Doctor Who_ Hope - Mark Clapham [72]
Anjis behaviour hadnt helped matters. She seemed fixated and distant, lost in her own thoughts, although she was making some effort to disguise this. A shallower man would have taken those forced smiles at face value and not let himself worry about it, thought Fitz, wishing he were a shallower man. In the end he had let her wander off to the orchard on her own. Fitz wasnt a man to get in the way of anyones quality brooding time.
During the afternoon Fitz found himself snapping at the Silver Palaces staff, and decided he needed to get away from everyone else. He had returned to his little room in the staff quarters, lying on the bed with his hands folded beneath his neck, staring at the bumpy ceiling. The room was featureless and, with the power out, somewhat dark. No sounds could be heard in this isolated part of the Palace. Sensory deprivation led to a thoughtless state, and that meditative, trancelike condition in turn led inevitably to sleep.
Fitz woke with a jolt, the sound of thunder echoing through his brain. He was just beginning to wonder whether the thunder had been part of a dream when the room was briefly illuminated by light from outside. Fitz scrambled on to his feet, as another deafening peal of thunder rang out a few seconds later. He looked out of the small, misshapen window. Out in the fog he could see blobs of light rippling up in the sky. A darkness seemed to be expanding above, while simultaneously occasional flashes struck out from within.
Storm clouds, growing in timelapse, their development unnaturally accelerated. Inevitably, the clouds burst, and rain began to hammer down, echoing off the metal rooftops of Hope.
A man needs to defend his property, thought Pazon, sitting on the floor of his stall and cradling a stout stick resting in the crook of his arm. He had bolted the stall up when the power had gone out the day before, pulling down the shutters and locking himself in the small shack. Apart from brief sorties out he had remained there, weapon in hand, ready for the looters who inevitably worked their way around Hope in times of crisis to reach his patch.
Thankfully, he had yet to be seriously disturbed, and the square had remained largely deserted, the occasional lone citizen running past, not stopping to find out who might be in the shadows. There had been a scuffle a few hours ago, and Pazon had sneaked a glimpse through a gap in the shutters. A crowd of swaddled figures had been kicking and punching another man, muffled curses and screams echoing in the silence. Eventually, the mob had dragged their victim away, leaving Pazon in silent darkness once more. He didnt even want to light a candle, for fear of attracting attention. All he could do was sit there, waiting for the power to come back and life to resume its normal course.
He was almost dozing off in the darkness when the clattering began. It sounded like little feet scurrying about, and in his halfasleep state Pazon briefly thought that children were marauding his stall. He clenched his stick, ready to go outside and fight them off. Then he registered the liquid patter of the noise, the way it seemed to come from everywhere at once. With a lurch of panic he put his eye to the gap in the shutters. Although the darkness was still almost total, Pazon could make out thin lines of liquid cutting through the air, and slowly pooling on every available surface.
Rain. Pazon backed away into the centre of the stall, staring up in panic. Was the roof of the shack robust enough to withstand