Sentence The Sevenhundredandninth

And that was when Sir Capercaillie Gillyfeather produced his Masterpiece: a coloured map of The Universe, or at any rate, so much as was known or could be deduced from the known; "what are all the lines and swirls?" asked one of the Clement Danes and Gillyfeather replied simply: "the Worm-Holes!" and both the Danes sat forward and stared intently at it: "how on Earth?" and again Gillyfeather replied simply: "it's just a matter of collecting, comparing and classifying astronomical data, the effects of gravity, of degrees of attraction, of what you might think of as Swings and Roundabouts!" and one of the Danes clapped his hands: "fair dinkum, like that thing they do with long-shot spacecraft? using the gravity field to hurl them out further like a slingshot?" and Gillyfeather looked pleased with his new-found friend: "indeed yes, the Worm-Holes exhibit similar characteristics, they swing and dart, sometimes return and change direction, that's one of the reasons for their name – in the soil, worms don't travel in straight lines – or they do, but when they encounter an obstacle, like a pebble or root, they make a detour and sometimes go in quite a different direction from their previous one; very interesting creatures, worms," but the Danes seemed to have lost interest, they were whispering together and Daphne, sitting between the two pairs, was beginning to feel slightly discomfited, as though she were a gooseberry: "isn't it about time for lunch?" she asked, in a tone that said she expected someone to do something about it; one of the Sir Clements spoke up: "there are two of us, living on the income of one, so we are in no way able to treat you, Daphne dear," and it was Sir Capercaillie who took the hint: "I don't mind it being my treat, it's so long since I've been in here, but I feel very much at home – even Rusty recognised me; does she still have that girlfriend of hers, the busty barmaid?" and Maude shot him a glance which told him the least said about Dusty Douglas in her company the better! which was when the said Barmaid approached and

pleasantly enquired if they would be having lunch? and knowing that Gillyfeather was paying, the two Sir Clements as one asked for the Home Made Steak pie with chips; when Dusty nodded approvingly – for everything which came from the kitchen had been prepared by her own fair hands – Daphne said she would have the same; then Gillyfeather looked at Maude: "and you, dearest Maude, what of you?" he glanced at the menu: "perhaps a Salmon en Croute?" and she smiled coyly back at him: "if that is what you are having, dear Caillie, yes, it sounds delightful," so Capercaillie ordered that dish for both of them, and Dusty gave him a dazzling smile: "excellent choice, Capercaillie, isn't it? oh it's too long since you were here, will you be giving us your presence more often?" which to his ears sounded rather like 'your presents' and he blushed to his roots, and mumbled a promise to be a regular, rather than an occasional patron of the establishment, which seemed to please Dusty more than anything else he might have said: "your orders will be attended to as quickly as humanly possible," and walked back towards the kitchen, the eyes of Maude and Gillyfeather following her buttocks every swing of the way – his, with undisguised lust, hers more like those of Lucrezia Borgia considering the best way to dispose of a potential challenge! but luckily for Dusty, at just that moment the door swung open – bringing in an icy blast of air which carried flakes of snow with it, causing the locals perched at the bar to look round and see, not so much Sam Smiles and Jasmine Juniper-Green, in an emerald green dalmatic garment, perhaps a poncho or cloak, but rather the blizzard which formed a backdrop to their entrance: "Fuck Sake!" said Eck, "Jesus Christ!" said Boab, "Bluidy 'ell!" said Frank, "Shite!" said Dod, and as one man they downed what remained in their glasses and, pulling on hats, mufflers and gloves, they piled out into The Square and, with mumbled "cheerios" and "TTFNs" headed in the four different directions which would lead them homewards; now as it happens, Dod was the one who walked North, down Abbey Street, for he lived in Gattonside and would have to take the Swing Bridge, it's wooden slats going to be hazardous in a blizzard which, despite the pale sun just a glimmer through the clouds, was definitely worsening! he had, it is true, his walking stick, the one with the rubber stop on the end, and gave some grip, but his

boots were not made for the ice and snow of winter – those ones, which had withstood many hours on the hills in his years as a shepherd, were at Timpson's in Gala, being re-heeled, so it was the lighter, summer pair he wore, but they were stoutly built nonetheless, and he had no qualms about the walk home, a walk he made twice a day now that he was retired and had plenty of time on his hands; so, head down against the North Wind and it's gusts of sleet and snow, he walked steadily towards the river; there was no-one on the Bridge, he could see that as he approached, so no need to slow and let

someone coming from the other side pass easily, but he did not know that he was being followed – at least, not until as he reached the central hummock of the walkway, at it's highest point above the Tweed, he felt the crack on his head which, coming from a ball-pen hammer, swung with a high arc and therefore striking his head at quite a pace, cracked his skull like an egg, despite his tweed cap and sufficiently stunned him as to cause his grip on his stick to relax and he heard it clatter to the wood, but by then he was almost unconscious and unaware that his attacker had a grip on his coat and was pulling him upwards and at the same time, pushing him to his right, and then, once his upper body was well over the hand-rail, just had to give a slight lift to his legs, and that was all it took to pitch him over, so that he fell, like a sack of spuds, into the river, already swollen by recent rains in the hills to the west, which he entered with a loud SPLASH! enough to startle a pair of Herons whose territory this was and they flew to the roof of the nearby Anglers' Hut and perched, watching the dark bundle float rapidly downstream, perhaps aware that something fishy, but not fish, had passed under their stern gaze!