We left the walls of St. Mary Overey not by my own door but through the postern on the river side, our destination not the foot of the bridge but the wharfage, first along the walls of the bishop of Winchester’s great palace, then past the mill and down Rose Alley. When we reached the river’s edge I remained behind one of the old scalding sheds while Will coined me a float. He went to the waterfront and whistled for a wherry standing out forty feet. It approached, the waterman boarding his sculls as the craft bumped against the dock post. Still hooded, I slipped out and clambered over the low bow. The craft shoved off as Will backed away into the cluster of buildings along the shore. The rower was a man I knew from many crossings over the years. “Just up from the Fleet, if you will, Sanders,” I said, pushing back the hood. “Aye, Master Gower. The fosses there?” “That will do.” “Ever tell you of my brother Edward lived over that way?” “No, you never did, Sanders.”
What do You think about The Invention Of Fire (2015)?
