He was born into cramped alleys and foul air, fish-stink and garbage and the Bellman’s call – Remember the clocks, look well to your locks.
London, in the year of their Lord 1532. Father in the wind, mother barely remembered, he grew on the streets, working when there was work, begging and stealing and renting himself when not, and when he first saw Persephone bobbing in a halo of sun on a cloudy day, he thought her a promise someone should have made him.
He was thin and pale and restless of mind, unclear why some were born to silks and some to slavery, and unwilling to let things lie. Edmund watched the caravel unload, watched the sailors stagger to land. Amongst them he saw an apprentice no older than himself, and he followed as they laughed their way to a filthy alehouse with a sign in the shape of an anchor, where they drank watered beer by the gallon. When the boy went for a piss in the alley, Edmund buried a blade in the nape of his neck, sliding it up and twisting.
The next morning Persephone sailed with a new apprentice …
Read more about both book and author, over at ‘Mailbox Monday‘
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