Ye brainless, namby-pated …” Nigel shook his fist in the air as mud splattered him where he stood. The half-witted driver careening in front of him obviously couldn’t hear him above the clankity-clatter of the dray’s iron wheels. A blind-eyed washerwoman could have driven those horses around the mud-holes blighting the street better than that crack-head. Irritated, Nigel scrubbed the sludge from his face harder than he should have, then winced. “’Ere you go, mate.” Duffy’s voice boomed in his ear. He’d be lucky to make it to past noontide without going deaf around here. Turning, he recoiled from a yellowed handkerchief waving in his face. “Gimme that!” He grabbed the cloth from Duffy’s hand. “You’re late.”As Duffy recounted one useless detail after another, Nigel took the time to wipe his face properly, adding in a swipe to his neck and ears for good measure. He handed it back, more black now than yellowed. When Duffy pocketed the cloth, a flashy bit of lace floated to the ground.“What’s this?”
