypt and Mesopotamia,” said Harold. “Why are you talking like that?”
an overnight stammer?”
“Oh that.” Jasfoup shrugged. “I was experimenting with haiga on my blog. It comes out better written down, apparently.”
“You have a blog? You didn’t tell me.”
“It’s a bit exclusive,” said Jasfoup. “I only let special people read it.”
“Am I not special?”
“Of course you are, Harold. Very special. Are you going to open this crate or not?”
Harold sighed and, stepping forward, levered the top off. The room was flooded with the mixed scents of cardamon, cinnamon and mildew. He pulled out a crumbling scroll. “It’s blank,” he said.
“Look in the bottom of the crate,” said Jasfoup.
have just fallen off.”