Monday, February 02, 2009
Jasfoup drove up to the house with the top down and the engine thrumming like a live beast. He wore a silk scarf over his hair and in his customary sunglasses he looked like he was dressed for Lanzarote rather than Laverstone.
“Where did you get this?” said Harold, shaking the vehicle with one hand before climbing gingerly on. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“I’ve had it for ages,” said Jasfoup, looking away. “I though we’d be more likely to make it through the snow in this than in your van.”
“I’ve fitted tyre spikes, though,” said Harold.
“Not since last year,” Jasfoup pointed out, “and they wore down over the summer.”
“Hmm.” Harold looked ahead. “There are traces for eight deer on the shafts,” he said, pointing. “Are you sure it’ll work with just two?”
“As long as we don’t try to fly,” said the demon.